#'you need to consider other people's feelings before you say things'

[eevees-hobbies]

Dating Sanemi Shinazugawa - NSFW

Authors Note: Um…I don’t know where the fuck this came from but all the Sanemi propaganda that you all post inspired me. I kind of….want him???? Send help. Reblogs, likes, comments, and asks are always appreciated! I don't bite.

As always, minors and ageless blogs don't interact.

Synopsis: A headcanon of what it's like to get to know, date and suck off Sanemi.

Content Warnings: Female Reader X Sanemi. Fluff and smut. He touches your butt. Light reference to Sanemi going down on you. The smuttier smut is at the bottom and separated by my poor excuse of a divider. You give Sanemi oral.

Word Count: 2.1K

Getting to Know Sanemi Shinazugawa

When you meet Sanemi Shinazugawa, he’s gruff and moody—-just like he is with everyone else. He doesn’t initially acknowledge your presence until he has no other choice, and your hesitancy to fully engage with him only makes him bristle more. 

You admit to being a bit afraid of him—and who can blame you—he just seems so angry! But you quickly realize that his anger is used to hide feelings of loss; his stone-like demeanor is a way to keep everyone at a football stadium's length away. He has the “they can’t hurt me if I don’t let them in” mentality locked down.

But some things you notice about him make your heart flutter. You detect that despite his stand-offish ways, Sanemi is close to the Serpeant Hashira, Obanai Iguro. They often share pointed looks without speaking a word, and while walking alongside one another, their strides are very similar—commonplace behavior for people who share a closeness. You stare at them in awe, a bromance, you think to yourself—of course, you wouldn’t dare say this aloud and in the presence of two of the moodiest Hashiras. Certainly, he can’t be all bad if he can build this level of intimacy with someone!

And despite regularly abusing the lower-ranked corp members during his infamously brutal trainings, Sanemi never yells at those whom he considers to be the most vulnerable—children, women, or the elderly.

At first, you confuse this behavior as indifference, but in actuality, he hates any instance of abuse of power. You witnessed this very scenario when Sanemi connected his fist to the nose of a corp member who had a young woman cornered—the corp member was far too handsy, and the young woman was obviously uncomfortable. A loud crack collided against the narrow walls in the alleyway as the young man crumpled before Sanemi’s feet. 

Sanemi snatches the jacket from the limp body of the corp member and turns his attention to the woman.  “Hey, you ok? Sorry about this asshole.” His tone is even, but the fist that holds the jacket turns pale as his grip cannot possibly get any tighter.

So after witnessing the enigma that is Sanemi and deciding that he’s actually totally your type, you hatch a plan—a plan not unlike one that you would use to soothe and bond with a rabid animal: kill ‘em (or seduce, right?) with kindness. 

You begin to bring him snacks, offer to share your lunches with him, and even say hi when you pass each other in the estate halls, which is enough to make him pause, whip around, and watch as you walk away.

“Good morning?? What’s THAT supposed to mean?”  You turn around to face him—skipping backward so as not to interrupt your stride—and stick out your tongue playfully. “Now what kind of silly question is that? What do you THINK it means?” Sanemi grumbles under his breath about needing stricter policies for those who can join the corps, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from you. Despite the oddity that is you, he can feel his heart stutter and finds himself cautiously anticipating and getting excited at the thought of passing you in the halls.

You take notice of all his scars, at first out of morbid curiosity but then out of wonder. Each streak across his face is a roadmap of all the loss and pain he’s endured. Despite those facts, he still chooses to fight on behalf of a world that has not always been kind to him. 

Sanemi can feel you staring at him, and it makes him unbearably angry. His shoulders stiffen as he begins to feel self-conscious under your gaze. When he turns to give you an earful, his breath catches. He doesn’t see fear or pity in your eyes; it’s something he’s unfamiliar with—adoration, perhaps?

“What are you staring at?’ he mumbles sheepishly. You offer a small smile, amused at the sight of his reddening cheeks. “You’re pretty cute. Do you know that, Sanemi?”  Sanemi stammers, “You touched in the head or somethin’…?”  You ignore his pitiful attempt to get you to leave him alone, “can I touch them?”  He doesn’t answer you, afraid to give the wrong answer, but also scared to put himself out there and potentially get crushed. “I won’t touch them without your go-ahead, Nemi.”  His mouth falls open at his new pet name, your boldness stirring something inside him as he gives a curt, practically unnoticeable nod. You extend your hand to his face and stroke his cheek, your thumb gliding gently across the rough, raised skin.  “You’re kind of….a pretty boy, Sa-ne-mi.” You say his name like each syllable holds weighted importance—and fuuuuuuck, does he like the way you say it. And while you were fully prepared to lay your attempts at winning his heart over on a bit thicker, you find that you don’t have to. Sanemi’s heart races because he’s so used to people running away from him, used to people treating him like shit, that his wild eyes stare into yours, searching and finding something that he was so desperately missing and wanting. And to your giddy delight—he doesn’t pull away; instead, he gingerly rests his cheek into your palm.

Bit by bit, you somehow manage to tame the Wind Hashira.

Dating Sanemi

Sanemi is surprisingly thoughtful when it comes to you. This might partly be attributed to the fact that he can’t get you out of his mind but also because he’s so desperately afraid of losing you to someone else—someone like that bastard Tomioka—because women prefer the sensitive type, right? 

He takes mental notes of things you like, so much so that when you one day show up to a meeting with a leather-bound book of poems, he secretly checks which page is the most worn and commits the prose to memory. When he presents you with the detailed cross-stiched poem in a hand-crafted wooden embroidery hoop, he can’t look you in the eyes, 

“I uh…got a Master Embroider to make this for you. Take it.” You gasp, and for once, you’re the one at a loss for words because while Sanemi is starting to let down his walls, you weren’t expecting something so intimate. Truly, he’s a romantic at heart.

Other times, he’ll simply sit beside you, both of you taking a rare break in your favorite shaded spot, and present you with your favorite flower.

“So, uh,” he’ll lean back, folding his thick, chiseled arms behind his head, “tell me about your day.”  You smile, bringing the flower up to your nose and letting the sweet scent tickle your senses, hoping that in the future, the smell of this particular flower will trigger this memory, offering an immortalized snapshot of the blossoming feelings you feel for him. “Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Nemi.”  He’ll blush and rub his thigh against yours, eyes still closed but a blush creeping from his neck to his cheeks. “Yeah? I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you either.” He’ll breathe out a husky laugh, “come to think of it, you’re constantly on my mind.” 

Romance with Sanemi

The first time you kiss Sanemi, you’re pretty sure a quiet whimper escapes from his throat. The kiss feels electric and familiar simultaneously, and it doesn’t take long for him to press his lips more firmly against yours. His soft lips glide with yours as he places his shakey hands on your hips and pulls your bodies so close that your chests touch. He drags his tongue against your bottom lip, daring you to give him access, and of course you do. His tongue explores every crevice of your mouth, mixing your saliva and savoring your taste. When you two pull away, his cheeks are tinted pink, and he’s looking away with a half-hearted scowl before he pulls you back in, his rough hands resting on the back of your neck and head.

“Hm, let’s do that again. It was too short,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. His mouth is so close to yours that you can feel his breath tickle your lips. 

The first time you’re intimate, Sanemi’s hands explore your body as though you’re fragile and could crumble under his touch. He constantly brings his eyes up to yours; you can hear him swallow thickly as he takes in your naked body splayed out in front of him—for him.

“Is it ok if I lick you here? You taste so fucking good.” “Y-you’d tell me if you wanted me to stop, yeah?”

With each instance of intimacy, he grows more confident, maybe not in his abilities to please you because he was never unsure about that, but he grows convinced that you want him. And eventually, it’s like the floodgates open. And those floodgates represent a 100% increase in Sanemi’s affection—and how he shows that affection—towards you.

In a crowded marketplace? Sanemi is grabbing your hand, guiding you carefully through the sea of people, and shooting daggers at anyone who bumps into you or looks at you the wrong way. Haven’t seen each other in a few days because he has been on a mission? Sanemi beelines straight to where you are—forgoing his sleep or taking a bath—to embrace you in a hug and whisper how much he missed you as he presses his lips to the crown of your head. 

“I missed my girl so much. Did ya miss me? There’s no way in fuckin’ hell I was goin’ to miss seeing you for another night.” He scoops you up in his arms and kisses you, his large hands conveniently cupping your ass and squeezing your curvy cheeks.

You’re bone tired and sleeping in? Sanemi is the kind of lover to leave a trail of soft kisses along your forehead, nose, and then lips every morning before quietly rising—careful not to wake you—to sweep the floors, put away dishes, and brew your favorite tee so that there are fewer things for you to worry about when you wake.

“Tch! Look at who finally decided to join me. Thought you were going to snore the day away—-come drink your tea already, sleepy head!” And though he’s starting the morning by talking shit—he can’t help but smile at you as he brings your cup over. He snakes an arm around your waist and chirps, “you know you snore like a fuckin’ hog?” 

-------

Sucking Sanemi Off

There is no doubt that Sanemi is the proverbial definition of a man, but there’s nothing that makes your brain turn off more than when he pulls his thick, veiny and domineering cock out of his uniform. You get a primal urge to suck him off until he pumps your pretty little mouth with thick ropes of his cum.

And so you do.

Your tongue flirts with the fat tip of his dick, licking at the precum that is now sliding down the length of his shaft. You leave every inch of his cock covered in your slick saliva, even trailing your tongue down and suckling at his balls.  

“You and that filthy fuckin’ mouth of yours,” his head falls back as he strokes your hair. His breath and tone ring harsh in your ears, but his touch is loving—this only fuels your need to take more of him down your throat. As you slide his meat past your tongue so the tip is pressed against the back of his throat, he lets out a prolonged and guttural moan.

“Hmm, my girl really knows how to suck dick, huh?” His calloused hand strokes your cheek; his words sound like pure honey to your Sanemi-addicted brain. You give him a muffled but eager, “mmmh!” 

You move your lips and tongue along his shaft, his precum pooling into your mouth and sliding down your throat. The heat in between your thighs only grows more intense with the bobbing motion of your head. 

“Make it messy, baby. Slobber on my cock like ya know I like it,” Sanemi groans as he pulls his dick out from your mouth, smacking and dragging his length against your swollen lips. You grip him at the base and spit on his dick; your eyes light up in pleasure as his heavy balls twitch aggressively. Not being able to take it anymore and because Sanemi has a thing for cumshots, he grips his dick in his hand and strokes himself quickly. 

“Open wide, baby girl. Show me that tongue.” You obediently stick out your tongue, strings of saliva, and precum, making a lewd-looking web in your mouth. 

Sanemi whines and rests his sensitive tip against the entrance of your mouth. “Fuck, you ready, baby?” Before you can answer, his cock twitches, firing fast and hard right into your waiting mouth, and like a good girl, you swallow every last drop.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #demon slayer sanemi #kny sanemi #sanemi shinaguzawa #demon slayer fanfic #smut

[vidavalor]

I don’t see the alleged handholding on the bus. I don’t. I’m sorry. I’ve watched it so many times. I want to see it. I see Aziraphale’s hand going towards Crowley, but I don’t see any motion from Crowley that suggests he’s holding Aziraphale’s hand.

Are we really, really, REALLY sure they’re holding hands?

