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#but he is not a good man he is not the victim and he does not deserve good things while ed according to some izzy stans…

prythianpages · 2 days

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NIGHT MASTERLIST

A Z R I E L

↠ A Court of Shadows & Moonlight | rhy's sister oc

series masterlist Summary: Daughter of the Night Court’s High Lord. Half Illyrian. Half High Fae. Rhysand’s little sister. A Dreamer. Only few know her as Valeria and only one knows her truth. She is the moon, a lonely girl cratered by imperfections, and he is her night, the one who helps her shine bright.

↠ Give 'Em Hell | beron's daughter oc

series masterlist Summary: Beron Vanserra is a man with many sinful secrets but there is one that desires to punish him. His daughter. His true firstborn and heir to the Autumn Court.

↠ A Field of Dandelions | witch reader

series masterlist Summary: Your High Lady calls upon you. requesting a remedy that only you know how to make. It requires specific ingredients found between the courts of spring and autumn and you're in need of an escort. Unfortunately for you, she assigns her Shadowsinger to accompany you. The Shadowsinger who hates you...or so you thought.

↠ I've Been Waiting For You ☁︎ `♡´

[read here] [bonus] Summary: After centuries of waiting, Azriel finally meets the one he's been longing for. His mate. (this is kinda inspired by Alice & Jasper from twilight.)

↠ Be Safe ☁︎

[read here] summary: you are on your way to Day Court when Azriel stops you. After the two of you fall victim to Cassian's and Mor's teasing, Azriel realizes why he can't just let you go.

↠ When I Kissed the Teacher ☁︎

[read here] Summary: After crushing on Azriel for almost a year, Nesta dares you to kiss him during Valkyrie training.

↠ In My Eyes | Rhysand's Sister reader`♡´

[read here] Summary: Azriel has lost you once and when unseen circumstances bring you back to life, he will not lose you again. Even if it means going against his family.

C A S S I A N

↠ Stuck on You

series masterlist Summary: Cassian can't seem to forget about you since the night you met seven years ago. He thought he would never see you again but when he does, he's determined to make you his. This time for good.

↠ Lay All Your Love On Me ☪☁︎

[read here] [bonus] summary: Cassian is your best friend and best friend’s don’t thirst after one another. Best friends don’t get jealous. Best friends also don’t fall in love with one another. But you did.

↠ When I Kissed the Teacher ☁︎

[read here] summary: After weeks of flirting and one drunken confession, you decide to finally own up to your feelings for Cassian.

R H Y S A N D

↠ Wanna Be Yours | Dawn court reader

series masterlist Summary: When the Night Court and Dawn Court strike a deal, healers in exchange for Illyrian training, you rush at the opportunity to leave your home. You plan to keep a low profile but upon meeting the High Lord of night, your efforts are futile. He takes an instant liking to you and is set on being yours.

↠ The Sun and the Moon ☁︎

summary: Rhysand wants to write you the perfect poem for Valentine's Day and calls Cassian and Azriel for help. [read here]

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sugar-grigri · 2 days

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analyze the ball kicking scene 🫶🏼 (out of joke, love your posts <3)

Yes, even kicking balls has symbolism in Chainsaw Man

You're joking, Anon, but I wanted to do a post about it yesterday, and now you've given me the opportunity. Everything in this chapter is about the symbolism of kicking balls, yes, even the beginning!

Haruka Iseumi flicks through several TV channels, rather blasély, until he comes across a woman whose speech seems to resonate with him, a woman who seems to feel betrayed, disoriented like these teenagers who have been put in danger by an institution that has never seen their good, the church. But this girl only talks about her disappointment following a scandal surrounding over-mediatized stars.

What Haruka is going through right now is disillusionment, believing that his problems would have been taken seriously, his situation as an escaped high school terrorist, would have interested the public. But people prefer not to face up to these kinds of problems; an epidemic of people turned into demons is as commonplace as wars. To avoid jeopardizing personal comfort, people prefer to focus on other problems. Because people literally don't have the balls to face reality.

But contrary to what Haruka thinks, he's not so different: he's also an angst-ridden child who had totally surrendered to his idol, Chainsaw Man, to the point of convincing himself that he was bound to him, even pretending to be him for a semblance of trust. What the chapter seems to show is that Haruka is more down to earth than that girl on TV, but what it really shows is that he's exactly like that girl, but no longer admits it to himself.

No, Haruka, you're not dreaming, or rather you have been until now and now you can't do it anymore.

Because you've reached his idol, you have literally reassembled his image, you've seen the boy you have no interest in behind that reassuring mask.

What this chapter is about is the illusion into which we accept to insert ourselves in order to better resist our fears and existential ills.

Denji doesn't have to exist to shatter the illusions he needs to survive; even his awakening and his speech are too much, as his image no longer matches the one he wears as a universal puppet. He's literally cuter when he's inanimate, because that's what he's made for. At least, that's the only way we accept him. He's made to fill your person, and it's impossible for Chainsaw Man to be a person in his own right.

As proof of this, when Denji wakes up, his first reflex is not to discover that he's complete again, for he exists only to fill others, hence his question to Asa as to where her arm has gone. Unknowingly, Denji has accepted his role.

For Katana Man and Yoru, Chainsaw Man is a goal, a dream to be achieved. Seeing the person behind it, the other half, disturbs them. Considering it might even make them reconsider their choices.

Katana Man has deluded himself into believing that Denji no longer has the heart of a man, that he was his grandfather's tormentor and not the child who was the victim. He needs this revenge to move forward, just as Yoru, as a war demon, needs to fight an unattainable adversary to continue wreaking havoc.

But what's that got to do with it? What does this have to do with beating Denji's balls off?

Who kicked Katana Man in the balls? Aki and Denji. If Chainsaw Man is the metaphor for the comforting illusion of others, Aki is the symbol that revenge (often impossible) is a long-term, survival goal for hearts scarred by resentment. Beating the balls off? The meeting of the two.

When Aki and Denji beat up Katana Man, the illusion of a proud, virile, traditional man who swore by his honor had been shattered. What Katana Man represented to himself and to the readers, this formidable adversary, had been dismantled.

But above all, this was a gentle, more accessible form of revenge, one that would allow us to survive, a way for Aki to avenge Himeno in her own way, without actually avenging her. It's about beating your opponent while admitting you've lost in some way.

Similarly, when Katana Man and Yoru defeat Denji, they lead to a renewed desire to dismantle Chainsaw Man's image. To bring it together as their long-term goal of revenge. But despite this balance of power, this gesture symbolically demonstrates that they are not certain of their victory.

Above all, the important answer in this chapter is once again in the background.

Fami continues to eat undisturbed. She eats all the time, but in this chapter, she seemed almost to be regaining her strength.

Why was that?

Her plan was clear, to make people fear Chainsaw Man as well as the war, to make Yoru and Chainsaw Man champions. But what about the media? They prefer to do what's most profitable, keeping viewers entertained for as long as possible, so that they forget about the real issues.

People prefer to delude themselves, to dream dreams, rather than focus on reality, so will Chainsaw Man and Yoru have their strength increased to the point where they'll be potential opponents for death?

because people are already escaping the fear of death through entertainment, which is even the best champion.

Instead of thinking about our existential crises, we flood our brains with unimportant information.

As the philosopher Pascal would say: "Since men have not been able to cure death, misery and ignorance, they have decided, in order to make themselves happy, not to think about them. Notwithstanding these miseries, he wants to be happy, and only wants to be happy, and cannot not want to be happy".

But let's close this loop of questions: if Chainsaw Man allows this comforting disillusionment, Denji is the opposite, something we refuse to see, if Chainsaw Man is a dream, Denji is reality. Let's get back to our main subject: beating up balls.

When Aki first beat Denji up, he wanted to disgust him enough to prevent him from signing up as a public hunter. Literally, he preferred to spare Denji from reality, by killing the symbol that is Denji (did you miss the headaches I caused?). But when Denji retaliates, to insist that he wants to enlist, it's the other way around: it's the harshness of reality that Denji fully accepts that will prevail over Aki's attempt to protect him.

When Katana Man and Yoru beat Denji's balls off, in reality they're trying to fight the reality of what Chainsaw Man is, this mixture between a boy, reality, and the bloodthirsty enemy, the dream, Chainsaw Man. Beating up Denji is an attempt to avoid the harshness of life. It's that illusion.

