#so idk maybe stop projecting and take some time to reflect on the fact if you take aim at someone more like yourself you might not like the | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sugasugawarau · 3 years

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Synopsis: You knew that Kageyama Tobio was not your soulmate - and that was why you could not help but succumb to the waves that lulled you away from the shores of fate + semi inspired by Eyes Blue like the Atlantic by sistaprod ft. Subvrbs. Also part of @yacoka‘s collab <3 (2.4k words)

Warnings/notes: Some angst near the end, soulmate red string au, gender neutral reader. No beta we die like Rex Lapis so if I ever feel like it this may be edited at some point asdahdhj idk LMAO

— Prologue

There are as many reasons to fall in love with Kageyama Tobio as there are fractals made by the ocean’s breath as the world inhales and exhales, flourishes and wilts, conquers and surrenders. It would not even be a hyperbole to say that in number, they remain unrivalled to the plethora of stars that stain the waves with their reflection and run deeper than the scars of lightyears that paint lines from Cassiopeia to Aquila.

After all, he is the darkest hue of navy blue.

Determination that moves in an orchestra of thundering waves, brandishing on its crest an admirable recklessness, heeding not for the need to call upon courage or confidence; polished instinct that endued one with the same awestruck feeling when facing the beautifully suffocating obscurity of their life in this world, a mixture of raw fear and the need to impart a piece of their soul in everything they do despite how fragile the skin shielding their heart is.

But the best part of loving Kageyama was that you were not - or will ever become - destined to be.

— Shoreline

Red.

It was a word that was always thrown about in conversations, the fuel to the catastrophes that were high school gossip chains, and the colour that held the mangled passion of the string of fate. Garishly predestined and easily tangled by unnecessary complications of jealousy and confusion, it is needless to say that you hated red with more passion than the love it emptily promises with a title as shallow as soulmates.

That was not to say you despised love. There was nothing wrong with love itself, a fact which you had decided firmly since the spry age of four years old. What was wrong was its combination with soulmates: a rigid formula, nothing like the walks with your grandmother on the bright summer roads littered with flowers as her calloused palm gently guided you, or the laughter you shared with your friends after a long run in the rain, hugging each other goodbye at the end of the day despite the muddy battle scars covering your arms and legs from falling countless times.

Your mind could have kept you engaged in your internal debate for longer if you were left to your own devices, but an awkward cough and the sound of a desk shifting towards your right brought you out of your reverie, bringing your drifting thoughts back to the classroom surrounding you.

Perhaps your look of confusion came off as hostile, for the dark-haired boy now sitting next to you looked at you with a slight glare that felt forced, an automatic effort to defend himself.

His tone of voice only confirmed your unconsciously off-putting expression as he gruffly stated, “Group project.” to explain his sudden presence.

“Oh. What’s the topic on?”

An awkward silence had ensued while you tried to calmly collect yourself by gathering a handful of pens from your pencil case after being caught in your heinous crime of not paying attention to your English teacher.

“You don’t know?” Came his reply, causing you to occupy yourself by finding extreme interest in a lime green highlighter you did not have any recollection of ever buying.

“Well, I clearly wasn’t paying attention.”

“You… weren’t?” The slight intonation in his tone was a stark contrast to your initial impression of him and caused you to look up at him, almost letting out an amused snort at his befuddled frown to which he furrowed his brows and shot a challenging “What?” in return. Realizing that he was genuine in believing that you were deep in thought over the lesson, a burst of laughter blossomed past your lips, attracting a few odd looks from your nearby peers and an abashed glare from him.

You paused to take a breath, a repetition of sorries stumbling their way out to appease the onslaught of nagging you thought would follow shortly. Instead, all the boy muttered was a simple, “You’re weird.”

“Sure, but that’s beside the point - were you paying any attention?”

“No.”

Seeing your face contorted to stop yet another bout of laughter to roam its way into the world as a result of his bluntness, he shot out of his seat and announced that he would go ask the teacher, unable to hide his puzzlement as he walked away. He would come to regret this decision when the teacher began to lecture him, earning more heads to turn his way as she scolded him before sending him off dismissively with a sticky note that you assumed had your now long-awaited topic.

Before you could thank him for enduring what could only be one of the worst things to experience as a high school student, he wordlessly handed the piece of paper to you and sat down.

“Kageyama, right? With this project, you’ll have me to thank for the A we’ll get,” you promised confidently, to which he responded with a halfhearted “Good luck.”

If he had been a close friend, you would have taken the small textbook on his desk and gently hit his head at his evident lack of belief in his capabilities, but settled for a clipped sigh instead. After all, you did not want to further contribute to the premature wrinkles Kageyama was making himself prone to with all of the brow-furrowing he did.

This is going to be one long month.

— Largo

Like how the ocean reluctantly caresses the sleeping shore as it wakes from its slumber during low tide, your lives slowly flowed together.

During the first week of your group project with him, he would greet you curtly, and on a few occasions, you would have short conversations about the outline of your book review.

And this singular week was enough to show that there was some (okay, maybe a lot) of backing behind the teacher’s warning about Kageyama’s dismal grade.

While you flipped through A Midsummer Night’s Dream, you would catch the all-too-familiar confusion on his face - it was written on his features so blatantly that it was almost comical, as if taken straight out of a shonen manga.

“You know if you’re stuck you can ask me for help.”

A slight scowl greeted you over the hedge of pages he had been burying himself in, followed by a biting, “Who said I need help?”

You could only roll your eyes in return.

“Please drop the prideful act. You've been glazing over the same page for about twenty minutes now."

After a few seconds of grumbling did he finally comply, and with your explanations, his bookmark was now comfortably sandwiched between the double-digit page numbers right as the bell rang. You hummed in satisfaction before returning your desk to your original spot, expecting him to rush out along with everyone else - so to turn around and see him still standing there was a bit of a surprise.

“Did you still need help with the last few lines?” You settled on asking, not really wanting to plague your break with work but offering nonetheless. Thankfully, he shot a look of disdain at the play as he stuffed it away haphazardly in his bag.

“No, I just wanted to,” he trailed off a bit, the tinge of red on his ears an out-of-character detail you decided not to comment on, “to say thanks, I guess.”

You smiled softly at the unexpected gesture of appreciation before giving him a teasing nudge which he stiffened slightly at.

“Well, I can’t have you bringing down my mark now can I?”

“Nevermind, I take it back.”

“Too bad, I have those words of gratitude stored nicely in my hippocampus already.”

From there, tutoring sessions with Kageyama became the norm, with you sometimes asking about his volleyball team after he had let slip that you were a better teacher than Tsukishima (something you would be sure to smugly share if you ever met the infamous middle blocker).

By the end of the month, all of the hard work - and a couple of all-nighters due to procrastination - brought forth an A as you had promised.

Even your relentless teasing, varying between “I told you so!” to “You owe me at least three meat buns now” which were all met with an annoyed “Shut up”was not enough to dim the smile he tried to hide.

— High tide

With the force of nature, the tide rose without warning; from goodnight texts to confessing to the first “I love you” uttered shyly between shameless souls, neither of you was sure where things began, but found comfort in such liberating chaos.

In times where he needed to be held, you were there, and the insecurities you would hide, he would turn beautiful. And today happened to be a day for both as you stared absentmindedly at his bedroom ceiling.

“Hey Tobio, what’s your take on soulmates?”

“We’ve been together for almost a year now, what do you think?” he put his phone down and turned towards you, “I could care less about soulmates or whatever else is worrying you enough to make your overthinking go into overdrive.”

“Rude, have some respect, it’s my profession after all,” you shoved him playfully as he snorted in reply, “It’s just... If your string ever appeared, wouldn't you rather-”

“Listen Y/n, did you know that I’m scared of dying but I’m even more terrified of the thought of living without you? I could never and don’t ever want to replace you. People can talk all they want, if I could find a love like ours without something as stupid as a piece of string then I don’t need a soulmate.”

“Really?”

With a flick to your forehead, he huffed in fake exasperation. “Really.”

“Huh, who knew you could be so romantic.”

“It's not romantic, I'm just being honest, idiot.”

“You sure could make do with some more lessons on manners and social tact. It's too bad you can't pick up on those as well as volleyball drills.”

Before he could retaliate, you enveloped him in a familiar embrace, burrowing your face into the large hoodie he donned.

It was effortless, his company.

— Ebbing away

But it wasn’t all romantic.

You fiddled with your phone as you waited for any sign that Kageyama had seen your messages, the pack of meat buns you had bought on a whim no longer letting off their fragrant steam. You knew he had an important match coming up against Seijoh, that he had to prove himself, that he lives hungrily and foolishly like no other. But his missing presence went beyond volleyball practice, keeping his distance from you even when he was right by your side.

Why am I stuck reminiscing about the past when we still have each other?

Why does every step I take towards him feel as if I’m only drawing myself farther away from him?

A carousel of rhetorical questions spun around your head as you stopped your slow pace towards Karasuno. You were not blind; you knew the rumours and dirty looks from your classmates were not something anyone could be immune to, that he tried his best to spend less time around you at school. The only conclusion you could reach was that he was ashamed: either of you, or the fact that he had begun to see his red string and could not bring himself to face you.

Ignoring the urge to let yourself cry, you glanced down at your phone once more, 8:30PM flashed across your eyes, followed by your empty notifications. There was no way he’d still be practicing at the school now and even if he was, you doubted he would be happy to see you. Maybe - no, definitely - it would be better to head home, and maybe stop by the convenience store you had bought the now misshapen meat buns from to get some tea and call it a night.

If only fate did not reciprocate your hatred towards it.

Stepping into the small store, the first person you are greeted with is none other than Kageyama Tobio. The whole situation was like a fever dream, and you would do anything to be able to let out a laugh and have him call you weird all over again. But all you could bring yourself to do was blearily stare at him.

He turned around quickly, as if not wanting to be caught before ushering you outside. “Y/n? Why are you here?” he hissed, a stiffness that he had recently adopted to his body language that you were now all too familiar with.

“What? Am I not allowed to go into any and all convenience stores I please?” You challenged, a part of you waiting for him to care enough to see how tired you were, to actually look you in the eyes for the first time in weeks.

He did not, opting to turn his head towards the door again.

“It’s not that, it’s just-”

“Just what? Tobio, what is up with you lately?” A pause ensued, broken by a small hiccup as your eyes dampened - God, how much more pathetic could you get than crying in front of some dingy convenience store - ��Do you even love me anymore?”

How odd. You thought that by finally uttering the final question that had been dancing around your mind free to the world, you would feel better. That he would reassure you, as he always had.

Not that he would at last meet your gaze, grabbing your hand to look at the red string wrapped around your ring finger.

The taste of tears and Kageyama’s eyes as blue as the Atlantic all felt miles away from you as an orange-haired boy stepped out of the store, his mouth dropping into an o-shape when he saw that his string led to you, a disheveled mess arguing with his teammate.

“Kageyama…You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to face the reality of it all. Because I was afraid of losing you.”

“But I wouldn’t leave you-”

“I know you wouldn’t but you should!” Kageyama’s furrowed brows, once a quirk of his that you were fond of, now elicited a sick turmoil in your stomach, “You have to. Please.”

You wanted to yell at him, let the blood pour out of any and all raw words of anger and hurt.

Who was he to decide what was good for you, to throw you at some boy you never met before, to give up?

Then again, you could never say you would not have done the same for him if you knew he had found his soulmate despite the sweet words he had told you so long ago.

So you let yourself go. For his sake.

#kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama x y/n #kageyama x you #haikyuu x reader

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candiliam328 · 3 years

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Season 1 was SO musically superior! Like imma be honest, there are very few songs I remember or liked from season 2. I think in hell I’ll be in good company, golden brown, and major Tom are the ones I can think of off the top of my head. Season 1's soundtrack is iconic. Phantom of the opera? I think we're alone now? The Walker? Shingaling? Kill of the night, hazy shade of winter, happy together, run boy run, picture book, don’t stop me now... they’re all so good! No mistakes were made XD

YES. YES. YES.

ok this is going to be an extremely long answer and...

Necessary disclaimer: these are just all my personal opinions (pls don’t attack me)

Season 1 was a musical masterpiece. The OST and the pop music worked really well together. But I... wasn’t impressed with the music in S2. There’s lots of reasons why.

But what you’re talking about... honestly same. I just looked through a playlist of the pop music in S2 and I didn’t remember most of them? Couldn’t even guess what scenes they might play in? That’s... an immediate failing. If you put a song in a show, it needs to be a deliberate choice and it needs to mean something or else why would you bother including that song?

yike I can literally talk about this for hours (more below the cut)

Music in cinema is really... weird. Even more so when you introduce pop music.

Ok, let’s go from the beginning... a good musical scoring is supposed to reflect what is happening on your screen. It’s meant to support but not overwhelm. A good musical scoring will implicitly tell you more about the story than what you are visually given... but it’s incredibly subtle. You’re not meant to realize that you’re getting some extra info because that would distract you from what’s actually happening on the screen. Some background processing of info, if you get what I mean. (more to come in my OST analysis, should it ever be finished I guess lol)

This isn’t the case with pop music. This can’t be the case with pop music.

Remember, the OST is original composition. Written specifically for this show. Only introduced to you in the context of this show.

Popular music, by definition, exists outside the context of this show.

So there’s a really subtle balance that needs to be kept here when introducing pop music because you risk taking your audience out of the moment and making them think of other memories they already associate with that song.

How do you combat that? Well, diagetic music (music built into the show, like “I Think We’re Alone Now”) tends to be more easily digested and accepted as part of the show material, since the characters are obviously hearing this music as well and interacting/reacting to the music. You have visual confirmation that this music is part of the show as well as auditory stimulation, so brain is less likely to wander off on its own journey.

But the more clever way? Have an incredibly meaningful scene tied with it, something that fits in all the right ways and allows it to work like the score, giving you additional information without you even knowing it. Something that overpowers your brain’s tendency to get distracted by whatever other context you may associate with that pop song. Something that will grab your brain and be like “Sorry, brain. This song is officially a TUA song.”

This obviously works best if you have very little memories associated with the song, so the more obscure the song the better. But if you’re an absolute mad genius with your music and your cinematic timing, you can overpower any association with any song, no matter how popular it is. (... ever wonder why every song in Shrek became an immediate Shrek song? yeah lol)

You also have to recognize that the pop music in TUA or in any other piece of cinema that includes pop music? It does not exist in auditory isolation. There’s a running stream of background music and sounds and noises. Clever sound production will make the jump between music as smooth as possible. Clever scoring will think about how to weave a narrative, while keeping in mind the pop music that will be inserted as well. Make everything as subtle and smooth as possible. Your job is to not take the audience away from the narrative of the screen.

Ok, that was a lot of background info. You may be asking, “LOL BEAN WHAT’S YOUR MAIN POINT?”

Alright, so here it is.

The pop music in season 2 was pretty much doomed to be less effective from the get-go.

The original score of TUA is composed by the lovely Jeff Russo. From my understanding, he knew what pop music was already planned for season 1 before he even got to scoring. This is important. Because he could make choices about the score and the motifs, while keeping the pop music in mind. He could make a more cohesive sound and music experience. And it worked.

There were deliberate choices made with the pop music. They prioritized and made sure you heard them in the right contexts. I will tell you now that there may be some pop music in season 1 that you completely forgot about. That’s OK. You weren’t necessarily supposed to remember them that much. You can’t be expected to pick up on everything. But the ones that played during the most important scenes? “Run Boy Run,” “Don’t Stop Me Now,” “The Walker,” “Never Tear Us Apart”? You know them. They played them longer and they took the time for your ears to appreciate the music and recognize its context in the show. None of this works if your ears and your brain don’t have enough time to process and form the associations of this song with what is happening on the screen. And they resonated with you the most because they reflected what was happening in the show the strongest. These are the important scenes you were supposed to care about and will play in your mind now whenever you hear those songs.

