#but he ... cannot verbalise any of this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loganlermanstanaccount · 10 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 5)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 4, Part 6

summary: You deal with the aftermath of last night. Lyla has a party.

warnings: very suggestive. mentions of sex, vulgar language, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: this is so so so self indulgent i cannot express it enough. probably ooc asf: you've been warned.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 8.5k (i'm on a strict plan and had a lot to get through lmfao)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

and they were good.

Eventually, you're bundled into your room in a fit of giggles and with shaky legs. Even in Miguel's hoodie, insisted upon by the man himself, the sheets feel a little colder after he leaves. Initially, he had collapsed on top of you; smothering you with the heat of his bare skin and the sweats that ride down his hips, dangerously low. You're pushing him off, or trying to, heavy and leaden-limbed. Whether it's the weight of that orgasm or the remnants of that blunt that turns your arms to jelly – you don't know.

Honestly, you don't think you care. He's resorted to laying his head on your chest in mock sleep – clearly still high as fuck – and stretching out on top like a housecat. He's warm on your lap; so you bring a hand to card through dark brown curls that rest on the flat of your sternum.

You'd never have known it: Miguel has a playful side, beneath all the sarcasm and red tape.

In the morning, he's gone - with only his hoodie as proof that something happened. For you, it's a hazy memory - warmth tinged in the lazy light of last night's high. It comes and goes like the tide on a quiet beach: remembering how he touched you, the feel of bare skin on bare skin, the way it burned when he kissed your shoulder….

And it's gone, again. You're left tracing the hickey at the base of your neck, and it aches . A little moment like that, fooling around like teenagers on prom night, and it shouldn't feel as intimate as it does. Groaning into your pillow, you burrow into the expanse of your roommate's hoodie. With a busy week incoming, you can't afford to be distracted – not like this.

And so, you bury the urge to knock on Miguel's door, and put your lips around the words that mean… more. You want more. It feels greedy to verbalise it, as if you've seen too much of him already. The irony; humping almost fully clothed and yet, feeling so bare. It leaves a strange taste in your mouth – blood, maybe. Maybe he's finally done it: stuck the knife between ribs to find out what colour you bleed. Miguel's a scientist after all; prone to making things go pop and snap , slicing into specimens with a steady hand.

It's too much, too close for comfort and you can't afford it: affection and intimacy in any shape or size was a fatal wound , especially after last time. Instead, you let the morning waves crash over its outline left in sand. A body – blood and gristle and guts – washed away by the tide.

You find yourself pushing down dangerous feelings. After finally getting comfortable with Miguel, all that progress seems for naught; bumbling around the apartment like a deer finding its legs. The first morning, you're spared a confrontation as he's already gone from the apartment. Earlier than usual, and you hand-wave away that little voice in your head that says: he's avoiding you .

He's not. He can't be. And you know it because he's able to look you in the eye. Briefly, but it's much longer than you can last. You have a whole conversation when he comes home and it only makes you want to rip out your eyeballs a little.

You're on the sofa, hands in your lap and antsy. There's a stupid soap on the TV, but you can barely concentrate; head too full of cotton to make sense of the screen. You're so lost in thought that when the door clicks open, you jump half a foot into the air.

"Shit." You turn, watching Miguel kick his shoes off at the door. Flashing him a nervous smile, you wave limply and turn around to cringe.

"Heeey," God. You burrow into the cushions.

"Hey." He's got a plastic bag in hand. He drops the rucksack on his back, and goes straight to the kitchen.

You call out. "Takeout's in the fridge."

He hums, and you hear clattering from the doorway. Turning, you watch; sleeves rolled up in a smart shirt. You can see the muscles in his back from here; the ripple of hard lines under cotton. Craning your head, you can't help but be curious.

"Stop sticking your nose in."

You're halfway off the couch, and stop dead in your tracks.

"M'not-"

He peeks out from the doorframe; catching you in the act.

"You're not allowed to look."

It leaves you spluttering, getting off the sofa like a spoilt child. He's telling you not to look, and like clockwork you're itching for it; padding towards the counters. Miguel must have superpowers the way he catches you, leant against the doorframe with his arms crossed across his broad chest. You're on your tiptoes and trying to get a glimpse into the kitchen. He shifts in the way, tight-lipped and shaking his head.

"Meant it. It's a surprise." You cock your head, like you can't believe what he's saying.

You step to the other side and he steps along with you, blocking your view.

"... Miguel ." You say it slowly, incredulous. You're stepping closer, ever so slightly, but he stays stony-faced and resolute.

For the first time in 24 hours, since you basically fucked him in the room next door, you're looking each other in the eye. Squinting, you hold his gaze but he barely cracks a smile.

"Sit down." He says it sternly, but his voice is soft. "Please."

With a flourish, you bring your hands up in surrender and inch back towards the couch. It's the usual chopping and thudding of cabinets being opened and closed. It takes everything not to look back, but you force yourself to concentrate on the TV.

Finally, he places a bowl in front of you before flopping to your side. He's still in his work clothes, adjusting the waistband of black slacks and popping off the buttons at the top of his shirt. You're trying not to stare, not to drool at the way he just melts ; sinking into the seats like a lolly on a hot sidewalk. When he brings his bowl closer, that's when you inspect the contents of yours.

"Is this…?" You start, and he hums; taking a healthy slurp of noodles in the process.

You shake your head to no one in particular. It's the very same instant ramen you've stopped buying, after constant complaints and lectures from the man himself. There's enough salt in here to banish a demon, he'd spit. In retaliation you'd bite back, saying, maybe you'll fuck off where you came from, and retreat to your room to eat in peace. It's your favourite flavour; perfectly salty and flavourful and definitely not good for you. In the broth, there's the milky white and yellow of an egg, with spring onions and fresh veg breaking the surface. Even before you've taken a bite, you feel that warmth at your chest, again.

He doesn't even look at you, pointing a finger at the screen instead.

"I thought Jenny was dead?"

You clear your throat of that lump, rising up like a fishing boat spit up by the waves.

"That was her twin sister, Jane."

"...I thought Jane was dead." He frowns.

"No, no, Jane faked her death in the mining accident; and ran off with all that inheritance money… were you paying attention last episode?"

"No, you watched it without me."

"Yeah, but you said you hated this show–"

" –only because it's a total rip-off of La Patrona ,"

"And yet, you're begging me not to watch without you–"

"Begging seems a little strong–"

He's kept his sharp tongue, and you're too occupied with arguing to notice the hand wrapped around the back of the sofa; how you're both inching closer until your legs come to rest on his own. You're focusing on his lips, drawn in by a pull that seems stronger than gravity.

He's saying your name, and you snap out of it. Blinking up at him, a deer in headlights, you remember yourself and look away. Tension pulls at the both of you, a string as thin as fishing wire that snaps with your realisation. You like the way he looks, flushed and flustered after a long day. You could make him feel even better, right now, if he wanted it. You'd drop to your knees and wrap a hand around his cock, pulling those beautiful sounds out of him – the very same ones you'd fucked yourself to the thought of, not so long ago.

If, being the key word. And with the way he shifts back, away from you, you're not too sure if last night was a flash in the pan or something more.

Everything about Miguel screams dangerous; flags in deep scarlet that are telling you to stay the fuck away. He doesn't commit, sleeps around; refusing to define or put a label on any significant relationship in his life. He won't even admit, say the words, that he's fucking a half-dozen girls right now; even when you've got concrete proof in the form of messy lips and banging on the walls. Okay, maybe half a dozen is a stretch; but three girls, on three separate, multiple, occasions for sure. Probably; you haven't technically seen anything but if the precision of last night was any indicator – the terrifying speed at which he made you fold like a lawn chair – he had significant experience. He was a fucking veteran; dedicated to the sport for the love of the game.

You find yourself caught in his web all the same; kicking yourself at your naivete. He's turned away now, seemingly unfazed, making little comments at the show you've got on TV. It's becoming increasingly clear where you stand: caught in a game of chicken with your roommate – a man with balls of steel, if last night was any indicator. You're ill equipped to deal with such levels of conflict avoidance, despite years of hands on experience.

The question remains, stuck in the gaps of your teeth like udon, thick and dense and chewy: how exactly does he feel about you? Where do you belong?

~~~

It's been quite the week and a half, mostly spent trying to make sense of Miguel. One minute you're at each other's throats, and the next, he's talking you through rate laws and kinetics equations. Apparently , you've got a lecturer he used to have, and he insists on sidling up to you on the dining table; prodding at your paper and liberally crossing out errors. His inconsistency has you irate ; and it means you get petty, picking fights and laying easy bait. Frustratingly enough, all it does is make that tension worse; thick and choking ; in your little apartment.

The only thing you have to look forward to is the party at Lyla's; of which you've volunteered to help set up. It means food, and drink, and a couple hours of respite, hopefully.

On the day, you get to Lyla's early. Miguel's at work, promising to be there in a couple of hours, and so you take the subway instead. Yet again, walking up to her apartment feels like another world – one of marble and faux fur and lots of animal print. When she lets you up, you're left with only your thoughts and the quiet hum of the elevator. In the mirrored wall, you take stock of your outfit: snug denim and a little shirt. Admittedly, your wardrobe felt a little lacking – jeans and a nice top being your go to. Right now, your only hope is that the dress code would be more forgiving.

The door swings open and Lyla's pushing you towards the living room, chattering away at a mile a minute. It's overwhelming as you're dragged into the light, half a dozen boxes and its miscellaneous contents strewn onto the floor.

"–and Jess has the nose of a bloodhound, so if anything seems even a little off, she'll know… "

You nod slowly as Lyla squeezes your arm with so much force, it cuts off blood supply.

"Like clockwork. We need this to run like clockwork."

Fingers numb, you watch as her features set; a wide smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes and shadow that cuts her face just so. Overcast and dramatic; simply put, it's terrifying.

There's a loud Pop! from behind, making you jump.

"... sorry !" Peter's voice rings out, and there’s a tangle of brown hair and dark eyes peeking over the kitchen island.

Walking over, you can see he's splayed out on the tiles, balloons littered all over the place. A balloon pump, long discarded, sits in its packet at barely an arm's length. More importantly, though, he's got a bundle of red hair and freckles in his arms; little May, sniffling and whining with what's left of a balloon between chubby fingers.

"Might need some help, over here…" He says it softly, rocking the little girl in his lap.

Lyla rolls up non-existent sleeves, face scrunched up in concentration. She closes her eyes ; fingers dancing as if typing on non-existent keys.

"...okay, okay, change of plans." She turns to you, eyes wrenched open and hands clasped together – Machievellian in nature. You suppose; with the sheer extent of her party planning skills, able to pull strings this way and that; it fits. "We've got exactly 3 hours and 23 minutes before everyone else arrives, plus about 17 minutes, give or take, before Jess does."

"How do you kno-" You start, but Peter presses a finger to his lips. She's in the zone, he seems to mouth.

“I need you and Pete to get these balloons done, and then we can set up the archway. I’ll call Ben, ask him where the fuck he is, and then we’ll see if we can get some banners and streamers up…. God , and the food…. think I need to threaten someone at the catering company, give me a sec,” She stalks off, muttering something that sounds important. Pete shrugs, kicking over a box of balloons; black, white and gold, a lot fancier than you had expected. May is eased off of his lap, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She sniffles, holding her head up bravely. It's probably the cutest thing you’ve seen all year.

“I give her 5 minutes before she realises Miguel’s going to be late.”

“...and God help us when she does.” You finish for him, settling down on the cool marble.

You make a start on the balloons, opening the untouched packets and pulling out a shiny pump.

“How long have you known each other?” You busy your hands by stretching the neck of a deceptively small balloon.

“Oh, Lyla?” He frowns. “A couple of years, maybe. We met because of Miguel – same with Jess and Ben, actually.”

It's your turn to frown. Miguel was the glue? It’s a picture that doesn’t quite match up with the meet-cute that you were painting in your head. If they met because of your roommate, it must’ve been a contentious group project, or someone rear-ended in the parking lot, that brought them together: something with a lot of shouting and arguing, you decide.

Maybe Pete sees the surprise on your face, because he adds, “I’ve known Miguel for longer, though… and he’s a lot nicer than people give him credit for.”

“...I didn’t say he wasn’t.” Nice? Not a chance.

“But you were thinking it. Promise, once you get to know him–”

He’ll give you a mind-numbing orgasm and pretend it never happened. Or something like that.

“ –he gets less confusing?” You grumble. “I’ve seen enough, I think.”

“So maybe he’s a bit of a prick. But under that cold, stony exterior; buried deep, deep, deep…”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Deep down , somewhere, he’s got a heart.”

“I just,” You pause, choosing your next words more delicately. “I didn’t expect his friends to be like you guys. Fun and–” …a little batshit, and… “ – spontaneous. He’s so stoic sometimes, it’s worrying. Like, he’ll just blank out on the couch–”

“–frowning in the corner like the wall’s pissed him off personally? Yeah, I’ve seen that one a few times.”

“He’s just so hot and cold! Sometimes we’re good and almost friendly, and then all of a sudden he’s avoiding me at all costs, holed up somewhere. A-And then he’s making me breakfast, like that blip didn’t even happen… did I do something wrong? Has he said anything to you? I-I just want him to–”

The man besides you chuckles. And then, you flash him a violent look that has him flattening his features in a hurry.

“He just… takes some time to warm up, s’all. He’s changed – changing. I mean, we went to highschool together and I didn’t even realise ‘til we met again in college.”

“You went to highschool with him?”

“Yeah, but I was like, 2 grades ahead of him. We didn’t really talk except… we were both in this robotics club afterschool.”

“Robotics? Wires, and circuit boards, and–”

“ –robots. Honest-to-God, hand-on-heart, stupid little robots. And being teenagers with way too much time on our hands, we’d build ‘em, and then make ‘em fight to the death. Miguel… he took it way more serious than everyone else there. We’d mess around with goobers and battlebots – hell, sometimes we’d skip to get food. He was.. He was always there, though, hunkered down in the corner and tinkering away at something.”

“Now, I wasn’t popular in highschool, at all – I went to Robotics Club , so I think that about sums it up – but I remember… no-one could really understand him. Top of his class, always up for awards, but people thought he was a little weird. Come rain or shine, he’d always be in that corner seat with a screwdriver basically glued to his hand. And we didn’t have a clue what he was building.”

He seems wistful, thinking back to that time.

“When I finally asked him what it was, at the end of maybe… 2 semesters,” He smiles, one that deepens his dimples and brushes the corners of his eyes. “He finally told us. It was a… a fucking arena for all the stupid stuff we built. He’d really thought it through, too: all our equipment would get jumbled up, so he made little boxes and sections to separate them in. There was an LED pad he’d programmed to keep a scoreboard. It was made out of this… self-healing vinyl so we wouldn’t need to replace it too often. He got so excited when he was explaining it all; about how it folded up so we could bring it with us when we changed classrooms, and… honestly, I think they still have it there.”

He sighs. “I think that’s all he knows how to do, y’know. That’s the language he speaks, the only one he really understands. Taking care of people, giving them what they need. You’re barely friends with Miguel, then all of a sudden he’s giving you hangover cures cooked up in his kitchen, and cussing you out in the morning, ‘cus you went a little too ham after a breakup. Or…he’s bringing pizza to your apartment at 3 in the morning, ‘cus he knew you were lying about being okay after your Uncle’s funeral.”

He’s got a faraway look in his eyes, an absentminded hand in May’s. Her stubby fingers curl around his, and then he’s back, snapped out of that distant daydream.

“Give it time. He’s been through some shit. Miguel’s got layers, like–”

“Like an onion?” You offer, weakly.

“No, no. Like one of those cheese wheel things that May likes so much. With.. with the wrapper and the waxy red stuff on the..?” He handwaves it away. “Forget it. MJ knows what they’re called.”

