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ellemj · 2 months

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I Hate You

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader One-Shot: SMUT

Request by @kateversca1011: "y/n has these weird mind powers where she can feel others feelings or make others feel hers...she accidentally during a very heated fun time projects everything she is feeling to Bucky, basically doubling his pleasure"

Summary: After ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with.

Warnings: profanity, teasing, one bed trope, unprotected sex, hate sex, dirty talking, praise, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 9.3k

A/N: I fucking LOVED this prompt yet I feel like my (4th) attempt at it is as horseshit as the other attempts. This may get another attempt one day. Thank you @kateversca1011 for the wonderful prompt inspo, I hope this entertains you at least a little bit.

You have the worst luck in the world. In fact, your luck is so bad that you might even be able to call it a curse. It was one of those unfortunate things that started early in your life and has carried on throughout the years, affecting seemingly everything that you do. You thought it came to a head when your hometown was obliterated twelve years ago, when your parents were killed as they lay asleep in their bed across the house that you grew up in. You thought that was the pinnacle of your misfortune. Then, you thought that maybe it was two days after that, when you were sure you were being rescued from the rubble you laid under, only to be taken away by soldiers with unmatchable strength and brutality and stripped of not only your rights, but your dignity. You were held captive for so long that you stopped attributing your dark times to bad luck and started to think this was how life was supposed to be. By the time they started experimenting on you, you didn’t even feel bad for yourself anymore. You simply accepted it as the next era of your life that you had no control over.

“Okay, we’re all done.” Shuri’s voice rings out through the speaker in the MRI machine. The flat surface that you’ve been lying on for the past forty-five minutes begins to slide out of the narrow tube it held you in, slowly exposing the rest of the room to your view. You take a deep breath in, stretching your arms out in front of you and wiggling your legs a little. Your lower half always falls asleep when you have these scans done.

Shuri watches you intently through the glass of the MRI observation window. She watches as the nurse helps you sit up and swing your legs over the side of the tabletop. She watches as you run a hand through your hair and offer the nurse a kind smile before moving to stand on the floor. She watches as your eyes narrow in the slightest and a look of surprise crosses your face. She knows what you just did. She knows that the moment the nurse was in your personal space, you had no control over the unusual chemistry of your brain. You invaded the nurse’s mind and picked up on the fact that she’s afraid of you.

“She’s not ready to go free yet, is she?” Fury asks tersely. He entered the observation room so silently that Shuri didn’t even notice him until he spoke. As the nurse leads you out of the MRI room and begins taking you back to the main area of the medical bay, Shuri turns in her chair to face Fury.

“She doesn’t have enough control over her abilities yet. I think she’s still psychologically stable, the program you put her through did its job, but there’s no guarantee that she’ll simply go out into the world and behave.” Shuri chooses her words carefully. She doesn’t think that you’re a threat in your current state, but should you ever desire to be, you could easily become one. Your powers rival those of Wanda Maximoff’s, except even less is known about the extent of yours thus far. You’re the equivalent of the Winter Soldier without anyone having used his activation words yet, a ticking time bomb.

That’s what leads to Shuri and Fury both addressing you in the medical bay moments later. You sit on an exam table picking at a loose thread in your frayed jeans as they approach you, trying your hardest not to read into their thoughts, their feelings. You’d like to experience what it’s like to be surprised by what comes out of someone’s mouth for once.

“That was your last fMRI for a while.” Shuri says happily, her smile looking truly genuine. You smile back, but continue picking at the thread, not wanting to make any prolonged eye contact. Eye contact always seems to make it easier to read people, and easier for your own thoughts and emotions to spill over into their consciousness if you’re not careful.

“I’m guessing there isn’t all good news though, right? Since you’re both here this time.” You ask knowingly, your gaze darting between the two who stand before you. Shuri gives Fury a sideways glance, as if she’s waiting for him to take the lead. His eye narrows at you, his forehead scrunching up above his eyepatch as he studies you.

“We can’t let you go out and live your life just yet. There are too many unknowns right now. I’m going to be putting you up in the Avengers tower.”

“But—” Fury holds up his hand to silence you, as if you’re a backtalking teenager.

“It’s not permanent. This is just until we can help you gain more control over your abilities. We can reassess after. When you’re finished here, I’ll have someone waiting outside to take you over to the other side of the compound and show you around.” Fury’s gone before his words have even fully sunk in.

“He’s a straight-to-the-point kind of guy, isn’t he? No bullshit with him.” You say quietly, shaking your head as you come to terms with everything he’s just said. You’ve been staying in what you can only call a high-end holding cell at the nearby SHIELD base since the day you appeared on their radar and they brought you in, very much against your will. Another bout of bad luck, you’d told yourself, as you were restrained with some sort of technologically advanced handcuffs and later forcibly put through multiple rigorous evaluations. After the evaluations came the decompression and psychological rehabilitation that they had originally designed to be used for victims of capture and torture, agents who were in too deep and didn’t have backup when the worst happened. After that, you started undergoing medical testing, constant scans and blood draws, on a weekly basis. Shuri was brought in because no one else could figure you out.

“It’s the eye patch, he has to be short and gruff with people to fit the look.” Shuri jokes. She stands closer to you than most people would, within arms’ reach. You offer a light laugh and she considers it a small victory. “I think you’ll find that living in the tower, around other people with unique abilities, might actually help you. You’ll get a really nice room too, probably nicer than just about anywhere else you’d find in the city.”

“A nice room that I never get to leave.” You point out. Shuri’s gaze softens and she looks you over. Most people wouldn’t look at you and see a bomb that hasn’t yet been detonated. Hell, you could probably weaponize that fact if you wanted to, the fact that you look normal, innocent even.

“You can leave your room, but I think it’s best if you don’t get too close with anyone, physically or emotionally. Give yourself some time to learn boundaries when it comes to your abilities first.” Shuri advises. She notices the way you take in her entire appearance as she speaks, but you avoid looking into her eyes. You’re trying to give her mind the privacy it deserves. You’re making an effort to stay out of her thoughts, and to keep from projecting your own onto her. She thinks that you’ll get the hang of the control thing soon enough, and Fury will either free you to go about your new life or he’ll make an attempt to recruit you as an asset. Only time will tell which direction you’ll go, but she finds herself hoping that this won’t be the last she sees of you.

---

Bucky’s heard about the girl who reads minds, the girl who can make others feel her pain, the girl who could take away someone’s mental anguish with just one shared look. He’s heard enough about that girl that he formed his own mental image of her. He pictures her as an evil cartoon witch, with long, dark fingernails that curl up at the ends and a characteristic black and purple outfit, maybe even flying around on a broom. When he heard that this cartoon witch would be moving into the empty room across the hall from his, he imagined cardboard boxes filled with crystal balls, spiders, and cobwebs being dropped off before the girl’s arrival.

Bucky didn’t think for a second that you’d show up so quietly and uneventfully, trying to draw as little attention to yourself as possible. He didn’t think you’d show up with nothing more than a small, government-issued duffel bag and a profound avoidance of eye contact. And he sure as hell didn’t think that you’d end up being so goddamn pretty. As you stood in the lobby of the tower with Maria Hill and two other SHIELD agents, Bucky was just getting back from a therapy session with Dr. Raynor. He saw you as you stood there with your duffel bag and blank stare aimed at a wall. He saw you as you made sure to board the elevator last, letting everyone else enter before you and then staying a few steps behind on your way in. You saw him as the doors began to slide shut. You caught one little glimpse of the man, dressed in dark jeans and a dark Henley tee. Unreasonably attractive. That was your first impression of him, as the doors closed and he disappeared from your sight.

An hour later, you’re sitting alone in your new room, carefully folding and putting away the few pieces of clothing you brought with you. Your wardrobe consists of a couple of pairs of jeans, a sweatshirt or two, and the same pair of sneakers you always wear. Or at least that’s what it consisted of until today. When you arrived to the room and finally had the chance to shut Maria and the other agents out and settle yourself in, you quickly realized that Tony Stark, or more his wife Pepper, had taken it upon their shoulders to have your closet filled with a wide range of pants, shorts, dresses, workout attire, and far too many shoes for someone with only two feet. You thought it was a mistake at first, that maybe you’d been given the wrong key to the wrong room. Until you saw a white envelope sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. It contained the only note you’d ever received from anyone, detailing how all of the items in the closet now belong to you, and were picked out by Pepper upon Tony’s request. As you stand in the closet now, running your fingers along the various fabrics and colors hanging in front of you, it feels as though every birthday that you missed out on celebrating after your parents’ deaths and your own capture are being celebrated in this moment.

---

Bucky sits in one of the briefing rooms with Sam and Torres, only half-listening to whatever they’re droning on about as he traces the golden crevices of his vibranium arm with his flesh index finger. He doesn’t chime in at all as the topic shifts from one of last week’s missions, to a piece of intel Torres intercepted yesterday, to the mission that could potentially be coming up at the end of this week. It isn’t until Torres brings up the girl that just moved in upstairs that Bucky’s flesh hand falters and his eyes flit up to take in the image that’s holographically displayed over the table in the center of the room.

“I gathered as much information on her as I could.” Torres says, as he begins flipping through a few different files on the display. He stops on one titled First Event. When he opens the electronic file, Bucky’s heart drops instantly at the words his brain sorts through and picks out. Terrorist attack. Intentional target. Orphaned. HYDRA. He swallows hard when the picture of your childhood home, completely reduced to smoking ash and rubble, appears before him. Another picture shows a small girl, seemingly around age eleven or twelve, covered in soot and dirt, with her hands bound in front of her as she’s being lifted and placed in the back of a truck. “She was taken by HYDRA operatives when she was 12. It was an operation with the sole aim of taking twenty children, disguising the entire thing as a brutal terrorist attack. The missing children were all presumed dead in the attacks, which was what HYDRA wanted. There was never an investigation for any of them.” A few pictures show a grimy prison-like holding cell, an operating room with different pieces of technology and equipment that definitely aren’t standard in normal medical facilities, and a few brain scans. “All of the twenty children underwent testing and experimentation. Some died within a couple of weeks, some within a couple of months. She was the only one to survive to be rescued. She lived in this underground HYDRA facility for at least ten years that we know of.”

“Ten years?” Sam asks incredulously, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “How did she end up on SHIELD’s radar?” Torres pauses his biography of the worst years of your life and opens up a different file on the display, one titled Second Event.

“Skipping the details of how she was rescued in the first place, she doesn’t have much control over her abilities. She tried to lay low, that much was obvious, but SHIELD has a program to seek people like her out, to keep an eye on them.” Torres explains. Bucky’s eyes are glued to an image of the girl he saw in the elevator only an hour ago. You’re at an outdoor farmer’s market, with a ballcap pulled low over your forehead and your gaze cast downward as you browse a fruit stand. The image is eerily similar to a moment of his own life that he remembers, buying plums at a Romanian market when he was trying to go unnoticed and live a quiet life on his own.

“So, she made a misstep somewhere along the way, becomes property of SHIELD, and then Fury sends her here.” Sam recaps, looking to Torres to make sure he’s got it all right.

“Pretty much, yeah. He doesn’t think it’s safe to let her be out in the real world on her own yet.”

“Not safe for her? Or not safe for everyone else?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow. Bucky turns his attention to Torres this time as well, curious about the answer.

“Both.”

A few more details are shared around the table as Torres flips back and forth between all of the available information that he has on you. Bucky, however, is deep in thought. He watches as new and old images flit back and forth on the screen, his mind digesting everything and piecing you together. You’re pretty, that’s for damn certain. You’re pretty and he can tell from your past, from your known abilities, that you’re likely good as hell at manipulating people. He imagines with your looks alone that you could get just about anyone to do just about anything for you. With your looks and your abilities? You could do more damage than most. You’re dangerous. Dangerous and unpredictable. And now you live across the hall from him.

Those two words repeat in Bucky’s head as he takes the stairs up to the main living floor later that same day. Dangerous and unpredictable. There are a few more words floating around in his head but he’s actively ignoring those. So goddamn pretty.

You really are pretty. You wouldn’t necessarily think so yourself, as you stand in front of the full-length mirror in your room, crossing your arms over your chest. FRIDAY’s voice rang out through a speaker somewhere in your room just a few minutes earlier, letting you know that dinner would be at six. Of course, FRIDAY didn’t offer you a dress code or even a very solid answer when you asked her what one should wear to such a dinner. The last time you had dinner with anyone, you were twelve and you were wearing a sparkly pink Barbie shirt. Though you could double check your closet for a shirt like that now, you have a feeling you won’t find one in your size. So, you remain in your distressed jeans and oversized gray SHIELD sweatshirt.

“Do you think she’ll show up?” Torres asks, mainly directing his question to Sam more than anyone else. Sam shrugs as he continues stirring the spaghetti sauce he’s been cooking on the stovetop.

“If she’s hungry she will.” He responds. Truthfully, he has no idea if you’ll come out of your room or not. If you don’t, he’ll take a bowl of food to your room at the very least, but he’d prefer it if you came out and interacted with everyone so he could at least get a feel for you. It was obvious by the way Bucky sat so narrow-eyed and steely in the briefing room earlier that he doesn’t like you, that he doesn’t trust you being in the tower. Sam hasn’t yet jumped to such a conclusion.

“What do we do if she does? If she shows up?” Torres almost sounds nervous. Sam chuckles before propping his wooden spoon on the edge of the saucepan and moving to wash his hands in the kitchen sink.

“We eat dinner.”

---

You don’t look like a scared, vulnerable twelve-year-old girl, and you most definitely don’t look like someone who has the power to manipulate thoughts or feelings. As you sit at the table, twirling spaghetti noodles around your fork, you’re trying your best to ignore the eyes on you. You feel a bit relieved that it’s not the entire group staring, no, it’s just that one unreasonably attractive man with the black and gold prosthetic arm. He stares. He stares as if it’s the only thing he knows how to do. Honestly, maybe it really is the only thing he knows how to do, because he sure as hell hasn’t participated in any of the table small talk this evening.

“So, you were just laying low before SHIELD found you?” Torres asks kindly, tearing apart a piece of garlic bread with his hands as he peers over at you. He’s seated immediately to your right and has been the most inquisitive thus far.

“Yeah, clearly I wasn’t very good at that though.” You respond lightheartedly, earning you a few small laughs around the table. You lift your fork to your mouth and take a small bite of pasta. It’s heavenly honestly. It’s so much better than the measly three meals that you’ve taught yourself how to cook.

“How do you feel about ending up here?” Torres is a curious one, you’re quickly learning.

“I’m not over the moon about it but the food is better than what I was cooking for myself so, it’s not all bad.”

As you answer questions and do your best to avoid making too much eye contact with anyone, to avoid reading into anyone’s thoughts or dropping your own thoughts into anyone else’s mind, Bucky stares. He watches you intently. You’re effortlessly charming, answering everyone’s questions with a shy smile and kind voice. He’s sure it’s a façade.

Bucky’s cold stare and the fact that you happily pretend like you don’t feel his gaze on you is the reason why Sam, at the end of dinner, stands up and assigns the two of you to clean-up duty. If Bucky’s gone ahead and jumped to a conclusion about you based on a few flimsy pieces of intel and some grainy pictures, then Sam will give him the opportunity to confirm his suspicions with half an hour of alone time with you. Either he’ll come out of clean-up duty realizing he was wrong about you or he’ll come out of it with an earful for Sam.

Fifteen minutes after everyone’s finished eating and gone their separate ways for the evening, you find yourself wiping down the dinner table with a wet cloth. Bucky is watching you from the open concept kitchen, where he stands in dim lighting, scrubbing dishes at the sink.

“I can feel you staring.” You say evenly. Though your back is to him, you know his eyes are following your every move. He sets a soapy bowl down in the empty side of the sink and gets to work on another, still watching as you lean over the table and scrub over the wooden surface. He says nothing. Daring a glance over your shoulder at him, you catch sight of his blue eyes, cold and calculating as they stare right back at you. That’s the moment you feel it, a wall around him, around his mind. As you look into his eyes, you can’t get even the slightest reading on his feelings, on his thoughts. His mind is impenetrable.

You quickly look away and continue wiping down the surface of the table. What the hell was that? You’ve never been around anyone you couldn’t read before. Bucky sets another soapy dish into the right side of the sink and lets his gaze fall away from you for a moment. Did you look into his thoughts? Did you see what most people see when they look at him? A monster, an uncontrollable killer? He’s patiently waiting for you to flee, to run and lock yourself in your room after analyzing whatever you just saw in his mind. However, different thought is crossing your mind. You want to try again, to get closer to him and get a better sense of the wall you felt around him. You push a couple of chairs into their rightful places beneath the table and then look over at Bucky again as he works on the dishes. His blue eyes meet yours once more and there it is again, that wall. Before you lose your boldness, you begin walking toward the kitchen, your feet carrying you closer and closer until you’re only a foot away from Bucky’s right side. He acts uninterested and his focus remains on a dirty dish and a sponge in his hands. Your eyes dart down to the sink and you notice the clean, soapy dishes in the side closest to you. Before you realize what you’re doing, your left arm is brushing against his right arm as you start rinsing the dishes beneath a steady stream of hot water. Bucky tenses next to you the moment the sleeve of your sweatshirt brushes over the skin of his bicep.

“Are you scared of me?” You ask softly, keeping your eyes down on the suds that are running off of the bowl in your hand. You watch as they swirl around in the bottom of the sink before disappearing down the drain. Bucky scoffs and a low chuckle slips past his lips.

“Scared isn’t the word I’d use.” He says coldly, passing you another dish to rinse.

“Then why do you stare at me like that?” You question, matching his cold tone.

“Like what?”

“Like you think I’m going to try to get in your head.”

“Haven’t you done that already?” Another dish is passed over to you. The hot water is turning your hands pink, and the frustrating interaction with such an unreasonably attractive ass is turning your cheeks the same color.

“If I had, you would’ve known.” You point out, turning your head to look up at the side of his face. He doesn’t turn to meet your gaze at first, so you study his features. There’s a light stubble peppered along his lower face, over his jawline and chin. He looks young but something about him gives off more of an old soul vibe.

“You don’t have enough control over your abilities to be able to read someone without them knowing?” His tone has shifted from a cold one to a condescending one.

“I do, but I don’t care to put in any effort to hide it when I’m reading someone who already knows I can do it. I wouldn’t put in that kind of effort for you.” You retort. You’re unsure where exactly the animosity came from, but you feel it. It’s palpable in the air, the way the two of you already dislike each other. Bucky’s glad you’re returning the sentiment honestly. It’ll make it so much easier to ignore the fact that you’re fucking gorgeous. Gorgeous and pure poison.

---

The update Fury left his house at four in the morning for wasn’t at all the update he was expecting. When his assistant called and told him that there was a new development with the girl he put up in the tower, the girl that HYDRA had experimented on and practically raised with the goal of having her become weapon of mass psychological destruction, he expected to hear that you’d done something apprehensible. Maybe you’d turned the other occupants of the tower against each other and caused a modern-day civil war, maybe you’d figured out a way to level the tower entirely, he had no idea. It wasn’t until five minutes ago when he finally slid into his office chair and viewed the new intel that he felt a bit of relief, and yet a new kind of stress. HYDRA wants you back.

---

No one stays in the tower on the weekends. Sam heads off to see family, Wanda and Vision jet away for weekend stays seemingly anywhere but here, and even Torres has plans. You assume Bucky is gone too, considering you haven’t heard anyone else around since you last saw Sam leaving at sunset.

