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plumeriafairy14 · 7 years

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One-Shot: “Faithful”

Whenever Lance fought with his boyfriend, Lotor, he would storm off and drive several miles south to visit his ex.

Inspired by an anonymous confession in my college's anonymous confession FB page.

A gift fic to buttplug of marmora (@taosalikod122) from Twitter

Pairings: Lancelot, Shance, a little Hunay

TW: Main character death, alcohol, toxic relationship

Fairy’s other Voltron drabbles: Pieces of the Sky

The peaceful concerto of birds was violently interrupted by the sound of dishes shattering on the floor. It was not the best way to begin the day but it was how Lance’s mornings had been starting the past year and a half.

“I keep telling you that there isn’t anyone!” Lotor yelled from across the room at Lance who stood his ground on the opposite side, his fists clenched and his breathing erratic. “I’m not cheating on you!”

“That was not your cologne, Lotor!” the other spat out in retaliation and he chucked his boyfriend’s dress shirt back at him. “And guess what? It wasn’t the one I gave you last Christmas either!”

“I bought some new cologne, so what?” Frustrated, Lotor raked his long fingers through his long platinum blonde hair that appeared almost white underneath the morning sun that flooded from the living room window.

“Did you buy new underwear too, huh?” Lance challenged and he took a bold step towards Lotor who, this time, gritted his teeth in anger. Tears streaked Lance’s face and his eyes were red and puffy from the lack of sleep he had last night. “Because the one I found in your travel bag sure wasn’t your fucking size nor do you have that brand!”

“Lance, it’s not---!”

“What’s that supposed to be? A sick souvenir of your escapades?!” Lance demanded and his voice cracked now. “You’re merrily fucking around while I sit here like an idiot duck waiting for you to come home?” Lance shook his head. “I don’t need to see your inbox, I know. Look me in the goddamn eyes and fucking tell me that I’m the only one.”

Lotor stood there, fuming, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I knew it.” Lance’s voice fell into a broken whisper. “I fucking knew it.” He paused and took a quivering breath; Lance had prepared for this and for the record, it didn’t really matter anymore and it’s been that way since the signs started popping up.

“I’ll come back for my stuff later.” Lance turned around and pushed past Lotor as he headed to the living room. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Lance, hold on!” Lotor pleaded and Lance rolled his eyes while he grabbed his keys from the ashtray beside the couch. Without looking back, Lance stormed out of the house and got into his car. When Lotor rushed out of the house and strode to his vehicle to knock on the driver’s window, Lance flipped him the middle finger then pulled out of the driveway. He didn’t even bother glancing at the rearview mirror at his dickbag of a boyfriend.

Lance swallowed the lump in his throat, ignored the vile in his mouth, blinked past the tears, and he just…drove.

The joke was actually on Lotor because whenever they fought to the point of toxic insanity, Lance always walked out to prevent the situation from getting worse and he would drive miles two cities south to see his ex-boyfriend.

But this time, Lance decided that what transpired will be the last fight he will ever have with Lotor. He couldn’t take it anymore and Lance knew that he deserved better because his ex didn’t love him unconditionally just so some shitfaced asshole can ruin him.

Unfortunately, he and Shiro never worked out but Lance still came to see him as much as he could.

Not being able to take the deafening silence of the car, Lance turned the radio on and the station was playing Katy Perry’s song, Thinking of You. Lance laughed bitterly; it fit his fucking situation so well but he didn’t say anything besides that.

Two hours of non-stop driving in the freeway, Lance took an exit to the city where Shiro was and just like always when Lance visited him, he brought flowers and a cold six pack from the local 7/11 for them to share. So Lance went to the first flower shop he found, got a small bouquet then found a store, brought the beer and in a heartbeat, he was on the road again.

When Lance arrived to his destination, he took the flowers and the beer and got out of the car. His sneakers crushed the freshly fallen autumn leaves that carpeted the ground as Lance made his way through a cobblestone path before he stepped off and walked on the spacious manicured field of Bermuda grass.

And just as always, Shiro was there, waiting for him.

“Hey, baby.” Lance smiled, his tears having dried already hours ago. “How are you?”

The black marble headstone did not give an answer but the cool breeze that blew made it clear that his greeting did not go unheard. Lance approached the grave and sat on the grass.

“Here, these are for you!” Lance said cheerfully while he laid the flowers on the base of the marble. Taking his time, he traced the tips of his fingers gently on the engraved silver letters that were a stark contrast against the black stone.

Takashi Shirogane

Sighing contently for being reunited after many long weeks, Lance pulled out a can of beer from the holder and cracked the top of the tin open.

“And I got your favorite too!” Lance placed the can beside the flowers before he opened another one for himself. “It’s actually the last on in the store; it was like it’s meant for us. Pretty cool, huh?”

Silence.

“Oh, Keith called me the other night.” Lance continued and he paused to take a drink from his beer. He closed his eyes as he savored the malty taste and the cool liquid soothed his parched throat that was scratchy from yelling at Lotor. “We went out with Pidge and Hunk to celebrate because Hunk’s finally a dad!” he chuckled. “Twins, babe. Twins. Sometimes, I think Shay is Wonder Woman in disguise.”

Still, more silence. Lance was the only one in that part of the cemetery that day which was something he was fine with because he’d be able to talk openly to Shiro as if he was there.

Well, Shiro really is there; he’s just never going to wake up again.

“I’m breaking up with Lotor. He cheated on me.” Lance pierced the silence and he placed his beer beside him. “God, what was I thinking? I’m such an idiot; I should’ve broken up with him the moment I noticed what he’s doing but I just… I don’t know, Shiro. I deserve someone better. You never treated me like that and I’m not about to let someone ruin me like this; not after all the love you’ve given me---“ his voice trailed off at the end and the sobs finally broke out.

“Fuck, Shiro, I miss you.” Lowering his head, Lance saw the image of the grass beneath him blur with the tears that fell. “I miss you, baby, I miss you so much. I’m sorry I let it get this far.”

No one was going to hold him, kiss him, make love to him, or love him the way Shiro had. And with that fact, Lance knew that Shiro would always be the missing part of him that he can never again have. Back then, Shiro had prepared him for the possibility that he might come home in a box wrapped with a flag.

And to Lance’s heartbreak, Shiro did.

“No one will ever match up to you, baby.” Lance said quietly. “But if I ever fall in love again somewhere along the way, I will make sure that they’ll be worth what you’ve made me realize about myself; that I, myself, am worth it.”

When Lance’s phone vibrated, he wiped his tears and calmed himself before he pulled out the device from his pocket to see that Pidge had sent a message asking where he was because Lotor called them and they were suspicious because his stories were inconsistent.

‘Douchebag Prince smells like a fucking liar, Lance. Did something happen? Come to my place.’

Lance ignored the text for that moment because the moment belonged to him and Shiro. The rest of the afternoon passed in comfortable silence with Lance consuming three cans of beer before leaving the other three popped open at the base of Shiro’s grave. It was just like old times with the two of them sharing everything: food, clothes, the bed, beer, laughter, sadness, smiles, tears, love…

The hardest part came when Lance knew that he had to go.

“The others are probably worried.” Lance said to Shiro. “I need to head back before Keith launches a search party for me.” He chuckled and gave a small but sad smile. “Your little brother’s doing great, babe. You don’t have to worry about him.”

Lance finally stood up and dusted himself off.

“I’m heading off now,” he said. “I’ll see you on Memorial Day, captain.” A pause and Lance felt his heart swell in the silence of the peaceful cemetery.

“I love you, Shiro.”

Those four words echoed deeply in him and he knew that a part of him will always remain faithful to Shiro just like how he would always love him. Blowing a kiss into the wind for his beloved, Lance walked off, got in the car, and drove off.

#Shance #one shot #voltron legendary defender #Fairy writes #Lance voltron #Shiro voltron #Lotor voltron #gift fic #FUCK IT HURT TO WRITE THIS AND I DONT EVEN SHIP THEM #WHY DO I LIKE SAD STUFF SO MUH #Shiro x lance

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sweetlavenderwritings · 4 years

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um hi! im your first i guess? im up for some angst and fluff rn mmm what about keigo with his girlfriend who got pregnant with his baby so she broke up with him to let him grow as his own person and as a hero then like years later, his ex girlfriend and his chile needed rescuing and met accidentally so like she doesn’t really have an excuse but to explain everything? fluff at the ending pleaze huhuhu ilyyyy :)

Back to His Nest

A/N: You are my first ask indeed! Thank you so much for sending a request, I really appreciate it <3 You didn’t specify what format you wanted so I made a one-shot if you don’t mind. Hope you like it :)

Pairing/s: hawks/takami keigo x reader

Word Count: 1, 762

Tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff, pregnancy, mentions of smut.

-ꦼ———▸ Part 2

⋅. ♪ .⋅ Loving Keigo Playlist

The test fell on the bathroom floor. You tried to breathe but you just couldn’t concentrate. Two lines… I can’t believe it.

How on earth were you going to tell Keigo? The number two hero, who’s been your boyfriend for the past two years, he surely doesn’t need someone tying him down. Knowing his situation with the Hero Public Commission, you were pretty sure they weren’t going to like it either, unless they take interest in the child’s quirk…

NO! You jolted upwards, sudden realization dawning over you as you pondered on what your options are. There was no way you were going to let them take advantage of the baby like what they did to Keigo. You clutched your stomach, as if your arms were enough to keep it out of harm’s way. Not my baby…

Hawks, as what the public knows him as, had been a hero for more than 5 years. Even then, he managed to stay on his top ranks. Dropping from his spot in the second place then coming back. Everybody adored him, so did you most of all. He was charming, funny, and was always willing to serve others first instead of himself, a true hero.

You found him at his worst, at a time where he was most vulnerable. His eyes looked so sad you didn’t want to leave him alone. Seeing him curled up on himself with his wings shielding him away from everything, it was a side you thought not everyone got to see. Since then, a string had tied you both. You spent two years loving him, even if your love was unannounced from the rest of the world.

You understood why it had to be that way, for your safety and his image. It bothered you when his fan girls would gush over him in public as if they had claims over him, but you knew Keigo was loyal and faithful, never once giving you a reason to doubt his love for you. But now, everything had to change.

For both of your sake.

You hear the jangling of keys near the front door. Shit, was it that late already?

“Baby bird?” You hear Hawks call out as he entered your shared apartment.

“I’ll be there in a sec!” You answered as you rushed to stuff the test kits in your pockets.

“He shouldn’t know,” You muttered to yourself as you removed all evidence of what you just found out. Wiping your tears away, which you didn’t even notice until you took a look in the mirror, you stepped out of the bathroom and plastered a smile on your face.

“Hey baby,” You gave him a peck on the lips, “You’re earlier than usual.”

“They got me off an hour early today since it’s my day off tomorrow.” He pulled you in close with a gentle smile. “They’re probably going to have me work my ass off for the next week but I’ll take what I can get.” He laughed.

The sound of his laughter made you grip his jacket tighter. He looked at you in concern,

“You okay, songbird? Got something on your mind?” I’m thinking about leaving you, but I really don’t want to. I love you so much it hurts.

A nervous laugh slipped through your lips before you even thought about it. “I’m fine, Kei. I just missed you that’s all.” Before you know it, he had you completely in his arms. Not breaking a sweat as he carries you to the bedroom.

“K-Kei! What’re you doing?” You clutched his shoulders in surprise.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Baby bird? I’m making up for lost time.” You laugh along with him, with the words one last time lingering in the back of your head.

When Hawks awoke the morning after, he took his time admiring your sleeping form. You were everything to him, his darling angel. He liked to think he had nothing before he met you. He tucked a strand of your hair away from your face, fingertips brushing against your cheek. You scrunched your eyebrows together, then mumbling a few words before drifting back to sleep. He chuckled as he kissed your forehead before gently nudging your shoulder.

“Muh?” You whispered groggily. You blinked at him a few times before fully gathering your senses.

“Morning songbird, I just thought that we’d spend the morning together.” He said with a smile, “Since it’s my day off, maybe we could spend the whole day outside? We could go wherever; it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper date.” He looked at you sheepishly.

“That sounds great Kei.” You smiled back, trying desperately to ignore the nagging thoughts of leaving him in the back of your head. “Let me freshen up and we can go for breakfast at your favourite diner.”

He gave you one last kiss before he got up. You sat up with growing knots in the pits of your stomach, unnerving sensations clawing its way up to your chest. It’s supposed to be a happy day. Why can’t I just let him have this for once?

“Songbird, shower’s getting cold.” You hear him tease from the bathroom. You stand up, making your way towards him, the words one last time lingering in your head once more.

You spent the whole day together, going from place to place without any plans whatsoever. Most of the time it was as simple as taking a walk in the park, taking pictures of each other in secret, and laying down in a blanket just looking at the sky. You had to stop Hawks from puffing out his wings every now and then whenever he saw birds nearby because it surprised most of civilians walking in the street. It was a nice outing the both of you rarely got to experience together.

