#obviously that’s not the whole story but the public don’t know that and that adds so many interesting perspectives and opinions

[natashadewinter]

the archon human and the people she couldn’t save

#genshin impact #genshin fanart #lumine #furina #furilumi #i did furinas story quest yesterday #i definitely have Thoughts about it and how things were handled #but i liked the resentment people held towards her in poisson #don’t get me wrong i LOVE furina #and i often see posts saying furina deserves better which she does but #imagine the person in charge of your country #the person you look to #the star of fontaine #the person the spotlights focus on #is a complete and utter fraud #imagine being a mother and losing your child because someone was parading around as an archon #obviously that’s not the whole story but the public don’t know that and that adds so many interesting perspectives and opinions #small details like that is why i like genshin and it’s world building #i didn’t mean to ramble whoops

[merrybloomwrites]

I Hear Them Calling (Chapter 5)

Story Summary: Alpha Harry Styles and omega Y/N Y/L/N meet under less than ideal circumstances. Overtime their paths will cross and they will be drawn to one another in ways they never expected.

Chapter Summary: Harry and Y/N spend the weekend together in Chicago

Previous Chapters: Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4

Word Count: 3.8k

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“So, what are we going to see in the city?” You ask Harry. You’re both on the couch eating fruit, since Harry insisted you needed some sort of snack to hold you over until lunch.

“Well, first, we should swing by your hotel. Figured you might want to get changed,” he replies. You laugh and nod in agreement. While you wouldn’t mind living in Harry’s comfy clothes doused in his scent, you know that going in public, with him, wearing his clothes, is admittedly a terrible idea.

“Then obviously some lunch,” he continues. “And after that, I have no idea. Maybe see where the day takes us?”

“I like that plan,” you answer. Normally you like to have everything totally scheduled out, but you’re excited to see what experiences might happen naturally.

“We can keep your things in the car while we’re out and stop back here to drop them off on our way to the arena later,” he adds.

“Am I staying here tonight?” You inquire.

He pauses, trying to find the right words. “I would like for you to stay,” he finally says. “It’s just, you’re only hours out of a drop. And you said that hasn’t happened for a long time. I would like you to stay close to me in case something happens. And uhm, my alpha is fairly attached to your omega at the moment.” Harry blushes and his eyes look down at his fingers as he finishes his sentence.

“Harry?” you say, and his gaze meets yours. “I’d love to stay.”

His anxious face instantly morphs into one of excitement and he says, “Fantastic! Okay, I’m going to call a car to take us to your hotel and we can start our adventure.”

“It’s only a couple of blocks, we could walk it.”

At this he seems nervous again and he quickly explains, “It’s probably best if we drive. We’ll be more under the radar that way, and I don’t necessarily want to be seen in public too much.”

“Oh, right, of course. That totally makes sense.” There’s an insecure part of your brain telling you that it’s because he doesn’t want to be seen with you, just some average nobody, but you tell that voice to shut up. Harry would never be so callous, so shallow. He simply wants his privacy.

A few minutes later you’re back in your quiet hotel room. Harry is waiting in the car, so you quickly get changed and freshen up. You spray on our scent blockers and are disappointed that you no longer smell like Harry. He put on blockers before leaving his hotel as well so now it will be hours before you’ll catch his scent again. If you’re lucky. You remind yourself this whole situation is temporary, and you should take what you get.

Your belongings are mostly packed so it only takes a minute to get everything together. When you reenter the car you let out the breath you’d been holding while separated from Harry. You admit to yourself you are still feeling the effects of the drop, and you allow yourself to revel in the presence of an alpha. Normally the idea that you need to rely on an alpha for anything would make you mad, but not right now. Not when that alpha greets you with a shy smile as you slide into your seat next to him. And especially not when that alpha reaches over so your hands are resting close enough to just barely touch.

It's a bit of a drive to the restaurant Harry picked out, and you pass the time making small talk. You discuss your families, hobbies, favorite vacation spots, anything you can think of. Nothing is all that crazy or interesting, but Harry is locked in on every word you say. It makes you feel warm inside, having his full attention and knowing he truly wants to hear what you have to say.

Harry is so absorbed in the conversation that even he is surprised when the car stops outside the restaurant. He gets out, quickly moving around the car to open your door for you and lead you inside. The diner he’s chosen is lowkey, giving hole in the wall vibes, and you think it’s perfect.

It’s not empty, but the crowd there doesn’t bat an eye as you two walk in. A quick glance around the room shows that you’re the youngest people there by far. Everyone is engaged in conversation or reading the newspaper or a book they’ve brought with them. It makes you feel comfortable, relaxed, and you know you’re going to enjoy this lunch.

You’re seated together at a table towards the back, and a waiter comes over to take your drink orders. After he walks away it’s quiet for a moment, both you and Harry reading through the menu. He comes back a few minutes later to take your food orders. Once he leaves again you fold your hands on the table in front of you and look at Harry.

He’s sitting the same way, hands folded just inches from yours, and his eyes are already on you.

“So,” he hesitantly begins. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Like, of yours?”

He laughs before saying, “No, just, in general. But I am also curious what your favorite of mine is.”

You think for a moment, and you catch him chuckling and your very serious thinking face. “I guess all-time favorite song might be ‘Annie’s Song’ by John Denver. It was my parents’ wedding song, so we played it a lot at home. Makes me think of them.” You smile and think again for a moment before saying, “And my favorite song of yours, well, that’s harder to choose. I think maybe ‘Canyon Moon’. It’s just so fun, and upbeat. It’s the first one that really hooked me on your music.”

“That is a fun one, yeah. Kind of bummed it’s off the setlist if I’m honest. And I too love a little John Denver occasionally.”

The discussion on music lasts until your food is placed on the table. The delicious smell alerts you to how hungry you are, and you immediately dig in. Conversation stops again so the two of you can eat.

As Harry settles the bill (which you attempt to help pay for, but he quickly denies) he says, “We’ve got about an hour before we need to head back to the hotel and get ready. There’s a park nearby. What do you say about a little stroll?”

“That sounds perfect,” you reply.

He stays close to you as you walk the couple blocks to the park. His hand reaches out towards you multiple times but he pulls it back like he’s afraid to make contact. It keeps your mind spinning, wondering what’s he’s thinking when he does this. Is it an unconscious gesture? Is it a protective one? Does he just want to be touching you the way that you want to be touching him?

Once in the park he leads you to a bench by a small lake. The bushes grant you both some privacy from the few other people who are walking nearby.

“So,” he says timidly. “How are you feeling today? After the drop and everything.”

You take a moment to assess in order to answer truthfully. “Honestly, I feel pretty good right now. Like, better than I have in weeks. I think my omega really needed that break.”

“You said your meds lost their potency right? And that’s been going on for weeks then, at least since the first show you came to. How have you been coping with all of that? Do you nest at all?”

“I tried nesting in the past, but it never brought the peace people said it would. I guess cause most people are betas now so it’s harder to get alpha or other omega scents. And without those nests aren’t as comforting.”

“That has to be frustrating. I’m sorry it’s so difficult for omegas. I wish things were different for you guys, I truly do.”

“Thanks. Me too. Can I ask, why do you keep your alpha status a secret?”

“I guess because people have certain views of alphas. They think we’re mean and controlling and yea, a lot of alphas are these days. I just didn’t want people to judge me before getting to know me. Plus, some record labels and managers don’t want to work with alphas. Say they’re too unpredictable or difficult.”

“Seems like it’s tough for alphas too.”

“Yea, but at least we’re safe. No one tries to cross us or control us. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have your free will taken away by an alpha command.”

“It’s definitely not fun,” you say, shivering at the memory of being frozen and silenced just by a knothead alphas words.

Noticing your slight distress, Harry places his hand on your knee and says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up, I know you have bad memories with that.”

You’re instantly soothed by him, and you reach out to place your hand on top of his. You have no idea where the courage to touch him like that comes from, and you’re about to pull away when he flips his hand until your palms are touching and he’s able to intertwine his fingers with yours.

The sound of your purring is sudden and surprising. It’s not something that happens often, and you almost cut it off, but you see the smile that breaks out on Harry’s face. You sit there, holding hands, and purring softly. Neither of you tries to start a conversation, just enjoying the moment.

Harry’s phone ringing brings you both back to reality. His driver is on the line, reminding Harry that it’s time to head back in order to stay on schedule. He lets go of your hand as you leave the bench, and though you’re disappointed, you remind yourself of the media frenzy that would ensue if Harry was caught holding hands with a girl.

You’re especially soothed when he reaches out for your hand again once in the privacy of the car. Just like the earlier drive, you get to know each other better, this time discussing favorite books at length.

He insists on carrying your luggage into the hotel for you, and letting you have the first shower. You’re in the living room finishing your hair when Harry walks out of the bathroom, having finished his own shower. He’s wrapped in a towel, water dripping off his hair and down his chest. You pray that your suppressants still work well enough to at least prevent unwanted slick production. Because you would literally die of embarrassment if the telltale scent of honey filled the room.

“Sorry, so sorry, forgot to grab clothes,” he says as he dashes into the bedroom to grab an outfit from the dresser. He jogs back into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. You let out the breath you’ve been holding and quickly reel in your thoughts to ensure your face isn’t still beet red when he comes back out.

You force yourself to focus on perfecting your hair in an effort to erase the image of a practically naked Harry. Or at least, erase temporarily. While you’re in his presence. It works, because by the time he comes out again, now dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, you’ve fully contained your thoughts.

“Car will be here in five minutes, you almost ready?”

“Yup, just gotta grab my phone,” you say before walking back into the bedroom to get the phone from where it’s been charging. Harry’s scent is strongest here, likely because he’s been sleeping there for weeks, plus he was broadcasting his scent the night before during your drop. It’s so potent that you almost feel dizzy. You shake your head in an attempt to clear it, quickly get the phone, and rejoin Harry in the living room.

He's distracted during the drive over, checking updates on his phone that he’d been ignoring during the day. It’s hectic but organized at the venue. There’s so much to be done but it’s a well-oiled team and everyone does their job well. You hang out in Harry’s dressing room for the most part, wanting to be out of the way.

There’s a brief moment after Harry is ready and before he needs to go on stage, and you need to find your place in the crowd. You’re finally alone again, and the two of you are standing facing each other. He reaches out to hold both your hands between his and he says, “I have another question for you.”

You’ve been asking each other questions all day, most lighthearted, some serious. But you can tell by his tone that this may be the most important one yet.

You meet his eyes, encouraging him to go on, and after a moment of nervous hesitation he says, “I’ve really like spending time with you. I’ve known for awhile that my alpha had formed a connection with your omega, and I thought that’s where my feelings for you came from. But after today I know that I just like you. You’re funny, and smart, and beautiful. So, uhm, I was wondering, will you go on a date? With me?”

You’re speechless for a moment, so you nod your head yes while trying to process everything he just said.

“Can I take you out tomorrow morning for brunch?” He continues.

Finally, you find your voice and say, “Yes, Harry, that sounds perfect.”

The brightest, most boyish smile spreads across his face. Harry’s about to speak again but there’s a knock on the door and a voice telling him he needs to leave the room in one minute.

Harry quickly says, “Can I scent you? Before you go out there?” You again nod yes, knowing that he needs this, needs to protect you in this way even though you’ll be in a VIP section with plenty of security.

Plus, you’ve decided that you’d have to be insane to ever say no when he asks that question. One of his large hands cups the side of your neck while his nose moves to the scent gland on the opposite side. It slides against your skin, and you’re surrounded by his mouthwatering smell. He presses one gentle kiss directly near your mating spot before he pulls back, gives you one last dazzling smile, and walks out the door.

Jada walks in to find you still standing, dazed, in the middle of the room. “Need a minute?” she asks with a knowing smirk.

“Just, uhm, gonna use the…bathroom, real quick,” you stutter out before fleeing through the door to the attached restroom. You quickly take some deep breaths and grab toilet paper to clean up the slick that had escaped. Thankfully you’d held it in until Harry left, and Jada, being a beta, would be none the wiser. Still, you need to pull yourself together and get your desire under control before you embarrass yourself.

Once you’re ready she leads you to the VIP section. You feel amazing, completely opposite from the night prior and you know that you owe it all to Harry. Not once during the entire show do you feel dizzy, or anxious, or any of the negative emotions you’ve been feeling for weeks. Instead, you feel electric, especially during the handful of moments when Harry’s eyes find yours in the crowd, sharing a special look with you.

You’re screaming along with all the other fans as Harry runs out of the venue. Jada then leads you out to the car the two of you will be taking back to the hotel. The ten-minute drive turns into almost thirty with all the post-concert traffic.

Back at the hotel, you knock on the door to Harry’s room. Technically it’s also yours now, and yes, you do have a key, but it still feels weird just walking in while you know he’s there. It takes a moment but finally he’s opening the door for you. As you take in his appearance, you realize you made the right decision to knock. His hair is, once again, wet, he has pajama pants on and is quickly throwing on a shirt. Obviously he’s just showered again, and you know you would not have survived seeing him with any less clothes on.

“There you are,” he says, smiling and pulling you in for a hug as the door closes behind you. For a moment you’re surprised, but quickly melt into the embrace.

Before pulling away he says, “Why don’t you change into some comfy clothes, and we can put on a movie.” You head to the bedroom, grabbing your own set of pajamas before changing and washing your face. Once you feel clean and comfortable you join Harry in the living room.

He’s already laid out blankets on the couch and pulled up the latest Rom Com on the TV. After confirming that you want to watch it, he presses play and you snuggle under your blanket.

You try to pay attention to the movie, truly, you do. But Harry’s right there, sitting next to you, looking perfectly cozy and domestic, not a single scent blocker covering the delicious smell that’s started to feel like home to you.

It’s not surprising when you start to subconsciously shift closer and closer to him. He notices the small movements, and without hesitation, wraps and arm around you and pulls you close to him. He adjusts the blankets so that you’re tucked in before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

Feeling safer and more content than you have in possibly your entire adult life, you fully relax. The next thing you know, you’re being gently placed into the bed. Sensing that you’re awake, Harry smooths down your hair and says, “Get some sleep, love,” as he pulls the covers over you.

***

Waking up with Harry’s arm slung around your middle is unexpected, but entirely welcomed. Everything feels so warm, so safe. His arm unconsciously tightens around you, and you snuggle deeper into the embrace.

It isn’t long before Harry wakes up, stretching out beside you and saying, “good morning.” His husky morning voice has you practically melting, but you still manage a “good morning” in reply.

Neither of you move for a while, choosing to lay there holding each other for as long as possible. It’s nice, once again feels rather domestic, and you have to stop yourself from imagining this happening every day. Your mating spot practically tingles at the thought of you and Harry bonded to each other, raising pups together in your home.

An alarm rings on Harry’s phone, thankfully stopping your daydream from getting too out of control. You take turns getting ready before heading to the car for your first official date.

Brunch is absolutely perfect. Harry had booked a private room to ensure fans and paparazzi wouldn’t be able to spy on your date. He steps away to use the restroom at one point, and you think about how it’s going so far. It’s just like any first date you’ve ever been on; better even.

It’s almost easy to forget that he’s this world-famous popstar. When it’s the two of you together, focusing on each other, he really just becomes the man of your dreams. The fact that he’s a respectful and gentle alpha is the icing on the cake.