Hi there. 💕 Yep. Well, I am, anyway, and I'm happy to share why. I have watermelon salad to share tonight. Ahhh, summer... 🍉

I don't want to assume anything but I've seen the "Crowley doesn't react so they aren't holding hands" comment places before and what I think keeps people from seeing it is the idea that they think that Crowley should have some kind of big reaction because they think this is new. It's not. We aren't watching the very first time that they ever hold hands; we're watching a long-time couple familiar with doing so.

If this were the very first time Aziraphale had ever taken Crowley's hand then I could see why you're saying there should be some kind of reaction. We'd expect him to glance over or for his arm to be seen moving a bit from what of it we could see. On the other hand, if you look at the scene with a different perspective-- one assuming that they're already in a place where holding hands is not unfamiliar territory-- then the whole moment is really set up to reinforce that through showing how comfortable Crowley is with what's happening.

Crowley doesn't have to turn to Aziraphale right away in surprise and we don't need to see his head or arm move because all that's really likely happening is that Crowley is letting Aziraphale hold his hand right where it is resting on his thigh. Maybe he's turned his hand a little to thread their fingers together. Maybe he's just rubbing a thumb over Aziraphale's. We wouldn't see that from our angle because it would just be movement from his wrist down... and that seems to me to be the point of how the scene was shot. The outside view of the bus at this moment exactly? An angle designed to intimate to us that hands are being held and that it is not a rare or new event.

Think about it this way: if they never had held hands before, is Aziraphale just going to take his hand on this bus out of nowhere? Probably not. Is Crowley just going to sit there if Aziraphale did? Probably not. We get two or so seconds after Aziraphale takes his hand before the bus finishes moving out of the frame wherein we could have been shown Crowley having a more surprised reaction if that was what the scene was trying to say but we didn't see one because it seems like that is not what is being said with the scene.

Aziraphale's movements are familiar; he already knows he's permitted to take Crowley's hand whenever he likes and that they both find it comforting. Not only have they just been through all sorts of exhausting craziness over the last few days but Aziraphale was discorporated. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to get his body back or how and this is basically the first moment they are alone enough to touch since Adam gave Aziraphale back his body. The hand holding then is a way of showing that Aziraphale needs to both feel grounded in his own body and to touch Crowley (not totally separate things, really...). That speaks to long-time coupledom to me more than it does to something new. If you look at the scene from the perspective that they're already together (just as if you look at most of the series from that perspective), you'll see a lot of subtle things just like this scene that reinforce the idea.

I wrote some stuff awhile back that you can find here about the connections between this scene and the flashback one on the bus earlier in S1 that also might help show how that they're sitting together and holding hands in this scene is set up by the earlier scene, should you be interested in that. Also: the "magic hands" massage joke would also suggest that holding hands in S1's present wouldn't be considered unusual. I think that if they've been making love since ancient Rome, as I wrote about the show suggesting here, liking to hold hands isn't too surprising but I understand from where your doubts are coming. Hope this helps. 💕

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #good omens meta #good omens theory #crowley x aziraphale

[calaisreno]

Three Women Perplex the British Government

1362 words / Prompt: Journey / A sequel to Sixth Sense. (Just in case you were wondering what Molly decided to do!)

---

He doesn’t recognise the woman standing before him. His mother trained him well, though, so he rises and gestures at the chair. 

“Please.” He glances at Anthea, who is giving him an inscrutable look from the doorway. The one that says he’s offended her in some way that she will neither admit nor explain. 

Anthea closes the door. Mycroft regards the woman, who is still standing. 

“Please,” he repeats, giving her a generic smile. 

His visitor is regarding him as well. Studying him. No smile. “I’d rather not.”

She’s a tiny woman, and he’s a tall man. If she would only sit down, he could sit as well, and it would not feel so much like he’s bullying her. That’s not his style, at least not with women. Small women, dressed in hand knit jumpers. 

He has no idea what she wants, but is afraid that some persuasion might be necessary. Not the bullying he reserves for his brother, or even the subtle manipulation he aims at John Watson, a difficult man to intimidate.

“Miss…?” He feels like he ought to know her. 

“Molly Hooper,” she says. “We haven’t met. I’m—”

“Yes, of course. Doctor Hooper. How can I help you?” He looks down at her, desperately wishing she’d take the chair. “I should thank you,” he remembers to say. “Your help was greatly appreciated. I hope my brother expressed that to you.”

“I’m here about John Watson.”

“Ah.” He narrows his eyes, anticipating the outburst of sentiment she will unleash. “I’m maintaining surveillance on him. You need not concern yourself about any retribution against him. He is safe.”

“It’s not that,” she replies, folding her arms across her chest and glaring. She’s about as intimidating as a kindergarten teacher, but she’s making him uneasy. 

He should have anticipated this. Sherlock assured him that she would play her part well, and Mycroft himself managed the business about the body. But even a goldfish might have a conscience, especially if other goldfish are asking questions.

“Are you receiving any scrutiny over your part in the plan? That can be handled.”

“No, it’s fine. What I mean is, John isn’t coping well with Sherlock’s death.”

“Ah. My brother asked you to assist him in keeping Doctor Watson in the dark, and you’re feeling guilty that you know things which he does not. I assure you that we considered all possible scenarios, and none of them involved taking Doctor Watson into our confidence.”

“Why not?”

“Doctor Watson is a soldier. He is used to death and equipped to handle grief.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she says, glaring in earnest now. “It’s been months. Have you seen him?”

“My people are keeping a weather eye on him.”

“But you haven’t called on him?”

“He would not appreciate hearing from me, Doctor Hooper. I’m afraid my concern will not help him.”

She closes her eyes briefly, shaking her head. “You made a mistake. You and Sherlock.”

“There were not many options before us.”

“Was it you or Sherlock who decided not to tell him?”

“My brother has a great deal of sentiment for Doctor Watson. I’m afraid I had to dissuade him.”

Her voice raises. “Because he loves John?”

“Doctor Watson is not…” He considers how he should word it, decides that being forthright will end this conversation sooner. “My brother’s feelings are not returned. Cannot be returned. Sherlock is gay, and Doctor Watson is not.”

“How do you know?”

“He has stated this publicly several times. Sherlock knows as well. In order to undertake the task he set for himself, it was necessary to leave him behind. I have no doubt that the doctor will meet a lovely woman and be married before long.”

“I don’t care what label you put on him. He loved Sherlock, and it’s killing him that he’s dead. He has PTSD. When they met, he was suicidal. If anything happens to him—”

“Miss Hooper. If you are considering breaking your promise, I must warn you. This matter involves branches of our government whose existence is unknown to most people. I would hate to—”

“Don’t threaten me, Mr Holmes,” she says. “At this point, what is the harm in telling him? If there are still snipers trailing after him, you haven’t done a very good job, have you? And if there aren’t any snipers, there’s no reason not to tell him.”

He has erred. This woman is no goldfish. 

And Anthea keeps asking him about Watson, suggesting that it’s time he knew. 

And then there’s this other woman. Mary Morstan, she calls herself. A complication. She vexes him. 

“Very well,” he says. “I will handle it.”

---

“Well, I’m back,” John says. 

The headstone is silent, as it should be. John Watson does not look like a man who expects an answer from a block of marble. He squares his shoulders and stands at parade rest, hands clasped behind his back. 

“I’m back again,” he repeats. “I just wanted to tell you something.”

He looks uneasy, Mycroft thinks. A confession, then.

“When you died, I thought I’d never… find myself again. I wasn’t good, not for a long time. Maybe that would surprise you.” He smiles grimly. “Well, you’re beyond surprise now, so I may as well say what I didn’t say the first time I came here. No, I’m not going to ask again. I know there’s not going to be any miracle. You’re not… coming back.” 

He lowers his face into his hand. For a moment his shoulders shake. Mycroft waits.

Drawing a deep breath, he raises his head. “So, this is it. What I should have told you… when it might have made a difference. Maybe it wouldn’t have, but I wish I’d said, just in case… well. I love you. I always did.” Choking back a sob, he continues. “You didn’t do that, though. No sentiment. Caring’s not an advantage. Yeah. But I did. Love you.”

The sentiment is so thick, it’s almost nauseating. Mycroft desperately wants a cigarette. Reminding himself of what he’s here to do, he waits.

“Once, I asked you for a miracle. But there aren’t any miracles, at least not for us. And now…” John wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his jumper. “Now it’s time. I know I’ll never be over you, never forget what it was like… but I’m alive, and I think I have to do something to stay that way. Get on with it, try to have a life without you.” He clears his throat and sniffs. “I met somebody. She isn’t you, but I think you would have liked her, that she would’ve been the one who finally passed muster. I know she would’ve liked you. So, I’m giving it a go, asking her. To marry me, I mean.” 

He makes a sound that might be a laugh, or maybe a sob. “I have to try,” he says. “I wish… well, it’s no use. I love you, but you’re not here. And I just can’t be alone forever. So.” He straightens his back, nods at the black marble. “This is goodbye, Sherlock.” 

As he turns, Mycroft steps out. John’s eyes widen, then narrow with suspicion. 

“Doctor Watson,” he says. “There are several things you need to know.”

—-

When he opens the door of his office, Anthea is waiting for him.

“Well?”

“You were right.” He sighs and meets her eyes. “Good call.”

The look on her face softens into a barely-detectable smile. “I’ve taken care of the Morstan woman. Extradition is underway.”

“She was…?” 

“Yes. Different name, but she’d done several jobs for him. The Americans will be glad to have her back. She won’t be visiting us any time soon.”

He nods, suddenly weary, and sinks into his chair. Too much sentiment, too much emotion. It’s exhausting. “Now we only need to bring my brother home.”

“We’ve received word this morning that he’s on his way to to Serbia.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Intercept him. We’ll let Baynes and his team handle that. Sherlock needs to come home.”

Her smile broadens. “As you wish.”

The door closes behind her. 

“Good journey, brother,” he whispers. “No more surprises.”

---

Read / comment on AO3

#mayprompts2024 #mycroft holmes #molly hooper #anthea #mary morstan

[cy-cyborg]

I'm getting a little tierd of the idea because amputees get more representation in media, it means rep for our disability is better and we "have enough"

People are right, we do have way more rep than really any other disability, im not going to deny that, and ive joked before about how often people write amputees without even realising it. So you would think, by sheer numbers, we should have at least some good representation, but by-and-large that is not the case. Legitimatly, the closest example I can think of to point to of good amputee rep is Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood and even that uses multiple tropes I hate (the miracle cure/quest for the miracle cure, the almost perfect prosthetic replacement/forgetting the chatacter is an amputee until it breaks or needs repairs, refusal to call prosthetics, "prosthetics" (automail), the amputee who can't do anything without a prosthetic) and they call Ed a slur for another disability (m*dget) CONSTANTLY. I love fmab deeply, it legitimatly helped me feel seen and represented as a childhood amputee in a way no other show has even come close to, and when it gets it right, it gets it really right, but it's also very far from great and should not be the best example I can think of. Especially nearly 15 years after it released...

