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blackstarising · 3 years

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coming back to this post i made again to elaborate - especially as the ted lasso fandom is discussing sam/rebecca and fandom racism in general. there are takes that are important to make that i had failed to previously, but there's also a growing amount of takes that i have to, As A Black Person™, respectfully disagree with.

tl;dr for the essay below sam being infantilized and the sam/rebecca relationship are not the same issue and discussing the former one doesn't mean excusing the latter. and we've reached the glen of the Dark Forest where we sit down and talk about fandom racism.

i should have elaborated this in my last post about sam/rebecca, but i didn't. i'll say it now - i personally don't support sam and rebecca getting together for real. i believe what people are saying is entirely correct, even though sam is an adult legally, he and rebecca are, at the very least, two wildly different stages of life. for americans, he's at the equivalent of being a junior in college. there are things he hasn't gotten the chance to experience and there are areas he needs to grow in. when i was younger, i didn't understand the significance of these age gaps, i just thought it would be fine if it was legal, but as someone who is now a little older than sam in universe, i understand fully. we can't downplay this. whether or not you think sam works for rebecca or not, even despite the gender inversion of the Older Man Younger Woman trope, whether or not he is a legal adult, i don't think at this point in time, their relationship would work. i think it's an interesting narrative device, but i don't want to see it play out in reality.

that being said!

what's worrying me is that two discussions are being conflated here that shouldn't be. sam having agency and being a little more grown™ than he's perceived to be does not suddenly make his relationship with rebecca justified. i had decided to bring it up because sam was being brought into the spotlight again and i was starting to realizing that his infantilization was more common than i felt comfortable with.

sam's infantilization (and i will continue to call it that), is a microaggression. it's is in the range of microaggressions that i would categorize as 'fandom overcompensation'. we have a prominent character of color that exhibits traits that aren't stereotypical, and we don't want to appear racist or stereotypical, so we lean hard in the other direction. they're not aggressive, they're a Sweet Baby, they're not world weary, they're now a little naive. they're not cold and distant, they're so nice and sweet that there's no one that wouldn't want approach them, and yeah, on their face, these new traits are a departure and, on their face, they seem they look really good.

but at a certain point, it reaches an inflection point, and, like the aftertaste of a diet coke, that alleged sweetness veers into something a lot less sweet. it veers into a lack of agency for the character. it veers into an innocence that appears to indicate that the person can't even take care of themselves. it veers into a one-dimensional characterization that doesn't allow for any depth or negative emotion.

it's not kind anymore. it's not a nice departure from negative stereotypes. it's not compensating for anything.

it's patronizing.

it is important that we emphasize that characters of color are more than the toxic stereotypes we lay on them, yes, but we make a mistake in thinking that the solution is overcorrection. for one thing, people of color can usually tell. don't get it twisted, it's actually pretty obvious. for another, it just shifts from one dimension to another. people of color are still supposed to be Only One Character Trait while white people can contain multitudes. ted, who is pretty much as pollyanna as they come, can be at once innocent and naive and deep and troubled and funny and scared. jamie can be a prick and sexy and also lonely and also a victim of abuse. sam, however, even though he was bullied (by jamie, no less), is thousands of miles away from home, and has led a protest on his team, is usually just characterized as human sunshine with much less acknowledgement of any other traits beyond that.

and that's why i cringe when fandom calls sam a Sweet Baby Boy without any sense of irony. is that all we're taking away? after all this time? even for a comedy, sam has received a substantive of screen time over two whole seasons, and we've seen a range of emotions from him. so as a black person it's hurtful that it's boiled down to Sweet Baby Boy.

that's the problem. we need to subvert stereotypes, but more importantly, we need to understand that people of color are not props, or pieces of cardboard for their white counterparts. they are full and actualized and have agency in their own right and they can have other emotions than Angry and Mean or Sweet and Bubbly without any nuance between the two. i think the show actually does a relatively good job of giving sam depth (relatively, always room for improvement, mind you), especially holding it in tension with his youth, but the fandom, i worry, does not.

it's the same reason why finn from star wars started out as the next male protagonist in the sequel trilogy but by the third movie was just running around yelling for REY!! it's the same reason why when people make Phase 4 Is the Phase For Therapy gifsets for the mcu and show wanda maximoff, loki, and bucky barnes crying and being sad but purposefully exclude sam wilson who had an entire show to tell us how difficult his life is, because people find out if pee oh sees are also complex, they'll tell the church.

and the reason why i picked up on this very early on is because i am an organic, certified fresh, 100% homegrown, non-gmo, a little ashy, indigenous sub saharan African black person. the ghanaian tribes i'm descended from have told me so, my black ass parents have told me so, and the nurses at the hospital in [insert asian country here] that started freaking out about how curly my hair was as my mother was mid pushing me out told me so!

and this stuff has real life implications. listen: being patronized as a black person sucks. do you know how many times i was patted on the back for doing quite honestly, the bare minimum in school? do you know how many times i was told how 'well spoken' or 'eloquent' i was because i just happen to have a white accent or use three syllable words? do you know how many times i've been cooed over by white women who couldn't get over how sweet i was just because i wasn't confrontational or rude like they wrongly expected me to be?

that's why they're called microaggressions. it's not a cross on your lawn or having the n-word spat in your face, but it cuts you down little by little until you're completely drained.

so that's the nuance. that's the subversion. the overcompensation is not a good thing. and people of color (and i suspect, even white people) have picked up on, in general, the different ways fandom treats sam and dani and even nate. what all of these discussions are converging on is fandom racism, which is not the diet form of racism, but another place for racism to reveal itself. and yeah, it's uncomfortable. it can seem out of left field. you may want to defend yourself. you may want to explain it away. but let me tap the sign on the proverbial bus:

if you are a white person, or a person of color who is not part of that racial group, even, you do not get to decide what is not racist for someone. full stop. there are no exceptions. there is no exit clause for you. there is no 'but, actually-'. that right wasn't even yours to cede or waive.

(it's also important to note that people of color also have the right to disagree on whether something is racist, but that doesn't necessarily negate the racism - it just means there's more to discuss and they can still leave with different interpretations)

people don't just whip out accusations of racism like a blue eyes white dragon in a yu-gi-oh duel. it's not fun for us. it's not something we like to do to muzzle people we don't want to engage with. and we're not concerned with making someone feel bad or ashamed. we're exposing something painful that we have to live with and, even worse, process literally everything we experience through. we can't turn it off. we can't be 'less sensitive' or 'less nitpicky'. we are literally the primary resources, we are the proverbial wikipedia articles with 3,000 sources when it comes to racism. who else would know more than us?

what 2020 has shown us very clearly is that racism is systemic. it's not always a bunch of Evil White Men rubbing their hands together in a dark room wondering how they're going to use the 'n-word' today. it's systemic. it's the way you call that one neighborhood 'sketchy'. it's how you use 'ratchet' and 'ghetto' when describing something bad. it's how you implicitly the assume the intelligence of your friend of color. it's the way you turned up your nose and your friend's food and bullied them for it in middle school but go to restaurants run by white people who have 'uplifted' it with inauthentic ingredients. it's telling someone how Well Spoken and Eloquent they are even though you've both gone to the same schools and work at the same workplace. it's the way you look down at some people of color for having a different body type than you because they've been redlined to neighborhoods where certain foods and resources are inaccessible, and yet mock up the racial features that appeal to you either through makeup or plastic surgery.

it's how when a person of color behaves badly, they're irredeemable, but a white person performing the same act or something similar is 'having a bad day' or 'isn't normally like this' or 'has room to grow' and we can't 'wait for their redemption arc', and yes, i'm not going to cover it in detail in this post but yes this is very much about nate. other people have also brought up the nuances in his arc and compared them to other white characters so i won't do it here.

these behaviors and reactions aren't planned. they aren't orchestrated. they're quite literally unconscious because they've been lovingly baked into western society for centuries. you can't wake up and be rid of it. whether you intended it or not, it can still be racist.

and it's actually quite hurtful and unfair to imply that concerns about racism in the TL fandom are unfounded or lacking any depth or simply meant to be sensational because you simply don't agree with it. i wish it was different, but it doesn't work that way. i'm not raising this up to 'call out' or shame people, but i'm adding to this discussion because, through how we talk about sam, and even dani and nate, i'm yet again seeing a pattern that has shortchanged people of color and made them feel unwelcome in fandom for far too long.

coach beard said it best: we need to do better.

#ted lasso #sam obisanya #ted lasso spoilers #fandom racism

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

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Electric Feel - Tom Hiddleston smut

The one where Tom moved in to help you, but you end up helping each other.

Warnings: porn with a very unecessary and minimal plot, smut, dom!female, sub!Tom, masturbation (m), oral sex (f), mistress kink, brief mention of a stalker, actress!reader

Word count: 2k<

A/N: This is so small compared to everything @just-the-hiddles deserves, but it’s her birthday and I just couldn’t let it go by without a token of my gratitude, love and admiration! Happy birthday, Liz! I hope you know how much I care about you! ALSO: unedited for the moment because I just started and finished this entire thing in the last six hours when I should be studying but oh well.

Tom’s P.O.V.

I didn’t remember stopping to think for a single second ever since I saw the news. My fingers acted on their own accord, hitting those numbers I had memorized so long ago, raising the phone to my ear as I waited for her to pick up.

“Hello?” Hearing her voice didn’t calm me down like I expected it would. I realized then, I’d only feel tranquil once more when I could see her with my own eyes, touch her skin, feel her warmth.

“Darling? How are you?” I still asked, almost automatically, and if I had hoped she would at least be well enough to pretend to be okay, the sharp inhale that preceded her burst into tears shattered that illusion in a second. “I’m on my way.”

And that was how I ended up in her house in what felt like the blink of an eye. The trip there could have lasted days - all that mattered was that the second I had my arms wrapped around her, everything felt alright again.

“It’s okay,” I soothed her, but it was probably better directed at myself. “I’m here now.” It took at least a day before I was comfortable enough to ask her about it. “How did they find the guy?” When she latched onto a detailed explanation of the events from the last week, how she’d started receiving random death threats that suddenly weren’t so random anymore, I felt almost like I wasn’t even there, but floating over the living room, watching us talk from the outside looking in.

I held her close for a long time after that, unable to admit even to myself that not feeling her body against mine made me feel empty and weak. And so the feeling of protectiveness stirred awake inside of me - or maybe it had been there all along, I just failed to acknowledge it.

All I knew was that inserting myself into Y/N’s daily life was much easier than I ever expected it to be. And even if I told both her and myself that this was for her own safety, because she needed someone around until she felt comfortable by herself again, I knew it was more for my own benefit than anything else.

I just didn’t anticipate it would make my feelings that much harder to deal with. Did I know that I wanted her? Yes, maybe even ever since we’d met. And as our friendship progressed and we became closer, I saw that desire develop into something deeper, more solid. Still, I stupidly believed it was nothing more than a crush, and I’d be able to pretend it didn’t exist and get on with my life day after day like it wasn’t there.

Now that my days began and ended with her, I was highly aware of my mistake.

“Tommy,” she called out, making me lift my eyes from the tv and fall on her and the dog she currently tried to control. “I’m going to take her for a walk, okay?” I sat up automatically, ready to join her, when I felt a hand over my shoulder, gently pushing me back against the sofa.

“C’mon, finish the movie!” She admonished, a knowing grin on her face. “I think there’s a scene coming up with someone you particularly enjoy. I’m just going into the backyard, no need to worry.”

Even though I stayed seated where she’d left me, my eyes trailed over her figure as she disappeared inside the kitchen, until I heard the backdoor close. Despite knowing there was no possible immediate danger to her inside the boundaries of her own home, I couldn’t help but worry.

That was until a moan caught my attention, bringing it back to the tv once more. It sounded so familiar and so foreign at the same time, I was instantly intrigued, eyebrows furrowed as I struggled to identify the young woman that was being so brutally fucked by the main protagonist in a dark club.

My mouth hang open once the lighting changed and her face became recognizable, those same alluring features tempting me just as much as they tempted the character on the screen. So this was what she meant, I didn’t even know she was on this movie when I first picked it out.

I could feel my member hardening inside my sweatpants as her beautiful, melodic voice kept tempting me, and I grit my teeth as I chanced a glance at the kitchen, wondering how long I had before she was back. Not enough, I knew that. Still, looking down at my crotch made me believe it was worth at least a try, because the alternative was her surely seeing just how affected her little scene had made me.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The silence in the living room was my first indication that something was different, and as I stepped foot in the place where I’d left Tom not even five minutes ago, I realized my intuition was right - he’d abandoned the movie and left me alone in the main floor of the house.

Maybe he wanted to take a shower, or answer a call? I didn’t know, but I figured I should let him know I was back before he got worried, so I climbed up the stairs two at a time before stopping in front of the guest room he’d been staying in, suddenly frozen by what I heard.

“Y/N…” It was my name, breathed out in a whiney, raspy moan that left me no doubt over what was happening behind the door I now clutched so tightly. My mind drifted back to the movie we’d been watching, the scene I knew he’d see. Had I been the cause for his arousal?

My body acted of its own accord, the week of emotional tension before he arrived, replaced by the sexual energy that was always present whenever he was around finally getting the best of me.

I opened the door. His hand was curled around a large member, the sight of which had me whimpering as I clenched my thighs together, alerting me of my entrance. His eyes, which were closed, immediately widened upon seeing me, and he tried to cover his erection with both hands, even if it was obviously not possible to do so.

“Why are you shy?” I asked, head tilted as I analyzed the man before me, my mouth watering at the sight. I was desperate to give in to this desire, let go of the fears and anxieties that had been clawing at me ever since the first message arrived, and so I climbed on the bed like he was my prey, determined to make him crack and admit his own attraction to me.

“You called my name,” I noticed once I was on his lap, eyes taking inventory of every inch of pretty skin I couldn’t wait to bruise. “Don’t you want me?” At the sound of the insecurity in my voice, he jolted, eager to show that there wasn’t a reason for there to be any.

“Of course I do.” Smiling, I hummed appreciatively as I licked my lips, eyes darting down and seeing that he still hadn’t resumed his movements on his cock, even though it clearly needed some attention.

“Then why don’t you touch yourself while I suck little lovebites all over you huh?” Finally, I enveloped his pink lips with mine, eager to taste them, touch his tongue with mine. But I needed to see him cum way too badly, and I craved the control I knew I could exercise with him.

So I forced myself to pull away, laying kisses down his jaw until I reached his neck, starting to bite and suck there at the sound of his whines. Below us, I noticed he had started jerking off again, although hesitantly, and so I covered his hand with mine and forced him to get back to his previous pace.

“Show me how much you desired me,” I ordered, as he instantly fought back, “Kiss me again.” It was such a sweet request, and particularly in the breathless tone he tried to make petulant, it made me even more excited to play with the man I had wanted for so long.

“But do you really deserve another kiss?” I taunted, pressing them on his chest, on his biceps, anywhere other than his lips. He was breathing through his mouth now, long deep sighs being interjected by his moans and whines, and it all went straight to my panties.

“Yes,” he insisted, hand tightening around himself and a delicious blush spreading over his chest as I sat back on by heels to judge the hauntingly tempting image before me. He bit his lower lips in an effort to hold back his own sounds, but as I got rid of my clothes, his efforts proved fruitless, and a wanting cry escaped his throat as I forced him to quicken his movements once more.

“Oh, I see…” I wasn’t done teasing him, not by a long shot. “You’ve wanted me all along, haven’t you?” All he could do was nod, and I could see the underlying shyness in his reluctance to admit it.

“Well, I’ve wanted you too, baby. And right now, I want to suck you off until my jaw is sore, how does that sound like?” Another moan was all I got as a response, making me smile wider than I’d ever done before.

“But I don’t think you’ve earned it yet. So for now, all I’ll let you do is keep touching yourself while you suck on my tits, how about that?” His eyelids were heavy when he looked at me, having to throw his head back to be able to meet my eyes.

“Fuck… It’s… perfect.” I cooed at how wrecked he looked like, even with how little I’d touched him, my navel brushing his member briefly as we adjusted ourselves so he could wrap his lips around my nipple.

“Oh…” I gasped in delight as tingles raised up my spine at the pleasant sensation, and between us, I could feel his movements growing more desperate as my moans replaced his in the otherwise silent bedroom.

When I felt him spill all over my stomach, I pulled him away from my chest by my grip on his locks, finally giving him what he wanted and capturing his lips with mine once more. “Hmm…” I moaned once we parted and I’d scooped some of his release to give it a taste. “So sweet.”

Tom was looking at me like I was some sort of extraterrestrial being, chest visibly heaving in his effort to keep breathing. “Can I taste you know?” He at last managed to ask, and I pretended to think, before gently nudging him out of the bed and onto the floor.

“Yes,” I approved, wrapping his curls around my fingers again before bringing him down to the apex of my thighs, moaning as his tongue eagerly plunged inside of me, eager to get acquainted with the most intimate part of my body. “Who would have known you could be such a submissive little thing, huh?”

When he raised his head to answer, just the sight of my wetness dripping from the lower part of his face had my heart skipping a beat. “You should have known… A single word from you and I’d drop to my knees and worship you like you deserve… Mistress.”

