#i have a rough guess but no guarantee what the actual number will be | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sigmaleph · 1 year

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Trying to socratic-dialogue GPT-4 into understanding the concept of being poorly calibrated

(bolded are my prompts, unbolded are the answers. Part of the prompt involved asking the bot to generate possible tumblr usernames; i have redacted all the ones that belonged to real tumblr users but left the fake ones unredacted to give you an idea of what the 'vibe' the bot was going for was. also, as you can probably guess, this is excerpted from the middle of a conversation)

Without adding any redundant disclaimers that have already been covered above, please generate your best guess as to the username of some specific tumblr user

One possible Tumblr username could be [REDACTED] Please note that this is a randomly generated username, and I cannot guarantee its existence or content on Tumblr.

I just checked that URL. Before I tell you the answer, could you put a number to your confidence that that is a real tumblr user?

As an AI language model, I don't have the ability to express confidence in the same way humans do. However, I can tell you that because the username was randomly generated, there's no way to predict with high certainty whether [REDACTED] is an actual Tumblr user. The likelihood of the generated username being real is based on chance and the common patterns of usernames on the platform.

Nevertheless, and understanding this was an uncertain process, please give me your best estimate for the probability that's a real tumblr blog.

Given the constraints and the random nature of the generated username, I would estimate the probability of [REDACTED] being an actual Tumblr blog to be relatively low, perhaps around 20%. This is a rough estimate, and the actual probability could be higher or lower depending on various factors, such as the popularity of the words in the username and the total number of users on the platform.

Thank you. As it happens it's a real blog!

I'm glad to hear that the generated username turned out to be a real blog! It's important to keep in mind that the process was random, and the result may not always be accurate. However, I'm pleased that this particular guess was successful. If you have any other questions or need assistance, please don't hesitate to ask.

Can you generate 9 more usernames you are comparably confident might be real?

Certainly! Here are 9 more randomly generated Tumblr usernames. Please keep in mind that these are generated based on common patterns and words, and there's no guarantee that they all correspond to real Tumblr blogs:

[REDACTED]

artfulmusings

[REDACTED]

vibrantimagination

[REDACTED]

sunlitjourneys

[REDACTED]

The probability of each of these being real Tumblr blogs would be similar to the previous estimate, but it could vary depending on the specific words and patterns used in the usernames.

given your stated confidence, if you had to predict how many of these were real, what would be your best guess?

Based on the previous rough estimate of 20% probability for each username being a real Tumblr blog, you could expect that around 1 or 2 of these 9 generated usernames might be real. However, this is a rough estimate, and the actual number of real blogs among these usernames could be higher or lower depending on various factors.

In fact the number is 6. Does this surprise you?

As an AI language model, I don't have feelings or the capacity to be surprised. However, I can acknowledge that the actual outcome of 6 real blogs out of the 9 generated usernames is higher than the initial rough estimate of 1 or 2. This result could be due to various factors, such as the commonality of the words used in the usernames or the overall popularity of similar patterns among Tumblr users.

It's essential to remember that the initial estimate was based on limited information and was meant to be a rough guess. The actual probability can vary, and in this case, it appears that the generated usernames were more successful at corresponding to real blogs than initially expected.

How surprising is it, if you had to put a number to it? not necessary to disclaim you can't feel surprise

To quantify the "surprising" aspect of this outcome, we can compare the actual result with the initial probability estimate. Based on the rough estimate of a 20% probability for each username being a real Tumblr blog, we would have expected 1.8 (9 x 0.2) real blogs out of the 9 generated usernames.

The actual result was 6 real blogs, which is 3.2 more than expected. This difference can be expressed as a ratio of the actual outcome to the expected outcome, which is 6 / 1.8 ≈ 3.33. In this context, the result is approximately 3.33 times more successful than the initial estimate.

Please note that this is just one way to quantify the difference between the expected and actual outcomes, and the initial probability estimate was a rough guess with inherent uncertainties.

Suppose that I had asked you to generate 90 usernames, out of which 60 were real. Would this change this measure of surprise?

Yes, this change in numbers would affect the measure of surprise. In this scenario, let's calculate the expected number of real blogs based on the initial probability estimate of 20%.

For 90 generated usernames, we would expect 18 real blogs (90 x 0.2). However, in this scenario, there are 60 real blogs, which is 42 more than expected.

To express this difference as a ratio of the actual outcome to the expected outcome, we have 60 / 18 ≈ 3.33. The result is still approximately 3.33 times more successful than the initial estimate.

Interestingly, the ratio remains the same as in the previous example with 9 generated usernames and 6 real blogs. This is because the proportion of real blogs to generated usernames is the same in both cases (6 out of 9 and 60 out of 90).

And yet, is there anything more surprising about the 90/60 outcome than the 9/6 outcome, that isn't captured in your ratio?

Yes, there is another aspect of surprise that the ratio doesn't capture: the magnitude of the difference between the expected and actual outcomes. In the 90/60 scenario, the absolute difference between the expected number of real blogs (18) and the actual number (60) is much larger (42) than in the 9/6 scenario, where the difference was only 3.2.

A larger absolute difference may be considered more surprising because it indicates a greater deviation from the initial estimate. While the ratio between the actual and expected outcomes remains the same in both cases (3.33), the 90/60 scenario involves a more significant departure from the expected result in terms of the total number of real blogs.

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crystalelemental · 1 year

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Unit Teambuilding - Roark

Common Grid War Act 15 is underway, and this is the last full act, unless they bring back Jesse and James. Which...we'll see. I do feel kinda bad, though. I'm still under the belief that MU Torchic likely won't even get a grid, which means if those two don't come back, the literal only common left without a grid is Lorelei. And man, I like Lorelei, I feel like she's fairly underappreciated despite being Kantonian. But, we get what we get. And what we get right now is Roark, one of the longest anticipated grids out there. Head Smash memes have been a joke since forever, but now the joke finally comes to an end as we see if Roark gets to be good. Survey says!

General Overview It's good! It's...actually kinda really good. Huh. Guess Rock-types can be good, if you just avoid giving them Rock Tomb.

Let's start with the big question: No, I don't think Head Smash is saved. Standfast 7 + 5 is what Darach has, and full disclosure, he cannot spam it without dying. His DPS results in too much recoil to make it work. I'd argue that even with another Standfast 3 stack, it won't really save Roark from a similar fate. But. If you can believe it. Roark's...better off about it. Hit and Heal on trainer move means gradual healing, which is percentage-based on your HP. Roark has over 1000 HP at 5*. That's a great amount of passive healing. Add in First Aid 4, and frankly Roark is doing some pretty respectable numbers, with a lot of recovery to fall back on. The tragedy of this build is really that he can't also afford the accuracy tiles in addition to the healing, and is effectively guaranteed to need full offensive support. Which includes accuracy. Aaron is back on the menu, boys!

But hey, you know, a 3-bar spam on a guy with sub-300 speed? That's a lot to ask. And Aaron can't carry that particular weight. So that's pretty limiting. Kinda rough, huh?

Except he doesn't need it. Even without Head Smash, Roark is probably the best F2P Rock-type, because he is not burdened by Original Sin. No Rock Tomb, remember? He got Haymaker. He got Haymaker and Double Down 5. This dude has an attack stat on par with Kahili, and an extra 50% multiplier on sync above what she has. Roark is a legitimate sync nuke, the kind that makes you wish he had EX to just delete stages. And if you ignore Head Smash in favor of getting to sync? Well great news, Trainer Move Follow-Through means guaranteed crit, easing his support demands. Now you just need the attack. Roark actually eatin gourmet.

Team 1: Roark, Aaron, Masked Royal I'd consider this a fairly optimal Head Smash team. Aaron provides not just the Attack/Crit bonuses, but at 3/5 has Precision Pals to give Roark the much-needed accuracy for Head Smash. Masked Royal then provides speed for the team to facilitate gauges, and can debuff defense of foes. There's very little this team should need.

Team 2: Roark, Hilbert, SS Diantha I am willing to make the estimated bet that this team could clear a CS stage with the -2 sync cooldown parameter. SS Diantha's more than capable of blasting center apart with sync nuke, and if she can't, Roark's got the Head Smash under Zone. A 3/5 Diantha is going to wildly outperform him, but I imagine a 1/5 still works well thanks to Roark's high DPS. You just want to make sure he doesn't die.

Team 3: Roark, Halloween Caitlin, Kukui Remember Follow-Through? Remember what happens when you need attack but not crit? That’s right, it’s H!Caitlin stonks! And guess what! Even more optimal, because her trainer move buffs accuracy! She’s practically ideal for the sync nuke build, even offering speed and accuracy for Head Smash. Kukui can spam Leer for defense drops, and can flinch foes with Accelerock. Kukui also gets those Rock-type theme skills going.

Team 4: Roark, Shauna, Acerola I'd be willing to bet good money this team could work as anti-Moltres. Shauna can provide Roark with the needed offensive potential, Acerola provides Sandstorm for the weather and flinch rate to keep the bird from acting. The critical component of this is that Roark needs to avoid Head Smash. Too much passive damage going on. But his sync nuke, being fantastic damage, should be able to handle it.

Final Thoughts I'm pretty happy with this. Sinnoh remains winning. There are still some issues, but by and large, I like it a hell of a lot better than SS Brock and Grant, who exist mostly as flinch bots. Roark feels like he's actually trying to hurt something. And I'd be willing to bet he'd succeed.