A big part of the reason why I don't read many books anymore is because of the sheer amount of books with downright offensively bad amputee rep, some of which were touted as good by people with other disabilities and were recommended to me as good examples. others times, I wasn't even looking for books with amputee/disability rep, it just popped up. It has ruined one of my childhood hobbies for me. Ive tried to get back into reading again as an adult but it hasn't gotten better in that time i was away. I was kicked out of 3 different scifi writing groups on facebook and reddit for asking people to remember "cybernetic enhancement" users are amputees - a real group of people, and maybe debating weather or not we're less human isnt great, and for pointing out seeing those discussions every day was making me feel pretty unwelcome in that space (yes i know, "real" cyberpunk isnt trying to say that, i had to turn notifications off on my post about the topic, it doesnt change the fact that newer creators in the genre dont seem to get that bit, that ive seen cyberpunk writers in these spaces say that debating weather people who loose more parts of their body were less human was, in fact, their intent but they hadnt even considered the fact this made their chatacters amputees, it doesnt change the fact that these tropes, intentionally or not, help make those spaces hostile for disabled fans/creators, especially amputees).

But yeah, I should be thankful I get more rep than other disabilities, no matter the quality, right?

It doesn't just stop at being me being made uncomfortable, though. The sheer, overwhelming amount of amputee chatacters with "perfect prosthetics" has had a noticeable impact on how we are perceived irl. In my lifetime, the general idea people have about multi-limbed amputees in particular has gone from "literally the worst thing that can happen to a person and the worst disability to have" to "is it even a disability? The prosthetic fixes it". These are both wildly untrue and harmful ideas about my disability that were both perpetuated by media, but now that the second one is taking root, it's causing real problems. I have not been shy in talking about how I have to fight to maintain my NDIS funding every time I get something done with my prosthetics, and had to get my prosthetist to sign off, twice, that my fancy prosthetic knee that costs the same as a higher-end new car ($125,000 AUD) is not, in fact a cure and I still need help with other things. It took me nearly 2 years to get a new wheelchair because they didn't understand why I needed it if I had the prosthetics - which to be honest, is not comfortable for me to wear, let alone use all day every day. Guys this isn't just assholes on the street or on twitter saying dumb shit, it's the people in the government body who decide how much funding I get to help with my disability who beleive it. People who have very real control over my life. It's not entirely the media's fault, but when the sheer, overwhelming majority of representation for people like me confirms that belief, it's hard to ignore the possibility that these portrayals are contributing to it, you know?

Which makes it so frustrating when I come on here and see other disability writing advice blogs saying to not write amputees because they have so much representation already. We do, I can acknowledge that, but the vast, vast majority of it is shit, and no one, not even other disabled people, are listening to us about it. And what makes it even worse, is the people they're advising to not writing amputees are the creators who care enough to be doing the research. They're the ones willing to listen, to ask questions. They could be the start of the positive change. But instead they're advised to not even bother with us.

And don't get me wrong, other disabilities ARE under-represented. There are so many disabilities, including some I have myself, that I've never seen represented as anything other than the butt of a joke. There does need to be more reprentation of disabilities other than amputation and limb differences. 100%! but can you please talk about that without saying "amputees have enough"

This isn't even touching on how amputees/people with limb differences who dont/cant use prosthetics, or even folks who use prosthetics sometimes but not others, are almost never represented unless it's for pitty-porn, or how the non-fictional media's (news outlets, etc) portrayal of amputees in particular is used to justify hurting very real, very vunderable people but this rant is long enough and honestly, ive got enough thoughts to make whole other posts on those subjects. That second one in particular deserves its own (more thought-out) spotlight and shouldn't be a footnote in a frustrated rant post lol.

#writing disability with cy cyborg (unfiltered) #disability #disabled #writing #writeblr #writing disability #disability representation #amputee #amputee representation #rant #long post

[sageistrii]

Armys and their fake activism. Not to be that person but this same thing happened in 2020 too and it took 3 years for stans to realize how ridiculous some of them were being with centering their activism around celebrities.

Bts were being called all the names in the book only for it to be revealed that they did donate during the week when everything was at it's peak but the organization and bts were probably waiting for the wire transfer to go through over the week before they made a public announcement.

Nothing y'all say will ever make me believe BTS haven't spoken out because they don't care, yes I do believe that they have a valid reason for not saying anything YET, call that celebrity worship I don't care. And I'm talking about BTS personally not hybe.

Armys are so stupid because once again they've allowed kpop stans to fool them into making BTS the face of activism. Bts are always being boycotted, insulted and asked to speak out by stans whose faves have also been silent and then armys join in because of their constant need to prove that BTS are good people to kpop stans who don't like them.

Some people said if or when BTS does speak out, those presently against the boycott are going to brag about them speaking out, but the thing is y'all also only want them to speak out because you want to justify why you Stan them, and for bragging rights too.

People were being killed in my country and I didn't even have the time to think of BTS or any other celeb so it's always baffling to see people who are fighting for their fellow Palestinians spend all day on Twitter talking about BTS not caring about them, I just feel like you should be focused on more important things considering BTS a Korean group speaking out isn't going to stop the US govt from funding Israel and Israel from attacking Palestine. I feel like discussions about BTS speaking out should be an afterthought or addition, not the focus.

Also I've said this before, but I would need to go through the phone of every Twitter activist to see every single media they've consumed since October before I would be made to feel guilty about who I support.

"Boycott boycott" but I doubt that has stopped any of you from listening to the music you do like from artists that have also not said anything, claiming not to stream some members because of the boycott when you probably don't even stream to begin with or just are not streaming because he's not one of your faves or you don't like the music.

This year has been one of the biggest In music and film in a long time, with multiple hit songs from different artists every month and hit movies with Zionists involved and you expect me to believe any of these Twitter people are boycotting?

You see a hit tweet calling a celebrity a Zionist for not speaking out and then in the next breath see another hit tweet praising a movie that was made by a Zionist or a Zionist starred in.

And no it's not putting being a Stan before my humanity, I just have the sense to think critically.

[indigosunsetao3]

Lunch and Dinner Date

First expansion of Older CIA Alex list.

"Hey Jack," you say casually as you set your purse, keys and sunglasses in the small plastic bin to go through security. You found it funny that they bothered with this sort of thing considering more than half the people working here could probably kill you with a paperclip. Formalities you suppose.

"Hey," Jack says with a smile as he slides your items through the scanner before indicating for you to walk through the metal detectors. "Back again to see the old man?"

"Someone has to make sure he eats," you answer as you scoop up your things on the other side. You slip the strap of your purse on your arm before taking the visitor's badge and clipping it on the lapel of your dress. "See you later," you toss over your shoulder with a smile before heading to the elevators.

You had moved back home to live with your father almost six weeks ago. The man you had lived with halfway across the country had decided that he needed something more in the bedroom; two other women more to be precise. You had your suspicions for a while but to walk in on him balls deep in one woman while the other was sloppily kissing him had been a shock, to say the least.

After you recovered from the scene in your bedroom you had immediately called your father, the only person in your life who could help. He was there two days later helping you pack up your things while your fiancé had a meltdown. It had been a nightmare but thankfully your father hadn't rubbed the fact he was right in your face too many times.

When you get to your father's office you find his secretary had already left for lunch, a delicate little sign on her desk indicating she was away. That was fine with you, she was nice older lady but her ability to talk was outmatched and frankly you were talked out. The job your father secured for you, after pulling a few strings, required you to converse with people all day long.

A short knock on the door was the only indication you gave that you were there before you opened it. Your father had told you to come at this time so you weren't worried about interrupting anything. Apparently he had been wrong, or he had a surprise guest. Just as you step through the threshold you spot a man sitting across from your father's desk and you dad immediately closes his mouth as if he had been midsentence.

"Sorry," you breathe out as you move to back out of the room. "Tabitha wasn't here and I assumed you were ready," you babble out as the unknown man rises from his seat looking at you. "I can wait-"

"No worries," the man says for your father as he hastily gathers up papers and locks them away in his desk. Clearly you had interrupted something secretive. "I was just on my way out actually," he smiles and you return the gesture a bit meekly as you look at up at him; even in your heels he towers over you.

He's dressed in casual clothes, jeans and simple t-shirt but the air he gives off oozes he's anything but a civilian. The way he stands shows his confidence, shoulders back and head high. You watch how his eyes survey you as if taking in every detail, sweeping from the tips of your toes and up your body before landing on your face giving you an easy smile.

His gaze is enough you feel a blush creeping up your chest and neck from embarrassment for interrupting and just the blatant scrutiny.

"Have a nice lunch," the man says simply to your father, extending his hand to shake before his gaze is back on you. "Ma'am," he tacks on as a goodbye which earns a full on flush from you. He definitely notices, the smile that plays in his lips expands to a full on smirk.

You watch him leave from the room and barely hear your father clear his throat asking if you're ready to go.

------------------------------

"I don't know a single person," you bemoan your father as you slip your mother's old diamond earrings into your ears.

"That's the point," you father answers as he comes around the corner and gives you a wide smile, his gaze clocking you wearing your late mother's jewelry. "Time for you to meet some people. I'm tired of sharing the living room with you every night. You're young, you need to be out having fun, not watching documentaries with me," he grins extending his elbow.

"All of these people are too rich for my blood. I won't have anything in common with them."

"Find a rich guy to take you home and off my hands," he jokes before helping you into the hired car. "Some of the guys will be there anyway," he tacks on. You know the guys are his personal team that he works with. Some of them your dads friends from his military days and others at the CIA that were still out working in the field. "Alex even agreed to go," he chuckles a bit as he scrolls through his phone distracted, "I was starting to think he had some secret family I didn't know about. He never joins team outings."

"Alex?"

"Keller," your dad answers as if that would be enough of an explanation. When he looks up and sees your blank expression he continues, "he was in my office that day when you barged in like you owned the place."

"Oh right," you answer feeling the blush again. You hadn't forgotten about Alex, even if you didn't know his name. His gaze had almost burned with how he watched you, x-rayed you really, with his ice blue eyes. It had been a passing meeting but it had apparently impacted you more than you realized.

Once you are at the banquet hall you head inside to find your seat. Little placards around the large linen covered tables indicate where you should sit and you find yourself with Alex on your right at a table in the very front. It doesn't look like the rest of the party have arrived yet so you decide to just sit and wait for the place to fill up before trying to mingle. Just as you're about to grab your seat to pull it out a hand clamps down on the delicate gold back and stops you.

"Allow me."

You turn expecting to see one of the staff and open your mouth to protest them having to help you into a seat. But you shut it instantly as you spot it's not the staff but Alex standing there. He's not in casual clothes this time. He's in his dress blues and you feel yourself swallowing as you take it in for a second. Everything is crisp, clean, and on point. Medals and bars adorn both sides of his chest and you even spot his special skill and marksmanship badges, more than you had ever seen on another man or woman.

"Looks like you're stuck with me all evening," he grins fingering the placard with his name. He slips into his own seat before catching the eye of a waiter to bring over drinks.

"A familiar face is always welcome," you answer, twisting your hands in your lap a bit. You rub your thumb over your left ring finger for a second, a nervous tick, before you remember there is nothing in that space anymore. "I feel like all I do is meet new people every day, bit disorienting."

"Your father has plenty of friends," Alex answers as he leans to the side a bit as the waiter takes your drink order. He's careful to listen to what you want, storing away your preferred drink in the back of his mind. "I've worked with him for a while now and even I still don't know all their names." Lie. Alex knew them all, even the secret undercovers because he didn't trust anyone and he needed to know exactly what was happening at all times.