#my fics #tom hiddleston smut #smut #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston reader #tom hiddleston reader insert #tom hiddleston reader inserts #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic

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solicuttle · 3 years

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Toritsuka’s Guide To Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Blood, Violence

Characters: Most of the cast

A very, very self-indulgent zombie apocalypse themed post. Not sure if I’m going to add a reader to this?

The world goes to shit when Toritsuka is getting his first (willing) kiss. He hasn’t seen her face yet but any girl who doesn’t run away at “hey cutie wanna smooch me?” must be beautiful.

She doesn’t seem to dislike the idea of kissing or start screaming bloody murder the minute Toritsuka leans in. It’s not as picture perfect as he thought his first kiss would’ve been-- kissing under the bleachers after skipping graduation is hardly scenic but Toritsuka’s a wise man, it would be dumb to waste this opportunity.

She’s close, so close he can feel the puffs of her breath on his face and—holy shit her breath stinks. Toritsuka stumbles back with a groan, hand clamping over his mouth to resist the urge to vomit. It takes less than two seconds to stand back up (leaning away from our first kiss is douche behavior) and he’s ready to apologize (and offer a few mints to her), “I’m so sorry—” he steps back to avoid the obvious slap he might receive; Toritsuka looks up – half of her face is a sickly green, and there’s a gaping hole where her eye should be.

He vomits on her shoe. And then runs, screaming bloody murder.

Toritsuka’s feet take him back to the school, because where else would he go?! Home is too dangerous, what if he runs into another not-cute-girl who wants to kill kiss him? He bursts into the gym – or well he tries, but Hairo’s blocking the way. The red head is built like a tank, and he refuses to budge, “What the fuck? Let me in, I’m going to be sick—”

At his words, a loud sob breaks through the room. Toritsuka stops his panic-induced struggling and turns towards the sound. It’s Teruhashi, this is a sight he never thought he’d see, but she’s curled into the corner, crying. Still as beautiful, but she’s crying. Mera and Yumehara sit next to her, Mera eating a packet of biscuits with vigor but the distress on her face is clear. Yumehara is staring blankly into the wall, scratching her arms vacantly. The blue graduation dress she’d spent ages gushing about is dirty and tattered.

The lights are flickering – they’d been working perfectly fine when Toritsuka had left from boredom – and whenever it swings and creaks it elicits another round of hushed sobs. Any words Toritsuka has dies on his throat, he goes lax in Hairo’s hold.

“Have you been bitten or scratched?”

The words come from Nendou, the weirdo sitting next to Kaidou – and Kaidou is obviously trying (and failing) to resist the urge to cry. Toritsuka mutedly shakes his head, and the redhead finally pulls him in before crushing him into a hug, “You aren’t dead! Amazing!”. Toritsuka balks, Hairo’s words cracking the tense atmosphere.

“Why would I be dead?!” Toritsuka once again struggles in Hairo’s hold, the other male not even flinching as he slams the doors shut. “Answer the question? Did the teachers find out I left after I received my diploma—”

“The teachers aren’t here anymore—” Kaidou’s wail interrupts his sentence; at the look of pure confusion on Toritsuka’s face, Kaidou adds, “You don’t know what’s going on, do you? Are you an idiot or something?”

“What’s going on?” His words have Kaidou staring at him incredulously. The blue haired male stops crying for a second, little laughs coming out. He’s in hysterics—Toritsuka would’ve cursed him out but Hairo flexes his muscles once and suddenly Toritsuka’s out of breath. Damn his hold is tight.

“You’re an idiot.” Those words have Yumehara murmuring in agreement, “The news—the news s-says that there’s a parasite and its killing people,” and that’s the most Kaidou says before he breaks into another fit of sobs and mumbles incoherently about “the doings of dark reunion”.

Whatever the fuck that means.

Hairo finally sets Toritsuka down. He gasps, inhaling that sweet, sweet oxygen that Hairo deprived him of. Kaidou is obviously a lost cause, the boy crying about the “Jet Black Wings” and Nendou’s too busy laughing at Kaidou. Not that Nendou was ever an option-- has Toritsuka ever mentioned how annoying Nendou is? A whole real girl liked Nendou before him! It’s times like this that Toritsuka truly understands that life has no balance.

A screeching sound snaps Toritsuka out of his jealousy induced reverie. Hairo’s pushing up chairs against the door he’d just come from. Toritsuka’s brow furrows from confusion, “Why are you pushing chairs against that door? There’s another one over there.”. He points at the curtains, many people forgot about that door when they hid it beneath the frilly curtains. That’s how he’d escaped their boring graduation.

Mera frowns, “There’s another door?” Her words come out muffled due to the food in her mouth.

“Close your mouth a bit Mera, some food is flying out.” Teruhashi takes a break from dabbing her eyes with tissue to kindly remind Mera. Said girl turns around, stress clear on her face,

“Eating relaxes me!”.

“Relax differently then I—” Yumehara’s words are cut off by a low growl. Toritsuka’s blood turns cold.

“Did you guys hear that sound?” Nobody gets to answer, another growl reinforces the idea that they are going to get mauled to death by something. Sure, they could exit through the door Hairo just finished blocking but that doesn’t account for whatever they could run into outside.

The curtains ruffle, the thing behind it obviously struggling. Teruhashi pales more than Toritsuka thought humanly possible—and this is the perfect opportunity to be her knight in shining armor but any thought of approaching her ends when the curtains rip at the seams. It’s a… thing.

The thing is hunched over, frothing at the mouth. It’s jaws gnash with each passing second, Toritsuka should move, should leave before the thing tries to kill him but his legs refuse to move. Is this how he’s going to die, at the hands of an ugly zombie? Even though it’s a staircase and a few tables away from them, Toritsuka can see his life flash before his eyes. He hasn’t even gotten his first kiss and he’s going to perish in obscurity.

The zombie growls, its maw opening to show a deformed set of teeth. Mera sucks on a lollipop. Toritsuka says his goodbyes.

And in the moment where he’s supposed to die—Toritsuka doesn’t die. The zombie falls down. Toritsuka’s eyes widen in surprise, the zombie nothing more than an unmoving splatter on the floor.

“Are you alright?!” Toritsuka never thought he’d be happy to hear Kuboyasu’s voice but in this very moment he could sing praises for the other boy. Kuboyasu’s suit is skewered, and tinted in red – its probably blood, but Toritsuka isn’t willing to think about why.

“Yes, I’m fine – I was about to protect the ladies,” the withering glare Yumehara sends his way shuts him up.

“Toritsuka’s still alive?” The voice is annoyed, and immediately Toritsuka knows who it is.

“Saiki!” The pink haired male stands next to Kuboyasu, dark green suit surprisingly neat and tidy. His glasses are in immaculate condition unlike Kuboyasu’s blood stained pair. “Why would I be dead?” Toritsuka sputters indignantly, “I can keep myself alive just fine.”

“Ah? You said you were going to be sick when you came in—" Toritsuka frowns, glaring at Nendou. The idiot smiles in return, and it takes all Toritsuka’s willpower to not throw a chair at the goof.

Saiki walks down the stairs, a frown etched on his face and holy hell Toritsuka has never been so happy to see him in his life—

When the thing came in, and Saiki and Kuboyasu killed it almost instantly, it hit Toritsuka: Saiki and Kuboyasu must be the protagonists of whatever horror story Toritsuka’s got himself in, and everyone knows the protagonists are typically the best people to be around. Unless you’re a woman – then you’ll become the damsel in distress, and nobody wants to be a real-life damsel in distress.

The only path to survive is obviously to stick close to Saiki (Kuboyasu’s a muscular freak so that’s a no), and the best way to do that is to let Saiki know he’s dependable!

“Saiki, I love you so much!”

“No.” Saiki’s words are the nail in the coffin.

“But without you I’ll die!”

Mera turns to face him, a chicken wing in her mouth, “I don’t think this is the time for a confession, Toritsuka.”

#the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki kusuo #saiki no psi nan #toritsuka reita #kaidou shun #kuboyasu aren #zombie #zombie apocolypse au #soli's imagines

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greatfay · 3 years

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controversial opinions?

Cold pizza actually not good. Tastes like angry bacteria.

There’s a completely separate class of gay men who are in a different, rainbow-tinted plane of reality from the rest of us and I don’t like them. They push for “acceptance” via commercialization of the Pride movement, assimilation through over-exposure, and focus on sexualizing the movement to be “provocative” and writing annoying articles that reek of class privilege instead of something actually important like lgbtqa youth homelessness, job discrimination, and mental health awareness.

Coleslaw is good. You guys just suck in the kitchen.

Generational divides ARE real: a 16-year-old and a 60-year-old right now in 2021 could agree on every hot button sociopolitical topic and yet not even realize it because they communicate in entirely different ways.

Sam Wilson is a power bottom. No I will not elaborate.

Allison’s makeover in The Breakfast Club good, not bad. She kept literally and metaphorically dumping her trash out onto the table and it’s clearly a cry for help. Having the attention and affection of a smart, pretty girl doing her makeup for her was sweet and helped her open up to new experiences. Not every loner wants to BE a loner (see: Bender, who is fine being a lone wolf).

Movie/show recommendations that start with a detailed “representation” list read like status-effecting gear in an RPG and it’s actually a turn-off for me. I have to force myself to give something a try in spite of it.

Yelling at people to just “learn a new language” because clearly everyone who isn’t you and your immediate vicinity of friends must be a lazy ignorant white American is so fucking stupid, like I get it, you’re mad someone doesn’t immediately know how to pronounce your name or what something means. But I know 2 languages and am struggling with a 3rd when I can between 2 jobs and quite frankly, I don’t have the time to just absorb the entire kanji system into my brain to learn Japanese by tomorrow night, or suddenly learn Arabic or Welsh. There are 6500 recorded languages in the world, what’s the chance that one of 3 I’ve learn(ed?) is the one you’re yelling at me about. Yes this is referring to that post yelling at people for not knowing how to pronounce obscure Irish names and words. Sometimes just explaining something instead of admonishing people for not knowing something inherently in the belief that everyone must be lazy entitled privileged people is uh... better?

Stop fucking yelling at people. I despise feeling like someone is yelling at me or scolding me, it triggers my Violence Mode, you don’t run me, you are not God, fuck off. Worst fucking way to "educate” people, it just feels good in the moment to say or write and doesn’t help. Yes I’ve done it before.

Violence is good actually.

Characters doing bad things ≠ an endorsement of bad things. Characters doing bad things that are unquestioned by the entire rest of the cast = endorsement of bad things, or at the least, a power fantasy by the creator. See: Glee, in which Sue’s awfulness is constantly called out, while Mr. Shue’s awfulness rarely is because he’s “the hero.” See also: the Lightbringer series, in which the protagonist is a violent manipulator who is praised as clever, charming, diplomatic, and genius by every supporting character (enemies included), despite the text never demonstrating such.

Euphoria is good, actually. It falls into this niche of the past decade of “dark gritty teen shows” but actually has substance behind it, but the general vibe I get from passive-aggressive tumblr posts from casual viewers is that this show is The Devil, and the criticism of its racier content screams pearl-clutching “what about the children??” to me.

Describing all diagnosed psychopaths as violent criminals is a damaging slippery slope, sure. But I won’t be mad at anyone for inherently distrusting another human who does not have the ability to feel guilt and remorse, empathy, is a pathological liar, or proves to be cunning and manipulative.

It’s actually not easy to unconditionally support and love everyone everywhere when you’ve actually experienced the World. Your perspective and values will be challenged as you encounter difficult people, experience hardship, are torn between conflicting ideas and commitments, and fail. My vow to never ever call the cops on another black person was challenged when an employee’s boyfriend marched into the kitchen OF AN ESTABLISHMENT to scream at her, in a BUSINESS I MANAGED, and threaten to BEAT the SHIT out of her. Turns out I can hate cops and hate that motherfucker equally, I am more than capable of both.

Defending makeup culture bad, actually. Enjoy it, experiment, master it, but don’t paint it as something other than upholding exactly what they want from you. Even using makeup to “defy the heteropatriarchal oppressors!” is still putting cash in their pockets, no matter how camp...

Not every villain needs to be redeemed, some of you just never outgrew projecting yourself onto monsters and killers.

Writing teams and networks queerbaiting is not the same as individuals queerbaiting. Nick Jonas performing exclusively at gay clubs to generate an audience really isn’t criminal; if they paid to go see him, that’s on them, he didn’t promise anyone anything other than music and a show. Do not paint this as similar to wealthy, bigoted executives and writing teams trying to snatch up the LGBTQA demographic with vague ass marketing and manipulative screenplays, only to cop out so as not to alienate their conservative audiences. And ESPECIALLY when the artists/actors/creators accused of queerbaiting or lezploitation then come out as queer in some form later on.

Queer is not a bad word, and I’ve no clue how that remains one of few words hurled at LGBTQA people that can’t be reclaimed. It’s so archaic and underused at this point that I don’t get the reaction to it compared to others.

People who defend grown-woman Lorelai Gilmore’s childish actions and in the same breath heavily criticize teenage religious abuse victim Lane Kim’s actions are not to be trusted. Also Lane deserved better.

Keep your realism out of my media, or at least make it tonally consistent. Tired of shows and movies and books where some gritty, dark shit comes out of nowhere when the narrative was relatively Romantic beforehand.

Actually people should be writing characters different from themselves, this new wave in the past year of “If you aren’t [X] you shouldn’t be writing [X]” is a complete leap backward from the 2010s media diversity movement. And if [X] has to do with an invisible minority status (not immediately visible disabilities, or diverse sexual orientations and gender identities, persecuted religious affiliations, mental illness) it’s actually quite fucked up to assume the creator can’t be whatever [X] is or to demand receipts or details of someone’s personal life to then grant them “permission” to create something. I know, we’re upset an actual gay actor wasn’t casted to play this gay character, so let’s give them shit about it: and not lose a wink of sleep when 2 years later, this very actor comes out and gives a detailed account of the pressure to stay closeted if they wanted success in Hollywood.

Projecting an actor’s personal romantic life and gender identity onto the characters they play is actually many levels of fucked up, and not cute or funny. See: reinterpreting every character Elliot Page has played through a sapphic lens, and insulting his ability to play straight characters while straight actors play actual caricatures of us (See also: Jared Leto. Fuck him).

I’m fucking sick of DaBaby, he sucks. “I shot somebody, she suck my peepee” that’s 90% of whatever he raps about.

“Political Correctness” is not new. It was, at one point, unacceptable to walk into a fine establishment and inform the proprietor that you love a nice firm pair of tits in your face. 60 years ago, such a statement would get you throw out and possibly arrested under suspicion of public intoxication. But then something happened and I blame Woodstock and Nixon. And now I have to explain to a man 40 years my senior that no, you can’t casually mention to the staff here, many of whom are children, how you haven’t had a good fuck in a while. And then rant about the “Chinese who gave us the virus.” Can’t be that upset with them if you then refused to wear your mask for 20 minutes.

Triggering content should not have a blanket ban; trigger warnings are enough, and those who campaign otherwise need to understand the difference between helping people and taking away their agency. 13 Reasons Why inspired this one. Absolutely shitty show, sure, but it’s a choice to watch it knowing exactly what it contains.

Sasuke’s not a fucking INTJ, he’s an ISFP whose every decision is based off in-the-moment feelings and proves incapable of detailed and logical planning to accomplish his larger goals.

MCU critique manages to be both spot-on and pointless. Amazing stories have been told with these characters over the course of decades; but most of it is toilet paper. Expecting a Marvel movie to be a deeply detailed examination of American nationalism and imperialism painted with a colorful gauze of avant-garde film technique is like expecting filet mignon from McDonalds. Scarf down your quarter pounder or gtfo.

Disparagingly comparing the popularity and (marginal) success of BLM to another movement is anti-black. It is not only possible but also easy to ask for people’s support without throwing in “you all supported BLM for black people but won’t show support for [insert group]” how about you keep our name out your mouth? Black people owe the rest of the world nothing tbh until yall root out the anti-blackness in your own communities.

It is the personal demon/tragic flaw of every cis gay/bi/pan man to externalize and exorcize Shame: I’m talking about the innate compulsion to Shame, especially in the name of Pride and Progress. Shame for socioeconomic “success,” shame for status of outness, shame for fitness and health, shame for looks, shame for style and dress, shame for how one fits into the gender binary, shame for sexual positions and intimacy preferences, shame for fucking music tastes. Put down the weapon that They used to beat you. Becoming the Beater is not growth, it’s the worst-case scenario.

Works by minorities do not have to be focused on their marginalized identities. Some ladies want to ride dragons AND other ladies. The pressure on minorities to create the Next Great Minority Character Study that will inevitably get snuffed at the Oscars/Peabody Awards is some bullshit when straight white dudes walk around shitting out mediocre screenplays and books.