But an even stronger testament to the integrity of pop music in S1: The other songs you forgot about and can’t name off the top of your head? You can listen to them again and maybe even make a good guess at when they were playing in the show. They... fit the show somehow, even if you can’t exactly place it.

And this all makes sense if they chose these songs even before they started filming. Even before they started most of the scoring.

In season 1, choices were made because of the pop music.

... not so much the case for season 2.

I’ve spent less time on the music for season 2 and honestly I don’t plan to spend much more ahaha... But here’s my two cents:

The music in season 2... is incredibly confused. You no longer have this cohesive sound experience that showed up in season 1. The OST is stuck with motifs that were developed with pop music from s1 in mind. Also, Russo played really hard into the fact that Vanya played the violin in season 1 and now there’s no violin at all on-screen, but he’s stuck with an excess amount of violin in the scoring, so there’s already less of a connection there. Not only that, but Russo is no longer the sole score composer, was working on other projects while scoring this one, so there’s less time from him dedicated to make this score work, but also a slightly different sound being introduced from another composer.

Now, add in the messiness of time travel to the 1960′s. The OST is not the 1960's. Not even the new tracks introduced. So the 1960′s sound is... trying to come from the pop music. The pop music that doesn’t blend in with your OST because your OST was developed for a time set in the present.

But wait! Your S1 soundtrack got really popular because of its prime pop music choices... music that fit really well with your scenes. Let’s do that... but even more. Let’s use really popular music !! Backstreet boys, maybe some covers of Billie Eilish, and Adele. Everyone knows these songs !! They’ll see how clever we are and it’ll make them laugh !!

(Notably, this kinda ruins the charm that they were hoping to replicate from S1? Honestly, several times while I was watching S2, I literally shook my head and closed my eyes, thinking.... “of course, they would play this.” Took me completely out of the show. Yeah, it can be really fun, but idk if you are thinking about the people behind cinematic decisions during your first watch of a show, those people probably messed up at their job?)

But wait, I thought you were using your pop music to establish the 1960′s theme? Now some of your music is directly clashing with that and the environmental setting? You’re confused. What are you supposed to be taking away from the pop music now?

And here’s something even more messy: the pop music in S1 was so incredibly important in establishing the musical identity of your characters, since they were played during some of the most defining character moments. Consciously or not, you have some musical expectations already for each of the characters. Not only that, but you’re expecting this pop music to be telling you more things about your characters than what you’re seeing on the screen. What happens when those expectations are not met? There’s some cognitive dissonance. You’re mentally taken out of the show, thinking about other things. Confused about what you’re supposed to take away from this music. Bad. Musical. Decisions.

So... what does that leave you with for the music in season 2?

A mess of 1960′s music and clunky ‘on-the-nose’ music choices, which may or may not clash with the established musical identities of the characters and all clumsily tied together with a struggling OST for the musically confused ears of the audience.

Tldr; Season 1 was a musical masterpiece. The Season 2 music never even had a chance.

#wow this got out of hand lol #it also should be said that the pop music in either season is not objectively better than the other #season 2 has some bops!#its all dependent on the context #anywhos #thank you so much for this ask !!!#🥺💕#sorry it... became a monster lmao #whether this made any sense is actually extremely questionable #tua music #asks #ford-ye-fiji #my ramblings #tua #tua music thoughts #musical beans

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patchofsunlight · 4 years

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Backyard Boy | Sokka x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Mordern!AU | Sokka goes out on a date with his best friend, and it goes as perfectly as he longed it to.

REQUEST (by anon): “In my Sokka feels so I thought I’d request! Could be modern or not but the reader would be in the gang and is best friends with Sokka (who has a fat crush on her). One day he asks her to go on a picnic, just the 2 of them, she doesn’t know if it’s a date or not so she asks her gal pals for help getting ready. She and Sokka have fun (piggyback rides, eating food, making eachother laugh) at the end of their date they cuddle, look into eachothers eyes and kiss. Their friends called it! Thank you!💕”

WORD COUNT: 2.6k this is the first thing I’ve ever posted here with less than 5k I’m proud

WARNINGS: yes I made Jin from Ba Sing Se Y/N’s friend. I think there’s one swear word near the end? also just teeth-rotting fluff. a bit of angst if you squint but like just a little. bad editing as usual. kinda rushed? idk

PLAYLIST (songs that help set the ~vibe + songs that inspired me): Backyard Boy by Claire Rosinkranz ; Electric Love by BØRNS, I Do Adore by Mindy Gledhill ; Lucky by Jason Mraz feat. Colbie Caillat.

Hey! I had a lot of fun and smiled a lot while writing this, so I hope you guys like it too! It’s not perfect, but I tried my best. Feedback is always appreciated! Thank you for reading!

(not my gif)

“You know what? Maybe this was a bad idea, Jin. Maybe I got it all wrong. I should just cancel.”

“Absolutely not. If you cancel, I’ll be forced to punch you in the face, and no one wants that.”

“You don’t even have the guts to punch me in the face.”

“True. Well, I’ll just get someone else to do it.”

Y/N smiled nervously at her friend’s words, fidgeting.

Sokka and she had been best friends for a long while. They had met years ago and clicked instantly, falling in pace with each other so easily that “impressive” was a big understatement — friendship at first sight, he called it. And yet Y/N yearned for more, trying miserably to conceal her dazed smiles and flushed cheeks whenever he as much as looked her way. Her feelings were obvious, but she was too afraid to act on them: it was easier to just leave it alone, pretend the pounding of her heart when around him was ignorable, and maintain her dear relationship with pretty boy Sokka secure. Y/N would choose never having her feelings returned over losing him any day of the week, and it was probably for the best.

She couldn’t lose him, she refused to — he was more important than whatever love she gathered in her chest, than letting go of the suffocating confession always lingering on the tip of her tongue, and she simply wouldn’t let herself lose him.

Y/N was finally settling for the friendship and painful longing when the Water Tribe boy came to her during one of the Gaang’s movie nights, scratching his neck shyly and avoiding her stare.

“Hey, Y/N,” his voice was slightly high-pitched and he cleared his throat, blushing lightly, talking quietly so as to not disturb the others around them, “I—I was thinking—maybe we could, I don’t know, hang out? Tomorrow?”

“That sounds great, Sokka. Didn’t Toph want to try that new restaurant that opened near the Jasmine Dragon?” she replied almost absentmindedly, eyes trained on the scene playing on the television.

“No, Y/N, I—I thought—Well, what if it was just the two of us?”

Now that had caught her attention, “oh.”

“Yeah. It’s okay if you don’t want to, I—”

“I’d love to, Sokka.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she smiled softly, cheeks reddening, and Sokka wondered if she could hear his heart skip a beat inside his chest.

“That’s great. I—” he couldn’t stop his own face from blazing pink, a grin taking over his lips, “I was thinking of a picnic?”

Cue to the present moment, in which Y/N freaked out about misunderstanding Sokka’s words because he had never really called it a date and she had gotten all excited about it as if that’s what it was but what if it wasn’t?

“I don’t know, Jin,” she peeked at her own reflection, noticing how pretty she looked and how flawlessly Jin had styled her hair. Spirits, Y/N had overdone it, hadn’t she? “Maybe he just wanted to spend some time with his best friend and I just projected what I wanted onto that and—”

“Y/N, stop,” the Ba Sing Se girl held her forearms to intercept the frantic movements, “I’m pretty sure he sees you as much more than a friend, okay? You guys have been dancing around each other’s feelings for years now, everyone sees it,” she widened her eyes to emphasize her words, “so stop being crazy and just go meet him! Even if we’re all wrong and he wants nothing to do with you romantically, you can still go and have a good time, right?”

“Right,” Y/N muttered in response, breathing deeply, “right, you’re right. I’m just—I’m just gonna go.”

“Yes! Good luck! It’s gonna be great, I’m sure of it!”

-----

Food, drinks, flowers, extra sweatshirt, the comfy blankets he had stolen from Katara’s apartment, all the courage he could muster, her favorite candy, the blue shirt she had said looked good on him. Yeah, it seemed like he had it all pretty much covered.

Sokka was nervous, yet confident. She had accepted to go on a date with him and he had done the best he could to make sure it would be a lovely afternoon Y/N would absolutely adore. Everything would go as planned and, if he was lucky, he would leave Y/N’s favorite park with a girlfriend.

However, nothing could have prepared him for finally seeing her. She looked as beautiful as always, but there was something about her shy smile and sparkling eyes that made his heart jump around so quickly Sokka thought it might just break through his chest and run towards her.

His best friend walked to him with hands behind her back, endearingly bashful in that old manner that had slowly creeped its way into Sokka’s thoughts and heart. He beamed at her when she reached him, and moved for a hug she gladly returned.

“Hey,” her voice was quiet and shy and it made the Water Tribe boy melt on the spot, “did I make you wait for too long?”

“No, of course not,” Y/N took a step back from the hug and he immediately missed her warmth. Spirits, he couldn’t believe this was actually happening. “Do you want to sit down? Katara helped me make those sandwiches you like.”

Her eyes widened in excitement, quickly remembering how easy it was to be around her best friend and how pointless it was to be shy with him, “yes! Sure!”

Their banter was lighthearted while they ate their sandwiches and sipped on some orange juice, laying on Katara’s soft blanket. He couldn’t help but admire her figure, her smile, her eyes, her voice, tuning out from her anecdote momentarily and simply appreciating her presence. He liked her so much.

Y/N paused when she noticed Sokka’s stare, gaze filled with affection sending chills down her spine. She stared back at him, feeling her face blush, “I feel like I should have brought something,” she complained, touching the candy bar the boy had taken off his backpack and smiling — it was her favorite one. “You put so much thought into this, didn’t you?”

He scratched his neck, embarrassed, “is it too much?”

“No, no!” she was quick to deny, lifting a hand up to touch his upper arm in reassurance. “It’s—it’s kinda charming, really.”

Sokka smirked teasingly, “oh, you think I’m charming?”

“You know I do, dumbass.”

Their eyes met and the Water Tribe boy could feel his whole body tense for being the subject of her attention, heart beating so loud he could hear it by his ear, unable to not ask himself if maybe she could hear it too. She smiled — her hand was still on his upper arm, but she moved it carefully until their fingers brushed. He smiled too, his thumb drawing gentle circles on her palm. As best friends, they had always been very touchy and loving with each other, yet both knew this was different. It was not like their friendly touches and hugs: it was softer, more hesitant, new. And they loved it.

“I’m glad you came,” he declared, finally letting his fingers fall in between hers, “I… I like to be around you.”

Y/N grinned, squeezing his hand lovingly, “I like to be around you too.”

Their small staring contest ended when she took the last bite of the sandwich and got her phone from her purse, turning on some music and positioning the object next to them in the blanket. Sokka grinned at her, aware of how much she just loved to listen to music while doing everyday things — he loved to be included in that little habit, loved to know she felt comfortable enough to let him be a part of it. It was a small gesture, but Y/N had once told him she avoided listening to music around others so as not to be a bother. He loved the fact she didn’t worry about that when next to him.

Spirits, he loved her. He had known it for a while now, yet being with her like this served to set it in stone: Sokka was in love with his best friend, and there were absolutely no doubts about it.

They talked softly over the nice melody, occasionally falling into laughter with crappy jokes and inside references that always got them cackling, fingers unconsciously playing with each other by their sides, finding comfort in the simple but intimate touch.

“Sokka! Listen!” she lit up suddenly, making him shake his head in confusion. Y/N stood up, pulling his hand with her until he did the same. Her eyes shone with agitation while she dragged him until they were standing on the grass, off the blanket.

“What?” his voice was as incredulous as he felt. “What happened?”

“I love this song,” she smiled brightly and his heart skipped a beat at the beautiful sight. The girl slowly but surely positioned his hands on her waist before circling his neck with her arms. “Dance with me, pretty boy.”

Sokka was entirely sure that wasn’t exactly a song you could slow dance to, with the funky rhythm and all, yet he didn’t have it in him to disagree. She swayed from one side to the other in a way that would give Zuko, who was trained in dancing, an attack of sorts, but he still loved it, letting her lead him wherever she wanted to. They danced in silence — Sokka kept admiring her features, watching as she hummed the song’s tune and gazed at the sky behind him. Sunset was nearing closer and the shades of blue were slowly being exchanged for oranges and yellows that she loved almost as much as she loved the boy in front of her. With that thought, she turned her eyes back to him.

“This is nice,” she muttered, content, and he smiled, planting an affectionate kiss on her forehead that killed every coherent idea in her mind, “really nice.”

Sokka snickered, “I agree, pretty girl.”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and stepped backwards, crossing her arms defensively, cheeks reddening immediately, “don’t call me that.”

“Why not, pretty girl?”

“Because it makes me blush! Stop it”

“But you look so cute when you blush, pretty girl.”

“Stop.”

“Oh, come on, pretty girl.”

“I’m gonna punch you.”

“You could never, pretty girl.”

“You better run. One…”

He laughed out loud and she did her best to ignore both the pinkness to her face and the smile fighting to reach her lips.

“Two…”

Sokka couldn’t stop laughing while he took off, running away from her as fast as possible. His laughter was light and cheerful and her chest fluttered at the sound, extasiated by the fact she was actually responsible for it. Y/N ran after him with a big grin on her face, intent on catching her best friend. Laughing made it harder for him to take deep breaths so it didn’t take long for her to be able to jump on his back, creating an impromptu piggyback ride between the two lovers. Sokka was still wheezing when running with the girl on his back, making her scream in excitement.

He made sure the blanket was right underneath before throwing himself to the ground, bringing her along. She giggled as he turned around so she was laying on his chest, not on his back. He held her tightly in a hug and she rested her head on his shoulder after kissing his neck so softly Sokka was certain his soul momentarily left his body, pulse so accelerated he truly feared a heart attack. They waited for their frantic breaths to calm down, holding each other dearly, entangling their legs together. He could hear her sigh happily next to his ear.

They stayed in that position for long minutes, too stubborn to let go just yet, to give up on the indescribable feeling this type of touch caused them. Never before had Y/N felt this safe, her best friend’s erratic heart beating against her chest, his warm hands keeping her in place so firmly and still so gently — she always knew she had feelings for this boy, but now she couldn’t help but think of how she wouldn’t mind staying by his side forever. She wouldn’t mind listening to his stupid voice forever, wouldn’t mind being next to him forever. That realization was enough to stir her from her spot atop him, moving under his reluctant arms until her forearms supported her upper body and she could lift herself to look at him.

He was so beautiful, and, Spirits, she loved him so much.

Y/N ran her hands through his messy hair, making him hum in delight. She smiled.

“I love you, Sokka. So much.”

He smiled back, heartbeat picking up under her skin, “I love you too, pretty girl. More than I could ever put in words.”

They leaned in at the same time, lips molding together tenderly. She tasted like candy and he revelled in every second of it, bringing a hand to hold her neck as he deepened the kiss — nothing had ever felt so right.

Sokka followed her lips blindly when Y/N distanced herself and she chuckled, pressing an endearing kiss to the tip of his nose before blurting, absolutely embarrassed, “you know, before I came I was freaking out because I thought maybe you asked me out as a friend.”

He laughed and she loved the way his chest rumbled underneath her, “you’re unbelievable! Are you kidding?”

“I’m not! Ask Jin, she wanted to kick my ass because of it.”