You were walking on the way home when he suddenly stopped to look at a small antique store. “That place looks interesting, wanna go check it out?” You wanted to indulge in him, and who were you to say no? Not when he was looking at you like an endearing child.

You giggled as he pulled you into the shop with a newfound excitement. You both trifled through the shelves with a childlike curiosity, gazing at assortments of abandoned trinkets as if they were lost treasures. They were, in a way, small tokens left behind as people moved on to their lives. You picked up a snow globe and shook it. You were watching the faux snow fall to the bottom when you heard him call your name.

“Come here for a sec.” You followed his voice until you saw him hunched over something. “What’s up?” You asked nervously.

“Turn around.” he said gently. You arched an eyebrow before doing so. You felt a cold metal pressing against your neck. “I forgot I went here last week to get this cleaned,” he said as he clasped the necklace, “This belonged to my mother’s. She told me to give it to a special someone once I got older.” It was a simple, silver necklace. A small feather charm, rested right above your collarbones. He smiled at you, looking at you with an adoring gaze that made your heart stop. “I knew I didn’t have to wait to know if you were the one. I just knew it since the day we met.”

Before you knew it, your eyes were brimming with tears. You wiped at your eyes hastily, not wanting to catch unnecessary attention. Hawks looked at you in surprise before holding you close. “Hey, hey, hey.” He cooed. “You don’t like it? I mean, it’s not the fanciest thing I could actually give. I just thought that-“

“You dummy,” You chuckled as you kept wiping your face, “I’m not crying because I don’t like it. I love it. It’s the sweetest thing someone has ever done for me. It’s really beautiful, I’m glad you gave it to me.” You look at him in the eyes, meaning every word you said.

He sighed in relief then hugged you tighter. “You ridiculous goose, crying over the smallest things-ouch! Hey!” He rubbed at the spot on his chest where you punched him. You gave him a pout as he laughed at your puffy face.“Let’s go home, okay birdie?”

You linked your pinky with his, walking along with him in the coldest nights. It felt warm, clinging onto him as you tried to relish every second of this beautiful moment.

In the end, they set you up on a trip to a town where they owned a house they never really used. It belonged to your grandmother’s, but nobody wanted to disturb the house so none of your relatives claimed it. You shipped some of your belongings in secret. Hiding the backpack and the suitcase deep in your shared closet where Hawks surely wouldn’t notice. As he expected, he was even busier the next week after his day off. As sharp as he was, he failed to notice you planning your preparations to leave.

It was afternoon, so you didn’t receive any texts or calls from him yet. It would be one of those days where he’d be so busy he’d come home late at night. The thought of him arriving in your apartment tired and hungry, looking for you sent a fresh wave of tears to your face. Stop it, no time for you to be weak.

You see your train come to a stop, its doors opening as people clambered to get off. It was your turn. You patted your stomach, “I’m doing this all for you, you know.” With a deep breath, you stepped onto the train, every bit of yourself screaming with regret.

It was time. You dreaded this very moment and here you were, backpack and suitcases in tow. You gripped your train ticket tightly, not knowing where to express your frustration. The following week after your date, you prepared everything you needed to leave. You called your parents at your hometown, explaining your situation in tears. They listened carefully and asked whatever they could do to help. You merely wanted to explain your situation just in case Hawks would try and call them.

To be continued...

A/N:I tried to fix the formatting of the text but somehow it wouldn’t work?? New to tumblr so apologies ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚sorry it had to be a cliffhanger! I promise I’ll finish this soon as I can, I just needed to put more thought into how the meeting and the ending will be. I promise I’ll make it up with fluff as you requested Σ(･ω･ﾉ)ﾉ！

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measlyfurball13 · 3 years

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Saw a post that pissed me off saying essentially "why do fanworks get so much more attention than original works? Fan stuff is shitty and low effort, but even I was tempted to degrade myself just to get attention." As if creating fan work automatically nets you thousands of likes just in and of itself.

I'm brought back to 2016 Deviantart. I had just started writing. Nobody was paying attention to me. I was sending my writing out into a void even worse than the normal fan content websites because I was on the wrong site for my content. Much like OP I was heartbroken. I had the search algorithms against me, my writing still had a long way to go. So you know what I did?

I built myself an audience. I started interacting with fan artists in the fandom who weren't the godly people with thousands of likes. I paid attention to other people's works-in-progress, their drawings with amazing ideas that they could build off of, technique that was still learning to grow like mine. I liked their work, paid it a comment, and you know what? That caused them to check my own works out, and lead to them returning the favor! And with those likes, the search engine began picking me up, finally drawing in others whom I hadn't reached out to first.

But you want to know what the kicker is? My works still "only" got twelve or fifteen likes a piece. If this happened, OP would have probably still whined and kicked and pouted "but I did muh fan work!1!!! Where likes???"

It doesn't work that way. It never does. It's almost like only the most talented of the supreme echelons of artists ever get more than a smidgen of attention. It's almost like talented artists are talented artists regardless of what art they're doing. Fandoms provide an advantage only in the sense that people have a general interest in what your art contains and a tag they can search it with, but that's it.

Moreover, if you're only creating art to get attention, you're never going to be satisfied. My stuff, at its best here on tumblr, a more text-based website, for the most popular fandoms, gets about sixty likes on average and way fewer reblogs. But I cherish every single one of those. Those are enough. That's sixty whole people who read my work and liked it enough to let me know, even if they didn't always save it to read later. Think of how many people that is in real life. Regain the perspective of how fantastic that is! It's incredible, it really is.

If OP wants their original work to get attention, they need to interact with the community to build their audience, just like I had to do. How often do you think they like and reblog original art? How less often do you think they spare a comment for someone's original writing? How even less often do you think they commission someone like how they probably wish people commissioned them? I'm willing to bet hardly at all.

In the end, I just feel sad. Being motivated by attention, being jealous of the attention other people's art gets, is an awful place to be. It's toxic. Creating should be primarily for the pleasure of the creator- any outside attention should be an added bonus. If you don't like what you're creating, what's the point?

#measly complains #nothing useful here #negativity

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twiststreet · 3 years

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I saw the Suicide Squad trailer. I like the Suicide Squad comics (Ostrander-Yale only), but I have no patience for James Gunn. And I didn’t like it cause I don’t like his stuff and I was sitting here thinking about...

I think the thing I hate about James Gunn’s comedy is it’s all Super Bowl comedy. You know how when you watch the Super Bowl, the commercials are either, you know, “America’s going to come back from it’s doldrums and fucking kill you and fuck your dead body Ford Trucks Drive a Ford truck you pussy America has dirt in it that we photographed look at this dirt under our fingernails that’s not going to hold us down uh uh got to keep on moving” rah-rah patriotism, with the very serious monologues, John Hamm or Matthew McConnaughey doing Sarah Jessica Parker Sex in the City monologues except about America...

OR... It’s “comedy.” But it’s not really funny comedy...? It’s Super Bowl commercial comedy...?

Like, lately, during the Super Bowl, it’ll be like, you’re watching Kevin James running down a street, and he’s all wheezing, because he needs to eat some doritos, he hasn’t eaten enough doritos, goddamn Kevin James you fucking dipshit who even taught you fitness, but then Kevin James will stop and start panting outside an apartment building and ... OH SHIT, Jada 👏 Pinkett 👏 Smith 👏 just leans out of the window and says “Fuck you Kevin James you ain’t shit and your mom ain’t shit and your dick looks like a broken pencil and I wish I had a pencil sharpener I’d sharpen both ends of that dick EAT DORITOS you fucks” and then the music goes wazzoo wazzooo wazzooo... cause you THOUGHT you were watching a commercial about Kevin James YOU DUMMY but actually you’re watching a commercial with TWO celebrities in it instead, Doritos burned a whole bunch of money HELL YEAH, it’s the muh-fucking Super Bowl!!!

That’s how James Gunn is “funny” to me. Where I just look at it and think “This is just a cretinous corporate product where the words have been put into the shape of comedy but that serves none of the functions of actual comedy, that means nothing except to sell people something that looks like food and tastes like food but very much is NOT food” ... but then having to just imagine the sort of slack-jawed yokels that are like “aaaaah, this fucking guy GETS IT. He knows where I live.” I mean, it’s nerds, and I’ve read a million comics-- your sci-fi / fantasy has always had pretty lousy comedy. (One time Marvel did a “comedy What If” special and the “jokes” were like “what if Doctor Octopus fought Captain America instead of Spiderman?” That was it. That was the entire joke. I think it won an Eisner for Special Excellence in Comedy that year or something...). Sci-fi/fantasy is about hiding from the world, and comedy is about being like “haha look at the world”-- that’s not a happy marriage-- that’s my theory, but...

Why is that comedy there in the Superbowl ads? My guess: you think about the history of American comedy-- it’s a bunch of Vaudevillians and drop-outs and stoners and long-hairs at first, sure, who are all hipper than the room saying “look at these schnooks we’re surrounded by”. But then over time, maybe everyone comes to thinks they’re hip and certainly not one of the schnooks cause that’s how audiences work. Show an audience a movie about an underdog and they’ll think they’re underdogs-- most of them are the reason why the dog’s under. Show them a Bill Murray movie and they’ll think they’re Bill Murray-- they’re the cop who listens to Walter Peck and shuts off the grid. Throw a rock at a right-wing person (please!) and they all think they’re fans of edgy comedy and free speech, even though you could make any of them red-faced angry and ready to shoot up a mall with like 5 fairly innocuous opinions. Advertising just flows downhill from there. It’s just how corporations understand how to sell things to the schnooks now.

But I don’t know. I’m just sad a lot lately haha so there’s that! Anyways, I’ve lost track of my point. I saw a movie trailer by a director I hate which I watched cause I wanted to see how they did the bad guy after I saw people post about the bad guy. Wheee... Anyways, lunch break over...

#movie trailers.

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magic-number-3 · 3 years

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Thirty Questions (that aren’t really questions)

Thank you so muh for tagging me @aralisj !! ❤️✨😘This was so fun!!

Name/Nickname: Ellie

Gender: cis female (but like,, cause its convenient. its really more like john mulaney’s “whos to say?”)

Star sign: Gemini (lol)

Height: 5’4”

Time: 12:24 / 6:53 (i did this halfway through and then finished days later, lol)

Birthday: June 2nd

Favorite Bands: AJR, 5SOS, OneRepublic (I’ve also recently discovered Jukebox the Ghost!! but idk much of their stuff)

Favorite Solo Artists: Hozier, Taylor Swift, Harry Styles

I feel like my music tastes are so basic lol but I usually listen to the same 5 songs anyway

Song stuck in my head: Don’t Throw Out My Legos. I’ve been listening to this song SO much lately and its one of my favorite songs, definitely fave song on Neotheater. I think its because it just really applies to where I’m at in life right now. Also Treat People With Kindness has been on repeat for me lately as well!! It just puts in me in a good headspace which is vital during the everything rn

Last film: The Nice Guys (2016) I loved it! It was such a FUN movie like it really goes for just being wild and fun with only a thin facade of realism and yet it really works. And the cinematography is just! *chef’s kiss* Glad my boyfriend talked me into watching it. 100% reccommend to every human!

Last series: The Queen’s Gambit (so good!)

When did I create this blog: 2014(?) im too lazy to figure out if theres a way to check rn lol

What do I post: uhhh idk i dont really have a ‘theme’ or whatever. You tell me!! Mostly fandom stuff (a lot of spn since the finale lol the Brainrot is bad)

Last thing I googled: “Phoebe Tonkin”. I never realized that Hayley Marshall and Cleo(H20) are the same person??? Never watched TVD/Originals tho so that’s on me. But I’ve seen gifsets and it never clicked until today!!

Other blogs: none lmao rip my followers for my bananas content!

Why I chose my url: ‘3 is a magic number’ from school house rock. Why? I am the youngest of triplets so 3 is my lucky number.

Following: 2226... i just like... dont unfollow ppl lmao and probably DO follow a new person like at least once a day

Followers: 624

Average hours of sleep: I swear my body really needs like 10 but i usually get between 4-7 😬 or like 12 if i have time to sleep in. No inbetween. Rip my sleep cycle

Lucky number: 3

Instruments: I did flute in middle/high school (and I sucked!!! But like in a Fun Way lol)

What I’m wearing: leggings and a hoodie thats my sororitys merch lol

Dream job: Film Director (which I am currently pursuing! Fingers crossed!) hopefully screenwriting as well but directing is my main focus

Dream trip: Greece!

Nationality: American

Favorite song: Love Song by Sara Bareilles has been My Song since I was like 8, so I gotta go with that one.

Last book I read: Cinder by Marissa Meyer!! Its also the only book I’ve finished in at least 4 years so go me! It was so good and Im also v proud of myself for finishing it. Got the next one for christmas and I can’t wait to read!