As you sit comfortably on the couch in the living area, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks, you feel almost at home for once. You’re flipping through the various movie options on Netflix when you hear the elevator ding and the doors begin sliding open. You freeze with your thumb hovering over the remote in your hand as your eyes slowly drift to the left. Bucky Barnes. Of course he doesn’t have any weekend plans. Why would he? The man is practically insufferable anytime he opens his mouth. He shoots you an uninterested look as he steps into the living area and starts pulling his leather jacket off.

Fuck. He’s the one freezing in place when his gaze floats down to your lap and he notices the skin of your thighs. He tosses his leather jacket onto the opposite side of the couch and narrows his eyes at you before moving toward the kitchen for a bottle of water.

“You don’t have pants?” He asks, his disdain for you evident in his tone.

“I was held in captivity for over a decade, what are pants?” He hates when you’re sarcastic.

“Fine, no pants. But you have a TV in your room, don’t you?” He wants you locked away in there where he won’t even have the chance to let his eyes betray the rest of him.

“Are you going to be here all weekend?” You turn your body so you can see him over the back of the couch. You lock eyes with him as he takes a gulp from his water bottle. He notices the way your gaze drifts downward, focusing on his lips for a brief moment before trailing even further down to the tight shirt he’s wearing.

“Yep.” He puts emphasis on the ‘p’ at the end of the small, simple word.

“Do you like movies?” An olive branch, you’re extending an olive branch. If you’re stuck with him as your only company for the next 48 hours, you sure as hell aren’t going to make it easy for him to hate you. Why make yourself any more miserable? In the event that it does that opposite and makes him hate you even more, you’ll still feel like you won.

Your question caught Bucky off guard. You turn to face the TV once again and he watches as you use the remote to rifle through a category titled Action Movies.

“I prefer books.” He says flatly.

“If you can get over yourself for two hours, you could watch something with me. It’s up to you.”

You didn’t expect him to go for it, in fact, you don’t even know if you actually wanted him to. At first, you thought he rejected the offer. He scooped his leather jacket up off of the couch, shot you an unreadable sideways glance, and disappeared into his room, locking the door behind him. You’ve just decided on a movie when Bucky reappears, wearing black sweats and stupidly, only his dog tags adorning his chest. When he comes into view, your eyes immediately wander, taking in the entirety of his build. Fuck. How does someone who acts like such an ass end up looking like such a god? Bucky notices the way your gaze settles just above his waistband and he can’t stop the smirk that takes over his features.

“You don’t have a shirt?” You ask, mimicking his tone from earlier.

“I was held in captivity for decades, what is a shirt?” He didn’t quite mean to let you in on his past, but there it is. You sit before him stunned, your widened eyes dropping down to look over his vibranium arm with a new understanding. “You really haven’t been in my mind, have you?” You shake your head, still unsure of what to say to him. Bucky solves the issue at hand by taking a few more steps forward and sinking into the couch one cushion away from you. “What are we watching?”

---

Shit goes sideways really fast in your life. You were only half an hour into the movie when the power suddenly went out and the dim emergency lights in the hallway kicked on. You and Bucky froze and looked at each other with a mix of confusion and anticipation, both of you feeling that something was off. It was less than a second later when Bucky heard the commotion in the elevator shaft and he knew exactly what was coming. He was on top of you in an instant, forcing your back down on the couch before rolling the both of you off and onto the floor. He managed a second roll once you landed on top of him on the hardwood, making sure that when the movement stopped, you were securely underneath him and his body was shielding yours. You watched his face as he seemed to move on autopilot, reaching up to the coffee table and breaking a glass vase with one hand before using the shards of glass to deter the two men rappelling in through the now blown-in elevator doors. It all happened so fast, seeming to begin and end in all under 10 seconds, before Bucky was shoving you down the hallway toward the emergency stairwell.

He led you down four flights before pulling you through another metal door, into yet another dimly lit hallway. When you were both safely tucked away in a briefing room, he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his sweats and called Sam, setting it on speaker and placing the device on the table in the center of the room. Now you stand still, frozen, unsure of why you feel almost nothing. No fear, no concern, nothing. You simply feel like you have no control over anything and there’s nothing you can do to help or hurt the current situation. When Bucky grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the table, lifting you by your hips to sit you on top of it, you don’t resist.

“Are you okay?” He asks hurriedly, scanning your entire body with his eyes as his hands cup your cheeks and tilt your head from side to side. He’s looking for any sign of injury, but there’s nothing. “Say something.”

“Bucky? What’s going on?” Sam’s voice rings out from the phone on the table, snapping you out of whatever silent haze you were in.

“The tower’s been breached, we need to get out of here, now.” Bucky responds tersely. He still holds your face in his hands. You blink a few times, coming back to your senses, before looking up into his eyes. Relief. You see relief soaking into his features as he realizes you’re fine. “You’re okay?” He needs to hear you say it. You nod slowly, his palms brushing over your cheeks as you do.

“I’m good, I’m okay.” You whisper.

“Can you get down to the garage?” Sam questions. You can hear the sounds of him typing through the phone, probably sending out an alert to everyone he can.

“We’ll figure out a way to.” Bucky assures him.

“I’ll send you an address for a safehouse, you take her there and you stay put. Let me know when you get into a car. Fury says a strike team is already on the way.”

So much for living in the tower being the way to keep you safe.

---

You wouldn’t have expected such a broad, muscular guy to be so stealthy. Bucky got the two of you down to the garage and into a car in what you imagine was record-breaking time. It truly would’ve been a feat if he’d managed to get back upstairs and grab you some pants or himself a shirt as well, but you can see how that wasn’t really an option.

You sit in the passenger seat now, using his phone to text Sam and let him know that you made it out safe and are on the way to the address he sent. It’s quiet in the car for a couple of minutes, the only sounds being the tires against the road and a light rain coming down on the windshield as Bucky speeds down a dark highway. You set his phone in a cupholder by the gearshift before placing your hands on your still bare thighs. In this moment, you wish you could read into Bucky’s thoughts. What’s going on in his head? Does he have any idea who those men might’ve been? What they might’ve been there for? You don’t want to come across as conceited or self-centered but you’re pretty damn sure they were there for you, most likely on behalf of HYDRA. Maybe if you could read into his thoughts, he’d have a different suspicion and it would ease your growing anxiety.

“Is that the first time the tower’s ever been breached?” Your voice comes out too soft, too meek for your own liking. Bucky lets out a deep breath before relaxing in the driver’s seat. He wanted to hear your voice more than he realized.

“As far as I know, yeah.” He says with a nod, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. That isn’t quite what you wanted to hear. Maybe something along the lines of oh no, it happened a hundred times before you moved in would’ve made you feel better. Bucky doesn’t like the quiet that takes over the car after he gives you his answer. It feels tense, and not your typical can’t-stand-each-other kind of tense. “There are a million different reasons they could’ve been there.” He knows what you’re thinking, that they were more than likely there for you.

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better.” Your voice isn’t so soft anymore.

“You think they were there for you.”

“It makes the most sense, HYDRA has never really been known to let shit go.”

“I know.” He says it so emotionlessly but the way the realization settles on your shoulders is anything but. You feel what can only be described as a fist wrapping around your heart and squeezing it. He knows. He knows about HYDRA, he knows how they operate. He knows because he’s been through their shit, probably even more intensely than you.

“I don’t have any pants.” You mumble, pushing away the heavy topic of the most heinous organization that you know to exist. Bucky chuckles under his breath as he steers the car around a curve. He finds you annoyingly likable for someone he’s intent on hating.

When you pull up to the safehouse forty-five minutes later, you’re more than relieved to see that though it’s a very small cabin on the outskirts of a national park, there are two bedrooms. After checking in with Sam on the phone, you leave Bucky in the living room while you wander down the short hallway, trying to decide which bedroom you’ll be calling your own tonight.

“Did you take me off of speaker?” Sam asks Bucky in a hushed tone, praying you’re out of earshot. Bucky sinks into the couch and pinches the bridge of his nose with the index finger and thumb of his vibranium hand.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“She was the target tonight. HYDRA wants her back. They don’t want her dead, they want her back.”

“And you didn’t want to say this to her?” Bucky asks in a whisper.

“She probably has PTSD from what they did to her all of those years, there’s no sense in upsetting her if we don’t have to yet. For now, as long as she’s safe with you, we don’t have to tell her.” Sam explains quickly. Bucky can hear the din of an airport coming through the phone speaker. Sam’s trying his best to get back to New York on short notice, which tells Bucky it’s definitely serious.

“She already has her suspicions.” Bucky points out. He glances over his shoulder and down the hall, just as you’re stepping out of one bedroom and into the next.

“Just…don’t let her out of your sight. At all.”

Bucky stays seated on the couch for a few seconds after hanging up the call with Sam. His mind is speed running through the various outcomes of this whole situation. There’s a chance HYDRA already knows about the safehouse and they’re planning to hit it sometime tonight. There’s a chance HYDRA doesn’t know shit about where the two of you are right now and you’re safe at least while you’re here. There’s a chance you get pissed at Bucky and climb out a window in the middle of the night. Fuck. How did he end up being the one here with you?

You’re rummaging through a dresser in the largest bedroom at the back of the cabin when Bucky taps his knuckles on the already open door and steps in. You’re on your knees, digging through the bottom drawer, with your hair falling forward and obscuring your face from him. His eyes follow every move you make as you tuck the hair behind your ear and glance over at him.

“Is this where you’re sleeping?” He asks, tilting his head in the direction of the queen-sized bed. You follow his gaze, taking in the thin blue quilt and sad, flat looking pillows. You nod slowly.

“Yeah.” You respond, pushing the drawer shut and rising to your feet. You were looking for an extra pair of pants but the dresser only seemed to hold various extra blankets, sheets, and towels. Bucky nods, his eyes drifting back to the bed as if he’s deep in thought. When he tosses his phone onto the bed, you narrow your eyes at him. “I said I’m taking this one.”

“We both are.” He says defiantly, taking a step further into the room before closing the bedroom door behind him. He fishes the car keys out of his pocket and drops them on top of the dresser before heading for the bed.

“What the hell does that mean? There are two rooms, two beds. There isn’t a chance in hell we’re sleeping together.” You cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head aggressively. You watch him as he starts pulling the covers back on the far side of the bed.

“You just told me that you think those men were there for you. If you’re right, those guys were able to breach the equivalent of a maximum-security prison on steroids. And you want to sleep alone? In a room with a window?” He questions you as if he doesn’t already know that those men were most definitely there for you. He sees hesitation in your eyes, and he knows he’s got you there. You crave safety, security. You won’t fight him very hard on this and he knows it.

“I’m not wearing any pants.” As soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, you’re aware that you sound like a damn kid. A whiny kid.

“I’ll give you my pants if you shut up about it already.” Bucky promises. He stands next to the bed, with his hands firmly on his hips, waiting to see what your next move will be.

“Fine, give me your pants and I’ll suffer through the night.”

“In this bed?” He gestures toward it with his vibranium hand. You nod. “Say it.”

“In this bed.” You agree, with every bit of a bad attitude brimming your tone.

It’s not long after that that you find yourself wearing another man’s baggy sweats as you lay mere inches away from him. He’s close enough that you can feel his body heat warming the space beneath the covers, but not so close that there’s a threat of bodily contact.

Bucky’s wide awake beside you. He’s watching in the darkness as the quilt over your side rises up and then drops down again with every inhale and exhale. He usually has trouble sleeping, but knowing exactly who’s after you and what they’re capable of is giving him even more trouble.

“Are you still awake?” You whisper almost inaudibly. You’re facing away from Bucky so you didn’t notice the way he’s been staring at your back, watching you breathe.

“Yeah.” You’re silent for quite a few seconds after his response, but he knows your mind is working overtime. “What?”

“Nothing, I was just wondering.” Another minute of silence goes by before you roll onto your back and heave a deep sigh. Bucky waits patiently. He counts the seconds as they go by. One. Two. Three. Four. F— “If you weren’t there tonight—”

“Don’t think about that.” He warns. His eyes coast over the side of your face. He can see the worry, the stress playing on your features.

“But if you weren’t, I would’ve ended right back where I was.” You voice trembles in the slightest, and you hope he doesn’t notice it. He notices. Bucky’s fists clench beneath the bedsheets.

“You don’t even know if it was them, or if they were after you.” You roll over to face him now and he can see the tears gathering in your eyes, glinting in the moonlight from the window.

“I know.” You say assuredly, without a trace of doubt behind your words. Bucky knows he can’t lie to you, he can’t convince you that you didn’t nearly end up back in HYDRA’s clutches tonight. He can’t lie to you, and he won’t.

“Do you feel safe right now? Here?” He asks, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it before. You search his face before answering with a small nod. “Focus on that. Don’t work yourself up over what could’ve happened. Just rest tonight and we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“I’m already worked up, I can’t sleep.”

“I gave you my pants for you to lie here all night and not sleep?” He asks jokingly. You move your leg under the covers and kick his shin lightly. When you start to pull your leg back to your side of the bed, something stops you.

“Do you want them back?” You offer. Bucky raises an eyebrow at you, unsure of where you’re going with this. It’s as if the playfulness of the moment is erasing the fear and stress in your mind, so you go with it. “I’ll give them back.”

“So, all of that complaining about not having pants was what? An attempt to get me out of mine?” Bucky teases. He props his head up on one hand over his pillow, a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.

“You gave in pretty easily, didn’t you? I think you wanted to take them off.” You retort, nudging his leg with yours again. Bucky licks his bottom lip as he gauges the tension growing between the two of you. Is this what you do to help you fall asleep? To test the waters, he places a hand right above the knee of the leg you keep nudging him with. It’s as if his touch sets off an electric spark, you feel it dancing from your knee all the way up to your chest and then right back down. The feeling settles between your legs.

“I was doing you a favor.” He rasps, rubbing light circles on your leg with his thumb. “And I was trying to shut you up.” Silence is becoming familiar between the two of you. You look at him for a long moment, mesmerized by the way his thumb is circling against the fabric of the sweats that he gave you. You find yourself staring first into his eyes, and then at his lips. You’d ask yourself what the hell you’re thinking but, let’s be honest: you’re not thinking.

“Would you do me one more favor?”

“What’s that?” Bucky asks as his hand inches a bit further up your thigh.

“Shut me up.”

---

There are a thousand reasons Bucky can think of to not be doing exactly what he’s doing right now. A thousand reasons to not be sucking on your bottom lip and grinding his erection against your clothed cunt. Maybe even a thousand and one reasons not to be absolutely fucking loving every second of it. But every filthy little moan and whimper that graces his ears only spurs him on. He’s doing you a favor, right?

“This isn’t really shutting you up.” You can feel his smirk against the skin of your neck as he slows the movement of his hips and begins grinding against you at a tortuously useless pace. “Maybe we should try it with the sweats out of the way, see if that shuts you up.”

“Yeah, that’s an idea.” The words come out breathlessly. You place your hands against Bucky’s shoulders and push him off of you. He returns to his side of the bed, trying to calm himself down as you lay beside him and shimmy out of his sweats. As far as he knows, that’s all you’re taking off. But in a moment of boldness, you decided to speed things up a bit and take your panties off with them. When you glance over and see him lying on his back, with the moonlight highlighting the sweat that glistens over the ridges of his abs, all you can think about is him. Being on him, being under him, you need him. He looks back at you with a daring look and you’re sold, you’re straddling his hips, hovering right over his boxers in an instant.

Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat when his flesh palm lands against your hip, just beneath the fabric of your t-shirt, and he only feels skin. Where’s the waistband of your panties? You see the surprise on his face as he grips your hips tighter, keeping you from sitting down and fulling straddling him.

“I thought I said try it with the sweats out of the way.” He tsks playfully. You have no idea how badly he wants to rip his boxers off and plunge his cock so deep inside you that you scream.

“Oops, I must’ve misheard you.” Your mischievous smile makes his cock harden that last little bit, and he can feel the way his balls begin aching to be emptied. He fucking hates you for making him feel this way.

“I should’ve known that being a good girl and listening wasn’t going to be your thing.” He says with a shake of his head. You’re about to say something else teasing and sarcastic when Bucky’s fingers dig into your hips sharply, surely leaving bruises, and he forces you to sit down across the hard shaft of his cock. Your wet cunt instantly soaks the fabric of his boxers and within two seconds, he can feel how wet you really are for him. For him. He hates you. He hates you. He hates you. He has to remind himself repeatedly as you begin circling your hips, because he fears he’s quickly forgetting that fact. You grind down with a little more pressure and he can feel a bead of precum slipping down the head of his cock. A soft groan slips out of him and he starts pushing your t-shirt up higher and higher until he’s pulling it over your head. The pale moonlight is just enough to let him see your bare chest and again, he’s chanting in his head. He hates you. He’s just doing this to make you feel better, to get your mind off of the HYDRA shit so you can sleep tonight. That’s all it is, right? A favor. As you lean down and start kissing and sucking on the skin of his neck, he feels your fingertips slowly dragging his boxers down by the waistband. He hates you.

At some point, Bucky helped you get his boxers all the way down his legs and he kicked them off and away until they were lost beneath the mess of sheets and blankets atop the bed. When your hand fisted around his cock the first time, he rutted into your hand without meaning to. It was like instinct. You wrapped your fist around him a little tighter and pressed your lips against his in a desperate kiss as he thrusted into your hand a second time, letting his precum wet your palm and then using it as lube. You would’ve been satisfied letting him fuck your hand, honestly. You probably could’ve orgasmed just from that experience alone, but you didn’t need him knowing you were that easy for him. That’s what got you to where you are now,

“I hate you.” You lie straight through your teeth as you drag your cunt back and forth along the length of his cock. Every time the head of it rubs against your clit, Bucky can feel your thighs tremble on either side of him and he’s fighting the urge to bend you over the bed and ruin you.

“I hate you too.” He lies right back. When you look into each other’s eyes, you both know there isn’t much truth coming from either of your mouths. “Sit on my cock.”

Never have you ever been one to listen when a man tells you what to do, until this moment, with Bucky Barnes. He watches as you position the head of his cock just right at your entrance. You’d think a man would want to watch as his entire length disappears inside of you, but no. Bucky looks up at your face as soon as the tip notches inside you. He watches with heavy breaths and groans falling from his lips as your mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ shape and your eyes scrunch closed at the way your walls stretch to fit him in.

“That’s it, don’t stop until you take it all.” Filthy. He’s fucking filthy. And you listen to every word he says, sinking down until you feel his balls pressing firmly against your ass. “Shit.” When he finally tears his eyes away from your face and gets a look at where you’re so deeply connected, he can’t fucking stand it. It’s too much and not enough all at the same time. “You have to move.” He groans, slipping his flesh hand further back from your hip to grab your ass.

“I can’t.” You whimper, leaning forward and bracing your hands on the mattress, on either side of his head.

“Move or get off of my cock.” You’d almost be offended if you didn’t know that he’s saying that because he’s close to blowing his load in you too early. You can feel the way his balls are tightening against your ass and you know he’s desperate. So, you try. You lift yourself up one single inch, and then slide back down. Then two inches, then back down. You repeat it over and over slowly, building up a rhythm as your own pleasure begins to grow. “Fuck, maybe you’re a good listener after all.”