“You’re an idiot. I have been in love with you for so long, I thought it was obvious!”

“It probably was, but we both know I’m bad at taking hints.”

“Not just bad, you’re the worst at taking hints.”

“Okay, now you’re overdoing it.”

“Shut up and kiss me again, Y/N.”

“Well, if you insist…”

“I do.”

The girl giggled and smashed her lips to his again, feeling her heart full with happiness and love. She questioned herself why she had been so nervous about this in the first place — Y/N should have known there was no way something could go wrong if she was accompanied by her favorite boy in the whole world.

-----

The phone rang twice before Jin’s voice came on, “hello?”

“Hey, I just got home.”

“How was it? Did you have fun?”

“Well…”

“Oh, no,” she was immediately worried out of her mind, afraid of any bad news her friend could possibly deliver after what was supposed to be a great date with the guy she was in love with, “did something happen?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Y/N bit her lip to hold back a snort, heart not entirely calm yet, excitedly remembering all the sensations Sokka made her feel.

“What, baby? Talk to me.”

“I got a boyfriend.”

One second of silence.

“OH, I FUCKING CALLED IT! I TOLD YOU HE WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU! I TOLD YOU!”

“That’s true.”

“I TOLD YOU IT WAS A DATE!”

“You surely did,” Y/N had a large smile on her face, skin still tingling with the reminder of his touch against it, lips itching to be pressed to his again.

“I love being right,” she could hear the grin in Jin’s words and it made her smile grow ever larger, “now you know to never doubt me, stupid ass.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

that was it!! I hope you liked it!!

ATLA taglist: @bottledcostcowater @lammello @coldlilheart @azucanela @samsmultifandomblogs @officiallydarkgeek @20coldhearts

all taglist: @stfukie

thank you for reading and see you soon!!

#sokka #sokka x reader #sokkagang #sokka x fem!reader #sokka x f!reader #jin from ba sing se #atla #atla x reader #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender x reader #avatar #modern au #avatar modern au #atla modern au #sokka modern au #sokka imagine #atla imagine

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thisdreamplace · 3 years

Note

I had a nasty fight with my former bff. This was long ago. She did the whole 'boycotting me' thing at school and afterwards had a mutual friend pass her msg to me, saying "tell her [me] to get it into her skull that she's not the center of the world, who does she think she is? Stop acting like a #" Im simplifying the words, her actual words were nastier

I got thinking today abt this fight, and her comment abt me that is still way too fresh in my mind even tho I hadn't recalled it in 2-3 yrs!, and I actually decided to use the law to revise my friendship to feel better as what happened after the fight was shameful on my part. But before I knew it, I started rmmbring my relationship with her. How I became a total victim. Got so stuck on her validation, begged her to be friends with me (after I got the degrading msg. 🤕 silly me w/o a backbone lol) and stayed her 'bestie' for way too long. Only after it's all over im noticing smth messed up abt out 'feiendship'. It wasnf that normal I think. She would get so pissed if I did anything that went against her thoughts/beliefs/way (which is why she called me a selfish # that major fight). It was so subtle the way she showed her disapproval. To her, if I did anything not aligned with her, or even makih decisions on my own which didn't involve her, it was wrong. And had consequences like her beinf distant for days etc, or getting angry if I didn't mind read her bla bla, I just had to keep her at the top 24/7 and she expected everyone else to do the same... which I thought was normal... It wasnt. And what would be even more crazy is she never realized how that meant she always wanted the attention. That she always wanted it her way! It just makes me feel... Sad.... When I look back. How couldn't I have notived it before? I used to be strong headed, opinionated before I became 'besties' with her.. That all has changed. I wonder why -_-

It may be dumb on my part but with the weak mind and insecurity I had then, I took that fight/her reaction to the heart and internalisef this stupidiy (DENY MYSELF if the other alternative was denying HER. I didn't think it was wrong. For the oldme, it really wasn't wrong smh). Aaah I'm so sorry old me :(

This fight started bcoz she asked me for smth and I refused, instead of relenting like I always would, and I see now that her reaction (to me not being an obedient # to her ig?🤢) was basically her setting rules. It was wrong of me to refuse, yes, but why did she react that way? Why did this pattern continue? That everyone was selfish if they didn't think of her ;_; like how do u deal with this? And the icing is when I too started to defend her and make excuses for her all the time. And ik I'm making her out to be so strong, don't worry... I accept the strong only rule when the weak submit. And I was weak as hell, so its understandable this whole thing. I think 😅

Idk. I seen your posts abt eyipo with other anons so i hope u can tell me figure out what this was. Its clear to me she was projecting smth about me, and mb throughout our whole friendship she was projecting me. And I would think it was her hurting me, that she was right and I was wrong or maybe I did smth wrong. Mb I thought I deserved being punished that way?!

Today I suddenly had an aha moment and I realised... this is how a victim thinks. I didn't know I was a victim when I was living that stoey aka thought I was powerless. When in fact I really wasn't?! Haha still accepting I 555% created ALL that. The law can knock you out haha

Enough old story I just want to ask, what du u think the msg she sent to me was? Did I really deserve such a reaction (did I mention she included other girls in the boycot? 🤢) just for standing up for myself? What about the whole 'fight' aka showcase of power? And the entire yrs of being friends why did I never realize I was only hurting myself so much by putting her before me? And also, with the everyone pushed out thing, how did it fit in? Like why the hell did I give her too much power in validating me by giving in after the fight in the first place?, and while I did have some fun times (saying this so anyone else who reads this doesn't think it was pure torture lol. We had some common interests tyat no one else in the class shared when we first became 'friends'), deep down I was so unhappy so why didn't this reflect on her? I mean why didn't she ever sense just how much she'd hurt me, why didn't she see how much I put on the back burner coz of her?! Was it as she saw it as her right? I'm just so confused

This is still a bitter pill to swallow tbh but I have to face this in order to move on. This person and my life with her has left me wit many scars and I got to understand how I did this so I never attract such a person in my life again. Its not even abt bejnf a victim. As I said, these victimy things were subtle and I only noted them when it was too late and I was a shell, like she getting super pissed and disapproving if I had a differing opinion and me blowijg it out of proportion and tailoring my views or not expressing them so as to not feel the disapproval...thanks boycott conditioning ig? 😭 Aaaah even talking agaunst her rn is making me uncomfortable. Which makes me think I still am scared of her subconsciously even tho she's no longer in my life. Like, what in me made me choose her? I haven't healed, obviously by this ask as u can tell, but idk what is it in my self concept that had this whole thing in my past even happen

My friend, I also want to say I think you're a beautiful soul 🥺. And im sorry for the long ask lol. And I pray you'll always have all your desires. And plz, was it hard for u at first when u learned about u creating everything? The good, the bad, and the repulsive (like this story)? How did u get over old stories? Ty ty ty 😭

To begin with you're being really harsh on yourself. Like, I know it's hard, but it's never that serious. And trust me, this is something I have to remind myself of regularly. Because there have definitely been moments in life where I look back on myself in that moment, and I feel like I was pathetic and would slap myself if I could. But the truth is, there's just no need for any of that. We always did the best we could. We always did, period. We couldn't have done anything differently and this will continue to be true our entire lives. Looking back on the past with such overwhelming feelings, is really not needed. I get looking back to learn from it, but practice coming from a place of love and acceptance instead. It will help you grow, rather than get stuck back in this cycle of self-hate and confusion. Plus, you actually never need to analyze the past to grow but that's beyond the point right now.

To me, by reading your ask, the message she sent to you was clear. You feel you deserve less in life, you feel you're not good enough, you feel like a victim to life and others, you feel like you're not empowered or the operant power of your reality. It's not about her being wrong and you being right, and I get this is one of the hardest pills to swallow. Everyone is you pushed out. Therefore, there's simply no such thing as who is right and who is wrong anymore. It was only ever you.

When it comes to everyone is you pushed out, you have to understand this person isn't this way because that's who they are. They were that way because that's who you were. Inside of you, you brought their character to life. Therefore, the same way you are not stuck to such an undesirable self concept, neither is that person. It's not that you chose her and attracted her in. You were just dealing with yourself. That's what I hope you walk away from this response understanding. Because by thinking she was outside of you, you're missing the mark. And this is such an important concept to understand when it comes to the law of assumption, because it's really at the forefront of everything. People play such a huge role in our lives, whether it's relationships, jobs, opportunities, etc etc. So understanding how everyone is you pushed out actually works is extremely important.

So instead of putting all this blame on her or even putting the blame on yourself, all these memories really do is give you a glimpse into who you were at the time. It shows you the beliefs you held about yourself. It shows you what your self concept was. That's all it's doing. So in that way, there's actually no one to blame at all. I know it feels good to put blame, even when it's on yourself, but the truth is there's no room for blame when you learn about the law. You simply take responsibility and become empowered by the power you have held this entire time. And you practice making it work in your favor.

If you want to see how something was apart of your self concept, all you have to do is pay attention to what you are thinking/feeling. Shame, not being good enough, etc etc is all just stories you once held onto. Now you don't have to hold onto those stories anymore. Now that you know the power you hold, you get to make a new decision for yourself. Rather than ruminating of the painful past, allow it to be and know how that's not your story anymore.

Was it difficult for me to accept how I created everything? Yes and no. It's been a journey. While I could accept it logically, emotionally it was still very painful. Many times I wanted to cry and lash out when I felt alone and felt upset that no one was there for me. Although, I knew deep down it appeared that way because of my own concept of self. So yeah, it's been a journey. And it's honestly not always delightful. But this is the journey we have to take for the rest of our lives, so we might as well get used to practicing and applying these concepts. Instead of continuing to hold ourselves in such painful lights. I got through old stories, and I continue to get through old stories, by feeling all the pain that came up. By allowing myself to cry and feel however I felt like during those times. And in the back of my mind I knew I was getting stronger in my power. I knew how I would keep persisting once the pain subsided. And little by little, old stories fade more and more. That persistence to continue choosing better for yourself, is truly more powerful than it may seem in a difficult moment. Have trust in how it's all working out for you regardless.

Hopefully this is helpful! Thank you for your kind words. 💖

#eiypo

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quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years

Text

American Boy

Bucky x Reader

Request: So basically buckyxreader where she is a super successful businesswomen and awfully confident but when she’s with bucky she feels insecure as many women want him and she’s insecure of nat. Based on “American Boy” by little mix where bucky is her american boy and the other girl in the song is nat. So like angst with a happy ending (maybe smut if you’re comfortable idk idk).

Words: ~ 9,700

Summary: Dating Bucky can be challenging sometimes -- all the time.

Warnings: Smut, angst

A/N: Sorry this took me so long :( I recently started work so its been hard to write -- but I’m really happy with how this one turned out!! Thank you so much for the request!

And I met him back when I was out in California He was playing in a band and she was dancing on a stage And he says that I'm the one but she's the one that got away And he never knew her real name

Nothing about tonight sounded mildly comfortable. It was going to be six hours in a too cold banquette hall, standing all night in too tall heels, a too tight dress, with your hair scraped back into a too painful bun. From the moment you stepped inside, the flesh on your arms and décolleté erupting into goosebumps – nothing a little alcohol can’t fix, you thought to yourself, snagging a glass of champagne off of the tray from the first waiter you saw.

“Y/N,” Tony called, opening his arms to greet you. His suit was perfectly pressed, a three-piece suit that cost more than twice your monthly rent. You walked up to him, giving him a side hug, checking yourself out in the reflection of his iconic red glasses. “See, I knew you’d come.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, remembering how for the past week you’d declined his numerous invitations to his party. “I hope you know that I’m charging you overtime for this.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” He ushers you away while he continues mingling with his other guests.

Never in a million years had you thought you’d be an A-list guest at one of Tony Stark’s infamous parties. But, as fate would have it, you and Tony had been working together quite a bit in the recent years. What began as a little start-up from your college dorm room, quickly grew into a multinational billion-dollar company. Stark industries contracted your company out to spearhead multiple new projects – including the development of high-tech equipment for the Avengers. You had many ventures, sectors growing from technological advancement, to biometrics, to teams specializing in law, advertising, and operations.

The past few years had been a whirlwind for you. Moving to New York, managing your ever-growing company – up until now your life had been all work and no play. Once you met Tony, you knew that your world would flip upside down. You’d been in Forbes 30-Under-30 list for three years straight. Your life had grown into nothing but interviews, business deals, and fame – and you loved it. You felt like you were on top of the world at this moment in your life; nothing was going to stop your forward momentum from climbing up the ladder.

“Hey,” a smooth voice pulled you out of your fog, a figure popping up next to you.

“Hey, Steve,” you responded, smiling up at the blond man.

“You having a good night?” You’d met Steve a handful of times before through Tony, working with him a few times in the past. You don’t know if you could outright call him your close friend, but Steve was always so kind.

You could should be using tonight as a networking opportunity, but after an extremely stressful week at work, all you wanted to do was crawl into a bubble bath and relax. You couldn’t do that, so you thought you’d at least try to let loose and take it easy tonight, hoping to catch up with friends and enjoy some time partying. “I guess,” you shrugged, taking another sip of champagne.

“That makes two of us,” he replied, taking an equally long sip of his drink. “It’s hard to lay low at Tony’s parties, y’know?”

“Its hard to lay low when you’re Captain America,” you joked, nudging his arm with your elbow. He rolled his eyes again, running a hand through his short blond hair.

Your eyes scanned over the crowd, trying to find something worthwhile to talk to Steve about: maybe about the couples dancing in the center of the room, the large crowd gathered at the bar, the performers that laced their way through the influx of people. Your gaze fell upon a smaller group of people gathered around a table, laughing, telling stories and interrupting each other with more tall tales. You only recognized a couple people in the group; Sam Wilson: tall, well-built, perhaps a little tipsy, chirping away with his witty comments; Natasha Romanoff: a goddess, quiet, watching, observing, black dress so tight on her beautiful figure it looked like it was painted on; Bucky Barnes: the epitome of tall dark and handsome, at the forefront of the conversation, laughing and cussing telling his sensational war story, dark tendrils of hair hanging loosely in front of his face, obstructing the view of his blue eyes.

“Have you met Bucky?” Steve asked, interrupting your thoughts. You shook your head ‘no,’ unable to tear your eyes away from him. His black suit was complemented quite nicely with a fitted black shirt, the top buttons undone, his tanned muscle peaking out. He ran his metallic hand through his long hair – you finally were able to see his eyes, the only color on him, so bright compared to their dark surroundings. And they were looking at you.

Tearing your eyes away from him, you turned your head up to Steve. He was watching Bucky, watching him looking at you; Steve’s head turned between the two of you, almost unable to stop the smile from pulling at his lips. Steve pulled you into the group, making space for you to stand between him and Bucky. As introductions were passed around the group, you felt eyes on you. This time, the set of green eyes.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Natasha give you the up and down a few times. Your first reaction was that it wasn’t in a bad or necessarily judgmental way; she was interested in who the outsider was. She was protective, it was instinctual; she would observe said outsider, finding all of her flaws, quirks, secrets, until she was certain she wasn’t a threat. When you were introduced to her, she politely flashed you a smile with her infamous painted red lips and shook your hand.

“(Y/N), this is Bucky,” Steve finished, watching eagerly as the two of you shook hands and exchanged smiles.

“(Y/N),” Bucky whispered, your name tasting sweet on his lips; he tipped his head ever so slightly towards you in greeting.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Everybody took the hint – that hint being Steve wiggling his eyebrows at everyone – and the group dispersed. You waved goodbye to the like, politely offering goodbyes to everyone. In your peripheral vison, you watched as the red head gave you one final up-and-down, crossing her arms over her busty chest, flitting her eyes to Bucky’s before she strutted off.