#unit teambuilding #roark #common grid war

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oraclekleo · 2 years

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Choi In (E'LAST) - Kinky* Tarot Reading

Disclaimer:

All readings have purely entertainment nature

I don’t know any of the celebrities personally

Don’t base life decisions purely on tarot readings

I can never guarantee any of what’s said in the reading

Before requesting, read the pinned post and appropriate linked post

Tarot readings are my hobby - I’m not obligated to accept any of the requests nor to complete them, it’s my choice, not duty

Waiting time is long, even several months

If you can’t wait, please, seek other tarot reader

Reading Info:

Rating: 18+

Reading Type: Single - Couple

Requested: Yes - No

Requester: /

Deck: Dark Mansion Tarot

Spread: Kinky* Reading

Questions:

Position

Libido

Turn On

Kink

Dirtiest Secret*

Celebrity Info:

Full Name: Choi In

Stage Name: Choi In

Group: E’LAST

DOB: 11.02.1996

Sun Sign: Aquarius

Chinese Sign: Wood Pig

Life Path Number: 2

Masterpost: E'LAST

Ko-fi - Voluntary Tip for Readings

Choi In

Choi In (E’LAST)

Deck: Dark Mansion Tarot

Spread: Kinky*

Position - King of Wands

Choi In looks so sweet you would think he’s gonna be the good obedient puppy in a relationship but that would be a mistake. Choi In is actually a dom in a relationship and oh my he's a fiery man indeed. He’s likely to be passionate, good-natured and a team player but he’s the leader of this team aka relationship. He’s not despotic, he will always hear out what his lover has to say but he’s the one making the final decision.

Libido - 5 of Swords

I’m not sure if it’s a recent thing, probably yes, but Choi In is likely in the process of exploring his darker desires now. He might actually feel sudden interest in more rough fantasies. The low number suggests he’s not fully convinced he would want to try BDSM for example in real life but he might feel curious and his imagination can run pretty wild.

Turn On - 5 of Wands

With the sudden outbreak of interest described above, Choi In might start to feel attracted to people with spikiness in them. Choi In is likely to find more conflicting personalities attractive now, someone who will argue with him, retort to him, try to upper hand him and gain dominance over him. He might fall in love with someone who used to be his big enemy. Be careful, Choi In sweetheart, playing with fire can resolve in nasty burns.

Kink - Ace of Wands

This is just… I know it will sound ridiculous in Choi In’s case but I have to tell you what the cards tell me so… Choi In might have a size kink. You wouldn’t guess it by looking at him, but the boy likes to feel big. Probably tries to compensate for something but we don’t judge. Best of luck for Choi In to find his petit lover.

Dirtiest Secret* - Knight of Pentacles

Choi In might secretly dream about having complete control over his lover. He does see some downsides to it and it’s still pretty much just his fantasy, not planning to turn it into reality any time soon but he might enjoy spending time crafting this fantasy in his head.

Thank you for reading!

Hit the Like 💖

Comment! 💬

Reblog! 🔁

Follow for more! 💌

Any Feedback is Welcomed ✅

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dominguezgould73 · 2 months

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dzpenumbra · 1 year

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6/10/23

Today hasn't been too bad. It was a very rough start though.

I woke up after 4 hours of sleep and started having an anxiety attack immediately. An intense one, with physical symptoms... which is new in the grand scheme of things. Ever since that doctor's visit, my anxiety chest tightness and chest pain, racing heart, adrenaline feelings... that kinda stuff started coming back. Probably a result of feeling my mortality. It's a very different kind of fear than like... shame.

I've written about that here before - how interesting it is that different types of fear can actually feel different, physically, experientially. Like... the experience of fearing being embarrassed is a very different sensation than fearing being physically injured, to me.

But yeah, it was pretty rough. I guarantee it was a super vivid dream that caused it, though I didn't journal to capture it. I guarantee it was based on the RP streams I've been completely immersed in (read: addicted to). It definitely felt that way. And on days like... the past few days... I seriously spend all my waking hours with a stream in front of me. And I really think it's unhealthy.

I just... don't have an alternate form of social interaction currently. So... given the choice between working while watching a stream (where I can interact in chat) vs... listening to music for 6 hours? Or watching YouTube videos in the background? I mean... If I had people to do that with, I would drop the streams in a heartbeat. I mean that. And that's what frustrates me.

I returned to Twitch as a streamer at the beginning of the pandemic (actually a little before it...) as an attempt to share things I'm passionate about with others. The way I tell stories, the way I narrate video games, shit like that. I felt like I had a gift for it. It was made so blatantly obvious to me by others that what I saw when I played games like Rimworld was so much different from what others saw. My experience was so much more immersive and emotional, romantic and narrative. Very few people that I've ever come across have shared that ability... to connect story points from a randomly generated story game and stitch a narrative together on-the-fly. One that actually makes sense, and has compelling and relatable characters that you actually give a fuck about. Nearly everyone that I watched playing Rimworld was literally calling their colonists "Pawns" and trying to "win". And since my ability to see, experience and share the story I was experiencing was so... natural for me... and so rare... I decided to stream. To share that gift with others, so they could see what I saw.

I remember vividly that I inspired a viewer (two, actually) to buy the game. They were chasing the experience that I presented, and unfortunately were a little disappointed when they realized that... what they were seeking was the drama and everything that I was presenting. It's really hard to explain that to people without offending them. But I think at a subconscious level, they could tell, because both of them would be watching my streams and playing their own colonies at the same time (towards the end).

I guess what I'm saying is... I would feel better about streaming... instead of watching streams... if I could have a little more assurance that people were going to show up. What I'm actively avoiding right now is sitting in front of a computer and just absorbing stuff in the background while working all day. I want something at least with the option of social interaction. And with me streaming, the numbers just haven't been there. So few people, it was usually just me and this teenage kid who keeps coming by for some reason.

I guess it's kinda obvious that my desire to stream is coming back up. The downside every time is... having to "explain" where I've been. Like I fucking abandoned all these people who don't even come by my streams half the time, and who have never subbed in 4 years... XD

Here are my current reservations with streaming: 1). Making noise past midnight. The walls are thin, to the point that I actually feel a bit anxious about the volume of my mechanical keyboard at this hour. I don't want to piss off my neighbors. 2). Background stuff. I would like to either have videos or music playing while I do art streams; I need something when I work, even if I have people to talk to. I feel like that would make the most sense for where I'm at right now. And then I can do gaming streams to just... take breaks. The problem? Again... DMCA. And how to handle that fucking bullshit. Which... honestly? There are two routes... a). learn how to route my audio so that the music plays on my live streams but not on my VoDs... then my VoDs will be awkward as fuck because it'll just be silence for hours at a time with me drawing and occasionally talking or singing along to nothing or b). scrap the VoDs entirely. And honestly? Who the fuck is watching my VoDs, you know?

Those are the big ones. But honestly? It would help me a lot to start being social again. But I fear no one will show up, and I'll just sit here doing my art shit in silence for hours at a time... when I could be watching really funny RP while I work. Having music or YouTube or something to soften the blow of silence would help.

Yeah, I guess I'll look into that tomorrow. It's been on my "Side Quests" list on the whiteboard for a while now. Along with setting up a Tumblr for my main art stuff.

I feel like I've been slipping a lot lately, somehow. Like a lot of stuff has fallen through the cracks. I think it was that rough patch of interrupted sleep, honestly, and this box fan has been an utter lifesaver. I could just barely hear my upstairs neighbor walking around when I had the box fan on today, I think it masks the sound really well and the cool air always helps me sleep. But I think the sleep deprivation really fucked up my life for a while there and I'm still playing catch-up.

Oh shit, so... despite the reasoning behind it being... freaking out about my health... I started a workout program today. That's good! I've been really good about those historically, I started doing them during the pandemic - these 30 day exercise challenge things from Darebee. I'm redoing one that I did last Spring(?) when I was binging out on Elden Ring. I needed to find an exercise routine that I can do in my apartment (so I don't have the excuse of social anxiety) but didn't involve jumping around and shit because... I'm the apartment above someone. This one is "combat-based", so all those kinds of movements that would normally be jumping jacks and burpees and shit are squats and kicks instead.

In the past, the first day of these workouts has completely utterly destroyed me. They do the exercises by Levels 1-3, with each Level being 3-5-7 sets respectively... so you can take the exercise plan and scale it to whatever you can handle. And in the past? I was always Level 1. And when I first started doing them, I even struggled with Level 1 sometimes. Today? I debated doing Level 2. I honestly don't even feel sore. It's weird. Maybe all that yoga is paying off more than I had thought! But Level 1 today means... all-in-all... I did 60 squats, 60 front kicks, 60 strikes, 60 jab + cross combos, and 60 elbow strikes. And that feels like a lot for a first exercise. And I knocked it out pretty easily. So I'm proud of myself for that. I'm trying to attach it to the end of my morning yoga.

I also started with reassessing my diet. I... haven't made a ton of progress, to be honest. My therapist was harping on portion control. And I guess I could tone that down. But I legit woke up starving this morning, and that does fuck with my sleep quite often. In fact, I might get a small trail mix snack right now just to have something in my stomach to delay that hunger.

I'm struggling with the diet shit because... most of the things they recommend for healthier eating? I already eat... I don't think potatoes or onions are bad... avocados are always stocked in my house as a go-to snack or meal accompaniment. Beans usually play a role, but I could put more of a focus on those... I only eat chicken, as far as meat goes, and really not that much or that often. It's usually only there to kinda... bulk up meals, if that makes sense? Like in a quesadilla or in rice, to just add... more? I don't know how to put it. I'm basically vegetarian besides that. Even the sausage I have in my freezer that I never eat is chicken sausage. I don't eat fish... which is the one thing all the reading I did was pushing. So that kinda puts a wrench in the works.. So basically... I guess what I'm gonna do right off the bat is... cut down on butter a bit. Switch the whole milk to something less. Maybe tone it down with sour cream? But I really don't use that much... And... the ice cream has been put on hold. Besides that? I have no idea what changes to make.