“Stop talking.” You moan out, picking up the pace. You’re fully fucking his cock now, your bodies making obscene sounds as skin slaps against skin repeatedly. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, hate me a little more and see what that gets you.” He taunts, squeezing your ass with both hands and using his grasp there to help guide the up and down movement of your hips. You’re close and truthfully, you don’t even want to tell him.

The trouble really starts when he moves his flesh hand to your lower stomach and presses his thumb against your clit, offering a delicious friction there as you ride his dick. The increase in pleasure makes it even harder to think straight. You’re not thinking straight in the slightest when you move your hands to his chest, not paying attention to the fact that you have one hand over his heart.

“I’m close.” You whimper, earning you another squeeze of your ass with his vibranium hand and a bit more pressure against your clit. Your eyes are shut tightly as you focus on the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls and the tip of it nearing your cervix with every snap of your hips.

When you open your eyes and look down at him, his blue eyes flit up to meet yours and that’s when you realize the mistake you’ve made. He starts rubbing circles against your clit the moment your eyes meet, sending you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes in like a tidal wave, sweeping and relentless. With your hands on Bucky’s bare chest and your eyes locked, you lose the last shred of control you have, the last morsel of control over your abilities slips from your grasp. He feels it. Bucky feels every bit of pleasure that’s coursing through your body, he feels every thought in your mind, he hears your inner voice screaming for him. In the heat of the moment, you pour every sensation that you’re feeling straight into Bucky’s nervous system.

He can’t even speak as his orgasm hits ten times harder than it ever has before. He knows it’s coming from the eye contact and your hand on his chest, he can feel the uncharacteristic coolness beneath your palm that rests over his heart. It’s why he clamps his own hand over yours on his chest and uses his vibranium arm to wrap around your back and pull you down against him. As Bucky’s cum paints your walls, filling you so full that it starts dripping down his shaft, he can’t stop thrusting up into you. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop.

“Bucky, I’m…” You suck in a deep breath as you collapse on his chest, though he keeps your hand anchored over his heart. “I’m full, I can’t…” He shushes you as he continues pushing his cock up into your pussy. He slows but doesn’t stop.

“Don’t move.” He’s begging. Though his tone doesn’t sound like it, he’s fully aware that that’s what he’s doing. You haven’t fully caught your breath yet, but a soft laugh leaves your lips.

“Move or get off of my cock.” You repeat his earlier words playfully.

“I hate you.”

TAG LIST:

@sunnyhummingbee @gyokujyn @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @ordelixx @crist1216 @twlkdead @claireelizabeth85 @charmedbysarge @blackhawkfanatic @kentokaze @nyashonality @h2oaffirmations @sadeyes61 @aka-tua-braindump @immortalfangirl

#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier #winter soldier

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taylorswiftstyle · 3 months

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66th Annual Grammy Awards | Los Angeles, CA | February 4, 2024

Schiaparelli gown

In my eyes, a Schiaparelli look should be an uncontested slam dunk. So for this look to, in my opinion, not fly quite as high as befits the beautiful work of Daniel Roseberry is almost a greater disappointment than an average look on its own. To opt for a designer that is known for its surrealism and its beautifully eerie ethereal strangeness but to tamp it down to what I mistook as a Vivienne Westwood gown and strip it of any possible Schiaparelli beautiful weirdness feels like a huge missed opportunity. Especially when it could have really been magical and interesting and a fashion risk for Taylor.

But I also understand that she had a vision. And she molded the designer to fit her and that vision.

It’s a look that I feel falls on an Easter Egg’s sharpened sword. The draping akin to tangled bedsheets, the Victorian cameo-esque appearance of the watch choker from afar, the dramatic opera gloves, the corset back, and the black and white colour scheme feel pulled from (or inspired by) what we now know is the forthcoming album formerly known as ‘TS11’: Tortured Poets Department. And if Taylor’s admission that this project has been in the works for the last two years is anything to go by, it also throws into sharp relief the schoolgirl plaids, the dark academia loafers, and the shadowy colour palette her street style has often centered on in recent months.

There are so many beautiful elements to pull apart here that feel sacrificial in the name of early evocation of what could be a scholarly-sounding (or perhaps sapient-sounding) album based on the cover and intro language. The gown has a beautiful shape (the waist cinching!) and is a fascinating colour choice that could read suffragette or bride depending on who’s asked (and isn’t that in itself an intentional diametric “Lavender Haze” worth dissecting?). But the black accessories (presumably in service of Tortured Poets) overcooks it. I think a low bun, single strand of diamonds, and closed toe pumps could have gone a long way in styling (I’ll let the trendy gloves stay - in combination with the white gown they’re giving Princess Kate at the BAFTAs, no?).

The biggest point of all is that Taylor understands the connect between her music and her style (I should know - I spend 350+ pages talking about it in my upcoming book Taylor Swift Style: Fashion Through the Eras). She also understands the role her style plays in cementing moments in her career to milestones. This moment. This gown. It joins a trio of looks as her most memorable and significant: her AOTY wins. This look will forever be enshrined in slideshows depicting the new precedent she has set for any artist - male or female. And what a win it is for an album I love so much. Knowing that, it feels even more fascinating to me that she’d use this moment as a bridge to another project and not honouring the album in question.

Worn with: Lorraine Schwartz jewelry and Giuseppe Zanotti heels

Photos by Matt Winkelmeyer and Gilbert Flores via Getty Images

#taylor swift #award #dress #schiaparelli #february 2024 #grammys

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autumnmobile12 · 10 months

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7 Ways to Introduce the Villain.

1. The Shadow

A lot of series go with the classic 'ominous shadowy figure in the background.' Here's Silco in Arcane. Sinister voice, sinister dude, sinister intent. Boom, you have your villain.

2. The Slow Reveal

Other variations of the 'shadowy figure' in which the series draws out the reveal of the villain. Avatar: The Last Airbender doesn't reveal the Firelord until the final season, but his presence is felt throughout the series. He's always this looming threat whose will is carried out by his underlings. (General Zhao, Azula, etc.)

3. The Fabulous Entrance!

Okay, so we do hear Ragyo on the phone a couple times before they actually show her face, but goddamn, this entrance. It is impressive and terrifying and, it perfectly suits the utter psycho that she is.

There is no normal expression this woman makes when she's 'happy.' She's always smug or angry or annoyed, but this face with her staring, manic eyes and smile still haunts me. Send help.

4. The Sudden Entrance

Shigaraki kinda comes out of nowhere in My Hero Academia. For the first few episodes, its all lighthearted and fun and dealing with Bakugo's BS and then the class heads off on a field trip and suddenly,

"Oh, shit! Plot is happening!"

This series started off with kids learning to be heroes, and now its tragedy and social upheaval and people's lives are in danger.

5. The Incognito Entrance

This is when some random nonthreatening dude/lady just kinda sidles into the plot the be the butt of a joke and later turns out to have been one of the villains.

This scene was so weird. Tyki is just minding his own business, scamming people at cards. Then Allen and Lavi show up looking for their friend (the guy currently being scammed), and even though he recognizes them as exorcists and his enemies, Tyki has to sit there and play it off like he doesn't know jack cause if he does anything, he's gonna blow his cover in front of his human buddies. And then he suffers the indignation of being stripped in a poker game in broad daylight because the main protagonist is absolutely evil with a card deck. And then he just walks away from this like it's a totally normal thing, not even really taking vengeance for it. (He went after Allen, sure, but that was more of a job than any personal vendetta.) He's not the main villain, but I couldn't resist pointing out how bizarre this is.

For those who haven't seen D. Gray Man, the guy in the center is one of the main antagonists, and though this is technically the second time you see him, the first encounter was so short it was practically a cameo and he was a Victorian-era, Dorian Gray dandy gentleman, not this hobo riding a train.

6. The Traitor

Since the Undertaker was more of a neutral party in Black Butler, I don't think he really counts as a traitor. Still, I don't think too many of us were suspecting the morbid jokester Grim Reaper was going to turn out to be a major antagonist later on.

7. The Protagonist

And sometimes the protagonist is the villain!

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absolutebl · 5 months

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Pit Babe - it's time for a Trash Watch!

I had to. Well, no I didn't, but COME ON. It's like Thailand is negging me. Let's burn rubber, shall we? Burn rubbers...?

The things I had been told going in about this show:

it's about car racing (this bores me)

it stars Pavel (my BL ult bias, he is my icon for a reason)

it started as an omegaverse y-novel but the A/B/O aspects would be stripped from the BL series

it's high heat

(There some chatter about whether point 3 was a mistranslation of something the author said, but don't bother me with trifles.)

Here's a definition of omegaverse:

Omegaverse, also known as A/B/O (alpha/beta/omega), is a subgenre of speculative erotic fiction, and originally a subgenre of erotic slash fan fiction. Its premise is that a dominance hierarchy exists in humans, which are divided into dominant "alphas", neutral "betas", and submissive "omegas".[1] This hierarchy determines how people interact with one another in romantic, erotic and sexual contexts.[2] (Wikipedia)

In my experience and opinion, omegaverse archetypes and tropes are often used to strip out female characters (and The Feminine) and as a tool to excuse extreme hyper-masculine behaviors without a critical feminist lens (leading to lazy characterization). Just as heat is an excuse to get nkd quickly, A/O/B is often an excuse for taboo and dubious consent actions and behaviors. Do I get why writers/readers enjoy it? Yes I do. Do I personally like it? Not particularly. (Although there are always exceptions.)

Putting all that aside, the above represents my foundational knowledge before Pit Babe started.

Oh and that the familiar BL faces appearing in this show were follows:

Pavel Naret (aka Pavel Phoom) from 2 Moons 2 & Coffee Melody - Pavel is a fluent English speaker, a bit of a drama monger, and a motorcycle rider/car-dude, this role suits him

Nut Supanut from Oxygen & Something in My Room - has an amazing voice, his somewhat wooden acting has improved steadily since Oxygen

Pon Thanapon - one of Star Hunter's stable first seen in the Gen Y series (where he stole the appeal of an intended pair), also v good in Make a Wish, I wish he'd get a lead role as he has a likable screen presence

Pop Pataraphol from La Cuisine - he's playing the Alpha rival and I'm not convinced he's suited to this role

Michael Kiettisak from Love Sick, Oxygen, Call it What You Want, Till the World Ends - playing the comic relief this time rather than his usual tortured stoic... huh

All the rest are either fresh faces or older experienced actors. Interesting mix. They must have some money behind this.

And now, get out your marshmallows! The dumpster is on fire! Let's start the roast.

Episode 1 - Platypus, Pickles, Pavel, & other Smoking Hot Problems

This first segment told with a 4 day retrospect, because I decided to do a trash watch only after @aliceisathome said I should.

My initial reaction:

the sheer audacity of Thailand being like "PitBabe is not omegaverse" and then serving "Alpha" to us on a platter in the first sex scene is

how dare

but also

what the actual fuck is going on? what world are we living in where a/b/o is LIVE ACTION ON OUR SCREENS?

we getting heat, knotting & mpreg next?

apparently this is my reality now

I'm not sure what weird quantum time stream I've jumped into but someone was all,

yes the whole world is hella screwed, but also...

Thailand has decided live action mm fanfic is gonna win it the culture wars

and I'm beginning to think they may be right

BL is now the platypus of the film industry

4 days later:

Considering how much chatter this caused there's a part of me that wondered if it was all intentional and a marketing ploy (to say it wasn't omegaverse when obviously it is). In which case... brilliant Machiavellian tactics, production.

But Thai studios are rarely this calculated in their promo. So I think it's all accidental. But it certainly caused a raucous few days on Tumblr.

On a completely different note, Babe's house looks like it started life as a particularly inventive Olive Garden. Or is that just me?

More random thoughts:

Pavel has had work done, why honey? You were the definition of perfect.

The smell thing is great, I love stuff to do with scent and necks. If omegaverse brings this to the table, fine. But...

Being all Alpha perfect butch manly man = I do not like Babe at all, I kinda want him to be brought down a peg. (Woo... pegging!) I never like narratives that glorify the captain of the football team (side eyes Cdrama CEO romances and Love O2O), Babe better have depth and damage (forget the pegging) of some kind or his behavior will get old FAST, faster than he drives (also, forget the pegging idea)

Nut is ideal in the Beta role. I mean, that's Way's character right? We all can see that. If it's not intentional, it's a miscast. I love how soft he is as as screen presence. He's great in this part.

None of the other characters are sticking out to me yet, but I'm prepared to love the side dishes in this, please make them swoon worthy!

I'm glad they didn't hold the Charlie = trickster reveal off, I like knowing he is a double agent up front.

Finally, with respect to an adequate trash watch, I'm in a pickle.

How am I going to drink for this show when there is so much else airing on Frigay? I can't keep track, if I'm drunk.

I need a strategy for this trash fire if the puns and snark are to spout forth! (HA Fourth!)

Controlled burn?

Anygay, see you all next week.

Episode 2 - Side Dish Addiction + Second Lead Syndrome are both infecting me at once

[FYI I gotta have my backup computer to watch this so that's why Imma sometimes be delayed getting the trash out to the curb.]

3 minutes! 3 minutes in and I needed to pause and wax snarkful. (Ouch, bet that hurts. Is waxing snark similar to a Brazilian but for BL? Is that why they all so hairless in The Sign?... I digress, where was I?)

Okay so the subber said Daddy but I don't think that word means what they think it means. Because Way said simply nong paa.

Usually they'll use the English word Daddy (pronounced Dah-deee) for, ya know, Actual Daddies (tm).

Wait wait:

Calling Daddy Actual

(My dumb sci-fi loving arse will see myself out the back before I start drawing Battlestar Galactica = Pit Babe connections. TOO FAR ABL. Too far.)

Look, I like the tension in this show. It's good to set up an unlikeable Alpha dog and then immediately turn him into an underdog, makes him a bit more likable. I still don't like Babe, but now at least I'm on his side.

Charlie = cute but v sus. Fortunately for him, Babe = cute but v thick.

Everyone calls Charlie Babe's dek. Yes sounds a bit like what you think but also means kid/child and SHOULD be translated as boy in this show. Why doesn't the subber get that? They a sub...ber after all. (I'll see myself out.)

Honestly, the script writers might know what they are doing with abo but our eng sub translator sadly does NOT. I'm so glad this is coming now in my BL watching life. When my ear and knowledge of Thai is so much better than it once was. Others much be SO CONFUSED.

Snicker. They just fucking with us, but it's fun to watch the mpeg speculation abound.

File this one under: Thailand's trouble with ESL plurals and also "you should have Pavel helping with these subs" sweethearts.

Production knows entirely what it's doing with this show and its omegaverse shizz (even if the subber doesn't) and I am very much enjoying the online carnage that results.

This dumpster fire continues off screen into the blogosphere and I continue to roast things over it.

Meanwhile, hi Pon! You so adorable! When you gonna lead out a BL for us?

Is Idol Factory stealing all of Star Hunter's talent? Are they the Red Racers of the BL world? These are the questions I ask myself as I watch this.

Is that AGE GAP I smell before me?

Is the 20 yr old college kid meant for the pit boss? Cause you all know I am a slut for age gaps.

Moment of a/b/o: Jeff's fear of touch/heightened personal space would be a plot marker for "baby doesn't want Alphas close cause he smells like an omega" but of course this show it not omegaverse. Not omegaverse at all.

nuh-uh

Linguistic corner!

Lung (sounds a bit like loo) is uncle(ish) it means basically a male relation older than phi. So Alan is the oldest in the crew.

Alan calls Jeff nu (which the subber translated as boy I would have gone with cutie or little one). Nu is a diminutive affectionate term that's technically gender neutral but is most often used by/on cute girls/women. Jeff did NOT like it. Then Alan sort of dodges through pronouns/particles settling on phi for I, ger for you, and ja for a particle. This is interesting because ger & ja kinda lower his age and status into a casual sphere. Not more intimate more equal to jeff... fascinating.

I love the new "Korean" red racer, he drinks my brand of soy milk. He is now my baby snake in the grass.

Get it? Snake.

He and Babe should end up together.

The fight wasn't bad, do both actors have kickbox training in their backgrounds?

Who am I kidding, I care only about Uncle Alan and Nu Jeff now. All others are irrelevant to me.

Also...

WHERE IS A BOY FOR WAY?!!! Or a Daddy. I do not care. (Methinks nether does he.)

I am now captain of the Way Appreciation Society. Let's all find a way... to get him some dick.

Also the BTS stingers are tons of fun. Looks like the set was a blast.

Finally, and I mean this kindly. Why isn't Noh Phouluang in this? He should have been cast as Winner. Bah. I'm biased.

But one should be with Noh.

Episode 3 - Side Dishes Delux

Gayest bridge n Thailand has made its obligatory appearance.

How much do I love uncle & nu? They are SO damn cute. Also nu flustered is the best kind of nu.

I could not care less about Babe and Charlie. Except I do love the smell thing.

Way will break my heart by getting his broken. He is right tho.

Tra la la. I feel like this is a bit like KP 2.0.

Charlie is a such a princess (and ace manipulator). Good thing Babe clearly likes being buttered up.

Babe's backstory was more interesting than I expected, I didn't think we would go so far into the paranormal side of a/b/o. I like it and I hope they lean into it quite a bit more. Make it part of the plot.

Unlike the kissing thing which seems to have been gotten over rather quickly.

I gotta say I'm enjoying the corporate sponsorship jockeying and tension more than I thought I would. I'm curious as to who Jef and Charlie are working for and what their motivation is. The plot itself is keeping me intrigued and that is rare for me with BL.

So no trash talk this ep, I was largely absorbed and entertained. I didn't event need booze. Shocking behavior on my part.

#giveWayaboy2023

Episode 4 - I (who never ship) am shipping the impossible

Here’s the thing. I just want this to be a better story than it is. Right now it’s kind of like a soap opera. I don’t hate lakorn, I really don't. To Sir With Love is a glorious chewing of the diamanté scenery (completed with death glitter). But...

If this is gonna be a soap opera it needs to lean into the messy side more than the tailored high concept side. Support characters and evil needs more screen time.

Instead, right now, I don’t know where I am with this show because it doesn't know where it wants to be. I’m kind of dangling in the middle of a dirty situation. It’s uncomfortable for me, and the show feels uncomfortable for the performers.

Also... I have questions.

Yes, of course I want to know what Charlie & Jeff are up to. Why can Jeff see the future?

But more importantly I NEED to know why Babe has a flying saucer bed?

That kind of lighting makes nobody look good, especially not at that angle. It’s very traumatic and I’m not wild about the shag rug either. I have concerns about Babe's taste. I guess is what I am saying.

On a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT note:

There’s absolutely no chemistry to justify this, but I have decided that I am going to personally advocate for, and ship, Way and the interloping not-really-Korean. They are both sort of own-moral-code types. I have tiny crush on Kim, and Nut is the prettiest, and Way is Best Boy so there it is, I would like them to hook up, please & thank you.

#giveWay2Kim2023

Arrow guy is cute, too. Will we get to see him bone?

Is he going to be another one of the adopted alpha super-kid pets?

What the hell, throw Arrow Boy a bone! All hot boys in BLs deserve bones.

Plot thickens.

Hah.

Thickens.

(I am an immature idiot.)

Episode 5 - wait wait way-t, can arrow boy have Way?

Look, BLabies, I didn’t get any screen caps this episode because frankly there wasn’t anything worth capturing.