So when Denji helped Aki beat up Katana Man, he allowed him to escape his survival mechanisms, his revenge, his illusion, by enjoying the present moment, pure reality. But when Denji defeated Aki, it was also the announcement of the reality of Aki's fate, which would outweigh this illusion - the success of his revenge.

That's why Pochita, the dream and illusion, prevents Denji from opening the door. When Denji sees reality, he can't help opening it. Just as Makima concentrated on her Chainsaw Man dream without seeing reality, Denji right behind it. Just as the dream allows Denji to escape reality, the contract between Denji and Pochita has allowed Denji to become someone else, escaping from himself, himself a victim of the dream without being able to know exactly what he is.

But don't forget, beating the balls off is Denji's tactic.

Why is that? Because no matter how hard you try to escape it, reality will always prevail.

#csm 163 #chainsaw #chainsaw man spoilers #chainsaw man #csm part 2 #Denji #denji hayakawa #asa Mitaka #iseumi #haruka iseumi #aki hayakawa #yoru #katana #katana man #my thoughts #ask #THANK YOU

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duuhrayliegh · 23 hours

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equal and opposite (consequences, pt. 2)

a/n: first of all, yall really showed out with the comments and reblogs on the first part of this so THANK YOU SO MUCH like i haven't written anything that i felt was good in months so to have such an overwhelmingly positive response to that post felt amazing!!!!

if you haven’t read part one, i highly recommend checking that out first!!!!

anyway, i hadn't originally intended for this to go anywhere else, but as i've said before bartender!bucky & peanut just wouldn't go away so here we are!!! i hope this lives up to the expectations and if we want more PLEASE LET ME KNOW I LIVE TO PLEASE

“Can you please just sit down? I don’t understand what’s happening to us!”

“That’s the problem!”

He throws his hands above his head out of exasperation. They land on his hips as their new resting place and he levels you with a frustrated glare. A glare. Apparently, you’re not worth the energy it takes to filter the emotions from his tone or expressions. That luxury must be saved for his plethora of mistresses.

“You don’t understand me anymore!”

“Understand you?”

Going home has become harder and harder. Despite desperately wanting to fix your marriage, it seems your efforts might have been in vain. No matter how hard you try, your husband has made every effort to avoid having a real conversation with you. To say you’re at your wit's end would be generous.

“Yes! Coming home to you is too stressful for me. I’m in the office all week and then I come home to a wife who doesn’t put in any effort to make herself desirable for me.”

Your jaw dropped, as did the wooden spoon in your hand. His words float through your head on repeat. That voice you used to love, the same voice that vowed to always love and cherish you in his wedding vows. Now, you’re cooking for a man you don’t know.

“Then why stay with me? If I’m so clearly not what you want, why stay?”

There’s a drawn out silence that is accompanied by softly heaving breaths and the simmering pot of homemade spaghetti sauce.

“You’re what I want in a wife. You just don’t understand my needs in the way that Shelia does.”

Your blood boils. Shelia—the latest girlfriend in a string of girlfriends. How dare he? You turn to the stove and begin clicking everything off. You fume while gathering your purse and keys to a home that you no longer feel welcome in.

“This is why I didn’t want to get into this. You’re too emotional and I knew you’d play the victim whenever I’m suffering too!”

You roll your eyes, refusing to engage because you’ll only hurt yourself more. Instead, you pry the door open and slam it shut before trekking off down the hallway.

You don’t have a plan, all you know is that you need to get out. You’re lucky that you were wearing a hoodie and jeans whenever you started getting into it with John. It’s not the first time that you had to get out, so you’ve learned over the past few months.

Wind whips against your cheeks when you exit your apartment building. You pull your hood over your head and start walking aimlessly. You reach for your phone and dial the first number you think of.

You never stop walking, street lamps lighting the sidewalk with a pale yellow light. There’s an irritating sting starting behind your eyes that you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t have to listen to the trilling of the phone line for long before it’s interrupted.

“Commando’s. How can I help you?”

The music in the bar is loud enough that you can clearly make out Steve’s divorced dad rock playlist. A rush of relief shoots down your spine and you breathe a sigh while enjoying the subtle ambiance through your phone speaker.

“Hello?”

It’s only then that you realize you’ve been on the phone for the past thirty seconds without saying anything.

“Bucky?”

“Peanut?”

“Hi, uh--I didn't have your number and I didn't know who else to call."

"Hang on, Peanut. I'm here, hang on." Suddenly the music is reduced to a bouncing bass line. "Are you okay?"

You continue walking, breathing in the stale air of the city as you debate your answer. For the most part, sure, you're okay. You’re not physically harmed in any way, just a deep emotional hurt that persists through the stark cold of the air around you. But if someone looked twice, or you spend more than half a second around someone you're comfortable with, that answer wouldn’t hold water.

"The wheels, Peanut, I can hear them. I need you to answer me. Are you okay?"

Bucky's voice is soft and grounding. Your heartbeat starts to match the steady baseline of the bar's music.

"I'm okay?"

Bucky's soft laugh echoes through the phone speaker, "That sounded like a question more than an answer, Peanut." He then pauses and sighs, "What did he do now?"

You suck in a sharp breath, debating on how to answer his question. The lead weight that had previously settled in your stomach begins to lessen as you hear Bucky’s voice.

On the one hand, Bucky has become the person you feel the most comfortable with. You don't have anyone close to you in the city because you moved out here to support John's career. Your family is on the other side of the country, and it's not like you've had a whole lot of time to build a support system here.

On the other, Bucky didn't sign up for this. He didn't sign up for a broken wife that isn't even his! You have no connection to him outside of becoming a regular at his bar and forming a possibly misguided attraction.

“Peanut? Come on back to me."

“Sorry, Buck. I just—“ you trail off, not entirely sure how to handle yourself.

“Don’t worry about it, Peanut Butter.” You laugh softly at the lengthier version of your nickname while he continues talking. “Look, how about we meet somewhere so we can talk?”

“Aren’t you working tonight though? I can just come to the bar.”

No matter how appealing Bucky’s offer is, you don’t want him to risk his livelihood for you. You aren’t worth that, not really.

“Not anymore, Pea. You’re more important to me. The guys here can handle the bar while I leave to take care of my Ps and Qs.”

You giggle again, unsure of where he comes up with these iterations.

“There she is.”

The words are murmured low, as if he was just speaking to himself. As if it’s a remark not meant for public consumption, just a murmur of his adoration.

“There’s a little hole in the wall on 115th and North. It’s called Winnie’s. Meet me there and you can talk for however long they’re serving coffee.”

"Don't diners always serve coffee?"

"They sure do. And Winnie's is a 24-hour diner. Which means," There's a loud shuffle on his end of the phone and then his voice cuts through. "you can talk to me for as long as you want, Peanut."

"Thank you, Bucky." You aren't as loud as you meant to be, but you know he hears you when he hums before you end the call.

Shoving the phone in the pocket of your jacket, you search for street signs.

And now you stand in front of Winnie's, a sixties diner straight off a movie set. Bright neon illuminates the street below, bathing you in a turquoise light that you're sure is not at all flattering. The front door is encased in chrome and vinyl covers the seating throughout the restaurant.

You push through the front doors and spy a large jukebox on the left side of the building. There's no host stand, so you peer around the seats in search of your bartender.

"Welcome to Winnie's. hun! Just take a seat, we'll be right with ya!"

An older woman yells from behind the bar top. Her graying hair is pulled into a neat bun at the base of her neck and you're just about to read her nametag when you hear a familiar voice.

"Peanut! This-a-way!" Bucky stands from a booth in the corner, grabbing your attention and everyone else in the restaurant.

A bright blush colors your cheeks as you make your way to his booth in the corner. The linoleum floor of the diner becomes increasingly interesting the closer you find yourself to Bucky. To be completely truthful, you've never seen Bucky outside of the bar, so this is a jarring, but welcome experience.

He's still wearing those annoyingly large boots and tight white shirt that never fails to distract you when you're sitting on the twirly bar stools. His metal arm is on full display, the gold in-lay catching the light as he twists a straw wrapper into a tight spiral.