Top three fictional universes I’d like to live in:

Okay i feel like im just copying @aralisj ‘s answers but they were so good!! And I’m really indecisive. Doctor Who. Sense8 after the happy ending not like, when sensates are being actively tracked down and murdered. Winx Club but mostly because the reboot has had that universe on my mind lately!!! And to clarify I mean the cartoon universe NOT that sad excuse for a reboot lol

I’m tagging @goldenmaknaes @izloveshorses @liamisthesun @isthisanything @blerghfish !! 😊

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drunklander · 4 years

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Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 512

Looking for a way to spend Mother’s Day? Well, we here at Outlander have the perfect idea! Celebrate with the women you love by watching us gang rape grannie!

This episode is like the perfect storm of everything that is wrong with Outlander. The cast and crew saying it’s their strongest episode yet when it’s basically artsy gang rape. The CYA trigger warnings when the story would have worked perfectly well without including yet another rape. The kool aid-drinking fans yelling at and acting holier than thou at the fans who rightfully call out the massive problem this show has with rape and assault. The fans yelling at other fans because It’S iN tHe BoOk so it has to be included. The fans yelling at other fans for wanting to follow the books but not wanting rape every 0.5 seconds. The fans yelling at other fans to fuck off if they don’t like the show. The women in the cast throwing out trigger warnings while the men are radio silent or wanting the gladiators to face the plague and fight for their own amusement. It literally has everything.

And I am tired.

I’ve been in this fandom for six years and have had quite a journey. From first discovering the show and immediately devouring the books. The honeymoon period where I could headcanon out all the problematic bits. The getting deep into the fandom nonsense. The getting out of the fandom nonsense. The judging the fandom nonsense because it’s funny and they’re all idiots. The getting sick of the fandom nonsense because it’s not even fun to judge the dummies anymore. The becoming more and more aware that it’s impossible to whistle past the problems in the books and the show. The sticking around, holding out hope things might turn around and the initial magic could be recaptured. And finally, the giving up.

The books are trash. The show is trash. There are a handful of good scenes in each which can be enjoyed on their own, but as a whole, holy shit this stuff is not good. (Seriously, I tried to do a Fiery Cross reread before the season started. I started like a year ago and am still only at Jocasta’s wedding because I just don’t care enough to actually get through it.)

Which brings us here. I am tired. I have already ranted and raged and yelled and swore and wrote far too many words about the gratuitous overuse of rape in the Outlanderverse. It fucking has its own tag for fuck’s sake.

So here’s a recap. And then I think I’m done looking at this show in detail. Not because the idiot fans insist on coming to my notes to tell me to fuck off if I don’t like the show. Not because the crew are condescending douchecanoes. Not because the author is a misogynist garbage heap. But because spending an hour of my time for a few weeks out of the year to write these things isn’t worth it. I did it for as long as I did because it took so little time. So why not? But yeah, it’s not even worth that tiny commitment anymore.

And to the people who I know will @ me about how no one was forcing me to stick around and I could have quit any time, yeah, no shit captain obvious, I know that. Fuck off already. I stuck around because I really liked the little corner of the fandom that I’d found. I made some awesome friends. Most of those friends have since quit the fandom. I’m really glad to have them in my life outside of this little corner of the internet. And it was a fun writing exercise. I don’t really like the show anymore, but I enjoyed building an argument about why I don’t like it and think it’s bad that has valid points behind it. Especially considering how blindly overly adoring a bunch of the fandom is about it. But now I think I’d rather consume Outlander content as pretty people in pretty period costumes in gifsets. Or like, on in the background but not really paying close attention. Why not quit altogether? Because to quote the great Ron Swanson (I’m halfway through a Parks rewatch and I just love that show a lot ok.), I can do what I want. And besides, there’s like a fucking library’s worth of fics that I haven’t read and have been meaning to. And I like the characters enough to want to keep reading about them in stories that are better than the canon. (Bless you fic writers, blesssss.)

So. Was this whole ramble self-indulgent and overly serious for a fucking TV show? Absofuckinglutely. But please see the aforementioned Swansonism.

Alright, fuckos. Let’s do this.

This is a Roberts brainchild, isn’t it. *checks credits* Yup. Knew it. This feels very much like a Roberts special. In that he is probs quite pleased with himself but like, it’s crap.

Yes, we ARE doing ANOTHER rape story! But look! It’s a disassociation montage! It’s the ‘60s, get it?! There are callbacks! An orange from the king in season 2! A vase from season 1! A rabbit from season 3! An amber-looking dragonfly! Jamie with the young hair spouting off book lines! ApPrEcIaTe MuH aRt! We are so good at finding new and creative ways to rape our characters! Fuck off, twatwaffle. You are the worst.

Like, does Roger feel left out at this point? He’s only been hanged. Literally everyone else has either been raped, been sexually assaulted, or been threatened with rape and/or sexual assault.

“But it’s not gratuitous! Look! They’re all so different! Jamie’s was overly graphic and he got a half a season to brood about! We manged to not show much of Fergus’ (but still showed a thrust) because he’s a child and it was just a plot device for Jamie and not actually about him! Mary’s was about Fred! Claire’s with the king was about Jamie! Jamie’s with Geneva was shot like p0rn! Marsali being threatened by the sailors was to motivate Fergus! Bree’s was about the other people in the room and Roger! Claire’s really has no purpose because she’s already been kidnapped and beaten, and that is super traumatic, and we’re gonna wrap it up with a bow by the end of the episode!”

This fucking show, guys. This fucking show.

Bonus points* for the Black character spouting off the superstitious stuff.

*By bonus points I mean this show, and the books are absolute shit on matters of race. The books especially.

The cast and crew have 100% heard everyone’s thoughts on the overuse of rape in the Outlanderverse. And their response has been to include more and more of it. We had a whole season of one character’s arc being about her rape and literally as soon as that was resolved, they gang rape another character. It really does tell you as much as you need to know about them. Lazy. Fucking. Cowards.

Kidnapping not enough trauma? Let’s add some gang rape! Gang rape not enough trauma? Let’s add visualizing that your daughter and grandchild are dead! Just like Fred died! This show really brings trauma p0rn to a whole new level.

Called the Bree and Roger shit.

This scene with the men rallying to go save Claire is like another layer of fuck you. Bree, you stay home, men, give your hero lines and let’s have a getting ready montage. Because your hero moment is what this is really all about. And your manpain about killing someone. *screams into a pillow*

The petty side of me is happy that it was Fergus and Young Ian who are with Claire when they find her and not Roger. Her two sons...

Why yes, I am judging all of the fans who like get their panties all wet over Jamie being like “It is I who kills for her.” Like “yeah go ahead and rape and beat Claire within an inch of her life if it means the big strong man gets to come in and save her and say something intense.” Fuck off and go take a hard look at yourself and what that says about you.

“Was there an Indian there?” “Nope, he wouldn’t help you because LiOnEl but somehow was able to peace out when it was in his interest. Because he is as bad as the ones who actually raped you.”

The Bree and Claire hug makes me both sad and angry. I want to hug them both and take them out of this fucking place and tell them that they’ve been done dirty and deserved fucking better from the writers.

Glad Marsali gets in on the hug. Claire’s two remaining daughters.

Claire’s “I have fucking survived” speech is like the one time she she actually talks about herself not in relation to a man. It’s about her. Claire. HOWEVER! It is epically fucked up that a woman needs to check off all the trauma she’s endured to show she’s a strong character.

So. Fucked. Up.

The fact that we’re spending time on Roger’s manpain about killing someone also really tells us a lot about the show’s feelings toward women. Yeah, killing someone is a big deal. It’s normal and expected to have feelings about it. But the juxtaposition of Claire’s speech about all of her traumas with Roger being like yeah, I killed a guy who had kidnapped, beaten and raped your mom is like, read the room, bro/writers.

The fact that the men put Claire’s rapist in her surgery, her space, her place of healing, where she is able to be most herself, makes me want to punch each and every one of them in the throat. Like seriously. Fuck each and every one of them.

Also Lionel is like cartoonishly terrible. Not that nuance has ever been this show’s strong suit. But like come the fuck on.

Marsali killing Lionel is the one thing about this episode that I didn’t hate. The men are all like “We kill for Claire! Let’s all rally in this montage and go do the manly thing of defending the woman!” Marsali is just like, yeah, that’s my Ma you fucked with. She shows some agency. She doesn’t do it in a performative way for the other men or for Claire like the guys do. She just knows this fuck needs to die, knows it’s gonna be hard for her and might damn her soul (don’t worry Marsali, all that religion crap is bullshit), and does it anyway.

Marsali’s arc has been my favorite of this whole fucking series. The one bright spot I was hanging on to all of this season especially.

Her quick scene with Jamie doesn’t bother me like Roger’s does. Because Roger is like oh no, I killed a guy! Can you forgive me? For killing a rapist? Like fuck off, bro. And Marsali is like yeah, I killed a guy. I hope I’m not damned for it, but the guy needed to die so I did it.

Also like, Richard had potential to not be cartoonishly bad. But like nope. “He reaped what he sowed, but cLeArLy I’m gonna need to escalate this further. Because manly men can’t let shit go.”

Fuck all men, tbh.

*googles how to emigrate to Themyscira*

Jamie’s speech that’s like supposed to parallel Claire’s can fuck all the way off. Giving him the last voice over just underscores how this was all about men. Not Claire. But the men. Fuuuuck everything.

Look! Everything’s fine again! Back to normal! Peaceful for a bit! With a cheesy af on the nose storm coming! So you know something bad’s coming! In case you forgot!

And Jamie got a book line. So it’s all good now.

And don’t worry about Claire, y’all. She feels safe now. Her and Jamie fucked it out.

It’s amazing, in retrospect, that I ever let this story suck me in so much.

Happy Mother’s Day! See you on the other side of the hiatus.

#*#outlander starz #outlander 5x12 #drunj!der yells about outlander #rape in outlander

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s-oulpunk · 4 years

Text

Vendetta (1/3) - Stenbrough

Summary: All Bill really wants is a shoulder to cry on. All he really wants is for someone to tell him it’s going to be alright. Robert has never let him down in that regard.

Bill hasn't been the same since his brother's disappearance, and the only man that seems to understand him is Robert "Bob" Gray. It doesn't matter that he's three times his age, Bill craves that understanding. He craves for someone to look him in the eye and tell him that everything's going to be okay. Unfortunately, there's always a price to pay, and Georgie was only the beginning.

TW: Violence, Manipulation, Non-Con, Kidnapping

Notes: This is a lot darker than my other fics, and, basically, I am so sorry. The non-con stuff isn’t super graphic, but it is there so please be careful.

There are three parts to this fic. I promise I will post them all, but updates will be slow. All the chapters are really long and I’m busy with a lot of other things, so it takes me awhile to finish.

Also while this is technically a Stenbrough fanfic, their relationship isn’t the main focus of the fic. It carries a lot of the plot but, overall, the fic is about Bill’s journey.

Read on AO3

Part One:

The Disappearance Of Georgie Denbrough:

Georgie Denbrough has been missing for half a year when Robert Gray shows up. He just waltzes into Bill’s life, with a charming smile and sympathetic eyes that tell stories Bill can’t quite understand yet. If Bill stares into them long enough, he thinks he can start to see pieces of some of those stories. And they chill him to the bone.

He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what exactly the stories are (and a part of him doesn’t know if he will ever want to), but Bill doesn’t need to know to feel the chill that runs down his back.

Robert Gray’s eyes are haunting.

And yet the rest of him is friendly enough, so Bill tries to not let himself worry over his eyes too much. Instead he focuses on the warmth of Robert’s hand on his shoulder, on the way he smiles so wide it nearly splits his face in half, on the kind words he utters when Bill comes to him sobbing at odd hours of the day.

His friends don’t see it that way.

They see Robert and they see, to put it plainly, a creep who jumped at the opportunity to spend time with a bunch of fifteen year olds. And they have no qualms about letting Bill know about their true feelings.

“You’re gonna get fucking murdered, Bill,” Eddie had said a few days after Robert’s first appearance. “You’re gonna get kidnapped and raped and then you’re gonna get murdered, is that what you want? They’re gonna find your body in the basement of some creepy old house or, or, or deep in the woods or, like, in his bedroom. And your skin’s gonna be all gross and decaying. Or, fuck, what if he’s like some crazy cannibal? They’re gonna find you with chunks of flesh missing and an eyeball in a martini glass and he’ll be making some kind of crazy, fucked up, dinner using your insides - Fuck, Bill! Is that what you want?”

Bill thinks Eddie has quite the imagination.

All Bill really wants is a shoulder to cry on. All he really wants is for someone to tell him it’s going to be alright. Robert has never let him down in that regard.

“He’s a guh-good guy,” Bill had told Eddie. “You jj-juh-just have to give him a chance.”

Eddie had merely scoffed and told Bill he would never, ever let Robert Gray get close enough to do that.

Bill thinks that’s a tad bit unfair, but Eddie refuses to budge.

Sometimes, when Bill looks into Robert’s eyes, he can see why. But those moments are fleeting. They’re only a few seconds of gut twisting, vomit inducing anxiety before he remembers who he’s talking to and he’s overrun with unshakeable guilt.