~~~

You put your back into helping set up. You don't quite get the theme, but Lyla explains it all whilst you hang the contents of those boxes on the wall: a maximalist, hedonistic mish-mash of food, drink and decor. She wants it to feel like if Gatsby three raves, and actually fucked that sad twink – whatever that means. The visual representation of an orgasm, but classy, she says. More, more, more; and if your back doesn't hurt by the end of it, then it's not enough.

She's got you hauling ass across her front room, draping fabric and moving furniture like it's your job. Ben arrives and between the four of you (five, if you include May clambering on decor), it's all done. You can't help but think she's done a great job: the whole room decked out to look like the cover of an expensive wedding in Vogue – excessive but in a way that's only classy when rich people hire someone else to do it. Lush fabric in lieu of streamers draped on the walls, balloons sculpted into arches and tastefully dotted around the floor. The theme is black and white, with hints of gold, and gentle strings of pearl hang from ceilings and walls. It looks good, because it has to; Lyla's made you move everything around about a million times.

Gleefully, she rubs her hands together, turning to all of you. "Food's going to be here in 10, I think. You guys get changed and I'll double check when Miguel's bringing the cake."

Peter and Ben disperse into various rooms – with Peter noticeably rubbing his back, May on his arm. You're left with Lyla, awkwardly looking towards her for guidance.

"...get changed?" You look down at your woefully casual outfit. It seems you've come completely unprepared.

"Yep. Miggy didn't tell you about the dress code?"

…it's becoming increasingly difficult to cut your roommate some slack. With everything that's happened, rather conveniently, he's neglected to make any mention of a dress code.

Sheepishly, you start, "I didn't know, shit –"

Lyla cuts you off and brings a hand up to silence you. Bouncing on her toes, she's almost giddy with excitement.

"I know exactly what you can wear!"

She leads you upstairs to her room. You perch on her bed; and whilst you grapple with the fact that she even has an upstairs, you lose her in the deep depths of a walk-in. Lyla rummages through almost cartoonishly; wading through fur and leather and giant coats like an explorer hacking through dense forest. Eventually, she resurfaces, waving a bundle of white fabric. She hands it to you with a grin.

She gives you some room, pushing you through the double doors of her closet to get changed. The dress feels amazing on: well-made, thick fabric and endlessly snug in all the right places. In the mirror, you marvel at how such a simple garment transforms you: a silky slip that stops about mid thigh, draped beautifully on your shoulders, and hugging your hips like a glove. There's a little slit at the side that stops just a bit higher than you'd usually be comfortable with, but… it works. Incidentally, your makeup and hair compliments the look; soft and pretty and–

You hear a small gasp from behind the door. Lyla's got her head peeking out into the room, and then she's at your side with a gentle hand on your arm. She spins you around in front of the mirror.

"You look…" Her eyes light up, marvelling at you. " Gorgeous. You have to keep it."

"No, I can't… I won't . I was already underdressed, and this must have been expensive. I can't."

"No shit, of course it was expensive. But that's not a good enough reason… I barely wear it, and I've got more than enough clothes. Keep it ." She's smiling, head just over your shoulder in the mirror.

"It's not too much…?"

"Honestly, babe, it's not enough." She giggles. "D'you like it?"

It feels weird to look at yourself like this, dolled up and pretty – contrasting how you've felt in the past few months. It feels like you've been in survival mode; exhausted and perpetually tired. On, all the time, and sick with worry about one thing or the other. You've forgotten to take care of yourself, and as a result, this feels different.

Lyla notices: the way you stand up a little straighter and adjust your hair; the way you try your hardest to clamp down a smile. Do you like it? Slowly but surely, you nod.

"You're allowed to like it, y'know," She says, softly. "You look happy. You look good. "

You believe it, when she says it. You let that feeling carry you down the stairs; one hand on the railing and Lyla babbling away with an arm looped around yours.

~~~

Miguel is late – really late .

He was meant to be at Lyla'a about an hour and a half ago, which means he's rushing to get the cake. For once, at least that goes smoothly; and he picks up a little red velvet affair, piped to perfection and with " Happy 27th, Jess!" written on its face. It keeps him company on the way to the party, sitting snug on the passenger's seat as he drives more carefully than before. He figures it's better to be safe than sorry; already this late, there's no need to add cake smasher to the list.

The day's been draining, and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed with his favourite podcast. He knows his friends like the back of his hand, and knows that when Lyla says a small celebration for Jess, just a house party ; what she means is going the whole 9 yards, an excess of food and drink and disgustingly expensive decor, all for the sake of a birthday. He's had a glimpse of the guest list, and recognises about half of the people there – Lyla's too friendly for her own good, he thinks. He'd tried to talk her out of it, knowing Jess would be more than up for a smaller dinner, but she had her mind set. And it's impressive, what she's no doubt managed to achieve in the past few weeks of meticulous planning.

Nevertheless, it's not something he has the energy for, right now. Work had been a slog; and he'd had a couple hours of lectures before a meeting with his thesis supervisor – where she had ripped his outline to shreds, frankly. He's still sore from that verbal lashing, but fears the one he'll get from Lyla more, if he doesn't come.

And… and there's you, headstrong and stubborn and insisting on attending; even though he had made it abundantly clear you were under no obligation to do so. It must be out of spite, he thinks. But with the dress code, he can't help but daydream as to what you'd look like; maybe, a pretty little dress on, hair done a bit different, and… ohhh fuck. He didn't tell you about the dress code.

He's gripping the steering wheel, annoyed at himself for such a little slip up. And it's not just the fact that he's forgotten; but he knows, considering the past few days, you might take it the wrong way. He's not stupid ; he knows he's been wishy-washy, all because it's hard to decide how he wants you or if he should. More than anything, he feels guilt; getting you high and oh-so close to fucking you, just the way you deserve, and then… he can't. It's hard to explain, and even harder for him to wrap his head around. That logical part of him screaming: you can't fuck your roommate without consequences. But he's already had a glance into Pandora's box, a taste of that sweet fruit – of temptation , strong and heady.

It's that taste left in his mouth, of something sweet, that lingers when he walks into the party. The door's open, but even from down the hallway he can feel it: the rattle and shake of pumping music. He squeezes himself in, dodging the mass of bodies packed into the main room. The lights are low, music loud and the celebration well underway. More than anything, he's hoping it's so busy he can just show his face for a bit, and then slip out.

He towers over other people, shuffling past, giving a nod or hello to all the people that slap his back and greet him. A scattered chorus of 'Hi' s and 'S'up, Miguel's, and then he's placing the cake on the counter, pushing past half-empty drinks and beer bottles. He snatches one up, looking around. He's watching for the furred collar that Lyla's no doubt wearing, or mousy brown in the neon lights; but with the pumping mass of bodies, he can't see much.

He's ready to check upstairs when the crowd parts, and he sees you ; swirling in the mass. It makes his chest bloom with heat; you're gorgeous, dressed in white like an angel and smiling in a way he's never seen before. And then, his heart stops as someone else comes into view: another man, somewhat taller than you. There's an arm wrapped around your waist, and the man dances up against you in a way that makes something cold and bitter flare up within him. Miguel stays glued to the spot, for some reason, unable to take his eyes off of you: illuminated in the light, beautiful and flowing like a spectre. And like nails on a chalkboard, all he can do is watch as you dance up against someone else.

His mouth goes dry, and then he's making a beeline for the double doors at the back; a glassy entrance to a balcony tucked away. The air is stifling in there, but when he's on the balcony, finally, he's able to breathe.

There's someone nursing a brightly coloured drink, in its corner. Jess, big hair braided back and a velvety red jumpsuit on. She turns at the clatter of the door opening, before bursting into a wide smile.

" Miguel!" She cheers, enveloping him in a hug.

"Hey," He smiles warmly, sinking into her arms. "Happy birthday, Jess."

"Thank you, kindly." She curtsies, producing a faux southern twang and laughing all the same. Then, she wags a finger at the man in front of her. "You're late . "

He rubs his temples. "I.. I know."

"Lyla's gonna fucking kill you. "

"I know."

She gives him a playful punch. "You okay, over there?"

He gives her a rueful smile. "Yeah, Jess. Of course. When am I ever not okay?"

"I've got a list, big guy, but we'll be here all day."

She laughs and Miguel glances over through the glass; drawn to you even now. The song's changed, a bass line that rattles the panes, and you're still glued to that guy . Just as quickly, he looks away.

With a front row view to that display, Jess raises an eyebrow. She follows his gaze, connecting the dots.

" Oh. " Her voice is gentle. "S'that her?"

" Her?" Miguel echoes.

" Her . Your roommate. The one Lyla says you're fucking."

"You and I both know– "

"Okay, okay, maybe she didn't say those exact words…. but there's something there, for sure."

"Not possible . " He says it plainly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

She leans against the railing, taking a careful sip of her drink.

"Xina says you're doing stupid shit to impress her. Peter says you're making heart eyes whenever she's in the room. Ben says– "

"Xina? What's she got to do with anything?" He's deflecting, Jess notes. Miguel, usually so quick with the sarcasm, and he's refusing to touch the other half of what she said.

"...you're tutoring half of her classmates."

He purses his lips. "Yeah, but I didn't think –"

"...you didn't think girls would talk?" She splutters. Of course it sounds stupid, when she puts it like that.

"Yeah, well, Xina's still not talking to me , so…" He trails off, shaking his head.

"It's almost as if you broke her heart into a million tiny pieces, Mig." She rolls her eyes. "Get your head out of your ass, man."

She turns to face the city and Miguel does the same, with a heavy sigh. It's quiet for a moment, with only the sound of cars below and dull thrum of speakers behind to keep them company. He's always liked this, he thinks. A moment of calm with Jess, the only sane person for miles around. They're able to sit in comfortable silence, in a half-minute that transcends words.

He reaches into his front pocket, pulling out a little parcel that's wrapped up in red paper. He nudges Jess, handing the present over.

"Happy birthday."

She smiles, tearing into the little package. Then she stops halfway, heart melting at what peeks through.

" Miguel… " She coos, a hand on his arm to steady herself. Out of the packing paper, she produces two little boots; red and blue and made of soft wool. "How did you…?"

"It wasn't obvious, but… sick in the mornings, switching to soda when we go out to a bar…" He allows himself a smile. "And I asked what's-his-face, just to be sure."

"See, I can't tell if you actually don't know my husband's name or–" She cuts herself off with watery laughter. "F-Forget it. Fuck, I'm gonna cry all this makeup off,"

He takes a sharp intake of air. "They were… mamá made them."

"Thank you, oh God . I know how much this–"

He cuts her off with a hand wave, as if to say; don't worry about it. "Sorry I couldn't come to the wedding. Your husband seems nice, and he treats you well. Although , he's kind of–"

" Corny . Yeah, we get that a lot." She's half laughing, half crying, fanning her face to stop her mascara from running.

He wraps a big arm around her, pulling Jess into his side. Happy tears, he hopes as she blubbers.

"I think m'getting too old for this… we don't see each other enough, lately… a-and I would've been happy with the dinner, then Lyla told me there was an emergency over here–"

"She did good. Really good. Don't tell her I said that, though."

She nods, bringing a finger to her lips with a smile. "And you don't tell the other's about…"

"Of course not. When you're ready, Jess."

"I love you, man." She grins wide, and Miguel returns it with one of his own; an increasingly rare megawatt smile. It quickly falls with her next words.

"If you ever tell anyone I said that, I'll break your kneecaps and blame it on the hormones."

She grabs his beer, opening it with her teeth, and hands it back to him. A little scared, Miguel takes a healthy swig.

"Oh, shit. " Jess exclaims, batting his arm. "I completely forgot. Lyla's got some stupid games on, upstairs."

"Who with?"

"The usual suspects, Mig – though Peter's long gone and… I don't even know where Ben goes, actually. But you can bring your girlfriend up, if you promise not to eyefuck her across the room."

" Gross , Jess."

She raises a hand up in surrender, leading the way back inside.