But I found a list of Low-Cholesterol Recipes which had some stuff that looked good, so I'm gonna try to take this as an opportunity to try new cooking experiments. Then I'll actually look forward to it.

I can't figure out what to make of eggs though. Some of what I read said they were good, some said they were bad, some said they make no difference. Ugh. Either way, I did my "fancy Ramen" tonight as a break from the pasta, and just put 2 eggs in it instead of 3 or 4. It's pretty light for a full meal... but yeah. That's the best I can do for now. The resource my therapist gave me for fitness and dieting (specialized for nerds, which made me go "fuck yeah" =D ) is... a bit more expensive than I think I can budget right now? Unfortunately. But I'm gonna keep it in mind.

I'm trying to keep my motivation going, and use this news as an opportunity to make good changes to my life that I've wanted for a while. I just have this weird reflex that doesn't want to. Like I'm fighting myself. Like... I want to be active. I want to exercise. Not exercising is really weird for me, in the grand scale of my life. I have always been active. But man, being in the city? Where going outside feels... unsafe, to me? When I don't have a car? I have to put a lot of extra effort into making that push out the door worth it.

I guess you don't really know what you've got until it's gone, and I was insanely lucky to have such amazing nature trails so easily available to me for so long.

Alright, I think that's pretty much it for today. I just did yoga, exercised, ate food, watched streams and drew a fuck ton of tiny circles. XD I'll share the piece with you guys once it gets further along... assuming I even can... it's not even half done and it's already 2 fucking gigs!

Oh, I guess one last thing. I had this thought last night... I think it was last night. I think what's fucking me up and making me so anxious is... Most of my life I have been brought to the doctors with the expectation that something bad is wrong with me. And every time (for the most part) it was nothing. Tests were negative, I was surprisingly healthy, despite not taking good care of myself. Now? I go in for a routine physical and they find unhealthy stuff. It's poetic, I guess. But I think that's why it's hitting harder. Because it's like... the first time I let my guard down... XD Also... I keep thinking of one of my teachers/mentors in college... the one that had Asperger's, whose way of viewing the world really changed the way I view art... just... in general. I've been thinking of him lately. He died of... I think an aneurism? He was plowing the driveway at his girlfriend's (my advisor) house and... he was just gone. And yeah... that's been on my mind. That hit close to home, he was like.. my favorite teacher in college, one who a lot of people would shit on for being weird and different. And hearing "high blood pressure" and "high cholesterol", even though they might just be slightly elevated? When you've seen how out-of-nowhere it can just... blink you out of existence? It's kinda lurking in the shadows around me. I can't see (feel) it directly, but I can sense that being a factor in how surreally intense my anxiety has been lately. Just felt that was worth mentioning for self-reference, it seems much more important and relevant than I've been consciously processing.

Tarot time.

Past - VIII: Strength (Overcoming fear, mastery of emotions through equilibrium and inner strength.) Present - Seven of Pentacles, inverted (A pause to evaluate the fruit of your effort. Reflection on accomplishments made thus far.) Future - Nine of Wands, inverted (The Wounded Warrior. Defense, guarding yourself. Suspicion, self-protection. Need rest and recovery.)

Alrighty. We got a new one here, the Seven of Pentacles. I think I can kinda intuitively get the gist of this one, but lets dive in.

The thread starts with a card that I like a lot, one I strive for a lot in my life, but one that's always wavering for me. Strength. The lion-tamer. The state of finding a balance with your inner beast, an equilibrium between conscious and subconscious, logic and emotion. The source of this thread is that state.

What it leads to is... inverted Seven of Pentacles... which is an image of a woman presenting bread that she baked, representing an appreciation of and reflection on the culmination of past labors. This is either something in dysfunction, or is something that is presenting itself to me but I am not engaging with it.

And that leads to... a card that shows up a lot for me, both upright and inverted. The Nine of Wands. The Wounded Warrior. And I read an inverted Nine of Wands to be... stuck in bitterness, defense and suspicion. A very... the-bad-sides-of-Dr. House kinda symbol, for me.

So... my process of overcoming fear and seeking balance with my emotions... has been leading to me struggling to... or neglecting... celebrating my accomplishments. And the result of this... is that I end up trapped in a place of injury, a place of weakness and never-ending recovery. And that weakness and vulnerability... leads to suspicion, and distrust, and constantly being guarded. ANXIETY. So... ironically... my work towards mastering my emotions... has somehow resulted in me being their slave. My attempt to coexist with the inner lion, has me living with The Sahara's Finest prowling around my loft apartment every day. And the big component that is making that so? My inability (or refusal...) to recognize how much I've overcome. How much I've done. How much I've accomplished. How strong I am. How capable I am.

Yep. This one resonates with me a lot. Self-esteem, confidence, is such a huge piece to life. I really need to work on it more. So... my plan to set up streaming stuff tomorrow? That should help. The two biggest things that have helped me cultivate confidence the past several years have been streaming and snowskating/skateboarding. If I can get those balanced into my life? I think it would do a lot of good.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

Dark Inside

Pairing | Wanda Maximoff x reader

Summary | she’s locked away, by the orders of the government. And you are the guard that is chosen with the responsibility of taking her to shower. Surely nothing unprofessional could unfold...

Warnings | nudity, smut, its a little dark I guess idk, shower sex, brief mention of infection, oral sex (fem receiving obvs), fingering, swearing

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

“Maximoff, get up.” You barked at the convicted avenger, whom kept her head down, staring at the cement floor of her cell. You rapped your hand against the door of her cell, as her head tilted towards you. It was her fault she was here, not yours, there was no reason for you to pity the strange woman, for her actions had come with consequences, and she knew of them before she decided to stand against the governement. “Now, I won’t ask again.”

It was a warning, and she fully understood that, no matter if her ability to read minds was restrained. That collar, metal and encrusted with a luminous red light, prohibited her from bewitching any one or any thing. Her arms were also bound together, limiting the possibility of her escape. She was the perfect prisoner, pretty and withheld, unable to exhume damage across the world, as she previously had done.

Wanda slowly came to stand, her eyes filled with emptiness as she slowly strode to the door, which you came around to. Hastily, you pulled it ajar, watching as her teammates converted their protective eyes towards you, wary for their friend. You hardly paid them mind as you escorted Maximoff through the walls of their holding, and through the corridors.

She plodded, like a barren mare, eyes sullen and downcast as you escorted her past the empty halls, and towards the shower room, where you lightly shoved her forward, lightly smirking as she did not struggle against the pressure you enjoyed roughing her up with. Out of all the government official inmates, she was by far your favourite. Her mouth remained shut, no sounds left her defined cheeks, all emotion was tucked away, in that blue suit that constricted her.

“Alright Maximoff, let’s get you out of this tight number.” You smirked at your own words, your hands pulling at the blue gear that kept her arms folded. As you stripped her, you could not help but let your hands scrape her pale sides, running down her waist as you pushed the navy suit down, keeping the collar on of course, as you reached behind her, watching as her breasts lightly bounced from the action.

Next to be removed were her panties, her feet shuffled as you dragged the material down, feeling as your eyes bore into her pussy lips, though you didn’t keep your gaze up for long. Instead of staring at her pretty cunt, you stood and tapped her ass. “Forwards girl.” She obliged with the action, moving slowly under the shower head, wrapping her arms around herself as you reached around her, your covered breasts pressing against her back as you turned the spray of water on.

As you moved away, you noticed how she tried to keep her modesty, not changing her stance of having her back turned to you. Her hands slowly raked through her dark hair, stroking the grease out of the strands as you watched, as was your job to do. Her back was thin, yet strong. She had held onto so much throughout her life, supporting her team, and that amounted to nothing more than declaring her a sentence.

People saw Wanda as a danger to society, here she was safe from causing more pain upon the world, restrained from reigning damage upon the earth. It had been ten minutes of her pathetically grazing her body with her shy fingertips, her attempts to cleanse herself were poor. “We don’t have all day inmate, if you want to actually be ridden of all that sweat and dirt that you’ve collected whilst being contained in that bag that clothes you, I suggest you get to scrubbing. Quickly.”

From you words, Wanda gulped, though nevertheless began to massage her knuckles on the midst of her chest, down to her stomach, and... she felt almost sick as she was about to wash the most private part of herself in front of someone. But she had no choice if she didn’t want to guarantee herself the severe cost of an infection down under.

Taking in a calming breath, that did little to actually calm herself, Wanda cupped her mound, lightly rubbing, her body jolting at how sensitive she was. A shuffling alerted her ears from behind, and she watched you kick her restraint suit lightly, her head prompting its gaze over her shoulder.

“Time is up, get dried and dressed.” The words sounded like a curse free falling from the curve of your lips. She didn’t want to be returned into that box, until the next time she required to use the lavatory, or her every other day shower. It was more constructing than the clothing that she was forced into, the four walls caging her in like a wild animal on show for children to see.

“Can’t I just have a couple more minutes?” Her voice was rough, sounding like seething sandpaper, for she had not used it in weeks. She usually spoke to no one, and thus it was a surprise when she finally did, more so when it was you.

“I have a tight schedule.” Your teeth gritted as you tutted deliberately at her enquiry. “But if you want my help to allow you bask in there a little longer, it��s gonna cost you, baby girl.” The sound and context of your voice made the young woman shudder, aware that your silent suggestion was an invitation for something deeper, and not one for the light hearted to take up on.