"My new job also keeps me on my toes, literally," you smirk a bit. "I think my father forgot I much prefer to be in the background but the job he got me has me working the floor at an art gallery."

"Art?" Alex asks sounding interested as the waiter returns with a glass of red wine for both of you. "Is that your background? I know your dad said you had finished college not that long ago." He knew all the details already but it was polite to keep the conversation going to pretend he didn't.

"Ah, yeah sort of. More history with an understudy in art but finding a job in history around here is a little hard when you aren't an old white man," you laugh a bit sipping on your wine and find Alex smiling as well. It's a slightly crooked grin that gives you a glimpse of an old scar that runs down his chin to disappear into his beard.

"What sort of history are you most interested in?" Alex asks as he twists in his seat to face you better. The place is finally starting to fill up and a few people have joined your table now but Alex pays none of them any mind. His eyes are locked on you in that same intense look he gave you in your father's office those weeks ago. It doesn't feel as scrutinizing but it's certainly focused.

You explain that your favorite sub subject of history is actually studying the downfalls versus the rise of empires. What caused the collapses, how the signs had been stacking up but no one saw them before it was too late. How other empires exploited and rose from them before falling to the same fate in different ways.

Alex remains rapt in his attention on you and you find easing into a topic you knew about made it so much easier to talk. Especially when your audience was so engaged and asked the proper questions at the right time. He doesn't let a lull in the conversation happen and fills in the spaces with his own tidbits of random knowledge or ideas. He doesn't let the conversation remain on him too long either, always reverting back to you.

When the charity speeches began Alex is careful to pay attention to the stage but you see him stealing glances at you. You grin at each one, finding yourself looking at him as well. It was nice to finally have someone that you could possibly call a friend around here. You had been too shy, too self-conscious, to try and forge out new relationships just yet. Your fiancé had been sure to shatter that small bit of self esteem you had with what he did.

Toward the end of the night, laughing over your fifth or sixth glass of wine, you grip Alex's upper arm and state you have to have his number so you can send him a picture of the thing you were both chuckling about. You weren't sure how many drinks you truly had because Alex never let you hit the bottom of the glass before a waiter appeared with another. He agreed quickly and rattled off his number to you, watching you carefully type it in your phone before you send him a purple heart so he could store your number.

"How was your evening?" Your father asks a bit later in the car after Alex had walked the both of you out to the valet before walking out to his own self parked car. Your dad had been too busy schmoozing to sit down long enough to engage in conversation with you.

"Oh it was fine," you answer simply, feeling the bit of headrush as you lean back against the car seat.

"Make any friends?"

"Alex. Well I think anyway..." you say after a second. "He's was really...nice," you grin at your dad, rolling your head on the headrest to look at him a bit lazily.

You hold back the rest of your assessment of your father's employee, figuring your dad did not want to hear how Alex's breath on your ear when he leaned over to whisper something during a speech sent a shiver straight down your spine. Or that you had perhaps shifted a little closer to Alex so your bare leg was pressed up tight against his under the table and he hadn't pulled away. Or how Alex always rose from his seat to help you in and out of your own and you caught his eyes watching the lowcut line of your dress when he thought you were distracted.

"Nice," your dad says in a bit of a deadpan.

"Oh stop it, this was your idea."

"You know he's over a decade older than you right?"

"Dad...stop. He was nice," you shrug. "Didn't realize friends had an age limit."

Your father stays quiet the rest of the ride as he fiddles on his phone and that is fine with you. You dig out your own phone where Alex had responded with his own emoji a few moments before, a simple red heart in response. It's enough to make your stomach flutter for a second but you tamper that down and instead send the picture you promised you would so he could see the evidence of the story you told. It was stupid really, but you had both laughed hard enough that people had given you dirty looks.

As the car ride continues you replay the evening over and over in your mind, glancing at your phone every now and again waiting for a response. Your dad is right, he's so much older and has more life experience. Why would he be friends with you? By the time you are home you have successfully convinced yourself Alex was just being nice because of who you were; his bosses daughter. The hopeful bubble you had in your chest about making a new friend deflates.

Especially when Alex leaves your picture you sent him on read.

------------------------------

Unfortunately for Alex he had somewhere to be right after the charity gala. An assignment your father had set him on conveniently quickly. He had to ditch his things in his car and change before catching another ride in an unmarked car to take him to the airport. He couldn't have his personal phone on him to respond, but the burner he kept tucked in his go bag had all your information stored in it.

He's able to keep tabs on you, watching you post on your own social media as well as your job's over the next few days. And maybe one night when he's feeling particularly lonely he hacks your work's security system just to watch you walk around in those sky high heels and tiny little skirts. Those pretty legs occupy his waking and sleeping thoughts for many hours, especially when he watches you in the dark of his room.

Alex's feelings toward you are anything but friendly and he intends on showing you that. But he knows how to play the game. His career depends on his ability to read people and he had read you like a book. He knows you need a little soft coaxing and confidence building so pouncing on you right away like he wanted to was out of the question. Your shit of an ex fiancé had made you feel worthless, undesirable, but Alex had turned the tables back on him.

A few well placed emails and suspicious files on your ex's computer will effectively end his career when an anonymous tip comes in. Then those women he had brought into his bed over you would leave him once the money runs out and he'll be left scrambling. Maybe he'd feel an ounce of the pain you had gone through after what he had done.

Alex had tracked through all your online files. Found the emails of heartbreak you had left in your drafts and never sent, poured through the deleted photos on your computer and had seen first hand the screaming fight from the night you caught your ex on your security camera's cloud account. It had been rough to watch and for once Alex actually felt a pang of guilt for prying so far.

Killing your ex had been an option that crossed Alex's mind when he watched the video of you crying on your couch from all those weeks ago. He could do it without anyone being the wiser, but watching the guy suffer seemed the better option. Besides, thanks to this man's shitty decision you were now here, perfectly poised for Alex to swoop in and show you exactly how a man should treat you.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #fanfic #cod #cod fanfic #my fic #fanfiction #alex keller fanfic #alex keller cod #cod alex #alex cod #alex keller x reader #alex keller x you #OCIA!Alex

[defectivevillain]

until it doesn't hurt

pairing: Bruce Banner/Reader

the reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “I could’ve caused you irreversible harm,” Bruce says. It’s almost a practiced recitation at this point, and you have to wonder if he truly believes that—or if he’s just been conditioned by everyone around him to believe he is only capable of inflicting pain. “You didn’t,” you maintain, for what feels like the thousandth time. Bruce is so caught up in the hypotheticals that he refuses to see the success right in front of him: the fact that he didn’t so much as lay a finger on you.

word count: 2.9k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence

Being an Avenger means you have to be ready for anything at all times. That spontaneity is difficult to adjust to at first, but as time passes, you grow used to it. You grow used to sleeping lightly; to stashing weapons just about anywhere you can keep them; to having few restful days and many restless ones. The moment your powers manifested, you knew you would be a hero: not because you wanted to be one, but because it would be your responsibility to protect those who needed protecting. 

You weren’t always an Avenger. At first, you were just a rogue—kind of a vigilante. But then the attack on New York happened—Loki happened—and everything flew out the window. Suddenly, you were out on the street in broad daylight, trying your best to keep the civilians safe. That was how you crashed into Iron Man of all people. You exchanged banter and insults, but when it came down to it, you protected him, and he protected you. And Tony is extremely persistent—it didn’t take long for him to sink his claws into you and drag you back to the Avengers Tower. 

From there, you gradually get to know the other Avengers. Steve and Clint are relatively friendly right off the bat. Natasha is a bit more difficult—you have to earn her trust before she starts to open up to you. But eventually, somehow, you manage to bond with all of the other occupants of the Tower. At least, all of them except Bruce Banner. 

Bruce is an interesting case. He almost immediately dismissed you when Tony first introduced you, instead deigning to focus on his experiments. You hadn’t taken offense to Bruce’s reclusive behavior, nor had you taken the hint that he didn’t want to get to know you. Instead, you had all but forced him to acknowledge you. This manifested in a multitude of ways: from going out of your way to talk to him to offering to help with his research. Bruce is extremely protective of his laboratory, but somehow he deemed you capable enough to serve as his laboratory assistant. You were more than content to hand him capsules and adjust minor things, while he did the brunt of the work. You took the gifted opportunities to attempt to get to know him better. At first, it was like speaking to a brick wall. But somewhere along the way, his cold and uncaring façade began to crack. You slowly worked your way up to meaningless small talk—and, later, casual conversation.

Truthfully, you really enjoy spending time with Bruce. But he’s rather unpredictable—sometimes he’ll push you away, and other times he’ll play along. You know that he has a lot of baggage—what with his childhood and his alter-ego. You’ve been trying to convince him that you care about him—that you’re not going to abandon him or villainize him—but he doesn’t ever seem to believe you. He always conducts himself with some semblance of suspicion and doubt; it almost seems like he’s waiting for you to wake up to reality and run away screaming.

Still, progress is progress—no matter how slow. You’re happy with how you’ve slowly bonded with him, and you can only hope that there’s more on the horizon for the both of you. 

…You never consider the possibility that something could happen to make things worse—to destroy your progress and send you right back to the start. 

“We need you for something.”

You’re brutally torn from your reverie, forced to slowly come back to yourself. You’re sitting in the living room, staring ahead at the blank wall. How long have you been sitting here? All you know is that it’s no longer light outside, and that Natasha is standing in front of you with a firm expression. 

“I- what?” You stammer, still processing what’s happening. “Nat-”

“It’s important,” she says. You get to your feet before she can continue speaking. “Trust me.” You do trust her. Natasha isn’t one for over-exaggeration or dramatics; when she says something is important, she means it. And the grave expression on her face is only worrying you more. You follow after her as she walks down the hall and towards the elevators. The two of you step into the space and she presses a button, before the elevator slowly rises. 

In hindsight, perhaps you should’ve been a bit more suspicious. Why would she be taking you to another floor in the Tower? Typically, when there’s a new development or an imminent threat, you’ll be directed to another location—either to combat the threat or to strategize. Furthermore, there’s a strained silence in the air between Natasha and you. Nat’s shoulders are drawn tight and she’s staring ahead pointedly, as if avoiding your eyes. 

The elevator dings and you breathe an internal sigh of relief, hoping to get rid of this needless tension. But before you can begin to take a step, you’re being roughly shoved out of the elevator and into the hallway. It takes you several moments to get your bearings—at which point you recognize the telltale sounds of the doors behind you closing, and the elevator dropping back down to where you came. You stare at the closed doors in disbelief, before turning to look back down the hall. One of the recreational rooms is straight ahead, and you hear yelling. 

Once you’re standing in the doorway, you’re able to place the inexplicable noises you were hearing. Bruce is in his Hulk form, green and raging as he throws anything within his grasp at the walls around him. You’re willing to bet Natasha brought you here to do something about this. Why she thinks you’re the best person to calm Bruce down, you’re not sure. 

“Bruce,” you say slowly. Bruce promptly freezes, an exercise machine lifted over his head. He stares down at you; you stare up at him. He’s momentarily distracted by you. “It’s okay.” He’s silent. You hold your hands out at your sides in mock surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you,” you continue. “You’re safe.”

Silence. You take a slow breath. The machine he’s holding over his head drops a fraction of an inch. 