Canadians can stfu about how the US is handling COVID-19 actually. Love most of yall, but the number of Canadian snowbirds on vacation (VACATION??? VA.CAT.ION.) in the supposed “hotbed” of my region that I’ve had to inform our mask policies and social distancing to is ASTOUNDING. Incroyable! I guess your country has a sizable population of entitled, privileged, inconsiderate, wealthy, and ignorant people making things difficult for everyone, just like mine :)

No trick to eliminate glasses fog while wearing my mask has worked, not a single one, it actually has affected my job and work speed and is incredibly frustrating, and I have to deal with it and pretend it’s not a problem while still encouraging others to follow the rules for everyone’s safety and the cognitive dissonance is driving me insane.

It’s really really really not anti-Japanese... to be uncomfortable with the rampant pedophilia in manga and anime, and voice this. I really can’t compare western animation’s sneakier bullshit with pantyshots of a 12-year-old girl.

Most of the people in the cottagecore aesthetic/tag have zero interest in all the hard work that comes with maintaining an isolated property in the countryside, milking cows and tending crops before sunrise, etc. And that’s okay? They just like flowers and pretty pottery and homemade pastries. Idk where discourse about this came from.

You think mint chip ice-cream tastes like toothpaste because you’re missing a receptor that can distinguish the flavors, and that sucks for you. It’s a sort of “taste-blindness” that can make gum spicy to some while others can eat a ghost pepper without crying.

Being a spectacle for the oppressive class doesn’t make them respect us, it makes them unafraid of us. This means they continue to devour us, but without fear of our retaliation.

Only like 4 people on tumblr dot com are actually prepared for the full ramifications of an actual revolution. The rest of you just really imprinted onto Katniss, or grew up in the suburbs.

Straight crushes are normal. They’re people first, sexual orientation second. Can’t always know.

The road to body positivity is not easy, especially if what you desire is what you aren’t.

You’re actually personally responsible for not voluntarily bringing yourself into an environment that you know is not fit for you unless you have the resolve to manage it. Can’t break a glass ceiling without getting a few cuts. This one’s a shoutout to my homophobic temp coworkers who decided working a venue with a drag show would be a good idea. This is also is a shoutout to people who want to make waves but are surprised when the boat tips. And also a shoutout to people who—wait that’s it’s own controversial opinion hold up.

Straight people can and should stay the fuck out of gay bars and queer spaces. “yoUrE bEInG diVisiVe” go fuck yourself.

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rosepetals-flyingbirds · 5 years

Text

Golden Boy.

With: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Word Count: 3.334

Note: At first, I was trying a Dark!Steve but I failed since I didn’t want to involve rape nor violence. Smut.

You don’t know how this happened.

Better yet, how you agreed to it.

Steve Rogers was a decent man, wasn’t he?! When we saw him in papers or even so politely answering people we would think: ’Uau, that is a man that anyone would marry with. Look at him, all polite and righteous.’

So why you were sitting in his lap panting while he held your body and his cum filled the condom inside of you?

When the night started you didn’t expect to get so lucky to have Captain America fucking you.

But him, showing up his wild side to you? Kept you breathless.

Four Hours Ago.

You didn’t like clubs much, it was all the same, a night that you would spend money, get stressed with uncalled men groping you and probably going home slightly drunk and having to deal with a rude taxi’s driver.

But you needed to have fun, live your life as your friend said, so you did. Placed your best short and uncomfortable dress and went clubbing.

And one hour later you were pissed and slightly anxious. Pissed at the weird sweaty people grinding on you and to four dudes that held your ass, and when you complained you were entitled as a prude.

So fuck it.

You walked away from the annoying place and walked till you could find a calm bar.

Duo your attire some people stared you, but you were pissed so you ignored them and asked for a martini.

You checked your phone entering and closing social media repeatedly, the tv on showed the report about the Avengers’s newest accomplishment.

“What happened?” You called the bartender and pointed to the tv.

“They got some human traffickers. Saved lot of people.”

Well, you couldn’t be pissed with that. It was a great new, to be honest.

Captain America and Iron Man appeared in civilians footage, Tony was handsome, but Steve… you could only imagine having him by your side.

Two drinks later you had enough and asked for a water bottle before paying. Fresh air and water would help to your begging of a dizzy state.

Back at your apartment, you let a sigh, what should have been a good night of unstressing went to a hole of loneliness and doubt.

You loved New York, you always wanted to live there, have the cliche lifestyle every American movie showed whenever the protagonist was in the big city. But you were lonely. You wish you could not care and fuck strangers in the club’s bathroom, or pay for unnecessary stuff not caring for rent or worrying about your future.

Or better yet, you wish you could be transported to a fairyland of princes of good heart that would do the imaginable just to see you happy.

But real life wasn’t like that, it was hard and cruel.

So what could you do?

Glancing in the mirror on the bathroom you stopped from removing your dress. It was 11 pm still and you wanted to see the city moving, but not going down and walking, just gazing at the rocky jungle.

You stepped on your flip flops and went to the rooftop. The atmosphere was calm, calm in the sense of only you could see those people living their lives.

They were down there, getting out of work, going to party, going home, they were laughing or crying or feeling empty like you.

Wasn’t everybody empty?

You sat in the chair that the janitor used on his lunch breaks and sat down to relax, you couldn’t sit in the end of the concrete and let your legs move in the air.

And closing your eyes and feeling your mind meddling in the city’s wildness you heard a grunt and someone stepping in the rooftop.

You jumped out of the chair confused of anyone going up there and even more confused of seeing Captain fucking America on his suit and current longer hair.

“Uh, please don’t tell anyone.”

You looked behind your shoulder and back ar him. “What?”

“That I’m here, I, I’m just really tired and I can’t handle reporters or anyone right now so please just-I”

“You think I’ll start yelling your name or take a picture to post in some stupid social media like Twitter giving the address so people can come here?”

He looked intensely tired but nodded his head.

You let a forced laugh and sat down again in the not so comfortable sun-chair. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” Steve kept looking at you but didn’t move. “Listen, I really don’t know why you’re here at my rooftop but I’m tired too and the last thing I want is people meddling the place. So if you want to… keep doing whatever you came to go on, I just want to keep looking at the lights till I get sleepy.”

His shoulder relaxed at that but he didnt walk to the fire stairs he took nor to the door that let inside the building. He just sat down two meters from you propping his back against one of the walls.

You didn’t look at him because it would make him nervous or annoyed, but the sound of his heavy breath was clear.

Your eyes kept closed and your ears picking the sounds here and there.

Steve was staring at you confused, even if you didn’t freak out about a super hero being near you, didn’t even try to a conversation, you just… ignored him.

Well, ignore is a harsh word, you just respected his space.

Seeing your eyes opening and your body sliding down in the chair so your eyes got directed to the sky, he broke his gaze. “Are you okay?”

You smirked at his question, apparently he was a hero in and off work. “Yeah, just normal crises.” He chuckled but you didn’t look at him, well, not until you sat straight again. “You?”

Letting a sigh he sucked his bottom lip, talking to a stranger could be better than talk to someone you know for years. “Normal crisis too, I guess. I’m just tired.”

“I bet, I mean if me in my normal extraordinary boring life am tired and trying to move on, you having to go around the world and save millions of people… damn.”

He smiled, his eyes closed and he did what you said you were doing ’meddling in the city wildness’.

After a peaceful moment of silence Steve stood up. You looked at him approaching and all of your wild thoughts with him came rushing to you, after all he was right there.

He pointed to the floor next to your chair and you nodded, not being a hundred percent sure of his intentions, so he sat and kept near you. You didn’t think much before getting up and closing the chair placing it where the janitor let’s, but before Steve could feel embarrassed you walked to him and sat by his side.

“Wanna talk? Sometimes talking to a stranger is more helpful.”

“Yeah, I think that too.”

You gazed at his recessive face so you raised your pinky. “I swear whatever you tell me here it won’t leave here. This is a safe place.”

He chuckled. “Like a therapist?”

“Yeah, I guess, well, cutting off the money and the professional look and the watch.”

“Watch?”

“Yeah, the watch in the wall or on the therapist’s wrist where they keep glancing at because the moment you end your scheduled appointment they kick you out or ask for more money.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

He held your pinky with him and you smiled at the gesture. Who would think, Y/N Y/L/N in the rooftop holding pinkies with Captain America?

“We did well today. It was a long case, and we went there to break it out and free those people. And it’s good, refreshing to help them, but it’s always that. We go around the world and shit keeps happening. And at the end of the day I just lay awake before passing out of exhaustion and waking up ready to enter the quinjet and fight another battle again. It’s a routine.”

You didn’t answer him, only shook your head signaling that you understood what he meant. Which he was grateful for, lots of people gave advices, but he just wanted to be heard.

“What is your name?” He asked.

“If I tell you I won’t be a stranger anymore, and then I will not be able to hear you out.”

He smirked at your reply. “Okay, then can I ask why you’re wearing a dress and flip flops?”

“Haven’t you heard? It’s the newest trend.” You joked, but your smile fell and you shrugged your shoulders. “I went out tonight, clubbing, but… but it’s dumb. People are dumb, so I left and came home.”

“Something happened?”

“The normal, loud weird songs that made me feel mental chaos and as I was inside a video game. Men groping me, my friends being drunk and calling me prude because I wasn’t fucking someone in the bathroom. Oh and expensive drinks.”

“Yeah, I don’t like parties much.”

You never stopped to imagine what super heroes did for fun. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, big ones I mean.”

“I bet you never went clubbing, which you should be grateful for.”

Steve smirked and looked at you, he bit his lower lip and looked down at your body. When was the last time he felt lust?

“Can’t afford my face being thrown in media, while I go get drunk people to get hurt out there.” He said and looked down at his hands, being a hero was a full-time thing.

“Imagine one night of freedom, of pure… joy.” You said imagining Steve Rogers being himself.

“Would you want that?” His voice was lower and graver, which sent a chill to your pussy making it clench at nothing.

“Would you?” You asked and Steve could hear your heartbeat accelerating.

Steve moved so he could kiss you, and you were shocked the moment his lips met yours, but you melted on his lips and quickly allowed his tongue to enter your mouth.

He stood up pulling you to his body making your feet touch the ground, his hands went to your thighs pulling you up to him.

You moaned at the kiss and Steve bit your lip making you moan and grind your pussy on his abs.

“Which floor?”

“Third.”

Steve walked to the door that leads to the steps and you left his lips trying to get your breath back. “Wait!” Steve looked at you imagining you wanted to stop. “I, uh, it’ll be better if we go… walking.” You chuckled blushing which made Steve chuckle as well. “Because, you know, neighbors.”

Steve let an almost invisible sigh of relief, but since your senses were hyperware you managed to get it.

Walking to your floor with an awkward silence you almost forgot the heat burning inside of you.

Well, that until you entered your place and Steve held you against his body again. You closed the door and Steve carried you to your bedroom.

He threw you on the bed and you let a small moan at the impact, Steve yelled sex, and with that beard he wore now you knew your panties were soaked.

Steve kneeled in bed trapping your body on his, you touched his arms going up to his neck and taking him to your lips. Steve grinded his covered cock against you, he took his shirt off and his lips went back to yours.

You unbuttoned his pants and took the zip down, making Steve smirk looking at your slightly trembling hand.

Steve ripped your dress and you gasped.

“I really liked that one.” You complained.

“I will send you a new one.”

Taking your bra and panties off you and Steve started to roll in bed. His kisses were rough and his beard scratched but in a wwonderful way.

His strong arms were firm and when he hugged you and squeezed tight you felt safe as aroused.

When Steve was on top of you again he pushed your hips down the bed and trailed kisses on your neck. His nipped and sucked and your hips automatically grinded on him. “Steve.” You moaned.

“Call me, Captain.” He whispered and you moaned at the mere feeling his deep voice sent to your body.

He sucked your right nipple while his hand squeezed your other one. His mouth was so wet and hot and you didn’t know if it was possible to cum only like that.

“Please,” You mumbled.

“Please what?”

“Please, Captain, I, I need you.” You moaned, your cheeks growing hot at the words.

Steve smirked and left an last kiss on your breast. “Good girl.”

He kissed above your belly button and his hands squeezed your hips before trailed them down holding the back of your thighs and opening them.

Steve breathed your scent and moaned, his two fingers went to his mouth and then he started to run it up and down on your wet labia.

“Shit!” You moaned holding the sheets tightly.

His fingers gathered the quantity of wetness he wanted and he entered your pussy. Even Captain America’s fingers were amazing.

He made a come here motion and you jumped when he hit your g-spot. Finally, someone did.

He kept on and on and his piercing blue eyes were fixed on your face, the expression of pleasure made him extremely horny.

He kept on and on and when you came it was like a star fell on your building. Everything turned white and you were shaking.

Before your breath and heart stabilized, Steve held your tights and turned you around.

His hand touched your lower back pushing your back down while your ass was up in the air.

Steve’s lips licked your wetness, and you were surprised.

You pulled your legs together and Steve tasked behind you. “Open your legs.”

“Steve, I, I can’t.” Not another orgasm.

“I wasn’t asking.” He stated and your body was manhandled so your glistening lips were open and shining for his lips.

The way his beard scratched your skin sent another level of arousal through your veins. You moaned and moaned and if Steve wasn’t killing your cunt you could laugh at the karma that is your moaning level, after all, porn stars were exaggerated. Well, if the actors fucked like Steve Rogers does… they aren’t necessarily acting.

A series of slaps went to your ass cheeks and another orgasm reached you.

“Arrghhhhh.”

Suddenly your body was pulled and placed in the bed, your eyes found the ceiling and it looked like the wall was trembling.

Steve smiled seeing the way he made you feel, he kissed his way up and bit your neck playfully.

The level of endorphin running through you was enormous.

Everything was buzzing and when you finally calmed down you were laid on your back with Steve kissing your neck. The smirk on his face would be annoying if he didn’t manage to give you the best orgasm of your life.

You ran your hands on his wide shoulders and attacked his lips with the heated kiss you could muster. His body was like marble.

You scratched his back and bit his lower lip making him moan.

His erection was hot on your thigh and you reached his member holding it in your hand. Steve looked at you and something about breathing the same air was exhilarating.

You pumped his big cock and that man moaning and sweating above you was a sight to behold.

The skin was so smooth and you wanted it inside you, but precaution was important. Steve got slighty confused when you reached to the nightstand.

“Condom.” You whispered.

Steve grabbed the thing and sat on his legs opening the plastic with his teeth. You sat too and kissed his arm while he placed the condom. Honestly, you never understood when people said that didn’t use condoms because it would break the mood. Seriously? Something about men placing the condom on their erect cock was a turn on.

Protect and ready to go Steve attacked your lips again and you felt his cock going up and down on your cunt.

“Fuck.” He cursed on his breath.

Steve sank in and your hands went to hold his face in desperation to hold onto something. The man was with his mouth agape and looking at your expression. “You’re so beautiful. Fuck, so tight.”

He was all in and you couldn’t even move your legs. “Oh my God.” You cried.

And Steve took his cock out till he pushed in again. And soon he made a pace and sat on the bed pulling your legs so your wet pussy was still holding him.

Steve squeezed your waist and pounded into you like he was going to war in the next morning. “Ahhh!”

You yelled and one of his hands held your breast squeezing it tight.

You were almost coming when Steve pulled your body and made you straddle his lap. His right hand held behind your neck so the both of you stared each other and the other one squeezed your ass.

Almost automatically your body started to jump up and down on him and his thrusts met yours.

You literally yelled when you felt your whole body exploding.

Steve cursed again and held you so tight that your need for oxygen got even bigger.

He gave more four deep thrusts and he fell above of you making you two hit the mattress.

Steve moved to his side and you almost thanked him because he was almost crushing you.

You looked at him and covered your eyes giggling. “Uau, I can’t believe the night turned out like that.”

“In a good way?” He asked.

“In an amazing you.”

“To be honest, me too. I’m glad I got up in your apartment’s rooftop.”

You laughed at his response but your mind went to the logical spot saying that this was over and you would never see Captain America again.

Steve sat on the bed and you stared at his defined back while he looked at the door. “I should leave.”

The inevitable.

“Yeah.” He looked at you and you gave him a small smile, you didn’t want to sound clingy.

“Unless… nothing.” He started to speak but shook his head and got on his feet.

“Unless what?”

“If you… allowed me to stay, the night I mean. But I know its weird.”

“Weird?”

“21st century weird?” He tried.

You laughed and got on your feet opening your wardrobe. “You can stay, it’s okay, I actually prefer if you… you know, stay.” Pulling a boxer underwear you threw at him.

“What is this?”

“So you can sleep on, its mine so don’t you worry.” He looked confused at first. “I bought three of those, they are loose and comfortable. Panties can be annoying sometimes, so I use those to sleep.” You explained. Looking at his uniform on the floor you and pointed to the bathroom. “And if you want to take a shower you can, there are clean towels in the second drawer.”

Steve accepted the inventation and you laid in bed while he took the shower.

Captain America wouldn’t steal your house, right?! And after some drinks, three orgasms and the fact that it was four in the morning you drifted to sleep.

Later on, you felt muscled arms holding you close, it was a feeling of safety that you welcomed with open arms.

Steve kissed your neck and pulled the duvet above you two. “What is your name?”

Mumbling your answer Steve smirked at your response. “If I tell you we won’t be strangers anymore.”