Bucky stands to greet you once you reach the booth, leaning toward you and wrapping you in his warm embrace. Your breath catches at his sudden body heat, but you waste no time in curling your arms around his torso.

"This might be the dumbest and most obvious question, but," he pulls back from the hug and gestures toward the seat across from him, "how’re you doing?"

A stifled laugh escapes as you settle into the worn vinyl seat. Instead of answering, you pull a less-than-convincing smile that you know Bucky can see right through. Evidenced by the fact that he laughs sarcastically at the look of it.

"Yeah, thought as much."

"It's just all becoming too much, I think."

An older woman brings two coffee mugs to the table, gripping a half-full coffee pot in her other hand. You stop yourself before you divulge anything in the presence of strangers. You don't need to burden another random stranger with your problems, Bucky is more than enough.

“Who's your friend, Jamie?"

Bucky smiles while introducing you to the woman. He extends the same courtesy to you, placing the name of the woman in front of you.

"Peanut, this is Winnie. She's the owner and operator of Winnie's diner."

Bucky pours a healthy dose of sugar into your coffee mug and then drops a spoon into it before pushing it across to you. You're in the middle of taking a large sip of the hot drink when Bucky continues talking.

"She's also my mother."

“Oh!"

He laughs as you sputter, completely phased by his nonchalance about introducing you to his mother. To be fair, you don’t really know Bucky outside of him being a great listener and mixologist. Winnie laughs and talks with the both of you before politely excusing herself to take care of her other customers.

“Your mother?”

Bucky leans forward and locks eyes with you.

“I’m so sorry. She wasn’t meant to be working today, but you would have met her one way or another.”

There he goes again, that dizzying nonchalance that bleeds into every word he speaks. Your mouth opens to speak, but you're still in a state of stunned that has you stumbling on your words.

"I'm just kidding, Nutter Butter." Bucky laughs and you hum while picking at your cuticles.

"Sorry, just took me by surprise."

"Clearly."

Bucky glances at your hands that are resting on the table and shifts around his side of the booth. There's a brief moment of silence as you mull over what Winnie has said.

"Did she call you 'Jamie'?"

Bucky lets out a loud laugh. One of those laughs that sounds like the feeling snuck up on everyone, including the person laughing.

"That's what you focused on, Peanut?"

You're smiling more in the past five minutes with Bucky than you have in the past five months with John. Bucky stops shuffling and then removes his coffee cup from the saucer it sits on. He slides the tiny plate toward you as you talk.

"Thank you for meeting me, Buck. Like I said, I think I'm just getting too tired of his bullshit. He really came at me today with the attitude that this is all my fault." Bucky nods as you continue speaking, "As if I'm the one who asked for an open marriage."

Bucky reveals a Ziplock bag and dumps the contents of it into the saucer in front of you. You're just about to start a rant when he nudges a salty shell into your hands. You glance down for half a second before getting the ball rolling.

"John asked for this! He's the one that's causing all this... this turmoil in our relationship. I haven't gone on a single date! I haven't caused a single issue. All I've been trying to do is understand things from his point of view, but he won't even give me the time of day to do that. I can't even suggest something like marriage counseling because he runs out the door the second he sees me enter a goddamn room."

You stop to take another long sip of your coffee while Bucky sits back and lets you rant at him across from yet another counter. You can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, clearly holding back from saying something.

"I don't even know what to do anymore!" You huff and shove your hair over your shoulder. "What do you think?"

"Do you want my honest opinion or do you want me to just be here for you?"

"I want you to be you."

"Okay." Bucky nods, you crack open yet another peanut and place the shell on a napkin next to the plate. "I think you should start considering divorcing ol' Johnny boy."

"I can't do that."

Your response is immediate. Too quick to be healthy really. The shell of the peanut cracks between your fingers, revealing the salty perfection inside.

"Alright, divorce is off the table. How do you feel about separation?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It goes against everything I was raised to believe. I was brought up under the idea that the person you marry is the person you stick next to no matter what."

"Even when that person isn't extending the same courtesy?"

"I just--" You sniffle, peeling open yet another peanut. "I just want to be loved, Bucky. I don't understand what I did to make him look for love and affection from someone other than me."

Bucky reaches across the table and covers your hand with his, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles soothingly. You found yourself in this same position three months ago. It was when Bucky first told you of his interest in dating you.

To be perfectly honest, you were about two slow blinks away from folding into his arms then. Nothing's changed. You're still half a second from completely melting for the man before you, but you can't get over the fact that you're married.

"Peanut, you may never understand his reasoning. Especially when he won't sit down and explain anything to you. I think you should do what's in your best interest. If you don't want to divorce or separate, then you need to surround yourself with people who will give you that love and affection that you need."

A soft lull coats the pair of you and you allow your eyes to lock with Bucky's. What you find there shocks you.

Pity is something that you never, ever want to experience, but with a shitty situation like your marriage, you've come to expect it. Every time you glance in a mirror or catch your reflection in a store window, or even a puddle of water, you find your own eyes layered with that sickening sadness that accompanies self-pity.

However, in Bucky's clear blue eyes, you find nothing but determination. Determination for what is the question you're now faced with. In all reality, Bucky has no dog in this fight. He has no reason to be helping you the way that he has. Bucky's expressed interest in you, sure, but that doesn't constitute going to the lengths that he does.

"I just want you to be happy."

"Do you think you could make me happy?"

"Absolutely."

You nod while popping the last peanut into your mouth and wiping your hands off on your jeans. You stand unceremoniously and then hold your hand out to Bucky. He stares at your outstretched hand in half-baked shock and then jumps at the opportunity.

"See ya later, Ma! Love ya."

"Will you be home for family dinner?"

"Nope, gotta take my Peanut to the ballgame!"

Bucky rushes you out of the diner and pulls you to a heavy-looking motorcycle. You laugh as he pries open one of the saddlebags on the bike. He reveals two helmets, one white and one black. Both have sleek features with a face cover that reflects Bucky's sharp features.

"What?" His laugh that follows is full of nervous energy as you continue to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"It just--" You snort quietly, "You would drive a motorcycle."

"Oh yeah? And why's that, Peanut Brittle?"

You wave your hand as if you're circling his whole body and shrug while smiling your ass off.

"You just gestured to all of me."

You both break into a fit of laughter, only for Bucky to break it off and unclip the chin strap of the white helmet.

"Well, does safety also fit with..." he does the same gesture as you, "all this?"

Bucky gently rests the helmet on the leather seat of the motorcycle and then leans over to you.

"You might want to pull your hair back. Trust me I love your hair down, but whenever you're riding it's easier in the long run."

"Oh, okay." You begin to pull your hair back when you remember that your hair tie is on the counter at your apartment. "Actually, I think I'll suffer the consequences."

Bucky glances at you and then asks, "You need a tie?"

He prompts you to turn around and he quickly coaxes your hair into a neat ponytail at the base of your neck. You turn back to him with wide eyes, your hand reaching back to check the hairstyle.

"Come on. I've got plans, Payday! I've got ideas to romance ya!"

You laugh while Bucky beams and puts the white helmet over your head. Once it's secured, he swipes the visor up and boops your nose. You scrunch it in retaliation and he shakes his head at you. He grips the sides of your helmet and tilts your head to the side. A loud Bluetooth signal sounds and a robotic female voice informs you that the device has been connected.

"So, basic rules of the bike. I lean, you lean." He taps on the side of the helmet he just fiddled with. "This is a microphone, so we'll be able to communicate without the visors being up. Don't be afraid to squeeze if you feel a little wobbly. I promise I can handle whatever you give me, Peanut."

You flush at his words, thankful that you're already wearing the helmet so he isn't privy to the bright red coloring overtaking your cheeks. Bucky slips on his own helmet and mounts the bike in one smooth motion. His hands glide to the handlebars and then he turns to face you and jerk his head in the opposite direction.

You release a deep breath and give yourself a mini pep talk before placing your hands on Bucky's shoulders. The difference between them keeps you grounded as you swing your leg over the back of the motorcycle. His voice shoots into your ears, a breathy fuck me that wasn't meant for your ears.

"You ready?"

This question is at a normal level, and you respond in kind. The bike roars to life beneath you and you jolt toward him, arms immediately wrapping around his waist tightly.