~~~

Miguel's here all of a sudden, and in a moment you thought would be more of a bang ; you lock eyes with him as Jess herds you upstairs. It's less of a sharp pain at the ribs and more of a crescendo; pooling warmth spreading to fingers and toes. He's still in his work clothes: crisp white shirt with a couple buttons undone, and black trousers. A little formal, and yet, he doesn't feel out of place; wearing the monochrome of the dress code, and looking twice as good as any man in the room. Somehow, you've forgotten how tall he is; lumbering over everyone else as he cuts between the crowd. He snakes behind you, giving you a strange look as you walk up the stairs. All of a sudden, you're weary of your dress, tugging down its hem as best you can. Miguel stays behind you, a gentle hand at the small of your back.

"You're okay," He whispers, sending shivers down your spine. " I've got you ."

He doesn't mean it like that , but it's too easy for you to close your eyes and imagine what it could be; words he kissed into skin when you're on top, struggling to take his length.

You ignore that coil tightening at the pit of your stomach, choosing instead to focus on Lyla stumbling through the door, trademark pink shades slipping down her nose. Behind her, there's a little sitting room; plush furniture and a massive tv – with quite a few consoles in the corner, you note. She shouts your name, barely audible over the music.

" – oh, and hi, Miguel!" She's too drunk to be mad, and you don't notice Miguel visibly relaxing. She takes your hand, calling over to Jess just behind you. "We saved you a mocktail, J."

Taking your seat, you settle down next to Lyla; perching with your legs crossed on the seat. Miguel sits some way away, on the opposite side of your makeshift circle, clearly trying not to make eye contact. Jess elbows him, and he turns to her, before having a heated argument; all hushed whispers and hand gestures. It's the most animated he's been in the past week, for sure…

"We're playing Never Have I Ever, Jess! Like back in college."

The woman in question rolls her eyes, giving a flash of pretty dimple. Back in college, Lyla says, when they'd drink cheap beer and spill their guts in dive bars – a tradition Jess wasn't too upset to see go. She didn't have the stomach for it then, and she doesn't now; but it probably wouldn't hurt to relive some of that fun.

It's a warmup round, so to speak; a strong drink thrust into your hands. You take turns going around the circle, starting off relatively tame. First, it's Never have I ever skipped a class. Everyone, all college aged or older, drinks to that one. It's practically a given. And then someone chips in with Never have I ever broken a bone . Again, most people drink – taking advantage of the freebies to get a little tipsy.

It's Lyla that throws out the juicy ones, after a couple of duds.

" Never have I ever faked an orgasm." She says it from behind her glass, giggling.

Less people drink, this time. Sheepishly, you raise your glass, taking a healthy gulp. Lyla takes the opportunity to gasp, clutching at her chest and fanning her forehead dramatically.

You're whispering back, half laughing and half telling her off, "That's not that weird, Ly. Hasn't everyone…?"

"Not me. How's your partner meant to know it's shit if you fake it?"

It's her sincerity that makes you laugh; wide-eyed and completely incredulous. You're clamping down the giggles when you look around, immediately locking eyes with Miguel. He gives you an odd look, as if amused.

You're up next, and roll up metaphorical sleeves. "Never have I ever had a threesome. "

There's murmuring around the room, and a couple of people take a drink. Lyla does, with glee, and someone else you don't quite know the name of. What surprises you, however, is when Miguel takes a swig; eyes locked onto yours.

You feel heat rising, blinking away as best you can. You still feel his gaze, of course. That game of chicken, the one you've so desperately been trying to avoid, rears its ugly head. You think Miguel is winning.

The questions get more and more provocative. Never have I ever been pegged… or pegged someone else. Lyla drinks, Jess takes a gulp of her fruity mocktail…. and so does Miguel. Never have I ever been cheated on. Most people drink to this one, including yourself. A shitty teen relationship barely counts, you suppose; but you're taking every opportunity for a drink right now.

Never have I ever cheated on someone. One or two people drink, and at least they have the decency to be ashamed. When Miguel drinks, however, you shift in your seat. Something settles within you, discontent. Yet again, your image of the man in front of you changes. For someone who sleeps around, maybe it's not too much of a stretch for him to cheat ; but the word feels so final, too cruel. It doesn't match up, for some reason, with your Miguel, who brings you piping hot noodles and hot water bottles on a bad day.

This time, he doesn't meet your eye.

Lyla decides she's bored, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"New game – truth or dare!" There's faux groans from around the room. Lyla sticks a tongue out, ignoring them, and continues. "Jess, as the birthday girl… you get first pick."

Jess lights up, gorgeous , with the hoops at her ears swinging to and fro when she looks around. You haven't spoken much to her, but she seems like good fun; making a whole song and dance of picking the first victim.

It's obvious, in hindsight, who she'd pick. There's only one person in the room visibly squirming, almost sweating , at the idea of something so out of his control.

" Miguel," She says, turning to the man sinking into cushions. "Truth or dare?"

He gives her a look, and she combats it with one of her own; the kind that could melt steel beams, and says It's my birthday, don't be a dick.

" Dare ." He grits his teeth.

"I dare you," She pauses for dramatic effect. "...to show us your porn watch history."

Imperceptible, his eyes flash towards you. You notice , mouth dry. He groans. "We're not 19 anymore, Jess. It's childish. I'm a grown ass man–"

" Truth or Dare , Mig."

"Truth." It's quick – which is very reasonable, considering her tone.

"When was the last time you fucked someone?"

Everyone turns to Miguel. He's looking at you, of course, wincing at the words he's about to say.

"I don't…" He's swirling the beer bottle in his hand, and then he shrugs noncommittally. "I don't know. A… month, maybe."

" Bullshit!" Someone whisper-shouts, and then there's some laughter.

Jess' eyebrows jump up, and Miguel bats her concerns away, whispering something under his breath. You can't quite catch it but his body language is clear: don't ask. He downs the rest of his drink, lips around the bottle, as some liquid trails down the side of his jaw. You're watching, unrepentantly obvious, and he catches your gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he swipes a finger to the liquid and licks it up.

Heart racing, you force yourself to look away and try to concentrate on the next few dares. The circle seems to have moved on, more interested in whatever juicy shit they can drag up in the next poor victim.

You've all but zoned out when it's the turn of Jun, egged on by a couple of friends. You frown. He's that guy you were dancing with earlier, caught up in heady music and swirling lights. Jun is handsome, in that famous starlet kind of way; square-jawed, pretty eyes, and dark, cropped hair. Boy wonder is lean-lined with a nice smile; the very same that had reeled you in on the dancefloor. Maybe it's the liquor, but you think he's looking at you now; raking sharp eyes over your figure.

"How do you know him?" You whisper to Lyla.

She cups a hand to your ear, more than halfway to being absolutely wasted.

"Used t-to work with him. He's nice enough, I think…? There was a rumour around the office; and apparently, he's got a massive di-"

"Truth or dare?" Someone says.

"Dare. Obviously." He flashes a smile in your direction.

You squirm, and Lyla shines with realisation.

"Oh my God." She whispers, and then she's interrupting before you can stop her. "Makeout with the hottest girl in the room. A proper one, tongue and teeth and–"

You elbow her, square in the ribs. Thankfully, she takes the hint. Jun cocks his head, as if mulling it over. He gets up.

Your head spins with the drink, and you're concentrating on keeping your sneakers flat on the ground. Head down, you don't notice the man walking over. He crouches, tapping your knee.

"Oh." You say, blinking up at him. "Hi, again."

"Hi, again." He smiles. It's like you're the only two in the room, and with the way he looks at you, eyes darting to your lips… "Can I kiss you?"

The words get caught in your throat, so you nod, fumbling.

He places a hand to your chin, gently pushing you closer and then you're kissing; sweet and gentle. You separate, and you open your eyes to find his blown . You've got tunnel vision: his lips are pretty and wonderfully swollen – you just can't help it.

You go back in again, parting your lips to let him in. He's cradling your jaw, tracing a hand up your thigh and it feels good. Closing your eyes, you sink into the heady haze of booze, grabbing at his shoulders. They're not as broad as Miguel's, and Jun isn't as clean shaven. When you snake a hand to the nape of his neck; it's rougher than your roommate's hair, cropped into a boyish cut instead of Miguel's gentle curl. Sighing, you both come up for air, and you're almost disappointed at the distinct lack of red-brown blinking back at you.

Nails on a chalkboard, and you're back in the room. You look around to amused faces, catching Lyla wide-eyed besides you. Jun's cheeky, placing a quick peck to the side of your mouth before sitting down. From your vantage point, you're scared to look, to really look , in fear of what you'll see.

Miguel, in the corner, with a white hot grip on his beer bottle. Catching that stormy gaze, something just clicks. Something resembling power, absolutely intoxicating, that heady rush you got from kissing someone else. Or, more accurately, getting a reaction from your roommate. Notoriously unwavering, and yet … he reveals a gap in his armour. A silent swipe to the ribs that doesn't kill, but draws blood.

People are dispersing now, growing tired of the games. Lyla darts off; with the attention span of an excited pomeranian, and the excessive alcohol, she's already lost interest. You take a breather, sinking into plush cushions and catch Miguel's eye. In the commotion, he's tossing his beer and walking up to you, as if gearing up to say something.

Someone sits into the seat besides you: tall and handsome, but definitely not Miguel. It's Jun, who smells like fresh flowers and cut grass, nudging your side.

"You're good at that," He says, with a little smile.

"Good at what?" You say, confused.

"That kiss." He seems a little bashful, probably sobering up. "It was… good. "

"Not…" You're distracted, eyes flicking over to find Miguel. He's gone. "Not my best work, I think."

He stretches an arm around the back of the sofa, caging you in a little closer, and all you can do is blink up at him.

"....you want to try again?"

He's handsome. He's flirting . And he's present; able to give you clear signs that he wants you. It's more than a certain someone can provide, and you're left with a deep-seated need that no-one else seems to be able to fulfill. Four words ring out in your head, clanging around like pinball. You. Might. Get. Laid.

It's enough to have you leaning up against Jun, a hand tracing circles in his thigh and fluttering your lashes as best you can. Hopefully it's a look that's says seductive, and not pink-eye. This far into the night, you don't quite have the energy to care.

Heavy petting and drunk giggling; you spend God knows how long in that little room, whispering stupid shit to each other. You introduce yourself, and so does he. A brief overview of your life; and you find yourself desperately trying to skip the small talk. Jun works with computers. You're a student. Jun is very good with his hands. You're a visual learner. Everything seems to fall into place.

Soon enough, you're swapping numbers and leading him out the door to somewhere more private . His apartment ; you find yourself hoping, as you make your way downstairs.

He's draping a jacket on your shoulders, and you wade through the crowd. The lights are spinning a little less, you find, holding onto Jun's palm. In that great big room; people packed in like black and white sardines; all you're looking for is something to tether yourself to – or someone. Relationships, you've learnt, were overrated. You're young, and single, and gorgeous ; able to bag whoever you want. And what do you want? A hookup, clearly; something simple and uncomplicated, without the mess of feelings to untangle yourself from in the morning.

There's a commotion from a corner of the room, and Jun pulls you back; craning his head to see. A jumble of people, crowded around the epicentre. He nods towards the bustle.

"Isn't that Miguel?" He shouts over the bass, and your eyes widen.

You push past, trying to get a better look. Flashing lights, pumping music. In the red and blue and black, he's there ; hand wiping a bloodied nose. He's saying something; and a couple of guys surround Miguel, giving rough shoves and shouting something you can't hear. Someone throws a punch and he takes it, barely shifting at the continuous blows.

It's a sobering sight, and you're worried; looking left and right at the onslaught of bystanders.

"Why isn't he fighting back ?" You say, barely audible. No-one's doing anything but watching; one or two even pulling their phones out to record. The sight makes you sick, and you're shouting his name, trying to get closer. Like a gunshot, sudden and sharp and cutting through the noise, he locks eyes with you. His eyes dark, with that same look he gave you not too long ago.