After brunch you head back to the hotel to repack your bags before flying home. Harry watches sadly as you prepare to leave him. You ignore your own feelings for the moment, not wanting to cry in front of him. But truthfully, the fact that you have no idea when you’ll see him again is borderline devastating.

Once you’re packed and ready to go, Harry pulls you in for a hug. You stand there holding each other for a minute before he pulls back. You look up at his face, mere inches from yours, and note how his eyes are looking between your own eyes and your lips. His hands slide up your arms, your neck, until they’re cupping your face. He leans in and presses one simple kiss to your lips.

His eyes meet yours again, silently asking if that was alright. You can’t help but lean back in, giving him a couple kisses of your own.

It doesn’t go any further, and that alone brings you some peace. He’s not just doing this all to get into your pants the way many alphas would. Honestly, this whole weekend with him feels more like puppy love than anything.

 “Would it be alright if I scented you before you left?” Harry asks before adding “Since you’ll be at the crowded airport and everything, it might be safer if you smelled like you have an alpha.”

Some omegas might find this controlling, overwhelming, overprotective, but you know that’s not his intention at all. So you agree, and close your eyes as he leans in to scent you once more. It’s electric having him so close to you. It takes all your self-control to hold back a needy whine when he presses a kiss to your scent gland.  

“One more thing,” he says after pulling away. You watch in confusion as he walks back into the bedroom. He comes back out a minute later holding his green Pleasing sweatshirt. He hands it to you, and you can immediately tell he’d scented that as well. Without hesitation you slip in on, catching the satisfied smirk on his face as you do so.

You get a text from Jada letting you know a car is there to take you to the airport. Harry pulls you in for one last kiss, and having to leave his embrace is nearly physically painful for you. After saying a final, quiet goodbye, you grab your bag and walk out of the room.

All the stress of traveling seems miniscule compared to separating from the man who is quickly becoming one of your favorite people, not to mention is the alpha your omega seems to crave.

You arrive home pretty late that evening. The last thing you want to do is wash away Harry’s scent, but you desperately need a shower after an afternoon of travel. Thankfully you have his sweatshirt to burrow into.

You sleep peacefully that night, still surrounded by Harry’s scent, knowing the last text you received before bed was a message from Harry saying, “Sleep tight, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

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AN: Thank you so much for reading! So sorry for the long delay between chapters! Hoping to get the next chapter out much sooner!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz @fictionalmensblog @buckybarnessimpp @ottawaoutlander @storyschanging

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you

[watchmegetobsessed]

THE SUN WILL RISE (part 6)

A/N: here we are, last part of this little series! i hope you guys enjoyed it, i did, and now im excited to work on the next story!

PAIRING: College!Long-hair!Harry X Reader

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

SERIES MASTERPOST | SUPPORT ME!

It’s been only a few weeks since the last time you saw Harry, but it feels like a decade has passed since you said goodbye at the airport. Now you’re on your way to pick him up and you can’t wait to see him again, to feel his arms around you, kiss his lips… You never thought you could miss someone this much, but here you are.

The arriving terminal is full of people when you arrive and check the board to see that Harry’s plane just landed, so he could be here any moment. You lean against a pillar and stare at the exit, your heart jumping in your chest every time someone walks out who resembles him even the slightest.

And then it’s finally him.

He looks just like when you parted ways in December, his hair is let down, he’s wearing a black hoodie and a pair of black jeans, carrying a sports bag on one shoulder as he stops in his tracks, his gaze roaming through the crowd until they find you.

You move towards each other at the same time, pushing past waiting relatives and loved ones before finally meeting halfway. You throw your arms around his neck and practically smash against him, he catches you just in time, his bag sliding off of his shoulder and landing on the floor with a thump as he holds you in his embrace.

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head.

“Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to live together just when we started dating,” you mumble against his neck, making him laugh.

“I’m guessing you missed me.”

You just nod and hold him a little longer before leaning back just enough so he can kiss you. He takes his time savoring your lips, his hands holding your face as if he had some kind of treasure in his palms. You used to frown at couples who made out at public places but now you’ve gladly become one of them. 

The ride to the resort is over an hour, but it’s just some extra time you can spend alone with Harry. You try to hold him a briefing about the key characters of the family, who he should be watching out for (basically everyone) and who are the safe people (maybe your aunt Cecilia on her better days). He listens carefully and nods along, keeps telling you there’s nothing to worry about, but you know better than that.

“You haven’t met my family, Harry,” you groan, when he repeats the same thing.

“I met your sister,” he cheekily replies.

“But she… she could be fine. And she was alone, she’s different when the whole family is around.”

“Y/N, it’s gonna be fine. I can handle it.”

“I’m serious, Harry. My dad can… he can easily say the most hurtful thing and not even realize it.”

“Okay, I’m a big boy, I can handle that,” he chuckles and reaching over he gives your thigh a squeeze.

“Alright,” you sigh and then add with a chuckle: “Big boy.”

Even though you told Harry in advance that the whole thing is gonna be unreasonably over the top, his eyes widen when he sees the luxury resort that was rented out just for the wedding. Of course, everything is paid by your father, because his favorite daughter deserves only the best.

Grabbing his bag from the trunk of the car you head inside, hands clasped together and you’re silently praying you don’t run into anyone before you could reach your room, but it seems like the gods have turned their back on you. Just as you walk into the lounge, you’re met with your father and one of his partners that obviously needed to be invited to the wedding to keep up the good partnership and make it look like they are friends, when in real life, they would both push each other to the sharks if they had the chance.

“Fuck,” you breathe out when your father notices you right away and seemingly excuses himself from the conversation. “Brace yourself,” you hiss to Harry.

He gives your hand a squeeze before your dad walks up to the two of you, not even trying to hide the way he is examining the man standing beside you.

“Hey dad, this is Harry, my boyfriend,” you speak up, not as confidently as you wanted to, but it’s too late now. “Harry, this is my father, James.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Harry holds his hand out. Your dad glimpses down at it before finally taking it and giving it a shake. 

“Harry, I finally get to see Y/N’s mysterious plus one, huh!”

His words alone would be normal, but there is just something in the way he said them that makes you shiver. The cold gaze he is shooting Harry before letting go of his head, you just know he is already taking the poor boy apart in his head. 

“Not so mysterious anymore,” Harry smiles at him politely. 

“No, definitely not,” your dad agrees.

“We’ll see you later at dinner, dad. Harry must be tired from all the traveling.”

“Sure. Please dress properly for dinner,” he adds, clearly referring to his simple outfit. You just take Harry’s hand and pull him towards the elevators, feeling your dad’s burning gaze on the back of your head until the elevator doors close finally.

“He is…” Harry starts, looking for the right words. “He is surely something,” he ends up saying and the two of you just laugh at his wording. 

“You’re right about that, yeah.”

You have just a few short hours before dinner that you spend making up for the time you spent apart and then taking a walk to look around the luxurious resort that truly looks like a winter wonderland. The staff is already dressing up the place for the big day tomorrow, fairy lights and white and silver decoration hanging from every corner with a hint of light blue. 

Harry doesn’t comment on it, but you know what he is thinking: that this is all just so over the top, way too much for a wedding. You agree. Even if you weren’t the blacksheep of your family and you got treated the same way as your sister, you wouldn’t want your wedding to be like this.

More like an intimate little event somewhere hidden, but special, only with your loved ones. No business partners or work related people. You never understood how your dad can mix work and his private life so much. 

There’s a massive sunroom in the back of the building, watching over the snowy mountains in the distance, that’s where you settle for a bit before heading back to the room to get ready for dinner.

“I told my mum about you,” Harry speaks up, breaking the momentary comfortable silence.

“You did?” you ask with genuine surprise. You’ve been officially dating for just about a month and you spent weeks apart from that, you weren’t expecting him to tell his family about you.

“Of course. She knows me too well, she would have noticed that something happened, so I went ahead and told her about us,” he grins at you.

“And… what did you say?”

“In case you want to know if I shared our past and the deal we made, I didn’t. She knew I moved in with a friend when I had to leave the dorm and I told her that probably living together brought us together. Which is not entirely a lie,” he chuckles.

“Right,” you let out a small chuckle as well. 

You’re tempted to ask him about what his mother had to say about you or the relationship, but you don’t want to look too eager or anxious. However, Harry knows you well enough to figure out what’s on your mind.

“She is thrilled to meet you as soon as possible,” he tells you softly.

“Really?” You breathe out.

“Of course. She wants to meet the girl who makes her son so happy.”

Your nervous thoughts turn into heat in your chest that spreads up on your neck to your ears and cheeks. He seemingly never fails to make you feel so cared for like never before. 

Leaning closer you press your lips against his, kissing him as your response when words fail to come to your tongue.

“Wow, look at these young lovers!”

Your sister’s voice snaps you out of the moment and when you pull back you see her approaching the two of you with Gabriel by her side. You and Harry stand up to greet them, Harry kisses Alice on the cheeks and then shakes hands with Gabriel.

“Nice to see you again,” Harry smiles at your sister politely, one arm coming to curl around your waist effortlessly, but you see that Alice notices the movement right away, a small smile playing on her lips.

“I’m glad you’re here too. Y/N has been moping around without you all winter break.”

“Hey!” you protest, though she is right.

“What? I saw you checking your phone every ten minutes to see if Harry has texted you,” she outs you without hesitation. “Y/N, I want to discuss something with you about the ceremony, can I steal you for a moment?”

“Oh, sure.”

“Gabe, why don’t you show Harry the sports center downstairs?” Alice suggests, clearly wanting to get some alone time with you.

“Sure,” he nods. “Do you play anything?...” he asks as the two of them walk away.

“What’s up with the ceremony?” you ask, worried that something might have come up.

“Nothing, just wanted to ask you something without the guys around. Tell me, when did you and Harry get together?” 

You freeze at her question, but then manage to recover and act like nothing happened.

“What do you mean? I told you we started dating–”

“No, I don’t want the little story you made up. I know it was all fake when I visited you, but now it’s genuine. When did the change happen?”

You open your mouth a few times just to close it, unsure what to say or how to react. 

“How… how did you know?” you ask at last

“Please, the two of you were so awkward when I visited, clearly not a real couple. But I could tell you both had feelings for each other, so I decided to wait till you figure it out yourself. That kiss at brunch though…” she chuckles, fanning herself with her hands. “That was hot.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame we barely talked for weeks after that,” you mumble under your breath.

“But it seems like it all played out well in the end,” she smiles at you. “You look good together. That guy is wrapped around your finger.”

“You think so?” 

“Absolutely,” she smirks. “I can see it in the way he looks at you. I’m glad you finally found each other.”

“Me too,” you nod with a soft smile. 

Harry is your rock during dinner that evening. He is such a natural, meeting all these new people and charming them with his confidence. You’re in awe how he can easily chat with basically anyone. 

The only person who seems skeptical about him is your dad. You catch him staring at your boyfriend several times during dinner and the look on his face is just not too pleasant. It’s kind of the same you usually get from him, you’re just not sure how Harry earned it when he’s been amazing all evening.

“So, Harry, what do you study?” your dad asks at one point.

“Graphics design, sir,” he answers and you swear you see the disappointment in your dad’s eyes at his response. 

“And what do you plan to do with such a degree?”

“Well, I think I have plenty of options. I’m really interested in doing digital illustrations though, I’ve actually designed a few book covers, maybe I might continue doing that.”

“So, no solid plan after graduation?”

“Dad,” you plead quietly. He is obviously trying to shame Harry and his studies and plans or the lack of them in this case, when it’s completely fine that he doesn’t have his future planned entirely. 

He gives you a piercing look as if it was a warning for you not to get involved. Harry’s hand finds your knee under the table and gives it a gentle squeeze to let you know he’s got it.

“I have plenty of plans, sir. But I don’t want to restrict myself to just one while I’m still not done with my studies.”

You’re amazed how he can stay so calm and collected, there’s not one ounce of irritation in his tone. 

Your dad doesn’t say a word, just lifts his nose up and then turns to talk to someone else, a clear sign that he felt like he couldn’t control the conversation the way he wanted. Pride fills your chest, knowing that Harry could stand his ground against him and he didn’t let your father intimidate him.

Leaning closer you press a tiny kiss to his cheek, which earns you a smile as he glances at you.

“What was that for?” he quietly asks.

“For being so amazing,” you murmur back, his smile stretching even wider. 

Dinner seems to never end, but when it’s finally time to retreat and get some rest before the big day tomorrow, you’re aching to finally be alone with Harry. When you get into the elevator you’re already eyeing him with lust, but not just in a sexual sense. The way he dealt with your family, especially your dad tonight, how he didn’t let anything or anyone get a rise of him, he remained calm and patient, even in moments when you could feel the hair standing up on your back.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks with a chuckle and you swear you see him blushing. “Is there something on my face?” he jokes.

“Yeah,” you nod and moving closer you place a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, his hand coming to rest on your lower back out of instinct. “This was on your face,” you giggle.

“Mm, put it back,” he teases you, making you laugh, but you obey and move to kiss him again, this time on his lips. 

You walk to your room, hand in hand, feeling like a giddy teenager, a tired sigh slipping through your lips when you finally walk inside and the door locks behind you. You’ve been dreading this moment of the evening, especially because you’re wearing a matching underwear set you bought just for tonight. You knew it’s gonna be a challenging evening, so you thought you’d end it on a better note.

“Would you mind unzipping my dress?” you bashfully ask, turning your back to him.

“Sure,” he mumbles and you don’t miss the way the corners of his mouth curl up.

You lift your hair up to give him access to the zipper, which he pulls down slowly before brushing the straps off your shoulders, letting the dress bunch around your waist before you push it further down so it pools at your feet. His hands find your waist and move to your stomach as he pulls you into his embrace from behind, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“You had this on all evening?” he murmurs, before kissing the soft spot underneath your ear. You tilt your head to the side to give him more access and he eagerly peppers the curve of your neck with soft kisses. 

“Wanted to surprise you,” you hum with your eyes closed, giving yourself over to the sensation. “Though you might need something extra after tonight.”

“I might need this extra every night,” he chuckles against your heated skin before his hands get a hold of your hips and he turns you around so he can finally kiss you. 

Soon enough, his dress shirt and pants come undone and thrown to the floor as you fall to the neatly made bed, limbs tangled together while your kisses never stop. Feeling confident, you push him so he lies on his back on the mattress and you get on top of him, the sight of his exposed chest in front of you burns into your mind forever. Leaning down you capture his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his pink lips.

“For what?” 

“For… everything. I couldn’t do this without you.”

He exhales through his nose, one hand coming to cup your jaw as he runs his thumb over your cheek, looking deep into your eyes.

“You definitely could. Don’t belittle yourself, Y/N. You’re capable of so many amazing things. But I’m glad I could be here to support you.”

Turning your head you kiss into the palm of his hand, every time Harry does or says something that’s proof of how much he cares about you, part of you doesn't even know how to process it, because you haven’t experienced anything like this before. 

His hand moves to the back of your neck and pulls you down so your lips touch, but he doesn’t kiss you just yet, holding your gaze. You can feel his chest rising and falling underneath you and you’re pressed against him so tight that you feel his heart hammering in his chest. You’re just about to ask him if everything is alright when he speaks up at last.

“I love you.”

The words sink right into your chest, wrap around your heart and burn into it while they also echo in your mind, on repeat. You move back, just enough so you can look him in the eyes easily, his pupil is dilated as he stares back at you, lips parted. 