"Hold on tight, spider monkey."

You giggle and interlock your fingers above the waistline of his jeans. Now, you can feel every breath he takes, every minuscule contraction of his muscles from every movement he makes to control the beast between his legs. You try to take steady breaths in order to control your heartbeat and match Bucky's, but the faster he goes, the faster your heart beats against his back.

City lights blur past as you find your rhythm behind Bucky. The more comfortable you get, the looser your grip becomes around him. He takes you through downtown with all the newer, hipster restaurants inhabiting the busy streets. Bucky begins to slow and you look up to see his profile illuminated under the bright red of the traffic stop.

His feet rest on the ground beside the bike, holding it upright while it rumbles idly. Bucky leans back into you, his hands moving from the handlebars to your thighs. He traces the skin that's exposed by the rips of your jeans. The loose material allows just enough space for his fingers to burrow beneath and trace meaningless patterns into your skin.

Butterflies make themselves known in the pit of your stomach, along with another slightly less prominent heat building at his touch on your skin.

"We're almost there, Peanut Brittle." Bucky's voice is melodic through the microphone. You could fall asleep listening to him read a phone book.

The bike thunders to life again as Bucky releases the clutch. More buildings fade as he continues to steer the two of you down the less traveled streets.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere fun!"

He laughs at your little groan. Surprises aren't necessarily your favorite thing, but if it's Bucky, maybe it'll be tolerable.

Suddenly, Bucky drops his right hand from the bars and indicates his next turn. The pair of you lean in that direction slightly as he slows into a parking lot of a roller rink. The sign for the Rockin' Roller Rink has a bright yellow arrow blinking toward the building at the base of its billboard.

He rolls into a parking spot near the entrance and pops the kickstand out to steady the bike. You peel yourself off of his back and rest your hands on your thighs while taking in your surroundings. Bucky slips his helmet off and then turns his torso to face you.

"As much as I love you on my ride, Peanut, you have to get off first."

You flush red beneath the visor and quickly dismount. However, in your rush to get off, you don't realize how unstable your legs are as they bear your full weight after the ride. Bucky's hands shoot out to your waist as he remains on the bike, a wry grin on his lips.

"Sorry, should've warned you about that." He stands in front of you and dusts off your shoulders before deciding that you're okay. "It's because of the riding position when you're on the bike. If you aren't used to that, it can be a little jarring the first few times."

He takes your helmet and then removes the keys from the ignition. Bucky bends at the waist and hooks his key carabiner to your belt loops.

As he straightens to his full height, he remarks with a wink, "Plus, the vibrations don't help much either."

You squawk unattractively and smack his chest with the back of your hand while he belly laughs. His metal hand hovers over your lower back as he guides you into the double doors of the roller rink. While he pulls open the door for you, you think about all the times that your husband has failed to do even that act of basic decency.

You shake your head as you walk in, determined to put him out of your mind. That is until you remember the one stipulation of your open marriage--you both have to disclose when you go on dates. Your mind drifts to all the unanswered texts he's sent you about his various dates. Little quips that accomplish nothing but remind you that your husband sees you as less than. A relationship that he no longer has to put effort into and hasn't for some time now. You take your phone from your back pocket to shoot John a quick text, a sour look overtaking your face as you do.

On a date, be home later. You’re quick to swipe your phone onto do not disturb and shove it back into your pocket. You aren’t ready to face the hypocrisy that John will manage to cook up.

"You okay, Peanut?" Bucky's voice clears everything. All the swirling doubt, the immense turmoil that you feel when you think of John, everything negative is wiped when you focus on Bucky.

Perhaps that's also an issue. Maybe you need to be single instead of dating. Maybe you need to love yourself before anyone else can effectively love you. What if that's the real issue? The real reason why John had to seek affection outside of your marital bonds. Maybe it was because you were so unloveable to the point that it was more effort to work through your issues than find an effortless partner somewhere else.

A cold finger taps your temple causing you to blink harshly and refocus on the man before you. This man who's become your safe haven, your harbor in this horrific storm that is your marriage. The man who brings peanuts to his mother's diner because you called him to meet up. The man who knows you better than your husband who you've known for half your life.

"The wheels," your bartender reminds you as he pulls you to the side of the room. His arms envelop you until all you can process is biceps, one cold and one warm. Bucky's cheek rests against your head and you can't find it in yourself to stop from melting into his touch. "How about this," he shifts away from you just enough to meet your eyes, "you just take it one hour at a time?"

"One hour?" You ask, brows furrowing skeptically at the concept. You've never been someone who just focuses on the thing in front of you. Your whole life you had a plan--get married, have kids, and secure a stable home life. Although, now that you think about it, your way isn't really that effective. What has your way got you? A decaying marriage, no kids, and a job that you tolerate at most.

"Just one at a time. Nothing can be that daunting if it's one at a time." He smiles big and leans forward, "And let's face it, your first hour is going to be spent watching me almost bust my ass on rollerblades."

You giggle and look at the ground, only for Bucky to lift your face up with a finger on your chin. He stares deep into your eyes, making you think if you stare long enough, you'll meld into one. His grip changes so that most of his fingers cup your jaw, allowing his thumb to trace your bottom lip. His metal finger tugs downward on your lip, releasing it from the hold between your teeth.

"That's definitely one of my current favorite noises you make." He struts off to the front counter, you trailing behind with a confused look on your face at his dopey smile. The implications of his comment seeping into your bones causing a deep heat to light in the pit of your stomach.

As you approach the teller, Bucky's already disclosed his shoe size for the rental pair of skates. The teenager behind the counter makes a bored grunt at the instruction and turns to you, waiting for your size before they trot off to fill the order. Once again, you're left alone with your bartender.

You lean against the raised platform, shoulder digging into the overhanging lip of the counter. During this brief moment of solitude, you take your time taking in Bucky. He really is a mountain of a man, coming in at six-foot-five inches of corded muscle and steel, he's really nothing less than impressive.

His hair just brushes the top of his broad shoulders, though you hardly ever see it down. He always manages to have it tied securely at the base of his neck. However one time, you remember walking into the bar only to see Bucky behind the bar, as usual. Except his hair was bundled on the top of his head. Little wisps of hair fell from the looser hold, framing his forehead and neck. On top of that, he was wearing a red henley that was at least two sizes too small with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his differing forearms in the dim light of Commandos.

It's safe to say that during those few hours you spent with Bucky looking like that, you were a little slower to respond. What's interesting though is that Bucky looks nothing like John. You always thought that John was your ideal man. Based on who you married, you would have assumed you'd be more attracted to Steve than Bucky. Instead, you find yourself lacing up a pair of rental roller skates, that might give you athlete's foot if you're not careful, with the imposing dark-haired man next to you.

"Why bartending?"

The question floats between you as you take the floor. Glistening hardwood reflects the bright neon of the strobe lights and your image beside Bucky. You watch as he glances down at you before refocusing his attention on the path in front of him.

"Well, if I'm being honest, I kind of stumbled into it." He wobbles dangerously as he speaks, hand jutting out to grasp yours in an act of safety. "Shit, sorry." He apologizes sheepishly but makes no move to drop your hand.

You giggle beside him, butterflies awakening from his act of self-comfort, a feeling you haven't felt since your relationship with John began. Bucky squeezes your hand, straightens his back, and pulls you around the rink.

"When I was discharged, it wasn't so much as bartending as it was the ownership of the bar. It gave me a chance to gain some semblance of control back." He stares off into the distance as he speaks as if he's reciting words he said time and time before. You peer up at him, waiting for the rest of his explanation.

Even though you've known Bucky for as long as you have, neither of you has really delved too deep into your pasts. To say you know next to nothing about Bucky's time in the military would be generous. You hum while you ponder his answer.

"Does that need carry into other aspects of your life?"

It's a genuine question, something to move the conversation along because you honestly want to know more about the man beside you. The double entendre of the question doesn't process until you see Bucky blushing beside you with a wry grin. Your eyes bulge, words stammering out of your mouth without finding their full forms.

"Oh-- uh, n— that's not wh--" Your eyes drop to the ground beneath you, the sleek wood reflecting the neon disco of the roller rink lights.