“Maybe that would be a good thing.”

Your heart flustered but you tried to not create expectations, even if it was really really hard. “Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

Steve repeated your name and you smiled at how good it sounded in his lips.

…

Honestly, Steve with a beard can have me any time, anywhere.

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #captain america x reader #captain america smut

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munchies-for-thought · 4 years

Text

The reason your favorite character is flawed and how it changed how I saw my life

Jun 18, 2020

Context: I’m a huge fan of the anime “JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure”. (Reading Part 6 pls don’t spoil kthx bai). Don’t worry. You don’t even have to know about anime to get my message. It��s just the example closest to me.

The revelation behind each flaw

Rohan Kishibe is a character that is incredibly talented as a manga artist. He is so obsessed in his craft that he goes to terrifying and ethically questionable extents to get inspiration for his stories. Sometimes a villain, sometimes a hero. His art is everything for him. Well worth risking his or someone else’s life. He is generally a good guy, and wishes good upon the world. He just won’t go out of his way to make it happen. He is also defeated almost immediately after we meet him.

Rohan Kishibe is indeed one of my favorite characters of all times for a multitude of reasons, yet when describing him, he clearly is a flawed character. Yet this is NOT about him. While you read this blog, please think on the coolest fictional character you can think of. Do you have one in mind? Can you answer the following about your favorite character?

Has your favorite character failed?

Has he been hurt badly?

Are some things out of his control?

Do most people in his world generally understand the struggle they go through?

You’ll see when comparing with friends that we mostly agree on these answers even when thinking on different characters. The interesting truth lies in the common factor behind these answers, and learning a bit from the power of good storytelling.

One of the most precious things that I have gained from playing videogames, watching anime and playing Dungeons & Dragons all my life, is the first-hand knowledge of the power of a good story. Although it is in the HOW you make a good story, where I found this revelation that helped me so much.

What I am trying to say might be simple and even obvious when read, but not truly understood. If you bear with me a bit longer, I will attempt not to say, but to explain. I’ll show you the building blocks of how I learned so you truly understand as I did.

Dungeon and Dragons’ Character Backgrounds

The first time I made a new character in Dungeons and Dragons (Drow Elf Bard btw) I was blown away when I found out that whereas you get to pick from options that greatly impact your likelihood of winning, you also had to pick background and personality options that held no significant impact on your success.

You could choose to be a triumphant noble, a devote acolyte, a successful guild merchant or even a lying charlatan. Hell, if you wanted to you could even pick an orphan who had lost it all in the edgiest way known to man!

The book was also quite good at giving you specific quirks that brought that character to life. All of this happened because D&D is focused on group storytelling. Everyone wants your character to be interesting so their adventure gets 10x cooler when their complex characters interact with yours in intriguing and unexpected ways.

For example:

The secret beauty behind flaws

I was just a tad... confused. I had to chose a flaw? Why would I want to do this? All of these options look just like ugly parts of your character’s personality and could easily affect them negatively within the story.

Was this a balancing feature? A rule simply put there to make you less awesome, so no one is too overpowered? I just could NOT wrap my head around it. I couldn’t understand how this could make things fun. They were ruining my character.

It was until I started maturing as an individual and learned more about game design and storytelling that I started to appreciate how genius that was. No one cares for the story of perfect, bland, basic individuals who always succeed and have never made mistakes before. Because that is not real, it doesn’t work for an interesting story if there’s no sadness. If there’s no pain, you can just simply look away.

It was to be expected of the game designers of the best roleplaying game in the world to know that having flaws, failures, challenges, weaknesses, mistakes, all of them are ESSENTIAL for a great story to be told!

Was there a moment in your favorite character’s story where his failures and his pain made you love them on a whole new level? Aren’t those failures what drives your characters to become who they are? Would it be a better story if they had always succeeded?

So who is this Rohan Kishibe and, as an artist, what is his take on good storytelling?

Rohan’s Philosophy

Not only is Rohan a good example of a flawed character, but he also has a very interesting philosophy. He is a famous and wealthy manga artist. You’ve got to understand that, to Rohan, his craft is EVERYTHING. It is the thing he does best and what defines him.

Let me just show you one quote of his, so you understand his artistic philosophy:

“Reality is the energy that breathes life into a piece of work, and reality itself is entertainment. People often think that manga are drawn from imagination and fantasy, but that’s not actually true! For me, drawing something that i’ve experienced, or something that has moved me, is what makes it interesting!”

His pursuit for inspiration is so great, that he constantly goes to insane lengths to gain inspiration. This unrelenting desire is why he was originally a villain. Yet even when the protagonist defeated him, all Rohan could think of was of how this set of unfortunate and unlucky events was within itself a hell of a REAL story to use as inspiration. He saw value even in his misfortune as long as it was honest, untapped, unadulterated and pure reality. That’s his trade secret as a famous and successful storyteller.

Understanding reality, storytelling and our identity

Warning: We’re about to get metaphysical. You might wanna take that bong hit right now. You’ve been warned.

Talking about reality is like opening Pandora’s box. It is such a massively complex topic that before we can even get to the nitty-gritty of it, let’s just agree on the following for the sake of this conversation:

Depending on how skeptic you are, reality could be mostly subjective or arbitrarily objective. So just follow my lead on this one and match your understanding with mine at least while you read this blog.

NO ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSES OR REALITIES

Fate is merely the belief that there is a predestined way things will happen no matter what. Since its only requirement is also its only consequence, (which is also impossible to prove) then even thinking on fate is pointless or even harmful to an individual as it removes agency from himself and turns him into a bystander in his own life.

Facts are limited to the provable physical world. If you can’t prove it, you don’t KNOW it is real, but you could still believe it to be real.

Our understanding of ourselves, comes partly from how others perceive us and their own subjective view of reality.

As mere humans we don’t completely control reality, but we control how it affects us.

Your own experiences and passions have a gargantuan influence on your interpretation of reality.

Storytelling could be simplified as “the way in which reality is described”.

Changing how you tell a story doesn’t change the facts.

That last one sounds a bit anticlimactic doesn’t it? Specially since we’ve talked so much about storytelling just to find out it can’t change reality. You might even wonder if its uses are only limited to art?

Fret not! This is where it all starts coming together.

My story

Before you disregard storytelling as just an art form, or an overglorified logbook, let’s think outside of the box and take a few leaps with me. Let me show you when was it that it clicked for me:

“Just when the COVID-19 lockdown was about to begin, I was at one of my lowest. I’ve always been someone very adamant on living life as he sees best. Even when friends or family wouldn’t understand my decision, I would still pursue my own path. I was proud of this and felt it made me immune to what other people thought. Yet, years of failed relationships were starting to make me doubt myself.

After an emotional breakdown at Denny’s after being stood-up (Great story for another day) I started worrying that the problem might be me. I’ve always been open to feedback as long as it makes sense to me in a logical way, but I had built so much thought behind who I was, that I didn’t even consider that maybe, I was more flawed than what I had originally assessed.

Maybe if all these bad things kept happening to me, there was a constant behind it all. Judging by the fact that these happened throughout the span of years and with different people, it was only reasonable to assume I was the only constant. Maybe my relationships, both in love and in friendship, were failing not because of individual and complex reasons, but because I was involved in all of them.

Maybe I just won’t build close friends or a family, but I guess I can still find a way to enjoy life. It’s just a lonely life, a very lonely life, but it’s best to face reality head on. That’s what I have always taught myself, right? It would be foolish not to do so when the answer is an inconvenient one. It’s still reality. Better get used to it I guess.”

Wow, that went to a very dark place didn’t it? It’s crazy looking at it in retrospective, but while it happened, it really felt like that was just the facts. I sucked at friends and love. That was just the cold hard reality to me. I mused:

“It’s like if I was a D&D character with low charisma doomed to suck at social encounters... “

and then a sudden realization froze me to the core...

Even if by mere accident, I ended up thinking of myself as a D&D character. Remember all that talk about flawed characters? Well, what if I would see myself as a flawed character? We already agreed that the best characters fail, struggle, suffer, cry, rage, and they make mistakes!

It’s like I had opened a whole new dimension that brought new light into who I was. Those weren’t horrible memories of things that broke me down and I wish no one would ever find out anymore. Those were just wild chapters on the bizarre adventure that is my life. These are badges of honor of what my very own story is!

Storytellers are already influencing your reality

I won’t stand here and tell you that everything bad happens for a good reason. Please be careful not to take the wrong message out of this. That wasn’t what I realized at that moment. I finally was able to see that there were two storytellers that had been affecting me all my life, and I hadn’t really seen their influence before!

Let me unmask these two powerful beings that through their storytelling, had changed my reality.

Powerful Storyteller #1 - Those close to you

Did you notice how the story that I was listening from my friends and love interests was sounding aggressively negative towards my self-value? I thought I didn’t care but I was indeed interpreting my life through their stories.

Since we already understand that we each have our own interpretation of life, good and wrong, then it’s not that hard for us to understand that we will never fully agree on what’s cool. Some of us love things that most people don’t even understand. So when they talk to you, they are inadvertently telling you a story about how you’re weird, instead of fascinating.

If only you could have friends or people who DID understand you, then maybe the stories about you would be seen in a much more positive light. It’s not your friends fault for not understanding, you were just asking something unreasonable from them.

Get yourself surrounded by those who are weird like you. You’ll notice that for the right crowd, you’re just the coolest person just for being who you are. That feeling is just invigorating in every sense.

Powerful Storyteller #2 - Yourself

Back in my story, you can see how I took a lot of my own “interpretations” as “facts” or even “reality” when I told myself my own story. You could have just as well told my same story but in a different way with a much more positive light:

“My relationships did fail, but that doesn’t necessarily reflect on my self-worth. I can continuously fail but love the fact that I’m the type of character that is still hopeful and positive even after repeatedly failing and suffering pain each time.”

It’s important you understand what makes you cool as a character. Because it is your job to tell yourself the story of who you are, what you’ve done, and who you will be. You have already been doing so for as long as you can remember, so you don’t even notice it anymore. You are STILL, to this day, re-telling yourself your story and changing how you feel about some parts of it.

What can we do about it?

So if you already are in charge of such a crucial and delicate task, why don’t you apply what we’ve learned so far? Can’t you see how you as the audience (from your own storytelling) would feel when seeing your main character in emotional pain? Don’t you feel empathy and love towards it because of all it has struggled?

You have the power to choose whether or not you will tell your story as the sad log of things you suck at, or as the crazy adventures of someone who’s just trying to do their best. Someone who is AWESOME because you do understand why he gets so excited when talking about that thing, and why he is so disappointed that that other thing didn’t work out again.

Those dark painful memories are beautiful crystallizations of true art! You already have what Rohan Kishibe is willing to kill to get. You already have an amazing REAL story, you now just have to use your storytelling skills to make yourself some justice, and talk about yourself like the amazing character you are when you tell that story to yourself next time you go to sleep.

At least when it comes to my story, well, the only reason why I would ever even think of writing a blog this long, is because I’ve changed the way I tell my story. I firmly believe that most people will never even have the opportunity to read this, but I have also seen value in these thoughts even if there’s no one besides myself who will listen to my story. If anything, at least I hope my story helps you love your character a bit more, just how I have learned to truly appreciate mine.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for listening to my story. I would always love to hear yours.

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inner-dreamscape · 4 years

Text

Pink Skies pt. 2

Title: Sirens

Part One

Also posted on AO3

The electrical buzzing of the blinking 'VANCANCY' sign outside the motel was hypnotizing. Chuuya stared blankly down at his hands, splayed open in the red light, then splayed out in the darkness when the sign blinked back off again. Again and again, his hands appeared in a haunting cycle, each time the same. Nothing changed. Nothing he did afterwards changed the fact that his hands were stained red.

It was a day to celebrate but Chuuya couldn't fathom the happiness the others felt at his first successive kill. He had to leave. He had to escape. So, he ran back to the motel room the first opportunity he got and he spent the next two hours burning his skin under a hot shower and wasting all the soap in trying to clean the red from his hands. But no matter what he did, he couldn't erase it. Couldn't wash the stink and the stickiness away. That red clung to his skin as if that person's soul haunted him for what he had done.

His hands trembled, or maybe it was his entire body. He didn't know. He wanted to cry but the shock and disgust and the urge to scream all warred within him that no tears were able to be shed. So he just sat there, on the floor next to the single bed, staring at his hands. He couldn't look away from them, didn't want to look away. Afraid that looking away would dismiss the act that he had committed. That it would devalue a human's life even if that human was rotten to the core.

He didn't know how long he had stayed there but before he knew it, the sun was rising and the red light was washed out. The only thing left were his clean palms.

Just like that.

Chuuya peeled a hand away from hugging his knees to stare down at them. Without his gloves on, they were the same as back then, clean and devoid of any blood. But he knew better.

The guy he managed to track down went down easily enough. It was easy to set his death up like a suicide. So wracked with guilt about putting an innocent man in critical care that he ended up hanging himself. Too late to be saved before the cops descended on him to arrest him for the drunken hit and run. He only hated that he couldn't have made a mess out of him, for Dazai.

For Oda.

It's been a whole week since Oda got out of critical care. Ango and Kunikida have been taking turns watching over the kids, with Dazai helping out whenever he wasn't by Oda's side at the hospital. The first 3 days, it took both him and Ango to drag Dazai out of the hospital room in order for Chuuya to take him home to sleep. It became easier to convince Dazai to leave once Oda woke up to tell him himself.

True to Chuuya's prediction, the first meal Oda asked for was curry. Thankfully, the nurse scheduled was able to dissuade him from breaking doctor's orders. From then on, all the nurses assigned to him had to keep an eye on the visitors to make sure none of them brought in contraband food. They kept a very strong eye on Ango, much to the man’s chagrin.

Despite the emergency surgery Oda had to go under, he escaped the crash with internal abdominal injuries, a broken arm and leg, bruised ribs and a heavy concussion. He would have to undergo physical therapy once his arm and leg healed, but the doctors were hopeful that there wouldn't be any lasting damage. Chuuya was glad. He didn’t know how he would have handled Dazai if there had been lasting damage. The scars and disabilities reminders about how they both had failed to protect family.

The noise from the shitty TV suddenly rose in volume as the characters on screen screamed at each other. He wasn't really paying attention to it, having it on as background noise. It was one of those rare days that their neighbors were away and the floor was blessedly silent. The thin walls left little to the imagination and privacy a thing to be missed. But that night, he couldn't take it. The silence. So, the TV was on.

It helped to distract his raging nerves and anxiousness. But it could only help for so long. Flipping through the limited channels, nothing caught his attention that he could fully immerse himself in. Even the game system he and Dazai scrimped and saved up for, for a joint Christmas present to themselves (and to be honest, the kids for when they visited), didn't seem enticing. He sat there, watching the over acted drama play out on the small screen. By the time the protagonist was making her exit, he had fully chewed his thumb nail down to the skin.

His partner was still visiting Oda and would probably stay there until the nurses kicked him out after visiting hours were over. Maybe he had time to go out and buy some cheap wine before Dazai came back. He had finished his stock yesterday, using liquid courage to help him finish his plan. Perhaps he could get drunk and go to bed early, forget about today and not worry about tomorrow. He means, Dazai knew he was planning something like this right? Chuuya wasn't part of the goody-goody two shoes agency so he didn't have to feel guilty over what Dazai would think. If anything, he knew almost exactly what Dazai would think. That wasn’t the problem. No. What was the problem was that he killed when he didn't have to. He killed when he promised Oda that he wouldn't become a killer like the rest of the gang. He killed when he knew for a fact that Oda wouldn't have wanted him to kill the guy that ran into him. He would have wanted Chuuya to leave it to the police and let the justice system get justice for him.

But he had promised Dazai first. He had promised himself first. That he would do anything in his power and position to keep the two of them safe from the shadows of the underworld. He stayed in the Port Mafia to thwart any and all future attempts at the two traitors should they become a target again. He stayed to keep an eye on other organizations that might deem the agency an enemy.

Dazai might argue that Chuuya was doing exactly what he was supposed to do. Nothing more and nothing less. Chuuya would be deeply inclined to agree with his partner.

Still. What was done, was done and Chuuya had to live with that for the rest of his life. He was prepared to carry that burden. Maybe he could coerce Dazai into keeping this fact a secret between them. What's one more amongst many?

His other thumb nail was gone now too. His spiraling thoughts had taken him out of the false calm he had acquired from the mindless reality TV he had settled on. He was fidgety. Angsty. He couldn't quite stop the bouncing of his leg as he stared hard at the grainy screen. God, if only he had a cigarette to chew on…

"I'm home!" Chuuya strangled a curse. He let it loose anyway once he saw the blood beading up on his thumb.

Dazai stood in the genkan, brown eyes focused on him as he removed his shoes. Chuuya ignored him, sticking his thumb in his mouth to suck the blood away. He made a face at the metallic flavor that coated his tongue. He didn’t think he had bitten so hard.

"Chuuya's not going to say 'Welcome home'?" Dazai whined, hefting the takeout bag onto the coffee table. "Even after I went out of my way to bring him food?" He directed a pout at the redhead, hoping for some sympathy.