“Do you mean it?” you ask in a whisper.

“Of course,” he breathes out, brushing your hair out of your face before taking your face in his hands. “You’re an easy person to love, Y/N. I hope I can make you believe that soon.”

With wobbling lips you lean down and kiss him with everything you can’t say out loud. You know you feel the same way about him, but you need more time to be able to say it, so you tell him without words this time.

And he gets the message. Loud and clear and the way he kisses you back reassures you about it.

“Okay, are you ready?” you call out from the bathroom, nervously smoothing your hand over the soft fabric of your dress.

“Have been for like… twenty minutes!” Harry teases you from outside with a chuckle. You wanted a big reveal for your bridesmaid dress, because it’s the only aspect of the wedding you’ve been looking forward to. Alice has excellent taste and she made sure the dresses are flattering to everyone, so it fits you perfectly, emphasizing your best features.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming!” you announce before taking a deep breath and opening the door. 

You walk out, Harry is sitting on the edge of the double bed, already dressed in his black suit pants paired with a blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to flaunt his tattooed arms, his hair in a neat bun at the back of his head. He looks insanely hot and you’re already having a hard time not throwing yourself at him.

Harry looks up as you step out of the bathroom, holding the long skirt of the dress with one hand before letting go of it as you stop in front of him, nervously showing your outfit to him. His eyes scan over your body, several times, with his lips parted and the look on his face mirrors an expression of someone who just found the biggest treasure in the world.

“Woah,” he breathes out at last, standing from the bed holding his hands out as if he was afraid to touch you. Pride fills your chest and you give him a twirl to show him the whole look and he is drinking up every drop of it. 

“Do you like it?” you ask, biting into your bottom lip. 

“I fucking love it,” he groans before his hands finally grip your hips to pull you against him. “You look beautiful, baby,” he murmurs before kissing you.

Since last night, you’ve been in a bubble of joy, the wedding, your family and everything that’s been weighing down on your shoulders stopped existing inside the walls of your room. Harry’s confession and the passionate night you spent together after has brought you blinding bliss, ignoring anything that’s beyond him.

“You look amazing too,” you smile at him, running your hands over his arms, up to his broad shoulders. “Let’s get this over with,” you sigh before stealing one last kiss.

Luckily, your sister doesn’t turn into a bridezilla, she is actually taking it so well, making it easier for everyone else around her. You keep going back and forth between her and Harry before the ceremony, even though Harry reassures you every time that he is fine on his own, you shouldn’t worry about him. Honestly, you just don’t want him to run into your dad and have to deal with him on his own, though he is pretty busy himself, pretending like the wedding is just as much about him as it is about Alice.

The ceremony is beautiful, the back of the room where the altar is has floor to ceiling windows that look out on the mountains. It truly is a winter wonderland. However all you can look at is Harry, who keeps staring back at you, as if you were in the center of the attention. As your sister and Gabe exchange their vows, you share a secret, intimate moment with Harry too with just smiles and looks, but it says more than words can.

When the ceremony is over you’re quick to make your way to Harry, planning to stay by his side for the rest of the evening. 

“You were supposed to look at the bride and groom, did you forget?” you tease him, as you lace your fingers together and head to the ballroom where the reception is going to be held.

“I found someone else I liked better,” he smirks cheekily, before pressing a kiss to the side of your head and your stomach is somersaulting from his words.

Everything is going as planned, you’re even having a good time and what you enjoy the most is when you get to introduce Harry to people. Finally, you’re not the sad little single sister, you’re glowing with Harry by your side. 

You eat and drink, dance and have a blast finally. You do more of the dancing, the DJ is playing amazing songs, Harry is always eager to have you in his arms whether it’s an upbeat or slow song. He is a great dancer as you learn it and you gladly stay on the dancefloor with him until your feet start hurting from the high heels.

“Let’s have a break,” you giggle, dragging him back to your table.

“Want another drink?” 

“Yeah, that sounds great,” you smile at him, plopping down to your chair. He leans down and kisses you shortly before heading over to the open bar. 

Your sixth sense kicks in before you even see your dad sitting down beside you. The hair on your arms stands up and your blissful mood is gone in an instant. 

“Stop this parade, this is not a nightclub.”

“W-what?” you ask, turning to face him, but he is not even looking at you.

“This Harry guy… He is not the right fit for the family.”

“Why would you say that?” His words are like punches in your stomach and you feel your confidence crumbling.

“He’s got very little plans and even those are bullshit. You’re gonna be a lawyer, you can’t choose just anyone, we have a reputation to keep up.”

“Dad…” you breathe out, so many things are crowding your mind as you try to process what’s happening. 

“I don’t want to see him after the wedding. You’re better off without him, he would just keep you back.”

You’re seeing red. Like never before.

It’s one thing for him to destroy you and make you believe you’re worth nothing. You’re used to that and you can deal with it. But for him to talk like this about Harry? That does not sit right with you. He doesn’t know him, he just judges him based on some ridiculous assumptions he made after having one short conversation with him. 

“Don’t talk about him like that,” you speak up, your voice coming out stronger and more confident than you expected, but you guess that’s what rage is doing to you. Seemingly you surprise your dad with your reply, he looks at you with an expression you’ve never seen before, a mixture of disbelief, anger and confusion. 

“What did you just say?” he grits his teeth, shooting you a death glare.

“I said, don’t talk about him like that! You don’t even know him! But still, he is an amazing person and I’m lucky someone like him wants to be with me. Harry is caring and inspiring and he treats his loved ones with so much respect. But what do you know about that, am I right?” you snap and you just know this is the moment when the dam has broken and you won’t stop until you unload everything that’s piled up throughout the years. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he growls, clearly irritated by your behavior. From the corner of your eyes you can see Harry approaching the two of you with the drinks in hands, but he is quick to realize something is happening.

“It means that you never treated me like you love me. Like a father should treat his daughter. You put me through hell, trying to turn me into my own sister and nothing I did was enough for you, but I swallowed it all, just wanted to please you. Because that’s what children do, they want to see their parents be proud of them, though you never showed an ounce of that to me. It’s fine, I will eventually get over that. But I will not let you talk like this about him. He showed me that I’m more than just a burden, which I am to you. I know I always have been.”

Harry places the drinks on the table as you stand up from the table, already knowing you’ll have to leave as soon as possible after you’re done talking.

“You know what? You always said I should do things that take me ahead and make me succeed. I finally figured out what would help me do that,” you chuckle bitterly. “I just need to get myself away from you and live my own life. Thanks for nothing, dad.”

When you turn around to storm away you see that Alice was standing close enough to hear what you just said. She is staring back at you with guilt and when she opens her mouth to say something you just shake your head and march out with Harry following you right behind.

The farther you get from the ballroom the more the adrenaline wears out of your system and reality sets back in, your actions finally sinking into your consciousness. 

All the things you just told your father. All the pent up feelings and hurt that just snapped right out of you. It comes down crashing on you and in a blink of an eye, you can barely breathe.

Harry notices as panic takes over you and when you take a turn towards your room he grabs you by your shoulders and pulls you to the side.

“Hey, hey! Y/N, look at me,” he tells you, slouching enough so his gaze is in line with yours that is now filled with tears. “Baby, look at me. Why are you crying?”

“I-I don’t… Harry, what did I do?” you wheeze, your chest heaving crazily as you lean against the wall.

“You stood up for me and yourself! You did amazing, okay? Nothing to panic about.”

“B-But my d-dad… The things I-I said… He will never talk to me again.”

“If that’s what happens, it’s not your fault. He treated you horribly all your life, made you feel like nothing. You did what should have been done a long time ago, Y/N. No one deserves to be treated like this, especially not by a parent.”

He takes your face in his hands and wipes your cheeks with his thumbs, urging you to look him in the eyes.

“The guilt you’re feeling is because of all the mistreating you had to go through growing up. You were conditioned to want to please your parents at all cost, even if it takes your own happiness. I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself, Y/N.”

You can only nod, gulping your tears back as you try to calm yourself down. Harry stays with you the whole time, pulling you into his embrace and giving you the support you always needed. 

“Harry?” you breathe out, looking up at him again.

“Yeah?”

“What’s gonna happen now?” you ask in a weak voice. “What if… What if I never see my family again? If they never speak to me again? What will happen after this?” you voice your fears and questions.

“I’ll tell you what will happen, alright?” he speaks to you softly. “The sun will rise. Tomorrow and the day after and so on. Life will go on and you’ll learn to live your own life without wanting to please the people who are not worthy of your time. And I will be there with you the whole time, okay? We will figure it all out.”

His words slowly sink in and you nod. All you care about is to have Harry with you on this new journey you’re going on, wherever it takes you. 

“Okay,” you whisper. Harry leans down and brushes a soft kiss to your lips. When you pull back you look him in the eyes and say the words that've been forming on the tip of your tongue. “I love you.”

Harry stares back at you in awe, the corners of his mouth curling up as he holds your face in his palms like you’re made of glass.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he kisses you softly. “Now, I think it’s time to leave, alright? Let’s pack our bags and find a flight back home.”

“Home?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Yeah,” he nods, smiling. “Home, where we live together and where you truly belong.”

You change from your fancy clothes and start packing up the room, while you’re looking for the earliest flight you can take. Luckily, there is one in two hours so you’re planning to make it to catch that.

Then there’s a knock on the door. You look at Harry with panic.

“Do you think it’s him?” you ask in a whisper.

“I don’t know.”

“Y/N? It’s me, Alice,” you sister calls out from the other side of the door. At first you feel relief, but then you realize that you literally just walked out of her wedding reception.

Rushing to the door you open it and find her standing there in her white dress, a concerned look on her face.

“Alice…” you breathe out, not sure what to say. Luckily, she knows.

“It’s okay. I understand. I’m not mad that you’re leaving,” she reassures you with a sad smile. “I just… I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” you ask and then realize that she is still out in the hallway, so you step aside and let her walk in.

“I heard what you told dad and… I feel so bad, Y/N.”

“You didn’t do it.”

“I know, but I witnessed it and never said anything. I never stood up for you. I was a horrible sister, I should have taken your side, but I didn’t do anything.”

“You always had your fair share of pressure on you, Alice. I don’t blame you,” you softly tell her.

“But I do blame myself. So I’m sorry and… I hope you don’t want to cut me out too.”

“Of course not,” you breathe out, hugging her to reassure her you’re fine. “Is dad mad?” you ask, rubbing your face with your hand when you move back.

“Oh, he is vivid!” she chuckles, wiping off the tears that escaped her eyes. “He is fuming about how disrespectful you are, but I told him to just drink a shot and relax,” she snorts.

“He is famous for knowing how to relax,” you laugh. 

“Do you think he won’t want to see me? Like, ever?”

“I don’t know. He is so unpredictable…” she sighs looking around. “You’re leaving now?”

“Yes, we found a flight back home. I’m sorry I’m leaving in the middle of your wedding, but I just… I can’t stay here any longer.”

“It’s okay, I get it,” she shakes her head. “Just promise you won’t shut me out.”

“I promise.”

You hug one more time before Alice moves over to Harry who’s been quietly packing up. She stands in front of him and he looks at her patiently.

“Take good care of her, Harry,” she pleads and he nods right away.

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Alice stays for a few more minutes, but then she needs to go back, after all, it’s her wedding that’s happening. She is the only one who comes to your room until you leave. It’s bittersweet, knowing that your dad didn’t realize the weight of your words and now he is letting you leave, just like that. But you also feel free in a way. You most likely need time to process it, but you know you’re heading into the right direction.

The flight is delayed, so it’s the middle of the night by the time you get to board. Every time you feel your anxiety growing, Harry just simply takes your hand and squeezes it to let you know you’re not alone. Sitting by the window you smile when you realize that Harry has fallen asleep, his head on your shoulder, one hand on your knee. You press a soft kiss to the crown of his head, careful not to wake him up before turning towards the window.

As the plane is flying above the fluffy clouds, the sky is starting to light up, the sun rising as a new day is starting. You can’t help but smile, thinking at what Harry told you, because, of course, he was right. 

And today is the first day of your new life that you’ll share with him, leaving your past behind.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles oneshots #harry styles fluff #the sun will rise

[bluechronicles]

Hello! If your requests are currently open, could I request some Travis x Male Reader dating headcanons?

I guess some stuff to add would be that they could know each other from church and are secretly dating? That's all!

If you do write this, thank you! If not, I hope you have a wonderful day <3

travis phelps ⟢ headcanons

NOTES ✦ umm… spoiler alert. i never finished the game. but i hope this was accurate & good enough! please don’t hesitate if you want more if your not happy with this. <3 also, female aligned, i would please not recommend to read this as it’s originally targeted for male aligned audience. thank you!

PAIRING ✦ travis phelps x m!reader

first of all, it’d take travis some time to warm up to you. a boy who doesn’t really have any friends during lunch, getting approached by you?

and especially his internal homophobia, with his first thought being; “oh shit. that’s a pretty boy right there.”

“wait, what?”

so, anyway, the two of you met during the church. obviously.

this man would never admit his love to you in public, however, in private is a whole different story.

travis is an abused boy who bullies others as a coping mechanism, yet, you’re probably the only one he’s nice to.

travis doesn’t know how to exactly show love. he’ll give you a few pecks here and there (in private) because it’s the only thing his mind can come up with.

he really does want to do more with you.

but due to his fear of being told out and then your relationship possibly being shined—this man probably distances himself away from you as much in public.

you’ll probably have to beg him to hang out with you in public, which doesn’t work, but he does really consider it.

when this douche isn’t being one, he likes picking flowers from the ground and giving you them. he’s convinced it’s more romantic then buying flowers.

you’re convinced it’s because his lazy ass doesn’t want to go to the store.