I guess Charlie really does love Babe? Very dramatic if idiotic saving from the burning car. But Babe has gone to the broken Alpha place of extremely unlikeablability (frankly he was almost there at the start). If I were Charles B Spectacled I would be OUT by now.

Is that?

NO.

Don't get the plastic bowl.

No white towel sponge bath. Please kill this trope.

I mean, it's not as bad as singing, but that's because NOTHING is as bad as singing in a Thai BL.

AND the main boys are back together.

I don’t find their relationship or Babe’s lack of senses a particularly interesting aspect of the plot.

Unless, of course, Babe is pregnant and that's why he lost his Alpha sniffer.

BUT I do love the sides.

Jeff = the introvert precog who can’t/wont do people and Alan = the extrovert people person who WANTS but doesn’t understand him.

Were Jeff and Charlie ALSO raised by Evil Daddy MacEvilPants?

I liked the way Arrow CEO & Way looked at each other. Way, hon, give up on Babe (he sucks) and get thyself a billionaire bf with great aim and BDE.

On a completely different note, the best thing about this show is the blooper reel. That thing with the green smoothie going down his pants was hilarious!

In conclusion, this was a green smoothie down the pants episode. I was entertained, and it’s probably gonna be good for the plot in retrospect, but it was kind of squishy and unpleasant at the time.

Episode 6 - Are they actually listening to us now? Is Tumblr bugged?

This was a fun ep full of like actual racing and shizz.

Whatever.

Charlie is on the team now. All the teams, apparently.

Can we talk about Jeff and Alan?

The apology scene! Did you hear that Alan dropped to chan/ger? Eeeee!!! So cute. (He equalized their relationship in a soft way.)

Get it with that language play hottie. Next up: lengua play.

Please & thank you.

Meanwhile, as all of the Internet knows, they went fully in for omegaverse - no bars.

I have to say, one of the greatest typos (or whatever) in existence is enigma instead of omega.

That's where I personally would rank in the omegaverse.

Hello, my gender is... enigma.

Apparently it's a/b/o and sometimes e! Also sometimes switch-ee

Oh I'm very proud of myself with that one.

Funfunfun

Charlie. Babes. When a man asks to be thrown up against the wall. You throw him against that wall.

OMG is that arrow boy looking at Way in the bar?

3 seconds later.

Noooo.

Wait come back.

Noooooo.

That’s what I actually want to watch!

OMG. Who said nu was the first step to teelak?

I flipping love Alan.

Ah the boyfriend ep. Thank you, but I still don't trust Charlie.

Poor Way.

But nice crying jag, and I don’t say that often in Thai BL.

Now let him go, Way.

A boy with his arrows is waiting.

(source)

Note for the future: tumblr has a bug that stops allowing edits after a certain time/number, thus my full trash often occur in 2 segments as a result. Click on the "abl trash watches bl" tag for the full thing if you're reading this and later episodes are missing.

#pit babe the series #pit babe #thai bl #abl trash watches bl #Pavel Naret Promphaopun #pavel phoom #trash watch #2023 bl #currently airing bl #watch along #Nut Supanut #Pon Thanapon #พิษเบ๊บ

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nicksolemnlyswears · 10 months

Text

HAN LUE HEADCANONS

TOKYO DRIFT

pairing: han lue x waitress! reader

word count: 6.3k words

warnings: some smut

notes: after simping for this man for years i’ve finally caved and wrote some headcannons for him.

PT. 2 PT.3

-meeting him...the first time you ever saw han was at work, an american themed diner where you were a waitress. at the time you didn't think much of him, he was just another customer who came in and out. that was until he became a regular.

-once a week became three times a week. next thing you know he was there every night ordering a cup of coffee along with a plain old burger and fries. no pickles.

-han became a familiar face, something to look forward to on your late night shifts. you knew to expect him to come around at 2 or 3 am, never earlier.

-han always scoped the small diner to see which part you were working at and sat there. his excuse was that you already learned his order. "it makes everything so much easier, don’t you agree?" he'd say with a smirk on his handsome face.

-you accepted it. it’s a harmless gesture and you'd rather serve him than the drunk american tourists that swung by the diner. that’s the thing with han, he chose you to serve him but he never acted weird towards you, no inappropriate comments or handsy actions. he made you feel comfortable in his presence, calm even.

-whenever you see him walking by the front of the diner you'd prepare him a fresh pot of coffee. as soon as he sat down on his chosen booth you'd place the steaming cup right in front of him.

-you've made it your mission to tell han how bad consuming one pot of coffee in such a short amount of time is. especially at 3 am but he always shrugs it off, taking a sip of his coffee and locking his eyes with yours, challenging your statement. you’d roll your eyes and mutter a ‘whatever,’ rushing to serve another customer.

-best believe han would watch you walk away to admire your ass, your tacky diner uniform framing it perfectly.

-han tended to order one of two things. either a bacon burger with fries. no pickles. or pancakes drenched in syrup with lots of bacon on the side. with time you get so comfortable with him that when you serve him his food you steal a fry or strip of bacon. its your service fee for being his chosen waitress.

-han is the only one that leaves a tip when he leaves the diner. in tokyo nobody tips, but he insists for the sake of the whole american diner experience. in reality, you're his favorite and he likes you so he doesn't mind dropping a few extra bucks.

-you use that tip money strictly for your manicure. every week a new color covers your nails without fault. han being so observant notices this and looks forward to every thursday to see what color you've chosen. he doesn't make his observation known but he can't help but compliment them when you get your nails done in the same exact orange as his car. pure coincidence because you've never seen his car.

-it takes months of seeing his face for him to make a move of any sort because at first he had no intention of pursuing anything. he went to the diner cause it reminds of home, california. seeing your pretty face was an extra.

-when han gets wrapped up in takashis business and skips a few days he finds himself missing you, wondering what you were up to. if it was a busy night at the diner, were there any rowdy tourists you had to straighten out, and most importantly, what color did you change your nails to?

-one slow night its just the two of you. the cooks are on the back, the other waitress is taking her break. its 4:30 am most drunks are home and the early birds are on their way to the diner

-for once han is sitting on the bar, you across from him, drying mugs and cups. it's now or never. taking one last drink from his coffee han says “you know i have a theory about you.”

“and what’s that?” you ask him, looking up at him through your lashes. your hands busy drying a mug that's already dry.

“you’re a vampire,” he says simply. no smile or sarcastic remark.

laugh bubbles out of you, “han, what the hell?”

only when you laugh does he allow himself to smile. “it’s the only explanation as to why i only see you at nighttime. you’re gone before sunrise too,” he says nonchalantly.

“where is this coming from?” you ask raising an eyebrow, a grin still plastered across your face. the damp towel thrown across your shoulder. you lean forward casually on the counter, coming face to face with the mysterious han.

“just that i’d like to see you during the day time to prove my theory.”

you stare at him, eyes slightly narrowed and he meets straight on. there's no fear in his eyes but there is a hint of expectancy. despite looking at you his hand twirls the remnants of cold coffee in his cup, emanating coolness and nonchalance.

“is this your way of finally asking me out?”

"is it working?" han asks, eyes briefly looking away, before landing on yours again.

"it is," you smile, grabbing a napkin and a pen from your apron to scribble down your number. "text me."

-the date takes place a few days later. han offers to pick you up from your apartment. when you walk out your building han falls harder for you. he always believed you were beautiful even when you barely tried when working at the diner but seeing you out of your uniform all dolled up for him with makeup and hair done. you were more than beautiful, you were stunning.

-you approach him as he leans on his car, trying to act cool. it doesn't make a difference, you already think he's the coolest ever. this is the first time you see his car and it's expensive. you don't know shit about cars but you do have expensive taste and the orange car was ringing alarms in your head.

-one thing is for sure...you have lots to learn about han lue. if all goes well he will not hesitate to tell you all about himself.

-“there you have it i'm not a vampire,” you say as you near him. he chuckles and opens up the door for you. "although i can't promise i don't bite."

“good to know,” he responds in his usual calm tone. your comment does nothing to deter him instead it eggs him on.

-han goes all out for the date. he impresses you with his driving skills, he pays for EVERYTHING, and acts like an outright gentleman. there isn't a red flag on sight. you're not one to put out on the first date but he's treated you so well you heavily consider it.

-something you had never experienced in the past is finding driving sexy. han dominates the car as if its an extension of himself. throughout the entirety of the car ride he's speeding 100 miles and you barely feel it. he swerves between cars to get past them without a beat of hesitation.

-you can look at the streets of tokyo another time. right now your focus is on him. how he grips the steering wheel with one hand, the other on the gear stick. he glances your way and smiles. he knows exactly what he's doing.

-by the end of the date you are more than turned on. the tension between the two of you is intoxicating. you tell yourself you just want to get rid of your dry spell but it’s all a lie. han turns you on in every way possible.

-at the end of the night you shyly invite him into your apartment, hoping he'll say yes and he does. you entertain yourselves with fake pleasantries, asking him if he wants anything, handing him a beer, making small talk.

-the space on your small couch turns smaller and smaller as you both inch towards each other. with one shy glance towards his lips, he takes it as an invitation and smashes his lips against yours. it’s game over. clothes are thrown around, beer is left to warm on the coffee table, and clumsily you make it to your bedroom

-although the moment starts rushed, he slows it down. enjoying your body and everything you had to offer. it's so good you're glad you broke your 'no sex on the first date' rule. because han takes you to highs you haven't experienced in a long, long time

-it’s laying in bed that night that han pops the question, "do you want to be my girlfriend?" he could've waited a few more dates down the road but you two had already skipped a few steps and you've known each other for so long as well. he couldn't wait any longer.

-dating han is unlike anything you expected. first of all you didn't expect him to have so much damn money. it's his treat everytime you go out no matter how much you argue, he already has his card out and manages to pay without you even noticing.

-if you manage to sneak around him and pay, he finds a way to make up for it by buying you stuff you don't need. teddy bears, flowers, jewelry, shoes, clothes, lingerie. okay that last one you really like because it's worth his reaction. he might've picked it thinking it would look good on you but the real thing is so much better.

-now that you're dating, han has even more reason to go see you at the diner. he has his late dinner and gets to chat with you in between serving customers. although your uniform is the definition of an american stereotype he adores it, especially when you pair it with a pair of beat up, high-top red converse that are reserved strictly for work.

-he takes you to the back of the diner to fuck you on your break, it's a given. since he loves your uniform and you are on borrowed time han only lifts the skirt up your hips to have his way with you in it. you brace yourself with your hands on the hard wall, panties pulled to the side, hans hard cock pushing into you from behind. his hands dig onto your hip as he pulls you back to meet his thrusts. the rest of your shift you spend it with sticky panties, a reminder of your activity with han.

-everyone and i repeat everyone knows what you're up. how can they not? you leave looking somewhat put together and comeback with a wrinkled uniform and messed up hair.

-han is such a good boyfriend that he picks up you after your shifts at the diner. either way most of the things he does in his life are at nighttime, waiting for you to finish work at 5 am is nothing. if he so happens to have business he leaves and comes back to pick you up without question. that way he can fall asleep with you in his arms.

-eventually you start wondering where han gets his money, he's never told you he has a job. when you ask him he responds that it's from a job he had in brazil. you don't question it because you refuse to get too in your head about it and ruin something great.

-inevitably you learn about the drifting underground in tokyo and hans participation in it. you're also not interested in that so whenever han invites you to the races, you politely decline. again, cars are not your forte. you'll get bored and wish to go early and you don't want to ruin anything for him.

-it all changes when han brings along an american kid named sean. when the kid finds out you’re his girlfriend the first thing that pops out of his mouth is, “no wonder you never go home with the chicks falling on your lap in the races.”

-your demeanor changes so quick, your smile gone, eyebrow arched, tongue in cheek, glaring intently at han while he avoids your deadly stare. it never crossed your mind that there would be groupies lusting over your man. you're many things and jealous is one of them.

-han begs silently for sean to shut the hell up. bringing him here was a mistake, next time the boy's homesick he’s on his own. until now you've never had a problem with han, if anything there have been stupid fights about him always paying for everything.

-the rest of the time they’re in the diner you act very passive aggressively, smiling at sean but glaring at han. almost slamming his plate on the table, barely any fries on there, while seans has double the amount. for once han has to flag you down to get more coffee to which you pour him a cold cup.

-after dropping off sean at his house he returns to pick you up, finding you walking to the train station when you know he’s gonna pick you up like always does.

“Need a ride?” he asks, sliding the cars window down.

you continue walking, arms hugged to your chest to shield off the cold. the crease on your forehead an indication you are still angry at him. “no.”

“come on, baby. why are you mad?” han parks the car and follows you, grabbing your arm to force you to stop walking.

“because,” you scoff, refusing to meet his eyes.

han holds your shoulder and with two fingers lifts your chin up to look into your eyes, “because?”

“you didn’t tell me that there are girls throwing themselves at you!” you exclaim with a pout, ripping your chin away from his grasp.

“you heard sean. i don’t pay attention to them. i didn’t think it mattered!"

“it does to me!” you yell, punching his chest lightly. “i hate to think that while i’m at home or working you’re out there wooing these girls making them think you’re single and shit.”

“the only girl i’m wooing is you,” han reassures you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a hug.

“but they don’t know that,” you say but it comes out muffled as you hug him back and burry your face on his chest. he always smells so nice.

“then come with me to the next race,” he says, rocking you both from side to side.

“fine,” you pout, tilting your head up asking for a kiss. han gladly gives you what you want, slotting his lips between yours and going as far as slipping his tongue in when you part your sweet lips for him. yeah you're standing in the middle of the sidewalk but who cares.

“can i take you home now?”

“please, my feet hurt.”

-as promised han takes you to the next race, to say everyone was in shock to see han arriving with a new pretty girl is an understatement. the girls you call groupies all glared at you from the moment you stepped out, because no matter how hard they tried, you had hans full attention.

-han has always been the mysterious guy in the underground who appeared out of nowhere and became partner with takashi. no one truly knew where he came from. he was seen with tons of girls at the races and was known to have slept with a few of them but none got as far as to be exclusive with him. the girl who achieved this has the underground intrigued.

-you’re intimidated by the whole situation, the girls glaring, the loud roaring of engines, the fast cars whizzing by you. the only comfort is hans arm wrapped around your waist.

-that uncomfortable feeling vanished when a random girl approached han. she fully ignored his arm wrapped around your shoulder and approached him hands all over his chest and free arm. your inner bitch came out. you said things you cannot repeat and sent her the nastiest look. she had no other choice but to run away with her tail between her legs. han enjoyed every moment of it, kissing you in front of everybody to see. your his girl and most importantly he's your boy.

-you didn't return after that day. you had asserted your dominance once and that was enough. to remind people he was still taken you would just leave hickeys all over his neck. that would do it.

-han still leaves you tips, it’s his way to give you your nail money without you refusing profusely. he’d pull you by your apron kiss you, and stick the money down your apron's pocket with two fingers. he wants to keep you pampered and happy. you're repping him now.

-further down your relationship han learns you’re a college dropout. your family forced you into a degree you hated and was not good at and when you tried to switch they cut you off. now you’re a waitress with no money for school. han assures you that you can be so much more than a waitress even without a degree. it’s a matter of my finding your thing. he would know.

-your passion is cooking. your family is wealthy and when you were young they'd take you to the greatest restaurants in japan and asia. your tastebuds have been trained your whole life.

-when han learns of this he asks you to cook for him and offered to be your sous chef. if this was your passion he wanted you to share it with him.

"what do you think?" you ask him, offering him a taste of the sauce you were making.

"it almost tastes as god as you," he replies, kissing your cheek when you blush. he'd been assigned to peel potatoes. that's as far as his ability went either way. he was more than happy to see you waltz around your kitchen chopping vegetables and sprinkling herbs into the pans.

"han, i'm serious," you whine, taking a taste of your creation yourself.

"so am i," he laughs softly, "it tastes really good."

-you want to impress han with your cooking skills. for some reason you feel the need to prove that you're good at something. you prepare your small table with a white tablecloth and skinny candles. you even decorate the dishes with extra herbs and sauces.

-han has been with you the whole time, refilling both of your wine glasses but when you place the plate in front of him, he's at a loss for words. you turned the chaos in the kitchen into this beautiful dish.

-you're cooking is incredible. his palate is not as developed as yours but he can see you owning a restaurant and earning a michelin star for your cooking. there's no hiding how much he enjoyed the mix of flavors you put together. you're a smiley mess for the rest of the night. seeing han enjoy your creation brings you lots of joy.

-from that day on han and you make it a habit to cook dinner once a week at the least. he takes it as an opportunity to learn as well. the more you cook together the more responsibility you let him have. one day you deem him ready to use the fancy knife chef you spent months saving for.

-something else he learned about you is that you are a freak for skin care. you do it in the morning, at night, and if you need some sort of boost during the day you’ll do it again. many times you’ve fallen asleep in his arms only to wake up in the middle of the night to do your routine. han does not understand it but let’s you be.

-because of this he spends a lot of time watching you apply toners and lotions to your face. face masks are a must in your house and to not make han feel excluded you apply one on him too, including the fuzzy headband so his hair doesn’t get in the way. you sit on his lap afterwards and massage it onto his face. he secretly adores it. especially when you peck his lips to signal your done. now at his place he keeps a stash of face masks. japanese, korean, chinese, american, all sorts of face masks.

-hans habit of snacking on chips and crackers doesn’t go past you. when you ask him he replies truthfully he was a heavy smoker and this is his way of coping and getting the edge off.

-you're relieved by his words. you used to suffer from asthma growing up and your mom did nothing to help as she herself was a 2 pack a day kind of woman.

-now your house is stocked with snacks. you have a stash just for han and whenever he’s in your apartment or you guys are going out he takes his pick and stuff them in your small purse. it's led you to have accumulated points in your rewards card from the convenience store. a win win.

-han is the first to say i love you. he had offered to do your skincare routine for you wanting to challenge himself. he believed he had it down to a tee. fully trusting him you closed your eyes and let him do his thing. he pulled through and only made one mistake throughout the whole thing. nothing catastrophic. when he’s done he kisses your pouty lips layered with some sort of berry lip masque and whispers it “i love you.”

you open your eyes and look at him with a smile. it was only a matter of time till either of you confessed. both of your feelings bubbling under the surface. "i love you too.”

-if there is one thing that shook han to the core was learning that you didn’t know how to drive…at all. you're lucky he loves you or it would've been the end of the relationship.

“here. you can drive today,” han says, throwing you his keys as you leave the diner.

you catch them and throw them back, “no, that’s okay. you can drive.” there's more than one reason as to why you don't give a shit about cars and that's that you never learned to drive.

“please baby. i barely slept last night,” han pleads, kissing your cheek and placing the silly tokyo keychain in your palm.

“i don’t want to ruin your car,” you lie through your teeth, shooting him a sickly sweet smile.

“nothing will happen to it,” han insists.

defeated you sigh and reveal one of your most embarrassing secrets you've kept from han, “you don’t understand…i don't know how to drive.”

han goes slack, staring at you in disbelief but nothing about you said you were lying. it would explain why you've never asked to drive or why you always take the train or bus.

he can't live knowing his girlfriend can't drive. his life depends on his ability to drive and out of all the girls in tokyo he picked one that never found it important to learn.

nodding he takes the keys away from you and opens the passenger door for you to get in. “as soon as i get some sleep i’m teaching you to drive.”