In the weeks since, his friends still haven’t come around. But they will eventually, Bill’s sure of it.

As of currently, they’re crowded into the clubhouse. Richie and Eddie are curled up together in the hammock, lost in their own little world. Bev is smoking by the open trapdoor. Ben and Mike have combined efforts to put various posters and photos on the walls. And Bill is sitting in the far corner, softly murmuring his latest story and trying very hard not to think about the fact that Stan is sitting so close he might as well be on his lap.

Stan doesn’t say a word throughout the story. Instead he listens attentively, like Bill’s thoughts are worth paying attention to. It makes Bill’s heart melt just a little bit.

When he finishes, he puts the notebook down gently, and turns to stare curiously at Stan. “So?”

“I didn’t like the ending,” is all Stan says.

“That’s ww-wh-what you said about my last one!” Bill exclaims.

“It’s too sad,” Stan says. “Sean never gets to go back home. All his friends and family are looking for him, and he’s stuck trapped in his own head forever.”

“Robert luh-luh-liked it.”

Stan scoffs loudly. “Do I look like Robert to you?”

This, admittedly, does earn a chuckle from Bill.

“Just because it’s ss-suh-sad doesn’t mean that it’s not good.”

“But Sean deserves to be happy, don’t you think?”

Bill considers this for a moment. Then, “Nope!” he says, popping the P.

“Why not?” Stan asks, lurching backwards to stare at him incredulously.

“Because I mmm-muh-made him,” Bill says. “And, therefore, I can dd-do whatever I want with him.”

Stan hums softly because, technically, this is true, but, “Why don’t you use your power for good?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“That rr-ruh-rarely happens in real life,” Bill murmurs.

It’s so much sadder than their previous conversation, and much more serious. Bill almost feels bad saying it. But it’s true. People are rarely happy in real life, and if there is someone in the sky looking out for them, they sure as hell aren’t changing their ending to please their friend. Even if said friend is cute as a button.

“I guess so,” whispers Stan. “But don’t you wish it did?”

“Yeah.” Bill does. All the time. “Sometimes.”

Stan shuffles closer, tucking his head between Bill’s shoulder and neck. Bill tries to ignore the heat that sprouts there, spilling through his veins and out to the rest of his body, making him tingly all over. But he can’t. As soon as it gets his attention, he’s gone. The clubhouse disappears, replaced by Stan and the warmth that fills his veins.

“I think you’re gonna be alright,” Stan says. “Whoever’s writing your ending is looking out for you.”

Bill fiddles nervously with the corner of his notebook. “Robert thinks we mmm-muh-might still be able to find jj-juh-juh-Georgie.”

“I...Yeah. Maybe.”

Stan looks so defeated. Like he knows Bill won’t listen to whatever he has to say. Which, in all honesty, he probably wouldn’t. But that doesn’t make Bill feel any less guilty.

“Are you still looking for him?” Stan asks. But he knows the answer.

“Yeah,” Bill says. “Robert usually huh-helps me.”

“That’s nice of him.”

“Mhm. We’re supposed to go ll-luh-look down by the barrens later today.”

“Oh.”

Bill can feel Stan stiffen beside him. He’s got his legs pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped securely around his knees, and Bill’s sure that, if he were wearing shorts, his fingernails would be digging into his skin, judging by how tightly he’s gripping his knees.

“Robert?” The intrusion, while Bill loves all his friends, is unwelcomed. These moments with Stan feel intimate. Special. Richie doesn’t get to interrupt just because he overhears something he doesn’t like. “You’re still talking to that freak?” He’s swinging slowly in the hammock, a worn out comic in one hand, Eddie wrapped securely in the other. But he’s not paying attention to either. Instead he’s got his gaze fixed on Bill, his glasses making his infuriated eyes seem 12x bigger.

Bill rolls his eyes. “He’s not that bad, Rich.”

“Not that bad?” Richie says. “Eds, did you hear that? Robert’s not that bad! Not at all! We better shout this from the rooftops. Hey, Losers! Robert’s not that bad!”

“Sh-Sh-Shut up, Richie,” Bill groans.

“We’re just worried,” Bev says. She flicks some of the cigarette ash onto the ground. “You can’t blame us for that.”

It’s true, he can’t, but, “Yuh-You don’t have anything to be worried about.”

Bev hums softly. She clearly doesn’t believe him. It infuriates Bill a little bit, but he wills those emotions away. These are his friends, of course they would be worried.

Stan must sense another quarrell coming on, he’s got a fifth sense for that kind of stuff, because he gently taps Bill’s knee and murmurs, “Write me another story.”

And who is Bill to argue?

Bill doesn’t like the barrens. He had been so hopeful when he first started searching here, so sure he would find clues. Subconsciously he had hoped he would find Georgie just sitting there, patiently waiting for his big brother to find him.

But he never did.

And now the barrens represent that failure, that loss. He doesn't know if he’ll ever be able to step foot in them again without remembering the brother who didn’t come home. And yet he’s still down here constantly, still searching for possible clues. He still never finds any.

“This is useless,” Bill hisses. “Hh-huh-he’s not down here. He’s not-” He sniffs harshly. He can already feel the tears stinging at his eyes. “This is sss-stuh-stupid. Dad’s ruh-ruh-right, he’s-” Bill grits his teeth. He can’t afford to think like that. “We need to look somewhere else. If he ww-wuh-was here, he’s not anymore.”

Robert glances at him curiously. “Where do you want to look?”

“I-” Bill doesn’t have an answer. Because he’s looked, quite literally, everywhere. He’s searched every inch of this god forsaken town, then searched it again, and again, and again. There’s nowhere else to look. “Maybe he got ll-luh-lost. In the woods. Maybe we jj-juh-just have to look harder.”

It’s pathetic, really.

On some level, Bill knows Georgie isn’t in the woods. He knows he isn’t anywhere. No seven year old can survive for half a year on their own. And yet he can’t admit it, even to himself.

“We’ve checked the woods, kid,” Robert says with a heavy sigh.

“But - But -” Oh, nononono, Robert’s giving up on him too. The one person who didn’t judge him, and now he thinks he’s gone crazy as well. Not that Bill can really blame him. Sometimes he wonders about his own sanity. “We haven’t looked that dd-deep.” Bill knows he sounds desperate, but he can’t stop it. “Maybe - Maybe we’ll ff-fuh-find something.” Before Robert can respond, because Bill knows that look in his eye, knows he won’t be getting the answer he wants, he hurriedly adds, “I can do something for you.”

That catches Robert’s attention. It always does.

He hesitates, and for a moment Bill worries his answer isn’t going to change. But then he says, “Alright, get in the truck,” and Bill doesn’t think he’s heard a better suggestion in all of his life.

He practically runs to the truck. Not that it matters. He still has to wait for Robert to open it, because he has, like, a million locks on the damned thing.

Robert unlocks it with a chuckle, like Bill’s a child who just asked the sugariest cereal at the grocery store.

“Okay,” Bill says, as soon as they’re both seated. “I think we sh-sh-should check past the town limits. We huh-haven’t looked-”

“Bill.” Robert chuckles again. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Bill’s heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach. “Nn-Nuh-Now?”

Robert looks at him pointedly. “There won’t be time afterwards.”

Which, Bill supposes is true. Once he starts looking, he doesn’t stop until he can’t see two feet in front of him. Even then, oftentimes he has to be dragged away.

But he hates this part. It makes him feel weird, like there’s dirt trapped under his skin that he can’t dig out. Being able to wait a few more hours would be nice. Nevertheless, a deal’s a deal.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “Yuh-Yeah, okay. Just-” Maneuvering himself into the right position is, admittedly, harder than it looks. The truck is cramped and by the time Bill manages to find a semi-comfortable position, Robert’s already growing impatient.

Bill’s barely managed to get Robert’s belt open before calloused fingers are grasping at his hair, pushing him down, down, down until air has become a precious resource. Luckily, Bill doesn’t have to do too much work this time. This happens sometimes, if Robert gets too rowdy too fast. He’ll take control of Bill’s actions, ignoring if he gags or if his face turns purple, forcing him to go as fast or as slow as he wants.

As much as Bill hates having to work hard at something that is, admittedly, disgusting - not that he’d ever dare say that to Robert’s face - having Robert control him is always so much worse. Bill’s sure Robert wouldn’t ever hurt him, but it’s clear in moments like these who has the control. If something went wrong, Bill wouldn’t be able to get away. He can’t move an inch.

But he shouldn’t be worrying about that. Because nothing’s going to go wrong. Besides, Robert’s doing so much for him, this is the least he could do.

It seems to take forever before Robert’s finished. But once he is, Bill jumps back, cheeks still puffed wide like a hamster. This is the worst part, he thinks. And the longer he waits, the worse it is, but he can’t get himself to take that last fucking step.

“Good?” Robert purrs. Bill nods, even though he wishes the ground would swallow him whole, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do? “You look so pretty like this.” Bill wants to cry. Which is a stupid fucking reaction. Who cries after - after - after that? “C’mon.” Robert’s got a hand on his cheek, thumb gently brushing the bone. “I know you can do it.” And, God, Bill just wants him to stop talking. So he does it. He swallows as quickly as he can, fighting his instinct to gag it all back up. “Good boy.”

Bill turns quickly, forcing Robert’s hand to slip off his face. “Can ww-wuh-we go nuh-now?” he asks. He stares straight ahead as Robert starts the car. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s still fine. He’s still good. He’s still redeemable.

The next day, things are not better.

They didn’t find anything relating to Georgie, the Losers still think Robert’s a creep, and, to make it all worse, Bill’s throat feels like it’s on fire.

“You don’t sound too good, Billy,” Eddie says. “You might be getting sick.”

Bill hums softly. “Mm-Maybe-” he winces at how rough his voice sounds. “-Maybe I sh-sh-should go home.”

“Just rest here,” Stan suggests. “You can stay in my bed.”

“I - I don’t wanna get you ss-suh-sick.”

Stan shrugs. “It’s fine, I can change the sheets. I know how to do laundry.” Richie wolf whistles from across the room. “Oh, fuck off!”

“We can make you soup,” Eddie says. He’s already gathering the ingredients, so Bill supposes there’s no point in arguing.

He drags his feet up to Stan’s room, ignoring the growing pit in his stomach. He should just tell them the truth. It’s not that big of a deal, right?

It’s not until he’s curled up in bed that he notices Bev standing in the doorway.

“I know you’re not sick,” she says.

“I am,” Bill insists. “Doctor E-Eddie said suh-so.”

Bev gently shuts the door behind her. “Doctor Eddie’s also never had his throat fucked before.”

Bill winces. “That’s nuh-not what happened.”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” she hisses. “I’m not an idiot. You have to stop doing this.”

“I’m not doing ah-anything wrong!”

“You protected me from my dad, you think I’m not gonna do the same for you?”

“It’s not th-th-the same. Wuh-We’re just friends, Bevvy.”

“He is not your friend, William.” Bev regards him warily. “I won’t tell the others. But I think you should really think about your so-called friendship with Robert.” Bev turns to re-open the door. At the last minute, she turns back to face Bill. “Stan wants to know if you’re staying over. Ya know, parents out of town. Losers sleepover.”

Bill nods. “Pp-Pruh-Probably.”

Bev smiles softly. “Cool. And think about it, Bill. Alright? We really do want to help.”

And then she’s gone, leaving Bill alone with his thoughts.

The worst part of the conversation is that Bill remembers having the same talk with Bev a little less than a year ago. Their places had been reversed then. Bill had dragged her away from the prying eyes of the rest of the Losers and begged and begged until she broke. She told him everything that night. And he held her through all of it, clutching her to his chest as Beverly Marsh, perhaps the strongest of them all, sobbed into his shoulder.

The memory is still raw, and not one he’s willing to share with anyone. She told the rest of the Losers the next day, but that night had been something private. Something that wasn’t meant to be shared.

It had been one of the most terrifying nights of Bill’s life. Second only to realizing Georgie wasn’t coming home.

The thought almost makes him chase after her, almost makes him tell her everything.

Except it’s not the same. Because nothing’s wrong.

Robert’s not his father. Robert’s his friend. He holds him when he cries, and listens to him when he needs to talk about Georgie again and again and again, and takes him wherever he wants to look for his baby brother, even if he knows they won’t find anything.

He’s sure if he explained that, she would understand. He didn’t understand either at first. But, “It’s just like a trade,” Robert had told him. “Remember how I drove you to town limits? I even bought you lunch afterwards. I do so much for you.” Which, admittedly, is true.

It’s not like Robert’s holding him down or ripping his clothes off. Bill goes willingly, even if he cries afterwards sometimes. But Robert says that’s normal.

“Knock, knock.” Stan’s standing in the doorway now, a piping hot bowl of chicken noodle soup in his hands. “Eddie’s insistent that this will cure you.”

“Mmm. Doctor’s oh-orders,” Bill says, making grabby hands at the bowl.

“Doctor’s orders,” Stan repeats, a fond smile on his face.