#travis phelps #travis phelps x reader #x male reader #sally face x reader #sally face

[tomwambsgans]

I don’t know if this has been discussed to death already since I wasn’t around when it first aired but… Nero didn’t give Sporus a ring. It was the other way around. Tradition dictated that the wife of the Emperor would present him with a ring at the feast of Calendas, so it was sort of the public confirmation of Sporus as Poppea brought back to life. Unless they meant a wedding ring?

ok first of all this is fucking insane

secondly i mean yeah tom was def referring to a wedding ring, which adds to the whole air of like. either tom is reading a book full of misinfo/historians postulating with dodgy sources, or he's just editorializing to fit his own life bc there's also nothing out there irl that suggests poppea's death was related to stairs. like that's tom's thing that he said bc he was kinning nero too hard and had au kin memories or something. so it makes sense that it's also tom's own idea, coming from his modern perspective of course, that nero would give sporus a wedding ring to symbolize the union. he's just emphasizing to greg in the moment that the characters that he's relating back to the two of them are capital M Married.

but also.. ok obviously nero and sporus's actual history is not a 1:1 and the real significance is what tom gets from the story, which is to say a mirror into his own life and a way to see himself in history and not feel afraid of his homosexuality bc he gets to look at it through a roman context, etc. it's how he bends it to communicate something to greg. but looking into it i found something pretty fucking interesting that i feel like i've never seen discussed either:

which is like... really just another point on how convoluted all these in-universe meta parallels are bc that feels like it could simultaneously be a shiv equivalent that's in some ways more accurate than poppea, since it actually happened before sporus, but also like a better greg equivalent than sporus? like if tom's relating roman history to himself didn't have to involve a wife dying, pythagoras might've been the allegory he brought up to greg instead. or maybe not bc it wouldn't have allowed tom to retain his masculinity in the situation.

idk but yeah this is crazy and i would also love to see some fic or art or something where sporus-greg gives tom a ring. but at the same time maybe i wouldn't since the real ring in question was not a romantic one. but maybe also that doesn't matter bc it's not like the irl nero and sporus were very romantic anyway and it's all about what they get from the story etc etc

#tomgreg #meta #anonymous

[starkjoy]

Watching Greg be so good at swooping in and looking ridiculous to make tom look good this ep, and how their double act is Tom then shitting on him to make himself look better, I had a cool thought, what if that’s what we are seeing all the time. We have only seen Tom and Greg in public situations, where they obviously plan out their moves beforehand and aren’t afraid to look stupid to get what they want. We don’t know what’s going on behind closed doors with them right now, and with Tom being so handsy, it could be more than anyone around them realises… If you watch their walk up to the plane, Greg launches into a ladykiller act, but when Tom cuts him off he actually had just said ‘get some Norwegian wood’ while looking at Tom, idk about you but that’s a dick joke imo lol. Tom wouldn’t want anyone to catch onto how close he and Greg are if it means a lot, and their play may be for Greg to talk about girls/dance with girls/bring girls back to keep people off the scent. I would love if the audience finds out the same time as the sibs, or has to guess from little moments that don’t add up you know? Maybe we don’t get to see the whole story because that’s private? Idk it would be kind of a cool way to do it and feel true to life where people don’t necessarily broadcast their relationship in public and you just kind of realise one day, oh they’re totally together, and by then their like basically married. As a viewer I feel like that would actually be a really comfy and less intrusive way to see queer rep, your just like oh I’m glad they have each other, phew haha.

hmm, in theory i'd be happy with that, but i'm skeptical the writers are playing 4D chess in that way. if the episode one bridget randomfuck plotline never happened, i'd be a bit more open to the thought. when greg was chatting with tom in "private" at the event, he was crude about his pursuit of her and tried to impress him with the rummaging tale...why would he do that to someone he's sleeping with or in a relationship with? and he only told logan after tom fucked with him about it. unless they coordinated a whole homoerotic private performance in the hopes someone would overhear their horny whispers, i doubt that plot was fabricated to hide their affair.

i mean, they could be sleeping together and not exclusive, and greg did that to make tom jealous, or they get off on telling each other about their other conquests. but that feels so wildly out of character for tom given he never wanted an open relationship with shiv.

sadly, i think "they were fucking all along" will only live in fanon. the ONLY thing i think could work is a) they had a threesome during their disgusting brothers era, it was weird and changed their dynamic and they're avoiding it by being super bro no homo, even if they do long for each other or b) they fucked 1:1 with the same result. i could see that being revealed in a fight between them, explaining some of the tension or lack thereof we've seen so far. but still think that's pretty far-fetched at this rate :/

edit: i DO want to add that i fully agree tomgreg have been in cahoots and we haven't been privy to that—but i don't see that extending beyond their business scheming. not clear whether we'll see their inner machinations either. maybe it's all been left on the cutting room floor.

#tomgreg #anon #ask

[ashleywool]

Hi, I saw the show on February 4th and it was so amazing!! You were so fantastic as Jessica; I related to that character a lot and even wore an outfit inspired by her/ Caroline to work the next day lol. I also really appreciated how you stayed at the stage door for so long talking to people - fully expected you to leave before you made it the whole way down the line (which I would have supported as it was very loud and very crowded/ overwhelming. I almost left twice). Anyway, I was wondering if you have any thoughts about being recognized just in daily life because of htdio. Obviously being on broadway puts you in the public eye a little bit but not to the level of a tv show or movie. Would it be weird if someone came up to you and said they loved the show, or would you be excited? (Largely asking this because I’m 95% sure I saw Amelia Fei in a coffee shop yesterday and I wanted to say something but instead I just stood there, frozen, actively listening to the songs from the show.) I might ask some other people from the cast this too so if you see they’ve replied and don’t want to answer, that’s cool. Thanks for reading my long rambling message and hope you’re feeling better after the surgery you posted about!

First of all, your username is excellent. Fact.

As to your question about how I feel about being recognized: it's a good and reasonable question in and of itself, but knowing it was asked of one autistic person to another adds all kinds of intriguing nuances. And if there's one thing I love about Tumblr (and one thing that I wish people on not-Tumblr would do more often), it's how invested people get in all the intriguing nuances. So...here goes something.

I should probably preface this by saying that I'm still in the relatively early stages of being known on this level for this thing, and I'm still working through what it all means for me in both my professional life and my personal life. In many ways it feels like I'm relearning how to be a human with a whole new set of social rules or expectations or limitations that did not exist for me before--and, in a perfect world, would not exist. On top of that, the cultural concept of "fame," and the social rules surrounding it, is evolving rapidly. So whatever I say, feel, or believe right now may not necessarily reflect where I stand a year from now.

But back to your question.

Would it be weird if someone came up to you and said they loved the show, or would you be excited?

First of all, I can guarantee with 100% certainty that absolutely no one, no matter how famous they are, will ever get tired of people saying "I love your work." You might think it's tired and cliched and doesn't really mean much to them because they've heard it before and you're just another voice in the chorus.

But the thing is--we know you're not just another voice in the chorus. You're you. The story of how you became familiar with my work, and how and why it resonated with you, is completely unique to you. Your life. Your memories. Your relationships. Your pain. Your joy. We might have drastically different upbringings, cultural backgrounds, life and work experiences, political views, religious views, whatever...and yet, something in the work I did transcended all of that and connected with you.

In a world that expects us to be constantly and aggressively polarized and divided over all sorts of things, what could possibly be more important than that?

If my very soul doesn't joyfully blaze like a bonfire of gratitude at every single voice that tells me they love my work...then what's the point of the work? What's the point of anything?

THAT BEING SAID...

Yeah, sometimes getting recognized can be a little jarring. While I luckily haven't had any outright negative experiences with being recognized (yet), anticipating the possibility of being recognized certain places has raised several etiquette considerations that I simply never had to think about before.

For instance, when I waited outside the Barrymore for two hours one frozen morning to get rush tickets for the last Thursday matinee of Harmony, a few people on that line recognized me from Ohio. They were very nice, and not at all intrusive, but I remember thinking, I hope nobody recognizes me in the audience at the actual show. I didn't want my presence to distract anyone from their experience with a show I was not working on. Especially a new musical that had opened while we were in tech, we had signed each other's opening night cards, and now we were closing within a week of each other.

My concern about being recognized in that space was not rooted in "I don't want people to talk to me," but rather in "this is their show and I don't want things to be about me right now."

I got a box seat at the matinee, which all but eliminated the possibility of people recognizing me (or even really seeing me), and even if they had, it's not like I'm, you know, a celebrity celebrity. So my concern about being recognized may have been a bit disproportionate to the situation.

But that could change one day. No matter what my humility-cum-imposter-syndrome impulses want me to think, the plausible and pragmatic reality is...that could change. So I might as well start processing all of those things now, when my presence in the public eye is at a significantly-increased-but-still-manageable level.

What sucks, though, is that I haven't been able to find or access very many mental or emotional health resources specifically tailored towards "how to process and cope with a life in the public eye." The few therapists out there specializing in those issues wouldn't take my insurance; they're overbooked with celebrity celebrities.

And that's a bummer. Fame-related mental and emotional health issues are not just relevant for wealthy A-listers, especially in the age of social media. An ordinary person who's not even looking for the attention can post one video and go viral within 24 hours--sometimes for positive reasons, sometimes for negative reasons, but either way, they are overwhelmed, because nothing in their upbringing even thought to prepare them for a situation like that. Whether you're an A-lister, an accidental viral star, or a mildly niche-famous T-list Broadway person, I don't think humans, on a neurological level, were built for fame.

Our natural trajectory of cognitive and emotional development is intended for our families and immediate communities. We are not naturally neurologically equipped to handle attention from "the masses." It's well-documented that we have a more difficult time empathizing with "the masses" than with individual people--psychology calls this the identifiable victim effect.

This effect is not rooted in cruelty or apathy--it's a well-documented neurological survival mechanism that all humans have, and all humans need in order for their empathy to function at all.

But try telling that to anybody on American social media during an election year. Everybody needs you to believe that all of the people on ~the other side~ are numb to human suffering or are refusing to take action on behalf of a group of people because their brains sometimes have to focus on other stuff.

You ever see a celebrity post an innocuous, uncontroversial Instagram picture from their regular degular life, and the comments are like, "don't you realize there's a WAR going on? how can you just SIT there, eating a BURRITO, with your CATS?" Or like, "well, it's obvious you care more about your CATS than about [insert cause/issue/group of people]." Or like, "it's been X amount of time since Y atrocity and you have said NOTHING about it. What's the matter, are you afraid to speak up for [victims of atrocity] because it'll interrupt the aesthetic of your burritos-and-cats feed? Your silence is DEAFENING."

To tie it all back to the original question: no, it's not inherently weird or bad or awkward to be recognized in my current daily life as a T-list Broadway person. So far, it has been a generally positive and harmless experience.

But I'd be lying if I said I didn't worry sometimes about my future ability to just eat a burrito with my cats without someone making an Internet about all the things they think they have the authority to tell me I should be doing instead.

#taking authority #some recognition #goal after goal after goal #fame #people are weird #social interaction #the internet

[scarletlizzard]

First of all, I have never looked at smut scenes so closely lol. All mistakes are mine, I wrote this on my notes app.

This piece turns both common religious notions and assumptions made by the characters on their heads. Nothing is really as it seems as we open with reader at a party with a friend, it’s a new, overwhelming place—we can liken this party to being a diorama of the real world/life—and Natasha has been watching reader the entire time like an omnipresent being, like god - then walks through the crowd—cutting through the chaos of life and telling reader “hey, follow me”.

Keep in mind reader has been drinking up until this point. As previously discussed, alcohol is a suppressant, a crutch—it can cloud a persons judgment and vision with a rose colored tint. It can also be a catalyst for choices that one might not usually make—like going upstairs to fuck a tatted stranger.

Throughout the encounter, reader is in awe of Natasha, calling her a god right off the bat (bingo). Natasha is tall, strong, fit, covered in tattoos with piercings and a split tongue. these are all deemed to be attractive or eye catching attributes to most people. Natasha is like a walking museum of attraction and awe only to be consumed by the public and right now reader is no different than previous patrons. It’s worth noting, through the lens of religious undertones, Nat doesn’t look like the god everyone usually envisions, she looks like the opposite, to be frank.

Further into this encounter, nat kneels before reader, so who’s worshipping who at this point? Spoiler: it’s still reader lol. Tangentially, I grew Catholic so that’s where my perspective comes from. I will argue that this scene where Nat eats out reader could be a parallel to taking communion. Natasha could be accepting something new into her life by taking the body of reader. Anyway, reader finds out this is nats house. House! God! Church!! This whole night is a religious experience that reader is having in the house of god aka nat effectively being evangelized into a believer, a follower of Natasha.

Let’s talk about the dick for a moment. So AP girlies know that items like a cane, or weapon like a sword are interpreted as phallic, representing men and patriarchal values because women obviously need men (sarcasm) Here? Natasha has a literal dick, men are not needed here. This is taboo, outside of the norm for a woman to be like man. But keep in mind Natasha also has other typically masculine characteristics such as big hands, muscles, height, strength so this was being made clear from the jump! Men do not have a place in this story, these characteristics do not exist solely for them and this isn’t a piece being made to appease a male audience. All of this is being told through the ‘female’ gaze.

Moving on, there’s mention of “Christ” and “god” which just adds to the overarching theme of religion and worship. As a far reach, the arc from the sex starting out gentle and exploratory to rough and direct can be seen as a potential parallel to the ebb and flow of god’s love, pulling between all loving and wrathful. We get to the climaxes, which could also be a parody of the concept of immaculate conception and even abstaining until marriage. This whole thing is just, sinful and maybe even blasphemous to a degree, it’s the anti to what men and the church want women to do which is save themselves until marriage and then have so many kids. lol I also said nat nutting into reader was “planting the seed of this newfound religion” smh.

There’s a secondary theme of assumptions. Reader is getting ready to leave because it’s just a one night thing right? But nat says “you don’t have to leave, I’m not like that” despite being a person who is eye candy to the public, she’s saying “you’re wrong about me, you can stay and I can shelter you”. Nats assuming that reader assumes that this is a one time thing because nats probably just some lady killer. Just like how I assumed everything I just wrote (:

-🧊

I'm going to start off by saying this is so fucking perfect. You get a 5 because everything written is not only true, but extremely well thought out and so detailed I'm losing my mind. The fact you focused on the religious elements of it, LET ME TELL YOU! CORRECT! On all counts!

Very much the dynamic is - a new scene, a new place, an unknown feeling, the rush of adrenaline from a stranger in the corner watching R's every move. The alcohol once again being the crutch, an excuse to feed into her deplorable, unholy thoughts. So, really, is alcohol the reason for R giving in?

(Bingo is correct) The use of religion comes up in my writing more than I care to admit. But God, the idea of worshipping someone like that? To get on your knees and just worship the human standing in front of you? The fact that a simple human can bring you to your knees, not an omnipotent being.

If you continue to part 2, you'll see who really is worshipping who. I liked the idea of this "God," falling to her knees for the woman she wanted.

What would we do without the female gaze? Men, leave me alone! Been there, done that, not interested.

"Planting the seed of this newfound religion." TOOK. ME. OUT!

The entire fic is based on assumptions, and those assumptions being completely wrong! The theme continues into parts 2 and 3, I'm afraid. The religious aspect is in a few of my works, especially when it comes to the smut. I can't help it!

I think in my sessions series, I said something about Wanda praying between readers' legs. There's nothing hotter than blasphemy, apparently.

I truly will be reading this over and over! Every single paragraph killed me. Well done, Icarus!! There is not one person who has put this much thought into my work before, I am just astonished with this. AP level interpretations!

#scarletlizzard asks #🧊 anon #inked desires

[distinguished-slacker]

saw some people on tiktok saying that Shinoa sa’d mitsuba (when she touches her b00bs (shower scene and drunk mitsu and shinoa scene) and i was just wondering if you could elaborate on it?

(WARNING: This post talks about sexual assault so you might or might not want to read it.)

Hi :3

I don’t really know much about TikTok but I definitely have seen people on Reddit and Twitter discussing about this topic before.

Fans always raise the point that Shinoa’s feelings for Yuu are being forced on her by other people like Shikama and Mahiru, and that she should be with Mitsuba instead because Shinoa looks happier, is more physically open and takes more initiative when she is with Mitsuba. However, the problem is that mitsunoa is always talked about from Shinoa’s perspective, her comphet and how being with Mitsuba would be much better for her, but it’s never talked from Mitsuba’s perspective so naturally some people would like to raise some issues here.