Another cruel kick, and he's down on one knee, clutching at his stomach. You notice the broken glass, the blood in his shirt. He's goading them, and still , he refuses to fight back. 250 pounds soaking wet and at least 6"5; he's a fucking killer – and everyone knows it. Why won't he fight back?

There's a pounding at your skull, and something deep and dark and complicated that twists around your insides, threatening to rise up – and then.. and then…

The lights are turned on, and the music stops. Lyla's at the stairs shouting obscenities; telling everyone to get the fuck out, or I'm calling the cops.

People disperse out the doors, but only a few rush towards Miguel. You do, of course, and then Jess is by his side to help him up. He must look worse than he feels because despite the bruising and pouring blood; he pinches the bridge of his nose like he always does, as if it's just a headache. He's laughing ; the smug bastard; incisors sharp and dangerous and flashing pearly white. Your heart's still racing; betraying complicated feelings. As the last dregs drip out of Lyla's apartment, you're all left to deal with the aftermath.

Jess looks shaken, Lyla's sobering up; and you're holding Miguel's hand, elbow deep in the oil spill.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #rigor mortis 😼#kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel x reader

1K notes · View notes

wanderingmindthoughts · 4 months

Text

I think we have an issue about how we characterise young teenage girls as "sexualising themselves" because they start wearing makeup, adult dresses, short skirts and red lipstick.

I mean, when we see a 14-years-old boy wearing a suit and a tie, we don't think he's sexualising himself. we just think "oh look, a teenager that's exploring his autonomy and adulthood by distancing himself a little from children, something which is pretty normal at his age". and you can't tell me that it's because suits aren't sexy, because many people think suits are sexy and it's in fact a common fetish.

but whenever a teen girl tries to dabble with a more adult and "mature" presentation, we think of sex. we think she's sexualising herself. I think the root of this issue is that we have thought-patterns based on a fundamental idea inherited from patriarchy that's rarely verbalised explicitly, but that we believe anyway. this unspoken assumption is that the only difference between a girl and a woman is that you can fuck the woman legally. and when that's only difference between a kid and an adult, we can't help but see every sign of teenage normal growth (social, physical and even mental) through the lense of sex. this puts an unfair pressure on girls because we force them to self-police and second-guess every one of their thoughts because *we* (the adults) cannot help but see normal teenage exploration of adult apparel as sexual -but only when it's a girl teen and female adult apparel.

therefore, a girl tries to visually send a message that she's not a little kid anymore, that's she's growing up and maturing, and rather than acknowledging her development and need for autonomy (like we do with boys), we think of sex. and how could we think otherwise? we sexulise adult women as a reflex, everything from their clothes to their bodies. boys can wear a suit; do girls have any equivalent to that? any form of visual self-expression that signals adulthood that is *not* sexualized?

we deny girls the possibility of a nuanced teenagehood, because we (the adults) cannot see a girl separating herself from childhood without somehow thinking about sex. that's disgusting.

#youth liberation #feminism #isolated thoughts

369 notes · View notes

miscling · 2 months

Text

guess who got tickled

it was me! so, i get back to his place and he doesn't make me take my shoes off. we negotiate, talk safewords, talk prior experience, and then i let myself get shut in his stocks.

then he takes my shoes off.

my rainbow toe socks are a delight, as is the feeling of his fingers over the top of my socks. then he starts to peel them off. more tickling, i respond with aroused moans. i am not a giggler...

electric toothbrushes get jammed under my socks and i get toothbrush tickles all around the exposed area. we pause a minute to talk about my reactions. not unwelcome at all.

then he peels off my socks and continues. i lose track of things. i lose track of a lot of things. my only guide is the pictures he took

feathers and combs between my toes makes a giggler of me...

so i get tied back. there's more feathers. a back scratcher, a grooming glove. i wriggle futilely. i am having a great time. i take it, i moan, i laugh. i get cramps...

so i get to walk it off, then change positions.

face down this time, which makes for a lot more fun wiggling on my part. at some point he asks me how i'm doing and i give him a tumbs up because i cannot verbalise any more. there's more combs, fingers, and then i get tied back again. then he sits on my legs and oils my feet and scrubs with the grooming gloves. i am left a panting, exhausted mess. the round brush isn't the hardest brush i've felt, but it's definitely something.

and then, he says it's time to stop. it's been more than an hour.

'is that it?' i think to myself, but i don't say it. it's our first time playing and he doesn't want to go too far. i agree, though i could have taken so much more. i had a lot of first experiences here, and all of them were very good.

it was a great time for both of us ^^

(reblog if you like, and check out the miscling appears tag if you wanna see more ^^)

#feet tickling #tickletorture #tickle content #miscling writes #miscling appears #miscling plays

16 notes · View notes

spookyfbi · 5 months

Note

hey! love your blog and I think your opinions are stellar and always correct so I thought I’d ask something that’s been on my mind. namely—do you think that ed and stede had to break each other’s hearts before they could be together? I keep imagining a scenario where ed goes to find stede after he didn’t show up at the dock, or stede running to find ed despite what chauncey said. of course it was interesting narrative-wise but do you think the heartbreak was necessary for the characters?

Oh wow, thank you so much for the ask and for the compliment, although I hardly think my opinions are always correct! But it makes me feel very warm and fuzzy to know there’s someone out there who values them! So much love to you Anon ❤️

Do you know what, lovely Anon? I also have spent many hours imagining a scenario where Stede goes to Ed after Chauncey and… okay so pre season 2 I wasn’t actually obsessed so I hadn’t really delved into trying to understand the characters yet and pre season 2 I certainly did imagine Ed & Stede cuddling together in their little dinghy as they made their way to China (rowing all the way there? Sure why not?). But now? I cannot get it to work. Because I do think that Stede going back home was necessary for his character, and I’m not even 100% decided on exactly what it was from that experience - I mean there are a few candidates, there’s of course realising that leaving Mary didn’t actually destroy her life and that she was totally fine without him, there’s being able to verbalise his love for Ed and receive a positive response from Mary, there’s seeing Mary create for herself the life she quite likes and being inspired to do the same, there’s realising just how much he doesn’t fit into his former life anymore (and probably never did). Or it’s probably a combination of these things. But either way, and I think I’ve said this before on another post, but we all agree that season 2 Stede is different from season 1 Stede, but the guy in the last scene of season 1 who rows out on the dinghy to find his crew? That’s season 2 Stede. His character development didn’t happen in the however many months that took place between season 1 and season 2, it happened in the few days Stede was home in season 1.

All that being said, I don’t think Ed’s heartbreak over it was strictly necessary. Like, Stede going home and having whatever revelation he had there was necessary for his character development, but I don’t think Ed’s heartbreak was necessary for his character development, and it does make me sad that they’ll always have that in their past, that they will always know that Stede hurt Ed so deeply and broke his trust like that. I don’t think that Ed really learned anything about himself through that heartbreak, at least not anything that the writers really did anything substantial with. Like, his gravy basket revelation was a revelation to the audience, but not to Ed, I don’t think? I think he already knew that he thought he was unlovable. I mean, ‘I’m not lovable’ is basically the same sentiment as ‘I’m not a good person, Stede. That’s why I don’t have any friends.’ I mean I guess saying out loud that he wanted to die was a revelation buuut… the writers didn’t exactly do anything with that? Maybe ‘dying’ in the gravy basket and then fighting to live gave him a new lease on life? Idk, he seemed to already have a new lease on life in the beach scene in season 1. Idk, I think I’m gonna stick with the heartbreak not being necessary for Ed’s character.

HOWEVER. I don’t think it was necessary, but I think it was unavoidable. I think, and I’m happy to be proven wrong here, but my mind simply cannot make it work. Because. In a nutshell, because bad communication, like by character design, which is the best kind of bad communication (and also why I can’t side with the Izzy haters because bad communication by character design also applies to Izzy, but I digress). Ok so I’ve watched a few reaction videos on YouTube for Our Flag Means Death (it gives me endorphins to watch complete strangers scream when Ed & Stede kiss, what can I say) and a significant number of these reactors keep saying that Stede should have just told Ed that he needed to go check on Mary and the whole break up would’ve been avoided if he’d just done that because Ed would’ve understood. But I just can’t agree with that because, for one thing, I don’t think Stede actually consciously had that thought. If Stede really only went home to Mary to check she and the kids were okay because he felt guilty for leaving, then he wouldn’t have been so bitchy about Mary calling herself the Widow Bonnet.

I think that Stede went back home because Chauncey convinced him that his decision to leave ruined everything - his family, Nigel, and Ed - and he thought that going back was the only way to fix it. That’s why he tried so desperately to fit in and why he was so upset at first when he couldn’t. He went back home because he thought that’s where he belonged, because that’s where his society had told him he was supposed to be all his life. He deviated from that norm and ended up defiling beautiful things (in his mind) and so he had to undo it all and go back where he belonged.

There is NO WAY he could say THAT to Ed without breaking his heart. Because Ed wouldn’t see that as Stede’s issues and insecurities.

Because Ed… has been waiting for Stede to leave him since his bathtub confession. Like, that’s not a new hot take, right? 1x06 Ed confesses his deep dark secret that he killed his dad and he’s not a good person and he doesn’t have any friends, and Stede says, hey, I’m your friend. The very next episode, 1x07, suddenly Ed is talking about leaving because he doesn’t like staying in the one place… no, bullshit, he’s leaving because he doesn’t want to give Stede the chance to leave after the bathtub confession because he can’t fully bring himself to trust Stede’s offer of friendship. But then they have their little treasure hunt adventure and Lucius tells Ed that Stede likes him and he’s so confused and surprised. And then they become co captains. But then in 1x08 Jack comes along and starts making him look bad in front of Stede, talking about the people he set on fire, getting him to do the stuff they used to do which isn’t really as fun anymore but he doesn’t wanna say that, and then Stede says he doesn’t like who Ed is around Jack and now Ed is back to waiting for Stede to leave, so eventually he leaves with Jack because “can you see me now? You were always gonna realise what I am” (I hope I’m getting the quote right, I can’t look it up because I’ve got a toddler sleeping on my lap, so I’m just going from memory, but either way that line fucking kills me). In the TWO episodes that follow the bathtub confession, Ed tries to leave Stede on TWO separate occasions because he thinks that Stede will leave him. Then in 1x09, he is finally starting to trust Stede, to trust “us”, as he says in 2x04, and that’s when Stede leaves. And to Ed it is so obvious that it’s because of his bathtub confession, that’s the only reason he can think of. This isn’t speculation, this is explicit in 2x03. Again I’m going from memory, dream Hornigold brings up Ed killing his dad, Ed says he never told anyone that, Hornigold says basically and I’m paraphrasing here “but you did *flashback to the bathtub scene* and he left you”. Ed thinks that Stede left him because of the bathtub confession about killing his dad and for only that reason, it doesn’t enter his head at all that there may have been any other factors going into it.

So if Stede had told Ed ‘I’m leaving you forever to go back to Mary because that’s where I belong’, Ed would have absolutely heard ‘I’m leaving you forever because you killed your dad’. I don’t think there’s anything that Stede could’ve followed up ‘I’m leaving you forever’ with that Ed wouldn’t have interpreted as ‘because you killed your dad’.

So yeah, I can’t make a scenario work where Stede goes to Ed after Chauncey, with the way I interpret the characters. But I think it would be a fascinating thing for someone (not me) to explore in fic. How does Stede not going back to Mary change how his and Ed’s relationship progresses?

Anyway, as for Ed breaking Stede’s heart (you talk in the ask about them breaking each other’s hearts), I’m not sure whether you’re talking about Ed leaving with Jack in 1x08, or Ed leaving to be a fisherman in 2x07, but I suspect it’s the latter? I don’t know, I mean… this one’s a lot harder to really get anything from because we don’t really get a lot of insight into what Stede is thinking like we have with Ed in the gravy basket, and Ed’s character progression in 2x08 is really unclear (I mean the last 3 episodes of season 2 are just a bit of a mess generally, I have so many more questions than answers and I’m really not confident that season 3 will address them). I mean, if you ask me what it was during the 2x08 break up that led to Ed having confidence in his relationship with Stede, I’m gonna have to go with finding Stede’s letter and realising how all in Stede really was. It’s not the break up or realising he wasn’t a fisherman… And I don’t really know what I’m supposed to take away from Ed putting the leathers back on and killing a bunch of people. Especially since he ends the show as an Innkeeper with Stede, another whim. Idk idk when I try to puzzle out the last 3 episodes I just get frustrated. Hopefully I’m wrong and season 3 will put those episodes into perspective.

Anyway, I’m sure some other fan can come along with a very well written meta which completely refutes anything I’ve said here, and if so I think that’s awesome because sharing our different perspectives is what makes fandom fun. But I enjoyed the opportunity to word vomit at you about my blorbos and I hope you got something out of it and if so then you’re welcome to come back to my ask box any time!

#ofmd #our flag means death #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ed x stede

9 notes · View notes

frostironfudge · 2 years

Text

Silhouettes In the Spotlight - Bucky Barnes - Five

Summary: Bucky Barnes has worked immensely hard to have a filmography expanding across genres and garnering accolades from critics, peers and fans. Y/N Y/L/N, with her debut novel (fan-fiction turned New York Times Bestseller) has two other best sellers under her belt. Next is her highly anticipated fourth book lined up for release. SHEILD Productions has acquired the film rights to her debut novel and they want Bucky Barnes to play the lead (aka himself) by any means necessary. This story is about angst, lust, heartbreak, and love. After all fairytales only exist in books and movies right?