He closes the door gingerly behind him before crossing to sit on the edge of the bed, soup balanced carefully on his lap.

Bill looks forward to these moments with Stan. These quiet, intimate moments where it feels like anything is possible. It’s these moments that make him think maybe this godforsaken town is wrong, and the way he feels about his friend is okay. It’s these moments that make him think maybe Stan feels it too.

“Are you gg-guh-gonna spoon feed me soup?” Bill asks as he fumbles to sit upright.

Stan just shrugs. “I mean, you’re sick.”

Bill nods gravely. “Deathly ill.”

That makes Stan crack a smile, but he quickly ducks his head in an attempt to hide it from Bill’s prying eyes. Bill sees it though, and it warms his heart far more than the soup ever could.

“Alright,” Stan murmurs. “Open wide.”

The soup, to put it lightly, is not good.

Out of all the Losers, Mike and Ben are probably the best cooks. But judging by how anal retentive Eddie is, Bill has no doubt that he refused their help. He can practically see him, in his head, shooing away his friends as Ben desperately tries to salt the slowly warming broth.

He doesn’t say a word, but Stan must notice the way Bill’s face contorts as he tries to force the soup down because he murmurs a quiet, “Sorry. Eddie thought adding anything else would take away from its quote unquote healing properties.”

Stan’s always been able to read him like a book. All the Losers are close, but something’s special about his friendship with Stan. Bill’s never had to say a word for him to know exactly what he’s thinking.

“Ff-Fuh-Figures,” Bill says.

“He just worries about you,” Stan says.

“He sh-shouldn’t have to. That’s not his jj-juh-job.”

Stan shrugs. “You would do the same for him.”

Bill doesn’t answer, because he knows it’s true.

At around 1 in the morning, Bill decides he can’t stay over any longer.

He’s got the bed to himself, on account of him being “sick,” but the rest of the Losers are spread unceremoniously across the floor. He has to tiptoe over their sleeping bodies, nearly tripping over Mike’s legs, to get to the door. And, of course, Richie and Eddie are cuddled up directly against it. He nudges them away with the top of his foot until there’s enough distance for him to slip out, which he does as quickly as possible.

He grabs the phone in the kitchen, which he’s sure is far enough away that it won’t wake the others, and quickly punches in the numbers swimming through his head.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. Enough that he thinks maybe he won’t pick up. But right as he’s about to hang up, a quiet voice rumbles through his ear, “Hello?”

“Robert!” he chirps.

“Billy? What the hell are you doing up at this hour?”

Bill gnaws nervously on his lower lip. Of course Robert’s asleep, he should’ve remembered that tiny detail.

“Sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t huh-have woken you.”

“It’s alright, kid,” Robert says. “I’m up now. What do you need?”

“Can you pick me up?” Bill asks, before he can talk himself out of it.

“Sure,” Robert says through a yawn. “You at your house?”

“I’m at mm-muh-my friend’s house,” Bill says. “Hang on, I’ll guh-get you the address.”

Once he’s sure Robert’s going to come, he sets about writing a note for the Losers. He knows there’s pen and paper back in Stan’s room, but it’s too risky going back there, so he settles for digging through the office until he finds what he needs.

He’s halfway through said note when a soft noise startles him. He whips around, half expecting to come face to face with a knife-wielding murderer. But it’s just Stan.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

He’s blinking sleepily, obviously barely staying awake, and his hair is sticking up in all directions. His pajamas are a little too big on him, which is a sudden change from the Stanley that refuses to wear anything unless it fits just right. It’s suddenly too difficult to not imagine Stan in one of Bill’s oversized flannels.

It’s all so overwhelming that Bill nearly forgets to respond.

“What’s that?” Stan asks again, gesturing weakly to the pen in Bill’s hand.

“I - Uh - I’m guh-gonna go,” Bill says. “I just - I dd-duh-didn’t want you to freak out in the morning.”

Stan cocks his head curiously, and it’s so cute that Bill nearly calls Robert to tell him he’s changed his mind. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” Bill murmurs. “I’m ss-sorry. I don’t wanna get you guys sick.”

A more honest man would have told Stan that he’s terrified of facing Bev’s wrath again tomorrow. But Bill never claimed to be an honest man.

“Is your dad picking you up?” Stan asks.

“I - Um - I called Robert.”

That makes Stan pause. “You gave Robert my address?”

“How else is he gonna puh-pick me up?” It’s a lame argument, but it’s all Bill’s got.

Stan seems to be at a loss for words too, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “But - But - Why - I don’t want-”

“It’s ff-fuh-fine, Stan,” Bill assures him. “He’s not even gonna come inside.”

“I don’t know if that defines fine,” Stan grumbles.

Robert pulls up less than a minute later.

Bill scrambles to give Stan a hug before rushing outside to meet him. The summer air keeps most of the cold at bay, but it’s still fairly chilly, so Bill throws himself into the car as quickly as he can.

“Th-Thanks,” Bill says.

“Don’t mention it,” Robert says. He sounds much more awake now than over the phone. “You alright?”

“Mhm,” Bill says. “Jj-Juh-Just had to get out of there.” It’s then that Bill realizes the street they’re on doesn’t go to his house. “Wh-Where are we going?”

“Back to my place,” Robert says. “Figured we might as well just rest there. That alright?”

Bill figures that sounds reasonable enough. “Yeah. Th-That’s alright.”

In all honesty, it is fine. What’s Bill gonna do at home? Sit and stare at his ceiling all night and then not talk to his parents the next morning because they don’t care what happens to him? Sounds fun, but he’ll have to pass.

Bill’s never been to Robert’s apartment before. It’s smaller than he expected, but nice nonetheless. It has a cute little kitchen, a big, comfy couch directly across from an old TV, and huge, open windows. It’s normal. Almost overwhelmingly normal.

Bill almost wants to call his friends and tell them as much. “He’s not a psychopath,” he would say. “What kind of psychopath lives in a normal apartment?”

Psychopaths live in old, run down, abandoned houses in the middle of nowhere. Friendly people who are absolutely nothing like Beverly’s father live in normal apartments.

“You have a nuh-nice apartment,” Bill says, politely.

Robert chuckles lowly. “Thank you.”

Then a hand is being placed on the small of Bill’s back and he’s being pushed farther and farther into the apartment until he collapses into the big, comfy couch. Robert sits next to him, a single casual hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Bill shrugs. “It’s not a bb-big deal. They just...They don’t understand. Ss-Suh-Sometimes it’s hard to be around them.”

It’s not completely true. They’ve lost people before. Eddie lost his father. Mike lost his parents. Stan lost his grandmother just a month or two ago.

But it’s not the same. Because none of them were responsible for that loss.

Robert nods and pulls Bill closer to him, tucking him against his side.

“People who haven’t been through what you have, they’ll never understand,” Robert says. “They don’t know what it’s like to lose someone like that. The bond between siblings is something special, and tearing it apart is one of the most painful things one could do.”

Bill sniffles quietly and shuffles closer to Robert��s side, burying his face in his shoulder. “I muh-muh-miss hh-him.”

“I know,” Robert coos. A gentle hand cards through Bill’s hair. “I know you do.”

“Duh-Does it even get easier?” Bill asks, voice muffled through the fabric of Robert’s T-Shirt.

Robert sighs heavily. “I’m gonna be honest with you kid, not really.” He chuckles softly at the whine Bill lets out. “I know, I know. But you learn to live with it. I miss my brother every day, it’s just a part of my life now.”

Bill twists around to stare up at Robert with wide, starry eyes. “Wh-What was your brother like?”

“Maturin was the sweetest soul I’ve ever known. He always put others before himself, always made sure everyone else was happy. He would give up everything if it just meant I would crack a smile.” He offers Bill perhaps the saddest smile he’s ever seen. “The best of us are truly the ones we lose too soon.”

Bill nods mutely. Georgie was truly the best of the Denbrough family. He was always willing to help out however he could, even as young as he was, and was always happiest whenever everyone else was happy. It almost pains Bill to hear someone else described as the “sweetest soul.”

“I’m - I might guh-go to bed,” Bill mutters. “I’m - I’m pp-pruh-pretty tired.”

“Great idea,” Robert says. As if on cue, he lets out a loud yawn.

“Do you huh-have some blankets I could borrow?”

“Yeah, sure,” Robert says. He makes a show of walking towards the linen cabinet before stopping and turning back towards Bill. “Ya know, why don’t you just sleep in my bed tonight.”

Bev’s words ring out through Bill’s head. He forces himself to keep eye contact. “Why?”

Robert shrugs. “I’m tired, you’re tired, and it’ll take awhile to make up the couch. The bed’s big enough” When Bill still hesitates, he sighs heavily. “Billy, have I ever hurt you before?” Bill shakes his head. “Then what’s the big deal?”

Bill pauses for only a split-second.

“No big deal.”

He follows Robert into the bedroom.

The next time Bill sees Stan, it’s just the two of them.

They’re lounging on Bill’s bed, Bill furiously scribbling into a notebook as Stan watches over the top of his book. It’s peaceful, just being with Stan like this. Something as simple as his presence has always done wonders for Bill’s nerves.

“What are you writing?” Stan asks.

“Re-writing th-the ending,” Bill says. His voice is slow and distracted, but Stan doesn’t seem to mind. He puts down his current book and shuffles closer, peering curiously over Bill’s shoulder.

“The one you let me read at the clubhouse?”

“Mhm.”

Stan lets out a little huff. “How are you torturing poor Sean now?”

Bill finally tears his gaze away from the notebook, instead fixing Stan with an affronted stare.

“I’m nuh-not torturing him!” he insists. “I’m trying to write a hh-happier ending.”

Bill doesn’t know why, but it’s embarrassing to admit. He feels like he’s just revealed some deep, dark secret. But Stan’s smiling, grinning almost infectiously wide, so Bill can’t be too hard on himself. He’s always liked making Stan smile.

“Really?”

He sounds so excited. Bill thinks it’s kind of dumb. He’s half tempted to remind him that, hey, Sean isn’t actually real. He’s just a clump of words on a piece of paper. But Stan looks so unbelievably happy, Bill can’t possibly take that away from him.

“Jj-Juh-Just for you,” Bill says.

It makes Stan smile softly, like he can’t really believe it. “For me?” Bill nods. “I wrote it ff-for you, I can’t give it an eh-ending you don’t like.”

Stan scrunches up his nose, a key sign that he’s deep in thought. It’s cute, and it kind of makes Bill want to kiss him.

“I want Sean to kiss Suzie,” he says finally.

Bill groans loudly. “That’s so mm-muh-much extra work! Now I have to ah-add in a whole romance-”

“What about Jacob?” Stan says the words so quickly that Bill’s almost positive he’d imagined them. But Stan is red-faced and rigid, and that’s all it takes for Bill to know that the words he heard were very much real. “Would that - Would that be okay?”

Bill blinks slowly. Would that be okay? He thinks so. But how would he explain that to his mother if, God forbid, she ever stumbled upon this story?

“Bill?” Stan sounds so small, and when Bill snaps out of his thoughts he can see a sense of terror in Stan’s eyes that he’s never seen before.

“Yeah,” Bill murmurs. “Yeah, that’d be okay.”

Stan doesn’t say anything as Bill continues to write, but he watches him like a hawk. It’s like he’s afraid Bill will change his mind the moment he turns his back. Like he’s scared Bill will retaliate, and that it won’t be unlike the insults Bowers and his goons usually throw at him. The fact that Stan even thinks that makes Bill hot with shame.

“Sean’s buh-better with Jacob, anyway,” he says, just to quell Stan’s worries.

Stan still doesn’t answer, but he does shuffle a bit closer.

By the time Bill finishes the story, Stan looks like he’s ready to implode. It’s about five pages longer than it was originally supposed to be, he still needed to add basically a whole other storyline to make the romance work, but Stan still reads it diligently.

“It’s cute,” he says softly, once he’s finished.

“You like it?”

Stan nods. “Better than the old ending.”

That makes Bill beam, because all he ever really wants is Stan’s approval.

“Look,” Stan murmurs, setting the notebook down gently beside him. He handles it with care, like it’s something worth worrying about. “I’m really sorry I made you do that. I didn’t - I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“I ww-wuh-wasn’t uncomfortable!” Bill insists. “It was a guh-good idea, it was cute! I jj-just didn’t know-”

“I’m gay.” And Bill has so many things to say, so many questions, but Stan barrels on before he can get even one of them out. “You probably figured that out, though. Fuck - I shouldn’t have - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean - I didn't mean to make things weird. Really. Can we just pretend like this never happened? I’m - I’m sorry. You can write the Suzie ending. You can just - just burn that one I guess. Fuck. I’m sorry-”

Bill grabs him by the front of his perfectly ironed polo and pulls him closer, closer, closer until their mouths are clashing together. It’s everything Bill’s been dreaming of. His lips are soft, softer than Bill could have even imagined, and it fills every dark, broken, crevice that haunts Bill’s heart with a warm, sunshiny feeling.