The shower scene is quite popular among the fandom as a cute lesbian scene but not many people stop to think about how that would go for a real life situation. That’s like going to the gym showers with your friend while being unaware that they are ogling at you while showering. Unfortunately, things don’t stop there and said friend then starts sticking to you and roams their hands over every single naked part of your body. It’s a terrifying situation and a potentially traumatic experience, and if that were to happen to me I would terminate my friendship with her right there and file a sexual assault report not caring that she was my friend and that she is a woman like me. If Shinoa was a man and did that to Mitsuba, I’m telling you he(she) would definitely be hated by the whole fandom as some disgusting pervert and this ship wouldn’t even be existing in the first place. Therefore, some fans find frustrating these double standards that a guy touching a girl without her consent is sexual assault, but when a girl touches another girl in the same way then it’s cute and shipping material.

But at the end of the day this is anime/manga we are talking about, where it’s commonplace to have that beach/pool/public showers/hot springs/bathroom episode where female characters compare sizes and there is always that one female friend that goes like “Oh! You are so big! Let me touch them for a bit! <3” to the big breasted girl. So in the end I can just turn a blind eye on this because it’s the same Japanese fanservice story. I mean, Kagami obviously did not write this with the intention of portraying sexual assault. In the showers Mitsuba told Shinoa to not go inside her shower and to stop touching her when she went in. In the drunk episode she told Shinoa to stop groping her. That’s something, but if Kagami wanted to portray a scene of sexual assault he would go further than that, showing Mitsuba uncomfortable and conflicted after those scenes (not that Kagami really shows Mitsuba that much anyways) but instead Mitsuba is still the same, being on friendly terms with Shinoa. I must add here that liking the other person doesn’t mean that they cannot sexually assault you in case the argument that Mitsuba seems to like Shinoa comes forwards because “no” is still “no”, and “stop” is still “stop”.

So what I want to say is that both sexual assault in real life and in fiction are unacceptable but in this case I feel like it’s better to not look much into it and ignore these kind of scenes because it’s just clear fanservice that you can see in your everyday anime; the kind of writing that is not going anywhere from a narrative and character development standpoint.

However, the problem here is that mitsunoa has long passed the point of going through that single fanservice episode, but rather the whole basis of what could have been a potentially well written relationship between two girls who share similar backgrounds and a story together is at this point a whole big fanservice. It’s not just the shower scene and the drunk scene. There was also another scene in chapter 54 where Shinoa rips Mitsuba’s uniform open (with her frickin scythe if I must add) exposing Mitsuba’s breasts which was so random and uncalled for (aside from dangerous). Also, in the CD drama, Mitsuba tells Shinoa that she discovered Shinoa has been looking at her in the showers when Mitsuba was washing her hair. Basically, almost every major mitsunoa interaction we get contains a sexually denigrating component that in almost all the cases is initiated by Shinoa being unable to stop obsessing over Mitsuba’s boobs.

As I said before, it’s better to ignore these kind of scenes and to be honest I feel like most fans do, and only respond when:

Mitsunoa is simply treated as a cute lesbian ship without the sexual assaulting being acknowledged

Shinoa stans see these mitsunoa scenes and still treat Shinoa as an empowering female character

Shinoa stans are trying to excuse Shinoa’s inappropriate behaviour

I already talked about the first one at the beginning so I’ll talk about the other two.

In the second case, fans are defending Shinoa’s character from other potential misogynistic fans (although in most cases the latter are not misogynistic but rather are rightfully complaining about the way Shinoa is written but this is a story for another day…) when ironically the very same female character they are defending is also shaming another female character (Mitsuba). This is not defending women, this defending you favourite character, who happens to be a woman. It’s okay to like and admire Shinoa but unconscious biases in cases like these don’t sit well with some fans (including myself).

In the third case, I’ve seen people defending Shinoa saying that she herself has had her boundaries breached when she was being experimented on while naked in front of the scientists, when Shikama tried to make her give in to lust and when he (they?) possessed her body. I acknowledge Shinoa went through terrible things but still this, in no way, does justify Shinoa breaching Mitsuba’s boundaries. Just because something bad happened to you doesn’t mean you have the rights of doing the same thing to someone else. With this kind of life I’m aware Shinoa must not have a proper sense of boundaries when touching other people or struggles to be considerate when talking to others (like calling Mitsuba “Holstein cow” in the manga or “girl with unnecessarily big breasts” in the CD Drama or just her everyday sexual dry jokes towards the squad). Her background explains her behaviour and makes it understandable, but not excusable. Not at all.

Of course, I want to make the point that this is not Shinoa’s fault but rather it’s just the same story about male authors lacking understanding about women, which consequently ends in superficial and sexualised portrayals of female friendships in fiction. I mean, even Mitsuba recently went over the line when she got drunk and called Shinoa flat and tried to grope Krul too. In the LNs Shigure also casually lifts Sayuri’s boobs and Sayuri treats it as if it was nothing. So basically no OnS female character is safe from this kind of writing and I wouldn’t be surprised if it happens again…and again. Sadly “boobs” has become a running gag in the manga.

In conclusion what Shinoa does to Mitsuba can be indeed considered sexual assault from a non-fictional and fictional perspective but not from a narrative one as this is just your everyday fanservice that most of the time comes from male writers like Kagami that think they will appeal to the audience/readers by showing female characters half-naked. By what I’ve seen most of the fans simply brush it off as fanservice too and only start debating when some other fans either deny Shinoa sexually harassing Mitsuba, elevate Shinoa’s character in the wrong areas or try to justify her actions. In the end this is the author’s fault because of the way he portrays women and no woman in OnS will never be in danger of such writing, either as a character who sexually assaults, or a victim of one, or even both.

🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍

I didn’t know if by “elaborate” you meant whether to elaborate on why what Shinoa does to Mitsuba is sexual harassment or elaborate on why are fans pointing this out so I tried to do both and cover all the points. As for the latter, since I’m basing a big part of the analysis in this post on the fandom’s activity (mostly from other online platforms bc ofc Tumblr is dead🥲) I would mention some usernames as references but I don’t want to since this is a delicate topic and I don’t want to openly talk about these users, expose them, bother them or spark any fights at all. So if you happen to see this post, think that I used your words/analysis/discussion/conversation as reference and if it happens to be the case and you actually want me to mention you please feel free to do so. I just hope I didn’t offend anyone by writing this.

#owari no seraph #seraph of the end #shinoa hiiragi #shinoa hiragi #mitsuba sanguu #mitsuba sangu

[my-own-lilypad]

Just wanted to follow up on The Art of Selling Out not being a surprise to me. When it was announced he would star in A Rainy Day In New York I was shocked because even then there was enough negative information available about W.A. that non-celebrities could say, “Something is not right with that man.” Yes, he donated his salary afterwards but that was when I realized his ambition for fame was great. When the “dating” announcement broke earlier this year I realized more distance was needed; just admire his work but not follow his every move.

You don’t have to post but just wanted to add a bit more as you responded. Today was the first day I saw your blog and like what I have seen so far. Have a great day! 😎

That's ok, I don't mind follow ups! And thanks for the compliment. 

Yes, I agree - when I read about the drama around A Rainy Day in New York, I did start to wonder, why did Timmy get involved, it must have been purely for his own personal gain. Then I watched the film and I was not comfortable with the misogyny. Why would any young man claiming to represent people of all genders, colours, sexualities etc, an intelligent artist like him, ignore all of the old-fashioned sexism? Did he think it was funny? Did he think it wasn't gratuitous that the girl was naked by the end? Did he not see how that was some kind of perverted Chekhov's gun -like, here is a cute blonde - don't worry, by the end of the film you're gonna see her in her underwear, for no real reason. Not to mention the whole mother/hooker story line. I thought, Timmy must not have been thinking about the implications when he agreed to star in this rubbish. I passed it off - but part of me did wonder how far he was willing to go to further his career. Yes, he gave the money away, but it would have been better not to have starred in the film at all. Like, just don't support this shit. I don't know what he got out of being in a Woody Allen film but it must have been worth the drama. 

And now of course he is supporting Kylie Jenner - coming out to the public as being in a relationship with her is implicitly supporting everything she stands for, whether it's PR or true love. And not only did he come out as being in a relationship with her, it had to be a big media reveal - someone's filming, quick let me suck your face and grab your ass and then look smug at the camera. That flummoxed me. I was like - what is this shit? Grabbing a plastic model's ass in public? Groping her? - what are you THINKING? - how dare you normalise this shitty chauvinistic behaviour - you of all people!

That was when it fully dawned on me. No principles. Even if he's pressured into things, he's got a tongue in his head hasn't he? A brain in there too somewhere? Not a very intelligent lad in the end, as it turns out. But making a shitload of money, so that's ok then. 

The last part of your message about 'more distance is needed'. I agree, that is what I want and need now. I have loved and admired him (in a fandom way, you know 'fandom Timmy' not the real person obviously) for two years and I need to pull away because that person that I thought existed is not there. I mean, real-life relationships are hard enough to break away from, I don't need a fantasy one to be the same, lol!

If there is a film out that I want to see and he happens to be in it, then I will go and see it, but I'm not going to follow him the way I did. 

Anyway, enough of me rambling, but it did feel good to get all of that off my chest to someone who isn't blinded. Thank you for reading my blog, wish I could return the compliment. 🤓 Have a great day. ☺

[apenitentialprayer]

I don’t have a lot to say about the second one (edit: except, oops, apparently I do), just the sense of the importance of privacy. Katniss has to give up so much of her privacy over the course of the first book; her struggles and traumas and sufferings in the arena are obviously meant to become media to be consumed by the audience, and the totality of all twenty-four tributes’ experiences are edited into a three hour movie. So, right off the bat, we have a feeling of inauthenticity. But beyond that, Katniss finds herself acting differently than she initially feels while in the arena, putting on a show for an audience that she cannot see but nonetheless knows is there. A relationship of any kind cannot organically grow between her and Peeta because they are constantly being observed, already placed in a box as to what their relationship is supposed to be, and so they play the part that their audiences expect - and that severely screws both of them up afterwards, with Katniss unable to parse out what reactions of hers were authentic and what was merely for show, for survival. Katniss also spends a lot of time trying to hide from cameras when she is feeling really emotional; there is an urgent feeling of no, the Capitol can have all the rest of me, but it can’t have this part of me. The Self needs some aspect of its nature to be unsurveilled - that surveillance is in some sense the death of the authentic self. And that’s why I think in Catching Fire, it’s.... sweet that Katniss is hesitant to watch the video of Haymitch’s time in the arena; she’d be watching footage that was already edited and made for public consumption, but she still feels that it watching this video that still airs on television from time to time is a violation of Haymitch’s privacy. Because she knows what it is to be stripped of that privacy, and knows the process of intrusion and violation that went into the making of Haymitch’s Huger Games film. (Also, I think that this adds a whole new layer to the way Suzanne Collins wrote the series, that in some sense this story has to be told from the first person)

#surveillance #Hunger Games #totalitarianism #identity #consumerism

[jechristine]

I agree and disagree about the selling fantasies thing. I agree that when they do magazine shoots and promo they are selling themselves and their projects but I disagree that it applies to when they post personal things/their relationship. Mainly because I feel like that implies they are consciously flaunting their relationship to the public in an effort to gain something and I don't think that's the case with how much they tried to hide it the first go around and because their relationship wasn't revealed willingly. I also don't think their personal posts are an effort to sell something because almost everyone, famous or not, does that. Like if Nikki posts personal videos of her kids on their birthdays or tom's cousin twice removed, for example, posts a family pic that includes tom would you say they're selling an image of them? Why is that different if tom posts the same personal post? And the amount of personal posts have decreased as they've gotten more famous. Zendaya's feed is almost entirely just professional posts and most personal things she puts on her stories. I feel like I may not be explaining myself well because I know that zendaya does put effort into her public image and puts thought into what she posts, idk how much of that tom does, but I don't think it's all strategic if that makes sense

Okay! I think one difference between the way that you’re thinking and the way that I’m thinking is around the issue of intentionality.

As long as they’ve been in the public eye, Zendaya and Tom have done professional, promotional stuff that we’d all agree was to sell their images. Additionally, back when Zendaya and Tom were building their brands, they did post personal(ish) stuff on social media in an effort to gain fans. Their brands have always included “authenticity and accessibility” as characteristics. Now, they have stepped back from their personal posts but those still do happen occasionally.

Add to that the idea of consumption-as-creation. The general public consumes an object that’s been for sale and then does its own things with it, what the gp wants. An example is Spiderman—Marvel sells the story, and people consume it, but then a thousand ao3 writers spin out the source material into their own stories. This happens with everything, with, like, IKEA bookshelves. A really good documentary about it is The People vs George Lucas, but that film was made even before sm accelerated and amplified the process, allowing users to even more easily break content down and use it in ways that the original creators never intended. Martin Scorsese has a whole screed against it, but he can’t stop it.

Rather than list various kinds of Tomdaya posts today as “this is promotional, this is personal,” which I think is probably how Tom and Zendaya would like the world to work, I think the knottier question is if a celebrity is commodifying an image of herself for public consumption on Monday and Tuesday, can she turn that switch off on Wednesday? Not should she be able to, but can she? And what if she’s created a brand in which authenticity and accessibility is key? If most consumption is creation, how can she control what happens to her Wednesday image when it’s out in the world?

I think the reality is that once you’ve commodified your own image and made it available for public consumption, it’s very difficult to set boundaries especially in this day and age. Even for family members. (I’m not laying blame just describing the culture.)

But honestly Tom and Zendaya seem to be doing great navigating this nearly impossible situation. They’ve obviously reevaluated what privacy means to them, how to share themselves, etc.

But fans tend to be pretty mean to each other about what’s appropriate, and I don’t think that’s usually warranted or exactly fair, either.

[tobe-sogolden]

Deuxmoi is hilarious because she still tried to shield Florence from criticism by claiming that “she was probably off with Zach, they look like they’re one of those on and off again couples”

First of all, there’s no reason to believe that’s the case at all. There have been no reported “off and on again” instances between them. Second of all, I was following her while they were filming, she was very much ON with Zach. She posted pics with him in stories, lived in his mansion, and mentioned him off handed in multiple of her cooking with Flo videos.

Third of all, it’s clear Deuxmoi doesn’t know its lore cause Harry and Zach HAVE BEEN FRIENDS FOR A DECADE. If that was real, Florence (and Harry) would be a piece of fucking shit, not only cheating on her boyfriend with her hot co-star, but also WITH ONE OF HIS FRIENDS.

This whole take falls apart the minute you analyze it for a second. Olivia was spotted in her slippers a mile away from Harry’s house in early November. When did the whole Flo thing happen? They didn’t start filming until October 26. 😭

Not to mention that Olivia and Florence interacted on socials and posted each other (which is the only reason people even try to say they don’t get on now) up until the second it was made public that Harry and Olivia were a thing. So??

And how would Olivia even go about this leak thing? That’s such a weak ass rumor 😭 so… what? She’d go to a tabloid and say they were hooking up? Let’s say she did that. Then Harry and Florence’s camps would issue statements saying it wasn’t true. What would hypothetical Olivia do in this scenario? Go on the record like “nu-uh!!! They are!! I saw them!” Have someone from the cast testify? Did she take stealth photos like an unhinged Sherlock Holmes?

And how would that scenario look for her potential directing career if it got out? Cause why would she want to risk adding that to her resume? Like??

Even more, how did this rumor got to Deuxmoi’s “reliable source”? Who leaked it? Florence? Olivia? Harry? None of the parties look good in this scenario. Was it a shadowy figure that happened to witness the whole thing and wait *looks at calendar* 24 months to talk about it?