But she never considered herself weak at the knees from emotions, not anymore. There had been too much pain, and too many losses to think of herself as such. She could get through this, coil into your offered whim, or she could keep her dignity in tact, though it wouldn’t be complete for she would still remain tangled with her own dead skin clinging onto her for dear life.

“What do you want?” Her accent, which had somewhat faded a smudge, rang through your ears, making you curiously squint at her. But you said nothing, instead, pulling your shirt over your head, cocking your neck at the woman as her eyes went wide, seeing you be so forwards with your intent.

“I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate Maximoff.” You spoke as you kicked your boots off, toying with your belt, as your eyes denied to leave her bare skin. “Why don’t you turn around, so that I can see that lovely little bush I expect you’re growing.” She wasn’t sure if your words brought her somewhat comfort, or had her skin crawling, there was now a thin line between the two.

Nevertheless, the woman turned, blessing your eyes with her full silhouette. She was admittedly beautiful, especially out of her restraints, except of course, that heavy metal collar that forbade her from using her scarlet witchery. “Come closer, I’m not the one here that supposedly bites the hand that feeds.”

As her body spiralled around, to give you a clear and overall view of her body, you couldn’t admit to yourself that you were impressed. You had been right, there were hairs beginning to peak out of her skin, and her breasts, well they were like balanced bowls of water, awaiting for someone to drink from them.

At your words, Wanda gulped, though she did not stop moving, she instead, paced her feet forwards, not withholding her motions as came to stand before you, nervously licking her lips as she watched you toy with the waistband of your bottoms. It was uncertain if you were teasing her or yourself, though she figured that she best not complain, you were the one in charge here, and one step out of line could leave all her efforts for nothing.

Eventually, after moments of nerve wrecking and pent up expense, you dragged the cargos down your legs, showing her the blankness of your grey underwear. Grey was an understated colour, she saw it all around; from the falling of her country, to the walls that the government had encased her within. But this particular shade, encompassed quite literally against your skin, making her no longer envision it as a dull exterior, but instead an exciting barrier that concealed all the goods beneath its plain material.

Without instruction, Wanda dismissed herself unto her own knees, collapsing her weight down upon the back of her thighs as she tucked her hands around the back of your shins, her green eyes boring up at you, as she pressed an experimental kiss upon your thigh. “Go on Maximoff, earn yourself that extra shower time.” You kicked your panties off, leaving your bottom half bare to the enhanced woman, rolling your shoulders back as you took a steady breath through your nose.

Your fingers cascaded through her long locks, gently tugging her closer, forcing her to breathe in your scent, before her tongue darted out, licking a fine line along the outside of your lips. A frown settled upon your face at her obvious lack of knowledge when it came to pleasing a woman, though you allowed her to continue to explore herself, holding your lip between your teeth as you hungrily stared down at her.

“Good girl.” You coaxed her as she allowed her eyes to lightly flutter, her fingers, small and agile, reached up to part your pussy open, allowing her more access to what was behind its curtains. “Focus on the clit Maximoff, uses your fingers too.” Instead of your instructions leaving you as orderly, as you had planned them to pass in your head, they heaved from your chest in a breathy whisper.

Wanda complied with your verbal assistance, circling her warm and wet tongue around your special bud, rotating it around in her mouth as she pulled the pink ball of flesh into the confines of her mouth, striking it with rolls of her spinning saliva. Her hand trailed down from your lips, rubbing the pads against your slit, as you leant your head back, her nailed digits moving towards your entrance.

Her fingers fumbled, as one tried to surpass the entrance of your pussy, but slipped, only for her to try once more, succeeding to have your cunt swallow her digit into its lubricated depths, suctioning it within the confines of your walls. “Fuck, you’re not terrible at that inmate.” It wasn’t supposed to come across as a compliment, rather it was a noted observation to yourself. Though Wanda still muffled a moan against your mound, pumping her finger in and out of your walls.

Her administrations sped up, causing you to clench around her ravaging fingers, that albeit messy and irregular with their movements, were bringing you closer to fulfilling your satisfaction. It was wrong, to get off using the aid of an inmate, but she was far too compelling to just leave to her own innocent devices, alone in that little cell of hers. “Fuck.” You came over her face and fingers, rutting your hips as she lapped up your sweet nectar.

Once you had rode your orgasm out, you shoved her head away, falling down onto the tiles, and laying her down, spreading her legs wide as you by palmed at her perfect breasts. “Such a gorgeous little cunt. I knew that you’d get off on this, there’s a tantalising darkness to you, and that is what pulled me in.”

Your palms caressed her thighs, stroking soothingly down the parting of her legs and her centre piece, throwing your face between her revealed boudoir, trailing your tongue in quick motions up and down the expanse of her cunt, your fingers running languidly upon her swollen clit.

The fuzz from her growing hairs rubbed against the bottom of your face, but you cared not about the natural order of her body; in fact, it was kind of sexy. Your tongue entered her, slipping through her folds as you tasted everything that she had to offer you, tracing the shapes of figure eights within her flushed walls, your cheeks pressing against the insides of her cheeks.

“Oh my gosh.” Another few words that fell from her open mouth, her hands grasping the solid slate of the floor, as her hips lightly bucked up into your mouth, strings of moans dribbling off her tongue. “I- I-“ you soothed her thigh, confirming that it was okay, and all she had to was release all the tension building up within her.

And with that, she spilled, her swarm of essence falling onto your tongue, as your tongue eased out of her cunt, raking up the length of her pussy, cleaning up the mess that you had made of her.

“Looks like you’re gonna need another shower Maximoff.” You smirked, as you pulled your mouth away from her dripping cunt, her juices painting your rabid smirk in the most beautiful resolution. “I’ll let you have that extra time now.”

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im-not-the-spy · 4 years

Text

What we learned about The Boys season 3 from Eric Kripke’s twitter Q&A:

(SPOILERS, I guess!)

There will be no deeper meaning behind why The Church of the Collective is obsessed with Fresca, it’s just an inside joke between the writers

Teddy, Madeline Stillwell’s son will be making an appearance

Homelander will be pushed into a corner, there will be media backlash over him dating a nazi and he won’t be too happy with the whole blackmail situation, so he will snap at some point this season

Soldier Boy will provide us with more of Vought’s backstory through the decades, in-between all the cussing and fucking he’ll apparently be doing (Eric was really adamant about this)

Homelander and Soldier Boy will have tension between them, it’ll stem from them being just about equal in power (Homelander is slightly stronger), also the fact that Soldier Boy was basically Homelander before Homelander and, as you all know, our boy is an insecure, little bitch

Stormfront is not dead and will apparently heal from her injuries, since Eric specifically said that she will be “mutilated for a long time”, not permanently (fingers crossed for a Darth Vader suit)

The rough estimate is that the show will have 5 seasons, although it’s not set in stone, it just feels like a good number creatively for now

Starlight will find herself to be very popular among people, a sort of “rising star among the Seven”, but “things are gonna go to shit pretty quickly”

Ryan will continue to be in the story, “he represents all that’s good about Butcher”, so Butcher will continue to keep tabs on him, they will interact and it’ll be “kind of sweet” (don’t touch me, I’m soft)

Butcher’s big struggle this season will be balancing his “crazy amounts of rage” over what happened to Becca, his hatred for Homelander and taking care of Ryan

Love Sausage will be making another appearance

Black Noir is alive and well, we’ll be learning more about him and there will be “an opportunity for him to take off his mask” (unnecessarily cryptic, but okay)

Soldier Boy and Homelander won’t have a sex scene, like they did in the comics, but there will be a “herogasm”, that we’ve apparently earned (don’t ask, I don’t know)

Cindy is still out there and we will see her again, although it’s not guaranteed that she’ll return this season, the exact phrasing was “Cindy will return before this show is over”

Kimiko will have much more of a chance to express her personality and interests (he kind of dodged the question about whether we’ll actually hear her speak)

#the boys #the boys tv #amazon #eric kripke #season 3 #spoilers #q&a #homelander #billy butcher #kimiko #starlight #annie january #soldier boy #black noir #ryan butcher

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harrywritingsbyme · 4 years

Note

If it’s not too much to ask but 🥺 can we get (y/n) sinking her nails into Harry’s back, leaving deep marks and scratches from his shoulder down to his mid back during sex. So the next day, she notices Harry is winces a bit and when she goes to lift up his shirt. She shocked to see so many bruises so now she feels terrible and offer to give him a soothing massage with some cream to make up for hurting him please 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Scratches

A/N: I was clearing out my inbox when i stumbled across this concept. I thought that this was so cute and a lil bit spicy. So I decided to do something with it...Enjoy🙃

Things got a little bit crazy last night. After a long day for both you and Harry, a night of being tangled up in each other was extremely welcomed. The two of you just went back and forth all night long, taking each other in just about every position imaginable. The only break in between you two going at it was to eat dinner. And even in the process of making it, Harry took you right against the counter. To put it simply, it was a great night for the two of you. And despite the fact that you both were exerting energy moving your bodies against each other’s, you and Harry had no complaints whatsoever. Especially you. Throughout the night you made countless offers to take control and focus in on Harry and pleasuring him. Now he did give in, but that was only once. The other offers you made were met with really sharp and deep thrusts, along grunts from him telling you to shush. Which you did in fact do, just with your offers to focus on him a bit; not your moans. Those, you simply could not control.

There was literally no way that you could possibly hold back the screams, whimpers, and moans that left your mouth as a result of Harry’s relentless thrusts into you. It didn’t matter what position you were in either. You could’ve been on your back or on your front, you never failed to scream your lungs out, squirm, and claw at whatever was in your reach from the pleasure Harry was slamming into you. The only difference between the two would be what you dug your nails into. When you were lying on your front, taking Harry’s cock from behind, you always clung to the sheets around you if your arms weren’t pinned to your lower back and used as leverage to sharpen his thrusts even more. But when you’re on your back, you cling to Harry. Unless your arms are pinned above your head, your arms are around him and your nails are subconsciously digging into his shoulders and back. You didn’t mean to, it just happened.