"Welcome home, asshole." Chuuya grumbled, rummaging through the food containers to sort out their own. It was Dazai’s turn to pick up food anyways, so he got no pity from him.

"Hm."

It was Chinese that night. Peeking into each of the cartons, he found sesame chicken, pork fried rice, white rice, kung pao beef, egg rolls and some lin yueng bau. He claimed the fried rice, kung poa and lin yueng bau for himself, pushing the rest to the other side of him for Dazai. He dug in.

"Chuuya." Dazai called, still standing from the spot beside the couch.

He grunted, mouth stuffed with spicy kung pao and eyes glued to the TV. He knew that tone of voice. He was the ‘we need to have a serious talk’ voice because they were doing that now. Talking. No more secrets between them, they had decided. He was going to try to waylay the inevitable but Dazai hadn’t been known as the Demon Prodigy for nothing.

"Chuuya." Dazai called again, reaching a hand out to turn the red heads face towards him.

Chuuya swallowed down his food, lips pulling down into a frown. "What."

Dazai stared at him intently, getting that furrow between his brows when he was displeased with something. The look made Chuuya bristle. A callus free thumb swiped the splattering of sauce off of puffy lips. A pink tongue couldn't help but dart out and lick the digit. Appalled at his own tongue, Chuuya ripped his chin away from Dazai's soft hands.

"What?" He asked again, annoyed.

"What's wrong with Chuuya." And wasn't that a loaded question.

"Nothing's wrong with me. Sit down and eat already." He took his own advice and went back to eating.

Dazai sat down, but didn't make any moves to eat. He was still staring at Chuuya and Chuuya had no doubt in his mind that Dazai was figuring things out. He always did. He was the only person in the whole world who understood him to his core and he him in return. So he knew that Dazai was gearing up to have a serious talk, but honesty? Chuuya didn't want to have it. Yeah, he knew he would have to discuss this at some point, but not right now. Not tonight. His refusal to look at Dazai signified that.

The slender hand reached out again, this time, grabbing for the takeout carton. Chuuya made a noise a protest, but ultimately had to let it go if he didn't want the beef and bell pepper to fall from his chopsticks. He watched as the container was set back onto the table with the rest of the food. He slowly ate the rest from his chopsticks to prolong the conversation.

"You killed someone." Dazai stated, not asked. Because he knew. Chuuya didn't have to ask how he came to that conclusion. Dazai's seen him plenty of times after missions where he was forced to kill someone in self-defense and Chuuya was exhibiting those habits right in front of him. "Who was it?"

"No one you know." His leg started bouncing again. ‘When had it stopped?’

"Liar."

Chuuya glared. "It's true! It's not someone you know." Technically it was true. Dazai didn't know that guy's name. Chuuya didn't know either but to-ma-to, to-mah-to.

"But I know of them. You're more…keyed up than usual. That only happens when it's someone we have in common." A light seemed to go off in his head. "It was that guy."

"What guy?" His heart beat faster. He knew.

"The one that hit Oda." One look at Chuuya's face confirmed his answer. He smirked lightly. "I'm right."

"Whatever." He mumbled, reaching for the food.

Dazai stopped him. Chuuya groaned, leaning back into the couch.

"How did you do it?" Chuuya didn't like the look that infiltrated those brown eyes. ‘He shouldn’t have those thoughts’ he remembered thinking once. More than once because old habits die hard, and yes it was a habit. Until Dazai taught himself better, he knew the other would still be having them. And hadn’t that been the part of the reason he had stayed in the Port Mafia in the first place? To protect the both of them but also to help foster that new outlook on life; that life was worth something more than the pain and suffering of others at your hands.

Discussing this situation was going to be hard without bringing Dazai’s bloodlust back out from wherever it was buried. But Dazai had agreed to Chuuya’s terms of handling the guy himself, so it was a start.

"No. We are not going to talk about this. I'm not going to tell you how."

"I can always look it up." He threatened.

"Not if I ask you not too. And not if you want to keep this just between us." Chuuya fired back.

"Are you?"

"What? Going to ask you not to look it up?" Dazai nodded.

Chuuya remained silent, thinking about his answer. He wanted to say yes. Keep everything buried deep down under, and he knew that Dazai would take his request seriously. But that's how things ruined. It would fester and fester until it was eating him up inside. Until there was nothing else left inside him. Didn't they say the best thing for a wound to heal was to let it breathe?

Letting Dazai look up the information saved him from having to say everything out loud. And wasn't he just a right coward for thinking it in actuality.

He wasn't a coward.

"No. No I'm not." And Dazai smiled at him, pleased. They've come a long way into their relationship. "But I am asking that you not do it right away. I'll tell you. Later. Just…not right now, okay?"

"Okay." Dazai slid the hand that was holding Chuuya's arm, down until he was holding Chuuya's hand in his own. He gave the smaller one a reassuring squeeze. "That’s all I ask."

Chuuya silently nodded.

"Are you still hungry?" Their food was probably already cold.

"Not that much, no." He lost most of his appetite at the mention of his heinous deed.

The leg that was not curled up on the couch supporting their hands was still bouncing. It stilled briefly at the heavy sigh that escaped from Dazai. The other's hand left his for a moment, fishing in his back pocket for something. Chuuya silently missed the warmth.

Dazai pulled out an unfamiliar packet of cigarettes. He shook one out, gripping it with his mouth and pulling before shaking another out and offering it to Chuuya. It strangely reminded Chuuya of the morning in front of the hospital.

‘A lot of things are.’

Curiously, he took the cigarette, holding it up to his nose to sniff it. There was a fruity scent about it, different from the spice and tobacco from their usual. Seeing the question on his partner's face, Dazai told him, "They're new. The company just came out with them a month ago; fruit flavors. That one's strawberry." The painted ring underneath the filter was red. Looking over, Dazai's was yellow. Lemon.

Dazai pulled out a lighter and lit his, taking a deep breath to get the smoke going. The scent of lemons surrounded them as smoke escaped those parted lips. Intrigued and impatient, Chuuya leaned forward with his own cigarette tucked between his lips, pressing the tip against the smoldering end of Dazai's.

He didn't notice the deep inhale from Dazai, or the widening of his brown eyes. Instead, he focused on keeping the tips pressed together, trying to light his own. After a few seconds, the cigarette started catching. He moved back a little to see if it was enough when his eyes caught Dazai's. Blue eyes took in the heated look that covered Dazai's face.

The scents of lemon mixed with strawberry wafted into their noses as Chuuya's started burning. Slowly, Dazai reached out to pluck the stick from Chuuya's mouth and his own before crashing his lips onto the shorter.

Chuuya could have sworn he heard Dazai mutter into his mouth, "Beautiful" as he returned the kiss.

The kissing didn't last long and the strawberry stick was shoved back into his mouth. Rolling his eyes, he took a drag, tasting the flavor on his tongue. It was tart from the taste of Dazai and lemon, and Chuuya couldn't bring himself to hate it.

"I like the strawberry." He said at last, taking another taste.

He felt a weight on his left side as Dazai tipped over, resting his head on Chuuya's shoulder.

"Hm, I like the lemon." Dazai smiled, releasing the smoke in Chuuya's face.

"It's sour like you, no wonder." The redhead teased.

"And you're red, your point?"

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "Shut up, shitty mackerel."

They spent the rest of the evening bickering and watching trash TV, cuddled into each other. They didn't talk about the drunk driver again that night, thankfully. When they crawled into bed around 2 in the morning Chuuya felt like himself again. He peeled his hands away from Dazai's back to look at them once more. They were clean. Sighing, he cuddled Dazai closer to himself, burying his face into fluffy brown hair. There will always be blood on his hands, whether they were clean or not, but he had Dazai there to help with the burden of it. That was all he could ask for.

The distant sound of sirens, filtered faintly into their bedroom.

#bungou stray dogs #chaosia writes #part two of pink skies #mentioned killing #mentioned suicide #Dazai Osamu #Nakahara Chuuya #dachuu #dazai x chuuya #soukoku #Double Black #Oda Sakunosuke #Sakaguchi Ango #kunikida doppo

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natsumiheart · 5 years

Text

A rant talking about and defending Saihara Shuichi from haters for like an hour for his birthday.

(Warning: This post is long, again.)

Over the last (two-three???) years after DRV3 has been released I actually came across Shuichi haters here and there, and I have seen their arguments as to why they think he sucks, why he should’ve died, why Kaede should’ve survived instead, etc. Making full on posts on amino, or just scribbling his face on drawings of him and reposting the edited art on instagram. (Don’t do that to anyone’s art that’s disrespectful as hell, disgusting.)

So after I’ve seen all that, I’m going to explode and defend Shuichi right here on his birthday. I rant a lot so it’s not really new or anything so! Enjoy?

> “Shuichi doesn’t deserve to be a detective, he’s so dumb and afraid of the truth.”

Shuichi IS afraid of the truth, but he’s smart as hell. Let’s discuss something, would you, in all honesty, want Shuichi to be exactly like Kirigiri? Because most of the people who believe Shuichi is actually not smart had these expectations for him.

First off, that would be very unoriginal and unlike the writing in danganronpa. What I like about the games is how every character is written, they are all so different and unique. Just because Shuichi is the ultimate detective doesn’t mean he is going to be Kirigiri level or act like her, same as Nagito and Naegi who have the same talent and yet are so different.

The second point is that Shuichi’s specialty was doing small cases for his uncle so that he can focus on important things, which basically included finding lost pets and infidelity cases (catching cheaters). He solved only ONE murder case, he isn’t at Kirigiri’s level who may I remind you was born in a family full of detectives and had undergone strict training by her grandfather Fuhito who wanted her to be a detective no matter what. They are two different characters with completely different backgrounds, personalities, and mentalities, so they shouldn’t be compared for having the same talent.

Third thing, Shuichi ended danganronpa. He’s not stupid, he figured out Tsumugi was getting them into a trap with the hope and despair options and exposed her for wanting them to choose hope so danganronpa continues. He also figured out that Kaede’s plan to kill the mastermind failed as soon as he found a shotput ball in a trashcan. He is an actual detective, just went through shit making him afraid of the truth (which I’ll discuss next.)

People who say Shuichi doesn’t deserve to be a detective should be legally not allowed to have ice cream, no cookies and cream flavor, no oreo flavor, nothing is allowed. (I’m jk ahahaha… maybe-)

> “Shuichi is weak.”

Shuichi didn’t have enough self-confidence in himself at first, but there’s a huge reason for it. It’s the same reason why he started being afraid of the truth. Because every single time he tried doing the right thing, life came back and bit him.

He solved a murder case, turns out the killer was taking revenge for his family. He told Kaede about the possibility of a traitor, she ended up using their plan to try and kill the mastermind and was executed for killing Rantaro. He solved Miu’s case and Gonta was executed, Kaito literally stopped talking to him when all he was trying to do is keep them alive.

His parents also neglected him as a kid, probably making him think the problem is with him until he started being bitter towards them instead. These situations and the way Shuichi was raised led to him having self-confidence issues, always doubting what he was doing, if it was the right thing, and if he deserved to be a detective. (and I don’t think he should be blamed for feeling this way, heck.)

But in the end Shuichi had to believe in himself and all his feelings and deductions to end danganronpa in chapter 6. If anything, in my opinion, Shuichi is one of the strongest characters in DR for dealing with so much, he’s no longer “weak” by the end of the game but I don’t think he was in the first place.

TLDR; he’s not weak, just went through a lot and probably suffers from anxiety rip.

> “Shuichi is also extremely physically weak, a noodle, a twink, etc.”

Shuichi is in fact not weak, he is shown to be able to do up to 50 pushups a day. I can barely do one (yes the real noodle was actually me all along) He may not be the strongest man alive, but he’s not that lacking in physical strength. At some point even during the training with Maki and Kaito he reaches 50, then Kaito says he lost count and makes him start over.

If you check the caged child scene, he lifted the cage with Kokichi (Who was saying he shouldn’t have lied about being strong because it was really heavy.) So he can at least lift up a cage too.

> “Shuichi’s real self is some murder obsessed psychopath that assaults others.”

That was never confirmed by the game, it is just a fanon version of pregame Shuichi that some fans believe in. We never know if those tapes that Tsumugi showed were real or not, since the pre-memories Shuichi that we saw in the beginning of the game was more of a nervous and scared boy who said he was kidnapped (Also Kaede had to yell at to calm down, which is a notable difference to her reaction when he did the same thing the second time they got out of the lockers.)

I believe those characters we saw in the beginning were their pregame selves, Kaede wasn’t as nice and had lost her faith in humanity (but she probably knew what DR is because she was trying to ask, and didn’t exactly look happy about it), Rantaro suspected what was going on because he experienced the same thing before, and Shuichi was confused and most probably scared (I have a feeling he’d know what’s going on if he really is a huge fan of DR). The reason Tsumugi got the idea of “a weak detective that gets more confident” is because of his pregame personality. So pregame Shuichi is actually way less confident than his ingame self and it shows mostly in chapter 6.

But that’s just how I view it, take of it as you will. In the end pregame Shuichi and Ingame Shuichi are two different characters, just like pregame Kaede and ingame Kaede. So even if pregame Shuichi was like that I don’t think his ingame character should be held accountable for it. (and like I said, that's just a fanon version of him, not confirmed. You can’t even tell from the tapes if he assaults people like everyone claims he does.)

> “Kaede should’ve survived instead, she’s a way better protagonist!”

Now this is a controversial topic in the fandom, I think. Because some people love Shuichi more than Kaede and vice versa. I think people can love Shuichi but also want Kaede to be the protagonist, So I’m not going to touch on the topic of whether our favorite pianist could be a good main character or not. (We only experienced a chapter with her, we can’t tell what would’ve happened if Shuichi died instead and we continued the story with her so we can compare who is a “better” protagonist.)

But I’ll explain why Kaede HAD to die.

Kaede didn’t die for Shuichi’s development, she died because she was practically a perfect character. People suspected her dying before the game even came out! She had an actual talent, she was positive as hell, she tried uniting everyone as best as she could, she was confident and sometimes even bossy. Those were all warning flags to the fandom.

But thing is, Kaede isn’t perfect, paranoia got to her too and because she wanted to save everyone so bad she tried to kill the mastermind and died thinking she killed someone. I personally love how everything played out (except for the part where it turns out she didn’t kill anyone anyway, but I can see the appeal of the plot twist) but that’s just my opinion.

Point is, Kaede didn’t die for Shuichi to become the protagonist, there was a reason everyone suspected she’d die before the game came out and before they knew the role would go to Shuichi instead.

Also a lot of people tend to forget that Shuichi was the one who ended danganronpa. I’m not sure Kaede would’ve been able to because she probably would agree with Kiibo and chose hope, she’s not a detective after all.

Now onto the smaller arguments that I saw

> “His design is boring”

Let me see you make a better one 👀

I’m just kidding don’t kill me, but I’m pretty sure the thousands of fanarts of him prove that a lot do not agree with that point. (Me included, he is pretty boi.)

> “Playing as him sucks because he cries a lot.”

Are people are not allowed to have feelings now? The portrayal of his feelings is what made him my favorite DR protagonist, so saying you hate him for crying a lot makes it obvious that you’re either grasping at straws for reasons to hate him, or you seriously lack empathy... I don’t even think he whined / cried as much as the haters claim he does.

> “He stands in the way of my ship!”

…. Wow, I’m actually at a loss of words. I only have one advice if you hate a character for standing in the way of your ship: grow up. It’s good for your emotional health I promise.