Why would Harry witness someone blackmail him over his personal life and then go “you know what I wanna do with this woman? Date her SO HARD. I’m gonna move her into my house with her kids. And my family will ALL interact with her and all my friends too.” Like, duh, if someone blackmails you and threatens to expose your personal business you OBVIOUSLY make them your very serious partner for two years! Because remember this is the same Deuxmoi who claims she has a reliable source that says Harry and Olivia are SO serious and even engaged.

There is no scenario in which this makes a lick of sense. Deuxmoi has outdone herself with this one.

Nothing to add, this was great 😆👏🏾 it's all so unbelievably stupid I actually can't believe DM wasn't mortified posting that like GIRL 💀

#ask #the last part especially about his response to the supposed blackmail being to incorporate her into his life #and be in a serious relationship with her for 18? 19? 20? months now #yeah that makes sense.........

[darkestwings]

Review: Siri, Who Am I? by Sam Tschida

My Rating:  ★☆☆☆☆

Alright, let’s just get it over with… I didn’t enjoy this book at all! If you liked it, maybe don’t read this review.

To start with, the entire premise wound up not making any sense because the first thing that happens is this hospital where she wakes up just like sends her home a couple days later like she didn’t just suffer a mysterious head trauma and lose her memories. No one offered to call the police for her to file a report, she wasn’t assigned a caseworker, they didn’t even ensure she had someone to pick her up or someplace to go. Just: “Oh you don’t know who you are? K, bye!” and off she wanders in her blood stained dress.

And add to that the fact that this girl is obviously stupid or crazy because despite having all her knowledge of the world intact (just not her personal memories), she assumes that every man she meets is her boyfriend and every object she lays eyes on must belong to her even when everything and everyone around her is directly contradicting that.

So, she wanders around for days – in that same dress – pretending she is rich and for some reason refusing to tell anyone in her life that she has had a traumatic injury resulting in memory loss. And all while being incredibly insufferable about…everything, actually.

Honestly, at no point in this whole story does anyone do anything that makes any sense or that an actual person might do! When she finds the location of her accident (a public business) and goes to the police about her assault (but only because she wants access to her empty bank account), they don’t even ask the business for the security footage from that night. No, instead they decide she should be arrested for kiting checks and the only way out is to help them catch a meth kingpin. Of course!

I could go on, because there’s way more, but I’m really just hoping I’ll get amnesia about this whole book and never have to think about it again!

#books #booklr #reading #book reviews #bookish #siri who am i? #siri who am i #sam tschida #bad books

[sourcandycigs]

Everything Is Changing

So much as happened since my last post I need to update you!

So firstly, me and Charles have broken up. I ended things, we kept arguing and the last straw for me was he said that he prefered his computer over me because it didn’t nag him. I was so fucking pissed I thought I’m worth more than this so I ended it. We still live in the same house so its pretty awkward but we are friendly most of the time and its very obvious that he still likes me, he makes any attempt to touch me and is overly nice.

Me and Andy started hooking up, like alot. We are keeping it a secret obviously because I think if Charles knew he’d kill him. I’m kinda torn about Andy though, he sat me down and told me he doesn’t have feelings for me but finds me attractive and loves me as a friend (which literally adds up to feelings doesn’t it like wtf???) so I said I’d keep feelings out of it and keep things casual but I can’t lie I do have feelings for him, I can’t just turn them off. I’m praying that things develop if I just back off a bit. We haven’t been able to spend the night in a bed together for obvious reasons, but I really hope we get a chance because I’m sick of having sex in weird public places, don’t get me wrong its exciting but its not comfortable and we can’t fully enjoy it like we would be able to do in a bed.

So the house I was gonna move into with those girls fell through but I’m in a group with other people from my course and we are looking for a 6 bedroom house for next academic year, so far no luck which is super annoying.

Uni is coming to an end soon, final deadlines are in the next 2 weeks and I’m stressed not gonna lie, I’ve also go to perform on the main stage 1st at this massive gig really soon! I’m so nervous, but also excited.

The thing I want most in the whole world right now is just to be able to lie in bed for an evening with Andy and lie on his chest, play with his hair, kiss him and just be together but I know he doesn’t do stuff like that. I went to A&E with him last night until 4am (I had an interview today by the way) just because I was worried, and I had to walk home alone when he was taken up to the ward. He didn’t even message me to check I got home okay or say thank you... I get he’s unwell but if I was in his position and someone had been so kind and loving to sit by my side for 5 hours in A&E until 4am I would send them a massive paragraph saying thank you and probably give them a massive kiss and hug as they left. But nope. Radio silence from him since I left.

I’ll be honest right here because this is the only place I can really be honest, I’m in love with him. Like deeply. And I don’t know what to do about it, I can’t tell him because I know it’ll scare him off and make him run for the hills and I don’t wanna lose the hooking up! I wish he’d give me a chance, we would be so good together I don’t want it to be super serious but why can’t he give us a shot? We could take things super slow I wouldn’t mind. But I have this deep sickening feeling that after this house tenancy is up I’m never gonna see him again, he’s never gonna call me or text me. I feel like I mean nothing to him. I’m actually writing a song about it so I guess I can thank him for the inspiration.

My heart is soaring but also falling because I love the feeling when we are together and I never want it to end then when we are apart I feel like the world is so much less bright. He makes my days better and my nights easier. I just wish he felt the same. Story of my life, boys are never interested in me but the moment I fall in love with one its my best friend and he doesn’t love me back but my ex is still very much in love with me but I don’t love him.

I’m really tempted to give Andy the link to this blog one day so he can know how I feel, but he’d probably read all this and it would put him off even more so I don’t know if I’ll do it.

#uni #studentlife #relationships

[divine-mistake]

it's messy inside, let me take your coat

Summary: “I can make you a drink,” you offer, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at him, “or I can come over there and you can kiss me drunk instead, ‘cause I’m already halfway there.”

Characters: Bucky Barnes/Plus-sized (f)Reader

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of smut, female nudity), strong language, alcohol consumption, copious amounts of fluff, soft and nervous Bucky Barnes, original female character friends, one-night stand, body insecurity, anxiety

Word Count: 8723

A/N: This story was written for @eurynome827 and her 2k follower challenge with the prompt "Mimosas and Bloody Marys at brunch." Thank you for hosting and congrats again on your milestone!

main masterlist | AO3

“Cheers!”

The flutes clink together, orange juice sloshing and spilling and dripping down the glasses and onto the table as your giggles fade into the background noise of the café’s patio. You tip your head back as you drink, mimosas bubbly in your throat like your own happiness, threatening to pour out of you and dribble onto your shirt, already tipsy.

“God,” Carissa says, throwing herself back into the metal chair, “I cannot wait to have his babies.”

Beside her, Kora claps. “I can’t wait to be an aunt! I’m going to spoil them all so rotten you’re going to want to throttle me by the end of it.”

“Spoil them all you want, I’m having eight of ‘em.”

At that, you go ahead and polish off your drink, carbonation stinging your throat, and while you set the empty glass down your hand goes up in the air, signaling the waiter for another.

Sara points at you. “I’m with her.” She makes a face at Carissa. “If you have eight kids I will make like your dad and bounce.”

Kora slaps her on the knee but the four of you descend into laughter anyway, and it’s easy and light and beautiful, like always. Washington D.C. can be pretty in this way—iron-wrought fencing and fancy metal tables and red patio tiling. Good food, better mimosas, best friends. There’s a breeze in the air that’s calling for autumn, scattering cloth napkins sitting in laps and spreading the scent of fresh baked bread.

The bags at your feet carrying your new shoes for the winter wedding that’s approaching rustle. That feeling isn’t just D.C. It’s excitement and love and adoration, too.

Carissa, bride to be, catches you in her gaze. “When are you going to finally settle down, huh?” She gestures across the table at you with her half-filled mimosa. Everyone else looks at you too, waiting for your response.

You shrug. “You’re having plenty of babies, I don’t need any.”

“I don’t mean babies,” she says. “I mean a human, a connection, something that isn’t an empty apartment.”

“You need—no, you deserve—someone to take care of you!” Kora adds. “You’re always taking care of everyone. Don’t you want someone to, y’know, take care of you?”

“I have plenty of vibrators in my empty apartment.”

Sara snorts, covering her mouth. The waiter delivers another round, thank god.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask, sighing. “You’re just bothering me ‘cause it’s wedding season and you want to set me up with your weird—”

“He’s not weird,” Carissa interrupts. “He’s tall and he’s mysterious which is exactly your type.”

“She’ll find someone when the time is right,” Sara says. “Just ‘cause we’re happy with our boyfriends doesn’t mean she needs one to be happy.”

“Thank you, Sara, my one-true-best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world.” You force your glass against hers in a loud clank, turning the heads of all the patrons on the café’s patio before taking a gulp. Your face is already getting a little hot, the alcohol hitting you. This is why you aren’t allowed to pregame before you go to brunch anymore.

“We’re not trying to force you,” Kora starts, but her mouth is pulled into a concerned frown. “We really do just want you to be as happy as we are, that’s all.”

You smile at her. “I know.”

And you do know. You understand. It’s been years now since you’ve had anything real—anything worthwhile, to be specific. At some point, the relationships slowed down. Boyfriends became friends with benefits when you were working on your masters. Friends with benefits became ignored booty calls at two in the morning when you started your dissertation, on the road to get your doctorate. Now, you’re lucky to go home with someone from the bar, and they never, ever, come home with you.

It’s okay. You aren’t lonely. The right person just hasn’t landed in your lap, and maybe that’s kind of because it’s not open, but it’s just ‘cause you’re busy. You’re busy. Passionate. Need to change the world.

Love can wait.

The next mimosa is finished and you’re feeling a little fuzzy.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell Carissa. “I’m happy for all of you, and I’m happy with my life, and I’m happy that we’re all together and we’re celebrating and I’m happy that you all care about me enough to worry but I’m perfectly fine with how things are.”

Carissa smiles, but it’s got too much teeth. “I could set you up with Kie—”

“No, no setting me up with Kieran or Harry or Josh or anyone. But especially not Kieran.”

You’d already fucked him once and it wasn’t worth the experience.

“Fine! Fine.” Carissa busies herself with her drink. “No setting you up with Kieran.”

“Good. Now let’s talk about the reception!” You pull out your phone and open the planning spreadsheet, smiling. “So I called the venue for you about the tables…”

This is easier. Planning Carissa’s wedding, helping support her, being excited for her—that’s easier than talking about your love life. If anything, this is your love life. Taking care of the people you love, your best friends, having fun and being together and romanticizing the time you spend with them. It’s not just mimosas over brunch and a green spreadsheet for wedding planning. With them, it’s the wind in your hair and the sun making your eyes sparkle and the alcohol making all your insides feel effervescent.

It’s love. It’s perfection. It’s your own brand of happiness.

And sure, maybe it’s a little defensive, but this is easier than loving someone and trying to make them love you. It’s easier.

“Whose dress are we still waiting on?” Carissa asks a little later, mouth full of avocado and bacon and looking very un-bridely.

“Mine,” Kora says, a little guiltily. “It’s at the tailor getting taken in—again.”

“I have mine,” you pipe up, wiping your mouth of jam. “And god, do I look like a full course Michelin star meal in that piece. Like, we’re talking ass for days, legs for days, tits for—”

“Excuse me, ma’am, excuse me.” A man, towering over the café table makes himself known, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a look on his visage that you can’t name.

“—days,” you finish, swallowing hard.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he says with a smile, “but I’m raising money for uh, breast cancer awareness, and I was hoping you would donate and sign up for uh, a marathon we’re doing.”

You blink. “Sorry,” you tell him, “but we don’t carry cash on us.” With a small smile, you nod at him, your eyes passing over your friends and looking around the café to see if any of the other patrons have noticed what’s going on. None of them look bothered.

“Not even for breast cancer awareness? C’mon, girl.”

“We don’t carry cash,” Sara repeats with a deadpan, but her eyes don’t meet his.

He doesn’t look at her either, content to stare at you, and your skin crawls.

“What about signing up for the marathon?”

“Fine,” you snap. Anything to get him to leave you all alone. “How do I sign up?”

“You give me your phone number and I’ll text you the details.” His grin is a little wider now, edging a little closer to where you sit at the table. You’re regretting that third mimosa. You aren’t on your game. The panic running through you is covered in a champagne haze.

You scoff. “No way.” Immediately you grab your purse, digging through it, and you slam a handful of loose change onto the table in front of him. “Here—a donation. Now please leave.”

His face twists into a scowl, but he scoops the money off the table and pockets it.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” he suddenly says, and anger courses through you until you shoot up from your seat, chair skidding behind you. He’s tall—much taller than your short stature. But, fuck it, the alcohol’s dimming the fear and fueling the need for you to protect your friends.

When you glance over, Carissa is already gathering the bags, eyes wide. Kora has her arms wrapped around her middle, trying to make herself smaller, ready to run. Sara’s phone is in her hand, 9-1-1 already dialed.

And still, no one in the café is doing a goddamn thing.

“Excuse me?” You glare up at the man.

“I just wanted your number, you fat bitch.” He sneers. “No wonder you’ve got an attitude, you obviously don’t get laid.”

Really, you can sit there and say it isn’t the fat comment. It’s not the insult. You’re used to that, with your overly-generous curves and your soft jawline and the fact that you’re wearing a skirt showing off the cellulite running through your thighs like a creek and a crop top that lets everyone peek at your stretch marks. You’re used to it.

And, really, you could handle this better. You certainly have before ‘cause this isn’t the first time you’ve been hustled or the first time some creep has hit on you. Old men have been slapping your ass in public since you were sixteen. You’re hot, you get it. If you saw yourself on the street you’d want a piece of your own goddamn ass, too. It comes with the territory, but it’s gross. And it’s sad but you’re used to it. So it’s not him calling you a fat bitch.

It’s the comment about getting laid. It’s sore as fuck.

You grab your would-be fourth mimosa and drench him in it, the glass slipping from your fingers and shattering upon the patio’s tiled floor in an instant.

“Slut!” The man lunges for you and you jump away, bumping into the table and losing your footing. You fall to the ground as glass comes crashing down around you, spilling sweet-smelling alcohol all over you. Ouch. Your friends scream, but you can’t take your eyes off him.

And then a gleam of black and gold blurs past you and grabs the creep by his neck, throwing him down. Now, a tall, wide body dressed in a dark hoodie is blocking you, guarding you, sheltering you.

“Try it,” Mystery Savior says.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Carissa chants, calling your name.

Your hand is sticky when you wave her away. “Get out of here, I’m fine. Just go. I’ll meet you—meet you at Kora’s.”

“We’re not leaving you!” Sara shouts, but something, maybe adrenaline or fear or fucking champagne, is running through your blood vessels at high speed.

“Just go!” you scream back at her. “I’m not fucking kidding, go!”

Because if there is one redeemable thing about you, it’s the length you’ll go to keep the people you love safe. And Mystery Savior might have just choked a creep out for you, but he also choked a creep out for you, and that’s enough to get your heart pounding in your ears. You don’t know who the good guy is—if there even is a good guy here.

“Fuck,” the creep curses, but it comes out raspy as he grasps at his quickly bruising neck. “You’re a—” he wheezes, “—you’re a murderer!”

Mystery Savior holds up his hands, and that’s when you see it. The black and gold of a vibranium arm just peeking out of the sleeve of his hoodie.