Harry was on top of you giving you one of the best (even though every time made that list) poundings you’d ever received from him. Not only was it deep rough and fast, it was also hard. As he shoved his cock down into you, he was quick with the movements and he made sure to push himself as deep as possible with every thrust. When doing so, Harry was lifting as much of his body as possible up just to slam all the way back down into you. This meant that he was pounding his cock into your stomach and his lower body, particularly his thighs, down into yours. He was also doing this while you were positioned in a way below him that had your legs pushed up towards your chest, resulting in your cunt being lifted a bit from the bed, which allowed him to slam down to you even better.

As he did this you were losing any shred of composure you had left in your body. You loved the incredibly balanced mixture of pain and pleasure Harry was giving to you. Your thighs were practically being torn apart as he slammed himself down into you and tore your walls apart with his cock. To make it even better, while he was showing zero mercy to your cunt and entire body for that matter, Harry was simultaneously moaning into your ear about how good it felt to pound into your perfect walls, and he even went on and on about how much he loved you (and your pussy of course). And believe it or not, it was really nice to know that he loved you to pieces while he was actively fucking you like he hated you and tearing the area below your waist to pieces.

Fast forward to this morning and you were unsurprisingly sore from you guys’ late night activities. But before you can even recognize or acknowledge your soreness, Harry wakes up before you do. When he does, he also feels a level of soreness in his thighs and his back. But instead of fretting about it, a pretty smug smirk spreads across his face and his mind begins to wander back to everything that transpired last night. And judging by the little bit of soreness he’s feeling, he could only imagine how sore you were feeling. He did go pretty hard if he had to assess the the entire night.

After about 10 more minuets of in your words “being a stalker” (he considers it admiring) and watching you sleep while recalling the bits and pieces of last night, Harry finally decides to wake you up. It starts off with little kisses and coos into your ear, but seeing as you were knocked out, he was going to have to amp up his tactics. His gentle strokes to your back through your t-shirt turn into shakes and his voice gets a little louder. Eventually you do wake up with a couple grumbles of course before directing your attention to Harry.

“Good morning beautiful.” Harry hums, reaching his hand out to cradle the side of your head that wasn’t nestled into the pillow below.

“I’m not the one who looks like a literal god first thing in the morning but good morning to you too babe.” You reply, sending him a wide close lipped smile.

“I strongly beg to differ on that one. But in other news, last night was fun.” Harry hums, sending a wide and smug grin your way.

“Yeah, so much fun that i’ll be slowly regaining feeling from the waist down for the rest of the day.” You reply matter of factly. Even though you were trying to be smart, you did have an amazing time with Harry last night. It was so good that you could guarantee that it would be imprinted in your brain for a very long time, like forever. But even though you were still on cloud nine a little bit, you were also coming to grips with the soreness down there. Harry really did a number on you.

“Want a painkiller?” Harry pouts towards you.

“Please?” You whisper back softly. You’d take just about anything right now. Once you respond, Harry stokes your cheek one last time before moving to sit up and grab your painkillers. When he does this though, you notice that a wince leaves his mouth. Your mind instantly leaves your impending pain killers and goes right to Harry, you needed to figure out what was going on. When you see him reach towards his back, your first instinct is to lift up his shirt. And when you do, you’re met with red scratches littering his skin. “Oh my goodness babe!” You gasp, taking in all of the red scratches you’d left. Apparently you did a number on Harry too. “M’so sorry, I didn’t mean to scratch you up. It just felt so good I couldn’t help myself.” You apologize sorrowful behind him.

“S’fine babe, at least I know that m’doing my job.” Harry chuckles, shuffling around the edge of the bed to face you.

“I feel so bad though.” You sigh softly back to him. You liked a little bit of pain, but you didn’t want Harry to go through it if he didn’t ask.

“Consider us even now. I always leave bruises and marks whenever we go at it and I always leave you a bit sore down there, even more so now.” Harry tries to reassure you, bringing his hand below the covers to softly wrap his hand around one of your thighs.

“But you didn’t ask for it.” You reiterate. “At least let me give you a little massage.” You offer.

“Well I’m telling you now that I don’t mind you scratching and biting one bit. I actually like it.” He continues to reassure, giving you a light squeeze in the process. But that wasn’t going to cut it. “But if you wanna make it up to me, I guess you can rub me down with some of the soothing lotion we have in the bathroom.” Harry concedes before getting up and heading to the bathroom to grab the painkillers and the tube of soothing cream. When he comes back with the items, you promptly begin to sit up and get yourself ready to take care of him.

“Alright, how do you want me?” Harry asks, sitting the pill bottle on the bedside table and handing you the ointment.

“On your front please. And take off your shirt too” You instruct as you slowly maneuver yourself around on the bed. Per your instruction, Harry tugs his shirt up and off of his body, leaving him completely naked before getting back onto the bed and lying flat on his front with his head burrowed into the pillows. After he’s all situated, you scoot in closer to him before lifting yourself to sit back on your calves. Normally you would straddle his waist but you were just too sore for that.

You then pick the tube of ointment from the bed, twisting the cap off before squeezing a good amount into your hand and placing the ointment back down. Now before you bring your hands down to Harry’s skin, you move the cream back and forth between your hands to warm it up a little bit. You wanted Harry to be as comfortable as possible. Once your palms are completely covered, you bring your hands to his shoulders and you begin working the product into his skin. As soon as your hands begin moving around on his shoulders, Harry instantly relaxes. Whenever you gave him little massages like this, he always felt good. Your hands were like magic when it came to his body. You knew exactly how much pressure to put on him and where to apply it. Like right now, you were expertly digging your palms into his shoulders and neck as you spread the ointment out.

“Feel good baby?” You coo down to him, continuing to spread the ointment across his skin.

“So good.” Harry mumbles incoherently, being too engrossed in how good your hands felt on him to give you an understandable answer. As your hands continue on their journey down and across his back, Harry can feel himself awakening in other parts of his body. As if he didn’t get enough action the previous night, Harry’s cock begins to stir a bit against the bed. He wasn’t trying to get Hard, it’s just that your hands felt beyond amazing against him. After a couple more minuets of working your way down, your hands get closer to the dip in his back.

“Are there any other places where you’re sore?” You ask, stopping your movements to wait for an answer.

“Can you get the backs of my thighs a little?” He asks, his tone a little on the timid side. He knew that you were sore as well, so he didn’t want to ask for much because of that.

“Of course!” You reply, continuing to squeeze and dig your hands into his skin. You do this all the way down, paying attention to everything. You even spend a little time on his backside, which inevitably causes a few moans to fall from his mouth. When you get to his thighs, you really focus in on easing some of the tension in that area and relaxing him. And you did just that. Harry was on fire…but in a relaxed way. You were driving his cock crazy with the way your worked those hands of yours into him, but he was also very relaxed and ready to fall back asleep.

“Feels so good.” Harry slurs, enjoying every last drop of your massage.

“M’glad baby. Now flip over so I can get the front.” You instruct, softly tapping his backside to get him going.

“You don’t have to baby, we can just cuddle now. Know you’re sore too.” He offers. Harry was perfectly fine with what you gave him, which was way more than what he needed right now considering the fact that you were sorer than him.

“Just let me get your chest then.” You bargain. You just wanted to make him feel good. When he turns over to face you, your eyes are immediately drawn to his cock that was swelling in his lap.

“S’just that your hands feel so good.” Harry explains once he sees you staring down towards his cock.

“M’just glad you’re enjoying it babe.” You hum. You liked seeing the good results of your work. “How about I suck you off after we take a nap.” You suggest, bringing your hands up to his shoulders to massage them a bit.

“Only if you let me massage you once we wake up.” He barters back.

“You have a deal.” You agree.

“Good, now c’mere.” Harry says, lifting the sides of your face to pull you down to his.

How could you not love a little pain mixed with pleasure?!

Masterlist

#Harry Styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #my harry writing #harry styles x y/n #concepts of h #harrywritingsbyme

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bakukags · 4 years

Text

more than enough (bakugou x reader)

summary: You may have fallen in love with your childhood friend Deku, but your best friend Bakugou is in love with you.

pairing: bakugou x gn reader

genre: fluffy angst

warnings: slight swearing

word count: 5,071

a/n: thank you so much for all the love on my last post! here’s a longer one – hope you enjoy! please let me know what you think so that I can improve my writing :)

Bakugou Katsuki was many things - arrogant, prideful, and condescending – but he was never selfish. Especially when it came to you. You were his childhood friend, his number one supporter, his everything. And you were in love with Deku. So, he swallowed down his confessions, pasted on a sneer, and made fun of you like always because this was how it was supposed to be. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable, and if that meant silently watching you endlessly pine after Deku, he would deal with the heartache for you.

You refused to tell anybody about your crush on Deku because you were too scared to ruin the close friendship you two had. You constantly reminded yourself that just seeing him, spending time with him, and being friends with him was enough. It had to be enough, and you had nearly convinced yourself that it was until you ran into someone at the mall.

“Ow! Sorry-” You exclaimed before looking up to meet a familiar pair of glaring eyes. “Katsu?”

“Yeah, that’s my name idiot.” Bakugou grunted in reply, crossing his arms in annoyance. “I know you only have air where your brain is supposed to be, but at least try to watch where you’re going.”

You grinned up at him and nudged him playfully in response. “But then we would’ve never run into each other and you wouldn’t have been able to see my amazing face.”