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, protective bucky, miscommunication, anxiety, overwhelming emotions, loki and sam are good bros, fat shaming comments, steve is an ass, bucky being bucky, also it seems i cannot stop using the neighbourhood songs for a bucky x reader pairing song mentioned in the latter half of the chapter is softcore, lyrics are in italics. incase i have missed anything please let me know

Pairing: Actor!Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter Four || Chapter Six

HEADLINES:

Eagle Eyed Fans Spot Y/N’s SOLD OUT Hardcover Limited Edition Novel On Bucky Barnes’ Desk.

Steve Rogers Follows and Comments On Y/N’s Latest Post — Are They Going To Pen Something Down Together?

Bucky Barnes and Loki Laufeyson Spotted Arguing At Rooftop Bar.

Dolores and Steve Rogers Get Cozy At A Socialite’s App Launch.

Y/N Shares Poems With The World. Is She Leaving Fiction? Fans Speculate Book Four Might Include Poetry.

Bucky was going to lose his mind. He already bent two forks. Loki was deeply sighing and then winced as he heard Steve’s clawing guffaw.

“Why is she with him?” Sam verbalises Bucky’s entire thought process for the past half hour. You haven’t seen the three of them yet and Bucky watches as you don’t touch much of your food over the conversation. They can’t hear anything apart from Steve either laughing or talking on his phone mid conversation. It had been about two weeks since they last saw you at the SHEILD announcement.

Bucky stares at his phone, it had been three days since he had emailed you to try and clear the air you had refused to respond to calls, texts or Instagram DMs.

The way he spoke still stung you. He couldn’t blame you. He wanted to apologise make things right.

You only extended your communication to offer expertise for giving him a breakdown of his character, which he knew he did require but only after the script read would it be heavily needed by him.

Loki had tried to speak to you as well but you had politely declined to discuss anything other than helping him understand his character. He had tried but in vain to have you understand that he genuinely wanted a friendship. Ultimately, Loki decided to give you your space, it didn’t mean he did not get mad at Buck.

Sam had decided to keep in touch via Yelena, she became the point of contact which you appreciated. The topics never strayed from work on occasion Sam would speak to you personally but never pushed for anything that was uncomfortable.

One evening he did ask you if you would like to meet Bucky again at Winnie’s Nook. He knew your answer would be a no, but when he relayed the message Bucky’s face had fallen. Sam only seemed more disappointed in him.

Tonight’s dinner was a joint effort at trying to come up with a plan to make things right with you. However seeing Bucky react to Steve and you being together, Loki and Sam exchanged glances that the plan would have to be fast tracked.

You look at Steve as he speaks on the phone for the umpteenth time. Keeping your cool you push around the remaining food on the plate. Most of your appetite lost after his passing comment on the small portion size and if it would suffice for you. The restaurant is much different than Winnie’s Nook, it lacked the warmth. It even lacked a view.

This place was a cross between ridiculously expensive looking and filled by what you can only assume a whose who of various illustrious careers.

It was a shame, you stare at your plate, the dish was good. You take a few bites trying to shove away thoughts as Steve looks towards the side yapping away. You wonder if he even requires this meeting. He had formulated an opinion on your character publicly. You bite the inside of your cheek as he cuts the call.

“Sorry about that, you know how things in Hollywood get, ah sorry first big break of yours,” he grins looking at you, “Now, why would you create such a weak ass character?”

“I prefer calculative to describe him.” You defend, don’t stab him with your spoon, don’t stab him with your spoon. You chant.

Steve smirks, “Oh Sweetheart,”

You have to hide your disgust at the irritating nickname.

“I’ve written a book too, I know weak characters intimately. Rhys is another story of weak but my character oh he suffers.” He chuckles.

“I believe you’ve written about actual people and yourself, so how can you comment if someone is weak? If they aren’t fictional? I’ve written three books.” You raise a brow, his smirk falls.

Stab him with your words, you think. How dare he slander Rhys. He’s your comfort character. Probably the favourite one you ever wrote.

“You know a weak man when you see one.” He shrugs, taking a bite of his steak, “Tell me, why did you remove me from the book and condense the character?” He demands, lips pulled back into a grimace. So he read the forums and probably your blog.

“Are you upset? Or are you worried, I will see the real you? Given how, one knows the strength capabilities by looking at someone.” You chuckle at his logic.

“Merely curious, sweetheart. Humour me, I’ve bought you dinner, gotten you to a nice place. You must have had scarce experiences as such.” Steve shrugs giving you a once over. He already had the nerve in his palm He wasn’t afraid to pinch it to cause pain or discomfort.

“Mr. Rogers—,”

“Steve, sweetheart.” He chastises, a glimmer in his eyes and you wonder for a moment if he’s playing a part trying to get under your skin or if this is his truth.

These Hollywood men are messing with your head.

Why do they need to put on a goddamn show every waking moment?

Stormy blue eyes appear at the forefront of your mind. Fuck.

“Steve.” You don’t stop your eye-roll at his smug expression,

“About your to be played character, Beckham. I can assist you. However, the decisions taken to edit my book, belonged to me without influence, the only time you were associated was when the book was a fan-fiction, a character I built with your face and name. You’ve worked in enough movies to know how disclaimers work correct?”

“So you didn’t remove me because of what I allegedly did to your precious, Mr. Barnes?” He leans forward, chin resting on his intertwined hands intrigued.

“Pray tell Steve, is this guilt? For playing Beckham it isn’t a good look he doesn’t feel remorse. If you even have to consider I cut you off, you know that you were wrong somewhere.” You rest your chin on your palm.

His nostrils flare, eyes narrowing in the slightest, for a moment you feel smug. Smug that you broke through this front he puts on, but then his smirk returns.

A character he plays for himself then, you deem. All of them never genuine, you were learning the lesson easier now. You glance back down at the plate, contemplating.

Steve knows Bucky is watching, he knows you don’t know about the entourage with the way you’re seated. Secluded but not really cut off from anyone knowing what you look like, Steve chuckles again, you’re a feisty little thing.

It’s unexpected and with the way Bucky Barnes’ trademark glare is trained on Steve. He knows you are of some importance to his former best friend. His manager was right, you were going to be an important string to pursue, he just needed to have you wrapped around him not Bucky.

You stare at Steve, unwilling to back down now, he may have said things but you couldn’t succumb. So what if you decided to cut him off? He has no right to be pissed or affected.

You want to tell him off. It isn’t your battle or your war. You know you’re just a spectator on the sidelines.

Yet it somehow felt slowly you were walking eyes closed onto the crossroads.

Bucky bends yet another fork.

“Stop holding it in your left hand.” Sam grumbles.

Bucky takes the fork from Sam and bends it with his non bionic fingers and hands it back.

Loki purses his lips, but the laugh breaks out at Bucky’s childishness and Sam’s ire over the cutlery.

Bucky returns the cutlery to their unbent former glory. He also makes sure to leave a hefty tip.

“Why don’t you just go over and apologise?” Loki offers his best friend.

“Because she won’t give me a chance to do so, I’ve fucked up enough.” Bucky huffs, looking up at the wrong time because Steve is reaching to tuck your hair back. He notices you shy away, moving back in your seat.

Worry pools in his stomach, he doesn’t trust Steve Rogers, not anymore.

Dinner comes to an end for you and Steve, he diverts the topic to his current character and asks questions about what you would like him to bring to the table. You tell him you wrote the character like a chameleon, ever changing, self serving and has something up his sleeve always.

Steve walks with you towards the exit just as Bucky, Loki and Sam begin their way out.

You stay back as the door swings open as Steve moves on ahead, rendering you to bump into Bucky.

His hand reaches out to grab your arm to steady you.

“I’m so sorry—,” You look up at the person confused, “Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky gives you a soft smile, “Hey.” He says before letting your hand go, allowing you to walk ahead.

“Fucking hell.” Loki groans as the paps begin their usual camera flashes.

“Can’t handle the limelight, Laufeyson?” Steve teases. Smiling for the cameras, he looks back at you with a frown.

“Come on Y/N. Get your little bit of PR.” He chuckles pulling your arm and flashing a smile for the cameras.

Bucky keeps a poker face as your eyes meet his because you can’t take the flashes and the screaming of the paparazzi. He feels for you, remembering the conversation at the bookstore about the flashes and the anxiety their loud voices bring.

“How did you get her to do this?” Steve looks at Bucky, “Some kind of persuasion…” He trails off you.

“Rogers, fucks sake,” Bucky steps closer, Loki places a cautionary hand to stop Bucky.

“Public, Bucky.” Sam cautions, Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets, fists clenched.

“Steve, I’m not really comfortable with this—,” Your protest reaches dead ears, the questions by the paparazzi become borderline insulting.

Steve wraps his arm around your shoulder smiling at the cameras, “Just smile.” He whispers, you shift away slightly. He tightens his grip, smile never leaving his features.

“Y/N how is it like spending an evening with Steve?”

“Have you read his book? Is it better than your own work?”

“Who is better company, Bucky or Steve?”

“Are you leaving fiction writing?”

“Any boyfriend, or ex? What does he think about you hanging out with Steve.”

“Steve do you have any dates after this meeting?”

They laugh then at that comment.

You remain quiet looking down and trying not to get dizzy because of the flashes. Yelena had told you how this would be your new found fate, adjusting to it was proving difficult.

“Did we get it?” Steve turns to his manager, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. She gives you a charming smile. That did nothing to ease your nerves.

“We did.” She looks at the paps, soon enough they leave at her gesture. You take a breath stepping away from Steve.

“Well, nicely done.” Valentina praises you, “Much better than the pictures with Barnes.”

Sam scoffs, “Much more staged, yes.” He comments. Loki snickers, Bucky laughs.

“I can send you some tips, Mr. Wilson. You need to keep the PR better. His social media is severely lacking.” Valentina offers him a card.

Sam just stares at her. She shakes her head putting it back in her bag.

Steve turns to them narrowing his eyes, “We’re on first name basis at-least.” He tilts his head to gesture towards you. You roll your eyes.

Loki meets your gaze, you look at Bucky, his blue gaze on you. You bite the inside of your cheek, you don’t want to deal with him.

“Funny, we used to be on first name basis too, Rogers.” Bucky provides him with a cold smile.

Steve’s smug expression sours, he’s about to say something,

“Alright, enough, save the public fights for the film promo during filming.” Valentina taps Steve’s shoulder and they begin walking towards the car they drove here.

Your shoulders sag in relief when they leave, retrieving your phone you decide to book a cab.

The apps tell you its a ten minute wait, you spot the little cafe on the opposite side of the lot.

When you turn to walk, Loki pushes Bucky in your direction with a ‘dude-go-talk-to-her-look’.

Bucky stumbles, saying your name, just as you take the first step. You squeeze your eyes shut before turning to face him. You don’t want to deal with any of this right now.

“I could, Could I drop you home?” He offers, hoping you say yes.

“Its okay, I don’t want you to think I’m after a PR moment.” You don’t feel great at his wince, hell taunting him with his own accusations hurts you somehow.

“I deserve that, but, let me drop you home please? Or if you’re more comfortable with Loki he—,”

“Loki is going to the club with Sam.” Loki announces, grinning at you, “Hey there.”

You wave at him, finding yourself smiling back.

“Long time no see.” You comment drily. Loki chuckles eyes moving towards Bucky, who has his gaze trained upon you.

“Yeah well, I could blame you… but I don’t want a novel written…” Loki trails off.

“Oh, is that so? Well,” you retrieve your phone, opening the notes app, clearing your throat you begin, “He stands in a parking lot surrounded by his friends, he mocks me for my storytelling. His green eyes convey the emotion which he cannot show— sarcasm. All while his friend does not understand why are we communicating this way. Even though his friend is the reason we do not speak.” You speak out loud while typing gibberish.

Sam laughs catching onto the joke and Bucky raises a brow between the two of you.

Loki chuckles and you tuck away your phone.

“What?” He requests getting confused even more, mildly because he is still nervous about messing up yet again.

“Banter.” Loki shrugs.

Bucky wonders if you would ever be at ease this way with him. After the shit he spewed he doubts it.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts, Loki and Sam purse their lips and look at you.

You shrug, not really knowing what to say.

“Y/N… let him drop you home, please.” Loki suggests.

“I can get by just fine—,” You have the protests lined up,

“Look you both need to sort it out because SHEILD will exploit anything for drama, and you hate PR bullshit, Bucky does too, just bury the hatchet please, one last chance, if he fucks it up you can ignore him all you want, I promise.” Sam gestures to you and he has a point. Loki nods in agreement.

“Okay.” You agree for the sake of not being forced to do anything for useless drama.

“Thank you.” Bucky smiles, “My car is that way.” He points and you turn in the direction.

Bucky turns to Sam and Loki gratefully.

“You owe me one.” His friend chuckles, Loki gives a stern look.

“Don’t mess it up.” Sam warns Bucky nods, jogging after you.

The car ride is silent, Bucky’s hands grip the wheel tightly. The material of the gloves taut over his knuckles.