This isn’t a murderer. Not a Mystery Savior either. This is James Bucky Barnes, the Avenger, holy shit. Definitely good guy. Probably. He’s reformed, the news talks about it.

“Caught me,” he says, voice monotone. “What are you gonna do about it?”

If you weren’t currently sprawled on the ground, covered in mimosa, and panicking wildly about whatever is unfolding right in front of you, the very buzzed part of your brain would really appreciate the smoothness of Bucky’s voice when he said that, the cool, calm, collected delivery.

You’ll file it in the back of your mind for when you go back to your empty apartment.

“That fat ass ain’t worth it,” the creep chokes out, scrambling to get up. As soon as he’s on his feet, poised to take off, Bucky moves faster than you could have imagined and grabs the guy by his shirt.

“I don’t think so, buddy.” You can’t see his face, but you think Bucky might be smiling.

A portly man, a little shorter than Bucky, pushes through the gathering crowd, eyes wide and panicked, face red, already sweating. When you glance at his golden nametag, it reads: Jason, Manager. Cool that the manager showed up this late. If Bucky hadn’t stepped in, you’d probably be in a pile of limbs on the ground by now. Also—is he going to comp your bill? ‘Cause at this point, you’re starting to think you deserve it.

Okay, not a good time to be distracted.

“Thank you for getting him, sir,” the manager says, a little breathless. “Winter Soldier, sir.”

“It’s Bucky,” he says, and then he shoves the creep toward the manager. “Not sure why you didn’t step in before he got violent.”

Exactly! Why did everyone just stand around and do nothing as some six-foot man hustled the four women sitting beside the street? You glance around again, seeing your friends have disappeared and now, both the wait staff and other café patrons, are crowded around your table. It’s a little unsettling how no one cared to even look at you until everything escalated.

As the manager grabs the creep and hauls him off toward the street to wait for the cops, Bucky Barnes relaxes his shoulders and turns toward you slowly, and it’s—well, for lack of a better word—it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

He looks nothing like the superhero in the pictures. Here, with the D.C. sun hitting him unabashedly, his slate eyes like glass marbles, the lines surrounding them wrinkled in concern, his tongue darting between his lips to wet the skin where his teeth bite down, a habitual sore, his short locks ruffled by the breeze or maybe the fight or maybe he just wakes up perfectly rumpled, here he looks like a man.

“You okay?” he asks, somehow nonchalant and still worried, and he holds out a calloused hand to you.

Or, well, maybe Bucky had been watching. And maybe that’s enough.

God, you don’t even know this man outside of his Avenger persona, the headlines you read on the news, the pictures you see on social media, but there’s just something about him that makes you want to trust him. Like he guarantees safety, and you know that no one, least of all an Avenger, can guarantee safety. Even if that’s their job.

Stop feeling safe around him.

But you take his hand anyway, his long, thick fingers folding over your own like he means to swallow them, and Bucky pulls you up as though you weigh nothing. In fact, he does it so easily that you crash straight into him with a yelp and his arms instantly slide around your waist to catch you as your knees go weak, buckling beneath you.

When you look up at him, your hands trying to find purchase in the material of his hoodie, he’s staring down at you with the hint of a smile.

“Thanks,” you say, quiet and a little stunned.

His lips crack a little wider. “No problem.”

For a few seconds longer than deemed socially appropriate, you stare at Bucky, captured by the changing color of his blue-gray eyes. And then, as if god is slapping you on the back of your head, you blink and remember that you are covered in alcohol and currently pressed against the chest of a superhero, and your eyes go wide as you quickly push away from him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “I’m disgusting—you probably have orange juice all over you now, fuck.”

“Hey,” he says, his flesh hand wrapping around your upper arm to steady you, “it’s okay. Seriously though, are you alright?”

You open your mouth to say something and then shut it again when you realize nothing sounds like the right answer. Bucky waits patiently though, peering down at you, his grip a little more grounding than you wish it was.

“Yes?” you say, but it sounds like a question. “I mean, maybe? I’m—It’s not like I’m not used to this happening. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky frowns. “Used to it?”

You shrug. “Not all men are superheroes. Most don’t have good intentions. And I’m not even that pretty, can you imagine what other women deal with?”

It slips out before you realize it, the self-hatred you keep at bay.

“Not pretty?” Bucky’s face twists into something confused. “That guy assaulted you just to get your number. I’m not saying it’s right, but if you think you aren’t pretty, well that’s just wrong.”

Oh god, what are you supposed to say now? So stupid. If you had just kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t have forced an Avenger—a really fucking hot Avenger—to give you an awkward compliment and now you have to scramble to figure out what to say. If you deny the compliment, you’ll look ungrateful. If you accept the compliment, that’s too egotistical. Too into yourself.

You’ve backed yourself into a corner here, and Bucky’s on the other side of the ring.

“Look,” he interrupts your inner monologuing, running a hand through his hair and glancing away, “if you don’t mind me saying it, you’re—well—you’re gorgeous. I hope you know that.”

Your mouth falls open and you stare at him, nervous energy radiating off him, and when his eyes shift back to yours he coughs.

“I mean, don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not—I’m not trying to hit on you after what just happened, I promise.” His eyes go wide, then, and he throws his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. “That’s not to say I’m not! Not hitting on you. I mean, shit, I just think you’ve gotta be the most beautiful dame—woman, sorry—that I’ve seen in years.”

There’s something soft about it, something sweetly suffocating, like buttercream frosting in the back of your throat, about his nervousness. The gentle panic, the way his eyes go back and forth from the ground at your feet to your eyes like he’s checking to make sure he hasn’t said the wrong thing, but he just keeps putting his foot in his mouth like it’s a magnet to metal. It’s endearing. It’s real.

“Do you want to get a drink with me?” you blurt out, and Bucky blanches. “I know it’s only, like, noon but I need a drink. And I owe you. For saving me.”

He relaxes at this, another one of those small smiles easing its way onto his face, and his shoves his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t just panicking two seconds ago about calling you a dame, which if anyone else had done, you would have socked them in the mouth, but he’s like one-hundred-and-six or something and you kinda get it.

“The drinks you’re wearing ain’t enough, doll?”

A laugh breaks from your mouth and he lights up, grinning.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You can’t help the smile splitting your own lips. “Sure, make fun of the girl who just got hustled, easy prey.”

The way he looks at you is burning.

“I’m Bucky,” he says. “James Bucky Barnes.”

“I know,” you say with a laugh. When you give him your name, he almost looks like he wants to try it out, but he keeps it on his tongue like he’s tasting it instead.

“So, a drink?” he asks, a little cautiously.

“I’d like that.” Then, you look down and curse. “But I’m gross. I really need to go home and change.”

Bucky nods, but a look of disappointment crosses his face, there and then gone again, just enough to make your heart tighten into a painful brick weight atop your chest. Everything in your brain is saying no, don’t do it, don’t do it. But your heart hurts and it hurts for him, a man you’ve only met in news articles and awkward interviews until now, when he’s saved you from being slapped around by some creep or worse, and god, you have such a soft heart sometimes and it’s gotten you in trouble before but you can’t just ignore it.

“Do you like Bloody Marys?”

His eyes meet yours again and you’re drawn into the storm that swirls in his irises once again.

“Never had one,” he admits. “They don’t look much like a drink.”

“Well, if you’re interested, I have the stuff to make a really good one at home. And then I could change and clean up a little and still y’know, thank you for saving my life? I mean it’s not much, but—”

“Yes,” he says, his voice as sure and steady as it was earlier when he was in hero mode. “That sounds great.”

Oh, you’re fucked. You’re so fucked.

The walk back to your apartment isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s not easy. Bucky walks beside you like a forcefield, using his body to guide you through the throng of people walking along the streets without even touching you. He reminds you of a sheepdog. The thought almost makes you laugh more than a few times during your stroll.

He walks with his hands in his pockets most of the way, especially his metal one. And he isn’t much of a talker, not that you mind as long as he keeps answering the questions you’re asking him, like what kind of food he likes and what he thinks about sphynx cats and if he likes memes—of which his answers consist of anything, what the hell is that and why is it naked, and a resounding yes.

Bucky asks some of his own questions, though they are few and far between and a lot more cohesive and meaningful than your own. He asks about how long you’ve lived in Washington D.C., about what you do for a living, and about your friends.

“Why did they leave you there?” He’s staring at you when he asks, brows sharp and furrowed.

“Because I told them to,” you answer. “I didn’t want them to get hurt or anything. And I’m kind of the person that if I’m yelling, you better listen ‘cause I’m usually yelling for a good reason.”

He nods like he understands, but his lips are pressed flat. “They shouldn’t have left you.”

You shrug. “I wanted them to. I would’ve been more pissed if they hadn’t run off and gotten tangled up in the middle of everything.”

“You’re a good person,” he says, still looking at you. His face is softer, that hint of a curve in his mouth the only sign that anything’s changed.

You give him your own smile. “Maybe.”

It’s only once you get to the front door of your apartment that things shift and your stomach rolls, heavy and fluttering light all at once, a not-so-familiar-anymore anxiety chilling your skin. The keys in your hand jingle and you aren’t sure if it's because your fingers are shaking or not.

“It’s not much,” you say, beckoning him inside, “but y’know, it’s enough for me.”

Bucky steps through the door with a reverence, a caution, a carefulness that strikes you right in the heart. He looks out of place for a minute, like he’s never entered an apartment before. And then, as you kick off your shoes, losing the extra inch of height, smiling and gesturing for him to do the same, there’s something in him that snaps and bends and his shoulders fall, relaxed.

He toes off his boots, leaving them by the door, and suddenly there’s a different air in the apartment. Almost intimate. Comfortable.

Stop it. You don’t even know him.

“Make yourself at home. Can I get you anything? A glass of water or something?”

Bucky shakes his head as he follows behind you, slowly, his eyes roaming over your space. It’s really not much, you know that. A little more than a box with a bathroom and a bedroom attached, what with the living room and the kitchen being “open-concept,” a word you’re pretty sure was invented to sell tiny apartments for more money. You don’t even have a table to sit at—just a couch to plunk down on while you’re eating.

“I’m alright, doll,” he says, running a hand over the soft cushions of said couch. “You go change, I’m fine.”

As soon as you disappear into your bedroom, the door locked behind you, you lean against the wood and let out a sigh. This is awkward. What the fuck were you thinking? Asking an Avenger—Bucky Barnes—back to your apartment for a drink? A bloody mary? Who are you trying to kid?

It’s been years, literal years since you’ve invited anyone back to your apartment. In fact, you don’t think anyone besides your friends has even stepped foot inside. Maybe they haven’t even made it to the door.

Why would you invite him here?

In frustration, you strip your dirty shirt off and throw it onto the floor, shimmy-ing out of your skirt and kicking it toward the hamper just as well. You sort through your drawers, looking for something comfortable to throw on. Or maybe you should wear something nice? Something that looks similar to what you wore to brunch. But Bucky’s dressed in jeans and a hoodie. But he also looks like a modern god in just that.

Fuck. You are fucked. Why did you ask him back to your place for a drink? What did you think would happen?

You throw an old band t-shirt over your head and pull a black pair of loose shorts up over your hips, cursing when you realize they don’t even hit mid-thigh. Does that seem suggestive? Is Bucky going to think you want to fuck him if you walk out in these?

Do you want to fuck Bucky?

No. No. This is not what this is about. You invited him over because you owed him a drink and because you needed to change and because he seemed so damn sad when you said you couldn’t go out for a drink. So you asked him to come home with you. Oh, god, that’s so complicated. What have you gotten yourself into?

Stop. Just stop thinking.

But—you have to admit it to yourself—you want it. You want him.

Your friends’ earlier words repeat in your head. A human, a connection, something that isn’t an empty apartment. They aren’t wrong for thinking that it’s something you want. For most of your life, you’ve lived thinking that you shouldn’t need someone. But isn’t it okay to want someone? You’re tired of being alone. Bucky Barnes is the first man that’s been in your empty apartment since you moved in, and maybe it’s a bold move, but you know what?

You throw yourself out of your bedroom, probably looking a little too frazzled, and you quickly comb your fingers through your hair as nonchalantly as possible to fix the flyaways. Bucky’s sitting on your couch, looking lonely, his hands rigid on his spread knees.

He looks like he fits there, on your sofa, in your empty apartment.

“Look,” you say in a breath, catching his attention. When he looks at you, his eyes sweep over your body like he’s never seen a woman before; shy, timid, a little nervous, but there’s something else there. It’s the same thing that’s heating your insides right now.

“I can make you a drink,” you offer, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at him, “or I can come over there and you can kiss me drunk instead, ‘cause I’m already halfway there.”

Bucky’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then a cocky grin is curling his lips up, his face brightening the entire apartment. You don’t know if your body is warm because you’re embarrassed at your own daring or because Bucky Barnes is so beautiful it’s criminal, but you know that there’s static and stretch in your limbs and desire pooling in your belly. Liquor and lust are chasing away whatever fears you had before.

“Really?” he asks, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice that reminds you of what a fucking flirt he is, or that he can be, and you think butterflies might be taking up residence in your tummy.

“Really,” you mimic, wearing your own charmed smile. Bucky lets his head fall to the side as he looks over you, then crooks one metal finger at you, beckoning you to join him on the couch. With as much confidence as you can muster, you stride toward him, putting a little swing in your steps. Maybe you look crazy doing it, but it’s enough that his eyes flicker down to watch your hips, and it sends a thrill through you.

“This isn’t like me,” you tell him as you sink down beside him, as close as possible while still giving him space to bolt if he needs to. “I don’t invite strangers over to my house like this.”

He smiles and it’s warm and big and easy. “I’m glad you did,” he says.

God, his eyes are pretty. “Me too.”

With Bucky’s thigh pressed against yours, his hand resting dangerously close to one of your bare knees, knuckles brushing your skin every time he shifts, you’re melting into his touch and you don’t care. It’s intoxicating—not the alcohol, which you swear should be wearing off by now, but him.

“I don’t do this often,” you say again, like you need to defend your bold behavior.

“Does that mean I’m special?”

“I think so,” you murmur, only loud enough for him to hear being this close.

Kinder than you thought possible, somehow simultaneously suave but still a little nervous, and yet authentic to a fault, Bucky Barnes is a thousand and one contradictions. Nothing like you ever thought he’d be. And maybe that’s what gives you the courage, the thought that someone so hardened could be so soft. That someone who looks like him, chiseled and striking and like a charcoal sketching on stark paper, could turn red at your innuendos and your charmed quips. That there’s a chance he could be attracted to you.

This—This is the connection you’ve been waiting for. The person who makes you feel like this. Tipsy when you shouldn’t be tipsy anymore.

“I know we barely know each other, but I really, really want you, Bucky.”

Your shoulder is pressed to his shoulder, your chest nearing his chest, your chin tipped up to stare at his eyes, his nose, his parted lips. Bucky stares down at you, his Adam’s apple dipping and bobbing as he swallows hard. Your lips curl, threatening to giggle. He’s so damn cute. How can someone like him, an Avenger, a super soldier, look so cute?

But the hand at your knee finally creeps up your skin, his hot palm glossing over your bare thigh, resting a little higher than a friendly touch would go. He presses indents—not too hard, but not too soft—into your plush, silken flesh.

“You do?” he asks, tongue darting out to wet his lip and you want to follow it back into his mouth with your own.