Bucky chuckles beside you, slowly rubbing his thumb against the knuckles of the hand he still holds. He steers the pair of you to the side of the rink, locking you against the slightly sticky bannister with his strong forearms. You quickly level him with a questioning stare as he leans forward and takes a deep breath, undoubtedly getting a strong whiff of your soft vanilla and cherry perfume.

“I’m trying to be very good for you, Peanut. So I’m going to say this once and then we’re going to continue with our date and it isn’t going to come up again until you bring it up yourself.” Your nod is almost imperceptible, but considering how Bucky continues without consequence, you figure he was just mentally preparing himself for his next comment.

“I am enamored with you. I want to have sex with you. I have fantasies that revolved exclusively around you. However, I’m not putting any pressure on this relationship or you. I understand that you need time to process your grief and your marriage, but just know that I’m more than happy to help you through the process and I certainly hope that I’m the first one you go to once you get to a place when you feel confident enough to explore your sexuality.”

You flush at his words, a hot streak racing up your spine before settling in your cheeks, blossoming them into a heavy shade of crimson. Bucky’s left hand comes up to your forehead, brushing away a strand of hair out of your face.

“But not only that, I want to have a relationship with you. I want the late night cuddles. I want the early morning breakfasts. I want to come home from the bar and take a shower with you. I want to wash your hair. I want you to massage my shoulders after a long day. I want to host Saturday barbecues with you for my family and our friends. I want to drive you to the bookstore and regret driving the motorcycle after you get so many because I just can’t say no to you.”

Bucky’s hand drifts down your arm, tracing the soft skin, taking his time to lace his fingers with yours. He pulls you away from the ledge, leading you two into the hustle and bustle of the roller rink. A smile stretches across his features as he tugs you along, a slow steady silence backed by the bumping base of the house music. You fumble with who to respond to him, but you eventually decide that no words are necessary. You know that yiu’ll be able to discuss things further later, you allow yourself to fall into the comfortable company that is your favorite bartender.

Time passes by at a rate you aren’t able to fathom. One moment you’re skating circles around Bucky, laughing as his arms jut out to his sides, steadying himself as he sways and wobbles. You flit out of his reach for a beat only for his arms to wrap around your waist, bringing you to his warm front. You squeal as you clutch his arms, the difference in temperature providing a level of comfort that you’ve been craving for months now.

You tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder, his long hair tickling the apples of your cheek. Soft puffs of air hit your face as he peers down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. He remains stoic, only his eyes giving you any indication that he wants more out of your current embrace.

“Attention all Rockin’ Roller Rink patrons, the rink will be closing in ten minutes! Please return all skates and other rentals to the front desk before leaving.”

The voice over the loudspeaker startles you causing you to jump in Bucky’s embrace. He tightens his hold on you, ensuring that you don’t topple over on your wheels. You breathe out a heavy sigh creating a slight distance between you.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Bucky is quick to follow you to the benches on the side to you could change your shoes so you can return the skates. You’re sure to take out your phone from your back pocket before sitting down. Against your better judgement, you swipe across the screen to turn off the silencing option. The screen illuminates and dozens of notifications flood the screen and you cringe. You shouldn’t feel bad, yore only doing what constitutes an open marriage. You sent the text, that was all that was required of you, and let’s be honest even that was more than what John deserves. Bucky leans back, shooting a glance at your now busy phone.

“Wow, he sure doesn’t miss a beat, does he?”

“Yeah, I’m sure everything he’s texted me the past two hours has been entirely supportive and not at all condescending or hostile.” Sarcasm bleeds into your words, making Bucky chuckle under his breath.

“Oh, ol’ Johnny boy? Nah, he’s nothing but a big old softy who knows that he’s only getting it as good as he’s giving it.” You huff at the comment just as your phone begins to buzz on the tabletop.

A groan leaves your mouth, slipping out before you can filter it. Bucky eyes you as your finger swipes the call button to accept. You haven’t even gotten the phone to your ear before John’s voice carries through the speaker, shouting expletives and derogatory remarks about you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re on a fucking date right now? I can’t believe you!”

Your whole body cringes, and you rush to shove your shoes on to take the call outside. You leave without saying a word to Bucky, unable to look him in the eye while the supposed love of your life berates you over the phone.

“John, I don’t know what you’re upset about.” You tried to remain calm while he carried on. “I followed the single rule that you set in place.”

Bucky takes your free hand and leads you to his bike, leaning against the seat while he watches you pace in front of him. Your once smooth features are now ridged and tense, worry lines aging you ten years the second you get on the phone with John. Your forefinger and thumb find home on the bridge of your nose, pinching the bone there to prevent the sudden headache. You finally stop in your tracks, stomping your foot out of exasperation and then steel your voice.

“I refuse to allow you to speak to me this way, John. You’re the one that opened our marriage, I’m simply following the precedent that you set. I honestly have no idea what your issue with this is.” Your eyes dart to Bucky, “Now, I don’t feel comfortable coming home when you’re speaking to me like this over the phone, so don’t wait up. I’ll come home when you cool off.”

Tears begin to rim your lash line as John continues to shout his lungs bloody. You refuse to meet Bucky’s eyes as you lower the phone, thumb hovering over the end call button. A dark metal palm extends your way, a silent ask for the phone that you don’t have the strength to deny. Bucky watches you as he brings the phone to his ear, listening to your husband’s rant.

“This is completely fucking ridiculous! You’re my wife and I demand you come home and we talk this out like adults. You’re being so unreasonable, right now. And the fact that you think it’s acceptable to text me you’re on a date instead of asking if you could go on one? Who the fuck do you think you are? It’s best you remember who you belong to. You’re so in for it whe—“

Bucky laughs, your head shoots up, eyes locking with his for the first time since you’ve evacuated the roller rink. The laugh is a short, sardonic laugh. One you’ve never heard him make before, almost as if he’s using it as a throat clear. Your breath catches in your throat, knowing how John reacts to being challenged in any capacity.

“Now, I don’t know who you think you are, talking to my Peanut the way that you are. But I’ll tell you one thing for damn sure, you aren’t going to be speaking to her that way ever again.”

It’s another thing about Bucky you’ve never experienced. His tone. It’s dull, lifeless, but full threats that made your skin grow cold and your spine stiffen. You knew Bucky would never cause you harm, but those who hurt the people he loved? The same respect isn’t extended.

“And who the fuck is this?”

“I’m the guy.”

He’s eerily calm, the type of calm you’ve never seen him. You’ve been a distant onlooker while he deals with rowdy bar guests, having to throw out drunk customers who reached their limit and then some. But this… this was something else. John is still yelling, sure to be disturbing your neighbors earning you yet another noise complaint, possibly the one that gets you evicted from your apartment.

“What guy?”

“The guy that’s going to rip your spine out through your throat if you threaten my girl again.”

The world stills. The noisy streets of Brooklyn fade as you search Bucky’s eyes for any semblance of a joke. His eyes have darkened, latching onto yours with a depth that you’ve never seen in them. He reaches for you, pulling you in between his legs by your belt loop. You can hear the stammering on the other end clearly, John’s never had anyone stand up to him with such sincerity.

“If you’re done being a pussy, I’m a little preoccupied. If you’d like to continue this conversation, you may do so anytime at my bar. Howling Commandos. You can Google it and me in your free time. Right now, I’m on a date and you’re interrupting it and disturbing my girl.” Bucky’s hand snakes around your waist, pressing his chin to your chest while maintaining eye contact with you. “Now, apologize to her.”

He switches the phone to speaker mode, allowing you to hear the weakness invading John’s voice. All the while, Bucky’s eyes never leave yours. Your body melts into him, his warmth something that you didn’t realize you were craving. John stammers on his end of the phone, eking out excuses as to not apologize. Bucky clears his throat once more, the action causing his Adam’s apple to bob against your breasts.

“Apologize, Johnny boy.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Three monotonous beeps echo out into the silent parking lot. Wind whips against your cheeks, igniting a shiver through your body. He shoves your phone into his front pocket before wrapping his other hand around your waist. Bucky shifts again, pressing his forehead into your stomach instead of staring up at you. Your arms come up around his shoulders, burying your face into his soft hair.

“Thank you.”

Bucky says nothing in return, squeezing your middle before pulling back to meet your gaze.