You try not to move your gaze to him, but it is difficult. As if your throat aches to speak to him. Your hands stay folded in your lap, but the fiddling with your fingers out of anxiousness begins, you try to press your palms flat on your bag. Yet after moments you’re back to fidgeting.

Bucky swallows thickly, his attention on the road slipping because he wants to look at you. If there was a stoplight, he’d study your profile. Several moments he noticed your nervous movements.

Part of him just wants to reach out, quell your nerves. Part of him is internally kicking himself for not explaining his side of things, allowing you to stew in words he did not mean.

Does he even deserve to offer an explanation?

Your eyes and Bucky’s shift to the clock on the dashboard. It has just been ten minutes.

He inhales deeply, followed by a long exhale. You wonder if a knife could cut the thickness in the air.

He clears his throat, you turn to him.

“Do you want to hear some music?” He questions, blue eyes reflected in the orange of the streetlights.

“Yeah, music is good…” You shrug.

Eleven words is a good start you suppose.

His hand shifts to the console, pressing the media button, soft radio chatter fills the car.

Bucky shifts stations till music begins.

The song is familiar, Bucky pauses tapping to the beat,

‘You’ve been my muse for a long time,

You get me through every dark night,

I’m always gone, out on the go,

I’m on the run and you’re home alone,

I’m too consumed by my own life’

Bucky shifts in his seat, you look ahead at the road.

‘Are we too young for this?

Feels like I can’t move

Sharing my heart

Is tearing me apart.’

Bucky snorts, breaking into a fit of laughter. You stare at him, the crinkles by his eyes prominent. The sound is full of mirth despite the lyric that prompted it.

“Sorry I just, the line, god, it’s morbid humour at best.” He runs his hand through his hair, switching lanes.

You wait for him to explain further, worried about saying something to upset him.

“Conversation works two ways, Y/N.” He teases, meeting your confused gaze, “However I understand your reservations due to my own actions rather words.” He sighs, disappointment embedding itself into his being.

“I know you didn’t know about Steve Rogers being cast, it was a stupid gimmick to get a rise out of Loki and I.” Bucky explains, “I figure you know probably about the highlight reel of what occurred between Steve and I.”

He looks at you again, you nod.

“Which is one of the reasons why I said what I said to Loki. I know a muse can be anyone or anything. I just, I don’t know why I get overly defensive still, it has been what? Six-Seven years? It hurts still, but accusing you of something you didn’t do and you probably would not do. That was worse than a fucking asshole behaviour of me.” He purses his lips, then scowls.

“I know I’ve apologised prior and we were on our way to being sort of civil and/or friends. I, want to apologise again.” The car stops at a red light and he turns to face you.

“I, I don’t know what to tell you? I, the way things got handled during the release… the whole ‘me using you’…” your hands make quote marks,

“I’m sorry Steve did such a shitty thing to you which is not excusable. I guess having your face attached to another thing wasn’t a great experience either.” You chuckle lightly, Bucky smiles feeling some amount of progress.

“I can understand your reaction but I can’t excuse it, Mr. Barnes. Everyone is burned before and that makes us cautious. You were looking out for Loki, which I’m sure he appreciates.” You look ahead.

“Oh, no he ripped me a new one. I don’t think he’s ever crossed the 90 minute lecture mark and he did that night.” Bucky informs you wincing at the memory. Loki was absolutely livid even more than the time Bucky drank himself stupid and sat in his car.

Bucky shakes his head, shrugging away the memory. The signal turns green he begins driving with his left hand. The other resting on the console.

“Why do you still call me, Mr. Barnes?” He wonders.

“You never told me to call you anything else, Mr. Barnes.” You chuckle.

“You can use my name. I insist.” He adds lightly, a smile on his lips.

“Okay, good to know.” You say, Bucky closes his eyes for a second, slightly disappointed his name didn’t follow.

“I wanted to ask… that story you uploaded? Writing ‘fuck’ under the chapter title?” He supinates his forearm to gesticulate his question.

You laugh now, “Your coveted production house bought my publishing house. Meaning they automatically get dibs on most of my work, which means my contracts need to be very ironclad to protect myself. Doesn’t help that Alexander Pierce is almost staring everyday at me to, waiting for me to ask for an extension in exchange of a favour.” You shudder.

Bucky pulls over to the shoulder the tires screech as he slams the breaks. You lurch forward his arm reaches across you to stabilise despite you having the seatbelt on.

Your brows furrow, before you can speak he turns completely towards you in the limited space. He draws his hand back.

“Promise me, please, no matter if we’re civil or friends or not. You won’t go to him for favours, he’s, he’s a vulture. Y/N you need to be careful.” Bucky’s hand twitches to reach out to your own.

“I, I won’t.” You look between his intense gaze, “I find him kind of creepy. Weirdly touchy—,”

“When and where?” The venom in his words would kill upon impact.

“It, it isn’t, he’s not inappropriate—, a brush here or a comforting hand over palm there.” You swallow, it was uncomfortable but not something you could verbalise.

“If he makes you uncomfortable or pulls any shit, I hope to God, I hope to God sincerely, that he doesn’t try anything with you. Please know you can come to me okay? I’ll, fuck, that man is bad news.” Bucky shakes his head, disgusted by everything he has heard and seen about Alexander.

“Why do all you still work for him?” You question.

“As you said, those fucking contracts, his leverage in the industry, it is a fucked up game to them, to him. There is never anything concrete to take him down.” Bucky doesn’t state the other things. You don’t need to know the darker bits and pieces.

“Please, promise me.” He requests again.

“I promise, James.” You reach for his hand. His fingers intertwine with yours, you both stare at the limbs.

Bucky finds it different somehow when you take his name, not the nickname that has become common to everyone. Synonymous with his very being.

When you look back up at him, you realise you both have leaned closer.

Bucky studies your features, the way your eyes gleam softly in the streetlight, your lip gloss glimmering when you purse your lips then let them go.

Bucky doesn’t realise how or when his left hand rests on your cheek. The temperature hidden by his gloves.

When his thumb strokes your cheekbone you close your eyes. Bucky’s eyes close as well, your breaths intertwine, heart somersaulting as you feel something soft brush against your lips.

Bucky can taste the sweet scent of your lipgloss, softly brushing against his own lips. He doesn’t want you to regret this, he doesn’t want you to think he’s taking advantage of you.

The way your hand rests upon his, your warmth blooming through his layer of defence. His layer of protection.

Something cracks within him, dark, urging, commanding him to push you away.

'Doing what I can, tryna be a man (be your man) And every time I kiss you, baby I can hear the sound of breaking down'

Bucky’s forehead rests against yours, you give a sad smile. Your eyes are still closed but you knew.

You knew this would occur.

“James.” You swallow thickly.

“I am so sorry.” He wants to apologise for not giving in to the moment.

“You have a lot on your mind, mistakes happen, at-least you stopped, before, before you would regret it.” You shift back, your warmth and closeness leaving, have him feel colder than ever.

You look down at your hands, Bucky screws his eyes shut. Head leaning against the headrest looking up at the roof of the car.

I wouldn’t have regretted it. He wants to tell you, but he decides to keep quiet.

You play with the hem of your dress, he recalls something.

“Is, this looks like the dress you described Doll wearing during the dinner party with Beckham.” He murmurs, you chuckle.

“So Rhys remembers but Beckham doesn’t,” your comment makes him smile lightly.

“That’s why she ends up with Rhys. Get their happy ending.” Bucky shrugs.

“If only those were common.” You murmur, twiddling your thumbs. Bucky places a hand on yours, pausing your movements.

“What has you anxious?” He questions, you don’t look toward him.

You. You want to speak, looking up concern drips from him, “I, I need to get home.” You deflect.

“I just want to apologise to you, one more chance to show you that I’m, I want to be friends.” He admits. You absorb his words.

Bucky nods, allowing you your silence. His hand remains above yours, as he manoeuvres the car back onto the lanes. When your thoughts begin to swirl again, you play with his hand without thinking.

Bucky observes you, letting you fidget, brushing your fingers over the gloves. So delicately as to not harm him. A softness tugs within his chest.

“Do you like these?” You question, looking at his side profile, he shrugs. His thumb absentmindedly running along the edge of your index finger.

“I wear them because I don’t like the stares or comments. Also the whole image aspect… It’s sort of a layer between people and I,” he shrugs not knowing how else to explain the way the disgust was interwoven into his return to cinema.

“Do you at-least have a safe space? Or someone you can take them off of in their presence?” You wonder, genuinely curious.

“I do, my family, Sam and Loki.” He tells you, you smile.

“That is good.” You wonder if telling him about Steve would garner what reaction.

“Loki plays Rhys’ best friend right?” You ask, Bucky nods.

“Originally Rhys had two best-friends, I merged them into one.” You explain.

“I don’t follow…” He looks to you slowing down before the turn towards your neighbourhood.

“Steve was one of the original friends, so he asked me, if I did that because of what he did to you.” You look at Bucky.

He begins to laugh, “So he was pressed about being kicked out? Wait he read the original fanfic?”

“More like worried about knowing ‘why was he cut off’?” You giggle, nodding at the latter half of the question.

“What did you tell him?” Bucky is amused, he hadn’t ventured onto your blog just read the book.

“I didn’t answer his question just asked him if he feels guilty is that why he questions my decision? He diverted the topic.” You shrug.

“If he had any guilt he would apologise.” He declares.

“Sometimes people think the time to apologise is too late, in Steve’s matter however it’s about the fact he doesn’t realise he did something gravely wrong.”

“You don’t agree with what he did?” Bucky sounds surprised.

“He didn’t take your permission, he didn’t take your consent, he wrote about what occurred with you and made it about him? What kind of an egomaniac do you have to be?” You scoff,

“I mean I might fall into the non permissive category but like,”

“What you do is different.” Bucky declares.

“Happy you think that way.” You look towards him.

The car stops outside your home. Bucky looks at you.

He moves his hand forward, “Friends?” He feels as though he is a kid in kindergarten.

“Friends.” You shake his hand.

“Does this remind you of kindergarten?” You ask,

“It does.” He smiles.

“James, this, you have your one chance but please know it is the last one. I do not have it in me to go back and forth.” You gaze into his eyes, the little street lamps illuminating his features.

“I won’t let you down.” He adds, you smile.

Bucky watches you walk up to your house, you open the door, turning towards him.

His silhouette waves at you from the car.

Bucky stays till he watches the door shut, you watch from the window in hall as his car moves away.

You go about your nightly routine, changing your clothes and checking up on your mom.

“How was dinner?” She questions, hand held by yours, you smile.

“It was okay.” You shrug.

“I see you’re smiling after this one.” She grins, trying to find a topic to tease you upon.

“Mum it isn’t like that they are all working with me. Also it isn’t like the fictional worlds I create.” You pull her blanket up further.

“Well one day you’re going to have that love the kind that you write and read about.” She runs her hand over your head. Your throat tightens at the gesture.

“You wanna watch a movie?” You offer, she nods.

“Something funny?” She requests as you stand to go bring your laptop.

Your phone stays charging near your laptop on the desk, biting the inside of your cheek you contemplate.

Almost forty minutes have passed since you got home, unlocking the device you find his contact, opening up the muted thread you type the message.

The warm mist clears around him as Bucky steps out of the bathroom. Running the towel through his hair, his phone lights up on the nightstand.

Y/N:hey, thank you for dropping me home. I hope you got back to your home safely too.

Bucky smiles, beginning to type out the reply

James:I did get home about fifteen minutes back, hope everything is okay at home for you.

He sets the device back down not anticipating a reply, Loki and Sam were already updated on the situation.

When he gets back into bed deciding to scroll though social media your name remains in the notification tab.

Y/N: that’s good, yeah it wasn’t chaotic or anything just watching Nailed It on netflix with mum she wanted to watch something funny. Have you seen it?

You’re opening up the conversation floor with him, Bucky’s chest mirths, elated that he’s making more progress.

He begins typing out his response that no he hasn’t, you immediately request him to at-least watch one episode.

Bucky chuckles pulling up the app on his phone to watch.

HEADLINES:

Y/N Y/L/N Spotted Amidst Tensions At Home - Read What Her Relatives Have To Say About The Author.

Bucky Barnes Hanging Out With Dolores — Onlookers Say Things Got Steamy.

Loki Laufeyson Spotted Outside BW’s Building Chatting With An All Smiles Y/N. Is This A New Friendship?

Steve Rogers Standing Outside Y/N’s Doorstep With Flowers — “I feel bad for her, I know what it is like to have someone dear to me be ill. I had to visit.”

Bucky Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N Catch Up Over Coffee And Books At Their Favourite Independent Bookstore. Sneaky Fans Catch Pictures!

Yelena Belova and Y/N Y/L/N Spotted Arguing Outside BW — Yikes! The Pictures Tell A Story.

Bucky Barnes Uploads Sweet Pictures From Visit To His Parent’s House.

A.N.: raise you hand if you thought bucky was gonna mess up again? *me raises hand as well*

Taglist is Open comment or DM to be added!