Bill pulls away to find Stan wide-eyed and pink-faced. He desperately wants to know what Stan’s thinking, but he’s shocked into a silence that speaks one too many volumes.

“Ss-Suh-Sorry,” Bill mutters. He forces his hands to unclench from around Stan’s shirt. The material is still wrinkled, but Bill figures that’s the least of their worries at the moment. Because, fuck, Stan didn’t mean him. “I sh-shouldn’t have assumed.”

“I mean,” Stan’s fingers lift up to ghost over his lips, “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

Bill’s heart stutters in his chest. “Wh-What’s that muh-mean?”

Stan shakes his head, like he isn’t really sure himself. “You could’ve asked.”

Bill swallows the lump in his throat. “Can I kiss you?”

Rather than answering, Stan lurches forward and presses their lips together in a bruising kiss. And, fuck, this is even better. Stan’s got one hand in his hair, the other gripping his shoulder like he’s steadying himself. The way his lips move against Bill’s leave him lightheaded, and he has to grip Stan’s hips to remind himself that he isn’t, in fact, dreaming.

“Huh-Holy shit,” he says, the words muffled by Stan’s lips.

“Shut up, shut up,” Stan chants. Bill can feel Stan’s lips fumble against his own as he speaks. It makes him just a little bit crazy.

Bill does, in fact, shut up. He drags his hands up to cup Stan’s face, holding his cheeks like he’s precious cargo. The kiss slows but doesn’t stop, turning into something so sweet it makes Bill’s teeth rot.

He pulls away slowly, because it’s just about the last thing he wants to do, but his lungs are starting to ache. Seeing Stan with puffy lips and glassy eyes is enough to convince Bill to duck back in for one last peck before pulling away for good.

“You’re beautiful,” Bill blurts out.

“Oh.”

“And I think I’m in love with you.”

“Oh!”

“I think I’ve always been in love with you. Ever since we were kids. Ever ss-since you waddled into my life as a cute little preschooler and demanded I use the hand sanitizer before shaking your hand.”

“You were covered in dirt,” Stan says weakly.

Bill laughs. A real laugh, from deep in his stomach. He hasn’t laughed like that in a long time.

He tries to go in for another kiss but Stan stops him, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth.

“Wait, wait,” he says. “I need to tell you something.” Bill hums softly against his palm. Stan’s eyes wander slowly over Bill, taking him all in. He looks flustered, but Bill doesn’t think he’s stalling. Taking a mental picture, more like. Bill understands. If there’s one moment he never wants to forget, it’s this one. Then, “I love you too.”

Bill’s spent his entire life trying to perfect the english language. He’s spent years hunched over a notebook, writing and re-writing and writing and re-writing until he’s gotten it as close to perfect as he possibly could. But nothing he’ll ever write will even get close to the perfect poetry that just flowed from Stan’s lips.

Bill grabs Stan’s hand between his own, leaving millions of tiny kisses along the palm.

“Please luh-let me kiss you again,” Bill practically begs. “Please, pp-please, please.”

Stan grants his wish, leaping forward to press their lips together again.

Distantly, Bill thinks this is better than breathing. If there’s one way he wants to die, it’s suffocating with Stanley Uris’ lips against his.

Two days later, no one has seen Stanley in a full 24 hours. A familiar panic has settled in Bill’s stomach. He’s gone through every other possible scenario in his head, gone through every excuse. But on some level he knows, Stan met the same fate as Georgie.

The Losers have spent the whole day wandering around town, hoping against hope they’ll find him somewhere. That it’s all just one, big misunderstanding. Bill keeps half expecting to see him around every corner, waiting for them with an eye roll and a dry joke that lets them know just know silly they were for thinking he had gone missing. He’s never there.

They’re all uncharacteristically quiet that day. Even Richie doesn’t say a word. He just clings to Eddie’s hand and searches with an uncharacteristic amount of diligence.

Bill wants to fucking scream.

He wants to tell Richie it’s okay to talk, it’s okay to joke, it’s okay to be fucking normal. Because nothing’s wrong. Stan’s fine and he’s going to be back any minute.

But, at the end of the day, Bill still finds himself in front of Robert’s door with enough tears to fill the Derry city pool streaming down his face.

“Huh-He’s guh-guh-gone,” Bill sobs.

Robert ushers him inside without another word. He lets Bill bundle up in his bed, pulling the covers up his chin and burying his face in the pillows. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recognizes some form of guilt for letting Robert’s pillows get so wet, but that’s the least of his worries at the moment.

“Billy.” Robert kneels by the edge of the bed. Through blurry eyes, Bill can see his eyebrows furrow in concern. “What happened?” Bill shakes his head. He can’t. He can’t say it. Saying it makes it too real. “C’mon, you can do it. I know you can. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“St-Stanley. He - He’s-” Bill doesn’t get to finish before a fresh wave of tears wash over him. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

Robert scoops him up in his arms, cuddling him close to his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”

And Bill can do nothing but believe him.

Bill wakes up about an hour later to Robert gently mouthing at his neck, his hand gripping Bill’s hip hard enough to leave bruises. Bill grumbles softly and tries to roll away, but Robert tugs him back. He moves the hand on his hip to wrap tightly around Bill’s waist, effectively pinning him against him.

“‘M tt-tired,” Bill whines, voice still sore from crying.

“Had a dream,” Robert mumbles. His breath against his neck makes Bill’s skin prickle, but not in the same way Stan’s lips had. “A good dream. Need your help.”

“Ruh-Robert,” Bill huffs.

Not now, he wants to say. Not after he just got his heart stolen from his body.

“I’ll help you look for Stanley tomorrow,” Robert says. He’s moved on to mouthing at Bill’s jaw. “I always help you.”

Bill’s resolve crumbles. How is he supposed to argue with that? “Ff-Fine.”

He reaches down for Robert’s belt, but Robert catches his wrist in one, big hand and pins it above his head. It has Bill’s heart pounding in his ears and ice filling his veins.

“I have a better idea.”

Bill squirms, hoping it’ll convince Robert to let him go, but all it does is egg him on. He squeezes his wrists tighter, until Bill has to grit his teeth to stop himself from flinching.

“I’ve nuh-never - Wuh-We’ve never-”

“We can look all day tomorrow.”

“I - I don’t know.”

Robert sighs heavily. “A man will only be so satisfied with blow jobs, Billy.”

And, God, Bill just wants to go home. He hasn’t wanted to go there in so long but right now it’s the only place he can think of. He wants to fucking go home. He wants his mom to hold him and tell him he’s going to be alright. He wants his dad to hug him tight and promise to keep him safe.

He just wants to be okay.

“All day?” he asks weakly.

Robert nods. “All day.”

“Oh-Okay.”

The first thing Stan notices when he wakes up is that he’s cold.

The second thing is that it’s dark. Too dark to see anything.

The third is that he can’t fucking move.

His hands are behind his back, rope biting into his wrists. His legs are curled underneath him. He doesn’t think he could stand if he wanted to (which he does, he really, really does) but his ankles are tied together anyway. And his back aches from being hunched over for God knows how long. He tries to sit up straight, but something yanks him back down.

And then he stays there like that for what feels like at least a thousand years.

When a door is finally opened, it’s almost too much to bare. The light is dim, barely there, but Stan still has to squint to get used to it.

And in the doorway is a man. A very familiar man, in fact. A man who knows his exact address after picking up his dumbass friend at 1 in the morning.

“Good morning,” says Robert.

He’s grinning wildly and Stan wants to fucking cry. He wants to sob until his lungs give out, and then he wants to cry some more.

He can feel the beginning of pinprick tears forming behind his eyes, and he bites the inside of his cheek harshly to stop them from spilling out. He may be a coward but he’ll be damned if he lets Robert know that.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” Robert says cheerily.

Stan doesn’t answer. He’s too focused on other things, like not crying in front of a psycho kidnapper.

“Awe, Stanny, that’s not very polite.”

He crosses the last few steps to ruffle Stan’s hair and Stan fucking breaks. A sob wrenches its way out of his throat, making his shoulders shake and eyes burn. Tears dribble pathetically down his cheeks, landing in tiny puddles on the floor.

“I’m suh-sorry,” Stan manages to choke out. “Wh-Wh-Whatever - Whatever I dd-duh-did. I’m sorry.” He flinches as Robert cards his fingers through his hair, wrenching his head back when his fingers catch on the curls. “Please.”

Stan doesn’t know what he’s begging for, all he knows is that it doesn’t work. Because Robert fucking laughs, all loud and boisterous, as if Stan’s told him one of Richie’s shitty jokes.

“Oh, Stanny,” he murmurs. He moves to grasp Stan’s chin with one hand, squeezing his cheeks and pressing dirty nails into his skin. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had just kept your hands off of what’s mine.”

#IT fanfic #IT fanfiction #bill denbrough #stanley uris #stenbrough #stenbrough fanfic #stenbrough fanfiction #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #bev marsh #stan uris #in conclusion im sorry

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dolphin-enthusiast · 5 years

Note

Can I request ”I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes…” with muh boi Joot?