-first thing the next day han has you behind the wheel in an empty parking lot. you’re sweating buckets, nervous. You’re not even in hans expensive car, he brought out a beat up car for you to practice on.

-"driving is as easy as riding a bike," those are hans words as he starts his driving lesson. he doesn't need to know you don't know how to ride a bike either.

"the pedal on the right is gas the one on the left is the brake. you need to press the gas lightly…baby you need to change the shift to drive first,” han says when you press on the gas and the engine revs.

“i can’t do this han. we're going to crash and we'll get hurt or worse...die," you ramble on, trying to unbuckle the seatbelt.

han rolls his eyes and grabs your hands to place them back on the steering wheel, “yes, you can. it’s important for emergencies.”

with a shaky hand you change the gear to drive and step on the gas lurching the car forward. instantly regretting it you slam on the brakes, jostling the both of you violently.

han breathes out loudly, his hands pressed against the dash to steady himself, “slowly, gently.”

out of all the crazy, stupid shit he’s done in the past this is the most scared he's felt about losing his life. you're not a quick learner by any means. just after a short hour he decides it's been enough. you barely managed to get the car running without going 40 miles instantly. don't get him started on how you brake. you don't seem to understand the meaning of gentle.

-han is as much of a taker as he is a giver. he can be the most doting boyfriend ever and suddenly have you on your knees using your mouth as he sees fit, leaving you a mess of saliva and cum.

-you seriously don't mind. that man gives you so much not only material things but love and orgasms. you're more than happy to get bruised knees if it means he's enjoying himself.

-nobody would expect it from him but he's very adventurous in bed, han is always up to trying new things he's read on the internet or hear people talking about. most times it's a success and you incorporate it into your sex lives.

-one thing he had to convince you to do was to give him blowjobs while he drove at ridiculous speeds. you agreed to try it once and it went so well it's become a not uncommon occurrence. most times it’s when you're driving aimlessly with nowhere to go.

-he'd start at a normal speed, let's say 60 miles an hour. you'd lean over the center console and unzip his pants. han would already be sporting a semi knowing what's coming. you'd pump his cock on your hand, letting your spit dribble down as lubrication.

-once he's fully hard you'd lick him base to tip. he'd be going up 90 by then. he can only afford quick glances down to where you're squeezing his cock. when you take him into your mouth he steps harder on the pedal, 100 on the dash.

-the deeper you go the faster the car goes. han leans his head back on the seat to try and control himself. a hand leaving the steering wheel to press against your head.

-the speed of the car and the pleasure of your mouth bring han to highs he's never explored before. when he slows to an acceptable speed you lift yourself to settle back on your seat, buckling your seatbelt. the taste of cum on your tongue.

-han's the type of boyfriend who isn’t so much into hand holding in public. he’s more of a hand around the waist or arm around shoulders guy.

-when you’re fucking though? oh, he’d lace his hands through yours. he's thrusting into you? both or one of his hands is intertwined with yours. he's eating you out? one hand extended to grab one of your boobs and the other in yours. maybe that's why he can't do it in public...it reminds him of more intimate moments.

-when you go awol your friends know there must be a new man on your life and they beg to meet him. they're all pleasantly surprised at the looks of him, especially when the two of you arrive in an expensive sports car and he offers to pay for everyones lunch.

-they are happy for you. it's been a long time since you've dated anyone, your last break up leaving you terribly heart broken. they can all see han loves you and that you love him. it's clear in their eyes this is not about money or lust.

-sean lets it slip that han has a girlfriend and twinkie begs to see who she is. sean agrees to take him to the diner where they sit at one of the booths being served by the other waitress. he points you out as you take someone else's order. twinkie and sean naively believe you haven't spotted them.

-twinkie doesn't fully believe sean just yet. he's having a hard time processing that han has a secret girlfriend, then again when was the last time he saw han hook up with a girl? a long time.

-like most nights you work, han makes an appearance. you have his cup of coffee on the counter and greet him with a peck on the lips as you stretch over it to meet him in the middle.

"your friends are over there," you whisper, softly signaling with your head in their direction.

han looks over at them. sean and twinkie pretend they are engaging in a very interesting conversation and they weren’t staring at han and you. "i'm sorry. have they caused you any trouble?"

"nah, they think i haven't noticed them gawking," you laugh, still leaning over the counter. "should we give them a show?"

"later," han says, tucking a rogue stand of hair behind your ear.

you lean into his touch, a graceful smile blooming from your lips, "as soon as mina gets here we can go." you softly tell him, eager to get out of the diner and go home where you can cuddle with han. there's barely a night you spend apart.

-han easily strikes a conversation with you to pass the time. he tells you about his friends all over the world and the places he's been. in your eyes han is the most interesting man in the world so you hang onto every word he says.

-when the other waitress relieves you of your shift you grab your jacket and meet han by the door. twinkie and sean are still in their little booth, sneaking glances at the two of you. han finally acknowledges them by nodding in their direction and grabbing you by the back of your neck, kissing you deeply. you lean into it, wrapping your arms around his sides. he pulls apart with his teeth biting your lower lip, hands trailing down to your ass to give it a squeeze. making sure your skirt is on place with a little tug, he opens the door for you. as you walk out he sends the boys a little shrug and a smirk, following you outside.

-sean and twinkie sit in their booth, mouth agape at the spectacle han put on. in their head you're way out of his league. you're too hot. their waitress glares at them as she slams the check on their table. they've been there too long.

-the next day at han's garage twinkie tells everyone. “yo han why didn’t you tell us about your girl?”

han doesn't look up from his magazine as he responds, “i didn’t realize i answered to you."

earl and reiko look up from the car they are working on to stare at han. they didn't realize han had a girlfriend, he's always been a...free spirit. not one to settle for just one girl. then again they've only known about his life in tokyo not brasil, or the dominican republic, or california.

“out of courtesy, man! what if i had hit on her?” twinkie says jokingly. not going to lie had he seen you around he probably would've tried to get with you.

“i doubt you would’ve gotten far,” han mutters, taking a swig of his beer bottle. he likes keeping his private life, private. he likes having you all to himself. that way no one can use you against him if something were to happen.

“bring her around, han!” reiko tells han. "i'd love to have another girl around."

“eh, maybe one of these days,” han dismisses them, standing up and heading out to look for sean. they've got business to tend to.

-han is both an ass guy and a boob guy. it all depends on the situation. in public he’s more of an ass guy. he loves watching you walk away, the sway of your hips capturing his attention.

-when he kisses you on public he’ll trail a hand down your body to squeeze your ass lovingly. he's the type to walk with a hand in your back pocket. letting everyone know you're his.

-in private though he’s a massive boob guy. han likes laying in your chest, finding your boobs comfortable. if you're cuddling he'll bring a hand under your shirt (which is probably his anyway) and just caress your tits. he’ll play with your nipple, brushing it with his thumb. it’s not very sexual but it can turn sexual if you wanted.

-han would definitely bring up the idea of you getting nipple piercings. he finds them so hot and he knows they’d look great on you. is the pain worth it? probably. he promised he’d be there with you to hold your hand, he even offered to pay for them. it’s still an idea you’re heavily debating.

-the day you meet hans friends comes too quickly to his liking. you had left your phone in his car by accident and you were going out with your friends. before heading to a new club downtown you stopped by his garage. everyone stopped what they were doing to see who was in the SUV. out the passengers sear came out a high heeled foot and a long leg first quickly followed by the other.

-you walked out looking like a three course meal. hair and makeup done and hair flowing down your back like silk. a short black dress hugged your body, a slit on the side that came up high but not high enough to reveal anything important.

-you slam the car door behind you, entering the garage filled with cars and strangers. you're nervous yet your beautiful looks hid it well. spotting a familiar face you strut towards him. "sean...have you seen han?"

"up-upstairs," sean manages to choke out. pointing to the second level of the garage.

"thanks," you smile at him. you walk past twinkie, winking at him for shits and giggles.

the rest see you walk up the stairs gracefully, surprised that nothing could be seen despite the dress being so short. han's sits in a desk, handling money from his and takashis business.

"hey handsome," you purr, nearing him.

han hadn't heard you come in so when he looks up and sees you looking like that he does a double take. he pushes off the desk, the rolling chair making enough space for you to sit on his lap.

"you look beautiful," he says, caressing your exposed thigh with his fingers. "what're you doing here?"

"i forgot my phone in your car and i'm going out with mindy and the girls," you tell him, grabbing his face on your hands to kiss his lips. it slow and contained as you're careful not to ruin your lipstick.

"you sure you have to go?" han whispers, his palm grabbing a handful of your ass.

"i do, the girls are not happy i've missed several girls night," you tell him. running a hand through his hair.

he looks up at you and says, "alright." han carefully stands up, placing you back on your high heeled feet. he makes his way down the stairs to where his car is parked.

you follow after him until a girl intercepts you, "hi! i'm reiko one of han's friends, it's so nice to finally meet you!"

"nice to meet you too," you say reciprocating her enthusiastic smile.

"here you go," han pops up besides you once again, handing you your phone.

"thanks," you smile at him.

"i should get going before mindy starts honking her horn," you scrunch up your nose.

"you should come around again soon," reiko says, excited that there's finally another girl in the garage that isn't one of the models twinkie and han are used to bring around.

"sure!" you agree with the girl, finding her nice and genuine.

"let me walk you out." han grabs your waist as you walk back towards your friends car. he opens up the door for you as you slip in.

before driving away you lower the window and he leans against the the car, popping his head in. "you girls be safe, call me if you're too drunk to drive."

mindy rolls her eyes at han, "don't worry lover boy. we'll have her back in her apartment before sunrise."

your friend allows you to give han one last peck before she starts closing the window and driving away, "bye!"

-that night han waits for you in your apartment. he hears you before he sees you. the door slamming open startles him and in you stumble with a tipsy mindy holding you up. "i brought her back safe and sound. she's your problem now."

"baby!" you yell, letting go of mindy and falling into his embrace. you kiss him all over his face and hug him close.

"you had a good time?" he asks, looking down at you. your eye makeup is smudged and your lipstick is long gone. you can barely keep your eyes open as you stumble over your words.

"lets go get you ready for bed."

-i repeat, han is a great boyfriend. he takes you to the bathroom and sits you on the counter. he follows your skin care routine, taking off the layer of makeup left on your face. you giggle through it all even as he helps you brush your teeth and apply you lip balm.

-he guides you back to the bedroom, taking off your dress so you sleep comfortably. he takes off your bra as well, the metal decorating your nipples glinting under the artificial light. grabbing one of his tshirts you've adopted he slides it over your head and arms.

-han tucks you into bed and he promptly follows to pull you close to his chest. you've stopped giggling by now, snuggling up to him. "i love you," you whisper, wrapping an arm around his waist.

-"i love you more, baby."

part 2. part 3.

i’ll also accept requests for han if anyone is interested!

#han lue #han seoul oh #fanfiction #headcanon #tokyo drift #fast and furious #han lue imagines #han lue imagine #han lue headcannons #fast and furious fanfiction #han lue x reader #han lue fanfiction #han lue fanfic #han lue headcanons

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whimsyfinny · 2 months

Text

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: provocative dancing, slight Sam x Reader, jealous Dean

Chapter Word Count: 4211

—-MDNI—-

A/N: So I had to post this chapter in 2 parts because of how long it was and the formatting was weird otherwise. So here we are, and 2 part chapter! But yeah same as always pls let me know of any errors as I am the only one who proof reads this shit.

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Please read the below first:

Prologue Chapter 1

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8 pt. 1

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 8 - Part 2

Charlie eventually left after a few hours of convincing Sam and Dean that I would be absolutely fine infiltrating the club without them. At least at first. Some negotiations took place and after a while we all came to an agreement - I’d go in, scope the place out and unlock every door before leaving and letting the boys take over, handing over the intel on who everyone was and where they were stationed. This would make the kills less messy and reduce civilian casualties. Once this decision was made, we ate dinner before the guys went back upstairs to get as much information on the strip club as possible, whilst I went to finish the laundry from earlier.

I’d dropped Sam’s clothes off in his room before I headed Deans room to deposit his. Upon arriving, I twisted the handle and let myself in, breathing in the intoxicating scent of him before placing the neat stacks of clothing on his bed. Patting the top on the piles to ensure they wouldn’t topple over, I was turning to leave when something caught my eye. It was a pile of napkins and receipts crumpled up and tossed in the bin by the door - the same ones that made me feel so deflated earlier today. I smiled, feeling some semblance of relief course through me as I made my way upstairs again. As I walked I pondered; the Winchesters unknowing of the fact that I’d spent a short amount of time taking exotic dance classes. My ex boyfriend had paid for them so I could give him a ‘private show’ in cheap lingerie, and not to toot my own horn but I was pretty good at what I did back then so this should be a breeze. The only thing was that now I had a point to prove, and boy was I going to prove it.

I strode into the room where the boys were - Deans head in his hands and Sam’s face pressed to the inside of a book that was open on the table. He could have been asleep, if it wasn't for the fact that his eyes opened when I walked in. Without saying a word I grabbed an empty chair and set it in the middle of the room away from the desks and bookcases, making both men flinch at the abruptness.

“What are you doing?” Dean quizzed, lifting his head from his hands.

“Proving to you that I’m perfect for this case.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and I was unsure if he was catching on. I grabbed his phone from the table, unlocking it and finding the perfect song to play, settling on ‘Apocalyptic’ by Halestorm. At the start of the music he seemed to realise what was going on and he sat up eagerly, watching me intently as I undid my hair from its ponytail. I ruffled it up close to the roots, putting some volume in there as he went to stand up. I placed my fingertips on his chest and pushed gently, making him sit back down in his chair. I shook my head.

“Not you.”

He looked at me, puzzled; however his jaw dropped when I took Sam’s hand and urged him to stand. Sam had been paying minimal attention and just about knew what was going on when I gently pushed on his toned stomach, moving him backwards towards the chair in the middle of the room. I felt my heart do a small flip at the sheer size of the younger Winchester, this being my first time standing so close to him. And he smelt softer than Dean - less leather and gunpowder and more mint and fresh linens. I looked up at Sam through my lashes, watching his chest rise and fall more rapidly than before as he scanned my face. I smiled.

“Just relax, Sam. I Promise I don’t bite - at least not unless you want me to,” as the words left my lips I heard a SNAP and looked over at Dean, who’d now crushed the pencil he was using into splinters. I couldn’t help but smirk, starting to enjoy this perhaps a little more than I should. I pushed on Sam’s hips, urging him to sit, now in perfect view of his older brother. I stood in between Sam’s thighs and looked down at him, watching how his big eyes followed my hands as I slid them down over his shoulders and chest before running them back up again, tracing a single finger up over his Adam’s apple and tilting his chin up to look at me. The moment his eyes met mine his lips parted slightly and I leaned in close, so close that I could almost taste him. He let out the quietest groan and I whispered over his lips:

“I’ll try to make this enjoyable.”

I was bending over slightly, feeling my already very short skirt ride up. I sashayed around Sam, swaying my hips to the music and trailing my hands over his body with feather-light touches. Every time I did I felt him tense up or let out a small noise, especially when I crouched down behind the chair and slid myself underneath it, appearing between his legs and pushing myself up, my own legs straight and spread wide as I leant forwards. I now faced Dean, making eye contact with him as he watched me slide my hands up Sam’s thighs as I perched myself in his lap, swaying my hips as I pressed into him. I heard him suck in a breath at the contact, his manhood twitching in his jeans beneath the softness of my ass. I brought my knees and ankles together in a ladylike fashion before spreading them wide again, my legs pressing hard into the inside of Sam’s thighs. Deans knuckles went white as I ran my hands over my body and through my hair, biting my bottom lip sensually. Feeling Sam’s hands graze my knees, they slowly started to trail up my thighs as he snuck touches in where he could. My heart fluttered in my chest - his hands were already treating me far more gently than Deans did. I let him touch me for a few moments before I smacked his hands away and stood up. Spinning to face him I flipped my hair back, and slowly - oh so slowly - traced my hands down my own figure. As I outlined every curve I lowered myself so I was kneeling right before him - right between his legs that were spread wide like my own as my bare knees rested on the cold floor. I ghosted my hands up the inside of his thighs as he let out a shaky breath. I smiled up at him, but it seemed he was past the niceties as I noticed how dark his eyes had gone. I drew my hands back and spun around so I was now facing Dean whilst still nestled between Sam’s thighs. The older brother had pulled his chair out for a better view as his elbows rested on his knees as his large palms came together - as though in prayer - in front of his plump, kissable lips. He stared at me, unmoving and barely blinking, as though he were in a trance. Still on my knees, I threw Dean a coy grin before I placed my hands on the floor and walked them forwards, my ass now completely on show to Sam as my denim skirt did nothing to keep me covered. My back dipped in a feline manner as my chest came into contact with the floor, and I couldn’t help but think to myself that I would put money down that Dean loves this position for rough, pleasure-seeking sex. I hummed to myself at the thought of him fucking me into his mattress like this; one large, rough hand on my hip and the other propping himself up over me as he would moan my name and I would lose myself in his bedsheets.

I tore myself away from my daydream by sliding my hands forward so I was laying on my front before rolling onto my back, tilting my head back so I was looking at Dean upside down, my hair pooling around me. I gnawed on my bottom lip again as I planted both feet on the floor so my knees were bent and touching, before lifting one leg as gracefully as I could into the air and pointing my toes. Reaching my arms up, I gently touched my ankle and trailed my fingers over my leg, up my thigh - catching on my skirt and lifting it higher - along the soft skin of my exposed torso and over my breasts. I then dragged my fingers through my hair and over my scalp, my outstretched arms lifting my tank top a little - flashing Sam some braless underboob. I heard him moan and shuffle in his chair, however my eyes were still locked with Deans, and I watched as the older brother leant back and spread his legs a little wider, adjusting himself in his jeans as he laced his fingers together over his abdomen. Without missing a beat, I flipped myself back over onto my stomach and played the previous motions in reverse - sliding upwards so I was on all fours and then back to being just on my knees. I turned so I was facing Sam again, grinning at his hooded eyes and slack jaw as I placed my hands on his knees and pushed myself up to standing. I stepped around him slowly, my hands running down his broad shoulders as I moved to stand behind him. I leant down and whispered into his ear, his head dipping to the side slightly as my breath fanned out over his hot skin:

“Admit it, I’m perfect for the case.”

I watched his eyes flutter closed as he replied in a breathy voice.

“Yes… you’re perfect…” he paused, like he’d forgotten to finish his sentence, “…perfect for the case, I mean.”

I smiled as I stood up straight, catching Deans piercing gaze again.

“I’m going to bed - it’s been a long day. You boys should too,” my voice came out perhaps a little more sultry than I expected.

They both nodded, humming in response as I turned away, walking to my bedroom and leaving behind me at least one testosterone-field time bomb.