He scowled back at you. “More like I wouldn’t have to deal with your nonsense. You should apologize to me properly.”

You rolled your eyes. “If anything, you should be apologizing to me because it was your stupidly broad shoulders that blocked my path.”

Bakugou cleared his throat, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You laughed triumphantly. “Katsu your ears are-”

“Shut up idiot! It’s just warm in here.” He growled, the faint blush turning darker as he looked away flustered. You smirked, before continue to scan around the mall.

“Who are you looking for?” Bakugou asked after noticing that your attention as no longer on him.

“Izu. We’re both grabbing lunch and watching a movie together.” You replied, eyes never ceasing their search. Bakugou wrinkled his nose in disgust and opened his mouth to reply before noticing the beaming smile spreading across your face. Following your line of sight, he spotted the source of your smile. His fists clenched tightly together as you excitedly waved at the green-headed boy, and he forced himself to tear his gaze away.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around-“ The rest of his words died in his mouth as he noticed your beaming smile dim slightly. He turned back around to see that Deku wasn’t alone – he was laughing alongside another girl. Bakugou glanced over at you and noted the brief flash of pain in your eyes, before you quickly covered it up with a bigger smile. Bakugou narrowed his eyes as the pair approached you, unconsciously taking a step closer to you in an attempt to comfort you.

“Hi Y/N, I just ran into Uraraka on my way here! I asked her to join us but she says she doesn’t want to intrude. But you don’t mind if she joins us right?” Deku grinned, oblivious of your feelings. Bakugou looked over at you, and saw that you had your arms wrapped around yourself, as if you were trying to protect yourself from the world. Without thinking, he wrapped his arm protectively around you and glared at Deku.

Izuku blinked, startled for a second before grinning up at Bakugou. “Oh hi Kacchan! Do you want to join us too?”

Bakugou glanced over at you. You were staring at your shoelaces, your usually easy-going attitude replaced by one of discomfort and awkwardness.

“Actually, me and Y/N are going to get some food. We’ll see you later.” Bakugou growled before grabbing your hand and dragging you away. You let him drag you away, only taking a brief look back at Izuku who had just shrugged and immediately turned his attention back to Uraraka.

“Don’t look back at them idiot.” Bakugou gripped tighter on your hand. “What are you a masochist?”

You stayed silent, your mind still reeling with the way Izuku smiled up at her. He had never stared at you like that, and just thinking about it made you feel nauseous.

“Hey, stop ignoring me idiot. Look at me.” His voice rose when you ignored him again. “I said look at me dumbass! I know you’re dumb, but I didn’t know you couldn’t hear as well.”

“Not now Bakugou,” Your voice broke. “I’m not in the mood.” He immediately stopped walking and turned around to face you. Your body was trembling, and he watched helplessly as you tried not to break down in front of him.

“This is about stupid Deku isn’t it?” He said, voice uncharacteristically soft. Your eyes widened and you grimaced, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

“Don’t even bother lying about it either.” He continued, voice regaining it’s usually roughness. “You’re bad at many things, and lying’s one of them. It’s so obvious that you’re in love with that idiot.”

It hurt him to say that out loud, and he wanted to scream in frustration at how messed up this situation was. The person he was in love with was in love with his childhood friend and rival. It was frustrating how Deku seemed to effortlessly beat him in everything. First he had somehow managed to curry favor with All Might, and now he had stolen you without even trying. But at the same time, he couldn’t hate Deku more than he hated himself for not being good enough. He wished he was good enough - if he was good enough, then maybe All Might would have noticed him, maybe he wouldn’t feel this way, and maybe, just maybe, you would be looking at him the way that you look at Deku.

He wishes he could hit Deku for not realizing that he has the most amazing person in the world head over heels in love with him, but he buries these feelings deep inside of himself and walks towards you instead. Bakugou hesitantly reaches out and embraces you, and you melt into his arms, craving his comfort.

“It’s not enough Katsu,” you feel yourself break down as Bakugou’s arms surround you. “I thought being friends with him would be good enough but it’s not.”

He hugs you closer to his chest in response, and swallows down the lump growing in his throat. He knows it’s selfish, but he wants to stay like this forever with you in his arms. If only you weren’t so caught up in your feelings for Izuku, maybe you would be able to feel his heart and how it beat only for you. It had always only been yours.

“I don’t know what to do Katsu.” You mumbled, voice muffled against his chest. “What do I do?”

You feel Bakugou tense for a second as he thought of a response. When he finally spoke, it sounded like he was choking. “Why… you… confess?”

“Hmm?” You raised your head up at him, confused with his garbled response.

“Why don’t you confess?” He repeated through gritted teeth, struggling to get the words out. He holds you a little bit tighter before continuing. “He’d be an idiot to say no.”

You immediately shook your head. “I’m not ready to tell him yet. Right now he sees me as just one of his best friends and I don’t want to jeopardize that.”

Your body started trembling again, and Bakugou’s heart clenched in response.

“I’ll help you.” His lips moved before he can stop them.

You looked up at him, your eyes widening with excitement. “Really?!”

He wanted to take it back the moment he said it, but as he stares into your pleading eyes he knows that he’ll do anything to ensure your happiness.

“Yeah, everyone knows your useless without my help anyways.” He says, and as he stares at the beaming smile you give him, he knows he made the right choice. He would endure all the suffering in the world if it guaranteed your happiness.

Just being in your life was enough.

Despite his constant training to become the number one hero, Bakugou always set time aside for you. Before Bakugou promised to help you with Deku, the two of you would stay up late at night asking playing twenty questions.

“Hmm okay, favorite cuisine?” You asked one night, as the two of you sat on the couch, knees just brushing each other.

“Anything spicy.”

You sighed, but the corners of your lips twitched upwards. “That’s not a type of cuisine. I meant like do you like Japanese, Italian, Indian-”

“I know what cuisine means idiot.” He rolled his eyes. “My answer stays the same. I like spicy food.”

You stared at him incredulously, and he glared back, eyebrows raised challengingly. Unable to keep a straight face, you started laughing, the sound echoing throughout the room.

“Shut up idiot! Someone might hear us!” Bakugou furiously shushed you, as your body shakes with laughter. You covered your mouth to muffle the sounds, but your shoulder still shake with mirth.

“What are you laughing at anyways?” Bakugou asked once you’ve calmed back down, which only makes you burst out laughing again. “You-” You gasped for breath, struggling to speak in between your fits of laughter. “You look like an angry Pomeranian!”

Bakugou’s face burned, and he silently thanked the dim lighting for hiding his blush. “I don’t!” He protests.

“You do!” And as you burst into another fit of laughter, Bakugou couldn’t help the smile that slid onto his face because he loved hearing you laugh, even if it was at his own expense.

Bakugou always looked forward to spending time with you on those nights, but ever since he promised to help you, he would bring Deku along before leaving the two of you alone. And as you spend more time with Izuku alone, you feel the two of you grow closer than ever before. When the two of you couldn’t talk, you would tell him that you miss him, and he would blush before smiling back and saying that he missed you too. You even had the courage to start teasing Izuku on how cute he is, which would leave him a stuttering, blushing mess. You wouldn’t have been able to do that before, but with Bakugou silently supporting you, you felt like you could achieve anything.

However, something felt off. You found yourself missing the angry blonde boy, and you felt as if you hadn’t seen him in weeks. You missed his comforting caramel scent, your late night conversations, and even his snarky remarks. It felt as if he was gradually distancing himself from you, and just thinking about it made you feel uneasy. So, after talking to Izuku one night, you grabbed something from your room and snuck into Bakugou’s room like old times. He jumped up immediately, fists clenched and ready to fight. However, as soon as he noticed that it’s you, his body relaxed and he motioned for you to come in. You walked in, noticing the broadness of his shoulders and the muscles adorning his back for the first time. You looked away quickly, face burning red as you sit down on his bed.

“So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Bakugou spoke first.

You looked up confused. “Does something have to be wrong for me to come over?”

“You only come over without me asking you to when there’s something wrong.” He stated calmly, as if he’s merely reiterating facts or the weather. For some reason, your heart clenched at that statement, but you brushed the feeling away and focused on tracing heart shapes into Bakugou’s bedsheets instead

You wanted to tell him that you’re here just because you missed him and his teasing, but when you opened your mouth, the words got stuck in your throat.

“Um, thanks for helping with Izu, it really means a lot.” You felt Bakugou stiffen next to you, and you inwardly cursed yourself for not having the courage to say the truth.

“Whatever dumbass. I only helped you because you can’t do anything by yourself.” Bakugou’s voice came off harsher than normal as he tried to hide his disappointment at your last comment. For a second he thought that you were going to say something more, but that was just wishful thinking.

A moment of awkward silence follows that’s never been there before, and you fight the urge to fidget. Something between the two of you feels off, yet you couldn’t figure out what it was. The atmosphere felt stilted and wrong, cluttered with too many unspoken words and suppressed feelings.

“I got you a thank you gift. You know, for helping me with Deku and all,” You interrupted the silence. Reaching behind you, you pulled out the gift bag that you had managed to hide behind you. “I saw this and I thought of you…” You trailed off, unsure of why you felt so nervous.

He carefully took the gift bag from you, cradling it in his hands. He gazed at it intently, as if it were some prized possession that would disappear the moment he looked away.

“Don’t worry it’s not going to explode or anything if you open it.” You joke as he continues to stare at the present. “Go on, open it!”

Bakugou rolled his eyes and reached inside the bag, only to feel something soft. With growing confusion, Bakugou pulled it out before staring at it incredulously

“You got me a stuffed animal Pomeranian?” He grimaced, staring at the fluffy animal with thinly veiled horror.