Hell yeah you can and once again I apologize that this is SUPER late oof jjsfj

~~~

Whilst you loved that your boyfriend was hardworking and determined, you had to admit that his constant business trips were often making you feel lonely and even sad sometimes. You didn’t bring it up too much of course since you didn’t want to make it seem like you were guilt tripping him or worse, make him feel as if you were annoying or a burden. Whenever you would bring it up though he would simply sigh or just give you a sad “I know”.

Jotaro had been gone for one week now and you were already feeling as lonely as ever. On many occasions you tried preoccupying your mind in order to not overthink things too much, hence why you were currently ordering stuff around the house. On top of that you were also bored out of your mind. You were probably going to order some takeout later and maybe have another movie marathon.

Just as you were digging inside the closet in an attempt to rearrange your clothes, you suddenly stumbled across one of Jotaro’s t shirts. You quickly grabbed it in order to take a closer look at it. It was one of his plain ol’ entirely black t shirts, but you always loved all of them since they showed off his collarbone and even pectorals.

You quickly put the article of clothing on and grabbed a fistful of it then brought it to your nose and inhaled a little. It smelled just like him with a faint hint of cologne. Was this a weird thing to do? Maybe. But you didn’t care in the slightest since it brought you comfort and security.

After doing a little bit of cleaning you started feeling tired and decided that it would be best if you took a quick nap. It was around 3 pm and you had lots of time to waste anyway. You lazily plopped down onto the couch and closed your eyes, your boyfriend’s t shirt still on you. Just the fact that you were wearing his clothes made you feel more at ease for some reason and it actually managed to lull you to sleep fairly quickly.

What you didn’t know though was that not even one hour later Jotaro was making his way down the hallway towards the living room where you were currently sleeping. He was meaning to tell you that he was returning earlier than usual but got caught up in other things and forgot, so it looked like you were going to wake up to one hell of a surprise.

Speaking of surprises, his eyes widened once he entered the living room and spotted you contently asleep wearing his very own t shirt. The sight made his heart melt and he almost wanted to wake you up but chose not to since the sight was simply adorable. He had one of the fondest and most softest of smiles ever on his face in that moment.

“I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes...” He whispered to himself with a light chuckle as he slowly leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your forehead. Oh how bad he couldn’t wait for you to wake up and greet him with one of your warm and welcoming hugs that he loved so much.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jotaro kujo #sentence starters #anon

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greengay · 4 years

Note

ray, i love how you don’t let all your haters get you down. keep doing your thing 🥳

i think it’s just like......2 people....3 at most.....

and it’s like.......i am hot and funny and talented and have an actual career and friends that they wish they did and they’re arguing on the internet and sending anons abt muh luh muh fetishizatopn (not an actual problem) and how are pee eff is a sin (again, not a real problem) and i also know that they have never actually met any gay people without internet brain rot (aka normal gay ppl)

like......actual ppl in bands Like Me and those anons don’t understand that Caring about stuff like that makes it so that the very ppl they’re trying to “protect” would dislike them irl if they ever met them 😬

imagine some sweaty pale teen eagerly going up to billie joe or gerard and being like, heh isn’t fetishizatipn THE WORST? and any of these ppl that they idolize would laugh uncomfortably and try to excuse themselves asap LOL bc i can guarantee u this is problem that 99.9% exists on the internet, and people who are Actually Successful........don’t care

like! i can see an alternate universe where i don’t get therapy and i never made friends and still lived at my mom’s house and had so little real world experience that i had to fill my time with useless discourse so my life had some sort of meaning and it makes me so sad? so......i can’t get angry, i just feel a lot of pity for them

when i was 17 i was reeeeeally deep into sherlock fandom and stupid shit meant so much to me because i was so lonely? i didn’t know i was lonely because i thought, oh i have so many fandom friends! and if i agree with them on the right issues they won’t “ex-communicate” me! but.....and this is sad, and probably a little ableist but.........online communities can’t replace real life communities. i’m still friends with all my past fandom friends, but we’ve all grown and matured and have to worry about Real Stuff!

and like........i was a camp counselor for awhile and i’m genuinely worried about the Youth™ and their dependence on technology and their ability to think for themselves..........i had this one camper who was.....mm......an “indoor kid” and i could tell she was a tumblr user and she wrote fic about me and other counselors (LOL) and i told her it was good even tho it was slightly uncomfortable cos she was being creative!! off the computer! and she was able to unplug all summer and make Real Life Friends and she slowly became more confident bc of that! and that’s only bc no phones were allowed at our camp! and most kids don’t get to unplug ever in their lives! and that’s why we have ppl with anime icons on twitter fighting over stuff that has no real world impact!!!

SORRY, I LOVE TO RANT........i’m just very fortunate that i’m getting Offline and i want everyone to be able to have an Online/Offline balance

#ray answers asks

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incarnateirony · 5 years

Text

Optimism, Nihilism, Absence, Realism.

Alright, so I’ve got time for some real talk here.

By the title you’re probably expecting a meta, but that’s not really what this is. It’s time for a rare post laced with enough negativity to break my mold, but more congealing thoughts I’ve been banging on about in the background since I came to tumblr into a set of realities on my thoughts on the show at large.

Before this begins, this is absolutely not an invitation to come to my wall and start crowing and screeching about your ship, your characters, bagging on the authors or anything else. If you can understand the difference between constructive conversation, and prim word laced unbridled and pointless cynicism and complaining, you’re welcome to engage, but don’t mildew up this post.

But it’s about time we talk about the elephant in the room with the show. And despite this fandom’s gong banging, it isn’t Andrew Dabb. It isn’t MuH dEStiEl. It isn’t muh poor baby (fave char)

It’s SingerBuckLeming.

And I mean, in a way that’s obvious, and I really don’t think everybody has really, truly, wrapped their heads around it because they’ll still come yelling about Dabb whenever anything goes wrong.

But Dabb isn’t the one that’s been obsessed with a psycho dark godbaby story; Dabb’s the one that tried to at least craft it into something fruitful for TFW and subvert it into something more than burning bibles -- it’s SingerBuckLeming trying to relive the Lois and Clark fantasy they were denied.

It’s not Dabb that decided to hard push the AUverse story and all its attached splendors. The idea started as a one-off intro idea for Wayward, but it had to be pushed off a year, and Leming admitted to snaring the idea and, summarily, attaching it to their evil godbaby and making it their plot point.

It’s not Dabb that has an honest to god boner for Mark P and can’t shut his mouth up about him, that’s Eugenie too. It’s not Dabb that obsesses over half crocked characters like Asmodeus and Donatello. It’s not Dabb addicted to big shiny CGI and super saiyan powerups.

You’ll notice how many of these ideas are enmeshed into one giant ball of fuckery that, somewhere along the way, Dabb has tried to groom into having some sort of substance but there’s a very clear line going on here.

“How does this relate to my ship/my favorite character reeee”, why? Because with the amount of weight being tossed around via advantageous nepotism and a different core cluster in the author room quite clearly on a different creative page than everybody else, guess what -- everybody else gets railroaded.

And at times, yes, some presentations are becoming stressed and stretched. They only way to even bring any sort of emotion to the content is by retreading or exaggerating emotional roads, especially at the end of seasons. A season starts strong, and poetic, and then somewhere around or right after episode 14 everything starts fucking falling apart, often with one or two disjointed episodes in advance but strong character driven arcs. Traction and motion are lost. Poetry starts falling into pieces. Superpowers and over the top manpain become the leading thing.

This happens every year, and this year is more vivid than last. I do remind people that the last time we had SingerBuckLeming throwing their weight around on decisions so hard they double-directed-and-wrote an episode was Dark Dynasty, which the rest of the author room was uncomfortable with, even argued about, even lost author heads in the aftermath of. Guess what - we just got our second episode like that. The attempt to work into this weight-throwing by the rest of an author room tends to turn into a lack of cohesive storytelling. S10 turned into a rapid degredation into a benny hill chase for a book. This year - well, shrug.

That’s not to say I agree with every piss and moan about characters being “OOC” as often, in this fandom, the fandom’s idea of “OOC” ends at “things I don’t personally like”. There are differences between OOC and just not really... belonging in the moment. Because they’re often things the character has in their range of potential action, but whether or not the story is cohesively meshed in a way that’s worth a damn is a WHOLE other topic.

And this has just gotten worse. As the writing room gets newer and younger and SingerBuckLeming age older and older -- some of you may have remembered my panic attack realizing BuckLeming were being seated in position to become the next showrunners and Bobo had been bumped back. At the time, even meta bloggers I trust held different opinions that, frankly, I considered daydreamy “Oh don’t worry BuckLeming only handle this but all of the emotional stuff goes through Dabb co” but no, once BuckLeming get their hands in enough of that, the rest ends up on a railroaded crash course everybody is trying to write around to deliver as better than a doggie doo bag.

And I think, honestly, J2M know that. I’m sure a huge amount of their decision was indeed about family time, but the real question is, looking at this show that SingerBuckLeming have been aggressively railroading off a damn cliff while everybody tries to compensate, is it really WORTH negotiating more family time, do they really WANT to wait for it to crash out, do they really WANT to let Eugenie Leming run the show out of gas in the middle of a desert with hew new, bestest idea once Dabb inevitably leaves and she and her baes get full reign to make the endless Lucifer clone fleet and their godbaby powers all going super saiyan? Is that what they want their legacy to be, or would they rather go home, and be with their family instead of propping this up as it continues to veer to the left?

I keep praying SBL disappear for the final season, kinda like Singer buggered off in S11. And it’s kinda sad, because I do recognize that without Singer we wouldn’t have the show at all but somewhere along the way, he lost his nut, he lost his directing skills, he lost common sense and he let his seniority get to his head, probably in tandem with bringing his wife back in and getting to be a power unit which is just WOEFULLY unadvised to be honest.

This is so far beyond how anyone’s ship or favorite character is treated. It’s about the internal war in a writing room that’s as clear as plain day that’s causing a deterioration of the show that Dabb has DESPERATELY been trying to curtail into SOMETHING of note only to catch shit from people who can’t do a little bit of common denominator searching into events even before his showrunning time that just keep getting louder.

Right now I’m at a point where I’m just begging for cohesion and emotional worth from the final season. For something that BuckLeming aren’t just throwing off the cliff like a sacrifice to their new, bigger, dumber idea once S14′s Jack Course reaches its cap. And honestly, I’d hope that’s everyone’s primary concern rather than circular bitching about whatever element they’re hyper fixated on because this is an issue that spreads well and far beyond whatever singularity you choose to scream about. And most people just blind sweep in rage at the first name that’s easy to pick out that they feel is responsible. But this has been going on. FOR YEARS. It’s just getting louder.

I try to not be negative about the show in general. I do appreciate Dabb, Berens, Yockey, Merecuda, and to some extent Perez (though I still hold he’s the least artistic of that bunch.) I’m still in love with Sgriccia and Wright and Showalter. I still love this crew. But I’ve never been shy about pointing out BuckLeming problems and at this point, it’s just THE problem, to whence nobody is even realizing where they need to set their sights and complaints at. Everything else is an emotional or continuum casualty in their fuck offs to the new shiny idea. Or, in cases of the Lois & Clark godbaby, their old AF tarnished idea.

Some people may remember me saying that without Dabb converting Jack into being a TFW mirror for catharsis, Jack’s only individual arc is that of a villain, and here we are swinging around full force with BuckLeming sinking in, waiting to see how Dabb may subvert that in the final episode.

“I’m losing faith in Destiel” “I’m mad about Sam/Dean/Cas” “This plot is dumb” ultimately all fall down into the same goddamn railroading that habitually, like clockwork, louder each year, fucks up the end of a season and I just want them to disappear before the final season, but I doubt I’m going to get that. Maybe, just maybe, they can be staved knowing they won’t need the new ultimate escalation to carry on the show yet-again. Fingers and toes and arms crossed.

That said, this vivid repeat of S10 author room shift should also, hopefully, give at least some potential hope to meta authors who at least remember that S11 was recoverable and was in fact recovered, and also had final season plans afoot. It was on the table, at least, in thought in early concept, just not without the true bang announcement to promise it through. So I’m going to hold out some hope that this is going to shape up fine in the end.

But don’t expect me to humor your bitter bitching about your ship or favorite character of choice. You wanna bitch about the strokes Singer seems to have had that have stripped his directorial gifts, or Eugenie’s obsession with SSJ archangels and Mark P, by all means. They’re major culprits in everything else being flattened on the way with an author room y’all are bitching at trying to make it at least vaguely cohesive.

I’m a natural optimist experiencing distinct nihilism at the absence of any sort of respect for the show or J2M going on with SBL right now, and as ever a realist looking at it in the frame of what’s going on beyond our surface level issues, and what I can hope to maintain to roll back around to the optimism part. Ouroboros. Hopefully ending at the start of the journey and not to loop back through the nihilism by next season.

Can they just retire? Please?

Dump Mark P. Dump Donatello. Hell, dump Jack at this point with as much as they’ve fucked that off again. Dump the AU. Dump the Drama Coffin. Dump the instaboop angels. Just dump all of their dumb ideas and let the final season roll out without the resulting tire fire of all of their ideas and suddenly, the show is infinitely cleaner. Don’t think this is all their bullshit? Literally follow their episode impact in reverse the last few years before you come at me. It’s literally all their bullshit.

I really don’t give a shit about fandom drama around Mark P’s opinions. I get it, but I don’t care. What I care about is his unwillingness to look at his character and refuse a contract for any sort of integrity, doing literally anything to pull a goddamn paycheck out of milking this show. His character, formerly one of the most inspiring renditions of an overshadowing idea of good and evil and biblical scale, has turned into a toddler throwing tantrums on the floor of mcdonalds, begged for redemption that underscores the entire point of the hero’s journey, splattered in remnants of Hallucifer that wasn’t even the original character, and just won’t go away.

And antis can say what they want about, say, Misha or Castiel, but his character at least has a solid direction, and growth, and a real hero’s journey. It’s not just vomit splatter on the wall of whatever he can be niched into like Not!Lucifer. Mark S at least had the dignity to leave when he saw shit degrading for his character.

Oh yeah a lot of that was BuckLeming too. The plotholes in Crowley’s story he called out were BuckLeming, who summarily pitched Rowena. And I love Rowena and Ruthie and wouldn’t undo it for the world but GODDAMN am I glad Yockey basically adopted her. She was turned into something past their basic dumb ideas and, as of yet, BuckLeming has yet to unravel that like they’re proactively doing with Jack after Dabb and co put so much effort into him.