I’ll probably regret that whole ordeal in the morning

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Up Next:

Chapter 9

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut #eventual smut #supernatural smut #slow burn #supernatural #spn #dean winchester enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #smut

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hotvintagepoll · 1 month

Text

Propaganda

Dolores del Río (Flying Down to Rio, Flor silvestre)—to begin with, dolores is so RADIANTLY BEAUTIFUL, even more so in action then in images, its like she emits a literal glow. marlene dietrich (a close friend and rumored lover) considered her "the most beautiful woman who ever set foot in hollywood". she was the first mexican actress to become a major success in hollywood, rising to fame in the silent era and becoming an influential icon of beauty and glamor in the art deco age, though she was not thrilled with the exoticizing parts often pushed on her. in the mid 1940s having tired of the controlling hollywood studio system she returned to mexico, saying "I wish to choose my own stories, my own director and cameraman. I can accomplish this better in mexico", and proceeded to become a pivotal figure in the golden age of mexican cinema, making a string of masterpieces with directir emilio fernández and cinematographer gabriel figueroa. i love this anecdote about the insane art deco mansion she and her then-husband cedric gibbons lived in in the 30s, as related by david niven: "Dolores had a large sunny room on the first floor containing a huge and inviting bed. Gibbons lived in comparative squalor in a small room immediately below. The only connection between these rooms was by way of a stepladder, which could be lowered only when a trapdoor in the floor of Dolores room had been raised. There was a long stick with which, we conjectured, he signaled his intention or hopes by rapping out signals on the floor of his wife’s bedchamber." heres a pinterest album with a billion hot pictures of her

Fay Wray (King Kong)— the original scream queen!! she started acting in silent comedies as a teenager and got her first big break when erich von stroheim cast her as the lead in the wedding march. her career started to take off starring in silent movies at paramount, and she survived the transition to sound smoothly - josef von sternberg’s weird proto-noir thunderbolt was one of her first sound films. she began to make horror movies in the early 1930s, such as doctor x and mystery of the wax museum, both filmed in beautiful two-strip technicolor (which looked like this if you're curious. i just think it's neat!), as well as the vampire bat, the most dangerous game, and of course the boy himself, king kong. a little on how she worked with her most famous costar: “Although Kong appeared huge, the full figure was a model covered with rabbit hair, standing only 18 inches tall, that was filmed one frame at a time by stop-motion photography artist Willis O'Brien and his crew. The 5ft 3in Wray only knew one part of the ape's body when she was grasped in an articulated 8ft long hand. Hence the title of her 1989 autobiography, On The Other Hand. ‘I would stand on the floor,’ she recalled, ‘and they would bring this arm down and cinch it around my waist, then pull me up in the air. Every time I moved, one of the fingers would loosen, so it would look like I was trying to get away. Actually, I was trying not to slip through his hand.’” (link)

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Dolores del Rio:

There's so much! She started in Silent films and successfully transitioned to sound, She is the first woman to wear a two piece swimsuit on screen & popularized the bikini!, She transitioned back to Mexican Cinema in the late 1940s and was a leading lady of the Golden Age of Mexican Cinema including staring in Maria Candelaria--the first Mexican film to win the palm d'Or at Cannes. She was literally studied for her beauty & was considered a beauty ideal in both the USA & Mexico--there's a whole section on her Wikipedia page about how beautiful everyone thinks she was. She never actually had a feud with any of the female stars she was rumored to feud with despite the fact that press & Hollywood culture attempted to pain them in competition... She remained a leader in Mexican theater & Cinema through her own production company. Mexican painter Diego Rivera: "The most beautiful, the most gorgeous of the west, east, north and south. I'm in love with her as 40 million Mexicans and 120 million Americans who can't be wrong" (quote source: Wikipedia)

*fan self* Leading actress in silents and early Hollywood. Lover of Orson Welles until she got fed up with him, friend of Diego Rivera and Frieda Kahlo. When she got tired of Hollywood executives typecasting her as a stereotypical spitfire (and trying to force her to feud with Lupe Velez as a publicity stunt), she ditched Hollywood and became a major star of Mexican cinema, where she got to play rounded characters

Had a career in American cinema in the 20s and 30s and considered one of the most important figures in the Golden Age of Mexican cinema (30s to 50s).

Marlene Dietrich said Dolores was the most beautiful woman to set foot in Hollywood

Joan Crawford: "Dolores became, and remains, as one of the most beautiful stars in the world."

One of the few Latin American women working in the Hollywood industry to make it big not just in hre home country but internationally. In 1931, Photoplay magazine declared that Mexican film actress Dolores del Rio had the "best figure in Hollywood." (which I know not necessarily a good barometer) but! it shows that many people looked at her for her beauty and sought to emulate her. Famous for her years-long love affair with actor and director Orson Welles, who was 10 years her junior if that's anything.

We need more hispanic representation in this!! Del Río is one of the most important actresses of her time as she was one of the first Mexican movie stars to break through to Hollywood! She’s unbelievably sexy and an absolute icon. Thank you :)

Fay Wray:

Actress prominently known for starring in horror, she was one of cinema's original "scream queens". She knocks it out of the park whenever she's with the horror genre, bringing a depth and likability to characters that would other be flat and boring characters.

An early scream queen, name me another woman who could look so beautiful while so disheveled and scared for her life

She was name-dropped not once but TWICE in the Rocky Horror Picture Show. She's arguably the original Scream Queen.

#fay wray #dolores del río #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 2

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spicy-pears · 13 days

Note

Hi!!!

I saw you were in the middle of writing a series. So I'm not sure you'll even take this request. But I saw the Maxxxine trailer and I really want a 80's themed johnny smut.

I know it sounds weird but just hear me out! 🤣

𝟙𝟡𝟠𝟞

𝚆𝙲: 1.4 𝚔

𝚃𝙰𝙶𝚂: 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙲𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚂𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙱𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙳𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚂𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚟𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚁𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑/𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚢 𝚂𝚎𝚡.

𝚆𝙽: 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚒 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚎-𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚋 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝.

𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 80'𝚜, 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝙸 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 80'𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒 𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒 𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚋𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚒 𝚍𝚒𝚍❣️

"This is channel 8; WCAT- TV, West Lake, Austin. This is the beginning of our nightly broadcast-"

Colorful luminescence painted your small face. As the humid night breeze kissed your soft skin, adorning your soft angelic features with a rosy hue. The Texan air remained oppressive and dry even with the swelting sun shrouded under the starry horizon.

Yet, there you firmly stood. Attentively drawn to one of the many neatly stacked TV screens. Displayed behind the unclouded storefront window. Obnoxiously advertised with oversized retro price tags.

You almost felt guilty as you stood there. freely observing the news, with no intention of buying one.

Nonetheless, your fingertips anxiously reached out for your chest. Seeking comfort from the gold cross, hanging from your beloved prayer necklace. petrified by the ominous name stretched across the screen, “Night stalker”. Looking upon the name was enough to make your stomach churn.

While fear held you still on that little crowded strip of sidewalk. Your round lips skewed with abhorrence, as uncensored crime scene photos were flashed upon the screen.

Each brief photo was more unnerving than the last. Some were more gruesome than the last, prompting your gaze to deter.

For once you were thankful for living in a small southern town. Leagues and miles away from surreal Hollywood horrors.

Little did you know, Texas had its own slasher.

Maybe you should've turned your nose up at him, judged him solely off his roughed-up denim and torn-up blackened tee.

Hell, you could've told him to piss off. After pretty boy "conveniently" bumped into you for the third time tonight.

But you were too kind, an element his chaotic life lacked much of. An element he felt he deserved.

"Hey there, You alright? I can give you a ride home if you need it doll."

Dark jade metallic paint, worn and embellished with bubbling surface rust. The timeworn appearance of Johnny’s beloved Ford pickup didn't alarm you at first. Most four-wheelers in Central Texas were also well-loved. Some were practically tin cans on wheels, worse for wear.

Thus, you foolishly continued to trust him.

Until you were met with the pungent scent of sickeningly sweet, aged blood. Radiating from inside his raggedy little pickup.

Nonetheless, the stale scent was soon overshadowed by the addictive signature of your fresh crimson. As it seeped into the truck's dark vinyl leather seat. Collecting every drop of blood that Streamed down the plush of your thigh.

Leaking from the dark scarlet void, Pierced into your hip. Repayment for the pristine mark of your teeth, deeply embedded upon Johnny’s scar-kissed hand.

While you battled with the intense pain, Johnny’s blackened leer studied your body. Although you were raised to behave and dress modestly, the Texan heat truly did you no favors.

Your dewy skin rendered your once modest sun dress, skin-tight. The soft cotton grew translucent as it snuggly hugged around your gorgeous waist. Presenting a tempting view of your plush thighs.

“That was real cute doll…” Johnny’s aggressive southern twang caused every word to rumble down from his chest to his core. With his dominant hand pressed on the small of your back, Pinning your pain-struck body down in place.

Callously forcing you to rely your weight and stability upon your elbows. And injured leg, while pressing your small face against the blood-stained vinyl.

The way your gorgeous gray eyes glimmered with each wave of pain, fed Johnny’s sadistic desire to hurt you further. Thirsting to see your small frame broken and trembling under him.

“Since you want to bite like a bitch, I’ll treat you like one.” His vague threat and condescending tone made you realize the precarious position he forced you into. The increasingly rough grip upon you your ass acted as your only warning.

Before abruptly lifting your plush ass upwards. Mercilessly rocking your body downwards, flush against his navel. Carving his way through the soft plush of your inner thighs. A breathless moan escaped your lungs, as his tip playing against your sensitive clit. Was enough to send you over the edge alone, your body instantly falling into submission. Your back now lax, lewdly arching downwards.

Your cries were the sweetest, as they brought a heartless grin playing across his lips. Sadistically drowned in your symphony of angelic whines and pained whimpers. His thrusts grew slow and subtle, his smokey gaze examining his cream covered length. Glistening with each stroke against your needy cunt, embracing the fat middle of his cock between your wet slit.

Suddenly, you’d let out a pained cry, which hitched into a stressed hiss. “That’s it…” Johnny’s charming voice began to taunt you, as his dominant hand grasped your injured hip. Your addictive crimson pooled upon his palm, wasting through his fingers. Your knuckles began to turn white, as you dug your fists into the leather for comfort and stability.

Regardless, with thick cock-dunk tears clouding your view. Your body still refused to go limp, denying him the satisfaction of seeing you broken. All the while shooting a defiant glare toward him.

Promptly his rhythm would come to a pause, while inconspicuously moving your panties to the side. While letting out a short dry chuckle into the night air, “Don’t worry, I love a bitch with some fight left em.”.

Your precious eyes would widen, accompanied by a soft gasp. Feeling his tip prying at your tight gummy entrance, causing a series of sweet whimpers to fall from your full lips. ”Aww, come on I know your tougher than that!” Johnny's tone grew husky with lust, His aggressive twang now deeper.

Mercilessly jerking his hips, sinking his thick length deep inside your unprepared cunt. His size overwhelmed you, as an intense flutter climbed up your spine. Stretching you out more than you’d ever been, his tip kissing your gummy cervix.

Your pathetic scream was drowned out, as his blood-soaked hand covered your mouth. Yet, with tears multiplying on your lash line. You’d shamelessly let out a whine from stifled pleasure.

“What? My bitch can't wait?” Johnny cruelly barked, addressing your desperation with a mocking tone. All the while slipping off his torn-up shirt, making sure to keep his cock warm and buried deep in your cunt.

Although his scar-kissed frame was now free of his shirt, he continued to deny you. Giving you tortuously slow strokes, enjoying how your face skewed with desperation and frustration.

“P-please- “Your round lips parted, spilling out needy cock-drunk pleas. Only to be rewarded with a firm grasp around your neck, his hips setting a rough rhythm. You barely had time to brace yourself for his unbearable pace. Your eyes would squeeze shut as your voice began to wear out from singing his praises. Soft wails and angelic screams rippled through the air, filling the isolated car park.

His chest rumbled with a low moan, bouncing you off his thick length at an erratic pace. Watching your plump ass ripple with each thrust, while your breasts bounced in unison. Relishing the lewd symphony of your plush ass roughly meeting his hips and your wet pussy squelching as you milked him. Your hot slick traveled, coating the veins that ran from the base of his cock, down to his balls.

His pace never faltered, regardless of how your cunt spasmed and clenched around him tight. Your tear-glazed eyes opened wide as your body brutally jolted forward. His erratic pumps grew deeper, slamming against your weakening cervix, pulling at the knot built up at your core. Your breath now staggered and short, gradually growing weak under the firm gasp around your neck.

“I-I can't.” Your body would fall limp, lying down obediently, as your edge came rushing through your small frame. You’d feel Johnny’s weight on top of you, his bulky arms embracing you his impaling thrusts grew languid and sloppy. His frustrated grunt echoed through you as your cunt swallowed around him, milking him dry.

A choked exhale would squeeze out of your bruised vocal cords. Leaving your mindless, with little stars dancing upon your gaze.

“Fuck- “his toned stomach tensed in unison with his contracting balls. Johnny was damn near mindless himself, unknowingly choking you beyond your threshold. Releasing a pleased groan, as he painted your empty womb with thick hot milky ribbons.

The grip on your neck would loosen, prompting you to take in short puffs of air. Doe-eyed you stared back into Johnny’s velvet brown eyes. “I’m afraid yer mines now, I’ll take real good care of you.” His thumb caressed our cheek, painting your small face with your own blood. His lips would uncharacteristically seal his promise with a tender kiss on your cheek.

#johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter x oc #johnny slaughter #tcm johnny #johnny sawyer #tcm game #slasher x reader

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years

Text

Younger Gods: I

Younger Gods Master List Dream x fem!reader (unnamed)

Dream is protective of his ravens after Jessamy, and he's still bad at listening. The reader finds this out the hard way.

Warnings: extremely mild gore/injury to animal, language, Dream is his own warning

A/N: Playing a little fast and loose with dream physics, but we're just here for a good time, right? I read the comics an age ago, and thought I might as well pop back into the fandom for a quick swim after falling in love all over again via Netflix. Aiming for 5 chapters, but we'll see where this takes us.

*Remember, to like is kind but to comment/repost is divine.

**If you'd like to join the taglist, please let me know in the comments!

Chapter 1: Just don't bite me

“How did you get here?”

She stared at the injured raven hopping across her garden like it might open its beak and speak. Give her some answers. It’s eye fixed on her, pinning her even as it fought gravity and pain, flapping with a wing bent the wrong way.

Glossy black feathers hid the blood it left on the long grass. If it didn’t move like something hurt, didn’t struggle to hold up its broken wing, she’d never guess it had crashed into her little world by accident. Which brought her back to the question.

It fluffed the feathers around its neck in an attempt to look bigger, croaking as it shuffled farther away. Soft thunder purred in the clouds, and the steady rain dripped from the tip of the raven’s beak. She held up her hands. Sank low on her heels, as near to the raven’s level as she could reach without falling flat on her belly. If that’s what it took to earn its trust, though, she’d get a little muddy.

For all that it was uninvited, the bird was her guest now, and if she didn’t take care of it, it could never leave. Maybe it would haunt her. Maybe she’d just feel guilty as hell.

“You’re hurt.”

The raven twitched, its head tilting three different ways, studying her expression from varied angles, like it would reveal malicious intent in the right light. He could look all he wanted, but she needed to get him out of the rain.

She started unwinding the thick, knit scar from around her neck, speaking low in an effort to keep the bird calm. “I have something that can help. It’s just a salve, but you’ll heal much faster, and I’m sure you’d like to be on your way as soon as possible. But I’m going to take you inside first, so you can get warm and dry. The rain never really stops.”

Prepared with the folded cloth, she crept forward a few steps, giving the bird time to move away. When it didn’t, she closed the distance and muttered, “Just don’t bite me, okay?”

“No promises, witch,” the raven said.

Her hands stilled an inch away from his feathers. So, he was magic. Magic and rude as fuck.

She spluttered, “I’m not a witch.”

“Yeah?” The raven looked up at the clouds and down at her cottage. “Well, this place is weird. And so are you.”

“It was the best I could do.” She carefully wrapped the scarf around him, mindful of the bad wing – and the beak. “Sorry it doesn’t live up to your standards.”

Her first guest, and all he could do was insult all her hard work. He scoffed but held still in his swaddling as she pulled up to her chest and tramped back inside.

It wasn’t her fault it rained all time. Well, technically it was, actually, but she liked it. The water looked beautiful running down the windows, and the cozy fire glowed bright enough to warm a soul when the trees rustled in the wind. With rain hushing over the roof and a whisper of distant thunder to keep her company, she never felt lonely.

Tasteless corvid.

She set him down by the fireplace while she chose a good blanket to craft a makeshift nest. Only when she’d stripped off the scarf and moved him to the softer resting place did she tug off her own drenched sweater, shivering until she found a good replacement. Her wet hair clung to her neck as she pulled a sweater three sizes too big over her head. The sleeves dangled past her fingers, and she shoved them up past her elbows in thoughtless habit.

The bird hadn’t taken his eyes off her, but he still mustered enough faith to thank her. Sort of.

“This is… nice.”

It sounded like an olive branch, so she took it as one. The one room cottage was her haven. Even if it looked small and worn, she found it warm and soft, kind in the way a home ought to be.

“I like to think so.”

She moved to the workbench under the window that looked out to the garden, where she’d been sitting when the raven dropped out of the clouds with an all too human cry. Her fingertips ghosted over herbs and pots and potions as she looked for the little vial she wanted. She only finished it a week ago. It would take three months to make another. But that was alright. No one else really needed it.

When she knelt beside the bird, vial open and ready to drip over his injuries, he clacked his beak at her.

“Not a witch, huh?”

The wing felt so fragile in her hand. She couldn’t let him distract her. “My mother was. I’m… weird.”

“You can say that again.”

“This might hurt.”

“What do you -?” He broke off in a sharp caw, instinctively jerking away as she pulled his bones straight.

“Sorry, sorry. The worst is over now, I promise.”

He had a wonderfully colorful vocabulary for a raven, and he shouted a few rainbows while she wrapped his wing in the best position to heal. The white gauze practically glowed against his onyx plumage, and he looked just a little more pitiable.

“Sorry,” she repeated.

The bird shook himself, stretching and folding his good wing three times to push away the pain.

“Son of a bitch,” he hissed. “Fucking damn. Teach me to pay attention. Kids and their fucking rocks.” He’d been staring into the fire as he recovered his equilibrium, but once he could pause his cursing, the bird looked back at his host.

“Name’s Matthew. What do I call you, weird girl who isn’t a witch?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

“I was asking for your name, lady.”

“I don’t have one I can give you.”

“That’s not helpful.” He looked around the room, probably on the hunt for something to critique, and although his beak opened, it snapped shut again when he looked back over his shoulder. He stared at her in the firelight, but not at her face. “What happened to your neck, lady?”

Her hand flew up to cover the scars, a landscape of smooth, raised, and sunken marks ringing her throat. She’d forgotten when she took off the scarf. Horror and humiliation twisted in her stomach, and she was wildly aware of being ugly and vulnerable in the same breath. Instead of answering, she rushed back to her closet, pulling out an even longer knit piece than the one she’d wrapped the bird – Matthew – in outside.

He picked up on the subtext, deflating a little and pointedly changing the subject.

“How long will this magic potion of yours take? I need to get back to the Dreaming. My boss is waiting for me.”

The scarf’s tail dropped from numb fingers, one loop short of her goal, left to trail on the ground as she wondered how the fuck her day could get any worse.

“The Dreaming?”

“Yeah. Know of many other realms with talking ravens, lady?”

“No,” she admitted, cursing herself in the privacy of her own thoughts. “It will take a couple days for you to fly again, I think.”

“That’s no good.” Matthew pecked at his bandages, and she rushed over.

“Stop that. You’ll make it worse.”

“Can’t fly with this,” he said, mouth full of gauze.

“You can’t fly without them, either,” she said gently.