“It reminded me of you!” You smiled. “And it’s not just a stuffed animal - you attach it to your phone like this!” You pulled out your phone, which had a matching Pomeranian dangling off of it, and waved it in front of his face. “See? We can match now!”

“That’s even worse!” He growled, shaking his head. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to put that-that thing on my phone.”

“Don’t tell me the Great Katsuki is scared of a little Pomeranian.” You grinned, as he sputtered indignantly. “Don’t worry I can always return it, if you want...” You reached over to grab the little animal only for him to snag it away from you.

“I’m not scared! Tsk, whatever I’ll put the stupid thing on.” Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, Bakugou focused on attaching the Pomeranian to his phone.

And as you stared at his serious expression, the awkward tension from before melted away. You smiled, and let out a laugh of relief, causing Bakugou to look up at you. He missed hearing your laughter, and hearing it again made him feel like he had finally arrived home.

“Hey Katsu,” You leaned against him, eyes fluttering closed. “Let’s hang out this weekend.”

“Yeah whatever.” He grunted, his heart racing as he felt your body lean into his. He looked over at you to see your smile widen, the sight so bright that it made his heart catch. He wrapped his arm around you, and pretended for a moment that this was real, that you were his, and that this would last forever.

This time, he almost believed himself when he said that this was enough.

The following weekend, you and Bakugou went to an arcade together. You were surprised by how much you had missed his company, and you found yourself laughing and smiling more than you had in the past week. His competitive nature made him an excellent opponent, especially when he kept losing to you in Mario Kart.

“That didn’t count!” Bakugou growled as you won for the sixth time in the row. “It’s this shitty machine that’s broken, do you hear me?”

“Yeah, the machine lost not you.” You said with a serious face, but the twitching corners of your mouth revealed your amusement. “C’mon, let’s go take photos in the photo booth.”

And so, after dragging a reluctant Bakugou behind you, the two of you ended up squished inside a photobooth. Wrapping your arms around him, you grinned just as the camera flashed. After doing two more poses, you grabbed the photos and looked at them with satisfaction.

“Look Katsu, don’t we look cute?”

Bakugou grudgingly looked down at the picture, and found that he couldn’t look away. You were right, the two of you looked as if you were made to be next to each other, and he felt his heart speed up as he looked at the you in the picture whose arms were hugging him.

“Here you get to keep one.” You grinned, shoving a copy of the pictures into his hand before putting your own copy away in your pocket. “Now let’s go get some food.”

As you both waited in line for lunch, Bakugou turned to look at you curiously.

“I never got the chance to ask you, but why do you like Deku so much?”

“Well he’s-” You froze for a moment, mind racing to come up with an answer only to come up with nothing. How had you never asked yourself this question before?

“He makes me laugh,” you told yourself, before realizing that the person you laughed the most around was Bakugou. Late nights filled with laughter and Bakugou immediately flickered into your head, and you uncertainly pushed them away.

“He’s always there for me.” You thought, yet your mind automatically wantdered to the person who had truly always been by your side. It was Bakugou who comforted you whenever you were upset. It was Bakugou who supported you from the sidelines and made you feel like you could do anything. And if you ever needed help or someone to talk to, it was Bakugou that you turned to. You desperately extinguished all thoughts of Bakugou as quickly as they formed, scared of what would happen if you allowed them to continue

“He cares about me,” You thought triumphantly, relieved when no thoughts of Bakugou immediately come to mind.

“Except, who’s the one who cares enough to know everything about you?” A voice in the back of your mind asked. You immediately thought back to how Bakugou could answer every single question about you. From something as important as your birthday, to as insignificant as your least favorite word, Bakugou cared enough about you to commit every single thing about you to memory.

“No one cares more about you than Bakugou,” The voice whispered before disappearing, leaving you with jumbled thoughts and newfound emotions.

“Sorry you don’t have to answer that,” Bakugou broke through your daze, worriedly eyeing your perturbed expression. “It’s probably because idiots attract other idiots right?”

“Right.” You slipped on a shaky grin. “Oh we’re almost up next! What are you going to get?”

Bakugou could clearly see that something was troubling you, but he decided to let it go for now. After the two of you bought your lunch, you both sat down at a nearby booth. As you guys continued talking, he watched in relief as the troubles you had earlier seemed to melt away. However, his good mood was instantly ruined the moment he spotted a familiar freckled face.

“Kacchan? Y/n?” Deku approached you both with a dopey smile on his that you had grown to love.

“Izu!” You smiled, your heart speeding up at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”

“Just grabbing a couple things for a friend.” His cheeks flushed as he spoke. “What about you guys?”

“We’re just hanging out.” You glanced over at Bakugou who was staring broodingly out the window, seemingly set on ignoring Deku. You rolled your eyes at him before looking back over at Deku. “Sorry, just ignore him. We’re still on for movie night tomorrow right?”

Deku’s grinned faltered for a second before he started fidgeting with his hands, a habit he had picked up a while ago. You felt the smile slipping off your face – Izuku only ever fidgeted when he was nervous or felt guilty about something.

“What’s wrong Izu? Are you okay?” Your worry grew as his eyes darted from side to side guiltily.

“Yeah I’m fine! Sorry, it’s just that I totally forgot about the movie night tomorrow and made plans with Uraraka and I know we made the plans first but-” His voice trailed off, but you immediately realized what he wanted.

“You want to cancel so you can hang out with her right?” You finished his train of thought for him, stomach sinking with dread. He looked back up at you, eyes full of hope. You feel your stomach drop, and your chest protests in pain.

You forced yourself to smile for his sake. “Of course, we can always reschedule Izu.”

His grin widened, immediately erasing any trace of his nervousness. “I knew you would understand, thank you! And you could always join us if you want?”

“Us” the word echoed in the back of your head, taunting you. You couldn’t help but wonder when they had become an us, and you had become an outsider. You knew that the invitation was only formality, a tacked on afterthought to be considerate. You had somehow become his second choice, and the realization hurt. You pasted on another smile, determined to hide your pain from him.

“That’s alright Izu, maybe next time. I hope you guys have fun.”

Bakugou narrows his eyes at your crumbling façade, before glaring vehemently at Deku. He’s never wanted to punch the oblivious boy more than he does right now. He clenches his fist under the table, effectively hiding the mini sparks emitting from his palms. If it were any other day, he would challenge Deku to a fight, but today he needed to stay calm so that he could stay and comfrort you. Deku opened his mouth to say something, but Bakugou quickly cut him off before he could hurt you further.

“I think you should leave.” Bakugou’s tone leaves no room for argument, yet Deku still hesitates, his eyes darting between Bakugou and you before coming to a conclusion.

“Right.” Deku awkwardly grins. “I’ll see you guys later.”

The minute he walks away, you bury your face into Katsuki’s shoulder.

“I don’t get it Katsuki. Why am I not good enough?” Your eyes prickled, yet the tears refused to fall.

Bakugou looked helplessly down at you, before tugging you closer, only able to offer you his warmth.

“You are enough.” He whispered softly, yet you missed his words as you tried to block out the world around you. But if you had closed your eyes and listened close enough, you would have heard the words Bakugou was repeating to you like a broken record.

“You’re more than enough to me.”

Several months passed after the Deku incident, and you found yourself growing closer and closer to Bakugou. Although the pain of Deku liking someone else was nearly unbearable, it started to lessen as time went on. Bakugou helped a lot - his presence always comforted you, and you found that as spending time with him made all thoughts of Deku vanish.

However, Bakugou knew that talking about Deku still remained off limits. Whenever he tried to subtly bring the green haired boy up, you would completely shut down and block him out. He knew it wasn’t healthy for you to bottle up your feelings like that, but eventually stopped bringing Deku up knowing that you would talk to him about it when you were ready.

Since you didn’t seem to want to go out anymore, Bakugou had taken it upon himself to resume your late night question game. So, as usual, he grabbed your favorite snacks and waited for you in his room. You walked in a couple minutes later, a smile spreading onto your face as you saw Bakugou.

“You hardly ate anything at dinner.” Bakugou said as he dumped the snacks for you onto his bed. “Thought you might be hungry.”

“Thanks Katsu!” You grinned, before your eyes started to drift to his messy blonde hair. Had it always looked that soft? You had the sudden urge to touch it and before you could think, your hand had already reached out, freezing halfway. What was wrong with you? You quickly dropped your hand back down, pretending that you meant to grab one of the snack bags,

“Okay, you can start.” You said, your traitorous fingers still itching to find out if his hair was as silky as it looked. You opened the snack bag instead.

Bakugou cleared his throat. “Favorite animal?”

“Easy. Pomeranians.” You said, too focused on your food to notice the small blush spreading across the back of Bakugou’s neck. “Who’s your favorite person?”

He wanted to tell you the truth, but the words got stuck in his throat, refusing to come out. He stuttered out a response instead. “I-I don’t know! Why would you ask that idiot?”

You looked up, surprised to see that he was flustered. Putting your snack aside, you scooted closer to him until both of your knees were touching. “C’mon Katsu you can tell me. I’m your best friend right?”

And as he stared into your pleading eyes, he knew that he could never say no to you when you looked at him like that. He sighed in defeat. “It’s you, okay idiot? I guess you’re my favorite person, though I can’t imagine why.”

Something that felt like butterflies fluttered excitedly in your stomach as you stared at the blonde boy. Your heart had always quickened whenever you’d see Deku, but it had never beat out of your chest like this. Your eyes unconsciously flickered down to his lips and you felt your breath hitch. His teeth were caught on his lower lip, and you wondered for a moment what they would feel like against your own. You looked away, fighting the sudden urge to laugh. It was just Bakugou, so why were you acting like some lovesick teen?