Taglist: @stevesmewmew @elle14-blog1 @crazyunsexycool @sebsgirl71479 @pandaxnienke @slutforsexyseabass @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @pandaxnienke @vampire7595

104 notes · View notes

proudfreakmetarusonniku · 10 months

Text

just wrote like a billion paragraphs on how I write c!tommy’s mentol illnesses whoops

Autism: While chaotic, Tommy does best in structured environments to a degree, needing some sort of routine to function. He's easily attached to comfort items and requires them for his day-to-day life. He struggles with social skills, primarily indicated by his inability to tell when he should stop joking around- he’s learnt surprising emotional intelligence to get around that. In general, he struggles to function on his own despite being fairly intelligent and very vocal, and as such latches into others for support. He’s also got extreme sensory issues, to the point he can only wear clothes he sews himself.

ADHD: Tommy has extremely severe ADHD, to the point it’s debilitating in everyday life. He struggles to stick to one train of thought, and often completely forgets what he’s doing, leading to him often neglecting his own needs (though he also has… other reasons for that). He requires constant stimulation, and boredom is physically painful to him. He’s always moving around and doing something, and he struggles to wait even for a few minutes. His struggles to stay organised are another reason he tends to rely on being a follower to others.

OCD: Tommy struggles with moral scrupulousity of a very religious type, and deeply fears he is a sinner. He spends a lot of his free time in prayer to the Primes he loves, and obsessively honours them in every way he can. He gets intrusive thoughts about sin- especially those he was forced to commit- and he believes these thoughts are the reason his afterlife was so hellish, and has many compulsions he feels he needs to honour to punish himself for being so sinful.

BPD: Tommy has very wild changes in mood frequently, something he struggles to control and which leads to him making rash decisions. He quickly feels abandoned, and stews in the self loathing it causes. He’s desperate for any sort of affection and attention, even if it's warped and abusive. He tends to view people either as wonderful or as monsters, and struggles with grey areas.

Psychosis: Tommy struggles with hallucinations and delusions on a day to day basis. Generally, he mostly grapples with delusions- mostly assigning meaning to objects and people in a very literal sense- and delusions of persecution, and the hallucinations mostly affect him when he’s dealing with extreme stress. He struggles to verbalise and understand his thoughts, and often lashes out.

PTSD: Tommy is hyper vigilant due to trauma and struggles to feel relaxed. Even on a good day, he's always checking the walls and making sure he has a knife in reaching distance. The smallest thing can trigger a flashback, even things he once loved, and as such he's frequently withdrawn and sullen despite usually being outgoing and adventurous. He has severe insomnia, and often doesn’t sleep until his body physically cannot stand it anymore.

Depression: Tommy has severe suicidal ideation and frequently wishes he could die- only his knowledge of the nothingness after death and more importantly the fact he'll inevitably be revived keep him from ending his own life most days. He very frequently self harms, usually by simply letting the elements get to him. He also goes days at a time without eating, both to punish himself and as a method of self harm. He believes himself to be a burden on everyone he loves and that the world would be a better place if he never existed.

Anxiety: Tommy has frequent panic attacks, often so severe he's incoherent (these cause him deep embarrassment). He worries about every action he takes, and most of those he doesn’t. His most frequently worry is about his future- while this is influenced by being threatened with multiple horrific fates, this is something he’s always done. He’s also incredibly anxious his friends don’t love him anymore whenever they’re not as obsessively clingy as him- times like this tend to draw him back into self-destrucive behaviour.

#c!tommy #dream smp #this is mostly headcanon obviously #some of it is canon tho

19 notes · View notes

tinywitchgoblin · 6 days

Note

hello ! could i request a bad batch ship please? ive never done one of these before so bare with me 😭

im afab (she/they/he), 5"2 and quite curvy, slim waist and large hips / thighs. i have greeny-blue eyes and dark red hair (dyed) thats around bust length (and a straight fringe), along with 2 ear lobe piercings (on each ear) and a septum piercing. i've got an gothic / alternative sense of style, like wearing all black with fishnets, legwarmers, bold makeup (like with heavy eyeliner and eyeshadow), large spiky earrings and chunky boots, etc.

im an artist ! i LOVE drawing, especially characters / people because i just love the way humanoid characters look (like the human form and stuff). my favourite part on the human body is the back and shoulder area - its really weird but i just love all the details like the shoulder blades and muscle definition etc. i also love music and travelling ! my favourite genre of music is drum and bass (along with metal / nu metal) !

i also have autism and i stim with my hands and mouth a lot - like shaking my hands or tapping my collarbone. when im comfortable with someone i literally just meow or like do "mow/mrow" sounds at them randomly. im so embarrassed by it but i can't help it because ive been doing it since i was young 😭 i hate large crowds and start to panic if there's a lot of people around me and we're in a small space (like a shop for example) and i have the need to leave the place immediately. i also cannot deal with any sort of confrontation or if someone is to start raising their voice at me because it makes me tear up and i'll sometimes cry bc of it. like i get arguments happen but you don't need to shout at me, man 💀

when you first meet me im super shy and quiet, but when you get to know me i do not shut up 😭 i will keep yapping all day about the things i like especially if it's my hyperfixation at the moment. romantically, im super physically affectionate (my love language fr) because i struggle to verbalise how much i love said person, so i just cuddle and smooch said person until they get the point lol. i also prefer to hold someone's arm (although i don't mind holding hands !) as it makes me feel secure and i like squishing said persons bicep (not hard and if they're okay with it ofc ^^) bc squishy,, and it feels comforting in my hands.

sorry theres so much here lol

ty :) ❤️

I'm so sorry this took me a whole ass month to answer but thanks for being patient!!

I ship you with...

Wrecker!

Wrecker absolutely loves physical touch. It's one of his biggest love languages (along with making/sharing food). One of his favorite things to do is pull you into his lap whenever you're not doing anything specific and just relax. His brothers aren't super into a ton of physical affection, so when you and he started dating (and maybe even before), he gave you all of the hugs and cuddles! It means so much to him, and you really like it as well.

As for your stimming, Wrecker doesn't see anything wrong with it. He just knows you're different, and that's okay! He was a bit confused about the meowing at first, but once you explained it to him, he never really mentions it anymore. Not in the ignoring sense, but just in the sense that that's part of who you are, and he loves every part of you. If you're into using stim toys, he'll ask Tech to make you a couple of them to help you get out some of the latent energy, and if not, he'll do what he can to help you stim in whatever ways are most comforting to you.

Wrecker is relatively social by nature, but he understands that you get overwhelmed very easily. You and he have developed a system that allows you to non-verbally communicate to him that you need to go somewhere private and relax. He's super protective of you, and when you find yourself in a stressful situation, he will do his best to keep you safe (both physically and otherwise). And if someone raises their voice at you, by god, he will stand there menacingly until the other person backs off, and he'll hold you and make sure you're okay once they leave. Again, he wants to make sure you feel safe, because he loves you and doesn't like seeing you hurt.

Thanks for reading! If you want a ship request like this, drop it in my ask box (but be warned, it might take a while for me to get to it- oops), and don't forget to reblog <3

#the bad bois #the bad batch #star wars x reader #wrecker the bad batch #wrecker bad batch #wrecker x reader #wrecker #tbb wrecker #wrecker tbb

3 notes · View notes

ilgaksu · 9 months

Note

🎉 and 💔 for the fic writer asks?

from this series of fic writer asks

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

definitely engagement. i actually have several fics abandoned currently because of lack of engagement.

(the one that came to my mind immediately is the fic discussing hei xiazi's past as a sex worker in canon, which never did as well as i hoped, but also i had very limited hopes for the appeal of a fic about a cis and very masc man's relationship to female-oriented sex work. it is, however, entirely accurate to the actual sex work industry in the country he was operating in, as well as refusing to view sex work with anything but respect for a profession. do i sound bitter? i'm a little bit bitter.)

in my original writing career, engagement is less of a pressing issue to me because i have exchanged actual money or some other form of renumeration for labour. fic for me is less a handing over an item (because outside of a commission, you haven't paid for access to it and also then do not take any ownership of it or rights to it) and more of a form of communication with other fans. i want the influencer-capitalism shift of fan subculture into content creators and content consumers as two separate groups to die in a fire, actually. subcultures should not seek to mimic the dominant culture; modern fandom was created, as i've said before to a friend, by a group of women in a house talking about star trek, who had the audacity to treat each other as equals to each other and to men, when the world refused to view any of them as such. there is no such thing as "more equal than others" outside of animal farm, and especially not based on productivity.

having said that, i think if i was pretending that engagement isn't part of the reason i'm spending my limited time on earth writing two fictional and borrowed people, i would be being disingenuous. i am using it as a form of communication and communion with other people who love the thing i love, and the fic itself is a way of me expressing and processing my love, especially in a sociohistorical era where we are often far more distanced from who we want to be in community with. everyone wants their work and love to be acknowledged, and the use of their time, especially when it's on something that is viewed as a waste of it in the dominant culture; especially when it's viewed as silly and small, because current western culture denigrates love of the silly and small, especially a big love of something that cannot be made fully marketable. and so, it's hard to feel like a little kid at show and tell with your craft project, only to feel as if all the other kids are just walking by. it's why i'm always open to questions about characterisation and construction of fics/headcanons/theories, as well as writing craft; i just don't discuss the last one unless asked very often because i dislike seeming as though i need to provide a thesis defense for my creative practice to preface my work. like, what are you, my phd supervisor?

but to go on further, because it's my blog and i can elaborate if i want to, there are other aspects too. to follow the argument for engagement further, i sometimes get comments that echo that i have verbalised or represented an experience that felt personal to someone, and personal to the point of it feeling isolating. when i specialised in trauma studies, i focused a whole dissertation on caruth's theory of the unspeakable in trauma and looked it with a literary studies focus. caruth argues, to try and condense it quickly, that trauma is the experience of an unspeakable event, and, by that argument, we can surmise that only by articulating the trauma can someone begin to process that trauma. (i think a lot about what it means to live in a current culture that is trauma-obsessed and obsessed with making our trauma marketable for the algorithm to the total invasion of privacy, and yet deeply lacking in empathy to when trauma makes a person behave outside the bounds of what they consider acceptable, btw. but that's another topic for another day.)

so, for example, getting a comment saying that someone has felt seen and heard feels incredible to me. even if that's the only comment i get on that fic, it feels like this form of communication in a world that's starved us of that kind of communication, and that will make the real work and time that goes into writing feel worthwhile.

however, overall, i've moved away from as being as metrics-focused as i once was. when i began writing in heihua fandom, for example, i assumed, with absolute certainty, that nobody was reading, that nobody was interested in what i had to say, that nothing i was writing would be viewed with grace. and as a result, i felt free in a way i hadn't in previous fandoms where i was very publically involved; if i was writing alone, just for me, what would i write? and so now a great deal of is a fic a success for me is based in: do i read it back to myself and enjoy the process of that? does it feel like, if it wasn't written by me, and i wasn't worried about egocentricity, i would acknowledge that this fic was made entirely to my own tastes? am i having fun? did i love the process?

those are the questions i try to focus on now, and so now it's about 50/50 with that and actual external engagement, which is huge progress.

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

OH, BOY, THIS ONE'S THE BRUTAL QUESTION.

short answer: yes, there's been several, and i immediately thought of them when you asked.

longer answer in a reply that's already had a very long answer:

several fics of mine reflect claustrophobia and hopelessness i felt at that point in my personal life. i am proud of them and i am proud of myself for them, but not because i believe the purpose of pain is to make art, or that it makes personal misery worthwhile. i am proud of them because of their honesty. they break my heart in that to look at these works at the point in my life i'm at now is to feel an intense love and compassion for the version of me who wrote them. i try and avoid autobiographical readings of my work, because i think they're often used to pigeonhole marginalised creators to fit into the box of literary criticism, but i think it's important as a creator to value how you can see your own personal development outside of just skill development in your own creative work.

#asks #zenstrike #thank you for the interesting questions!!! apologies for the meandering answers!!!

7 notes · View notes

stinkyme · 7 months

Note

I have no idea how to verbalise how much i want nikolai- i literally cannot even bEGIN to explain how badly i want that stupidly pretty clown- AUGH HES SO- SLDKFJSLKDJF;LKSDJF;KJSDNFK;JBNDS.K;MDHBVGHKJLDHU I LOVE HIM- (hes lowkey not the only one. im highkey down bad for like half of th bsd characters but nikolai brainrot rlly be getting to me today for some reason-)

LOLOL I FEEL YOU TRUST ME, I CAN'T BEGIN TO EXPLAIN MYSELF EITHER, but lord knows I try my best to let him know my desires 💆🏻‍♀️

and I know what you mean, it changes for me as well, last week it was Fyodor because I saw this one edit of his (gotta rewatch it now) and then Sigma and then it was Chuuya for a bit thanks to lovely anon(s) sharing thoughts, and now it's Nikolai again, not to mention Choso, Geto, Gojo, Shoko, and black butler characters and hsr women and any edit of anyone I like that I see and and and and evaporates and explodes into the universe

#stinkyanswers #but i always circle back to nikolai LOL #this man rewired my brain chemistry #screaming into the void because i can't do it anymore

2 notes · View notes

acrosol · 1 year

Text

10:03am on september 13, 2022 @ mingze's dorm. // for @godhe4rt

when he finally opens the door for her, yua cannot stop her words from overflowing. "why did you not respond to any of my calls or my texts, mingze?" her voice is clear, far from frantic, and yet there is a slight hint of relief buried inbetween the words she speaks. "i was so, so worried." yua then adds somewhat hesitantly, the dark circles under her eyes only proving her words to be the truth.

matter of fact, she had barely slept the night after the dinner; for reasons she would rather not think too much about. partially, yua even blamed mingze's sudden disappearance on herself. of course she was very well aware of the events that had taken place ... what she was not at all aware of was how much mingze knew. or whether he even knew at all.