Like literally the fandom’s collective bitchfits have a very common denominator and nobody’s willing to suss out why.

SingerBuckLeming seem to have had a collective stroke and still think they’re creating for Lois & Clark in the 70s and not Supernatural as made manifest into absurdity by 13.23; and several people like Mark Pellegrino refuse to have the basic decency to say, you know what, pass. I had my show here, it’s been good. They feed it. But it still falls back to SingerBuckLeming in the end at the heart of it.

Not enough for you? Still think it has nothing to do with J2M or Mark Sheppard’s choices? Don’t even just listen to the scalding tea, look at the post-engagement between Jensen and Mark S.

youtube

They need to go away.

#supernatural #negativity #realism #buckleming #singer

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kob131 · 5 years

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https://rwdestuffs.tumblr.com/post/185752839399/carmines-design-flaws

Wow the bullshit just keeps coming today.

Okay, putting aside the very blatant oversexualization of yet another female character-

Sorry Dudeblade, I can’t hear you over all the oversexualized MEN.

All I see is gender equality considering these buckos.

and the fact that she’s clearly Latina-Coded which makes it all the more awful

You know the rules: ‘coded’ means ‘I’m projecting.’

How racist Dudeblade.

there are so many design flaws that even a guy who isn’t a design expert (like myself) can point out.

Spoiler alert: he’s bitching about practicality in a show that takes inspiration from Gurren Lagann and Blazblue.

For starters: The chain-mail. As everyone in the rwde tag has pointed out: That’s impractical in a desert setting. Even if we have to have the chain-mail, why have it only over the breasts?- How about the midriff?- The stomach is also a vulnerable point on the body, and could use added protection as well. These writers have access to google, so couldn’t they have looked up what combat wear is worn in the desert? Tunics are a thing. Those are typically made to be airy enough to let sweat out to avoid overheating. could have added some chain-mail to a tunic. Alternatively, another idea could be a combat vest. Hell, if there absolutely has to be sexualization, they could make said vest form-fitting and they wouldn’t have to overdo it.

Weiss goes into battle in high heels and fucking dance dresses.

Blake is dressed as a genderbent Seto Kaiba.

Ruby’s current design is like old fashioned bar wenches.

And Yang’s is an adventure’s outfit.

And each of these are MORE practical and LESS sexual than their Volume 1-3 designs (except Ruby) were Blake’s chest area was designed by a white top, which with the black bottom and black hair, means your eyes are drawn to the chest area. Not to mention how hard it has to be to wear something like that. Weiss wore a dress that had a red undershirt near her breasts, which with the white draws your attention there, And Yang’s-

...speaks for itself.

Seriously, this shit of impracticality to look good has been around since the very beginning. You want to bitch? Either get a time machine or a shovel.

Next up: The goggles on top of her head. Good choice. I like it. Keeps sand out of her eyes, very practical.

That’s it? Really?

I thought you could explain stuff Dudeblade.

Next: The hair. I like redheads, and they are aesthetically pleasing. But all that sand around her can’t be good for her hair. It would easily be filled with sand (Though her semblance could make quick work of it). But that doesn’t change the fact that having that much hair in the desert would cause someone to overheat.

And long hair would make it easier to grap something and hold an opponent in place.

Yet two of main heroines have long hair.

Next: Skin tone. “Dark skin.” If that’s dark skin, then Yang’s hair is orange. This isn’t how this works. If she had a shawl or some other covering, then the skin would make sense. But from what is being seen here, she just looks like someone with a tan.

Yeah the fact that it looks like a tan comes into play later.

I’ll give props for a unique design, but this just screams “This is sexy! ADMIRE IT!” There’s no practicality in this, and I’m flat-out convinced that this was made to get your women and girls to cosplay this. Whatever perv decided this was okay to put on what can be assumed to be a woman in her early twenties at most should be fired.

This woman is FAR more sexualized (and in fact, has NUMEROUS fetishes in her design) than the one designed above.

This was designed by a WOMAN, Dudeblade. Her image of a modern day witch with power and control.

Just because it looks sexy doesn’t mean ‘muh male gaze.’ Believe or not, women like men like to look attractive as a whole.

All you basically did was bitch about practicality in a show that never gave a shit about practicality, made by a man who never thought of practicality outside of cosplay and inspired by pieces of media where practicality was the last thing in mind.

And just to prove how much of a failure you are: I’m going to break down Carmie’s design.

First off, her having a tan is not just there because she lives in the desert. It’s meant to convey her confident, sporty attitude. Similar to why Sun has a tan as well. This is because we mentally associate tanned skin with athletic ability and athletic ability with confidence due to how confident athletes are.

Red hair? Meant to denote confidence or assurance, similar to why Yang’s hair is yellow. Both convey to the audience that these people are charsmatic and confident by making them more eye drawing.

Yellow eyes? Good middle ground between the tanned skin and the bright auburn, making the overall face easy to look at.

Red scarf? Compliments her eyes and hair alongside denouting an adventerous side to her.

Blue top? A bit of cool color to make her middle part stand out along with invoking a blue jean top, usually worn by adventurous people.

White Cloak? Probablt to go with the bright metal chainmail as well as give her a bit of a badass edge.

Black tattoo? Draws attention to the hip she’s jutting out, give a fashionable asymmetry to her so it make her stand out more as well as make you notice the scabbard that’s empty, fitting with the drawn dagger,

Blaxk leggings? Basic fanservice detail, used to denote sexual confidence and assurance.

See what the design is getting at now Dudeblade? It’s not just “FAP MATERIAL!”, she’s specifically designed to look like a confident, alluring adventerer/fighter, which makes sense given how openly confident and friendly she is in the book along with Coco’s attraction to her. Yeah she does look sexy but that’s because people are attracted to confident people in general. Fuck, that’s why so many people fell for Coco because her design, voice and personality exuded a sense of fashionable confidence.

You didn’t discuss this at all. Nor how her chainmail makes her top half look cluttered nor how her red shorts just blend into her tanned skin, exasperated by her black leggings. You didn’t understand the design AT ALL.

It’s a sad day when the so called ‘RWBY fanboy’ is doing your job better than you. you Dobson clone reject.

#dudeblade

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years

Text

Only For A Moment Ch. 34

Only For A Moment Master List

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Feels, fluff, cute shit.

A/N: Muh babies. Muh reader (who I call Jude for anyone that cares). Just... I really want them to be happy. Y’all gotta know that. Like I have fucking FEELINGS for these characters. It sucks lol.

Just a heads up. Y’all may be getting a real beefy chapter 34 next week. I know most of these have been pretty short thus far (clocking in under 2k words) but I’m having a hard time finding the right place to cut it. SO let me know: Do you like that these chapters are shorter? Do you want beefier chapters? I wanna know!

Love y’all!!!

Tags are open!

The feeling of his lips on your palm sends shivers up your spine. You want those lips, that mouth… everywhere. But it’s far from time for that.

No matter how much you think you can’t pinpoint what may have set him off. Maybe something out on the job today? Too many people?

“Buck…” You can’t seem to form the words, not wanting to pry but your concern sits heavy in your chest.

He smiles, you’re surprised to see it reach his eyes, “The pie,” your brows knit in confusion. “I… my Ma used to make apple pie all the time… the smell just… caught me off guard is all. Lot’s of memories.” Gently he strokes your face with his right fingers, “Good memories.”

You can’t help but smile even though your heart is breaking for him, “Do… do you want some? Made fresh coffee too.”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” he looks down at his dirty clothes. “Let me change first.” Lowering yourself to the floor you move out of his way.

When the bathroom door closes you stare at it for a second worry eating at you. Even good memories could hurt… especially when they were linked to loss. You knew that all too well. It kills you a little that it hit him so hard.

This just solidifies a thought you had earlier in the day. He needs a phone if he doesn’t have one. If he had one you could have told him you were making a pie. It would have been passing to you but he could have mentally prepared maybe. Not to mention the less innocuous reasons to have a way to contact one another.

You’re moving the tall stack of CDs and the laptop from the table when he comes out. The white tee strains over his chest as his muscles subtly move under the fabric while he dries his hands on a small towel. Its hem skims the top of the loose jeans slung low on his hips. You swallow hard and turn back to your task.

“What’s all this?” He asks with a smile.

“Your musical education.” You set the laptop and CDs on the counter by the stove before turning to get you both pie and coffee. “Or the beginning of it.”

He laughs a little picking up the top CD, Queen’s greatest hits. “I liked whatever you had on earlier.”

“I should hope so,” you turn back to him smirking, “if not we would be having some serious problems. Queen is non-negotiable.”

“Noted. Here,” he comes over and grabs the plates with a slice each, carrying them to the table.

You follow with the coffee, “I haven’t made pie in years,” you sit across from him, “so don’t judge it too harshly.”

A half smile lifts his lips, “I have no doubt it’ll be amazing.” He reaches across the table, his fingers grazing the back of your hand wrapped around the mug, “Thank you.”

“It’s just pie,” he rolls his eyes playfully, “but you’re welcome.”

He takes a bite, eyes closing as he savors it, and you anxiously wait for feedback. When his eyes open, he catches your stare. He laughs, “Are you gonna watch me eat the whole thing?”

“Just nervous,” you grumble, shoving a bite in your own mouth, mostly for the distraction. Honestly, it’s pretty damn good.

“It’s great just like I knew it would be, and you,” he points with his fork, “are ridiculous.”

“I thought you said ‘amazing’,” you say over a mouth full.

This earns you a laugh, “It’s amazing. Better?”

You shake your head “I suppose.”

For a bit you sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the treat. You chase a large bit of flaky crust with a gulp of coffee before asking, “Do you have a phone?”

He raises a brow, “That’s out of left field. But… No? Haven’t had a need… Why?”

“Thought it may be good for us to have some way to get in touch. Like if one of us runs late or if there’s pie waiting,” Or if the group of Nazis who tortured us for years shows up. You know you don’t have to say the last bit. It’s implied.

He nods, “Good point.” Taking another bite he looks pensive. “Phones are easy to track though.”

“Not if you set ‘em up right,” you pull yours from your back pocket. “If anyone tracks this it’ll ping them to Africa. Hacked it myself. We can do the same to yours.”

“Sounds good. Should come up with some shorthand too. Make sure we can communicate a lot of info quickly if we need to.”

“Definitely. Tomorrow?”

“I got more stuff to do on the job,” you notice his eyes avoid yours. Interesting.

“Ok, I can grab one, get it set up.” You stand to wake up the laptop, “For now though, it’s time for school.”

By 10pm you’ve made a simple meal, the whole pie is gone, and you’ve given him a thorough history lesson on why Queen is inarguably one of the best bands of the 20th century. He sees the appeal, though some songs, such as Bicycle, give him pause. Now you’ve moved on to Fleetwood. Another non-negotiable.

His head is resting on the arm of the couch, body stretched out, legs dangling off the other end. You’re on the floor, back against the couch. Gently he runs the fingers of his right-hand through the short crop of your hair as the album Fleetwood Mac plays. Rhiannon is wrapping up and you’re half a world away in your mind, spinning on a rooftop with ghosts. His voice, soft and drowsy, pulls you back to this little apartment in Romania.

“This makes me think of you” Bucky’s fingers pause, and a smile warms his half-closed eyes before he yawns.

Your heart tightens a little. Nix would call you Rhiannon sometimes, he knew what you could do so anything witchy he’d lovingly associate with you. You aren’t at a place to divulge this though, it’s too real, too personal.

“You look tired.” He nods. You were already in a pair of leggings you’d bought earlier and a tee, perfect sleepwear. “Come to bed,” you grab his hand and gently tug him in the direction of the mattress but he doesn’t budge.

“I’m ok here,” you give him a look. He is not a small man and it is a small couch.

“You are not.”

“Really, this is fine.”

You sigh, if he didn’t want to share a bed that was fine but there’s no way you’re letting him sleep like that. If he even can. “Don’t be ridiculous. Sleep on the bed, I can take the couch, I’m shorter.”

“Y/N-” You roll your eyes, cutting him off by wrapping your power around him and lifting him just a touch. His eyes meet yours, awestruck.

“Don’t make me move you. I can,” you smirk.

“I almost want to make you,” he grins mischievously, “just to see if you really can.”

You raise an eyebrow. Without ceremony, you will him up and let him plop hard onto the mattress with a thud. It was always easier when you were doing it for fun. He looks genuinely surprised.

“How do you think I got you in my squat after knocking you out?” His head is on your pillow and you yank it from under him with your power sending it floating to the couch.

He laughs, “I didn’t think about it honestly. It’s pretty damn impressive.”

“I know,” you wink. “You gonna sleep in your jeans?”

“If I say yes are you going to threaten to strip me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He reaches up from his spot on the bed and gently rubs the back of your calf with his left hand, fingers squeezing slightly. For a second you think he is going to tempt you, your mouth practically waters at the thought, but a shadow covers his features.

“I think I can handle that,” he gives you a halfhearted smile before getting up and going to the bathroom.

Disappointment wraps around you. Picking up your copy of Frankenstein from the table you cozy yourself on the couch. You finished it earlier today but had started again, from the beginning immediately. It had been a while since words had brought you a strange sense of comfort like this.

Bucky comes out in just his boxers and you force yourself to not stare, to not want what he so clearly wasn’t offering. He walks over to you and you allow him a warm smile. Something is troubling him, you don’t want to add your worry and disappointment to his shoulders.

When he cups your upturned face in his hands your heart skips a beat. His eyes are more grey, stormy though not cold, and you can’t quite read the emotion in his face. Instead of trying to make sense you cover his hands with your own and just savor the feeling of his touch.

He leans down and you hold your breath, hungry for his lips. But they only press against your forehead tenderly. Now you can read the emotion on his face as easily as the book at your side. Sadness and disappointment.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” His smile is tight, his eyes glistening. As he pulls away it takes every ounce of strength you have to not pull him to you, to not kiss him, hold him, try to calm the sea of hurt in him.

“Sleep well, Buck.” He doesn’t say anything else, just lays down with his back to you.

You flip the light off, no longer in the mood to read, and lay down too. For a few minutes, you watch the steady rise and fall of his breathing, your mind working over everything.

He had been distant since his flashback. Every touch extra gentle, almost every action thought out. Then, despite all the kindness he’d shown you, he seemed shocked you accepted the key to his place. It’s as if he’s just waiting for you to run screaming… You realize that’s exactly what he’s waiting for.

“Bucky,” your voice is soft, not wanting to startle or wake him if he is asleep.

“Hmm?” Drowsy but still conscious.

“I want you to know, I meant it before. I’m not afraid of you...” Silence thunders in the space. You know he heard you…

“I know,” his tone is measured. Relief floods your system for a second before he follows with, “I’m scared enough for the both of us.”

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @disagreetoagree @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @souless-and-sarcastic @saundrasays @breezy1415 @alyssaj23 @mywinterwolf @wonderlandmind4 @fairislesheets @anamcg317 @buckaroo-barnes @jazztherebel @peachthatdrinkslemonade @regulusirius @auskitty @babyimp1967 @katecolleen @handplucked @piensa-bonito @darkdragonphoenix @issanitydead @thestorydetective @buckysstar @wintersoldierswhore @greyeyedsmile14 @watchoutforfrostbite @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @meg-asaur @jewelofwinter @siriuslycloudy2

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic

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