“Let’s go, you can stay at mine.”

He pushes against your hips so he can reposition himself over the bike. You’re quick to stop him, remarking something about him just taking you to a hotel for the night. He cuts you off before you can fully finish your sentence.

“I’m sorry Peanut, but you surely don’t think I’m about to let you spend the night at some sketch hotel by yourself. And I’m certainly not going to let you go back to that apartment with that temperamental skeeze of a husband you have.”

“Let me?” You back up, resting your hand on your now cocked hip.

“Peanut.” Bucky stares up at you, “I didn’t mean it in that way. I’m sorry. I’m only saying that I want you to be safe and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you in either of those environments. I would be much for comfortable if you came home with me so that I could protect you.”

You shoulders relax, in the back of your mind, you know that he didn’t mean anything by it. John always sets you on edge, and it’s unfair of you to put those emotions onto Bucky.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just… John.” Your sentence trails off, no ending really needed because you know that Bucky understands.

“Come on. Get on, Peanut Butter. We aren’t far from my place.”

You mount Bucky’s bike, his left hand immediately going to your thigh, his fingers threading themselves between the rips of your jeans to feel the soft skin of your knee. The ride to Bucky’s apartment is quiet, the rumbling of the motorcycle beneath you is powerful and steady. Every chance he got, Bucky would slip his fingers into the rips of your jeans, aching to be close to you in every way possible. You lean forward, resting your helmeted head against his back while he drives.

If there was one thing that you never would have guessed, it’s that Bucky Barnes would have pale green wallpaper in his apartment. Not just a pale green, he proudly declares that it’s agate green, the color he spent weeks painstakingly debating between that and nurture green. You giggle as you toe your shoes off at the front door, quietly taking in his personal space.

The exposed brick melds with the dark countertops in a way that’s almost soothing. The pendant lights above the island cast a soft glow over the open floor plan. Bucky turns to face you, peeling off his leather jacket and hanging it on a hook beside the door. You catch his eyes, only to be distracted by the wall of bookshelves on the far end of his apartment.

“Oh my god, Bucky I had no idea you were so interested in reading.”

He laughs, shoving his hands in his front pockets while walking behind you as you approach the stacks of books he has scattered throughout his home.

“I’ve always enjoyed reading. When I was deployed there wasn’t much to do other than read. I had my Ma send me all different kinds of books, from new releases to her favorite classics to stuff my little sister was reading in school.” He stands beside you, shoulder to shoulder as you glance up at him. “Guess I never kicked the habit, though there are worse vices that a person could have.”

You hum, refocusing your attention on the books, but only for a second as Bucky reaches his hand out and leads you up the stairs to the lofted bedroom. Bucky’s comforter matches the green walls that sits behind his TV. Not only that, but his pillow cases vary from overly fluffy to soft silks. The mixture of textures and fabrics is almost too much for your brain to comprehend. You’re about to question it when Bucky returns to your line of sight, a dark Henley in one hand and a pair of boxers in the other.

“I don’t have any pajamas for you, but you can wear these.”

He’s almost sheepish as he presents you with the clothes, a light blush casting over his cheeks. It’s so interesting to interact with him. At times, he’s the most suave man you’ve ever met, and at others, it’s like he’s a lovestruck teenager who’s just got their first girlfriend.

You thank him and follow behind him as he leads you to the en-suite bathroom. Just as Bucky begins to explain where everything is, he bends down to the bottom cabinets and retrieves a spare toothbrush.

“Planning for extra company, huh?” You joke while poking him in the side as he stands next to you in the doorway.

Bucky’s tongue peaks out of his mouth, his teeth catching on his bottom lip as he stares down at you. His eyes do that thing again, the same thing he did just before he laid out his feelings for you earlier. Your breath catches in your throat, is he leaning closer? Are you inching toward him? What are you doing?

“Bucky,” the tension breaks, a dam of emotions behind held back by your dedication to your marriage. “I feel like I should explain.”

His hands rest on your shoulders, quick to silence your worries. He leans forward, dotting a quick kiss to your forehead. Bucky lingers, the soft press of his lips shoots warm and fuzzy feelings through your bones.

“Tomorrow. You’ve had a long night. We can talk about everything in the morning.”

A weight of anxiety lifts from your shoulders as you watch Bucky begins descend the stairs, lush blankets and pillows in hand. You turn back to his room, allowing yourself to sink into his private space.

You peel back the duvet and sit on the edge of his mattress, unsure if you should fully dive into his being. If you’re quiet enough you can hear Bucky downstairs, shuffling on the couch in an attempt to find a comfortable position.

Your eyeline floats over his bedside table, the lamp atop it casting a pale yellow glow over the entire room. The surface next to you is covered in items that are unequivocally Bucky—a worn copy of Journey to the Center of the Earth, a leather bound journal, the few gold rings that he something adorns his digits with while bartending. His rings clink against each other as your fingers drift over the cold metal.

Among his assorted objects is your phone on his charger. The light pink case is slightly out of place, but not enough to be obnoxious. You smile to yourself while lying back in his sheets.

You really do owe him an explanation. Bucky deserves more than some broken woman who’s in a shitty marriage. He deserves the world and then some. All you can offer is a somewhat clear thought process.

You think on John’s actions today. He really showed you his true colors. You start to wonder if he really cares about you or if just cares about having a wife. If it’s the second one, why does it have to be you?

You flip to the other side, now facing the back wall of windows. Your mind is about as calm as the city right now. New York is never quiet, even this far out in Brooklyn. You’re never safe from the light pollution that constantly blocks out the beauty that is the natural night sky.

It makes you long for your hometown, the wide open spaces with vast fields of nothingness that stretch for miles on end. Maybe it’s time you pay it a visit. It would be nice to escape the hodge podge of a life you’re currently living.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you force yourself to slow your breathing. Distantly you can hear Bucky begin to snore, a low monotonous sound that you cling to. For the first time in months you feel secure. Your muscles decompress, your brow unfurls and you allow yourself to truly relax.

With everything that’s going on, Bucky deserves more. You deserve more, but that can all wait until tomorrow.

Tomorrow. That’s a good thought.

#bartender!bucky x reader #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bartender!bucky x peanut!reader #bucky x peanut #consequences #ray's writing #bartender!bucky barnes x peanut!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes au #bartender!bucky #bartender!bucky barnes x you #bartender!bucky barnes x y/n #bartender!bucky x you

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high-queen-feyre · 2 days

Text

I wonder what it's like to be the heir to a tryant High Lord.

A child to a horrible parent.

To grow up by their side, knowing as a kid what they're doing isn't right, but not knowing what's wrong.

To never be good enough, strong enough, powerful enough, brave enough, to never be right just existing .

No son of theirs would play an instrument made for people lesser than them, he should know he is above that.

No son of theirs would fly over their court using the wings he was born with, wings that showed his lesser heritage, he should know it isn't right to.

No son of theirs would grow to be kind in a court that wasn't made to be kind, he's the eldest of 7, he should know better than that.

No son of theirs would never just be a son, a child.

Forced into their position, no court would accept a half breed as High Lord, not unless he forced them, not if he wore a mask of his father, turning into him without even realising it with every passing day till he forgot who he was and became his father. Forgotten was the boy who liked to fly outside at night, the one who befriended others way below him as his father would say, gone was the boy who gave bastards a chance at friendship.

What would the court think if they knew their High Lord never even wanted to be one? He had to keep up his appearance, sit on a throne and demand a family with no home to give him something every two years. He hadn't learn anything on how to be a High Lord, he'd never wanted to be, content on being in a warband writing poetry, playing his fiddle for his friends to enjoy, friends his father would not consider good enough. Gone was the boy who felt joy at the simplest of things, not a little boy but still not a right man, even after knowing what he shouldn't do, ended up doing most of it while wanting to be different.

Then there is the heir who wears his own mask of indifference, he knows what his father does is wrong, and his act is to protect himself the best he could from the father who tortures his sons, the husband who beats his wife. Ordering his younger brothers like they are his hounds, losing his relationship with his favorite one because "Half" comes before brother. All he can do is hope he doesn't end up like his father.

But when does a mask turn into who you are? Who you were lost in the ruins of what was meant to be your childhood.

A victim in their story, a villain to whoever sees from the outside.