…

You hit it off with Bucky instantly, spending the night discussing everything from your future prospects to your relationship status to your past (specifically, your past). He was completely enamored by you. He was obsessed with the fact that people looked up to you; you demanded respect – so much so, in fact, that your success intimidated them; you were unapproachable to those who didn’t have their shit together. After that night, he knew he had to see you again.

And you could not feel more the same way.

It started fairly privately. Despite your constant media attention – being the CEO of a Fortune 500 company had that effect – being Tony Stark’s business partner escalated that. Usually on your commute to and from work, whether that be your corporate office or the Avenger’s tower, there would be a few paparazzi and a couple reporters following you around. They wanted information on you, your ventures, but most importantly: Tony Stark. When you were contracted to work with Stark Industries, you knew this was a possibility – in fact, it was the number one con on your pros & cons list. While you did think it was a decent opportunity for exposure, it surely came back to bite you in the ass.

You didn’t anticipate meeting Bucky Barnes – you surely didn’t anticipate dating him, either. You couldn’t be happier with Bucky; you wouldn’t let the incessant paparazzi and media attention get to you. Surely, you’d figured that dating an actual Avenger would draw some attention to yourself. However, you couldn’t have predicted the magnitude it would have on your daily life. The amount cameramen and reporters that followed you on a daily basis more than doubled.

Now, you’d never considered yourself shy, especially not camera shy – hell, all you were doing was walking from your car to and from different buildings – you could surely handle getting your picture taken. You had to admit, you were put together (and damn hot). You wore tailored suits, the tall heels; your hair and makeup were done perfectly every day.

It’s not like you hadn’t been on the cover of magazines before; but they were articles, studies, biographies. You posed for the cover of Forbes and Wall Street Journal and Harvard Business Review. Gracing the cover of tabloid magazines, however, was new territory for you. They talked about your style, your makeup, you clothes, your hair – nothing was too surface level for them to delve into. At first, that’s all it was. Noting and pricing your style, People magazine printing a “Who is She?” issue.

Then the comparisons started.

It was a side-by-side of you and Natasha – Black Widow. How could you compete with her?

You were sitting in bed one morning, up early before dawn, checking your phone before you started your morning routine. It was supposed to be like any other Thursday: work, meetings, executive board reviews: productive. But after reading that article, your heart deflated; today would only truly be over once you get to crawl back into your bed at the end of the day and sulk under the covers.

You slowly let out a long breath as you scrolled quickly through the article. “(Y/N) Becomes Black Widow’s Replacement: Is She Good Enough or Will She Get Tangled in the Web?” leave it to Daily Mail to start off with a shitty pun to ruin your mood.

The first picture was a full body shot of you laid next to a similar image of Natasha. She was shorter, sure – but curvier. She had more muscle, obviously – and those legs. Even you wanted to be strangled to death by her thighs. (And you felt like dying at that moment, that’s for sure). Maybe she just wore tighter clothes? You did, in fact, wear well-tailored clothes – you were actually very fashion forward for the business world, taking Fall 2020 by storm. She just got the chance to wear tighter clothes more often.

The second photo was an extremely flattering behind shot. The photographer might as well have taken the camera and pointed it right up your skirt. You’d heard the tabloids comparing the asses of other famous women, surely even the English Royalty had headlines circulating about it. You actually thought you had a good ass – you do – but hers was better. Black fucking Widow and you were supposed to somehow compete?

The last shot was a close up of your faces. You had to admit, they probably could’ve picked a worse picture of you. You weren’t smiling, you weren’t frowning – it was neutral. Your brows maybe slightly narrowed. Natasha, on the other hand, was glaring at the paparazzi. They gave her space, as if they took one step too close, she would murder them (and although she was actually extremely kind to you, they were probably right in that case). Her glare exuded confidence, intimidation. That was the difference between your auras: while your success may have been intimidating to others, it was her essential being that was intimidating – she could kill you just by looking at you.

While some people may not appreciate that fact, the pure daunting atmosphere that surrounded her, there was one person that did: James Buchanan Barnes.

He, himself, had the same ambiance, after all: that is being the don’t fuck with me stare.

Oh, and I don't mean to get so caught up And insecure 'bout all the things you say Oh, and I don't mean to be jealous, it's just careless me Boy, I must drive you mad

“Hey, Bucky,” you greeted, swinging open your front door, pressing a chaste kiss to the lips of the man before you.

He hummed against your lips, caught off guard as you pulled away sooner than expected. “Hey, baby,” he responded, shrugging it off stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “It smells great,” he noted regarding the pasta sauce simmering on the stove. He dipped a metallic pinky finger in the sauce, cheekily smiling at you as he licked his makeshift tasting-spoon. “Tastes great – no surprise.”

You couldn’t help but return his smile, trying to shake off the bad day you’d had, instead turning all focus to your giggle boyfriend before you. He takes two steps forward, engulfing you in his strong arms, rubbing his flesh hand up and down your back in a soothing motion. You rested your cheek against his chest, taking a deep breath in; his earthy scent calmed you down, the heat radiating off of him offering you to a level of relaxation you didn’t know was possible. “Did you have a bad day, baby?” He cooed quietly, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding into his chest. “Bad. And busy. And annoying.”

“Annoying?” He repeated, testing the word on his tongue, but not questioning further. “Come on, why don’t we eat because I’m hungry – and I know you’re hungry – and get you to relax.” You smile up at him, giving him a proper kiss this time, unsure if he was just saying that to get dinner going, or if his supersoldier senses could actually tell that you were hungry (because you were).

Dinner went smoothly. It was quiet, moreso than usual. But it was nice. It was calm: a good change of pace from both of your busy schedules. It was tranquil: spending the evening exchanging loving glances and touches across the table, playing footstie under the table, Bucky quite literally licking pasta sauce off your cheek.

As he finished up his third serving (to which you just sip your wine while he gets his fill), you can’t help but break the silence and light conversation with a loaded question: “What’s with you and Natasha?”

You didn’t mean for the question to come out so abrupt or harsh, but it had been eating at your mind all day. You’d found yourself looking at that article during every five-minute break you got. Comparing hair, clothes, smiles, eyes, teeth – everything.

“What’s with us?” He repeated, eyebrows cocked in misunderstanding, palms raised in confusion. He didn’t understand the question.

You sighed heavily, dropping your eyes to the near empty wine glass before you. “I don’t know,” you grumbled, running your hands over your forehead, dropping them behind your head, pulling your hair a bit. “I’ve been seeing these articles about her – about her and me,” you clarified, trailing off, hoping he’d understand the picture. As he remained silent, you sat back against your chair, slouching. “Did you guys date or something?” You immediately bit the inside of your cheek. The question burned coming off your tongue.

His chuckle almost startled you out of your fog; your stomach dropped as you felt knots pull at all your insides. “Babe.” He reaches across the table with open palms, waiting for you to place your hands in his. You hesitated, but eventually complied, his soft smile and kind eyes giving you no other choice. “No. We never had – or did – anything. Never. I promise.”

Okay, well that made you feel better. You let out a breathy sigh (this time of relief) as you gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “Okay,” you repeated. “Okay.” It made you feel a little better, sure, but then why?

He raised his eyebrows once again. “You don’t believe me?”

“No – no, no, no – ” you replied quickly, reaching farther across the table, fingertips grazing his forearms. “I’m just confused. I keep seeing articles comparing me and her,” you stated very slowly, unsure of the right words, unsure of what his innate reaction would be.

“We have a… past,” he responded, slowly; it was calculated.

But in that moment, he knew he miscalculated. “A past?”

No, not like that, he thought. But like what, exactly? How was he supposed to explain it? God, his own life was complicated enough to explain – he hadn’t dared to divulge that deep, in fear of ruining your newly blossoming relationship. He owed you some sort of explanation, though, right? But he was at a loss for words at the worst time possible. “It just goes back to… a long time ago… with… well… ” With no words left to complete his fragment of a sentence, he raised his left hand and wiggled his metallic fingers.

Your lips formed an “oh” shape as you said the same word mentally. Oh, no shit, more like. The Russian spy and the Winter Soldier had intertwined pasts. You felt like an idiot – like the answer was laying right there before you, your eyes glazing right over it. “Bucky, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry but – ”

He cut you off immediately, taking one of your hands into both of his. He looked you straight in the eyes, his own blue irises staring deep into yours. “Don’t apologize, please.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want that part of my life taking over my life now. You’re not prying – I need to be open with you about it.” You nodded slowly. “I want you to be apart of my life, (Y/N),” he clarified, nearly smiling at you missing the implication of his previous sentence.

You grinned, a goofy wine-infused smile. You leaned across the table, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

That night, he began telling you about his past; nothing he wasn’t comfortable with discussing was mentioned. You didn’t push him, didn’t ask questions, didn’t offer opinion or advice. The only thing you offered was solace, comfort, and hot tea. You held him in bed, ran your fingers through his hair, rubbed small circles on his muscled back.

He told you about how he trained her, how their connected past drew scrutiny to them in the media. How their ties to Russia, Hydra, and a few not-so politically correct incidents in the past tied them closer together both in eyes of the tabloids and, subsequently, to each other.

You had no questions, no comments. There was nothing for you to say. You weren’t questioning the validity of his past and you didn’t question the fact that he and Natasha were just friends. You were confident in Bucky, confident that he was telling the truth – confident in your relationship.

The two of you fell asleep that night wiping tears off each other’s cheeks; but neither of you had felt more safe – more in love – than at that moment in your lives.

…

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing down at you – at your figure.

You were turned away from him, trying to busy yourself, acting as though bringing it up again was casual, like it was just a normal question on par with how was your day? It, in fact, was extremely loaded; there couldn’t be more of a loaded question, in Bucky’s opinion (in your own opinion, too). But, dammit, you needed validation – wasn’t that okay?

It was okay.

It was always okay. Bucky understood that. Even he, himself, needed validation in a similar way. However, there were two distinct differences about what he needed vs. what you needed.

1. He never needed validation against someone else.

Bucky was insecure – the fact of the matter was every single person in the world had insecurities, from the brightest minds to the most beautiful models; there isn’t a single person who isn’t immune to outside pressure, societal expectations, internal comparisons. Sometimes Bucky would be insecure of his arm, oftentimes he’d be insecure about his past. He’d wonder about his hair, he’d read articles about himself, comments people posted online. Bucky had a certain confidence about himself, sure. He was intimidating (that was both a good and a bad thing).

But you. You were intimidating, too – you were, in Bucky’s eyes – the baddest bitch; you controlled the business world, dominate magazine headlines, demanded the attention of every man in the room. He loved it. He loved the fact that you were all that and more, and that he got to come home to you. He got to hold you in his arms at night. He got to make love to you.

That’s why he didn’t understand your – what he determined to be – obsession with her. All the time asking him about her. Were you as good as her? Were you better than her? He understood, at first. Natasha was very intimidating – to anyone, even her own team. He didn’t mind showing you extra attention, sprinkling you with more compliments, lovingly laying his hands on the places you didn’t like about yourself. He loved you; he loved complimenting you. Nothing he ever said was a lie, so he had no problem saying them.

But as time went on, you kept asking. About. Her.

2. He believed you when you validated him.

Not only were you asking about Natasha, constantly comparing yourself to her – your body, your brains, your face, even your hair. Again, he had no problem telling you how beautiful you were; it was a service to you that he would trade anything in the world for. He loved to say that to you; complimenting your intelligence, looks, attitude – all of it.

Maybe he wasn’t complimenting you enough anymore? Even so, you had to know the way he felt about you? He tried really hard to validate it as his own fault. Like it was something he had done to cause you to suddenly be so insecure. But all it took was one walk down the bustling street-stands on the New York City’s streets for him to realize. You, after all, had graced the cover of every magazine as of lately. You and Natasha.

He wasn’t so hard on you or himself after that little piece clicked in his head.

But at the end of the day, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if you never believed him. Did you trust him? Did you love him? Those questions ran through his head at night – as much as he hated it, he couldn’t stop it.

“It’s not how many times, Bucky! It’s – it’s – ” You tripped over your own words.

“What is it, then, (Y/N)? Because I sure as hell can’t figure it out.” In fact, you didn’t know what it was. You couldn’t pinpoint it. You couldn’t put the words together.

You turned around, crossing your arms across your chest, mirroring him. You just stared back it him, biting your lip. There wasn’t anything you could say; just offered him a shrug.

“(Y/N), come on,” he began. “You can’t seriously believe the shit they say.” He was referring to the incessant media coverage. The eyes on you – 24/7 cameras. It eats away at you; it was all you could think about. “You’re too smart for them. What’s this all about, then?”

If there was anyone who could see right through you, it was him. But if there was one thing he needed to know about you, it was that you had too much pride to admit any sort of insecurity to anyone – even your boyfriend of now eight months.

It was in that moment that you wondered if he took a short tone with her the way he had been with you lately. Did she have to ask him such endless questions? Definitely not. She had nothing to worry about. She didn’t care.

That was the difference between the two of you.

You couldn’t do anything but care.

Singing, singing, singing Ooh la la, he breaks my heart I know he thinks about her when he plays guitar And ooh la la, my American boy

You and Bucky sat on the couch, the movie playing in front you now long forgotten. The past few weeks have been stressful for the both of you. You were both dealing with a lot at work; you with new projects and development issues, Bucky with compiling intel that seemly led nowhere. Last night, you’d attended another one of Tony’s parties with Bucky. You thought it was going to be a fun night, seeing all your old friends, catching up with everyone you hadn’t seen in so long. What was supposed to be a casual night of fun drinking and dancing, turned sour very quickly.

It was nice in the beginning, catching up with Sam and Steve; that is, until you caught a glimpse of Bucky from the corner of your eye. He was just meant to get a refill of drinks. All he had to do was weave through the crowd, make it to the bar, and return with the drinks. You felt that it shouldn’t have taken him that long. Maybe you should’ve offered to get them instead.

There he stood, leaning against the bar, a handful of cold drinks sitting in front of him on the tabletop. You watched as he ignored the cups the bartender placed down in front of him a few minutes ago; watched as a drop of precipitation slid down the side of the cold glass, pooling with all the others at the granite bar top.

Beside him, a tall blonde mimicked his movements, leaning against the counter. She spoke to him in a hushed tone, gazing up at him under her long eyelashes. Her perfectly manicured hands grazed up and down his arm, undoubtedly innocently asking about the strong metal underneath his shirt sleeve. You rolled your eyes, nearly scoffing at her fairly blatant attempt at flirting.

You wouldn’t be so pissed off, usually. She was beautiful, sure, but you were confident in your relationship with Bucky. You knew how he felt about you and he knew how strong your feelings were for him. There was no doubt on either end – so why shouldn’t he be able to have a conversation with some woman at a party? He had just grown comfortable enough to talk about his metal arm, finally accepting the gift that the great King T’Challa had gifted him.

So why did this interaction piss you off so much?

Because you knew that if a man had come up to you to chat so innocently with you, he’d be on him in less than one second. And if a man had come up to you to chat while also running his hand up your arm or down your back, Bucky would ensure that man would be leaving this party with nothing but then broken fingers.

But your pride took the best of you, as usual. You rolled your eyes to yourself, carrying on your conversation with Sam and Steve, trying your best not to look over Sam’s shoulder too much, staring past him and at Bucky. You held your empty cup in your hand, almost now more pissed that your new drink was sitting lonely at the bar, when you needed alcohol more than ever in this moment.