#rant #shuichi saihara #danganronpa #drv3 #ndrv3 #New Danganronpa V3 #oof thats all i remember for now #my sideblog is gonna be filled with shuichi fanart reblogs soon #youve been warned 😂#i think writing this took more than an hour PPFPFF #sorry for the sprinkled salt im seriously done with some people 😂#i think its totally alright to dislike a character its your opinion #but dont shove it down people's throats with shitty arguments like these #everytime someone calls shuichi weak infront of me #my nonexistent faith in humanity dies even more

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threeletterslife · 3 years

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Chana! What are some stories that have stayed with you through the years, and writing that has impacted your own?

ooh nice question! i wasn’t sure if you meant some of mY stories or others’ stories, so i’ll answer it both ways! (this post is crazily long i’m so so sorry)

some of my own stories that have stayed with me through the years: you & me both, over the moon and insurrection/the exam

y&mb was the first full-on angst story i’ve ever published. (before publishing that, i was actually known for being a fluff writer 🤡 i know, crazy, right??) but y&mb sits in a very special place in my heart. when i was writing it, i was happy with where my life was going (i’d finally gotten out of the slumps) and the topics showcased in the story actually really hit close to home so i was also seriously invested in the characters too. overall, it was my best work for a while. but looking back, i feel like i could’ve written it so much better. it was only like what? less than a year ago? but idk i love it but hate it at the same time. the kind of thing where i laugh and cry at the memories from it, but also would HATE to read it again. still, the plot of y&mb was something i developed for YEARS before i even attempted to write it, so yes, it did stay with me through the years. and i know for a fact it’ll stay with me for longer in the future

otm is an interesting one. i finished the series this year i think (which sounds so crazy,, it feels so long ago). but the plot i planned for years! i always save my *special* plots until i think i’m capable of writing them. i still think i should’ve waited a lil longer when i wrote otm because i’m not 100% sure that was my best work ever. but otm just makes me reflect back on the crazy times. like the characters in the story, i also felt so confused and unsure and NUMB when i was writing otm—mostly because the pandemic had just gotten serious in my country and things had started to become like a mf SHITSHOW :(( i connect so much with the characters in otm... (i mean, who doesn’t love an intj mc qUEEN??) so yeah. i also LOVE oc and yoongi’s relationship in otm. their romance is actually something i want with my future s.o. LOL (something subtle, something steadfast and most importantly—STEADY). i wish i could rewrite it now fsjfjj but that goes for all of my stories

insurrection/the exam kinda go together. i’ve had the idea for insurrection the longest out of ALL of these stories lol. i think i mentioned it before but i always felt so intrigued by a ‘school revolt’ kind of idea. so i always kinda wanted to write a lowkey satirical(?) story full of morally ambiguous characters and questionable academic organizations. that turned out to be insurrection, which i waited for (i think? three to four years?) before i finally wrote it. AGAIN, it could’ve been better, but at this point, let’s just accept the fact that i’ll never be satisfied LOL. insurrection’s welton high school is based on my own high school,,, so you can tell how shitty my experience with education was in my high school years 🥳anyways, that’s why insurrection is so important to me. i feel like, in a way, it tells my story (and my friends’ stories too). the exam is a less optimistic (more satirical) view on the education system. while insurrection focused more on the students (their passions, their will to rebel and ‘cheat’ the shitty system), the exam focused more on the unfairness that students’ intelligence could be scored with fucking TESTS. one test that determines your whole future. utopia and dystopia respectively represented privileged children (who were more likely to succeed in the exam) and the lesser privileged children (who would inevitably fail the exam because they were never given the resources). yeah, i think the exam could’ve been executed better, but i think the overarching theme was there, which i’m pretty satisfied with. i’m passionate about screaming that the american education system sucks (as you can tell by this painfully long paragraph) lol i’m thinking of writing a fic in the future about an education system that actually works!!

ANYWAYS I’M SO SORRY I WROTE SO MUCH FUCK. BUT THERE’S MORE,,, HANG ON

others’ stories and writings that have impacted my own!!

starting with published authors! i’m a huge HUGEJFLKDJFLSDJ fan of louis sachar (i’m convinced this man is a genius lol). i LOVED holes, i LOVED small steps, i LOVED fuzzy mud, i LOVEDDD the whole wayside school series. he’s so witty? and creative??? like i owe all my outrageous ideas to him because he probably single-handedly taught me creativity when i was a kid LOL another author i LOVE is fredrik backman. he writes the best slice of life/coming of age stories. i’m particularly fond of a man called ove and my grandmother asked me to tell you she’s sorry (which inspired nothing a lil green can’t fix!!). honorable mentions go to ishiguro’s never let me go, faulkner’s as i lay dying, juster’s the phantom tollbooth. omfg i also had a HUGE shannon hale phase (the goose girl, enna burning, rapunzel’s revenge)—very fairy tale-esque but so magical and charming and CAPTIVATING!! i owe all of these authors a huge motherfucking THANK YOU. because they built me up this far 😭😭😭i love authors who are able to fully develop their characters or have the most amazing world-building ever. i think that’s why i put so much emphasis on my characters too. i rlly learned from the best 😭😭

as for internet authors!! i actually IDOLIZED this one author from wattpad (she was SERIOUSLY underrated). and i know there’s a stigma around wattpad authors (lowkey rightfully so; there’s some nasty stuff on there) but chloe was so SO talented. she wrote like a poet. it was insane. i never saw anyone who had a way with words like her. we were actually pretty close for a while but lost touch over the years. anyways, she wrote this beautiful, heartbreaking story called chrysanthemum,,, she deleted her account though so it’s not there anymore. (i know. i agonized over this for hours). she also wrote a horror fic (creatures) that STILL chills me to the bones. she inspired me to try writing horror too (in the future, i will!)

other than that, i love all of @inktae’s fics! she’s also an AMAZING writer. (her writing style is so eloquent and elegant and ugh! perfection!) her stories will make you feel nostalgic and lowkey heartbroken. she also writes a lot about nature/being around nature—it’s such a nice, beautiful, serene feeling. (she’s also the master of bittersweet endings!) i think i became obsessed with bittersweet endings because of her LOL some of her works that literally breathed LIFE into me: the blue notebooks, below thunder showers, written on the sky, first light (all of them are worth reading. her fics make you want to become a novelist—the inspiration i get from them is amazing!)

another legend is @jimlingss!! i still keep up with literally all of her works because istg she never disappoints. she has such a simple but fluent writing style, which i LOVE! it’s engaging through and through. and man, she has a talent for storytelling! but the one thing no other internet author can top is kina’s characters. some published authors can’t even develop a single protagonist in the 456 book pages they wrote yikes. (but just saying, kina can do it in like 9k words.) i have no idea how she does it but her characters just feel human—even if they're not, they STILL FEEL REAL??? (sorry i’m just fangirling) but like i’m serious, she really did inspire me to start putting more depth to my characters. after all, why would the reader be invested in a story if they don’t give two shits about the bland-ass characters?? her pivotal works that made ME wanna pIVOT my whole writing career: tears of a villain, flames and floe, game of temptation, head over heels to hell, a voyage to liberation, ghost in the machine, the weekend massacre, love pages, moirai, a piece of the moonlight

i mean look, i’d put down way more fics of kina’s that inspired me to become the writer that i am now,,, but i don’t wanna make this long ass ask even longer so ummm i’ll have to stop 😭😭but i am literally in love with all of these published and internet authors. i just don’t understand how they are so talented. i really DO learn from the best. and i learned different things from each author too!!

all of these stories (mine and others) have impacted my writing in some way or another. from my own, i learned from my mistakes lol. from others, i learned how to be a better writer. you can only write as much as you read. i stand by that fact to this day

anyways i’m so sorry you had to read this whole fucking essay 😭😭😭😭

#ask #anon #inspiration #writing #chana #i literally went so overboard #but okay look for the longest time i wanted to appreciate my fav authors #this is that appreciation post!!#now i have a perfect collection of the best authors right here in this ask

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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We're still in this together (And I'm still not giving up) (branjie) - writworm42

A/N: For Athena <3 <3 <3 Brooke is diagnosed with early-onset Parkinson’s, and Vanessa tries to keep her grounded as both their worlds turn upside-down.

PLEASE take care of yourselves reading this. This fic involves being diagnosed with a major degenerative neurological disorder and the emotional fall-out that results in the 24 hours post-diagnosis. If you are upset by that sort of thing, don’t read it, don’t feel like you have to keep reading it if you started, feel free not to leave kudos or comments. I am somewhat familiar w Parkinson’s through work, but I don’t have it and can’t speak to the experience of actually having it. I have experienced the feeling of having a diagnosis completely change your sense of self, and channeled that in writing this. However, the process people go through is different, and the feelings people go through are totally different in that situation. I’m sure it has been for many of you reading this. And I hope I did y'all justice, too.

Thank you 3000 to Holtz for beta-ing even though this fic was a tough read for you. Title from Still Not Giving Up from Steven Universe.

“I hate this.” Brooke sniffles, wiping the tears from her face, and Vanessa feels her heart break. She wishes she could take the pain away from Brooke, wishes she could take it on for herself, please, God, give it to me instead, hurt me instead. But her prayers go unanswered, and Brooke takes another sip of her coffee while Vanessa watches and crumples inside further.

Thirty minutes ago, Brooke and Vanessa had been sitting in Brooke’s neurologist’s office, waiting for news of what was happening to her. Why all of a sudden she can’t walk normally, her movements shaky, her voice quiet. Why she doesn’t have the same stamina as she used to, and why something felt totally, completely wrong.

Early-onset Parkinson’s. The neurologist’s voice had been soft and gentle, soaked in pity, like she was handing down a death sentence. And to a professional dancer like Brooke, she might as well have been—Vanessa knows that, knew it even before Brooke had opened her mouth to protest, to insist that there must have been some mistake.

But there hadn’t been, and Brooke’s diagnosis still stands, sits at the table of the hospital Second Cup with them.

On March 10th, 2020, on the morning of her 34th birthday, Brooke has been diagnosed with early-onset Parkinson’s Disease. And no amount of coffee or blueberry scones, placation or reassurances, can take those four words away.

But if they help at all, even just a little, then they’re all worth offering.

“Should we cancel tonight?” Vanessa suggests softly, and apparently, it’s the wrong thing to say—Brooke bursts into tears again, sobs breathy and ragged.

“I don’t know.” she shakes her head, “Like… I don’t know. I don’t want to just throw my life on the wayside because of this, it’s not like I’m dying, but like…”

“It’s okay to need time, boo.” Vanessa reaches across the table, grabs and squeezes Brooke’s hand one, two, three times and sighing inwardly with relief when Brooke smiles. It was Brooke who had came up with their secret signal - one squeeze for every word that they wanted to say. I love you. It had stuck immediately, and even now it never fails to make Brooke relax. Vanessa loves it, too–even when Brooke is saying it out loud, there was something about having her hand squeezed in rhythm to the words that made them more tangible, more comforting, even more wonderful to hear and feel. Makes them settle into her chest as her hand buzzes with the euphoria of her wife’s lingering touch. And if there’s anything Brooke needs right now, it’s that feeling, that reminder that Vanessa is there for her.

“Yeah.” Brooke sighs, squeezing Vanessa back, their secret code understood like a promise between them.

“We’ll order Korean barbeque and rent some cheesy movies, it’ll be great.” Vanessa offers, and even though Brooke’s nod is fairly hollow, at least it’s a nod.

–

Brooke knows it’s impossible for Vanessa to make her feel better right now, but it means a lot that she’s trying anyway. The kitchen is littered with styrofoam takeout containers, wood chopsticks and the cold, half-eaten remains of spareribs scattered on the table. In the living room, some rom-com with a mole-rat looking leading man and a smoking-hot yet baby-faced protagonist plays, long forgotten amidst a trail of clothes that lead to the bedroom.

It’s weird, being naked right now. Being exposed, moving in a body that’s exactly the same as it had been yesterday and yet now feels so, so different.

“You have beautiful hands, baby.” Vanessa interlaces her fingers with Brooke’s, and Brooke realizes she’s been staring at her hands, trying to decide if they’re real. If the way they move is any different. If they’re different. But they still grab Vanessa back, still squeeze one, two, three times and feel it warm and firm when Vanessa squeezes one, two, three times back.

Vanessa lets go, pulls her closer, kisses her on her collarbone when Brooke winces a little. She’s not in pain—not really. Her old body isn’t. But her new body—her same body, now seeming so different—is uncertain of what it wants, how it should react.

“You ain’t got any bruises.” Vanessa chuckles, traces the along the dips of Brooke’s chest she was biting and sucking minutes ago, and Brooke relaxes, because it’s like Vanessa’s read her mind. Like she’d known Brooke had been trying to decide if she should be careful, if her body was fragile or not. “That’s my tough-skinned baby girl.”

“For how long, though?” Brooke frets, but Vanessa presses a finger to her lips, only to replace the digit with her own mouth, kissing their code on her one, two, three times.

I love you.

“Considering the brochures ain’t mention nothin’ about easy bruising, longer than you think, I’m sure.” Vanessa burrows her face into Brooke’s neck, sighs deeply the way she always does, and it’s nice. Makes Brooke feel in control, almost normal, even.

“Things are gonna change, Ness.” she sighs, and Vanessa squeezes tighter, breathes in deeper, slower, encouraging Brooke’s mind and heart to slow down as she matches Vanessa’s pace.

“I know.” Vanessa whispers, and once again, it’s the right thing to say—because it’s the truth, the same way Vanessa always tells it.

“I’m not gonna be the same.”

“Yes you will.” Vanessa’s voice is resolute, her touch becoming firmer.

“Ness—“

“You know why I married you?” Vanessa looks Brooke in the eyes, and her gaze is soft, affectionate, yet insistent, as if her mind’s made up and there’s no changing it.

“Why?” Brooke breathes, the answer obvious and yet now insecure.

“Because you, miss Brooke Lynn Mateo-Hytes, are amazing. You’re smart, and clever, and brave. You ain’t never give up or back down from a challenge. You got grit, and you can be stubborn, but you also loyal and caring. Always thinking of others. Of me. Never thinking bad of me even when I act stupid as hell.

“I love you, Brooke. And yeah, some things are gonna change. But other things ain’t. And it’s those things that I love most about you.”

It takes Vanessa’s thumb swiping across her cheek for Brooke to realize she’s crying, but this time, she doesn’t hate it. Doesn’t think it’s a bad thing, doesn’t want to stop. Because Vanessa is holding her, squeezing her, kissing her, loving her, and even though things aren’t okay, in a way, they are.

Some things never change, and when Brooke finally stops crying, kisses Vanessa on the top of her head as if to thank her, she realizes that she’s holding her most important constant right in her arms.

And as long as she is breathing, neither of them would ever let go.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #angst #hurt/comfort #writworm42 #tw major illness

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moodyvalentinestories · 4 years

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Some Rules Are Meant to Be Broken | Thomas Hunt x Rachel Fields

He was willing to break his rule for her. And not just willing, he seemed to be more than eager to do it.

I’m late (again) because my writing speed for NSFW shenanigans is, like, one sentence every ten minutes. This was meant for Prompt 19: Desire of the @choicesnovemberchallenge but, uh, yeah. It’s not quite what it was supposed to be anymore. Oooops.

Warning: NSFW! Mature! 18+! Don’t click the read more button if you’re too young for this stuff, kiddos.

Summary: It’s finally time to break (Not-)Rule #2. Anyone remember what that was? ;-)

Pairing: Thomas Hunt x Rachel Fields

Word Count: ~ 1,900 words

Notes:

Me: Oh, yeah, smutty stuff! This is going to be so great. The Fic: 99% other shit, 1% badly written smut. Me: Why am I not surprised?

Also, it’s kind of a mess overall because I��m running on pretty much zero sleep since, after missing almost all my lectures last week, I have so much stuff to catch up on.

It was a bad idea. A terrible idea, really, but Rachel didn’t much care. White-hot anger was raging inside her as she walked down the corridor to Hunt’s office. She’d had about enough of his constant excuses, and if she didn’t tell him tonight, she felt like she’d explode.

He’d stood her up, again, because work was just that much more important to him than her. Which already sucked in and of itself, but what was far worse was the fact that he’d promised, and more than on one occasion, that he would make time for her. She’d always thought Thomas Hunt was a man of his word. Clearly, she’d been wrong about that. She’d been wrong about him.

Maybe it would have been a good idea to take a moment to calm down before barging into his office, but she didn’t hesitate for a second before tearing open the door forcefully. “Thomas.”

He looked up from his screen with a start. “Miss Fields,” he said emphatically. “What can I do for you?”

“Cut the crap,” she said as she strode to his desk, her expression a fierce scowl. He’d seen it before, but never directed at him.

For just a moment, Thomas almost feared for his life. But even Rachel wouldn’t be reckless enough to murder him on campus… right?

He cleared his throat. “I thought we agreed not to discuss personal matters here.”

“Oh, we did,” she said. She was standing right in front of his desk now, leaning down so they were eye to eye. The murderous look still hadn’t vanished from her face, and Thomas began to worry again. “But if you can break your word then so can I.”

“What are you—” Shit. His eyes flitted to the time displayed in the corner of his computer screen. Shit, shit, shit. “I’m sorry, I—”

She let out a laugh; venomous and cold. “You were working, I know.”

He felt bad, he did, but she had no right – no right – to storm into his office like this. Except, of course, she did. He had stood her up without so much as a call or a text, after all. How long had she waited for him? Surely, she hadn’t spent the entire two hours in his driveway, had she? He looked up at her again. She had. He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I am,” he apologised again. “You could have called.”

“I did. About a dozen times.”

His eyes widened as he reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. Sure enough, his screen showed 13 missed calls. “I—"

“I know your work is important to you. I do. But you told me you’d make time,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her voice down. “You told me that I was important to you, too. That you cared. Was that a lie, too?”

“Of course not! Rachel, I—”

She shook her head, the angry look on her face replaced by heart-breaking sadness. “It really doesn’t matter. I’m just… I’m tired, Thomas. I’m tired of feeling like there’s always going to be something more important than me.”

“There’s nothing more important to me than you,” he said. It was the truth. Even while working, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. So much so that the protagonist of the script he’d been editing had slowly but surely begun to take on characteristics that were so very distinctly Rachel’s.

She gave a sad smile. “Clearly, I’m not. I’m just… I can’t do this right now.” She turned around to leave.

Thomas snapped his laptop shut and jumped out of his chair to follow her, catching her just before she could reach for the door handle. “Please stay, Rachel. Don’t leave. Not like this.”

“I should leave,” she said, quietly. “I don’t want to keep you from working.”