“It’s okay, Bruce.” You repeat, pushing as much conviction into your voice as you can. Your effort seems to work, as his eyebrows furrow. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence as the two of you stare at each other. Then, his visage shifts and you’re suddenly looking at Bruce Banner—disheveled and exhausted.

“Are you alright-?” You’re compelled to ask. The scientist is back in human form, wearing nothing but a tattered pair of pants; bruises and scratches litter his skin; and there’s a distant expression on his face. He seems to snap out of his trance when he hears your voice.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bruce then spits. You immediately flinch at the unexpected anger. “Seriously, what the fuck are you doing here?” His gaze is flitting about the room quickly, before settling on you with fevered intensity. You’ve never seen Bruce look so irate before. He’s a remarkably composed man (although you suspect he bottles up anger and rage and lets it out in bursts as the Hulk). Indeed, this kind of fury is typical for the Hulk, but exceedingly rare for Bruce. 

“I didn’t-” You choke out helplessly, glancing back at the hall and, by extension, the elevator. “They-” It’s inexplicably difficult for you to get the words out. 

“That was our doing.” A voice confesses from behind you. You turn around to find Nat and Tony standing behind you. The two of them approach and come to a stop at your side. 

Bruce’s gaze locks on them with fiery focus. He brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His glasses are nowhere to be seen—he must’ve dropped them somewhere as he transformed. “I expected better from both of you.”

“Bruce-” Tony tries to say, an apologetic expression on his face. 

“What on earth made you think that throwing them out as bait was a good idea?” Bruce interjects furiously, motioning towards you. “You could’ve gotten them seriously injured!” He exclaims. Tony has the good grace to look embarrassed; Nat is staring ahead with a flat expression and her arms crossed over her chest.

“Bruce, I’m fine-” You try to say, quickly growing uncomfortable with the tension settling in the air. 

“I could’ve harmed you,” Bruce is quick to assert. “Easily.” His voice is cold. 

“But you didn’t,” you maintain. He’s not giving himself enough credit. More troubling is the idea that he has faith in his own cruelty—that he only sees himself as capable of harming someone. You don’t know what else to say, don’t know what could possibly be said to repair the evident years of damage done to this man’s psyche. The entire world has treated him as a weapon at best and an uncontrollable, irredeemable monster at worst.

“That doesn’t matter,” Bruce says with unshakeable certainty. He retreats from the room, leaving you to stare after him in confusion and shock. You turn to face Natasha and Tony, who are both staring at the doorway with complex looks. 

You want to tell them off, but the words that leave your lips are far different than you intend them to be. “Should I go after him?” You ask instead. Bruce is the primary concern right now—you can chew Tony and Nat out later. You’ve known him for a bit now, and have grown to interpret his expressions fairly easily. You’ve seen Bruce express a lot of emotions… but the look on his face just now is completely foreign to you. 

“Probably,” Tony admits. 

“I don’t think we should,” Natasha says, motioning towards Tony and herself. “He’s mad at us. And… rightfully so.” She exchanges a glance with Tony, whose lips are pressed in a thin line. It’s clear they didn’t give enough thought to their whole plan. 

“You’ll be fine, though,” Tony says with unfounded conviction. Nat places a hand on your shoulder and grips it reassuringly. You take a deep breath and come to a decision, walking down the hall and towards the elevator doors. 

Moments later, you’re walking out of the lift and down the dim hallway leading to Bruce’s bedroom. He’s entirely alone on this floor of the tower. You pause in front of his door for a few seconds, wondering if you should walk away. But you can’t. Instead, you knock on the door four times. “Bruce?” You ask. Despite the clear sturdiness of the door, he’s able to hear you. 

“Go away.” Bruce responds. His voice is a little muffled, and you have to strain to hear him. 

You’re hurt for the briefest of moments. Then you shelf the feeling and resolve yourself to tackling it later. “I’m coming in,” you announce, placing your hand against the scanner at the edge of the doorway. The scanner flashes green and the door slides open, revealing Bruce’s bedroom. You’ve never been here before. It’s modestly decorated, with mostly monotone shades. Nothing particularly strikes you, save for the giant desk in the corner of the room. Papers litter the entire surface of the desk, and a few are covered by Bruce’s arms. 

The man doesn’t look up as you approach. “I don’t want to see you,” Bruce says. His back is turned and you’re unable to see his expression. 

“I don’t care,” you respond, taking a few steps into the space until you’re a short (yet seemingly insurmountable) distance from Bruce. He’s sitting at his desk, rubbing his hands over his eyes roughly. It doesn’t take long for you to remember your guilt. “Bruce, I don’t want you to torture yourself over this.” Maybe you shouldn’t have interfered in the first place. 

“I could’ve caused you irreversible harm,” Bruce says. It’s almost a practiced recitation at this point, and you have to wonder if he truly believes that—or if he’s just been conditioned by everyone around him to believe he is only capable of inflicting pain. 

“You didn’t,” you maintain, for what feels like the thousandth time. Bruce is so caught up in the hypotheticals that he refuses to see the success right in front of him: the fact that he didn’t so much as lay a finger on you. 

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Bruce says with a shake of his head. He pushes himself out of his chair and gets to his feet, turning around to face you. Your eyes widen as you notice the torn expression on his face, the dark circles under his eyes, and the determination written in every line of his form. “My eyes locked onto you and, for a split second, I envisioned harming you. Deliberately.” The confession clings to the air like a vice. 

“But you didn’t act on that impulse,” you assert. “You suppressed it.” 

“So?” Bruce argues. “I still had the urge. You should be disgusted, afraid-” 

“I’m not afraid of you, Bruce,” you interrupt. The statement lingers heavily in the air between the two of you. For a long moment, there’s nothing but the faint hum you’ve grown to associate with the Tower itself.  

“You should be,” Bruce then mutters. And suddenly he’s standing in front of you, staring at you with a dark gaze. His fists are clenched at his sides and you see his skin flicker with shades of green, before it returns to normal. The man maneuvers you to the side and shoves you, until you’re hitting the wall behind you. Bruce’s hands move up to your shirt collar and he clenches at it, his fingers almost spasming as he tightens his grip. You just stare at him. “I could ruin you.” He murmurs, so quietly that you have to strain to hear it. 

You want to argue with him so badly, but that strategy hasn’t been working so far. For some reason, Bruce has convinced himself that he not only has the capacity to hurt you, but that he wants to. You know that can’t be true, but how can you convince him? If he thinks he can ruin you… “Then do it,” you challenge him. He meets your eyes once more and you stare back unflinchingly, trying to convey how much you trust him. 

If you thought the tension was suffocating before, it’s practically ripping the breath from your lungs now. Everything around you seems to fade into obscurity. All you can see is Bruce; all you can feel is Bruce. His fingers twitch and his grip falls from your collar. For an awful moment, you think he’s going to walk away—turn his back on you as he has done so many times before. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans closer. If he’s trying to get you to back down, then it isn’t working. 

At first, you want to think that Bruce is testing you. But the way he’s regarding you right now—with glittering desire in his eyes—makes you think otherwise. His hands move from the wall to your shoulders, back to the nape of your neck, until he gently tugs you forward. It’s hardly a strong pull, and you understand the choice he’s giving you. 

But, you think fondly, there was never much of a choice. From the moment you locked eyes with him, you knew he would dominate your thoughts. And indeed, he has. You think about the hard-won look of approval in his eyes when you make an astute observation; the way he almost frantically looks across the battlefield, his posture instantly relaxing once he sees you; the contradictions written all over his skin; the rare smiles you felt privileged to see. 

You lean forward and press your lips to his. Bruce is quick to reciprocate, his hands lingering at the nape of your neck before slipping down to your waist. You lock your arms around his shoulders, practically trapping him in your embrace. But from the strength of his grip, you can ascertain that the gesture is more than welcome. 

Later, when you break apart, Bruce has a disbelieving expression on his face. He looks slightly dazed, as if suspicious of the reality he now finds himself in. You grasp his wrist gently. 

“You can’t get rid of me, Bruce,” You murmur insistently, “...no matter how hard you try.”

He stares at you for another long moment. “And I have tried,” Bruce admits through a dry huff. You want to be offended by the comment, but you know it’s true. Bruce is stupidly self-sacrificing—he purposefully keeps his distance from people to protect them. But the reality of the situation is that people will come to harm regardless of his presence. “But you’re too stubborn.” That statement is spoken with a significant amount of fondness, and his hand comes up to cradle your cheek. You bring your hand up to rest on top of his. 

“I’ll always be here, even when you don’t want me to be.” You promise. And maybe that promise isn’t yours to make, because one can never truly predict what will come next. But somehow, deep down, you know it to be true. 

Bruce brings you close once more, an uncharacteristic note of boldness in the fluid movement. When you step back moments later, you find that he has a hint of a smile on his face. “I know,” Bruce says, the traces of apprehension on his face breaking and cracking to reveal a rare sight: unrestrained affection.

thanks for reading! <3

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friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

#defectivevillain #marvel #mcu #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #marvel x gn reader #gn reader #transmasc reader #male reader #Bruce Banner x reader #Bruce Banner x gn reader #Bruce Banner x male reader #yall get the idea #wanna cover all the bases

[lesfir]

I start thinking when a post starts with “I don't understand why people, do say that” and then “you have to admit, accept”. Does the author of the post really want to understand other people's experiences and why they feel that way? No. Astarion talks the whole game about power and how important it is to have it in the world. Where you can be made a slave, killed - yes, important. The other thing is that Astarion is prone to brutal power, evil power. Uh, no, I don't care or his first approval wouldn't have amused me, it would have frightened me. He was always like that. Astarion gave harsh sentences, he didn't believe in mercy, he wasn't even fair, a magistrate doesn't get killed for nothing, he considered “trouble makers” to be barbarians. It's in the game. His slavery, Cazador reinforced this already cynical picture of the world. Honestly, had his living heart been gentle and kind, before or when he met Tav? A narcissistic, handsome, noble magistrate with the power, High Elf from the Upper City of Baldur's Gate. It's a shame, but there are evil, immoral characters.

Drugs and walking again like you used to are different things. The ritual frees from the downside of vampirism:

Sunshine, complete freedom of movement.

Free from the torment of hunger.

Once again the heart that was taken from him is alive, all sensations and feelings are available.

These are objective, reasonable goods.

The price is diabolical, immoral, selfish - Evil ending. What's best for Astarion is a matter of debate. I think both are valid, the other simply makes him a better person morally. We can pretend Astarion is driven by trauma and fear - only it's no thoughts, no judgment, there's nothing that makes cynical sense, nothing. Just a traumatized Nightstar princess who needs to be shown the way of the light and heal. And if you don't, the princess becomes a pumpkin. I personally don't believe that the “cycle of violence and terror” as written in the game, in the world of Faerûn can be broken. I don't intend to, I don't see it in Astarion either. Spawn with 7k, kill a couple of dwarves, there'll be revenge. Spawn will be ordered to kill the not “right person” to make him a scapegoat - massacre.

Honestly, narcissist, manipulative, with huge trauma from slavery, power-hungry, thinks power is fun, bloodthirsty, cynical.