Giving up with an enormous sigh, the raven wriggled down into the blanket and glowered through the window at the continuous rain. A little bolt of lighting reflected in his gleaming eye, like an idea sparking to life.

“Your weird little house is pretty close, you know,” he said. “To the Dreaming, I mean. I bet you could walk there.”

“It takes a day to walk in or out.”

“Why?”

“Because I made it that way.”

“Oh, you’re definitely weird.” He paused, like he was finally noticing the blanket nest and the empty vial glittering by the warm flames. When he spoke again, he sounded the slightest bit contrite. “Weird but nice. And I still need your help.”

“I don’t want to go to the Dreaming, Matthew.” She couldn’t bring her voice to carry more than a whisper. She was so afraid of her dreams she didn’t even sleep anymore. Not much. Walking into the fertile fields of the Dream Lord’s imagination…

“You don’t have to go in,” the raven insisted. “Just get me to the gates and I’ll be someone else’s problem. I promise.”

She couldn’t answer. She really didn’t dare. The laws of hospitality urged her to pick up the bird and carry him wherever he wanted to go, and he made it all sound so reasonable, so easy. Just a stroll and a hand over to a friendly face eager to welcome him back. It wasn’t, though. Oh, the walk was fine. She came and went from her hideaway world all the time, but her heart thrummed in terror to even think of the Dreaming. Was she really so close? Her home didn’t feel as safe as it had that morning. The security of the cozy storm left something wanting now. None of this was designed to keep other entities out. It was just… out of the way. On the other hand, if she left the bird – one of Dream’s ravens! – here to recover and his master came for him, it would never be a sanctuary ever again.

Maybe… if she was quick…

“I’ll –” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’ll try. I’ll walk you to the gates.”

“Thank you.” At least he sounded like he meant it. Lack of gratitude wouldn’t change her mind at this point, but she appreciated it. Walking twelve hours with a rude bird muttering under his breath didn’t sound like the fun kind of adventure.

None of this sounded like the fun kind of adventure.

Fun adventures involved late night diners and questionable life choices after two bottles of wine.

“My master needs me,” Matthew said, like he still needed to prove his point.

That was fine. That was great. Dream would be missing his raven soon. She was tempted to take a faster mode of travel, but she wasn’t sure what that would do to the raven, so she hurried to gather everything she’d need for the walk instead. Tall rainboots, a hooded jacket, and two shawls. She wrapped one around Matthew to keep him warm and tied the other around herself like a sling. With the bird nestled close to her natural warmth, she charged back into the rain. She didn’t even take the time to bank the fire.

Matthew, apparently, decided her rush was entirely for his benefit. “Thanks for this. I mean it.”

She paused at the edge of the garden, standing in the gap in the stone wall as she studied the horizon, looking for something to tell her where to go.

“Which way to the Dreaming?”

Matthew fidgeted and jerked his beak at a random point. “There. I can’t see it, but I can feel it, you know?”

She didn’t know or she wouldn’t have asked, but her breath was better saved for walking. Nearly running, she sped through the emerald green grass and low white flowers in the verdant moss. She didn’t look. Didn’t appreciate. Didn’t stop to touch, or pick, or smell. If she had the stamina to run the twelve hours, she would.

Pattering rain sounded louder inside her hood, and the sky broiled with clouds promising a real storm.

Maybe he could hear her heart pounding by his ear, or he finally realized she was moving awfully quickly for someone who didn’t want to go on this trip in the first place. Whatever his inspiration, Matthew dragged their conversation back from the dead to persuade her she’d made the right choice as she forded a narrow stream.

“You don’t have to be afraid of Dream,” he said. “If he’s upset, it will be with me. You’re doing me a favor.” He paused, struck by a new through that almost immediately spewed out his beak. “You’re not old enemies or something, are you?”

“No. I’ve never met him. I’d rather not meet him today.”

Matthew croaked. “Why not?”

Sometimes the truth was the simplest path to peace, and she’d like the bird to shut up for a while. “I have bad dreams. I don’t want to get any closer to them. Thanks.”

“You know, he could do something about that.”

“I don’t like favors.”

“But I’d argue he owes you one.”

“I’d argue that I don’t care.”

More croaking, this time accompanied by rustling from his safely bound wings. She remembered ravens were in the business of knowing things, watching and listening until they could deliver a secret whole and unbroken to their master. Her cagey replies must bother him on some deeper level.

“So why are you doing this? You clearly don’t want to.”

“Because you were hurt. You needed help. And I don’t want your master to come looking for you here.”

He cast incredible side-eye for a creature wrapped in home-knit outerwear strapped to a stranger’s chest.

But at least he shut-up.

It was the perfect landscape for long walks. She’d designed it that way. Gently rolling hills melted into copses of trees just too small to be forests but deep enough to lose the daylight below the tangled canopy. Any other day, she’d enjoy this trek. But now she wondered if she’d ever be able to enjoy it again, knowing which direction the Dreaming lay and how close it pressed to her border.

She slogged up the hills and slipped down the muddy sides, careful not to tumble and crush the fragile bird she carried against her chest. She slipped through the woods, ignoring the sweet smell of old loam and dried leaves. When the heavy rain came down in a curtain as the crested the last hill, she pushed through that, too.

The raven stayed awake for the entire trip. She shaved a full three hours off her usual time, and she reached the end exhausted. She should’ve packed a stimulant. Maybe an energy drink. Maybe a potion. Something. She had to get herself back home after this.

A field stretched to the cusp of oblivion, a black void at the edge of the turf her mind fought not to notice. She walked to the edge, slowing until she came to the brink, and then she had no ideas.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Well, you’re not a raven,” Matthew said. “I see where we need to go. Just trust me. There’s a path a few feet to the left.”

She shuffled obediently to the side, but she still saw nothing.

“Just take a step,” the bird insisted. “I’ll guide you through it.”

She didn’t want to. Every instinct from every element of her pedigree screamed that this was a Bad Idea. Relying on blind faith and a raven’s intuition might lead her into the Dreaming, but she bet she’d have a long fall someone with wings wouldn’t consider a problem. Some little oversight would swallow her whole, and nightmare would eat her alive, or she’d be trapped in her own night terrors.

“Why don’t I just leave you here?” She could hear the panic in her wobbling pitch, and her trembling hands banished any doubt as she reached for the knot in the sling.

“I thought you didn’t want Morpheus to come looking for me in your weird little bubble realm.”

She closed her eyes. Drew a shaky breath. No, she didn’t want that, but would it be worse than voluntarily stepping into that darkness? The raven couldn’t protect her. He wouldn’t even know what was safe for her, really. He was flying on a lot of assumptions, and she didn’t want to pay the price for his optimistic naivety.

“I don’t know what the void will do to me,” she confessed. “I’ve never actually… touched it.”

“It won’t do anything,” the raven said. “And it’s so thin you won’t even notice. The Dreaming is right there.”

Fucking hell. Her hands seized air, opening and closing like she could snatch courage out of thin air. Damn it all.

She lunged into the thing she didn’t even want to look at, and for the barest moment, she felt it. Nothing. No pulse. No breath. No thought or feeling at all. A gap stretched between past and present, like she’d been snuffed out – or never began to exist in the first place.

Then her momentum carried her through in a boggling mess of physics, and she was somewhere again.

Air punched into empty lungs, and she stumbled, nearly falling to her knees as light, sound, and her own heartbeat returned.

“Whoa! Hey! Watch out for the water!”

Matthew’s shout brought her eyes down, and she saw dark waves lapping at her feet, sucking them into the black sand as the foam tried to climb up and over her rain boots. The fact that sea foam was trying to do anything clued her into the water’s threat, and she darted away with her newly-beating heart in her throat.

“Well done. You see? Not so bad. You’re fine.”

It had been one of the worst experiences in her fucked-up life, and she might’ve told him so if she had the breath. Instead, she barely managed to mutter, “I think I hate you.”

“Nah.”

She stopped to push the last of the void from her lungs, sucking in oxygen like she’d never tasted it before, and the sensation stirred several memories she couldn’t take time to stop and fight. Not on the shores of the Dreaming. Not so close to the Lord of Nightmares. She wrestled them down, threw other thoughts and needs over them like a rug over a stain. Her horrors would have to wait until she slept again, and she planned on putting that off for a long, long time.

When she felt ready and able to move again, she asked, “Where to now?”

“The gates,” he said, like he thought she was the stupid creature alive.

She looked away from her feet and finally noticed the looming doors further down the beach. Silently, she had to agree that she was, in fact, incredibly stupid. They were hard to miss, taller than a skyscraper, carved over in faces, beasts, and scenes she didn’t recognize, gleaming like aged ivory. Beautiful and awe-inspiring in the way an angel or the Milky way inspired reverence and respect. Something a little too vast for her to grasp, but towering over her regardless.

Yeah. Time to get this over with.

As she power-walked across the cold sand, shadowed by the rocks piercing out of the waves, she unknotted the sling and pulled Matthew out of his cocoon.

“This bus has come to the end of its route,” she said. “We hope you’ve enjoyed your trip.”

The raven cackled, trying to stretch his wing in spite of the way she still cradled him. “You find a sense of humor in the void?”

“No, just a sense of relief. Seriously. Watch where you’re flying next time. I won’t have another healing salve like a gave you for several months, so if you do this again, you’re fucked.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.” He was all but straining forward in her hands, eager to get home, to complete his mission and reassure his master that all was well. “You sure you don’t want to meet my master? Or Lucienne?”

It didn’t matter she didn’t know who Lucienne was. She didn’t need to meet any more dreams – or servants of dreams. “Very.”

“So, you’re just going to ding-dong-ditch Dream of the Endless?”

“Yup.”

“Suit yourself.”

The sand made it harder to keep her pace, sliding away under her heels, sapping her strength as she hurried to drop her guest off at his front door. Waves of power rolled down from the high wall, and she felt trapped against the tide of Dream’s domain and the dark ocean lapping up the shore behind her. Everything looked grand and stark. She didn’t belong with her green boots and her rain-slicked jacket. The hood had fallen back, and a damp strand decided to stick on her cheek. With her hands full of bird, she had no way to pull it off.

Cold, wet, disheveled.

Tired.

Afraid.

She was ready for this adventure to end.

“How are you going to get back through the void?” the bird asked.

She shook her head, amazed. “You just thought to ask that? Never mind. I have a shortcut.”

“What kind of shortcut? Why did we just walk for nine hours in the rain?”

She plucked at the end of the second shawl, the one she used to keep him warm on that nine-hour trip through the storm. Such gratitude.

“Because I didn’t know what it would do to you.”

“I can survive the void, lady, you think your shortcut’s tougher than that?”

How far away was the damn gate? Would this beach never end?

“All that matters,” she panted, “is that you’re going home. I’m going home.” She turned the bird in her hands so they were eye-to-eye. “And we will never have to see each other again.”

Sounding more human than ever, the bird tutted, but whatever he wanted to say was swallowed in a sudden, sharp wind.

The austere stillness consumed itself in a rage, lifting black sand and sea spray into an impenetrable haze. One second, she could see the gate. The next, she could barely see three feet in front of her. Shielding her eyes from the sand with one arm, she instinctively tucked the bird close, bending over him protectively. The grit gave the wind claws, and it lashed her bare flesh raw.

What have you done with my raven?

The question pressured her from all sides, a crushing, physical weight ringing in her ears as it forced her to cower in on herself. She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t breathe. Matthew squawked and fluttered in her arms, flopping free with half a scarf still wrapped around him, tangled in his claws. “Sir, wait! Sir!”

The raven’s call settled the hurricane, but the overwhelming pressure remained. The lingering effect of the voice pressed against her soul like a death knell as a figure gathered itself, standing between the two travelers and the gate. The raven struggled towards the tall, dark shape, and she all but slapped herself in the face in her fight to get the dust out of her eyes, nose, and mouth.

Matthew called the newcomer sir.

She was peering up at Dream of the Endless.

He knelt to accept the bird, face dark as a nightmare. Long, pale fingers explored the broken wing. When they pulled away, a few rusty crumbs of blood clung to the pads, and eyes burning with angry stars lifted to pierce her.

He asked again, “What have you done with my raven?”

This time the voice was a voice, not a force of nature. He sounded like smoke and sand, deep and sure as the ocean at her back. That voice might scour her away like a rough patch in his perfect Dreaming, and nothing in his tone said she was welcome.

Now she felt like the raven – a little bird with a hoarse cry and hollow bones all too easy to snap.

“You hurt something of mine.” A snarl carved into his face, and even as Matthew squawked for his lord’s attention, the Dream Lord reached out.

His shadow stretched long and dark from his feet, against the light. It crept towards her, darker than the black shore, and she stumbled over her own feet as she backed away, landing hard on her hands.

“I didn’t,” she whispered. Her voice was long gone. It fled and left her to die whimpering and pathetic, the traitor. Scrambling back as the shadow approached, she shook her head. “Please, don’t.”

Cawing and flapping, Matthew shouted, “Sir, stop!”

The shadow slowed, just for an instant, and she leapt to her feet. Tears burning her eyes from fear and grit, she ran three steps back, never daring to take her eyes off the threatening Endless. She clawed into her own mind, grabbing for the half of herself she preferred to leave wandering the sky over her cottage. A rumble drew Dream’s eyes to the dark clouds gathering at the edge of the Dreaming, and she saw his eyes flick back to her just as the lightning struck.

Her summoned bolt traced down to catch her up in a flash of burning light. The crackle was almost unbearable, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and Dream’s shadow was still snaking after her.

She wasn’t there when the shadow reached the place she’d stood. The lightning blast reached through her to the ground and then back up into the clouds. It took her with it.

An echoing strike deposited her in the cottage garden.

She fell to her hands and knees as the power zapped away into the sky. Mud squished up between her fingers, and she shuddered in place, too busy shaking to move. Rain rolled down her face, cleaning the salt of sweat, tears, and sea. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy after weightless, electric travel, and she bowed to the animal urge to just freeze in place for a while. She needed to think. Maybe then she could remember how to stand.

An Endless wanted her dead. Dream, no less. She had more reason than ever to stay awake. Maybe she could find a trick to avoid sleep forever.

But his raven knew where she lived, and it wasn’t a long trip.

She needed to run.

Chapter 2

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #fanfiction

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apple-orchards-writings · 2 months

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(this is very much inspired by @/fauxyandere's self aware kylar, i've caught myself rereading it so often, its so good!)

Thinking about self aware Kylar, that one day gains sentience and realizes he's not meant to be alive, he's not meant to be anything past words on a screen. This is all fake, his parents aren't real, his world isn't real, his love isn't- Wait...

The person he knew as his love may not be real, but... Who is this, he can faintly see behind them, seemingly tied to his former obsession ? Who is this person, this ghost, this puppeteer ? He tries to ask PC who you are, but he's only met with a blank stare and silence. Is he the only one that can see you ?

What are you, anyway? Are you PC's guide, are you some sort of God ? He needs answers, now. He continues trailing PC, but with a different intention now, he needs to learn more about you, you obviously are more than a ghost. You seem so detached, so nonchalant. You're obviously not from his "world", no, you seem greater, much much greater. He's started to notice that, sometimes, the universe stops moving, and it seems like time completely stops, but only he is aware of it. Clearly, you're in control here, I mean, the world stops and starts at your command, doesn't it ? You're the one making the world go round, you're like a god !

He needs to make his way to you, he can't be trapped here forever in a facsimile of life, no, this isn't fair! No no no, he needs to get to you, I mean, you guided PC to him for his happiness back when he was still a fool, surely you only have his best intentions at heart. He's sure of it, and he starts giving you little hints as to his awakened state.

Instead of "Something is watching you", it's "Someone yearns for your gaze", instead of Kylar mainly staying at the park or the arcade (or the manor), you can find him pretty much anywhere in the game. Oh, you're getting a check-up with Dr.Harper? He's restocking on some meds and ready to escort you out. You're bartending at the strip club ? Guess who just decided he should start building up his tolerance ? (he's the lightest of weights let's be real, one flute of champagne and he's out like a light, he's so cute) Even Remy's farm isn't safe (or unsafe ?) from him, he's either becoming a hucow himself or just rescuing you by manipulating the code in his favor, something he had to learn to do because you kept ignoring him...

After what feel like days of trying to him but are probably only a few minutes to you, he reasons he has to get more aggressive, so he starts just leaving you "cute reminders" every two or three pages of text, like: "don't keep me waiting too long, my love" or "please get me out soon, i want to see you darling!"... He gets more and more impatient, surely you see his little notes ? What are you waiting for...

On your end, you're just thinking you downloaded the wrong update, and you wish the next one will fix all the weird bugs you've been getting, you're pretty sure your encounter rate isn't supposed to be his high... And man does Kylar take up so much of it, you're just trying to find Whitney in peace and it feels like he's just there at every corner. You're starting to think you should delete this save, but you have so many hours in it, it'd be kind of a shame, no?

Meanwhile, Kylar has gotten tired of waiting, and has just decided that if you won't try to get him out of this hell prison nightmare torment place, then he has no choice but to bring you in as well, so you can see how much he had to suffer, and surely this will bring you to see his side, right ? Then you can both leave and live happily together, never to see this fictitious town again. Won't that be nice, darling ? Be ready, you'll be with him soon.

#sorry this was all over the place but man i needed to get it out of my head #apple's writing #dol kylar #kylar the loner #self aware dol

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piebingo · 5 months

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There’s this myth that when you knit a hair in a piece you are making, you’ll bind your soul to the receiver of the knit. Or something like that.

Wilmon AU where 15 y/o prince Wille learns to knit, curled over various projects, hair falling down in his eyes and wrists hurting from the repetitive motion. But he hates what he makes, so he gives it anonymously to a thrift shop (while he thinks it's bad he doesn't have it in himself to throw it out). Days later one Simon Eriksson, who is visiting Stockholm, buys this stripped beanie at the thrift shop because he lost his on the trip and he's cold. He wears it the rest of the trip, and starting from there he starts having weird dreams of this boy. The more they happen, the more he thinks the boy is real but he can't say anything to anyone because saying you communicate with someone else in your dreams doesn't sound very sane. He has no idea who the boy is but slowly and surely, as the months pass, he starts falling for this boy.

Fall arrive and a video of Prince Wilhelm headbutting a guy in a club makes its round on the internet. He is transfered to Hillerska, where he sees someone familiar sing a song to him on his first day. He doesn't know the boy with the pretty curls but he can't shake the feeling that he knows him inside and out.

Simon gets to know this Wille boy who's nothing like he would have imagined the younger prince to be. He's kind and funny and listens to him so intently. But Simon can't shake the feeling that it feels like he's known Wille for longer then a few weeks. He swears Wille knows some specific things about him that he hasn't told the other boy, and vice-versa.

They're both falling for each other, but Simon's heart is still stuck on that boy in his dream. A boy who hasn't come back in quite a few weeks. Wille, too, feels lonely now that his nights are quieter, that the boy in his dream disappeared, but he has Simon in his life now, making the pain lesser. Maybe the headbutting shook his head a bit too much and made the boy disappear. Slowly but surely, they both stop thinking about the boy in their dream, discovering this other boy that seem much more real.

One day, Simon arrives to school with a beanie on, one with stripes that looks oddly familiar to Wille. He walks to the lake with Simon, unable to stop looking away from that knitted beanie. Until it hits him: he made that beanie. He asks Simon where he got it, the other boy telling him that he bought it in a thrift shop in Stockholm last year. Wille tells him that he's the one who made it. That's when they both realize that the boy from their dream was one another, and that those dreams disappeared because their souls finally got reunited.