She was so close now, so damn close, and all Thomas could think about was how he hadn’t seen her off campus in over a week, and how it had all been his fault, and how he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her again – and he decided to throw all caution to the wind then as he reached past her to lock the door before pushing her up against it.

“Fuck work,” he muttered – it was likely the first time he’d ever said, or even thought, that – and closed the remaining distance between them, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. God, he’d missed her.

His name fell from her lips in a quiet moan, and it was all the encouragement he needed.

The rational part of his brain was screaming at him that this was a terrible – dangerous – idea, but, for once in his life, Thomas didn’t listen. He didn’t care.

All he cared about in that moment was her, and the fact that he’d somehow made her believe that he didn’t want her around when nothing could have been further from the truth.

“I’d rather focus on you than work,” he said between kisses. Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything but her.

Rachel pulled back slightly to look at him and asked, tentatively, “Are you… are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said and kissed her again, pushing her further against the sturdy wooden door until she felt his growing desire press against her. “Don’t ever think I don’t want you,” he added and gave a roll of his hips for emphasis, driving himself into a frenzy. He let his lips move away from her mouth and along her jaw until he reached her ear, where he whispered hoarsely, “I need you, Rachel. Right here, right now.”

The admission made her stomach flip; in the best way possible. He was willing to break his rule for her. And not just willing, he seemed to be more than eager to do it. “Then show me. Show me just how much you need me.”

Thomas didn’t have to be told twice. He picked her up – her legs wrapping around him tightly as he did – and carried her over to his desk. In one swift motion, he pushed everything off it, then set her down on the now-cleared surface.

Her hands immediately went between them, getting to work on his belt buckle, when he pulled back and shook his head slightly. “No.” She wanted to protest, but he dropped to his knees in front of her and continued, “Let me properly apologise to you first.”

He wanted her. God, did he want her. But, more than that, he wanted to make her feel good. He wanted to give her everything she deserved and more. He wanted to—

“Thomas,” she said impatiently, making him look up at her as she squirmed on his desk. The sight alone was already exhilarating but hearing her desperate plea really did him in. “Please.”

Within seconds, he’d pushed her skirt up and her underwear down, smiling to himself at the dampness of the fabric. “I really am sorry,” he said as he spread her legs wider and manoeuvred his head between them, breathing against her sensitive flesh, “Words can’t express how sorry I am.”

And with that, he dove in, the sensation of his tongue against her eliciting a shriek from her that soon turned into a moan.

“Oh, God, Thomas…” Her hips jerked involuntarily against him, and he gripped her thighs with his strong hands to keep her in place.

She knew she was being too loud and bit down on her lip in an attempt to hold all sounds in as he swirled and flicked his tongue against her, but he was giving her more pleasure than she could have ever asked for, and it was all too much, and when she came, a sharp cry escaped her lips.

He gave her a few more licks, lapping up every drop of her, before he got back up and kissed her urgently. The taste of herself on his tongue excited her, and she wrapped her legs around him again, pulling him in. “I think I may just forgive you… if you’ll finally take me, that is.”

Thomas made quick work of his pants and boxers, then placed his hands on her hips as he slowly but deliberately sank his cock into her. She threw her head back, eyes closed, and tried her best to stifle the moan that was threatening to fall from her lips. She failed to keep it in completely, but at least it ended up a quiet, breathy moan that sent delicious shivers down Thomas’ spine. With the rational side of him long silenced, he found that having her on his desk like this, in a place where people could have easily heard them, turned him on beyond belief.

As he began building up a rhythm within her, he placed a kiss just beneath her ear and breathed, “Let me hear you, Rachel.”

She gasped in surprise. It was late, and the building was likely empty but… could they really risk it?

It wasn’t much of a choice as Thomas thrust into her harder, hitting her in just the right spot. “Fuck! Thomas! I’m—” Still sensitive from her earlier orgasm, the second high of the night washed over her in a wave of pure ecstasy.

His release followed right after as he pushed deep into her one last time, wrapping his arms tightly around her to be as close to her as he possibly could, cursing the barrier of fabric between them. We should have taken the time to undress.

They remained in each other’s arms for a long while, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, as they caught their breaths.

“Thomas?” Rachel whispered eventually.

He hummed. “Hmm?”

“We still need to talk.”

He opened his eyes and pulled back slightly to look at her. “No. I need to talk.”

“Thomas—”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips, then shook his head. “I know I’m repeating myself, but I’m sorry if I made you feel like I don’t…” He struggled to find the right words and let out a sigh. “Work is… it’s what used to be the most important thing in my life. And it still is important to me.”

“I know, I don’t mean to—”

He placed his hand on her cheek tenderly. “Please, Rachel, let me say this.”

She nodded.

“I care a great deal about my work,” he said, caressing the soft skin of her cheek with his thumb. “But I care about you more. So, so much more. And if you ever – ever – feel like I’m neglecting you again, don’t hesitate to take me to task. Don’t wait until it’s almost too late. Please.”

She was about to protest and tell him that she’d done just that, but the knowing look he gave her shut her up. “Okay.”

“And I promise, next time we have plans, I’m setting an alarm.”

Rachel chuckled at that. “You know how to set an alarm on your phone?”

“I— it can’t be that hard, can it?”

She kissed him softly, smiling against his lips. “You are old.”

“Too old to stay here much longer,” he agreed, stifling a yawn. “Come home with me?”

It was yet another bad idea, considering she had an early morning class the next day, but she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in his arms tonight. “Nothing would make me happier.”

Tags: @lilyofchoices @trappedinfandoms @flyawayboo @alleksa16 @silversparrow02 @hopelessromantic1352 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker

#wherefore art thou my professor #wherefore art thou my student #rachel #thomas hunt #professor hunt #hwu #hwu hunt #hollywood u

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elara-moon · 5 years

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Title: Happy Together (BingQiu Week 2019 Day One)

Author: Elara_Moon

Rating: T

Warnings: Implied temporary character death, referenced underage

Summary: BingQiu week 2019 day one: Reincarnation. Across lifetimes, across worlds, it’s always them. And they’re always, always together.

AO3 Link

Shen Yuan’s first thought, upon realizing that he’d died, was, oh, no, he’s going to be furious. His husband had never handled it well when Shen Yuan died first. Even knowing that they would meet again in the next life, that sticky man could never bear to be apart for long.

It had been a long time since it started, so long that Shen Yuan could hardly remember the beginning. That very first life. He was a scholar, he thought, and his husband was a soldier. Wait, no, maybe that one came later. Perhaps he had been a baker, and his husband a carpenter. Or maybe they were both farmers…?

At this point, Shen Yuan could hardly remember a time before he and his husband had known each other. There had been so many lifetimes where they knew each other already.

Shen Yuan’s second thought was pure confusion, because he was… lying down? In a bed? That… wasn’t usually how these things went. Also, he couldn’t remember his newest life at all?

Usually, and by usually, Shen Yuan meant ‘the past hundred plus times’, Shen Yuan and his husband regained their memories of each other (and their past lives) when they met. Before that, they were still themselves, but not quite the same version as the one with hundreds of years of combined lifetime memories. It was the only reason they usually didn’t meet until adulthood -- if his husband remembered Shen Yuan from the beginning, he’d surely go looking for him as soon as possible.

But… he obviously hadn’t just met his husband? Unless his husband was a doctor this time, something had happened to Shen Yuan, and his husband had been called in…?

Which didn’t explain the lack of memories of this lifetime.

And then a mechanical voice spoke practically in Shen Yuan’s ear.

An hour later, Shen Yuan had realized that he was apparently in a fictional universe now, and Yue Qingyuan had left. This, fortunately, left plenty of opportunity for Shen Yuan to panic without worrying about acting normal.

Because! This wasn’t how it worked at all! This had never happened before! What the **** was going on, why did he have an annoying System now, and where was his husband?

He knew what a transmigrator was, of course. He’d read books about it before. But he and his husband had never quite fallen into any category that anybody else had ever invented, and Shen Yuan had become quite accustomed to thinking that their strange reincarnation thing was completely different from fictional sorts of strange reincarnation things.

Now the more common kind of strange reincarnation thing had been forced upon him, and Shen Yuan was not happy.

He couldn’t just ignore his new circumstances -- impending doom at the hands of Luo Binghe, the protagonist of Proud Demon Immortal Way, though. Hopefully, nothing strange had happened with his and his husband’s connection (because the thought of never seeing him again hurt in a way Shen Yuan didn’t want to acknowledge). And so, in the meantime, Shen Yuan -- or rather, Shen Qingqiu, would just have to try not to die.

So he went about planning ways to Not Get Killed like the original cannon fodder scum villain had. The System’s irritating warnings against acting OOC made that harder, but it was fine! Shen Qingqiu could handle this!

Shen Qingqiu sent Ming Fan to fetch Luo Binghe and waited for the bringer of his doom to arrive.

Luo Binghe looked pitiful when he slunk his way in, head down, and he immediately fell to his knees.

“Shizun,” he murmured.

No! Protagonist, don’t kneel! Shen Qingqiu could feel his eventual fate getting worse for every bit of subservience he forced out of Luo Binghe.

“No need,” Shen Qingqiu said to get him to stand.

Luo Binghe glanced up, then, looking at Shen Qingqiu for the first time since he’d entered. His eyes went blank for a moment. He let out a sharp gasp. Shen Qingqiu barely kept from doing the same -- Luo Binghe looked terrible, his face all bruised up, obviously having been beaten.

“A-Yuan?” Luo Binghe said.

A name that nobody in this world could know.

Shen Qingqiu startled. His fan fell to the floor with a clatter. “Baiyue?” he said -- his husband’s name from their previous life.

Luo Binghe -- Baiyue -- Shen Yuan’s husband -- jumped up with a delighted laugh and leapt forward, colliding hard with Shen Qingqiu and almost knocking him over. He only hesitated briefly at the height difference before he began pawing at Shen Qingqiu, dragging him down to try to kiss him.

Nope!

Shen Qingqiu pulled away, fleeing several steps out of Luo Binghe’s reach.

Nope, nope, nope, sorry. His husband (equivalent age to him) or not, Luo Binghe was currently a child! He couldn’t be any older than fifteen! Shen Qingqiu could not kiss that. Nope.

Luo Binghe looked heartbroken. “A-Yuan? What’s wrong?” he said, looking tearfully at Shen Qingqiu.

“Look at yourself!” Shen Qingqiu hissed. “You’re -- you’re a teenager!”

Luo Binghe did indeed look down at himself. He frowned, dissatisfied. “That’s true… We’ve never been so far apart in age before, have we? And this isn’t the first time we’ve met.”

He looked back up, the beginnings of hurt glimmered in his eyes. Shen Qingqiu remembered how terribly the original goods had treated Luo Binghe in the book… Surely that was what Luo Binghe was thinking of now.

“It wasn’t me before,” he said hurriedly. “For some reason, I only just ended up in this body.”

“Oh.” Luo Binghe’s expression cleared immediately.

Agh! This man! So trusting -- when it came to Shen Qingqiu, anyway.

The situation struck Shen Qingqiu, then. He was in a novel (and not even a good one), and his husband was the protagonist. That was good, right? Except the protagonist’s life kind of sucked, actually, and like hell was Shen Qingqiu going to let his husband have a harem of women. Not that the man he’d known for years would want a harem of women. How would this affect the story? Wouldn’t that be really bad? The System had seemed to expect things to go relatively according to the original…

Speaking of which, Shen Qingqiu had definitely been acting out of character just then, but the System hadn’t made a peep.

“A-Yuan? What are you thinking?” Luo Binghe said just as Shen Qingqiu was preparing to poke at the System.

He knew full well Shen Qingqiu’s habit of falling into his thoughts and getting distracted, of course. Still, his words brought up a different concern.

“It’s Shen Qingqiu now,” he said automatically, because Luo Binghe couldn’t keep calling him by his old name. “Wait, ****, you can’t just start calling me by my name!”

Luo Binghe nodded. His lips twitched up mischievously. Shen Qingqiu eyed the expression warily.

“Of course. It should be ‘Shizun’, right?” Luo Binghe said innocently. Fake innocence! This man knew exactly what he was saying!

Shen Qingqiu blanched at the very thought of it. His husband calling him ‘Shizun’! It was enough to send shivers down his spine, and not the good kind. But, it was, actually, how Luo Binghe was supposed to refer to Shen Qingqiu…

For the sake of his emotional state, Shen Qingqiu put that aside for the moment. “Anyway, you know where we are, right?” he said.

Luo Binghe sobered up.

“‘Luo Binghe’, that was the name of the main character of the webnovel you were reading, wasn’t it?” he said.

Really! Less than ten minutes (of having his memories), and he’d already figured it out? And he wasn’t even the one who’d read the book. Shen Qingqiu tried to be annoyed, and failed.

“Yes. I think… we might really be in the world of that novel,” Shen Qingqiu said. “I’m not sure how, or why.”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” Luo Binghe said. “Together.”

Shen Qingqiu smiled. He really was relieved that his husband was here, too. “Together,” he agreed.

Wait.

Where were Luo Binghe’s eyes looking?

“So, husband… Are you sure I can’t have a kiss?” Luo Binghe said, staring directly at Shen Qingqiu’s lips and slinking closer.

“I’m very sure!” Shen Qingqiu said, backing away.

He’d dropped his fan earlier, but there were several more on a table nearby. Shen Qingqiu grabbed one, opening it in front of his face defensively. Luo Binghe stared right through it as though it wasn’t there.

“Not even one?” Luo Binghe’s eyes were filling with tears. Unfortunately for him, he was physically a child and the effect only made it less likely that Shen Qingqiu would kiss him.

“Not even one! You’re like twelve!”

“I’m fourteen, and it’s been years since I saw you,” Luo Binghe said. “I’ve been all alone for so many years, just waiting to see my love again.”

Shen Qingqiu wasn’t budging. Luo Binghe was always like this. “And now you’ve seen me. You’ve waited fourteen years for a kiss, you can wait five more,” he said mercilessly.

Luo Binghe looked like he might really start crying.

#BingQiuWeek2019 #day one #scum villain #the scum villain's self-saving system #fanfiction #I wrote a thing #long post

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thunderheadfred · 5 years

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Why I Love Spike But Also Hate Him A Lot: an unsolicited essay by me

OR: Why I personally relate to blood-sucking poseurs OR: dude what if I ever got high enough to rewrite season six?

(under a cut because this goes on for a while. also discourse frightens me)

Okay. I’m like twenty years late. But I’ve been rewatching BtVS s5 during my latest depression spiral and wandering against my better judgement into the Spuffy fic verse. Disclaimer that my grasp of the series’ larger canon is meh at best, and frankly I don’t care.

As usual, I have too many thoughts.

Spike is, hands-down, my favorite character on this show. Maybe one of my favorite characters, period. He’s just... good to watch. But listen. Secret poet or no, he was never an inherently good person. Meek and shy does not equal Buffy’s equal. I squirm at this apparently massively popular canon interpretation of his human character as some kind of adorable perfect cherub, as if William the Dipshit Poet is somehow preferable to Spike the Complicated Murderer or like, we should just automatically assume that cute shy white people who lived in 1880 London are default Lawful Good when in fact... ahahaa haaaa YIKES COLONIALISM?

I actually think the reason Spike is “more human” than other vampires (in the weird, contradictory Buffy soul-canon) is exactly because William was not Pure, he was a Pratt. Sweet? I guess. Loves his mum? He’s got that going for him. But that guy?? Is not Buffy’s long-lost true love, not a weepy ghost to be shoved into Spike’s Billy Idol cosplay bod at the last minute. In a show that, at its best, tries to give us a protagonist who fundamentally believes we must always make the choice to keep living mindfully, accountably, and with purpose... we get a love interest who is... Spike. A guy who, until the very end of his arc, acts as though he has zero fucking free will. Even though, through a combo of deliciously fun and inconsistent writing, Spike is apparently the only vampire in the Buffyverse who does.

I’ll get to that but first, let’s accept for a minute that Free Will + Buffy = good, and people who roll over and say “I had no choice” + Buffy = Mr. Pointy. This counts for her friends too, (*coughWILLOWcough*) and it’s one of the reasons I love the show despite its many textual problems. As a character piece, it’s great. People fail to take accountability for their behavior all the time. It’s an extraordinarily human flaw, one that rarely equals automatically evil, and I love that it can bite characters on the side of good, too. But that’s not the point of this, oh shit!

Okay. William, cute glasses aside, has no free will. He didn’t even sign up for the vampire thing, he just wanted to get felt up by a pretty girl who saw him cry and didn’t laugh at him. At every point, he was an immature, weak-willed, naive dreamer type who wanted nothing more than to be validated by his shitty friends. The vampirism made him a killer, yeah. But it also inadvertently gave a cowardly nobody a lot of good qualities. Now he’s a weirdly observant, relentlessly optimistic, fun-loving, sexually secure Cool Guy who gave up poetry for punk... but still tries too hard to impress his shitty friends. Basically, being a vampire made this guy a happier-but-still-undeniably-crappy version of himself, especially... considering all the murder.

But now, let us transparently and metaphorically link cartoonish Vamp!Murder to addiction. Because wow, death in BtVS is either a manipulative authorial gut-punch or a dumb joke, and either way, it’s almost impossible to take seriously in this show, so let’s not.