The measuring stick of what is toxic, abusive and controlling relationships clearly already transitioning to reality and to real morality only begins to attach to Astarion after the Ascension. Because if it worked initially, Astarion can't be touched, he's dangerous. To heal such a man is a danger and a fairy tale. No one cares. But the chains and the tragedy of AA's abusive behavior, that's what it's all about. A tale of the healing of a manipulative vampire narcissist and the tragedy of fucked up, that's the way it should be. ... UA will go crazy with missed opportunities when his arm gets cut off in battle and killed Tav. As he already tried in the game, unlike AA without consent.

And now for the romance. The juiciest part. If that's the reason why this one is so bad, a tragic ending that everyone should accept and cry over.

I think the answer is this. Summation of the Ending and Epilogue. Tav who doesn't like this romance and feels herself in the clutches of a monster - 3 lines. Tav who enjoys\okay the decadence with Astarion - 10 lines.

Player: Let's see everything, now I'm free of my Father! I want to travel the world. REALLY_DARK_URGE Player: I want to see the world, with you at my side. ORI_Astarion_State_GoingToTravel Player: I want to live forever. Make me a vampire. ORI_Astarion_Event_TurnIntoSpawn = False Player: I want to sit on your lap, sipping blood from a chalice, ruling the Gate from our foul throne. REALLY_DARK_URGE Player: We'll start with Baldur's Gate - Let's make this city ours. ORI_Astarion_State_TakeBaldursGateTogether Player: Let's put our enemies to the sword! ORI_Astarion_State_BloodyStruggle

They look like lines for Evil Win and they are.

Player: True. We are spectacular, after all. Player: It is wonderful. I'm glad I get to share this with you. Player: None would dare, my love. Player: I'm sorry I kind of disappeared. I didn't mean to leave you like that.

And the lines for Original Karlach are OзО..

It's fantasy man, if you're looking for tragedy you'll find it everywhere, don't stop others from playing the fairy tale that you're playing, too. Enjoy your catharsis, don't touch the other catharsis. ta-ta line of ascended, spawn and pre-ritual mixed together

#ascended astarion #lord astarion

[hwanchaesong]

☞🍹Seventh Drink: Beyond the journey of espresso to dry martini, the only thing that he manages to remember is his baby. 🍸

🎧: The Weeknd - Blinding Lights

wc: 651

genre & warnings: angst, fluff, comfort, singer!jisung, bar setting, drinking, implied friends to lovers, etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The After Hours Bar series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

"Don't you think you're overstaying your visit?"

Jisung tilted his head to look for the source of the voice, spotting you beside him, sitting in the bar while you motioned the barista to give you a drink as well.

"I work here." he chuckles, answering your question and relaxing in his seat more, "What brings you here?"

Interrogation is necessary for you, considering that you are not one to go to bars. You usually stay at your house, enjoying ramyeon and rewatching your favorite movie.

You hummed, sipping on the alcoholic drink that the barista concocted before cringing at the bitter taste, "I am here for you."

He points at himself, "Me? Why is that? And why are you being weird?"

You gave your friend a side eye, slightly offended by his words, "First, I am not weird. I am completely normal. Second, you are the one being weird because see, your gig just finished but here you are..."

Your sentence trailed off, not wanting to continue it but he understands.

He'd usually go back to his own flat after a performance at the bar, but this time, he stayed for a drink. Which for you, his neighbor slash friend, is unusual.

So you went on a journey, despite clubs not being your thing, to check up on him.

It was safe to say that you were worried about him. You are well aware that you might have overstepped his boundaries but you really couldn't care, his welfare comes first.

"Can't I loosen up a bit?" he smirks at you, then his mood suddenly turns gloomy, "It's blurry."

He admits and you listen intently as he attempts to open up to you.

"I don't understand what is happening, actually." his eyes are downcast, slowly swirling the glass of tequila on the wooden table, "You know how much I love performing, right?"

"Yes, why?"

He laughs without any humor, and your concern rises when he blurts out his next words.

"I feel like I can't do it anymore. Like.. I am slowly losing my passion for it and I don't know what to do."

Your eyes widened, not expecting his confession because this man loves singing. Maybe he's confused? Or what he said a few minutes ago, he's tired and he needs to rest?

Surely, he must be mistaken because this, this city that he chose is his lifeline.

The way he talked about it made you realize that achieving your dreams in life is possible if you worked hard for it, just like he did.

He basically fought his parents for this, going against their wishes for him to become a doctor— and if you're going to be honest, his zeal for singing made you love him the way he is.

"Jisung I-" you stopped yourself, is it really worth it?

You urged yourself to do it, if no one else will push him, then you will take it upon yourself to do it.

You left your seat in lieu of extending your hand in front of him to take, and you gulped your nervousness.

"Listen, Jisung. I am not well versed when it comes to things like this but," you bit your lower lip, bashfully meeting his curious gaze, "let's go back to my apartment and think of ways on how to motivate you."

He raised an eyebrow, not moving an inch until you groaned in exasperation, grasping his hand in yours.

"Come on! If you lose interest in this then.. I'd miss those moments where you sing to me the new songs that you're composing."

It is now Jisung's turn to be surprised.

Amidst the neon lighting of the bar, illuminating the place and promptly blinding the eyes of people who dare to look straight into it, Jisung thinks that he's already seen the brightest glow of all.

But strangely enough, he can clearly see how gorgeous she is.

taglist:

@sunghoonsgfreal @yeosayang @mystverse @shakalakaboomboo

#nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream smut #nct dream scenarios #nct dream x reader #nct dream reactions #nct dream drabbles #nct dream fanfic #nct dream hard hours #nct dream hard thoughts #park jisung imagines #park jisung fluff #park jisung smut #jisung imagines #jisung fluff #jisung angst #jisung smut #jisung x reader #jisung scenarios #jisung hard thoughts #jisung hard hours #jisung fanfic #mark imagines #renjun imagines #jeno imagines #haechan imagines #jaemin imagines #chenle imagines

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Growth Can Suck

Summary: No One Knows AU, Valerie and Danny have an important talk.

...

Valerie feels a lot better now that Danny’s actually told her what’s going on.  She doesn’t want to push him, but keeping it in was clearly getting to be too much, and now she actually knows that talking about Phantom with him isn’t a good idea, and she knows to stop.

And she wasn’t kidding about reevaluating her stance on Phantom.  She’s been angrier at him than any other ghost for a long time, and that might not be fair.  She gets to school a little early the next day to do some research in the library, and according to the news reports she finds, Phantom is responsible for less injuries and less property damage than any other ghost.  There are plenty of trustworthy sources talking about times he’s saved people, too.  She does need to do some rethinking of things, it would seem.

But she’s going to leave Danny out of it.  He doesn’t need more of that from her, and he’s asked her not to.

And he does seem a little bit better in the following days.  He smiles more, even if they’re smaller.  And he seems less tense than he had been lately.  (Valerie still can’t believe he thought she wouldn’t notice.)

Friday morning, however, he’s tense again.  When she picks him up to fly them both to school he’s quiet, and she can tell from the look on his face that he’s thinking about something.

“Hey, you okay?” she asks as they land a little ways away from the school.  “You’re quiet today.”

Danny looks at her, and instead of answering her question, says, “Can we leave school for lunch?  I need to talk to you about something important.”

Valerie nods.  “Sure,” she says.  “Meet me out here when lunch starts?”

Danny smiles just a little and nods in agreement.

Valerie tries to spend the rest of the morning feeling good about the fact that he wants to talk to her instead of keeping it in, but he looked nervous, and she couldn’t tell what was bothering him this time.

She does manage to put her mind off of it for a bit, however, when she’s approached out of nowhere by Sam and Tucker in between one of her classes.

“Hey Valerie,” Sam says, pushing herself up in Valerie’s face.  “Can we talk to you for a second?”

Valerie glances between Sam, who is clearly the one who had this idea, and Tucker, who’s staring at the ground.

Valerie gives it a moment of consideration, glances between them both one more time, and says, “No.”  Then she closes her locker and starts down the hallway.

“Wh- hey!” Sam calls after her.  “It’s important!”

“I know all about what you consider important,” Valerie says, turning around and walking just closely enough so that no one else in the hallway has to hear.  “And I’m not in the mood to talk about it today.  See you around.  Or not.”

And with that, she turns and walks away, and this time ignores Sam calling after her.

What could they possibly have to talk to her about, anyway?  Have they just finally noticed Danny doesn’t want to spend time with them anymore, and they think she’s the reason why?

Well, either way, Valerie’s not giving them the time of day.  They don’t have any chance of good faith with her anymore.

Lunch seems to take forever to get there, especially since she knows something’s going to happen during it, but it arrives eventually.  She heads out to their meeting spot, not finding it nearly as difficult to dodge all the teachers as it would have been before she started ghost hunting.  Danny’s already waiting there when she arrives.

“Hey, she says, pulling out her suit.  “You ready?”

Danny pulls out his bandana and nods.

They end up on top of a building, one far enough away from downtown that they won’t be noticed for sitting there, but close enough to the school that they can get back in time.

As soon as they get there, Danny hops off the board and starts pacing back and forth on the roof, instantly banishing any doubt about whether or not he’s nervous about this.

Valerie puts her board away and doesn’t say anything, opting to stand there.  She trusts he’ll tell her eventually, he just looks like he needs some time to psyche himself up first.

Finally, he takes a deep breath and turns to face her.  “Okay,” he says, “so.”

“So?” Valerie says.

“I need to tell you something really important.”

“At this point I got that.”

Danny takes a deep breath, and then sits down, right in the middle of the roof.  Valerie raises an eyebrow, but does the same, sitting across from him.

Danny grabs the straps of his backpack and clenches his fists until the knuckles turn white.  “So I’ve kinda been lying to you,” he says.

Valerie nods.  “Okay,” she says, trying not to attach a judgment to that yet.

“I didn’t want to tell you this because… well, the reason will be obvious.  I mean at first, I didn’t want to tell you because I knew there’d be bad blood, even though I didn’t know the other stuff yet.  And then once I found that out, it was kinda… well, that’s the obvious part.”

“Danny?” Valerie says.  “You know you’re not making any sense, right?”

“I know, I know.  Okay, just— there’s no easy way to put this.  I’m Phantom.”

He looks at her like he expects a huge reaction.  Valerie blinks.

“Danny, that’s not very funny,” she says, not sure what else to say.

“Trust me, I know.”

“Then why are you saying it?”

“Because it’s true,” Danny says, squeezing his backpack straps tighter.

“What are you— that’s not possible, Danny,” Valerie says, even though there’s a pinch of something in her chest that’s starting to react now.

Danny bites his lip, and takes his bag off and sets it down.  Then, before Valerie can ask what he’s doing, a sudden white ring appears around his waist, and travels up to his head, until—

Valerie pushes herself back in a scramble, trying to make the person in front of her— ghost in front of her— Danny in front of her— process.

“You,” she says weakly.  She has a slightly hysterical moment when she almost goes for her ghost weapons, but the look of anxiety on Phantom’s face stops her in her tracks.

The same white ring appears around Phantom’s waist, and after a second, he’s gone, and Danny’s standing there again.

“I kind of accidentally opened my parents’ portal on top of myself,” he says.  “And it… killed me.  Sort of.”

Valerie presses a hand over her mouth.  “I think I’m gonna be sick,” she whispers.

“Please don’t do that,” Danny says.  “It’s okay.”

Valerie stares at him.  “Well obviously it’s not okay, Danny,” she says, slightly hysterical again.