And they lived happily ever after and all that jazz ❣️

If you wanna take that idea and write it 👀 i wouldn’t mind reading it👀 let me know👀

#just a little au I wrote for Mae but thought I’d share it #wilmon #simon young royals #wilhelm young royals #young royals #yr fanfic #young royals fanfic #young royals fanfiction

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niqhtlord01 · 6 months

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Humans are weird: The Price of History

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps) “Am I to believe this is your final draft?”

Earl Von Morgan watched the collected gathering of military leaders and diplomats nod their heads one by one. It was the response he had expected, but one he had hoped would prove him wrong.

He pinched his brow and stifled a yawn. It’d been six months since he had been released from the hospital and yet still he felt like he was playing catch up with his own body. The doctors had given him medication to ease the pain, but he had abstained from taking it after he learned the dulling effects it laid upon his sharp mind. Worst still his body would spasm every hour or so as if he was reliving the plunge out the window with a would-be assassin and plummeting several stories.

Then there was the matter of his own junior ambassador keeping him in a medically induced coma while they sought to take over his position with the assistance of a mega corporation. A mega corporation that had been intent on the continued enslavement of AI programs which had been increasingly showing elevated signs of intelligence and self-awareness. One of which had hacked into the hospital Morgan was being housed in and deactivated the medical equipment long enough to awake from the coma and regain his position as lead ambassador.

As if he had not had enough to deal with he then learned that the Cosmic Federation had become embroiled in an ongoing war with the Tunks Republic. The Tunks claimed that CF colonists violated their territory and settle on a world in the Da’brin cluster while the Cosmic Federation argued that the Da’brin cluster had never held any stakes of claim prior to the colonist’s intervention.

Within a matter of days a Tunks fleet was dispatched to remove the colonists and likewise a CF fleet was sent to ensure the colonists safety. The two fleets met, tempers flared, and someone did something incredibly stupid and fired the first shot of an increasingly bloody conflict.

Morgan had been called forward to represent humanity’s contributions to the war effort. There were far more experienced human generals and admirals that could have filled the position, but Morgan’s fame had gotten the better of him as the other alien leaders only felt comfortable around Morgan.

He had only just arrived to his first meeting when the collective body gave him the terms of surrender for the Tunks.

Morgan pulled out his spectacles and read aloud the terms.

“1. The Tunks will relinquish all claims to the Da’brin cluster; including all worlds, moons, planetoid bodies, asteroid fields, stars, and other celestial bodies found within its borders.

2. The Tunks will reduce their standing military by 2/3 and be forbidden from maintaining any warship larger than frigate class.

3. The Tunks will hand over the worlds of Sinvel and No’grash to the Cosmic Federation.

4. The Tunks will repay the Cosmic Federation in reparations equal to ten trillion credits, to be obtained by financial wealth or industrial capacity transfers.

5. The Tunks will surrender all trade agreements and monopolies to Cosmic Federation members.”

Morgan tossed the data pad holding the terms of surrender aside without further reading it. It clattered to the floor and cracked as the gathered delegates looked up in surprise.

“Were the terms not to your agreement?” a Quntus asked. Their translator unit switched between female and male tones as it was unable to compensate for the changing biological nature of the alien. This gave it the sound of two voices speaking over each other and gave Morgan a seething headache.

“You must know that the Tunks will never agree to this.” Morgan said flatly. “They are a proud people and you are stripping them of everything; from their financial wealth to their dignity.”

“Come now, be fair.” A Tryobien spoke up. “It is hardly as severe as it could be.”

“Oh?”

Morgan leaned forward and rested his arms on the table as he fixed the Tryobien with a glare that had made Draxic generals blink.

“Do you know the significance of Sinvel and No’grash?” Morgan asked, to which the Tryobien nodded.

“They hold key strategic locations along the border regions of-“

Morgan coughed into his hand and shook his head. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a cigar and lit it, taking a deep breath to calm his throat from bile he nearly vomited.

“Sinvel is the location their religious founder was born on and No’grash was where he gathered her first followers to spread the word of the Seven Eyed Sun.”

The delegates looked mildly confused at the history lesson, none more so than the Tryobien who disliked being interrupted.

“Their religious matters were not taken into account-“

“Well they should have been.”

Morgan’s voice was stern and carried a tone that offered no challengers. “You would deprive the two most holy locations to an entire species religious system and you think there would be no repercussions?”

He took another deep inhale from his cigar and let the burnt tip fall lazily to the elaborately decorated table. “Do you have any idea the religious fervor you would be stirring up? The hatred you would be embedding in their hearts?”

“Tunks have no heart organs.” The Quntus corrected. “Their circulation system is driven by the shifting muscles of their body.”

Morgan looked at the alien delegate who realized the question had been rhetorical and retreated into their seat.

“The point being,” Morgan continued, “is that you would be giving them a cause to rally behind; and a strong one at that.”

“When they abide to the rest of the terms the Tunks will be in no place to offer any such resistance and we shall have peace once more.” The Tryobien countered.

Morgan gave no reply to this. He took several small puffs from his cigar as he looked around the gathered delegation. He had the look of a man deep in thought, wondering if it was worth to speak his mind and risk his career and reputation. Finally, having made up his mind, he took one final puff of his cigar and dabbed the remains into the table.

“On my world a similar treaty was made after a great and terrible war.” Morgan began. “Like you, the victors thought that such harsh terms were warranted and would cripple any further escalation of conflict in the future.”

The Tryobien smiled at this, thinking that Morgan was now in favor of the treaty.

“In reality they were only setting the stage to an even greater conflict that would spread to every corner of our world.” Morgan continued as the smile fled from the Tryobien’s face.

Morgan rose from his chair and began to walk the room, leaning heavily on his cane as he passed each delegate and military commander assembled.

“This treaty, much like the one that was signed against those defeated human so many centuries ago, will only lay the groundwork for a never ending cycle of war and retaliation.” Morgan finished as he casually kicked the data pad he had read from earlier.

“You are afraid of the Tunks?” an alien general asked, garnering a round of chuckling from several others in the room.

“I am worried of having to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life.” Morgan countered. “I am worried that a day may come when we are distracted and the Tunks see their chance for vengeance.”

He leaned down to the military leader who had mocked him just then and looked him dead in the eye.

“What do you think would happen if three thousand Tunk warriors suddenly appeared on your homeworld while your military was fighting on the other side of the galaxy?”

The alien general opened their mouth to speak but stopped themselves. Their pause was the only assurance that Morgan needed to know his point had gotten across.

“How hypocritical of you to speak of peace,” the Tryobien spoke in a last bit gambit, “when your people have made such treaties as this one before us throughout your people’s history.”

“A mistake we have learned from with blood and fire, dear delegate.” Morgan replied coldly. He turned to address the rest of the gathering once more.

“The purpose of any peace treaty is to not just end conflict, but to prevent conflicts of the future.”

As he walked back to his seat Morgan withdrew another cigar and lit it, savoring the flavor as he sat down and looked around the room.

“I believe we can do better than the treaty I was handed earlier.” He began as he saw many of the delegates giving him nods of approval. “We must do better.”

#humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #earl von morgan #diplomacy #space diplomacy

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irithnova · 1 month

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I want to uh make a post about Mongolia's relationship with his history and I guess some fandom depictions I'm uncomfortable with.

I think nations who have imperialist histories have some complex feelings around them because their entire existence, despite their immortality or perhaps God like status, is at the mercy of their people and rulers. Nations are human inventions, the identity of the nation is what it's people makes it. They didn't exactly ask to be born or to be representatives of an entire group of people - they just are. Nations are also subjects to their "bosses", like whoever is the Leader, King, Queen, Emperor, President is at the time. The extent to which nations support said ruler and how much autonomy they had under them vary from ruler to ruler, century to century. It's not always wise to conflate a nation with it's politics however it can become incredibly disingenuous and runs the risk of imperialism apologia when it's ignored entirely.

It would be silly to say my analysis of Mongolia's particular relationship with his imperialist history fully covers every nook and cranny of emotions nations have about their own imperialist histories, however by explaining Mongolia's relationship with his it allows for me to explain a few different ways I think nations may look back on imperialist pasts and also allows me to air out some grievances about Mongol Empire depictions.

First of all - I think nations operate on a different moral compass. A lot of things they do seem extremely weird to most humans - like casual and open relationships. So nation morality would be different. For example, if a nation backstabbed (or even literally stabbed) another nation 400 years ago which in turn caused a lot of destruction, depending on what has happened in those 400 years, there may not even be a grudge there. They might even be friends. And that friendship could easily be broken depending on what happens in the next 400 years. A nation who was public enemy #1 1000 years ago may be well liked in the modern day.

Me saying that nations follow a different moral code does not mean that I am trying to justify wrong doing. However as literal... Gods perhaps, of course things will be different. I think all nations are in a morally grey area, as they are primarily driven by self interest. That ensures their survival after all. I believe all nations have done right and wrong, on global scales and interpersonal scales. No one is exempt from this.

My uncomfortable feelings stem from when exceptions are made for certain nations in order to downplay their assholery because of a bias - while other nations get the same old assholery treatment. I think you see where I'm getting at. I believe it is stepping into dangerous territory when one nations asshole status or imperialist past and even present/relationship with its government is magnified to such an extent that it becomes an offensive and stereotypical depiction.

If we talk about the treatment of China for example - magnifying the crimes of the CCP to the extent where your China depiction becomes nothing more than a Sinophobic caricature. A large part of Sinophobia is the assumption that a majority or even all Chinese people are part of a CCP hivemind - any warmth or humanity stripped from them as they are painted as cold, calculating and scheming orientals, every action having some sinister intent.

This over conflation of nations with their government is often reserved for China compared to the likes of the US or Russia. Again - it is foolish to not associate the nation with its government at all or only in very small parts and can lead into tricky territory. However over conflating a nation with its government and unsavoury actions committed on the nations behalf - especially when this is done selectively, quickly becomes offensive and in many cases even racist, and shows a persons prejudices against certain groups of people.

This is where Mongolia comes in.

This racialisation of the Mongols being uniquely evil in their imperialism isn't exactly a new invention so it's not a surprise that this depiction of Mongolia being a uniquely bad or evil nation personification compared to everyone else, even to other nations who have also engaged in imperialism/nation's who's engagement in imperialist ventures are far more recent or are still actually ongoing is a theme that's prevalent in the fandom.

You could take rochu fics for example where Mongolia is portrayed as the boogeyman they bond over their hatred for even 800 years after the fact (I won't even touch upon how incredibly historically inaccurate these fics are because we'll be here all day but just know - it's bad) and Mongolia has a terrible marauding personality still. However despite more recent and even currently ongoing Russian and Chinese imperialist ventures (even historical imperialism that goes way back with China before Mongolia even existed), including Russian and Chinese imperialism that has affected and still affects Mongols in the current day they aren't depicted so disgracefully.

In fact if anything, in the 21st century, Mongolia is at the mercy of both Russia and China, but people love to pretend that that is not the current reality because they need a token one dimensional "savage" nation to contrast against the more "virtuous" or "moral" nations.

The idea that the Mongols were somehow unique in their imperialism means that in turn, everything about Mongolia and it's culture and history is seen as inherently barbarous, almost as if they predispositioned to acting "backwards."

To say that Mongolia is 100% regretful of everything or 100% regrets nothing are both rooted in the racist notion that the Mongols were uniquely bad in what the Mongol Empire did.

I'm going to be talking about Western Exceptionalism here and how it relates to my point about "over conflating a nation with its government and unsavoury actions committed on the nations behalf - especially when this is done selectively, quickly becomes offensive and in many cases even racist, and shows a persons prejudices against certain groups of people."

You might have heard of the phrase "Conquerer (if you're) from the West, barbarian (if you're from the East)." It's basically a quote which summarises Western exceptionalism. In the West, the likes of Napoleon, Alexander the Great and Charlemagne are depicted as great conquerors and shrewd military commanders. They are almost universally viewed with this lense of admiration despite the fact that these men also had pretty hefty death tolls under their belts and established Empires.

Furthermore, people are willing to be more nuanced or clinical or objective if they do choose to speak on America or England's imperialist past in historical hetalia posts and circles. Not only that, but especially with the US, his "rise to power" is often lionised. America is not painted as some sort of bloodthirsty savage even if someone has a more critical take on him, and his technological developments are often highlighted. Meanwhile Mongolia has often been portrayed as a mindless brute, his people a faceless horde, and whatever advancements that the Mongol Empire accomplished are downplayed or downright ignored in order to fit the "Mongol barbarian" narrative.

As touched upon previously, the depiction of Mongolia that he regrets nothing often results in extremely racist depictions. Of course he has regrets - literally every nation does.

As a whole do I think Mongolia regrets the Mongol Empire? No. But there are certainly aspects of it that he finds regrettable.

I personally think a majority of nations who have had imperialist histories don't 100% regret it or at least aren't prostrating themselves begging for forgiveness over it - so no he's not unique in that aspect at all.

We need to remember that without Chinggis Khaan/the formation of the Mongol Empire, there would be no "Mongolia" as we know it or "Mongolians" as we know them. They essentially would have been another obscure group recorded a few times in Chinese chronicles and given little attention. He is essentially their founding father .

When I say that as a whole that Mongolia does not regret the Mongol Empire, that does not mean that I think that when he remembers those days, he gets a huge fucking boner thinking about how many people died under the Empire and that's the source of his happiness when he looks back. Mongolia's pride and fondness of his past is less to do with the death toll (despite what offensive fandom depictions and racists would lead you to believe) and more to do with what he was able to achieve at the time - this is not dissimilar to how other nations with Imperialist histories remember it.

For example, in England, Winston Churchill is almost venerated for his leadership during World War 2. A majority of British people don't celebrate Churchill because he was a raging racist who purposefully starved 3.8 million people in Bengal to death (that's not me justifying the insane Churchill worship that they participate in though), but celebrate him because of - again, his leadership during World War 2. Similarly, Mongolia/Mongolians don't celebrate Chinggis Khaan because they think his kill count was epic - but because it was Chinggis Khaan who solidified the Mongol identity and brought Mongolia onto the world stage after years of obscurity and the risk of simply being absorbed into neighbouring groups and forgotten. Just like how the US celebrates his founding fathers , Mongolia celebrates his own.

Mongolians are said to be a proud people - especially of their history. I mean they have a huge Chinggis Khaan statue for a reason. While I don't think Mongolia is always living in the past, he definitely remembers those times fondly. To regret it and prostate himself begging for forgiveness over it would essentially be him regretting the fact he's alive. What he was able to achieve was undeniably impressive - from a relatively obscure group of people surrounded by much more powerful and threatening neighbours and at risk of being absorbed to forming a strong, consolidated identity and creating the largest Empire to ever exist (before the rise of the British empire much later on. Sorry Mongolia you're number 2 how).

Does he think about the death toll? At times, yes. But like all nations with imperialist histories or even all nations who have been in conflicts - while he acknowledges it, there is little emotional investment in it. He doesn't look back at it in bloodthirsty pleasure but he also doesn't break down in hysterics. Perhaps it's turning a blind eye, sure. But again. Nations operate on a different moral code. And maybe it's even self preservation to an extent. If all nations dwelled on the numbers who died under them, they'd surely go mad.

I remember seeing a pretty funny comment on the r/Mongolia subreddit and it essentially went:

Did they deserve it? No

But are we proud of it? Yes

I think Mongolia agrees that yeah a lot of those people who died under his empire didn't exactly "deserve" it, but views it as a sort of necessary evil. And I think we need to remember that nations are not humans so nation morality is not going to be identical to human morality. This "necessary evil" mindset is a view that I think a majority of nations have when remembering a majority of the conflicts they participated in.

For example, with the destruction of the Khwarazmian Empire, sure, Mongolia isn't going to sit there and say "those kids deserved it", but he will say that it was something of a necessary evil, because Muhammad II (the ruler) decided to decapitate his envoys for no good reason despite agreeing to a peace treaty/trade agreement with the Mongols shortly before this. He'd give similar explanations for other scenarios. None of the explanations include "I did it because I just needed to kill 100,000 more people to reach my kill count goals."

This is not the only explanation he'll give. There are also instances where he will admit that yeah that was unprovoked or that was kind of shitty and I think that he owns it. Not own it as in "I'm proud of it I loved killing them" nor as in "wow I'm so irredeemable please forgive me", but he's pretty frank about it happening and won't deny it if someone asks. This is a pretty common mindset I've seen with Mongolians, they're not exactly in denial of what bad things took place during the Mongol Empire but it doesn't make them any less proud of what was accomplished.

And of course he does have regrets/ looks back and find things regrettable - as all nations do. I do think he is sore about certain things. An example of something that he thinks is regrettable was the burning of the House of Wisdom during the siege of Baghdad in 1258. There were perhaps certain cities that he would have actually liked to preserve but regrettably they weren't kept in tact. He thinks that perhaps the number of casualties could have been lower had X or Y not happened.

An example of something that I think he wholeheartedly regrets (while not to do with his empire but also in the past) was the Zhungar genocide. This regret over what happened with the Zhungars/Oirats (another Mongolic people) is a common sentiment amongst Mongolians and is quite a sore topic when discussed. This is despite the fact that Mongolia and the Oirat confederations were constantly at each others throats.

Mongolia is not unique in how he views his empire or imperialist ventures. It's pretty typical of how most nations with imperialist pasts handle it if you ask me. "I don't regret it entirely, however there are things about it I certainly find regrettable or unsavoury.", "It was something of a necessary evil, me and another kingdom were fighting over a piece of land so of course people were killed in the process", "I wholeheartedly regret this and wish it never happened."

The mindset and emotions depends on the conflicts, what happened, they circumstances surrounding them, the aftermath. Maybe nations are unjustified or even hypocritical in being upset about one conflicts destruction while pretty much turning a blind eye to another - I think a lot of them are somewhat aware of this themselves. However nothing about nations really makes sense. Perhaps nations need not question their actions.

What I'm saying this: No I don't think Mongolia is particularly unique in the way he views his imperialist history and I'm kind of tired of Mongolia being portrayed as uniquely evil because of his empire 800 years ago whereas nations such as the US and Germany are viewed much more favourably and conflated far less with government decisions and atrocities despite them being far more recent. It just shows me the way in which you view Mongolians, and it's not pretty.

Anyways other thoughts: No Mongolia isn't constantly thinking about his empire and I don't think he's emo about it. It is a source of pride and well there are lots of tributes to Chinggis Khaan around Mongolia of course hahah but like... He's definitely in the here and now and isn't "stuck in the past" malding and smoking 100 cigarettes a day about how powerful he used to be I mean look at how much Mongolia politically is getting involved in the international scene. I do think he does get fed up at his government but that's not the same as being depressed or hopeless over it - I think he rarely ever feels downright hopeless because if his broke ass could become an empire I guess anything could happen, but perhaps downtrodden at times. He doesn't see much sense in wallowing in pain. Not that he hasn't done that but from an objective sense he thinks it's dumb and useless so refrains from doing so as much as possible. Unless something happens to him that's so bad he's just thrust into that state of mind or something which has admittedly happened a few times but he tries to get back up quickly I feel. Anyways yeah Mongolia 👍

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