All you wanted was to go up there, rip her hand off your boyfriend, and get your damn drink. Instead, you held your tongue all night. When Bucky returned with your drink, you thanked him and took it, gulping it down fairly quickly. When his hand rested on your waist, you simply gave yourself a twist, shrugging his hand off of you. You felt him give you a questioning look, but you simply pretended not to notice, instead keeping your eyes locked on Sam’s as he told his story about what ever he was talking about (you weren’t really paying attention); just smiling and nodding and looking as engaged as possible.

When you and Bucky got home that night, you quickly showered and crawled into bed. Bucky had been trying to talk to you on the car ride home, all night while you got ready for bed. Finally giving you your peace to shower, he decided to try again once he slipped into bed beside him. “What’s going on, (Y/N),” he whispered, turning towards you; but he was met with the sight of your back turned to him.

“Nothing,” you replied, face smooshed int the pillow. “’M just tired.”

His hand found your side, rubbing over your hip bone slightly, as he moved closer to you in bed. His chest pressed up against your back, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “Is that all, baby?” He kept pressing. “Let me make you feel better,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your neck, burying his face in your shoulder.

“No, Buck, stop.” You shrugged him off and lifted your shoulders in protest, pushing his head away. “I’m not in the mood – I just want to go to sleep.”

“Sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered, settling back down in the bed.

You tried to fall asleep that night, you really were tired – exhausted, in fact. But you just couldn’t calm your racing mind enough to fall asleep. You knew Bucky knew it, too. You suspected that he didn’t get much sleep either.

When you finally did get a few hours of rest, you woke up to a note left by Bucky.

Went for an early workout with Steve. Feel better, I’ll call you later.

You gave yourself a whole self-care day. Bath, face mask, manicure – the whole nine yards. You willed yourself to think of anything except Bucky and that girl – Bucky and any girl.

Every girl in the world had eyes for Bucky – why wouldn’t they? He’s absolutely gorgeous: tall, handsome, he’s got the mysterious vibe going on – basically every woman’s walking wet dream. You always gave him the benefit of the doubt when it came to women flirting with him. He was from a different time; he was just being polite. That’s what you told yourself, at least. The more Steve told you stories about him being a charmer – how he always “wooed” women back in the day – the more unsettled you became. Maybe he missed being a flirt, afterall, as he recovered, he slipped back into his old ways, whether that be an old Brooklyn accent, or his charming smile.

But how many times could you just brush it off? Blatantly flirting in front of you – sure it may have been an innocent conversation or an innocent arm touch (you know that’s how he would sell it to you) but hell, he lived in a different time now. So, he just had to get used to the fact that he had to stop letting these girls flirt with him. Was it really so hard to tell them he had a girlfriend?

Unless he thought about it and didn’t want to. He was so touch starved for the past seventy-plus years that who knows? Maybe he did enjoy all the attention – especially all the female attention. Considering the fact he was such a ladies man, maybe this is exactly what he wanted to feel like himself again, winning over all the women. And, god, all the tall women with their perfect faces and gorgeous chests, showing off more skin than they covered. They had the confidence of models, the ferociousness of catwoman – not to mention Black Widow; she was her own breed of gold-like-women.

He didn’t call you until the next day.

That’s how you ended up on your sofa, innocently watching a movie, two boxes of pizza abandoned on your coffee table. Neither of you brought up the night of Tony’s party; instead, you two sought solace in each other’s arms on the plush couch between piles of pillows.

You two ended up making out, his hands wrapping around your waist and up your back, yours winding their way through locks of his long hair. He leaned over you, your back meeting the sofa top and his chest pressing to yours. His pelvis touched yours, grinding lazily against yours. A mess of legs entangled with each other at the opposite end of the couch. His hand slid down your side, squeezing between your bodies to unbutton your jeans, his fingers slipping underneath your panties.

He groaned once his finger slipped between your slit, moaning at the wetness he found there. He pulled his hands up and shimmied your pants off, his own jeans following suit. He didn’t bother even taking them off all the way, instead latching himself on you with his pants and underwear pooling at his ankles.

His hands grabbed your hips, roughly pushing into you while his lips attached themselves to your neck. You gasped, the sudden entry startling to you. Your arms encased his torso, nails digging into his back as he roughly fucked you into the mattress. You hips met his as you tried to rock against him to meet his thrusts. His hands pinned your hips down, jackhammering you into the couch.

You were panting and moaning and screaming. You couldn’t help the noises that were coming out of your mouth. You and Bucky had tried some pretty not-vanilla stuff in the past, and sure, sex was maybe one of the best ways to get your anger out. But Bucky hadn’t ever been this nonattentive to you before. Or this quiet. Usually you couldn’t get him to shut up – between the dirty talk and the praise, you could never get him to shut up; and he loved it. He knew his whispers and all his egging-you on only flustered you more. That was the sex you loved.

This was different. He didn’t say anything; he just grunting to himself as he pounded into you, hips snapping into yours. God, you were going to be bruised tomorrow just from how hard he was holding you down. He wasn’t attentive, nor perceptive to you. He didn’t kiss you, just barred his teeth through heavy breaths.

This must have been all related to the night at Tony’s party. He was probably angry with you after that night – not talking to him at all. Not to mention you didn’t say anything when he clearly knew something was up with you; you definitely owed him an explanation. You couldn’t blame him or being angry. You weren’t so sure this was his best reaction. He was so dangerously quiet.

That’s when you threw your head back against the pillows, biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut. Was he just fucking you to fuck you? He came quickly and without warning, spilling into you with nothing but another grunt.

He dropped on top of you, pelvis to pelvis, his cock still inside your warm cunt. He dropped his head to your chest, you shirt still left on from earlier. He shut his eyes and wrapped his arms around him. Your fingers found his hair, stroking his chestnut strands as he fell asleep on top of you.

Maybe he was just tired from waking up early? He probably needed to get his aggressions from the day out – not to mention the frustration from you basically ignoring him all day and night. There was a feeling in the back of your head, though, that this sudden change of pace may have been brought on by something else. His eyes were shut the whole time – hell, maybe he was thinking about that blonde girl from the party.

You said it to yourself as a joke – it was a fleeting thought. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it after that. Was he picturing someone else? He wasn’t turned on by you – you didn’t even get a chance to do anything sexy before he was fucking you with your clothes on. He’d probably rather be sleeping with someone else. Someone who made porn star noises and pulled his hair harder and –

God, you were tired of thinking like this.

So I wanna know who's on your phone Making me paranoid, making me bad Making me sad, making me crazy Making me feel like I needed to ask I wanna know if you're at home And if you're at home, baby, are you alone? Are you alone? Answer your phone Oh, baby, no no no

Things went back to normal after that. You weren’t sure what had gotten into him – and you – that day, but it was nothing but a distant memory. You were dating for about a year and a half. From that point, you two had kept everything very lowkey. Extravagant parties were few and far between, dates became even more private – no distractions, nothing to get between the two of you.

“Baby, I’m home,” you called, throwing your purse and keys on the kitchen table. You were hit with the faint smell of dinner, but as you checked the stovetop and oven, you were met with nothing – just the leftovers already cold in the fridge. You worked late tonight – tonight and every other night for the past three weeks. It was only nine, which wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t have to wake up at five tomorrow to get into the office early. Your team was being met with a deadline soon, there were a lot of extra hours being put in to get the project done. You weren’t one to complain because you were the boss. You weren’t going at this alone, you had everyone else working with you helping out. But it was your job to make sure everything got done, and that included being the first one in and the last one out.

Bucky said it never bothered him. He’d go on missions for days – sometimes weeks – at a time. He encouraged you to work hard, he loved your drive and commitment to your company. He motivated you; he knew you had drive and could get things done. He loved being able to support you, too. When Steve first introduced the idea of dating to him, he wasn’t sure he wanted someone who was only obsessed with him: who got their own recognition just by being his girlfriend. He was lucky enough to be your boyfriend.

You took the Tupper wear from the fridge, popping it in the microwave and waiting for your food. You noticed Bucky on the sofa. Kicking your heels off you made your way to the living room, calling out to him again. He sat up, his face donning a large grin as he waved to you, quickly pointing to the cell phone propped up against his ear. You gave him a shy wave back, turning back to the microwave, soon to be beeping with your meal. You ate dinner alone at the kitchen table, nothing but the sound of Bucky’s roaring laughter bouncing off your ear. By the time you finished, you tossed the bowl into the sink, making your way up to your bedroom.

“Ok, yeah, I’ve gotta go – ” Bucky said into the phone, before interrupting himself with a chuckle, laughing at whatever the person on the other end said. “Yes, I have to go. Yeah, no, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

You shut the door before he could get off the couch and flopped straight into bed, groaning. All you wanted to do was fall right asleep, unbothered. That’s when Bucky came in and plopped himself right down on the bed next to you. “Hey, babe,” he greeted you, giving you a light pat on the ass.

“Hey, Buck,” you replied, tucking your arms up underneath your head, propping your head up on your hands. You offered him a tired smile, gazing into his adoring blue eyes. “Who was that on the phone?”

“It was nobody,” he replied, quickly changing the subject. “How was work?”

Well that was extremely unlike him. You already knew all his friends. If it was one of them, he would’ve just said so. But it clearly wasn’t, especially considering how giggly he was on the phone. You just narrowed your eyes at him, breezing right past it. “Good – tiring,” you corrected. “But this contract closes out next week, so hopefully not that many more long days after that.”

“Good to hear, I know you can get it done, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

…

The next day, you were met with nearly the same sight. Bucky on the couch, but this time, dinner was covered on the stove. “Thanks for cooking, Buck,” you call to him, taking the lid off the pot and serving yourself a plate. He jumped from the couch and came up behind you, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck.

“Anytime, baby.” He pressed another smooch to your neck before stepping back and grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter. He poured up to glasses, situating himself at one end of the table, waiting for you to join him at the other end. Once you do, your phone rings from your purse. You drop your head back with a groan. “You should probably get that,” Bucky offered, reaching for your purse and holding it out to you.

You give him a quiet “thank you,” and answer the call. Not even before you can answer it, he’s pulling out his own phone and texting away on it. You take your call at the table, a quick last-minute question from a colleague. You tried to focus on what he was saying on the other line, but all you could do was stare at Bucky, smiling down at his phone, furiously typing away.

“No problem, Dave. Thanks for taking a look at it, we can finish up tomorrow morning,” you say into the phone, offering a quick goodbye before hanging up and digging into your food, glaring at Bucky from under your eyelashes. He still sat on his phone, laughing to himself. Once he heard your knife slide against the plate, he locked his phone, shoving it back into his pocket and looking up at you, starting another conversation about your day. You quickly changed the subject to him.

You internally rolled your eyes. All you got was talking about your day and whatever girl on the other end got giggly Bucky? Whenever work got busy, your relationship got boring. It may have been partially your fault: short tempered, tired; you put everything into your work and maybe not enough into Bucky. But your jealousy issues got the better of you. Maybe he was just talking to Sam? Or laughing at memes with Steve – they had a lot to catch up on, afterall. But if so, wouldn’t he just say that instead of saying he was talking to “nobody?”

But your paranoia was actually well placed and almost deserving. Bucky still graced the covers of magazines and newspapers. The attention people gave you quickly died down after the one-year mark on your relationship. You didn’t mind, all it was just a little more peace in your day-to-day life. That same attention never did (and never would) die down for him. He still saved the world; more importantly, he was still hot. Meaning the tabloids would continue to try to stir up trouble with him and every woman he knew. They wanted to play matchmaker, constantly shipping him with the other beautiful women he spent time with – whether that be at work or not. Thinking about all that and Bucky’s charismatic personality was almost too much for you.

…

The third night in a row where you’d come home past nine. The first night without dinner. You were met with an empty apartment, no food, no lights, not a single sign of life. You tossed your bag on the table and immediately called for takeout. As you waited for your Chinese food to arrive, you changed into your pajamas, and called Bucky.

No answer.

All you wanted was to lay on the couch and feast with him. If you were going to stuff your face, you wanted it to be with someone who really knew how to eat. After trying again with no answer, you dropped your phone on the coffee table and began flipping through the channels on TV. Not finding anything good to watch, but also deciding you didn’t have the mental capacity to watch something new, you threw on some Friends reruns. Something you could watch without having to pay attention: just what you were in the mood for.

When the doorbell rang, you jumped, almost forgetting you ordered food. You swung open the door, half expecting to find Bucky on the other side, but you were instead met with the delivery boy. You paid the guy and took the food to the living room, feasting on the couch straight from the little takeaway containers. You didn’t do this often, but damn, it was relaxing.

You picked up your phone: no notifications.

There were a few excuses you made up for him as you stuffed your face with noodles. He could be in the middle of training. You knew him and Steve too well, and knew they always had enough supersoldier energy to fit a workout in anywhere and anytime. That, or he could just be busy. Maybe a work thing came up – he does save the world for a living, afterall. He could just be at the tower. It’s not like he officially lived with you. (It was unofficial, though; he did spend nearly every other night sleeping here with you. And if he didn’t, he would at least give you a reason why he wasn’t). But you’re not his mother or his gatekeeper. There was no reason he absolutely had to tell you where he was and that he wasn’t coming over – that was crazy. But it was just…

Unlike him.

Even if he was at the tower, why wouldn’t he answer?

And as you continued onto your dumplings, you quickly began comfort eating, as your mind traveled to the worst reason you could make up.

Afterall, he never told you who he was laughing on the phone with all this time. He couldn’t even stop himself from laughing at his texts – it was blatantly obvious. There’s no way Reddit could be that funny. You scoffed. It probably was some girl – maybe that blonde from the party. You had no idea of knowing who, but you surely couldn’t stop yourself from speculating.

You called again.

Again.

You just wanted to hear his voice.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

Okay and alone.

American, my American, American boy You know it's my American boy

It wasn’t every day that you thought about Bucky in such a way. Honestly, you didn’t like to think about the other women that he might be friends (or more) with. It was just your own little fucked up indulgence.

Against your best judgement, Bucky convinced you to go to another one of Tony’s parties. “It’s Steve’s birthday party, (Y/N), you have to go!”

So, you did go. And just like the very first time you met Bucky – at one of these parties – you dragged yourself out of bed and got all dressed up to head to the event. You knew even Steve wouldn’t want such a big celebration, so you’d at least have one person to mope around with.

You held on to Bucky the whole night; your arm gripping his metal bicep as the two of you mingled. Bucky liked having you tucked into his side all night, the warmth of your body pressed up against his arm. “Hey, Stevie,” you greeted him, offering a warm hug. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” he replied, hugging you, then Bucky. “Happy Independence Day,” he added.

Bucky’s hand immediately snaked around your waste, pulling your hip against his.

It wasn’t until he left to use the bathroom that you suddenly felt naked. You almost wanted to wrap your arms around yourself in comfort. You felt stupid – you were in a room full of friends, people you knew, that you liked. Yet, every time you were in this setting, you never felt more insecure.

And apparently it showed.

You were joined by none-other than the reason for your insecurity. “(Y/N),” she greeted you with a curt nod.

“Hey, Natasha,” you responded, taking a long sip of your drink. She watched you under lidded eyes, her red lips pursing slightly. She looked great, of course, her royal blue dress hugging her curves tightly, he heels adding extra height the both of you knew she didn’t need. “What’s up?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Enjoying the night?”

Now it was your turn to shrug. “As much as I can, I guess. I’ve been waiting for the fireworks show. It was the best last year.”

She nodded, this time taking a swig of her own drink. “Tony sure does know how to throw a party.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “He’s thrown enough of them.”

The two of you stood in silence for a moment; it wasn’t super comfortable for you, but she sure didn’t seem to notice – or care. “You seem a little on edge.”