Danny winces.  “Yeah, it’s really not,” he mutters.

Valerie presses a hand to her forehead and tries to take a deep breath.  She can’t think of a single thing right now that could have worse implications than Danny is Phantom.

And then Danny says, “I just, I decided I wanted to tell you after we left the protest the other day.”

Valerie looks up at him, eyes wide.  “The— holy shit, Danny, why were you there?”

Danny looks down at his feet.  “I told you,” he says, “I was helping Sam out.”

Yeah, Valerie is definitely going to be sick.

“You were right,” Danny continues quietly.  “I wasn’t being fair to you by keeping everything from you.  And, I know this isn’t what you meant, but it’s still true.”

“You weren’t being fair to me?” Valerie asks.

Danny nods, and looks up at her.  “Yeah,” he says.  “I can’t be mad at you for hunting me when you didn’t know.”

“Yes you can!”

“…Yeah, okay, I can,” Danny admits.  “But I’m not.”

Valerie shakes her head in astonishment.  “Why?”

“Well, I really did need to tell you, for one,” Danny says, looking away.  “That’s part of it.  And I think the other part of it… I really need to stop letting people hurt me.  Because I do.  Let them.”

He takes a deep breath, and turns to face Valerie again.  “I’m sorry if I’m piling on,” he says.  “But I think we need to break up.”

And Valerie does feel a little faint, learning so many awful things all at once.  But she can’t be mad at him for wanting to get away from her.

God, she really can’t.

“I know ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ is like, a thing people say to be shitty,” Danny continues.  “But I really do mean it.  I need to learn how to be Phantom without being surrounded by people who hate me.  And that’s… I need to do that.”

Valerie nods.  “Okay,” she whispers.

“Please don’t beat yourself up over this,” Danny says.  “Some of it is on me.”

“Not all of it,” Valerie says.  “Not most of it.”

Danny shrugs.  “Agree to disagree, then.  But I’ll be okay.  And I want to figure something out with you eventually.  I… want you in my life, in some way.”  He looks down, his cheeks turning a little pink.  “I like you a lot.”

“I like you a lot too,” Valerie whispers through the guilt swirling around in her chest.

Danny smiles up at her, not an ounce of anger in it, which she doesn’t understand.

“Hey,” he says.  “I really do want to thank you.  Being with you… it was really, really good.  For the most part.”

Valerie laughs a little, still slightly hysteric.  “Yeah.”

Danny reaches out a hand to her, and Valerie takes it.  Danny pulls them both to their feet, and gives her one last sad smile.  Then he leans forward and kisses her cheek.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he says.  “Really.”

Then he turns, transforms into the ghost Valerie’s been hunting for months, and flies away.

…

Valerie’s dad is the first one who notices something is wrong, that night while eating dinner.

“Valerie,” he says, pausing Scalpels and Secrets.  “What’s wrong?  You’ve barely said a word to me all night, and you haven’t yelled at Stacy once.”

“It’s nothing, Dad,” Valerie says.  “I… it’s nothing.”

“Valerie, I know you’re not trying to lie to me right now.  Especially because you’re doing such a terrible job of it.”

Valerie laughs a little, and goes quiet again.  Dad doesn’t start the show again, though, meaning he’s waiting for her to say something.

“Danny and I broke up,” Valerie ends up on.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dad says.  He sets his food aside.  “Come here.”

Valerie sets her own food aside and all but throws herself into her father’s arms.  Her dad pulls her close and rubs circles on her back.

“I’m so sorry, Valerie,” he says.

“No, Dad, I— you don’t understand,” Valerie says.  She pulls back and wipes at her eyes.  “I didn’t— I hurt him.  I hurt him so bad.”

“Sometimes that happens, sweetheart,” Dad says.  “It’s part of growing up.  You make mistakes, and you learn from them.”

“No, Dad,” Valerie says, pushing herself back to standing, and starts pacing across the room.  “You don’t understand.  He— I didn’t— I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“I would be surprised if you did, Valerie,” Dad says.  “Most good people don’t want to hurt other people.”

“I’m not that,” Valerie says.  “I’m not a good person.”

“Valerie, don’t be silly.”

“I’m not,” Valerie insists.  “You don’t understand, you don’t understand what I did, I—” she stops, and sits down in the middle of the living room floor.

“Valerie,” Dad says gently.  “I’m gonna tell you something that really sucks, okay?”

Valerie blinks tearfully up at him.

“Sometimes, when you’re learning and growing, you hurt people.  And sometimes it’s bad.  It doesn’t mean you meant to, and it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.  What’s important is how you react after you realize you’ve hurt someone.”

Valerie wipes her eyes and sniffs.

After Danny had messed up, he’d befriended her and spent time with her and, eventually, told her everything, knowing it might go catastrophically badly.

Danny had broken up with her and asked for space, so befriending him again probably isn’t an option— at least, not yet.  And he already knows all of her secrets.

Valerie raises her gaze and finds her dad smiling gently down at her.

“I promise you, sweetheart,” he says.  “You’re not a bad person.  You’re growing up.”

Valerie wipes her eyes again.  “Dad,” she says.  “I… I need to tell you something.  About the Red Huntress.”

…

At the end of it all, her dad is sitting in their recliner, looking like she’s taken ten years off his life.

“Alright,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.  “I’ll admit, I’m not thrilled to hear most of that.”

Valerie doesn’t say anything, knowing he’s not done.

“I don’t like knowing that you’ve been putting yourself in danger on purpose and not telling me,” he continues.  “And I especially don’t like knowing that you’re spending time with this Vlad person.  It doesn’t sound like he cares that you’re putting yourself in danger all the time.”

“I don’t know that he does,” Valerie mutters.  “I think I’m done with him.”

“Good,” Dad says.  “He doesn’t sound like a good person to be around.”

Valerie nods.  She’s seen enough evidence of that at this point.  She wonders, for the first time, how Thing 1 and Thing 2 got involved with him.  Maybe she should try talking to them.

“But,” Dad says, and Valerie looks up at him again.

“I’m proud of how you’ve grown,” he says with a smile.  “You’ve recognized your mistakes and you want to change them.  And I’m so proud of how you’ve been trying to help and protect people.  Every parent wants their child to be a good person like that.  I’ll admit I’d prefer if you did it back on the ground—”

Valerie laughs a little.

“But I like your instincts, and I love where your heart is.  I love you very much, Valerie.”

Valerie blinks a couple times, and stands up to wrap her arms around her dad.  “I love you too, Dad,” she says.

They both stay there for a minute, and then Dad pulls back.

“Will you give me some time to adjust to this?” he asks.  “And let me help you how I can?”

Valerie nods.

“Okay.  Then I won’t take away your ghost weapons.  If you really mean it about telling Vlad you’re done and taking a break.”

“I do,” Valerie says.  “I need to take some time to think about things.  And— I think I’m leaving things in good hands, with Phantom.”

Though the idea of leaving Danny to deal with everything alone isn’t one she likes.  She’ll give him a week off when she comes back to make up for it.

“I think you are too,” Dad says.  “If everything you’ve said about him is right.”

He has a look in his eyes, one that says he’s probably figured out the one part she didn’t tell him— Danny didn’t give her permission, after all.  And since he still hasn’t, she replies with, “It is.”

And it’s true.  She trusts Danny, after all.

“Alright,” Dad says with a nod.  “Well— okay then.”

Valerie laughs a little.  “You okay there?”

“I’m definitely going to need a bit to get used to this,” Dad says, and Valerie laughs again.

“Thanks for not freaking out too much though,” she says.

“Hey, it could just be a delayed reaction, we’ll see how it goes.”

Valerie grins at him.  “Well, then how about we watch some TV as a stress reliever,” she says.  “And can we start it over?  I want to yell at Stacy with proper context.”

“You got it, sweetheart,” Dad says with a smile.  And, after he rewinds the episode, he climbs out of the chair and sits down on the floor next to Valerie and wraps an arm around her shoulders to give her a squeeze.  Valerie hugs him back, and they watch the episode while hugging each other.

#danny phantom #valerie gray #danny fenton #damon gray #gray ghost #no one knows au #my fic

[deobienthusiast]

drunk on woo | ksw.

• pairing: kim sunwoo x gn!reader

• word count: 1k words

• genre: non idol!sunwoo, suggestive, there isn’t really fluff, but there also isn’t really angst. it’s just, suggestive

you meet the perfect stranger on accident in a club, and now you keep coming back for more as he leaves you feeling more intoxicated than alcohol ever could

warnings: mature themes, no actual description of a sex scene, but there is call backs to sex, im hesitant to say 16+, probably would say 18+ just to be safe. i wouldn’t consider this something a minor should probably interact with so mdni (pls), mentions of alcohol

notes: i welcome you to the most spicy thing ive written. not sure if ill get more spicy or if ill fizzle out but this has been on my mind for a while and i needed to put it into words. so enjoy. this wasn’t proofread btw i just sent it to sana (@sanaxo-o) so she could be surprised😏😉

the barstool you occupied pulsated from the loud music pumping through the speakers. the drink you were holding shook slightly, leaking onto the sides of the cup from the bartender overfilling it. you weren’t worried about that, though. you already had a few drinks, a form of liquid courage if you will. this wasn’t a regular scene for you. you weren’t the party and drinking type, however you were drawn here for one reason and one reason only. kim sunwoo.

you knew he frequented this club, and he came here on fridays. after meeting on accident due to your friends dragging you here out of pity, you two met. he was enamored with your quiet and shy demeanor. he thought you were breathtaking. and honestly, you thought the same thing about him. his hair was jet black, shiny, and curly. it fell in front of his dark, boba-like eyes and had a bounce to it every time he moved. what really drew you in were his lips. full and pink, constantly being pulled between his teeth and licked by his tongue. you two danced together the whole night before he inevitably dragged you away from your friends, taking you back to his place.

he showered you in lust-filled kisses and filthy words hidden inside the sweetness of his voice. his lips, the same ones that drew you in, brought you over the edge repeatedly. whether it was through his words, or the skilled way he buried himself between your legs. you were a goner before he was even inside of you. the night went by quickly. when he dropped you off at your friend’s place the next morning, you were left wanting more. you never got a phone number, and you were desperate. you slept with other men after him, but it wasn’t the same. it didn’t feel the same. you craved him in ways that other men or your own toys couldn’t satisfy.

hence how you ended up back in the club, this time accompanied by no one. you needed another night (or more) with sunwoo. you told yourself it would be just to get him out of your head. deep down, you knew that wasn’t the truth, but you would cross that bridge when you got there. the lights were low, black lights decorating the walls, casting a purple haze across the crowd of sweaty bodies lumped together on the dance floor.

despite the amount of people in the building, it wasn’t hard for you to find sunwoo. the way he moved through the crowd, the way he danced, the way he moved his hips, was all subjective to him. he stood out, in a good way that is. his hair still black and shiny, but the black light was picking up a light color, turning the strands a bright purple color.

he put in highlights.

you remembered the silky smoothness of his hair between your fingertips. the way his hair bunched up between your fingers as you pulled on it. he loved it. he told you to pull harder.

you grabbed the drink on the counter and downed it, pushing yourself off the barstool. the liquid courage had you feeling bold, but who knew how long it would last, especially around him. you made your way through the crowd, bumping into people who didn’t bother to say anything, because they were too busy dancing offbeat to the club music. he had his back to you, keeping his distance as he danced with a girl and her friends. when you were just a foot away from him, you tapped his shoulder. the tap was enough to alert sunwoo as he turned.