"you left so suddenly. you barely even said goodbye ... i know i was kind of busy with other things, but ... that was so unlike you. tell me, did anything happen?"

now that her thoughts have been verbalised, she cannot help but start to feel incredibly stupid. and guilty. guilty for purposely acting dumb and dancing around the obvious, guilty for trying to find out just how much mingze knows: to avoid being the bearer of bad news. to avoid the uncomfortable. to make life easier for herself.

yua soothes her own conscience by telling herself that the real reason why she is keeping something so vital to herself is because she wants to spare her close friend's feelings. she tells herself that she shouldn't poke her nose into other people's relationships. yes, that's why she isn't saying anything.

"so ... is there anything you want to talk about?"

#i hope this is alright TT lemme know if anything needs to be changed<3 #*+:｡.｡ 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 — mingze&yua .

8 notes · View notes

noctualagenaria · 8 months

Note

2,3,4,5,6,10,11,12,13,14,19,23,25,27,30,31,34,35,36, 37,38,39,41,45,46,49,50,52,53,54,56,61,61,64,65,67,68,69,70,74,75,76,77,80,81,83,84,86,87,89,90,91,94,95,96,99😻

You Asked For It

describe your perfect first date.

-,, im not going to expose my Ideal Realistic perfect first date so ! fictional characters instead; ideal first date would be im traveling through liyue, coming from the direction of mondstadt, i dont have a goal im just on a simple walk, i pass the inn, go inside for a meal then head to the harbor, there on the bridge id run into a beautiful green haired stranger who introduces himself as dr baizhu and thats the instance i Fall Hard for him, then from there we as we establish a relationship and he realises im bad at hiding a crush, we offically get together and over time we head to inazuma as a vacation ( kinda he wants to see if anyones in dire need of assistence there after hearing about the traveler's quest there ) and from there we meet ayato who baizhu notices i have trouble speaking to, bc of the gay panic, baizhu ends up flirting with him first and ayato Doesnt Get it sjhgfs like at all hes so oblivous and i find it adorable and from then i talk to ayato and we get together and he's like oh yeag and baizhus' into me too right and then we talk to baizhu and bam theres three of us now, ayato comes with us as his vacation back to liyue and stays with us for a While-- so long that baizhus like hmm we should go to sumeru so i can talk to this tighnari, so we do but we dont see tighnari first we see a very attractive silver haired man who doesnt notice us, and ayato and baizhu dont notice him that much either, but i do, so i trail off from the two of them, baizhu at first questions me i tell him the truth hes too focused on finding tighnari, so i go on my own , try to approach this guy, he kinda lets me?? ( tbh im unsure id be able to get with him on my own but-- ) in the end we end up together and he slowly joins the other two as well :>

yes ,,, you can see righht through the projecting

guilty pleasure?

-uhhhhhhhhhhh i genuinely dont know sdfsdf

which fictional character archetype do you think fits you best?

-hmm anti-hero? i thinksies?? unsure

what do you think others would consider your most distinguishable physical feature(s)?

-tbh ive no Idea,,, does dyed hair count? bc id say my red hair ( tho it needs to be redyed soon euueu )

what role do you play in your group of friends?

-as much of myself as possible

when was the last time you said something you regretted?

-too often

do you typically remember your dreams if you have them?

-nope not usually tho if i do recall it when waking up ill try to verbalise it to one of my besties

who is your biggest inspiration?

-uhmmmm a lot of ppl im not sure i have one above everyone else

any unusual fears?

-bees? does that count

favorite myth?

-YES. ( mothman )

when was the last time you were truly angry?

-probably last week

best compliment you've ever received?

-i cannot ,, remember,,, unique ones i got tho were "wow your name is so pretty!" which i never got again after coming out sdhgfs

which color of the sky is your favorite?

-red or pink tbh i like the oranges too sometimes mmmm

favorite font?

-comic sans. i do not take criticism

is there anyone you’re not biologically related to that you consider "family"?

-i dont know tbh "family" is too much for me to handle i think

what's your go-to funny story when people ask you to tell one?

-when i was younger in like sixth grade ( maybe younger than that? i dont recall) i had Really long hair and i liked my really long hair a lot so i put it up in the Highest of high ponytails i ever possibly could it was almost but not quite on my forehead at that point.. tbh pretty ugly BUt i had fun-- what i did to my peers was fucking Swing it at them, id flip my hair in their faces and at one point, i was in the cafeteria... i tried flipping my hair at someones face but they were sitting across from me and my face hit teeth first against the table. full disclosure it didnt hurt i jus saw the tooth bits chip off and i was like hmm? what jus happened sdfsdf anyways so that was a big falling domino in why my teeth suck so bad ,,, tldr im stupid as fuck

what's your most controversial opinion?

-live and let live. and i cannot understand how that is controversial.. i do have a lot of Specific Hot Takes tho i feel this ask is already super fucking long so sdfsfd gimme a separate ask with just this question and ill go in depth if u want me to

what's been keeping you up at night lately?

-gay ppl and anxiety... so Gay Ppl

do you have any ocs? if yes, talk about them a little.

-ill talk abt my old genshin ones ! i wanted to make an ayato design from wayyyyy before he was playable and we never Saw him so i wanted a fandesign bc i was unhappy with the other fandesigns i was seeing so i made my own hydro claymore tall guy ! i cannot rememer right now what i named him but since ayatos release i made him fontainian and i might just revamp him soon to fit the rest of the fontaine cast-- anyways he has the personality of the smug cat meme with the knife up to its face sdfsdf thats him

do you believe in extraterrestrial life?

-well theres gotta be Something out there right

how old were you when you joined the internet?

-unoffically (didnt have my own devices) 13, offically (finally got a tablet,,year later a phone) 15? im unsure exactly

what's popular with the people around you that you can't seem to get behind?

-tiktok ,, also like every boring ship ever

what would you consider part of your personal aesthetic?

-red modern vampire doing an accidental good job at blending in at being an Almost Gaymer Boi

do you collect anything?

-pop tabs

would you enjoy being famous?

-only if im also rich

how liberally do you use the block button when browsing social media? does it differ depending on the site?

-it does differ depending on the site yeag, on here i will block any blog with no pfp and no banner and a werid ass name bc thats prolly a bot and even those with the Real Ass Women (emphasis on ass ) pfps get blocked sjghd , on twitter ill block just willy nilly sdfsdf i try not to let twitter tick me off tho i fail so i just,, dont open it as much anymore

if you could travel back to any one point in time, where and why?

-theres too many options i would just ruing myself via the butterfly effect so i just Wouldnt

how many different names do you go by across the internet?

-about 23 tho most commonly only like 4? get used tbh

what’s your type?

-in men? baizhu <3 in women? any that could just Beat My Ass and slay while doing it (yelan) irl im honestly unsure almost none of my partner (exes included) have much in common with each other its devastating really, i just tend to fall in love with my best and most trustworthy friend and if we didnt start out as friends it was never meant to be in the first place

does your favorite movie/game/book from when you were young still hold up in quality?

-the movie not quite, the book id have to give another reread to check

were you raised religious?

-yes but my family gave up when i was like 12 sdfssdfsdf

have you ever thought about changing your name?

-a cis person made this ask game huh,,,

any allergies?

-a doctor made this ask game huh.........................

what would your warning label say if you had one?

-my url; "WARNING; THIS DILUC FICTIVE IS DERANGED"

what's the most expensive thing you've ever spent money on?

-genshin, if physical objects then uhhhhh i dont know

any oddities when it comes to your personal belief system?

-i dont know sdfsdfsd, maybe from the outside looking in

what is your love language?

-last time i took a quiz it said quality time and i agree

do you still know your best friend from grade school?

-does end of high school count? bc then yes :> shes now my boyfriend

if you could dye your hair any color, what would you pick?

-red... more red... maybe orangey tips if i had the money for that

has anyone ever told you they like your shoelaces in public? if yes, how did you respond?

-no <;/3

-how did you meet your best friend(s)?

-most of them now were from a twitch chat !

do you play any instruments?

-no

do you have any blorbos?

-So Many. to list a few; kaeya, thoma, zhongli, dainslief, wriothesley, furina, cyno, albedo, and kazuha

do you believe in fate?

-not really

do you follow any stereotypes of groups you're a part of?

-sadly im the twink transmasc everyone thinks of

how well-decorated is your bedroom?

-decorated enough to be lived in, tho not permanently

you get to give a one-sentence note to yourself from a decade ago. what does it say?

-"forget about them."

if you're trying to make friends online, what's your typical approach for reaching out?

-find a common interest, typically something im insane about, look up artists of that thing, if they follow me back i take it slowly from there

what do you consider most important in a romantic/platonic partner?

-honesty

if you had the ability to change one aspect of yourself, what would it be?

-my voice, and i am working on it tbh

what the best anon hate you've ever received?

-"are you white"

favorite emoji?

🦐

what's the boldest thing you've ever done?

-i dont know, confess feelings first typically

do you prefer having a few close friends or a lot of not-so-close ones?

-few close ones

nosiest question you've ever been asked?

-i cant think of any sdfsdfsf

favorite movie?

-the princess bride

how many languages do you speak?

-1.5 (learning french)

how much of yourself do you wear on your sleeve?

-quite a lot tho im trying to... put less of it out there

what's your go-to plan to destress?

-immerse myself like Fully Immerse myself into a new reality and i need viddy games for that so.. viddy games :]

do you believe in/follow any superstitions?

not rlly tho ghosts are real i think

what do you think you’re most known for as a person?

its either im perceived as just a general Hater of things ( i'm not,,typically )

how did you come up with your url?

well im diluc and im deranged

what's the best thing you can cook?

ramen

do you have a Signature Outfit™?

two, one that is what im wearing right now; a batman t-shirt and a long black skirt with faint stripes on it ( with POCKETS) and its super comfy, two; any graphic tee and any comfy pants that dont have holes in them

what’s been the biggest hurdle you’ve faced in your life so far?

mental illness tbh

what's your favorite obscure piece of media?

obscure? not sure of it counts but mozart l'opera rock is pretty underrated last i checked

what's the most recent entry in your notes app?

i dont have a notes app

(69) (( nice )) favorite song?

atm rainbow by dodie tho it changes a Lot

when it comes to affection/intimacy, do you prefer to stick to one person or are you more open about it?

partners only

did you have an imaginary friend as a kid?

i dont rememer, i did hallucinate people when i was in middle school so theres that

which is more important when it comes to clothing, comfort or style?

both! comfort /is/ style

what would you consider the most enjoyable accent to listen to?

any and all? unsure i dont rlly have a fave, i do have a least fave tho and that i shall not disclose

favorite time of year?

fall AND springtime

how would you describe your favorite person?

Imperfectly Perfect <3

do you like the height you are now, or do you wish you were taller/shorter?

i do wish i was slightly taller

what's your plan for the apocalypse? (don't pretend you haven't thought about it a little bit.)

Die

favorite food?

anything sweet ! tho atm hot pockets and ramen <33

who do you look to for guidance in times of need?

depends on the needs

which you can spend a day each in five different places across the globe. where do you travel?

>bfs house >bfs house >gfs house >gfs house >we three go to My house and not the one i live in right now

favorite memory? ... i have a dissociative disorder i dont Know

favorite meal? Yes anything but seafood

favorite pick-up line, if you're into that sort of thing? "are you a camera? because whenever i look at you i smile"

favorite word? cornhobbling

are you on good terms with your family? not rlly

if you were given $1mil on the basis that you had to put towards something arbitrary and self-indulgent, what would you spend it on? Baizhu Cons ( if ive got left overs then a house big enough for me and my partners )

where’s "home"? where my beloveds are

how fucked is your sleep schedule? Gone in every sense of the word

if you could keep any animal as a pet, what would you choose? bat

weirdest habit? uhhhh i dunno sdfsdfdsf

what's a common misconception people have about you? that im angry a lot more than i actually am, its weird i dont think i give off that vibe but alas

who's in your dream blunt rotation? baizhu ayato alhaitham

favorite game?

haha isnt it obvious,,, genshit impacts

if you could have any superpower besides the typical choices (flight, shapeshifting, elemental powers, etc.), what would you pick? power to teleport

have you ever written any poetry? if so, what was it about? nope, unless it was for school which i Forgot about

favorite quote? "My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father. prepare to die. My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father. prepare to die. My name iS INIGO MONTOYA, YOU KILLED MY FATHER PREPARE TO DIE!!"

what's your lucky number(s)? 22

favorite color? most shades of red, and black

is there anything you would consider yourself an expert at? the characterization of diluc and baizhu from Hit Game Genshin Impact

#AND THATS ALL FOLKS !#>takes a bow #ty ty #ill be here all night #also this took SO LONG #like Days Weeks I frogor about it #anon #asks #anon.txt #Long Post.txt #emphasis on t x t #this is ALL text sdghf #nya.txt #emoji anon

1 note · View note