She wanted you to out yourself. Surely, she was going to pull it out of you somehow. “Not really my scene,” you noted, swirling the ice around in your glass.

“Look, (Y/N),” she began, obviously confirming your suspicion. “There’s never been anything between me and Bucky. In fact – ” she glanced around the room, eyes stopping on a particular man. “ – I’ve got a few skeletons of my own.” You tried to follow her line of sight, but the crowd was too thick in that direction. “He loves you so stop trying to find things wrong with your relationship. He may have been a charming guy back in the day, but you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.” She winked, a small smile building across her plump red lips.

You didn’t even know what to say in that moment. You gawked at her – at Black Widow hyping you up? Was that her way of doing it? Hell, she could tell you that you intimidated every single person in this room, and you’d take it as the biggest compliment ever. To hear about your power from her? Practically an honor.

“Hey,” Bucky spoke up from behind you as he returned. “What’s goin’ on over here?”

“Just girl talk,” Natasha replied before heading off.

Bucky turned to you, confused. “What’s that about?”

You stared at her as she walked away, swaying her hips and heading for the man she mentioned earlier. “I’m not too sure,” you said slowly, mesmerized by her walk.

Bucky’s hand in yours made you turn up towards him, meeting his blue eyes. “Ready to get out of here?” He whispered lowly.

You bit your lip and nodded, setting your glass down and squeezing his hand in both of yours.

Bucky carried you from the front door to the bed; he placed you down on top of the mattress like you were made of glass. He kissed your lips like he was going off to war, but he tasted like he’d just returned.

His hands ran furiously over your back, eventually resting on the zipper and tugging downwards; your hands ran all over his chest, tugging his shirt open, no regard for the buttons. He started peeling your dress off your body as you leaned back on the bed, working on taking off your bra while he discarded the dress on the floor. He followed suit, discarding his clothes before returning to the bed, covering your body with his warm one. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, the other holding his balance on the bed. Your arms wrapped around his neck one hand holding the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you, deepening the kiss, while the other ran through his tangled hair. You interlocked your legs around his waist, pulling yourself upwards to grind on his hard cock.

He moaned into your mouth, grinding back into you, reveling in just the feeling of your wetness gliding against his cock. His hand left your face to grab your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before he pinned your hips to the mattress with his own, humping against you. You whispered against him, pleading: “Bucky, please,” you whispered against his lips.

His mouth skidded down your cheek and past your jawline to suck a sloppy kiss onto your neck. As his face was buried in your shoulder, making his way down to your breast, his hand found its way between your hips, stroking your soaked lips. You hummed and gripped his hair as his finger split the difference, prodding its way into your soaked entrance. As two other fingers joined in, curling inside of your pussy, he licked your nipple, biting the pebbled nub softly. “You’re so wet, baby. Love how you’re always so wet for me.”

“Only for you, James,” you whispered, blissed out, head falling back against the mattress as his thumb found your clit, rubbing small circles under the hood. You felt a jolt up your body, your pussy instinctively clenching against his fingers.

He let out a deep breath, kissing your breast before planting a wet kiss to your lips, fingers not faltering. “I love you, (Y/N),” he murmured against your lips.

You opened your eyes, meeting his staring down at you, glazed over with lust. “I love you, baby,” you breathed, tilting your head up to kiss him again.

He pulled away from you, fingers stilling, long forgotten in the moment. “No, baby – ” he stopped, staring down at you, pleading with you, please understand. “Only you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Tears burning the back of your eyes. You bit your lip, nodding, not trusting your words as a few tears fell from the sides of your eyes, rolling down your skin to the mattress. He kissed you feverishly, teeth chipping against each other’s, lips and tongues sloppily sliding over each other, sharing air.

He pulled his hand away from your thighs, not moving far to line up his dick to your now soaked and desperate pussy. Your breath hitched as he pushed the tip in; all the air Bucky held in his lungs suddenly escaped him. “Fuck, extra tight for me tonight, huh?” You moaned, trying to rock your hips against his, his bodyweight pinning you down. “Eager, baby,” he groaned from the back of his throat.

“Please, baby,” you begged, fisting the sheets, using all your energy to grind against him. “Please.”

Please.

He complied, snapping his hips down into yours, his big dick stretching your walls. You yelped out, your opening burning as it welcomed his length. His cock curved upwards, hitting deep inside you as he swiftly moved his hips back and forth, quick rhythm never erring. His hand fell to your lower stomach, as he pressed his hand firmly above your public bone. “Mmm, look, baby, I can feel my dick in you,” he whispered, reveling in the feeling as his dick bottomed out inside of you. He felt the tip through the soft flesh of your belly – boy, you felt it, too. Every time he pounded into you felt your head spin. You saw nothing but black, stars blinding your vision at every thrust.

You nearly snaked your hand down to your clit for your final release, but he pulled your hand away, pinning it to the mattress above your head. He sat up on his knees, grabbing your other hand and joining it with the other, holding them both down to the mattress under the grasp on his metal hand. As he returned to leaning over you, sliding his dick back in your pussy, his flesh hand returned to your clit, rubbing in fast circles. You screamed, thighs coming together, snapping tightly against his hips.

That wouldn’t stop him. You weren’t strong enough to hold him in place; he kept fucking you into the mattress, your body shaking wildly as your legs were tied around him. Your back arched off the bed as your pussy throbbed. “Yeah, baby, squeezing my dick with your tight little pussy, huh?” You screamed out and nodded your head wildly, clenching around his cock as the pressure on your clit built up. “Fuck, you’re so good to me – made for me.”

You pulled against his metal arm, body convulsing underneath him. He watched with anticipation, biting his own lip nearly bloody as he pushed you over the edge of your orgasm. You yelped out, gasping for air as your eyes squeezed tight. Your legs shook around him, fingers clawing at his metal plated hand. Bucky could come along just from watching you tremble mid orgasm. But, god, your tight pussy quiver around him surely helped. He fucked you harder, the last few strokes hard and fast. He came with a groan, spilling his hot seed into your soaked cunt.

He whispered curse words to himself as he fucked his dick soft, mixing your own juices together before falling on top of you, pressing his lips to your neck, littering hickeys all over.

As he felt your post orgasm breathing change, he picked his head up, kissing all the way up your neck and jaw until he could look fully down at you. “Hey, baby, no,” he cooed once he caught sight of your watery eyes. “Why are you crying?” He kissed away the tears running down your cheeks.

You smiled at him, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “’M fine, Buck – I just,” you huffed, rolling your teary eyes at yourself, thinking it all suddenly stupid. “I’m sorry – ”

“’s nothing to be sorry for, baby,” he whispered against the shell of your ear.

Your fingers grazed through his hair again, scratching slightly at his scalp. He knew. He knew what you were talking about. He always did – he always understood everything you did or said. “I love you, James.”

“I love you, (Y/N),” he murmured with one final kiss. “Only you.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes smut #captain america #fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes angst

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spacestationdaedalus · 3 years

Text

post-canon JM but make them vigilante monster hunters

never seen a single episode but i think this might be the plot of supernatural? idk i bugged the server with this and now other ppl have to see it.

tw for general monster-related horror and descriptions of it, and very very mild injury

ao3 link here!

...

It's late. Again.

She sighs, rubbing at her eyes until starbursts dance in her vision. If her lab manager knew she was in here at god, is it already 3? in the morning, he would probably have a fit. But it's not her fault her work has been so. Uncooperative. Realistically, she could be doing some of this at home, but the lab computer already has everything she needs, and it's so much easier to focus here.

Well. Most of the time.

Her water bottle is still half full, but she decides a walk to the vending machine at the end of the hall would do her some good. She can stretch her legs and get some caffeine at the same time. Best of both worlds.

Right then, a sound cuts through the air. It's a dull roar, crescendoing to a peak that it maintains for a handful of seconds before fading away. As jumpy as she gets this late, she hardly bats an eye as she digs her wallet out of her backpack. It's a common sound to hear in the building, one that you get used to quickly once you spend some time here. The university has a wind tunnel it uses for classes, as well as research. She's seen it before, used it first hand - even down in the basement of the building, the roar of the compressed air tank when the valve is switched practically shakes the foundation. That's how you tell the first years apart from everyone else. They're the ones who jump when they hear it, looking around in confusion, and sometimes fear. But it doesn't take long for it to become background noise.

She's more concerned about the fact that it's so late. Some poor graduate student, down in the basement in the middle of the night running the tunnel instead of sleeping. Or doing literally anything else. Unfortunately, she can relate.

The door shuts with a weighty slam behind her. The silence of the building is even sharper after the echo of the wind, and she fights down the urge to shudder. The hall is long, dark - the university installed motion activated lights in most of the buildings a few years back, and the effect they create as she walks down the hall is surprisingly eerie. The fluorescents flicker on with the faintest clicks and hums as she walks below them, boots clicking against the tile floor. She's a fast walker, always had been - and the incessant sound of her footfalls in the quiet somehow puts her even more on edge.

The pale light from the vending machine reflects against the linoleum in a way that could be inviting. In theory. But it's really more off-putting than anything else, like the sickly glow of a motel sign off of the interstate, flickering a destitute "no vacancy" into the night. The selection is slim, but she punches in the code for an overpriced iced coffee that feels cool and familiar in her hand.

The scream of the wind tunnel comes and goes again, louder, now that she's outside the lab. She can't help the unease creeping down her spine in the wake of its silence. On one hand, it's a comfort to know at least one other person is in the building with her. But even then, the still quiet it leaves behind is always worse, and it sends the hair on the back of her head standing at attention.

It only gets worse as she walks, and she fights the urge to look over her shoulder. Everyone knows the feeling - when you're a kid, and you sneak into the kitchen in the dead of night to get a drink, only to sprint back up to your room as soon as you can because you're so, so sure something is coming for you.

And now that she's thinking about it, she can't not think about it, which is as futile as it is frustrating. She tries to force it down along with the beating of her heart, but the fear simmers beneath the surface like a pot on the stove, two seconds from boiling over. She's already more than halfway back, just a few more seconds and she can slam the lab door shut behind her and feel almost safe.

The roar of the tunnel, again. She can't help the jump, this time, on edge as she is. Strange, they don't usually run it so many times in so few minutes-

A thought comes to her then, without warning, the way they do when you realize you've forgotten something important. She remembers the conversation with striking clarity - Ajay, her roommate, working on a big research project. He needed to test his prototype in the wind tunnel, and he'd lamented to her over dinner the other day that a replacement part they needed downstairs wouldn't arrive until next week. Which sucked, because he has a deadline for a paper submission coming up and needed more data-

Most of this is useless. But she remembers, now, better than anything she ever has, that the wind tunnel hasn't been working all week. The lab is closed, would be until Wednesday, until the new part comes in.

The roaring shriek comes again, pounding against her eardrums in a way it never has before. Oppressive. Almost hungry. It's closer, it's louder.

It's behind her.

She turns. As she chokes on her own heartbeat and sinking dread, she turns.

And something is behind her.

Thin and wrong, inky black and too many limbs. A long torso with a long head attached, crooked on its neck. Gaping white sockets where eyes would, should, be. It has no mouth, and yet she knows with absolute certainty that it was making that sound. A mocking imitation of something so familiar.

And she knows, an anchor sinking into pitch black water, that it's going to kill her.

blood blood i need blood your blood your face you

It's in her head, a voice with no mouth to speak it. She opens her own mouth to scream, but it's useless to her. Nothing comes out, not even air. Maybe she can run, she has to run, has to get away. But she can't bring herself to turn even a sliver from the nightmare in front of her. A deep, primal fear convincing her that the second she can't see that thing is the second it will get her.

Maybe she can run, still, with her eyes on it. But one of her feet finds the other in her panic, and she falls to the floor. She thinks she feels a pain in her wrist, but it's dull and far away. Hardly a blip on the radar of fear fear oh my god what is that thing-

It's coming for her, all bending joints like limbs of a puppet, pulled by invisible strings, limping, creaking in unnatural steps and lunges. Its eyes never once leave her, glued to her in hungry determination. The roar comes again, but it's twisted and warped like scrap metal and just as jagged around the edges.

And then it stops. Not more than ten feet from her. Frozen. She doesn't breathe, she doesn't think she could if she wanted to.

"That's enough."

It's a man's voice, from behind her. She doesn't have it in her to turn around, to look away. But it doesn't matter. Whoever it is god she hopes it's a who and not a what steps up next to her, in front of her. It might not be accurate to say he's shielding her, but he's between her and it, and she doesn't feel relief, but she feels. Safer, somehow.

She's never seen him before. His hair is long, streaked with grey, half tied up in a bun at the back of his head. He's wearing a long dark coat over long dark pants, tucked into black combat boots. And that's really all she can see from the floor.

As he steps forward, the creature seems to recoil. It hisses, maybe, and then another sound follows. A sad remixing of its own imitating screech from before, not quite a howl but more of a cry. It sounds pained, almost, creaking and desperate. Limbs rear up, but amount to nothing. It's an uncoordinated movement as it falls back on something like haunches.

"I'm watching you, now. There's nowhere you can hide from me."

The man's voice sounds strange to her. There's a cracking, almost static quality to it. She has no idea what the man could possibly be doing, but it looks like it's working.

Until it isn't.

The thing writhes and shrieks again, louder. She can feel it down into her bones, scraping at her marrow, god she wants to throw up. The man in front of her staggers slightly. He mutters something like a curse under his breath, brings a hand to his head. The thing is moving again, shambling towards them. It looks weaker, shakier than before but no less threatening. No less horrifying. Maybe even more so, with the look of a sick, maimed animal as it staggers down the street.

She thinks she might be about to pass out with the sudden chill that overtakes her. But the fading of her vision never comes, and is that. Her breath? She can see it in the air in front of her, condensing like it does on cold winter mornings. With a blink she realizes there's a fog as well, come seemingly from nothing. It's thick and low-hanging, coating the floor of the hall and swirling upwards. It chills her exposed skin, goosebumps racing up and down her arms.

She assumes the thing must be doing this, a defense mechanism or something, but it's slower than before. Subdued. It's still making its way toward them, but it looks lost, like a fawn trying to walk on new legs.

Until another man comes from an adjoining hallway, and bashes its head in with a baseball bat.

It's a solid hit, and the thing goes down almost immediately. The man, the new one, gives another swing, and another, and a few more, for good measure. His bat is slick with something dark and oily. And then the thing is still.

It's quiet for a second, two, then-

"Excellent timing as always, dear." The staticy click of the first man's voice is gone. He sounds out of breath, even though he hardly moved.

The second man laughs, and the cold and the fog seems to fade with it. He's bigger than the first man, taller. He's wearing a bomber jacket over a nondescript t-shirt, fingerless gloves and jeans frayed at the edges. Like he just walked out of an action movie. Or a horror movie. With the thing laying at his feet, the second might be more fitting.

"That was cutting it a little close, Jon. We knew it was with the Stranger, that it could fight you off-"

"Yes, yes, thank you, Martin. That's what the bat is for, after all. The Lonely was probably a bit overkill, though."

"It's not overkill if we don't get ourselves maimed, Jon-"

The first man - Jon, apparently - turns to her then. His face is scarred, and dark shadows hang under oddly bright green eyes. But his gaze isn't unkind as he looks down at her.

"Sorry, are you alright? I was hoping we could take care of this when everyone was gone, but-" He laughs darkly. "Well, I was in university once, I should have known at least one student would still be here in the middle of the night, even on the weekend."

The man going by Martin walks over, as Jon extends a hand to help her up. She's lost all hope of her brain trying to process what's happening but step one can at least be get off the floor. But she can't even do that properly. The hand she raises is the same one she fell on, and the twinge from her wrist shoots up her arm almost immediately in a shout for attention.