How to make a remorseless bloodsucking fiend out of of “boo hoo I’m a bad writer and I wish some jerks thought I was cool?” Ha ha you can’t! Turns out you basically recreate my early twenties but with more murder. Spike is a socially-dependent ADHD art school reject on a century-long avoidance bender. He’s a codependent, moon-eyed boyfriend who learns how to aggressively project not caring while caring Far Too Much, all while clinging to aesthetic as an identity. ALTHOUGH let us not deny that he 100% enjoyed all the killing - wtf so much killing - because for vampires, killing equals pleasure, and charming, “happy” addicts always justify the comforts of their vices. He talks the talk cuz fitting in is his whole deal, but he’s not actually in it for chaos and destruction or any high-falutin’ evil reason, or even really for eating delicious ladies but because, in the end, it feels good and the only girlfriend he’s ever had thinks eating people is cool. Even his whole (gorgeous, splendid to watch) episode-long speech about killing two slayers was written more for Buffy’s character arc than his; we don’t really know why he killed the slayers other than like, “Because they had a death wish I guess. Side note: it was fun.”

There wasn’t much legitimately vengeful or hateful stuff in sad little William for demon!Spike to work with, and apparently William’s soul-or-whatever moved about twelve inches over his left shoulder and stayed there, occasionally poking him for the next hundred years. So it should shock no one that he immediately switches sides when a) his girlfriend dumps him, b) his addiction suddenly hurts, and c) it’s time to impress a new friend group.

I get that Spike’s whole soul-getting between s6 and s7 has been interpreted in fanon as a grand romantic sacrifice (ehhhhhhhhhhhh) and I get why that’s tempting, but the show itself bungled that up way bad and I just can’t get behind it. R*pe idiocy aside, making it ultimately all about Buffy just kinda cheapens what could have been a really fucking powerful redemption arc, one that would have led to a far more satisfying love story. Especially from Buffy’s perspective.

Okay listen.

We have a guy who has been playing the “duh, Vampire!” card for a century, pleasure-seeking and self-centered, pandering to various peer groups, murderous or otherwise, a happy addict, impervious to change. So when finally, after a HUNDRED SODDING YEARS of being a soulless, hilarious dick, Spike has consequences shoved into his gray matter by the government, he doesn’t change. At all. He just starts obsessing over another woman, doing what he thinks she wants. A woman he thinks will give him new pleasures, a new, perpetually fine status quo. But this woman is Buffy, whose identity is rock solid even though her life is constantly full of challenge and change and choices. She “rewards” Spike only when he makes willful, selfless decisions. And the rewards aren’t romantic, either. Not early on. Even in canon, she keeps rejecting him over and over again, for crystal clear reasons. Thank god. Because when he accepts that she’ll never have him, but still does the hard stuff anyway, he’s unwittingly starting to change. It’s not just Buffy. Buffy demands real personhood. Independence. Identity. Choice.

Uh oh. She’s gotten to him, then. Though it starts out selfish, he still makes a CHOICE. Quite literally, he takes on the pain of self-improvement - first by embracing the consequences of his chip, later by going on his fancy sparkly soul quest. Buffy is the catalyst, no doubt, because once a poet always a poet and girls are pretty, but Spike’s path to improvement (if not redemption) was already there, laid out nice and neat. His narrative low point, the lightbulb moment that makes him want a soul again, should never have come out of a season of terrible backsliding, culminating in the shower scene we all regret.

It should have been The Gift.

Death isn’t Buffy’s gift. It’s love. And not that simpering, easy kind of love that just says, “there there,” but the hard, truthful love that makes you want to keep getting that goddamn rock from the bottom of the hill. Yes, Spike’s arc should still be about Buffy, it’s Buffy’s show, but it should have been more about the hole she left behind. Not just in Spike but in the world.

What’s left? This latest and greatest group of people who have so far RIGHTLY rejected a demon whose sole motivator seems to be comfort. And maybe when these particular people hit rock bottom, they have enough wisdom to see a monster down in the dark and recognize themselves. Maybe Dawn (whose humanizing effect on Spike has been nearly as important as his obsession with Buffy) shows him that rare, rare thing called Validation. And oh god, he realizes he’s never actually moved beyond trying to sell effulgence to Cecily Whatsherface, that he’s been sitting on his own grave for a hundred years, waiting for someone to coddle and fix him, and now the only woman who might have, the best woman, literally the one girl chosen one above all others... is gone. This would be a good time to die.

Or...

...maybe there is no magic soul cave, maybe he tries to end it and makes the CHOICE not to. Chooses to stay and help, because what else is there? Then BAM! it just slams back into him in a way that hurts like you can’t even believe, because admitting how bad you’ve fucked up is the most painful moment of a lifetime and I’ve lived it and I wish I’d had a hellmouth to jump into, but the Scoobies pull him back, and he takes care of Dawn until life seems to have some meaning again, then Buffy comes out of the earth traumatized and broken and no one is better equipped to help her than a recovering Spike, not because he’s magically her rock but because he’s also learning how to roll his own rock and keep on climbing, because Camus ruined us all for metaphors...

THE END

Anyway. As a recovering addict and toxic person who has been struggling a lot recently... who wants to improve and be able to give more to the people I love, Spike has an arc that just like... cuts me deep, man. Especially because of what should have been.

#I'm also afraid to tag this as anything #haha aaa aa #uh

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nordic-breeze · 5 years

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I was going through my files and I came over this document I sent to my friend @distant-rain pretty much the same day I realized I had fallen in love with Arthur, after weeks of being in denial or shrugging off my daydreaming of this cowboy as nbd or thought experiments and boy was I confused.

I knew next to nothing about RDR1 when I wrote this December last year and I didn’t know much about RDR2 post chapter 2 either except for Arthur’s fate, which I had just learned of, and oml was I upset and confused. Though also scaringly accurate about certain things.

Now over six months later, I love this cowboy even more. And I kept true to my word. If anyone wanna read the rambings of a fangirl who had just found her new obsession be my guest.

I was blown away by how massive this game is. The level of detail is incredible and I greatly appreciate the effort put into creating this world. Yeah, we’ve all heard about the horse testicles shrinking in cold weather but it’s not like it’s just one bizarre detail being essentially a dick joke in an otherwise average game. No, RDR2 is detailed enough that it actually makes sense to add in peculiarities like that. The amount of wildlife alone, I mean, ever since the PS2 era I’ve been used to seeing animals in games but R* created whole-ass ecosystems in RDR2, several of’em, from snowy mountains to marshlands, with animals that act so much like actual animals. Just listening to the birds singing, it’s like being out in an actual forest!

Characterization is another thing that amazed me, in particular the protagonist. I knew nothing about the first RDR when started playing RDR2, nor did I know anything about RDR in general other than it was western-themed and made by the GTA-guys. I expected somewhat of a similar characterization as GTA where every character is a stereotype or a caricature. I genuinely liked GTAV’s story for what it was and even though every character was more or less an asshole, some of them were also weirdly likeable and even earned my sympathy (and hint of affection) occasionally.

But it never really went deeper than that nor was it particularly long-lasting (still way more than I expected tho). I bonded with one of the characters more than I thought I would but not nearly as much as I would had the characters felt more like actual humans and not like the epitome of stereotypes. But it is what R* wanted and it worked. I expected the RDR2 characters to be the same but to my surprise the characters, especially Arthur, are fleshed out, complex, even relatable (depending on your actions I guess). Unlike GTAV, they act and react like actual human beings. Well, human beings that have lived their entire life (more or less) as outlaws. In a country and time period foreign to me. But still they felt human. Ofc I’ve not gotten to know any of the NPC’s as well as Arthur but from various missions and eavesdropping on their conversation I’ve gotten to know them a bit. Hosea is my favorite. He seems like a good man despite being an outlaw and I love how everyone goes to him for advice and how supportive he is. I also wish more people (esp a certain Dutch man) could listen to him more. I also really like Charles. He definitely got morals and could be a good influence on Arthur and the others. I haven’t seen much of Sadie yet, but think I’ll like her too. Lenny seems nice. That one scene when he and Arthur went out drinking together was absolutely brilliant! And lil Jack’s adorable ofc. Only one I don’t like is Micha or Miach or whathisname. I know no one in the van der Linde gang are saints but that guy is a total psychopath. I kinda wish Arthur had gotten his way there when he said they should just leave him in jail as he was nothing but trouble and it annoys me how Dutch is sticking up for him. Yeah, speaking of, not too fond of Dutch or that German guy either atm.

But all in all very impressed by the large open world, the level of details to well, everything and the characterization. Soundtrack is great, graphics are stunning, animations smooth, the horse-riding simulation is just extraordinary and you never know what’s gonna happen as you ride through the map. The amount and variety of random events and encounters are truly impressive. Often comical, like that wildlife photographer who keeps getting almost eaten up by the wildlife he’s trying to document, sometimes eerie like the serial killer side story, or sad like when Arthur met with his former love. Or a combination of said elements like the pig farmers I ran into. With no pigs. But were still veeery well fed. You know, when people are just a liiitle bit too friendly? That eerie feeling you get when you just know something’s wrong but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Until you can. I thought they were husband and wife I really did. You shoulda seen my face when I realized they were in fact brother and sister. Me and Arthur had the exact same face. They were living as husband and wife tho. Well, up until I killed them.

I also love the contrast between the more ‘modern’ world and the simpler life. I could go into town, buy food at the saloon and rent a room or take a bath at the hotel. Or I could ride a few mins out into the wilderness, hunt and gather my own food, cook it over a bonfire and sleep under the stars. Electricity exists, but people are still completely dependent on oil lamps and open flame. Trains and trams exist, cars have been invented, but people still mainly travel on horseback. This contrast between old and new as an era is ending and the modern era is about to begin has been an amazing experience considering the level of detail the game has. The colonization of the new land, which has been largely unknown to me, the contrast between this and modern-day America we see on TV. So many people did not even speak English, I often find abandoned buildings, or burnt-down buildings, some with bodies inside, leaving me wondering what happened to them, I found a ghost town whose inhabitants had been wiped out by a plague. It was tough for many I reckon.

In fact, I find the exploration of this foreign but also somewhat familiar, beautiful but harsh world and its many random events and encounters waaay more interesting than the actual main story itself, which is why it took me forever to reach chapter 3. In fact, the story is probably my least favorite part about RDR2, as backwards as it may sound. I’ve never been into western stories or aesthetics, and I’m certainly NOT into the whole ‘outlaws till the end’ stuff ugh. I fail to sympathize with the whole ‘boo-hoo the world no want outlaws like us no more it’s unfair’. Ugh, go cry me a fucking river. And then go get a job. A real job. Yeah, I get it that adapting to society is tough, life’s tough deal with it and stop preying on others. Wow, robbing two trains in short time and staying in the same fucking area actually has consequences, I’m so shook!

So yeah, story-wise I don’t quite ‘get it’ and Dutch is really starting to get on my nerves, which is probably why I prefer to just ride off alone and experience the world. I guess RDR2 story will rely heavily on being torn between gang loyalty and your own morality and principles but since I have virtually no concept of group loyalty that is all lost on me. My own morals and principles all the way. I’m like, ‘these people suck, take Hosea, Charles, Sadie, Tilly (maybe John Marston and his family) and leave these bitches behind’.

At the beginning, I did kinda liked Dutch. He seemed genuinely sorry for Sadie, took her in and saved her life, even if it meant another mouth to feed in dire times. And he showed Kiran mercy despite hating the O’Driscol’s. But as I’ve progressed thought the game, his grand speeches about sticking together, sticking with him, slowly but surely has turned from pep-talk to keep people’s spirit up to sounding like a cult leader desperate to keep his following no matter the cost. Yesterday when I was playing, I overheard him quote some quasi-philosophy book to Lenny and used the words to twist them into his own convictions to support his decisions. And when Lenny objected, Dutch literally said ‘you’re breaking my heart, kid’. Wow Dutch, talk about manipulating your protégé.

It was the mission when those lawmen approached Arthur as he was fishing with Jack that really made me consciously see Dutch in a new light. Up until then, RDR2 had mostly been fun and games but that conversation left me feeling a bit uneasy. But I just figured it was the main story finally picking up pace and also, I figured I was near the end of the chapter. I carried on, suddenly eager to see what would happen and was thoroughly surprised by how the chapter ended. In a bad way.

While both chapter 2 and chapter 3 begins with a ‘new start’ vibe, chapter 3 felt very different from chapter 2. Mostly it was that feeling that Dutch’s obsession with ‘sticking to this life’ is going to get people killed. Idk, it’s this eerie feeling something’s wrong but can’t quite put my finger on it-feel again. But thanks to internet being internet I already knew some spoilers so I couldn’t help but to look up something and… well, let me put it this way. I’m never going to finish this game. Ever. It breaks my heart because in so many ways it’s truly an amazing game and a fantastic experience. But I’m just not that into the story, I don’t like where it’s heading and I don’t want to see what’s coming to character(s) I’ve come to care deeply about.

I still want to explore the world more, see what unfolds, do more challenges, add stuff to my compendium, maybe get some trophies… but I doubt I’ll ever progress much story-wise. Quite the contrary, I might reload an earlier save and just stay in chapter 2 forever.

(wrtten a couple of days later)

Seems my instincts was right on the money, esp concerning Dutch. Sad thing, I do believe he is sincere. In the first few chapters at least. He is manipulative but I also believe he’s convinced himself that he’s doing the right thing. And then his obsession will eventually get the better of him and when people and the lifestyle is slipping away from him, he doesn’t handle it well at all. Ugh, it’s so frustrating, I just wanna gather all my favs and yell: “leave nooow, before it’s too late!

It’s not for the sake of spacing it out or making it last. I just don’t want to progress in the story at all. I hated losing Horseshoe Overlook. HATED IT HATED IT HATED IT!!!! Yes the new place is beautiful, yes I know it’s the life of the outlaws and RDR2 does show that life for better and for worse whereas most stories tend to romanticize the whole thing, yes as outlaws they can’t stay for too long in one place. But as mentioned I have a hard time sympathize with and immerse myself into that lifestyle. Yes, I got all my upgrades and a whole new area to explore, a bigger nearby town, and closer to that big city. Still hated it. Horseshoe Overlook was my place. The Heartlands was home. And the view was stunning! And I liked Valentine. It was small and dirty but I had good memories from there. Until I had to shoot up half the town. My motivation for continuing the main story is at absolute zero.

It was more what the transition represented, I guess. You never know what will happen in RDR2. And it’s true, for random encounters, and many of the individual missions. But when it comes to the story as a whole, I feel like I already now can predict how it’ll play out. Every chapter begins with the gang on the move, finding a place to settle down and have a fresh start, even chapter 1 (as they were on the run bc a heist gone wrong or something). Then they settle down, go into town to get to know the area and establish connections and looking for easy money, often at the expenses of others. X random events later, they get too overconfident or careless, screws up or get hunted down, it ends with a shootout, then they are on the run again, finds a new place to settle down where Dutch promises that THIS TIME IT WILL BE DIFFERENT until they’re wanted on the entire map and can’t go anywhere cos the wild west is ending. I really liked it at Horseshoe Overlook and whenever Im in that area again I’ll just get sad.

I had no idea I’d gotten so emotionally invested so I was really surprised at how much I disliked moving camps and all. I’ve also gotten so fond of Arthur. I was so busy with exploring, doing challenges, learning to hunt etc I didn’t even realize it happening. Until one scene had me almost tearing up! I think because, we as the player really have to look out for him. Even though I make sure that he eats regularly, he’s still underweight. When out riding I usually set up camp when night falls so that Arthur can get some rest. Something I’d never think about in any other game. And I always give him coffee in the morning. Then it’s his journal that gives such valuable insight into who he truly is as a person. There’s no doubt he’s so much more than just a mere outlaw. He writes surprisingly well and is open and is surprisingly honest about his thoughts and feelings. How torn he is between the life of an outlaw and wanting to be a better man, a better person. How he admired Charles because, for him it was ‘so easy to just be good’ whereas he himself always feel torn between good and evil. And his journal entries when he meets his long-lost love Mary and saves her brother from the cultists. The expression on his face as he said goodbye to her on the train station… how utterly heartbroken he was… how she still loved him too… man, that one tore at my heart. Still does when thinking about it.

I wish I could take Hosea, Charles, Sadie, Tilly, John’s family and maybe Lenny too with me, run off and start anew. Charles would have good influence on Arthur and encourage him to turn his life around and find his place in society and encourage John to be a better father and role model for Jack and they could all learn how to live as free men and women without robbing or hurting anyone (unless they deserve it). Like, Charles is an excellent hunter and tracker. He’d totally get enough food for the gang and maybe even enough to sell. He could train Jack too. Hosea was always more of a conman/grifter than a brute/robber. He could con bad guys or rich assholes Robin Hood style. If anyone gave him grief, John and Arthur would settle the score. Arthur could sell animal pelts and John could take up carpeting. They’d be such a happy lil family. But, RDR1 is yet to happen so it’s all just wishful thinking *sigh*

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #the ramblings of a fangirl #about me

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