his eyes widened as a smirk made its way to his face. his full lips pulled up slightly revealing his pearly white teeth that glowed under the black lights. with how close you were now, you could see hints of blonde in his hair, the light color attracting the black light. sunwoo wasted no time in grabbing your waist with his large hands, the same way he did in his bed, holding your waist in place as he spoke above your high pitched whines. if you keep moving, i’ll punish you.

the words echoed in your head, making you shudder as he pulled you into him, turning you around just before you make contact so your back is pressed against him. he moved your hips in time with his, feeling him move one hand to completely circle your waist, while the other moved up to tilt your head to the side. the music made everything he did more intense, before you felt his plush lips plant themselves on the exposed skin of your neck. you gasped.

i missed you.

his words muffled against your neck, just barely being loud enough for you to hear. you swallowed hard, feeling your throat go dry. he continued peppering kisses on your neck before he found a particular spot he was fond of, sinking his teeth lightly into your skin. you whimpered at the feeling of his tongue gliding back and forth on the mark he just left on you.

i missed those pretty sounds. couldn’t stop thinking about how good you were, how sweet you tasted.

you felt yourself heat up at the thought of living rent free in the kim sunwoo’s mind. his thoughts poured out of him, letting you know he hadn’t taken anyone else since your night together, getting himself off to the thought of you and your pretty sounds as he put it. he was slowly driving you crazy, making you dizzy at the touch. he knew the effect he had on you. spinning in his arms, he lifted his head quickly before you pulled him into a deep, yet messy kiss. teeth clashing, tongues colliding, and groans being shared. all of it being laid out in the vicinity of the club without a care in the world other than getting lost in each other.

when he pulled away, you whimpered, feeling yourself rub your thighs together at how worked up you were. sunwoo chuckled as he laced his fingers with yours, pulling you through the crowded dance floor to the exit.

don’t worry baby. gonna take good care of you.

#deoboyznet #k-vanity #k-labels #wkcnet #the boyz #the boyz smut #kim sunwoo #kim sunwoo imagines #kim sunwoo smut #tbz sunwoo #tbz #tbz imagines #tbz smut #the boyz sunwoo #sunwoo x reader #the boyz x reader #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #tbz scenarios

[windandwater]

one thing about nyc parents is they will give parenting lessons on the train. it's always really funny & endearing to me. sitting there overhearing a life lesson gently conveyed by a mom or dad underneath my podcast.

#'you need to consider other people's feelings before you say things' #'it's part of growing up' #actually ma'am can you come give this talk to people I know #'no that is not rude that is standing up for yourself' #adventures in text posts #new york city #we're covering being kind while also being direct this is college level for some people

[uncanny-tranny]

Hi, I have a question I hope it's okay to ask here. I'm a ciswoman dating a transgender man. I know that there are a few things that he finds still difficult about being trans (but I don't know everything yet as we've only been dating for a few months). Lately I've noticed him saying some things that make me wonder whether maybe he wants some confirmation that I really see him as a man. Of course I want to do this for him, but I'm not entirely sure how. Do you have any tips?

I think so much of it boils down to being compassionate and direct. There's so much pressure on people in relationships to just "know" through divine interpretation of how to best love their partner, and there is almost no thought given about the idea of offering love being a continuous conversation.

I'm not sure what will "work" best for your partner to show that you see him and not a warped perception, so I really think asking questions about where he is at might be more beneficial, since you'll be hearing direct feedback. I know it can be hard to navigate through something you're unfamiliar with right now, so that makes it even more important that you navigate through it with the person in question.

Trans manhood looks different for... literally all of us, which is why I don't have a direct answer for how you can help your partner feel loved and seen as a man. Since it looks different for each of us, the things that affirm us and help us will all look different, as well as the things that make us feel less understood and hurt.

#ask #anon #trans #transgender #lgbt #lgbtq #ftm #nonbinary #a relationship is basically a continuous conversation starting with 'how can i best love you?' #once you start lessening the pressure of Being A Perfect Partner All The Time you might notice that these conversations become easier #because you won't feel like you've failed at understanding or loving your partner. you will start realizing that both of you are people #and that people are complex and nuanced and our needs and desires fluctuate #it can be hard at times to navigate through relationships where two people have different experiences (trans vs. cis for instance) #but those different experiences can easily shape your understanding because you have to consider more viewpoints #i definitely appreciate seeing people coming to trans people to ask questions like these... #...but we are ALL different. if you met one trans person you have only met one of us... #...and your partner *might* be OVER THE MOON if you show that you are willing to make an effort and take notice of these things... #...because many of us have had bad experiences before and it can make you feel like what you are and how you feel just Doesn't matter... #...while i won't speak for him (your partner) i will say that he deserves to also know where you are and how both of you are doing... #...because you BOTH are in the relationship and both deserve to be with *each other* and learn *from each other* #i think that's what so many human relationships come down to (romance or no) #THAT is what makes a relationship beautiful... not this idealized 'ooh i can divine from the stars how they feel' #or like the idea of just 'knowing' how to love somebody and fulfill them. that is only a fantasy we tell ourselves...

[cypheragent]

i complain a lot about people on here not knowing anything about natives which would be sort of whatever and like on some level i can even understand it but where it becomes an issue to me is how people with little to no knowledge of natives and most issues we face decide to pretend they care every once in a blue moon and end up reinventing the noble savage stereotype in a performative attempt at "allyship"

#like at that point... just stop #that's why you need to know things before you Say things #and like the select issues your average uneducated non-native “ally” chooses to actually address are kind of. telling. #when considered in a vacuum #like sometimes they'll be real issues such as environmental topics #but when that's ALL someone engages in it quickly begins to feel like some weird noble savage oh the natives are so much more spiritual #and TAKE CARE OF THE LAND better than we do #this is obviously not to dismiss things like native land cultivation and environmental activism it's just... #again when it's coming from non-natives and the way they frame it and never engage with any other issues #don't even get me started on shit like thanksgiving though i'm sorry but the majority of us do NOT even care that much #if thanksgiving is the only time you have anything to say about natives i'm side-eyeing you HARD #this is not to dismiss any criticisms surrounding thanksgiving i swear it is not like obviously it's emblematic of certain stereotypes #and historical revisionism it's just that... i swear there are bigger issues #and it's kind of annoying to see people assume natives don't celebrate thanksgiving #and as if we're all so angry and sad on that day when really and truthfully most natives i know don't give that much of a shit #and do celebrate thanksgiving in their own way

[yooniesim]

Collective and final post should've just been an apology and a promise to do better. But I guess that's just too much to hope for.

#ceci speaks #nonsims #text #delete later #definitely shouldnt have had more lies and easily disproven claims in it tsk tsk #and continuing to insult the people triggered #shows absolutely 0 remorse not that i expected any better #you didnt say one damn thing you did wrong not one #you couldnt even admit or say sorry for ONE thing #i said sorry for my stupid ass meme reference joke which was dumb of me and was the only leg u had to stand on #which ur tryin to spin as me being anti asian with covid which is fucking stupid considering #i am asian too u stupid fuck and i had patients calling me corona and ch**nk and not wanting me to tend to them before they fucking died #i know about covid racism against us very fucking well #i dont need a statistic to tell me about it bc i was knee deep in ppe trying to get blood from ppl that blamed me for it existing #i watched people die from covid for three years straight i know it all fucking well #and yet i still apologized bc the joke was in poor taste and i feel bad it was misconstrued and hurt others #you cant even apologize to the people you hurt bc youre too focused on not being wrong about anything #you can delete the posts if u wanna theyre already there #in screenshots #i tried to get you to stop for over a week and you wouldnt leave me alone #i refused to mention your name for days and you kept insulting me and mentioning me over and over again #and you had the nerve to call other ppl stalkers just because they shared ur cc in a cc finds channel #now you're trying to talk nice #or nice enough that someone might feel sorry for you after you showed your entire ass for a week #i dont feel sorry for you one bit #not after all the bullshit you said that youre trying to delete now that ppl found it #too late #eat shit #negative #im done for the night goodnight and sorry everyone

[dmclemblems]

I love all the comments Dimi makes (in canon and in Heroes!) about he likes to help farmers/the working class and how he could see himself being one of those people in another life. He’s a royal, he has riches, he can make all the laws if he wants to, he gets the last say in everything, he has loyal friends even! ...but he thinks about a life where he has less than that, or he doesn’t tell the commonfolk who he is so he can be around them and help them. If he doesn’t tell people he’s a king, he can mingle with whoever he wants and live the life of a commoner for a little while.

I feel like Dimi finds being born as a royal to be a little frustrating only because of all the things other people will do to him/his family and friends solely because of his status. He wants to be a king so he can guide and help his people, but it’s put such a burden on him and absolutely ruined his health both physical and mental because of what others have done to him.

What Dimi seems to really want is a regular life even as a king. He wants to be the kind who can help his people that will create their future the way they see fit for themselves, but he wants to live the same as them and be no different from them. Some people need a leader and they need someone who can make the hard decisions, but at the end of the day sometimes those people are just like everyone else and I think that’s his ideal life. He lives for other people and devotes himself to other people, but I think what he really wants is to be like anyone else and to be able to fit in with all those nice, helpful, supportive regular villagers who are happy and unburdened when they’re just living their lives in the fields and not being stressed by politics.

It’s sad because he seems to really want things for himself and he wants to be happy, but since he thinks he doesn’t deserve that (all because of things people did to him/his family and friends that weren’t even his fault), he forces himself to deal with not being truly happy most of the time. Instead, what he actually wants is a simple and humble life and to be like anyone else out there... 🥺 

#Dimitri #it feels a lot like Dimi feels like commoners are happier than people with money and power #you have some people like Ferdie and Lorenz who are perfectly fine with their lives as nobles #but Dimi seems to envy the commonfolk for being able to be happy while living so simply #he doesn't seem to like the fact that he can't just go to any random town and stop in the middle of the street to talk to the people there #he can't do that because he's a king even tho he wants to know what his people are doing #he wants to know how they live their lives but he's always in danger just by being alive bc he's a king #and I think he doesn't want that. I think he wants to be the leader for people who need one #but not the person who is at the head of everything. he wants to be a king bc he feels like his people need that #he's bound to his duty as a king but I think he's stuck between wanting to be a king for that reason #and wanting to just be as normal as the regular citizens. I think he really liked his time at the Academy bc of that #he wasn't a prince when he was there. he was just a person that walked by other people in the hallways #he lived in a small dorm room with a ton of other people on the same floor and didn't have bodyguards #he wasn't in a huge room with a huge bed surrounded by expensive things. it was extremely regular and normal #tbh he actually seemed pretty healthy there too before the whole Flame Emp reveal. if you consider Hopes' background info #to be the same canon as Houses for anything prior to Shez and Byleth as the starting points then Dimi was probably #a lot happier and healthier while there. he could go basically where he wanted and freely #Dimi no wanna sit there doing paperwork at a desk and signing things zzzzz he wanna walk around outside and sit by a lake #he wanna hear someone say hey dimitri! and not any number of formalities. make him feel not rich and fancy!!! he likey!!! #dimi bby just wants to be normal... 🥺 #DCB Comments