It must show on her face too, because Jon makes a sound and then Martin's asking her, "Oh, are you hurt?"

"Uh, n-no, I mean…'s just, uh, my wrist. Kinda, fell on it funny." Her voice isn't exactly steady, but it's a far cry from where she was expecting it to be. At least she's orbiting the realm of comprehensible.

Martin crouches next to her. Up close she can see his face in more detail - his eyes are a slate grey, like the fog from before. But they're kind, wrinkled at the edges when he smiles softly at her. "Mind if I take a look?"

She's not exactly in a position to say no, so she gingerly holds her arm out. His hands are rough, calloused, but surprisingly gentle as they probe her wrist. She can't stop the trembling, now, completely unrelated to the pain.

"It's a sprain." Jon says, laced with certainty somewhere above her.

Martin sighs, long-suffering. "Thank you, Jon, I was getting to that."

"Just trying to help." She can't see him, but she can practically hear the cheeky smile tacked to the end of that sentence.

"As much as I hate saying it, he's right." Martin eyes her with something close to humor, like they're in on a joke together. He shrugs a backpack off of his shoulders, rummages through it with one hand. "I think we have some elastic bandages left for something like this…"

"Front pocket." Jon says again. He's moved closer to the thing, the corpse, it must be, now. He's turned away from her, and she can't see his face.

"Thank you, love."

"Of course."

"Um-" She cuts in suddenly, her nerves and panic getting the best of her. Martin looks up from her hand, and Jon turns back to glance at her.

"Sorry, uh, I just- what the fuck was that?"

"I'd tell you not to worry yourself over it, but I don't think that's much of an answer." Jon says, coming back towards them. He crouches down before he continues. "Let's just say this is...our day job."

"It is three in the morning, though."

"That would be the, colloquial use of the term, Martin."

"Just saying." With Martin in front of her she can actually see the cheeky grin, this time.

He uses the bandage to wrap her wrist. It smarts a bit, but the pressure helps. He's clearly adept enough to do this and talk at the same time, because he cuts in next. "We're here to make sure things like that-" he gestures with a nod of his head. "-don't hurt anyone."

Her mouth is full of sawdust. "W- what, like, monsters and shit?" She always did swear a lot when she was stressed.

"More or less."

"If it's any consolation," Jon says. "These things aren't exactly...common. You have to have a special kind of luck to run into something like this."

Yeah, luck.

He sighs, then. He looks tired. "I'm so sorry. If it means anything. This isn't the kind of thing you'll be able to just forget, or-"

"That's why we're here." Martin cuts in. He's finished with her wrist, neatly wrapped and held in place with little wire clips. "To try to stop stuff like this from happening, before it happens. Sorry we were late."

It's not a stretch to imagine what would have happened if they hadn't shown up even later, or not at all. But it's something she will try very, very hard not to think about.

She swallows. "I guess...thank you, then."

"Of course."

The adrenaline and sudden lack thereof leaves her with a jittery exhaustion deep in her core. But she has so many questions, how could she not-

A chill, and a rush of wind and waves hit her before she can get another word out. It's gone as quickly as it had come, so much so she thinks she imagined it. But suddenly, she's alone.

The men going by Jon and Martin and the misshapen corpse of that thing are gone. The hall is just as it had been before, dim lights and freshly polished tile. No sign of anything, or anyone. Except for her.

She knows with crushing certainty that it wasn't a dream. Couldn't be a dream. But she knows that's what people will tell her. So she says nothing. She says nothing, and hopes nothing ever leads her to cross paths with those two ever again.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #tma fics #my writing #wrote this at 4 in the morning and realized i actually vibed w it so here we are

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throwaninkpot · 4 years

Text

There were so many better things I could have done with my time instead of doing a targeted relisten of all episodes that feature Mikaele Salesa, but here we are.

Some notes!

MAG014 - Piecemeal

there's not much here. a victim of The Flesh is losing parts of their body, and tries to strike a deal with Salesa for...something...presumably an artifact that he thinks will save or protect him. but he can't afford it, and is killed by the statement giver shortly after.

MAG038 - Lost and Found

"several crates packed to the brim full of heavy looking volumes" Leitners?

statement giver is struck by Salesa's laugh and isn't sure why; this is a Spiral episode.

thank God Salesa is no longer in possession of the vase, bc I swear, I swear, if it so much as sat on an end table in the same room as Martin or Jon, I would have crawled through my phone to drop the ding dang thing off a building and let it shatter below.

it's in his post-statement notes, while discussing Salesa and how he sells a large amount of artifacts to the Institute, that Jon spots the spider that he smashes, causing him to accidentally break through the wall and discover Jane Prentiss's worms as they prepare to invade the building. which feels significant, given the spider-filled company he seems to be keeping now.

MAG045 - Blood Bag

here's where things get interesting. the statement giver works in a lab studying mosquitos to find a preventative measure against them spreading malaria. the statement giver's boss is distantly related to a doctor who helped stop a cholera pandemic way back when. the boss owns an antique syringe case that belonged to that doctor, and then sells that item to Salesa to help fund this project. it's only after the syringe is sold that things start to go Wrong, and the mosquitos obviously become agents of The Corruption.

why is that interesting? when a statement features an artifact, usually The Fears only show up when that item enters the story, not when the artefact leaves it. The Corruption only starts to infect the mosquitos after the boss no longer has the syringe. especially with its connection to a man who stopped the spread of a disease, the syringe almost plays the part of a talismen against evil in this story, and with it gone, they have lost that protection. which is a curious flip for Salesa (known Cursed Artifact Dealer) to have bought something that might ward off The Fears rather than something that works for them.

MAG066 - Held in Customs

when the statement giver opens the box in Salesa's cargo (an artifact probably equal parts Buried and Lonely), and finds it empty, Salesa looks concerned. I always interpret that as he used to have someone in the box, but the box ate them already.

he warns the statement giver not to fall asleep (as a precaution against waking up to find himself in the box? as a survival tip for when he finds himself in the box?) which reminds me of Gerry trying to help various people survive the Fears, but he also placed a bet with Peter Lukas on whether or not the statement giver would survive, bc might as well get some fun out of it. Salesa contains multitudes.

"whatever this grand game is, Salesa is definitely involved. I just wish I knew whether he was a player or a pawn, or something else entirely." HMMM.

MAG115 - Taking Stock

statement from Salesa himself!

I relistened to Leitner's statement to double-check, and I'm pretty sure Salesa is the only surviving assistant from Leitner's library.

I don't have a lot of thoughts for this one, but get you a man who is so good to his crew that they help him cover up a spooky death without batting an eye.

MAG141 - Doomed Voyage

"he always used to say, he needed a crew to follow him out of trust, not fear" I don't know if this is just the fact I see this same sentiment over and over in Web!Martin fics, but, this reminds me of The Web.

"I don’t know exactly what was different but the whole mood of the ship was off. Kind of sour, somehow. I think it must have been Salesa. Everything always kind of… reflected him. You know people like that? When he was happy, satisfied, everything seemed to run smooth. When he was angry, everyone would be on edge, irritable." hmmm, again: The Web? maybe?

"Once found [Salesa] poring over an old photo album. The ship was there in the pictures, but a different captain, different crew. I asked him who they were, and he just looked at me, eyes sunken like hadn’t slept, and for a second I felt like he was seeing someone else, not me. But then he just shrugged. 'Dead now,' he said, 'doesn’t really matter.' " Hmmmm. what happened to your old crew, mister Salesa, sir?

I wonder if there is a connection between the photo album of his old crew, the final job which is procurring an old camera with a cracked lense, and the fact Salesa's ship is called The Dorian (as in, "The Picture of Dorian Gray").

speaking of the camera. We see the same thing here that happened in MAG045. Salesa and a handful of crew members go to an island to retrieve an artifact. they come back with the aforementioned old camera with a cracked lense, having lost two of the crew members that went with him. and, now the camera is out of its former owner's possession, a storm starts brewing over the island. lightning strikes the trees, and the statement giver can see some vast (nudge nudge) creature below the water surrounding the island, beginning to break the surface. the statement giver falls to the deck of the ship as they sail away, and when he looks back, the island and storm are gone.

just like how The Corruption began to infest the mosquitos once Salesa bought the syringe, The Vast goes after this island once Salesa takes the camera off of it.

CoincidenceIThinkNot.Meme

idk. this is probably me reading too much into it. but it's not entirely impossible that Salesa has been collecting artifacts that ward against The Fears somehow. and if he is, I wonder if that has something to do with how seemingly untouched his manor house has been by the Fearpocalypse.

anyway. when Salesa supposedly dies in an explosion, we only have the captain's word for it (who dies soon after himself). so he might have faked his death.

(and you know what they say. if one cool tank-top-wearing man survived the explosion that supposedly killed him, it's not entirely out of the realm of possibilities that another cool tank-top-wearing man may return from his relaxing kayaking trip. 👀) (I don't really think Tim will come back, but it's nice to dream.)

#tma spoilers #mikaele salesa #the magnus archives #theories #this has been a post

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thevirgodoll · 4 years

Note

idk if tou will ver reply to this but lets go

first off sorry for my bad english. I fell really insecure bc of my body. Im not skinny, im not fat, im not thick, im...a square, i dont have ass and got a huge belly. When i look sideways in the mirror i feel sick. But at the same time i dont wanna change the way i eat and live cause i hate this fitness lifestyle and i want to love myaself the way god made me... But i dont know what to do.

Ppl always tell me how georgeous i am, and they sey i look like a bunch of beautiful celebrities and i feel that like when i see my face on the mirror i just know im THAT bitch but at same time i always think ppl must be lying or that because of my body i dont get reconized enough? Like... Why dont boys ir girls want to get with me? Why dont ppl ask me to be a model or something if i look like other models and stunning singers and actress? What should i do?

Hi angel. Your English is fine. Never apologize for that.

You do not have to look a certain way first and foremost. People, especially women, are always under the impression that they have to fit a certain “mold”. You don’t have to fit any category regarding your looks...you just have to be yourself and own it.

If you are unhappy with the size of your belly, sure you can exercise and eat cleaner some days of the week. But overall, that won’t change the fact that you perceive yourself as less than. When people lose weight while maintaining a negative sense of self, they still have distortions with their thinking and low self esteem in the long run. So, altering your body is not really the solution...that should only come when you’re in a place of love and compassion for yourself and you feel the need to improve an area of your life, not conform or make yourself fit a mold. You have to ask yourself where this is coming from.

Questions to reflect on:

•Why do I feel inadequate when it comes to my body image?

•Where did these feelings originate? Is there a past experience I can pinpoint?

•Is it hard for me to be honest about these feelings? Is there trauma surrounding my self image or esteem?

•Who has given me the image that I feel I need to conform to? Is it social media? Has social media negatively impacted my perception of myself? How can I change this?

Answer these in a diary or document. Keep it to yourself to honor your experience and privacy. After answering these questions, you may find yourself feeling shameful or gross in a way. This is normal because you’ve tapped into uncharted territory.

What to do now?

Reshape your definitions and expectations. Challenge yourself daily.

•Confidence regarding body image is not the existence of perfection and need to control. It is the ability to appreciate your body’s value. The things that are uniquely designed, and make you YOU.

•How do you honor your body image when you express yourself via fashion? Have you allowed yourself to fully navigate your own fashion sense? Allowing yourself to do this will give you a sense of power and appreciation for your qualities. You will learn to dress for your shape, not cover and hide.

•Stop consuming unhealthy media that affirms your negative thoughts. Social media might be influencing your expectations and standards regarding image. Be honest with yourself, and know how to cater to your needs.

•Allow yourself to exist without condemnation. Judgment of yourself is condemning your existence, as if parts of you are a mistake or shouldn’t have been formed. Your thoughts are not facts. Call yourself out on your stuff. Say: “That is not true, actually. I know I am smart. I am worthy.” Refute irrational thoughts with things you KNOW to be true about yourself. List your strengths. Have you ever given yourself props?

•Treat yourself the way you’d like to be addressed. You say people say you’re beautiful. You should treat yourself as such and carry yourself with that importance. Why haven’t you ever thought of yourself in a high regard?

•Take other people off pedestals. It’s typical to put certain people on pedestals and glorify their looks, but it’s not helping you. It is time to focus on yourself and end the cycle of comparison. It is exhausting you.

•Accept some hard truths about yourself and the world. By that I mean, you have to recognize that there will be people evil enough to be jealous or make inflammatory comments. Maybe you’ve had that experience. But you should know something: not everyone has to approve of you. Their behavior is projection of their own issues. Stop living for other people’s approval and comments. It’s going to hurt you in the long run. And in general, most people are too busy with their own lives to judge you the way you harshly judge yourself. You don’t have to be adored by everyone, but you do have to be loved by yourself, understand your own value, and reshape your expectations. You do get treated different when you carry yourself like you know you’re something special. That is just a fact of life.

Above all, this is a process and you have to remember nothing in life is linear or clear cut. These are all things you have to do in order to work towards a healthier body image. Have you ever taken time to just create a pampering routine and dance and just let yourself go? You have to foster a deeper connection with yourself, rather than a connection with the world. What you wake up with is yourself, and what you go to sleep with is yourself. Your quality of life can improve little by little in the way that you address yourself in your head, treat yourself with your actions, and validate yourself with compassion and empathy. It will fail unless you believe in the process and get mad enough that you want to change. You have enough bravery by sharing, so you have to be even braver and address the things that are stealing your joy.

Sometimes, our biggest enemy is the way we learned to deal with our own pain and feelings. The way we learned to process information. The way we learned to navigate life through our past, and it attacks our self image and self perception. You’re working against yourself and your unhealthy mechanisms, not everyone else. These mechanisms have to change as we begin to grow older.

There are different versions of you looking at who you are right now, who you have potential to become, and who you will be. Remember this truth as you work towards a better you. The answers are within you.

#advice #mental health #body image

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chickenfreeblog · 3 years

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hi chicken, I really like and admire your androgynous (is that the best word? is there a different one you prefer) vibe and was wondering if you had any advice on how to like embody that and how to get other people to see you that way too instead of like “x dressing like y” you know? thanks!!

hi! fair enough I know it’s late and it’s probably not like a one liner (though you’re very good at those), I guess both online and irl? obviously online like here it’s so much easier but I know you also mentioned like even from a young age people looking at you and going ??okay?? I also wanted to clarify I meant math x&y not like gendery x&y

thanks chicken!!