To answer, you push closer, your hand coming up to drape across his neck, a little off-balance as you sit up on your knees.

“Mhm,” you hum, and that’s all he needs to grasp your thigh roughly and drag you over him, seating you upon his lap as a squeak of surprise flies from your lips. His hands fall to your hips as if your body was made for him to hold and suddenly you’re looking down at him and he’s looking up at you instead, and god, he’s staring at you like you’re heaven and earth and everything he ever needed to be saved.

“I want you too,” he says, exhaling as if you’ve stolen all the air in his lungs.

“Then will you finally kiss me?” Your nose brushes his and his breath ghosts over your mouth.

Bucky’s lips surge up to meet yours, swallowing the last sounds of your words like it’s the first drink of water he’s had in years, cool and refreshing and tinged with smoke, something uniquely him.

As your hands thread through his short locks, desperate to hold onto him in any way, his fingers begin to curve over your ass. You rock into him, pressing against him harder, sucking at his plush lips as his tongue skims over your top lip until you grant him entry. Bucky kisses like he’s trying to taste every single part of you and it sends waves of pleasure through your belly and to your core, where you grind down until you feel his hardening length beneath you.

Immediately, you start to strip him of his hoodie, divesting him of that layer to feel the soft shirt beneath—but only barely because it’s hell trying to pull his hands away from where they’re touching you.

And he’s touching you everywhere. His fingers roam over every generous piece of your body. The silken planes of your thighs where he’s pushed your shorts up, the wide canyons of your hips, the bumpy hills of your waist where your stomach is too big and too soft and where he slips his mismatched hands under your shirt to trace the lines of your stretch marks. It isn’t long until he brushes by the band of your bra and then he’s tugging at the hem of the shirt, pulling away from your lips long enough to rid you of it.

You take the moment to rid him of his too, and then you’re both topless, still sitting atop his lap and panting from lack of air. No words are shared between you before Bucky is capturing your mouth again. It’s only passion, frenzied and hot and wanting.

His fingers fumble with the hooks of your bra blindly as your teeth sink into his bottom lip, nipping and giggling and tangling your tongue around his. As soon as you hear the snap, you lean back and Bucky pulls it off you, flinging the offending garment somewhere else in the apartment.

Now, with your naked chest completely bared to him, you wait for it to happen. For his eyes to dart away, for the apprehension to cross his features, for the disgust to set it. The real reason that it’s been so long since you’ve invited someone into your empty apartment—into your empty life.

You’re scared.

Like you’re expecting the blow, you close your eyes and brace yourself, but you don’t cover up. You’ve learned not to cover up. You refuse to make yourself smaller, or prettier, or more tolerable for people. It’s why you don’t get entangled with one-night stands anymore, why you don’t ask strangers to come home with you, why you don’t let your girlfriends set you up with anyone. Because you refuse to make yourself something you’re not just to fit in, and that’s what always, always ends up happening.

Bucky touches you and it makes you flinch, his vibranium fingers a little chilly against the soft, warm skin of your stomach. He touches you and it’s electric, but you don’t open your eyes.

You’re too afraid to look and see the disappointment in his gorgeous blues.

His hands skim over your rib cage, sliding around the sides of your waist, his thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts. You shiver at the contact. He continues his trail upwards, but then he lays his palms on your shoulders and caresses over your neck, his fingers finally finding the edge of your soft jaw to cradle your face. A shaky breath leaves you.

“Look at me,” he whispers, closer than you thought.

And no matter how much you’ll berate yourself over it later, there is something so safe about Bucky Barnes that your lashes flutter and your eyes open, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, staring at you with those stormy sea eyes half-lidded and glazed over with lust, his pink lips parted in awe, and you gasp at the intensity that strikes right through the center of you.

“You’re…” he trails off, swallowing nervously again. “Doll, I don’t think I know a word in English that describes you.”

Bucky presses forward, his chest brushing against your hardened nipples, stealing your breath and then sealing your lips with a kiss that isn’t like before. This kiss isn’t needy or wanting or filled with teeth and tongue and desperation. This time, his mouth moves with yours as if he’s trying to spell out a thousand words in twenty different languages to tell you how he feels, his lips leading yours in a dance that isn’t worried about an audience or the music or if you step on his toes.

When he pulls away, you wonder if your mouth is as swollen as his.

“You’re perfect,” he says with a finality in his tone that almost makes you collapse into his arms.

Then, Bucky wastes no time and captures a nipple in between those swollen lips, causing you to let out an embarrassingly loud noise in surprise. His metal hand finds your other breast, thumb stroking over the bud until you’re arching further into him. As his tongue traces patterns around one nipple, his fingers tweak and twist and pull its sister, and your hands grasp his broad shoulders in an attempt to hold on.

Finally, he presses gentle kisses over your rosy buds, all worn out by his touches, and then circles your breasts with more kitten licks and grazes of his teeth. Bucky’s hands settle at your hips again, fingers grasping your skin like he can’t get enough of the feel of you. He’s trying to imprint your body on his palms.

“I need to have you, doll,” he says all breathy as if he isn’t the one absolutely drenched right now. “Please. Please,” he asks so softly that you wonder if this is the man who even came to your rescue today, all tall and brooding. When you grind down on his lap again, feeling his hard cock beneath his jeans as he lets out a groan and tightens his grip on your waist, you realize you’re not the only one feeling the tension.

Still, there’s something cheeky left in you and you reach out to swipe your finger across his nose, effectively booping it cutely. A grin splits your lips.

“You need me?” you ask teasingly. “What if I need you instead?”

It’s like it sets something ablaze in him or something, ‘cause as soon as you go in for another kiss, Bucky stands up from the couch, his hands cradling your ass as you shriek and wrap your legs around him in reflex.

“Oh my god—”

“Now you’ve done it,” he grunts, burying his face in your neck to pepper kisses all over the stretch of skin that encompasses your shoulder, your jawline, even up into your hairline by your ear.

“Oh my god, put me down Bucky, I’m—you’re gonna drop me, I’m too heavy!”

“Heavy?” He chuckles against your throat and the vibrations almost make you shudder in pleasure. God, what is this man doing to you? “Darlin’, I don’t think you know the meaning of heavy.”

Bucky flashes you a wide, almost predatory grin, and you wonder where that soft, nervous boy went.

“If I wanted to,” he says, his voice low and steady, “I could fuck you right here, in the middle of the room, for hours.” He must feel the shiver that goes through your entire body because he’s laughing again. “But I want to fuck you into your mattress if that’s okay. Can I do that?”

Your throat feels dry when you whisper, “Yes. Please.”

He punctuates your plea with a heated kiss to your lips, his tongue tasting the citrus and bubble from your mimosas, the alcohol long since worn off. It’s all him that you feel, all him that intoxicates you, and all him around you as he walks you into your bedroom, not even straining under your weight, and dumps you onto the middle of your sheets.

There, he cages you, hovering above you to kiss down your body, already intent on tearing your shorts off.

“Bucky,” you whine. In the afternoon light streaming through the single window in your room, his eyes are a startling color you wish you could name, all clear and confident and crystal and god, god, his fingers are already exploring the slit of your core so lightly it makes you flush and want to hide, your inner thighs sticky and coated in your own slick from how hot he’s made you with such simple touches.

“You want me?” he asks as if he doesn’t know.

“Yes,” you hiss in pleasure, body writhing beneath him. Bucky leans down to kiss the shell of your ear, his tongue blazing a hot trail that makes you moan and buck your hips up to meet his, but he won’t have any of that.

“Good,” he says, “‘cause I need to have you, and I don’t plan on letting you go ‘till I’ve gotten everything you’ve got to give, doll.”

That nervous Bucky, all awkward smiles and panicked glances and sweet lines, he’s gone. In his place is this Bucky, assured and charming and suave and smooth and making your eyes roll back into your head until a scream is threatening to burst from your lips unless he swallows it with his own kiss, which he does, over and over again.

“I’m gonna ravage you, darlin’.”

You aren’t sure which one you like better—but is it greedy to say both?

As the light of a new day spreads through your apartment, you awaken easily, softly, but painfully. Someone’s pulled the blankets up to your chin and tucked them around you, and the thought leaves an empty feeling inside of you. When you stretch, every part of you burns deliciously, a memory from the hours spent in bed, on the couch, on the fucking counter after you’d eaten and he still wasn’t satisfied, and then again in bed.

And now, looking over at the space beside you, he’s gone. His clothes are gone from the floor. There’s no sound echoing in the building. He even left you tucked in, for god’s sake.

Your apartment is just as it always has been—empty.

With a groan, you kick the covers off and plant your feet on the floor, willing yourself to get up. The ache in your muscles is nothing more than a pleasant memory, an unpleasant reminder of the marks he left on you, his absence.

Stop it. You shouldn’t have even gotten attached to him in the first place. You knew what this was, and he did too, and it’s no wonder he’s gone this morning.

Get over it.

You swipe an oversized shirt from your dresser and throw it over your head as you stride out toward the kitchen, content to go pantyless for the day after the abuse you put it through last night. Yawning, your eyes screwed shut in another big stretch to warm up your overused muscles, you hear him before you see him.

“Mornin’, doll.”

Like that, your eyes snap open and he’s there, standing in your tiny kitchen in nothing but last night’s boxers, looking fucking glorious in the spotlight of the warm sun that’s streaming through the room and highlighting the counters.

“Bucky?” you ask, but it’s a little loud and a little shrieking, something you don’t intend. But all he does is smile at you, metal fingers tapping the plastic countertop, so at ease he just looks like he belongs there.

“I thought I’d make you breakfast but you have nothing in your fridge,” he jokes, leaning back against the drawers and crossing his arms over his bare chest.

You shift, embarrassed, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah, I need to go shopping.”

A long stretch of silence fills your apartment and you’re unsure of what to say in order to break it. Bucky’s clearly watching you, drinking in the sight of your love-marked body, bruises peeking out of the hem of your shirt that barely skims past the tops of your thighs, and you remember you’re wearing nothing underneath.

And he’s here, right here, and you really aren’t sure why. It seems the two of you have almost switched places. Where Bucky was nervous and shy at first, he’s now confident and comfortable and you’re left with heated cheeks and a tongue-tied in knots. Whatever boldness that came over you all yesterday has fled.

It’s left a deep pocket of insecurity inside of you.

“Why are you still here?” you ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, like you don’t care, but your voice shakes a little. He’s too far away to really tell, but you think a flash of hurt passes over Bucky’s brow.

“‘Cause you still owe me a drink,” he says as if it's obvious, a small smile still sitting so prettily on his mouth.

You blink, a little confused, but shuffle closer. “Bloody Mary?”

“Yeah,” he says with a deep breath, his grin growing bigger the closer that you come toward him. “Will you still make me one?”

You nod, toes finally crossing into the kitchen, and then you and Bucky are staring at each other. There are scratches left like the bones of a graveyard on his arms, and you’re almost sure if he turned around they’d cover his neck and back just as well. Seeing those reddened marks, similar to the bruises he’s left on you, makes you relax your shoulders just a little.

“Do you need help?” he asks, eyes sweeping over your barely covered form.

“No,” you say, heading to the kitchen which is little more than a countertop, a stove, and a fridge. “But you can keep me company.”

So this is what happens in the morning after. Bucky leans against the counter next to you, watching you with a burning intensity that nearly matches last night’s, and you pull all the ingredients out and line them up next to two glasses and try not to falter under his gaze. He looks at you like you’re this fascinating thing he needs to study and it bothers you, but only in the best of ways.

“Do you always stare this hard at your dates?” A smile plays at your lips as you crack open the tomato juice.

He doesn’t look away. “No,” he says, but he sounds unsure. “Is this a date, doll?” There’s something in his voice that you can’t figure out, faintly hopeful, fairly confused. Vaguely surprised, even.

You shrug. “Maybe.” Especially after all of yesterday, you would hope he thought so.

But Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

Ow.

That hurt more than you were expecting it to. Calling yourself his date had only been a joke meant to lighten the mood, ease him up a little, cure the tension swirling in the room. You guess you should have expected it, though. You owed him a drink—he didn’t owe you a date. It wasn’t supposed to be a date, anyway.

All you had done was sleep together, for fuck’s sake. This is why you hate morning afters. This is why you would have preferred it if he had been gone when you woke.

But was that even true? Because the relief you felt when you found him waiting for you in the kitchen was immense and hard to understand.

You open the bottle of vodka a little more forcefully than you intended.

“When we go out on a real date,” he continues, and your eyes meet, “I’ll be taking you out and treating you.” A slow grin crawls over his face that reminds you of his wicked mouth and what it can do and the sight makes your heart beat and beat and beat, faster and faster, like the wings of a hummingbird, quick quick quick.

“When?”

“When,” he affirms.

“That’s bold of you,” you say, popping ice cubes from a tray into the glasses.

“Maybe,” he says, “but I know what I want now.” Bucky shifts a little closer to you, his vibranium arm brushing by the bare skin of your soft one as you try and focus on not spilling the juice, but you can smell him and he smells like cedar and bergamot and smoke and clove. A smell that consumed you whole last night, surrounded you, drowned you in it.

He’s so close you can feel him inhale.

“I’ve lived a long time not knowing—not getting to decide—what I want,” he admits, his voice low and quiet and soothing your nervous heart. “So you can call it bold, but I call it right.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your hands still and you look up at him, eyes wide. In the soft white lights of your tiny kitchen, sharing the tight space with him so close, Bucky’s eyes are thunder and rain and lightning all at once, peace and chaos both, promising release and the sweet scent of earth and oil afterward.

“You don’t even know me,” you whisper.

Bucky leans closer. “But I want to.”

He’s so close, too close, close enough that he can surely hear the rhythm of your heart, unsteady and racing just for him. You could surge forward and kiss him, stake your claim once again on those pinkened lips that have held your attention from the first time you saw them, feel the stubble of his jaw rub against the soft peach fuzz of your own, let it remind you of how it felt against the apex of your thighs as he made you cry out over and over again, breaking on his tongue over and over again.

It makes you feel dizzier than any alcohol ever could.

But Bucky reaches over, past you, and takes one of the glasses from your hand, warm fingers brushing over your cooler ones. He holds it up, toward you, gesturing for a toast. With a swallow, hardly glancing away from his slate eyes to grab the other glass, you tap your Bloody Mary against his with a soft clink.

He watches you over the rim as he takes his first sip and you think he might be smirking. Then, he darts toward you and takes your lips in his own, tasting of spice and tomato juice and perfection, all Bucky, all for you.

When he pulls away, too quickly, he rests his forehead against your and looks down at you, staring into your hazy eyes.

“Will you let me stay?” he asks, like he doesn’t know what you’ll say. The soft, nervous Bucky is peeking out from behind his confident visage once again, his voice hopeful and frightened and the hand that’s gliding beneath your shirt and over your waist more timid than it was last night.

There’s a million things you can say. You can tell him to take you out to brunch instead. You can tell him you’re too busy. You can tell him that this was a one-night stand, it was only ever meant to be a one night stand, and that it was fun but you can’t afford to get attached to him and god, you know you’re going to get attached to him if he stays and that scares the ever-living fuck out of you. You can tell him that it’s messy here, inside your empty apartment, inside your empty heart. You can tell him that he could take up residence here. You can tell him so, so many things.

“Yes,” you say instead, and Bucky laughs against your mouth when he kisses you hard once more.

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