I wonder what it it's like to be the heir of a tryant High Lord, because from outside, it just looks like a High Lord who will never be good enough.

Because for me, that box is already crossed, to never be good enough, a child to a horrible parent, I can feel myself slipping behind my own mask.

A phrase that shouldn't be an insult is already coined as one.

"You act like your father"

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catofoldstones · 2 days

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The thing about arya fans' argument that arya comes before sansa in the line of succession because robb disinherited her because of her forced marriage is the underlying misogyny and victim blaming of it, and their assumption that grrm thinks the same. We don't have jon [you know the actual person robb chose over sansa, and i think its time we start talking that the will specifically was about sansa and jon and that shit means something narratively] asserting that winterfell belongs to sansa despite everything and him not falling to the bait of stannis calling her a lannister, to just assume that according to grrm what robb did was OK. If people actually think grrm wants to show robb was right and girls truly are not important and thus his disinheritance of his sister's rights will be upheld, then they need their heads checked. Its not like he showed us that jaehaerys's sexism was what led to death of the dragons and downfall of targaryens even though grrm considers him a good ruler. Ultimately, catelyn will be validated when brienne saves either sansa or arya with oathkeeper and sansa will become lady of winterfell/qitn DESPITE robb's will. He [and arya fans] can suck it.

Hi soulmate anon,

Before we start, I have to let you know that one our previous posts was screenshotted and circulated in the arya stans circles because “we’re spreading our agenda on a neutral public platform” or something along those lines. Idk if you’ve seen that or not but I had to let you know before we go off kicking another hornet’s nest lol.

Anyway, that out of the way, to the Arya stans who are so hellbent upon removing Sansa from the Stark succession, Robb declared Jon as his heir, pushing Sansa further down the line (not disinheriting her jesus fuck) because through her Tyrion may lay claim to Winterfell, landing it in the hands of the Lannisters, exactly what Robb and Cat are trying to prevent. Robb didn’t “disinherit” Arya because he thought she was dead. Hope that helps.

WAIT!

the will being specifically about Jon and Sansa and that we need to start thinking about that narratively

SCREAM

Okay, I have now moved on (I have not). Though please feel free to talk about this more, I wanna know more. Guess I’ll now have to add jonsa tag to this answer hehe :P

I mean Robb did come from a place of “authority over the female members of his family” here with the will and that’s exactly the kind of thing we have to side eye. Taking it at face value and uncritically thinking about it is not a fair way to engage with the text I feel. You’re right when Jon himself reiterates Sansa’s claim over Winterfell, we are supposed to think twice whether Robb’s action was equitable or not. Stannis calls Sansa “Lady Lannister” to coax Jon into staking a claim over Winterfell so that Stannis gets a good reason to march to Winterfell and attack the Boltons (which he will anyway, but Jon’s, a member of the Stark family, support would mean political backing and reason). If we fall in the trap that Stannis thinks Sansa is now a Lannister, and therefore she is now a Lannister with no claim to Winterfell, then we’ve lost the plot and are coming from the same misogynistic hypocrisy (he wants Shireen on the throne if he dies but calls Sansa a Lannister, how does that work old man?) that destroys Westeros (your Jaehaerys example). And are no different from a crusty medieval era middle aged man btw.

It’s so fucking funny when the readers start emulating the same sexism that the author wants them to critique, and then start calling themselves feminists because they’re supporting a woman’s rights! Which woman’s rights besties? Because the one that clearly has them, you’re actively against her staking her claim. Wait till they read the books with their eyes open and realise that Arya comes at the end of the heirs to winterfell list, despite Sansa getting “disinherited” lmao. And I love Robb, he’s just a boy trying to do his best, but he truly made mistakes, especially with not listening to Catelyn. We also cannot deny the undercurrent of misogyny and chauvinism that Robb demonstrated with the will. Re Sansa’s rights and Jon’s decision to be with the Nights Watch. I will patiently wait for Catelyn to be validated and Sansa to be the Lady/QiTN not only because that subverts reader’s expectations and Westerosi patriarchal standards but because I want to see Sansa antis have a grand old meltdown.

#soulmate anon #asoiaf #anti arya stans #pro sansa stark #sansa stark #jon snow #robb stark #jonsa #anon your mind #anon asks t #long post don’t look

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fancylala4 · 1 day

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I saw some of you anti Ts posts they are funny and I need to Rant. sorry.

I am so FUCKING sick and TIRED of being relatable being cool! Fuck! If I wanna listen to someone they need to sound good! Way better than ME! Why is being average so overhyped! Bring back actual talent! Bring back people who can sing! Really sing. I want to be awestruck. I want to me in mesmerized. For fuckss sake Taylor Swift is only that popular because she is average and these swifties identify with her.

And fucking hell I AM SO TIRED of this bitch! I am so tired that they act like only her achievements count and as if achievements of other artists don't fucking count!

The Weeknd has a song with 4Billion streams on Spotify.

Drake has one song with 3 Billion and one with 2 Billion

Post Malone has one with 3 Billion and two with 2 Billion

Dua Lipa has four with 2 Billion

Justin Bieber has 3 with 2 Billion and 1 with 3 Billion

Coldplay has 3 with 2 Billion

Bruno Mars has 3 songs with 2 Billion

Ed Sheeran has 3 songs with 2 Billion and 1 song with 3 Billion

Taylor fucking Swift just recently as one song with 2 Billion streams! ONE! if she is so big? Why doesn't she have more? I can answer you this. Because her stupid fans only care about first week streams. They care about getting her on the chart. That is what spotify and billboard pushes. These morons will mass play her music all night so it get streams. It's so embarrassing.

If she didn't release shit constantly and her stans weren't some pathetic losers wanting her to chart so she just charts there is no WAY in fucking hell she could compete with todays artists.

Fucking hell and they compare her to Michael Jackson! Taylor Swift does not have the LONGEVITY. SHE DOES NOT. Not Mariah Careys, Britney Spears, Elton John or the Beatles. There's more but here's a few.

Michael Jackson had a top ten hit in 5 DIFFERENT DECADES. ( 6 if you count the Jackson 5) And probably will have another one after the biopic comes out!

If Taylor Swift would do this she would have to be able to have a TOP TEN HIT in 2030 and 2040. There is no way she would be doing this.

Mariah Carey in 4 DECADES SINCE THE 90'S!

Britney Spears the same as Mariah!

Elton John in four from the 70's- 20's missing the 00's and 10's.

The Beatles in the 60's 70's 90's and 20's.

Like i hate it so much how much this woman is pushed! And swifties gon act like as if she is the only artist being this succesful! SHE IS NOT! It's more impressive that Rihanna still gets high streams beside not releasing anything for YEARS! BTCH i wanna see Taylor Swift not releasing anything for 7 Years and see where she's at. Let's find out. But this woman is to coward to ever do that. She is so damn desperate for validation it's embarrassing.

HOW THE FUCK IS SHE NOT EMBARRASSED WINNING ALL THESE AWARDS OVER PEOPLE WHO ARE 10 TIMES MORE TALENTED THAN HER?!

This btch is absolutely not humble because i would be embarrassed. Literally. It's like how can you shit as tour gain so much money when you know you can't dance and are a mid singer.

And these faces of acting shocked when she wins an award! With that open mouth and GOD! Yes we get it you won again "suprisingly."

How the fuck does she have more AOTYs than any other fucking artist ever? How the fuck does this mediocre ass woman have more than Janet, Michael Jackson, Amy Winehouse, Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Stevie Wonder.

And don't let me start on her victim card that she has used has her brand since fucking Kanye West had to go up on stage and embarrass her. He literally started this whole shit. You can never criticise her for anything. Because if you do you are a misogynist who just hates succesful women. She's always the fuckin victim and swifties romanticize it so much! They want her to be this struggling underdog who rose to fame cause that is what fits their damn wattpad story!

Taylor Swift wants to be the Man. She wouldn't be as succeaful if she was a man. Point blank period. Her shield to protect her self from any criticism wouldn't work. The only thing she has to be oppressed about is being a woman thats why her and swifties milk it so fuccking hard!!!

Thanks, and it’s ok. This whole blog is just a bunch of rants anyways.