---

hey pal!! this is a really interesting question, and i’ll try to answer it in some way that’s kinda useful? i think a lot of it is just kinda something you have to feel out, but we’re gonna take a stab at it! more (...a lot more) under the cut:

irl: a mess. a clown show. this is mostly luck mixed with havoc? i think i lucked out body-wise and also with the fact that my parents just did not really bother with enforcing any gender stuff and i just... ended up with real ambiguous taste in everything. my friends also gave me a real ambiguous nickname, which i think helps a lot?

jhkgfsh i really feel like i don’t have good advice on this one because my answer is just “well why do you have that cursed amulet (a gender) in the first place” which probably isn’t that useful!! um um um..... maybe if you have someone you feel comfortable with, try talking it out with them to see like, how they perceive you & where you could change course?

i don’t think the clothes thing is 100% and i know you said you don’t want to feel like you’re dressing up as something else, which i totally get. at the same time, i think every outfit feels like dress up until you’ve gotten comfortable with it, and then it’s just your clothes? i think people can pick up on how confident you are, so maybe that’s still something that’s worth playing with? also people really have a... range of sensitivity to gender stuff. i’ve met some people who will just assign one and stick with it no matter what you fuckin do, and some people who will go into a tailspin over like, a little bit of nail polish or something. if you get weird reactions to any of it, it doesn’t necessarily reflect anything you’re actually doing? a lotta times it’s people just having their own wack ass journey & projecting on whoever walks past, so don’t take individual reactions too seriously?

on that front too – i think androgyny is just fuckin tough. i feel like there’s this idea that like, if you just have your presentation worked out a certain way it’s gonna work 99% of the time and you’re gonna live like an instagram model. i think in reality though like...... a ton of people out in the world just feel more comfortable if they can categorize someone in a binary way? they might pick up on little cues & it might just feel impossible to do with your body or your name or what’s in your closet, and that’s really not on you, so maybe thinking of what parts of that presentation will you happy rather than what people will vibe with is more helpful? even as someone who historically can slip through, i’ve definitely had the experience of like going out thinking that my carefully crafted Magic Girl Gender is absolutely perfect and then just talking to some rando who’s like I’m Gonna Fuck Up This Little Queer’s Whole Deal By Calling Them Sir hjkgdfshjk. it just.... is a thing that happens and i’m not sure that there’s a magic stage where it really stops. i don’t say that to scare you off at all, but just legit i wish i had some fucking warning sometimes.

also get a weird name that’s just like a noun or a random syllable. that’s my other tip. once your name is “grog (the caveperson)” you’ll definitely raise a lot of gender questions.

online: i feel like online is largely about setting boundaries, which is fun? people only have the information you give them, so you can kinda force them into confusion if that’s what brings you joy.

i reeeeeally hate the fact that people will see selfies or even just vague genderedish info about someone who’s afab or amab and be like “cool!!! got my gender answer then!!” but.... i will say that i think people do seem to enjoy categorizing that way, and there is definitely a tendency to jump to conclusions? it kind of forces people to decide between saying really limited info vs. being perceived as their gender, which absolutely fucking sucks, but i do think that just limiting what you say or post a little bit can go a long way? (i really hate giving this advice tbh because it suuucks and puts it on the person who’s having the gender vs the people making assumptions. but also you gotta live with their assumptions and i think it’s okay to decide to protect yourself a little if that feels right).

other than boundaries... idk? i think if you have experiences from like, both sides of the gender coin, i actually find it really nice to be able to just talk about whatever without censoring and giving caveats about how it’s Weird that i’ve experienced something?

i think w the boundaries you’ll probably experience pushback and people making assumptions and definitely it can feel weird to be the one person who’s withholding info in your group of friends, but i’ve also made really good friends who get it & have been really really really kind and thoughtful, so! i think it’s worth trying!!

in conclusion:

#anon #ask #i hope some of that is useful in there!! if you wanna talk more feel free to send asks or dm me or anything #i only know my experience but always happy to try to help?#gomder: it's like gender but it's bigger and its feet are webbed

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back-to-louis · 3 years

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the woman writing about fandom is a fan of harry which pretty much is expected as most people from the gp are harry fans and can only name the other members after research. louies however find this yet another strike against louis. that this book will depict him as stuck in a mess w sordid fandom rumors and conspiracy theorists at a time when he's launching a new era. I mean larry isn't one person but i guess louies do tend to have a victim complex in this fandom. i'm not supporting the book but i do hope louis has a breakthrough w this round so he too could have a new fandom

Well, full disclosure, I DO support the book, as I do every book that delves into fandom culture! And I .... am really not sure where anyone gets the idea that anything in the book reflects anything about these men individually [whether it's believing this will somehow raise the question again about Freddie's paternity (????) or the quality of Louis's fandom reflecting on him]. I mean, I don't know if it is that some fans have a victim complex (certainly many do, but I don't know if that's at play here) - I genuinely don't see what it is they're worried about unless they're trying to project against being portrayed badly themselves?

The best I can make of this kind of thinking is like..... it's as though the popularity of 1D has been too heavily attributed to the individual qualities of its members (who are good people or whatever), and not enough to the fact that their genesis coincided with this particular explosion of social media and the resulting breaking of the fourth wall to which they were the first witnesses and first subjects, and so when things go negative, fans from that era or of those individuals ALSO see this as some sort of... PR issue???? that reflects badly on the individuals????

Is that what this is about? That the goodness of the fandom is attributed to these men in the minds of its fans and conspiracy theorists, and therefore they perceive any bad behavior of fandom or reports thereof to ALSO be attributed to the individuals around whom the fandoms have been built? Instead of, idk, taking responsibility for ones' actions and taking on the task of cultivating and guiding fandom themselves as fandom elders in the place of lording their age and experience (and "professions") over anyone who would dare criticize how they engage?

Wild. I dunno. These men didn't create the fandom and they didn't guide the fandom and they're not responsible for the fandom whether it behaves or misbehaves. And IF, in the case that it happens, the takeaway from .... someone....? is that it sucks that Louis has a fandom that overwhelmingly consists of badly-behaved conspiracy theorists, well, they'd be right, wouldn't they? Fandom doesn't get to be shitty and then complain that they have bad PR. The solution is to stop being fucking shitty and enforce it within fandom boundaries and expel, with great prejudice, those who don't play by the community rules!

I understand that at this point non-babygate-community Louies are stuck bc there's not much we can do to enforce anything as it stands, but that's the hand we've been dealt by now. If that's how it's perceived, that's how it's perceived, and I said as much about my role as an anti, for example, in the last podcast ep with SLS.

Of course, I DO hope that Louis gets a whole new swell of fans when he's ready to promo and reveal his work on LT2, and tour - that will always be my hope - but there are many things about that that are out of my control, and I wish fandom could kind of .... accept that? about themselves? Huge shrug.

[Also I don't get why the author being a fan of Harry makes a difference; I don't assume outright that being a fan of Harry means she can't be objective when observing how fans of either or both of these men interact/judge/perform online. Like, maybe there's a bias, but I don't see it as any more likely than if someone who wasn't a fan of 1D at ALL wrote a book reporting on fandom as long as they did their due diligence and followed fans from all portions of the fandom to gather their facts. And she did follow me and speak with me, as well as, I can only assume, other fans who might not be Harries.]

#idgi #people shitting in their shared sandbox for years #and then being upset that someone outside has observed there's a sandbox full of shit

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cadomoisspokenfor · 3 years

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Legion Rewatch Notes,

Chapter 8:

The Revolution

Aw man, how unfortunate what’s happened to Clark. I feel soooooooo bad. I mean he was just humble div 3 agent, doing his job, gaslighting marginalized individuals, participating in a genocide. How cruel of those bad bad mutants to injure him so badly. He was only actively about to kill David. What could he possibly have done to deserve any of this?

In other words, the Clark propaganda is not working on me this time. At all.

Maybe don’t participate in a genocide? Idk :/

I normally hate when people type in the passive aggressive way I have been for the past few paragraphs, but goddamn, Clark deserves it.

He’s not quite as damaged... but he’s kind’ve like old David here, from the over-medicated living with Amy timeline. Again, not quite as damaged as that though.

Clark considers mutants a “threat to democracy.” 🙄 “Moral panic” I guess?

“The second I walk outta this room, i’m going to war.” There’s that word again. Clark could just... not, and they’d probably have more time to figure out how to safely eradicate Farouk. But because he doesn’t and David busies himself with peace treaties, Farouk escapes and continues to be a problem for the next year. Clark has a family. A husband and child who love him to death. And he chooses war over them. This pattern will repeat in other character. Technically this isn’t even the start of it.

Suit change, new cane, same Clark. This really doesn’t change anything, does it? He could go through the rest of the series in the suit he wore before and it wouldn’t make difference. The valiant hero dressing for an expected victory over their long time (relatively) rival, only to be stopped immediately by an unforeseen development. This pattern will repeat... tragically.

Considering Farouk!David woulda just dusted them, it’s probably nice for his friends to see the real him is much less violent. He just stacks em like a Jenga Tower, no need for anything more.

Also, Wilhelm scream from one of the soldiers.

He’s also talking strangely. In an almost too calm voice. Measured. He talks like this a few other times, but I think those times have sadder context. Maybe they reflect on this moment. He talks like how he talked when Farouk was mind-melded with him, but his intentions aren’t evil this time around. I guess this is just his “fully in control” voice.

Clark’s literally shaking where he stands.

The zoom in to Clark’s blind eye is reminiscent to previous zoom in’s to Walter’s foggy eye. I guess Clark has taken on the role of Walter, artificially. Makes sense since he’s now the main D3 representative/antagonist like Walter was before.

“I don’t care if you save me, or the world, if you don’t save yourself.” David will eventually choose himself over the world, and Syd. And Syd will hunt him for it. Goes to show how much things change in s2.

“You know the most dangerous thing about schizophrenia?”

“You’re not-“

“The most dangerous thing is believing... you don’t have it! That’s the trick, the mind killer, your disease convinces you you don’t have it. So, for example, one day in the hospital you meet a girl and she has some friends, and they tell you you’re not sick. You have superpowers. And more than anything you wanna believe it because that means you’re not crazy! That means you can fall in love and live happily ever after. But you know if you believe it, if you surrender to the hope and you’re wrong, then... you’re never coming back.”

“I’m here. I’m real. The power is real. You gotta accept it, otherwise we can’t move on.”

“I was in Clockworks for six years. Drugged, doing nothing. Contributing nothing. And now, finally I can be useful! I can help! Don’t you get it? I am so sick of myself. This only works if it’s not about me.”

“David...”

So... that’s a lot. David believes being crazy means he’s not allowed to fall in love, or be happy. He said the same sentiment to Amy before Clockworks. This whole season and this episode especially push David into his full “I’m not insane, I won’t believe you if you tell me otherwise” mindset. At the very least that’s the stakes we’re playing with. If David fully gives into the hope, even for a moment, he believes there’s no possibility for recovery. No possibility for love or happiness. Why even try after that? It’s life or death for him. “If the choice is between life and death, I choose life.”

I know this is all already known and talked about and circulated 100’s of times over in various fan circles, but it’s probably the most important line for David’s character (the speech, not the Farouk quote). It’s very ableist, yes, but at least in the moment it’s coming from someone who’s just being too hard on themselves, and not ya know, being actively validated by the show.

2 episodes ago David talked about being worried about an “invincible” feeling. The dangers of mania.

We also know from that episode that David is more at peace in a calm, responsibilityless setting (with Syd) than he is out in the real world. David’s gonna take on a ton of responsibility, some of it’s gonna draw him away from Syd. At multiple moments throughout the show David has known his own mental health better than any of the others, and even warned them about potentially dangerous slopes he could fall down without their help. Despite this, David is pushed further down a path he tells them is dangerous and is still blamed for what happens in the end. I feel like Oliver’s line from ep4 is relevant here again, “We are the root of all our problems. Our anger, our confusion, our fear of things we don’t understand.” Everyone wants David to be something other than... David. A hero, a god, there projected image of a perfect partner. Not just... David.

Man, the more I realize about David’s self-awareness in s1 the madder I am at Syd for saying all that ableist stuff to him in s2 as if he wasn’t already down on himself 24/7. “It never occurred to you that you’re the problem not the solution?” It’s occurred to him like 5 times by now and has been shut down by you at least 3 of those times. I don’t understand.

What’s strange is... to my recollection David doesn’t believe he’s invincible at the end of s2. Or that he’s not sick.

“Saint David.”

“I’m not saying that. I make mistakes.”

“Say you’re gonna let them kill me if I don’t let them turn me into something different. Something easy. Something clean.” He sounds sinister here, but it is an indication that he knows he’s not perfect. In fact it sounds like he’s trying to appeal to Chap 1 Syd’s mentality. Your disorder is what “makes you you.”

So what’s the message here?

“We can’t just kill people. Or is that who we are now?”

“That’s who they are.”

The justification for killing here is that they’ll kill them if they don’t. Div 3 will kill Summerland if Summerland doesn’t kill Div 3, is what I meant. David has a similar justification for killing Shadow King in s2. Well, he has a LOT of justifications for it, but that’s one of them. Syd doesn’t hear it then either. She does attempt to kill David herself though. I don’t quite understand where the line is.

“He was gonna kill you, twice.”

“With that kind of thinking wars would never end.”

So... he shoulda just talked to The Shadow King when they were both powerless? Talking is what ultimately ends their fight in s3... hmm...

Cary is more humane to their POW than Melanie and Ptonomy are.

The show doesn’t necessarily say it was Cary’s fault for leaving Kerry. Either way though, Kerry needs some space.

Melanie calls David a “world breaker” and outright says now that he knows that’s what he is, div 3 doesn’t stand a chance. I suppose... knowing that... is why they so readily team with Farouk. They stood no chance otherwise. Even then, at least hide him away till after the intervention.

David’s floating meditation pose is seen more in s2 and A LOT more in s3.

He puts the onus of ending the war on Div 3. As if to say, “If things get violent again, it’ll be on you, not us.”

People keep talking about “gods” “waking up” and “realizing they don’t have to listen to us/them anymore.”

When Clark says it David’s first response is, “Isn’t that the history of the world?” But it’s a red herring (or something else) cause he follows it up with, “People of different nations, different languages, learning to live together?”

Clark is afraid if mutants gain power they won’t show humans mercy or equality. This is a common belief among fascist. The “they’ll treat us like we treat them” argument. Only it’s rarely self-aware, and it isn’t here either. Clark genuinely believes he’s not doing anything wrong. It’s all somehow in “self defense.”

Ah, so Farouk and Syd are connected psychically. He entered her mind whenever she entered David’s. He psychically affects her at multiple points throughout the series.

Syd here is convinced to help The Shadow King by The Shadow King. And while he’s wearing a mask at that. Yeah yeah, this pattern will repeat. But still, Syd gives in relatively quickly here. Perhaps she just... doesn’t fully trust Summerlands capabilities? They are legitimately trying to get rid of Farouk, but Farouk has proven time and time again how dangerous he is. Or maybe the “unmake soup” thing is just that convincing to Syd.

Clark’s still standoffish, but he’s slowly becoming more cooperative.

Syd rolled a 4 on that hero speech. She needed at least a 7.

I legitimately NEVER noticed before that Syd secretly turns on the lab camera feed for Clark to watch. They weren’t trying to show him that.

David gets a chance to look back at his whole life and recontextualize everything.

David straight up halts Farouk’s theme. If Clockworks Podcast is right and he can hear that whenever Farouk shows up, this would be evidence of it. Alternatively, he was halting Farouk, and the music halting was for the audience. A fun subversion of expectations.

David describes him and Farouk as, “The Sun and Moon.”

Division 3 sees it. The monster they saw on infrared. Clearly a separate entity from David Haller. Clearly of a different disposition than David Haller as David Haller has acted very differently and non-hostile compared to when they saw him roaming those HQ halls. The monster and David are not the same. They see who their real enemy is now.

It seems evident there was no chance of David beating Farouk on his own here. I wonder why? Was it true? Is Farouk just too ingrained in his mind? Cary said he was like a, “Computer virus. Learning his systems, bypassing his defenses.” Maybe Syd remembered that, and that’s why she believed Farouk. Cause Cary had already said something similar before.

Clark could've escaped, but he stayed, then tried to help fight Farouk.

I feel really sad Oliver got possessed. It never occurred to me before he could even tell Melanie he remembered her. Melanie’ll just go on thinking he never remembered her for a year.

And thus it’s established. There are “good mutants” and there are “bad mutants.”

No one checks on Ptonomy :(

The Lenny that’s talking to Oliver here is still just Farouk.

Did the orb go back as far as it could? Or was this time specifically chosen? If it was chosen, it was probably because it’s very soon after Farouk had been expelled from David’s head, and before the big race for his body starts.

#legion fx

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