But everything you said was true. I didn’t know she of all people have more aoty awards than those you mentioned. This just proves that the Grammys are a joke.

#asks #anon #anti taylor swift

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quietwingsinthesky · 8 months

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Dean is such a paradox for me because on the one hand, I have been actively triggered by him in the show, there are moments where, intentionally or not, the writers managed to create a portrayal of manipulation and abuse and control issues that it sets off actual alarms for me. And on the other hand, I would not have him any other way. There is something — not comforting, that’s too soft a word — about knowing where Dean’s actions stem from, having seen and learned all that we do about his childhood neglect and parentification and the trauma he goes through repeatedly in the show, and that he doesn’t come out clean. He comes out a goddamn mess who ends up hurting the people around him in reaction to his own pain!

There’s a reality there that’s. Almost nice, actually. Distressing to watch, but it is a fucking mess, it’s a good mess! He’s got zero healthy coping skills and a healthy relationship with say, his brother, is terrifying because it leaves him open to abandonment!

I’m not sure I’m wording this correctly. There is a way to be a good abuse victim. Take the pain, martyr yourself on it, and then, even if you have no support or idea how to, then you have to become a Good Person who never hurts anyone the way you have been learning to your entire life. Simply toss everything that shaped you out the door and emerge a saint with a tragic backstory. And Dean is not that. And that’s so fucking good. Everything that he has gone through continues to effect the way he treats the people around him, and he can’t fight the behaviors he might recognize as harmful because he also sees them as protecting him (or protecting Sam by keeping Sam with him.)

And sometimes, idk. It feels good to see a guy who didn’t heal the “right way.” Who mostly didn’t heal at all, just keeps the wound open because it’s easier that way.

#there’s a whole other bit to this about how like. it’s hard for fandom to hold the idea that someone can be both a victim and abusive #at the same time. that the ways someone has been hurt don’t always shape them into kindness and wide-eyed sympathy. occasionally it just #makes them hard to live with. and I think most obviously is the thing that a lot of what Dean does is an expression of love. of protection.#he’s very much his father’s son in that way. that’s why Sam. the guy he’s been Told to protect his whole life. is also the person he ends up #hurting the most. it’s tragedy. it’s realistic. it’s a good fucking mess.#and that’s why I don’t get interpretations of dean that are determined to shave off the ugly parts of his character. to me those are the #parts that make him a character worth revisiting. he’s so full of love. and he uses it to hurt people. he means to sometimes. a lot of the #time he doesn’t but hurts them anyway. he has been shaped by violence his whole life. and it’s just. I get why someone might take this #part of him away. to make him easier to love. because I get that he’s stressful to watch also like I get that. but he is.#he is compelling. in his anger and his controlling behavior and his strangling love. he is compelling in all the ways he has become this.#Dean’s degradation into these behaviors can be both a failure of a show that ran to long but also the believable trajectory of a man who #can’t heal. and I love him for that. I love him for emerging from pain as a angry sharp thing. I love that it brings the glimpses of him #being gentler and recognizing his actions as bad into stark relief. I love that this recognition often only lasts until he is hurt again and #then he backpedals into the safety of behaviors he knows will allow him to control a situation through force or manipulation.#it’s good fucking mess. you know? dean winchester everybody.#maybe I should have put all that in the main post. oh well. too late now.#spn #dean winchester #tw abuse

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pumpkingeorge · 1 year

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I'm not really into Zelda and the lore is a bit fuzzy to me, but my brother is and we were talking earlier.

I suggested that a way to stop Ganondorf would be to kidnap him while he's still a baby and raise him in Hyrule. Killing him would be a little fucked up since he's, y'know, a baby...and killing him off early would only bring his eventual rebirth even faster. (Not that kidnapping a literal baby is a much better moral option by any means dhsd)

My brother knows way more about Zelda lore than I do and he was stumped about this plan. Sure Ganondorf is just a little cursed, but there's also the nature vs nurture concept. If he constantly doesn't have "You have to destroy Hyrule and get the triforce!!" into his skull every waking moment of his life, then maybe that could help him out a little? Just put him in Hyrule and give him a normal life. Let him go fishing or something? Teach him how to make pie?

Someone that is smarter than us can weigh in?

#loz #honestly the last zelda game i played was wind waker #good old gamecube i love it #i liked sailing :3 #i mean i like loz but not enough to engage with it properly #and time bullshit hurts my head x.x #also i'm not victim blaming the gerudo here they got the shit end of a raw deal #they live in a harsh environment and their only male is doomed to get his shit kicked #i don't know what to do about the curse thing that is above my loz lore level. that is a lot harder to undo i think #is ganondorf even actually born or does he manifest into the world as a whole ass adult?#if that's the case then uh...i dunno #it is hard to steal a baby when that baby is a 50+ year old man #idk how old he is

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aeide-thea · 1 year

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[witcherposting ahead—nb that this is all totally lighthearted and it's fine if you feel differently!]

anyway what i'd started to say before tumblr ate my post was that like. disclaimer that my approach to netflix witcher canon is that i fully reserve the right to cherrypick, because some of the changes they made were good but others were character assassination, and that obviously i get that if one isn't cherrypicking one does have to actually Grapple With Certain Things 🏔

but like. that said—the more 'Geralt Must Grovel for Weeks and Probably Scourge Himself, Look at What He Did to Poor Sad-Eyed Woobie Jaskier' fics i read the more i'm fucking grateful for the tiny handful where jaskier's just been like, yeah, i never bought that bullshit tbh, he was lashing out and he owes me an apology for sure but a single angry outburst does not in fact scupper an extremely well-established relationship of literally twenty years' standing in one fell swoop???

like i just. idk. imagine remembering that jaskier's a cheery irrepressible little shit and not actually as crushably low on self-esteem as all of us are. of course that would probably require *netflix* to have remembered that, so, you know, no actual shade to anyone who's been projecting that onto him! but just like. idk. they're obviously not siblings but they honestly do have that vibe in certain ways and it's just like. did you never say something overdramatic and shitty in the heat of a fight with yr sibling growing up and then after taking a bit of a breather just like. make a rueful face and apologize for yr respective roles in winding each other up and move tf on, without having, like, a whole extended OTT reparations process where you tell them repeatedly how perfect and sinless they are and how you know you're a miserable worm who doesn't remotely deserve their sunshiny presence in your life but would be so grateful if they could, possibly, somehow, see their way to forgiving you despite yr essential unworthiness—

#anyway. i think there are like. MAYBE like three of you reading this blog who give a shit abt this fandom‚ lol #so i'm mostly just talking out loud to myself here‚ which is fine‚ what's a perblog for if not that #but it's just like. yeah on the one hand you don't just get to yell at people without apologizing at all #on the other hand like. some relationships are strong and elastic enough that one (1) snip is not going to cut them #even a vicious one!#also like. jaskier DID handle that convo clumsily lbr. like. obviously geralt was not Justified but.#if i'd just had a vicious breakup and somebody came bumbling in making loud awkward small talk about it? jesus.#anyway. really ultimately this is just a 'have consumed much too much witcher fic and the Patterns are starting 2 irk me' thing #but it's just like. sometimes things are conflict between two imperfect people #and not a Good Woobie and a Sinful Meanie #anyway. time 2 go reread Sekrit Mutual's fic in which they actually keep in mind the fact that jaskier is a selfish gremlin #who despite himself really does love geralt and as a result is like. constantly torn between his nature and his urge to do right by geralt #but like. fundamentally he's a buffoon and a popinjay who yaps aggressively and then runs back behind geralt's legs #and joey batey leaning into his Soulful and Romantic side (that he does also have) doesn't actually erase that about him‚ nor should it!#anyway. this post is careening all over the place but i think it's just like. exactly the same weird terfish moral binary #that ppl have been talking abt with like. gender and kink and a whole range of things #where like. you always have Victims and Perpetrators #and so jaskier has to be like. the femme bottom victim which makes geralt the macho perpetrator totally undeserving of sympathy #and it's like. actually they're both imperfect people and neither one fits very well into their society's idea of what a man is #and what if we actually examined them as individuals rather than tropes and also remembered yennefer was fierce and interesting #and what if ciri weren't‚ like‚ a manhattan private school girl with her brows done while we were at it #getting a little overambitious with my wishlist there though i know

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