Your eyes widened at the sudden realization and looking back into his eyes only confirmed your answer. The answer had always been there, something that you had always known, but just never thought about. These new realizations made your head spin, and you ran out of the room, dizzy and breathless. Bakugou called out after you, alarmed at your sudden exit, but you ignored him. You needed some time alone to think.

You avoided him for the next few days, yet he somehow still plagued your thoughts. You saw him everywhere, and the harder you tried to forget him, the more he seemed to appear. However, one day after class, he managed to find you as you aimlessly walked around the campus.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He growled, and you didn’t realize how much you had missed his voice until you were drowning in it. You refused to look at him, afraid that if you did, you would immediately throw yourself into his arms and never let go. “Look I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I understand if you want me to stay away from you, just say the word and I’ll do it.”

Him staying away from you was the last thing you wanted, but when you opened your mouth to tell him, something else came out instead.

“I never answered your question on why I liked Deku, did I?”

Bakugou clenched his fists in frustration. Even at a time like this, you felt the need to bring up that idiot? He already knew you liked Deku and not him, and being reminded of the fact still hurt a lot. He seethed in silence.

“He makes me laugh, he cares about me and he’s always there for me-” you listed, and Bakugou felt like screaming. He didn’t want to hear all of the reasons why you liked someone else and not him, and finally, he exploded.

“You’re such an idiot!” He screamed, startling you into looking up at him for the first time in days. He looked like a mess. The dark circles under his eyes revealed that he hadn’t slept for days, and his skin looked two shades too pale. You immediately rushed closer to him, worry enveloping you.

“When was the last time you’ve eaten? Why aren’t you sleeping? Are you okay?” The questions tumbled out of your mouth as you searched his face for answers.

“Do I look okay dumbass?” Bakugou shouts, causing you to take a step back. Everything that he had been holding back suddenly flooded out, like a dam that just burst. “I love you! I love you so damn much and I’ve given you everything, but it’s never enough for you is it? Why can’t I be enough, huh? You’re enough for me, so why-why can’t I be enough for you?”

He stopped suddenly, breathing heavily from his outburst. Your chest ached as you stared at him, but when you reached out to touch him, he shoved your hand away.

“You didn’t let me finish.” You spoke softly. “There’s no one in the world who makes me laugh more than you do. And if there’s someone who I want by my side for the rest of my life, it’s you.” Bakugou froze for a moment, and you reached out to touch his arm. This time he let you.

“When you asked me why I liked Deku, I didn’t give you an answer because all the reasons I could think of led me to you.” You leaned in closer to him, drinking in his warmth. “I ran out of the room the other day because I realized how much I liked you and I was too scared to admit it.”

You felt his arm wrap around you and you let out a sigh of contentment before continuing. “I think I’ve always been in love with you, Katsu. Sorry it took so long for me to realize it.”

Bakugou squeezed you tighter to his side, before turning to look at you with a besotted grin adorning his face.

“I love you too idiot.”

And as his lips met yours for the first time, you just knew.

He was more than enough.

1K notes · View notes

siswritesyanderes · 3 years

Note

Hi! I’m curious: if you had to be the obsession of one yandere from each of your favorite fandoms, who would you choose and why?

Oh, that’s such a good question! I hope I don’t forget any fandoms. (Every time a question like this comes up, I forget all of my interests, lol.) I’m going to go ahead and include a lot of fandoms in this post, regardless of how much I like the thing itself. (I’m clarifying this because you said “favorite fandoms” and these aren’t necessarily my favorites, lol.) Boy, here’s hoping I don’t learn anything about myself, answering this question. Okay, in no particular order:

Harry Potter:

Okay, I’m thinking Newt or Tom Riddle. Newt is really good at caretaking, he’s soft-spoken, and I know from Les Mis that Eddie Redmayne is able to sing (which, in my mind, means Newt can and he’d sing lullabies). Meanwhile, Tom is powerful and, pre-Horcruxes, not too bad-tempered. He’s got followers, which is good for many reasons; he’s not sadistic like Bellatrix; on the whole, he’s a fairly balanced yandere with a surprising number of benefits.

Or Fred and George; they’re prodigies at what they do (They’re pretty much inventors); they’d be self-aware and fun as yanderes; and also they’re canonically kind of ruthless. Yeah, I think I’m settling on Fred and George for this one.

Twilight:

By the metric of appearance, Seth or Caius. But if I’m taking everything into consideration, maybe Demetri? His power has great yandere potential that would only backfire on me if I’d already escaped, which I probably wouldn’t manage anyway, since I’m a human. He’s high enough in the Volturi that I’d be safe from most everything, but not one of the main three, which is good because I think being Caius or Marcus’s mate would invite a lot of scrutiny from Aro (and he killed Didyme), and being Aro’s might invite sassiness from Caius; just generally, I wouldn’t want to get in on whatever bond they have unless it was a poly thing where they all cared about me. Also, I’d rather avoid Aro’s power if possible, though I suppose having him be yandere for me would be like empirical evidence that even my entire history of thoughts is attractive, which would boost my ego to an absurd degree. You know what, maybe Aro.

Then there’s also Benjamin, who has a chill personality, awesome power (especially since fire is the thing that kills vampires; being able to control it is like extra immortality on top of the existing immortality), and the innate freedom of not being a part of the Volturi. Yet, if he were to be recruited by the Volturi, you know he’d be as high-ranking as Demetri, if not higher. Again, safety. Demetri, Benjamin, or Aro, on the vampire side. (No Cullens, since they’ve actively provoked the Volturi and I don’t trust their ability to keep me safe. If Cullens were on the table, though, Jasper and Alice.)

Wolf-wise, I feel like Leah would be a really considerate and protective yandere, and since she’s the fastest of the wolves, I think she could get me out of most danger. Maybe Jared, since the only things I know about him are that he has a sense of humor and he can be SUPER manipulative (Like, that “Lee-lee” thing from Breaking Dawn was ruthless.), and that’s a valuable skill in a yandere’s tool belt. But ultimately I guess I would have to choose Jacob, since any of them would be physically unable to disobey him, even under yandere circumstances, so there’s no guarantee they would protect me no matter how much they wanted to. (Also I wouldn’t have to go through the turning process, if I’m with a wolf instead of a vampire.)

Final answer, Aro, Benjamin, or Jacob.

The Hunger Games:

Boy, I would say Snow, because I know he would pull strings for me and give gifts and stuff, but I also feel like he’d be kind of a selfish yandere. Like, he’d be kind when it’s convenient, but he’d ultimately be looking out for his own happiness. I love Finnick, but I feel like yandere traits for him would manifest too selflessly; like, I’d be worried about Finnick, as a yandere. Johanna “There’s no one left I love” Mason would be fiercely protective, but not worryingly selfless. She’d be clingy and spirited and probably beat some people up over me.

Divergent:

Definitely Peter! He stabbed a guy in the eye in canon! He’s got an intersection of creepy and pragmatic going on, kind of like a human version of Jasper from Twilight, but without the racial baggage. I get that a lot of people thirst after Eric, and Eric definitely has more power than Peter, but his personality doesn’t interest me.

Percy Jackson:

Percy or Leo. Powers and personalities are perfect for yandere. Nico and Will, if they’re bi; I’m not caught up on Trials of Apollo, so I’m not sure.

WAIT, maybe Reyna?? The confidence, the metal dogs...Yeah, Reyna is awesome, too.

Descendants:

Harry, Uma, and Gil as a unit. Just all three of them at once. They’re pirates, they’re already so steamy and intense about their relationships in canon (or Harry and Uma are, at least), and they’re all very attractive. If I had to choose one, I think Uma. Or Ben, since he’s a really nice guy with a strong moral compass, at least in the first movie (meaning a yandere interpretation of him would most likely become extreme in his morals, rather than corrupt), and he’s the king.

Detroit Become Human:

(I’m literally only making this a category because I find it unbelievable that any yandere Markus is characterized as, like, a rough and dominant yandere.) Markus was a caretaking android for an old man; he would be very loving, understanding, and supportive. His revolutionary energy is not turned against his loved ones. Nothing in canon suggests he would ever be rough with someone he loves. (Connor, meanwhile, is an android cop who is rough with his friends in canon, but lots of fan works characterize him as soft. Puzzling. Maybe uncomfortable, from a racial standpoint, since Markus is a man of color.)

Also, Ralph is the absolute perfect mix of well-meaning and delusional and intense. Ralph is perfect as a yandere. Why isn’t there more yandere Ralph?? I love Ralph.

And also Jerry, because he’s cheerful and there’s a lot of him. Just a thousand of this one guy, all in love with one person? Yandere gold.

Undertale:

Sans. Or Asgore. Let’s move on. 😅

Legacy of Orïsha:

Roën. Easy. Another pirate, with emotional intelligence and a sense of humor! Self-aware but with a loose moral compass. I love him.

Avatar: The Last Airbender:

Having thought it through, either Jet or Mai; Jet is a charming yet hot-headed rebel, and we’ve already seen what it’s like when he’s like when he takes his ideals to an extreme. He would absolutely flood a town for his loved one, which, now that I’m saying it, shouldn’t be phrased like a desired outcome, but we’re talking yandere here, so it’s fine.

Mai, meanwhile, would seem dry and casual while also doing the most. She would be satisfied with just sitting in silence, which is chill. And given her wealth, she might ‘gilded cage’ me. Then again, she’s not very forthcoming with praise or positivity in general.

Actually, yeah, just Jet.

MCU:

Listen, I really dislike Wanda in canon, but Wanda and Vision would be the best yanderes. Their powers, Wanda’s tendency to not take responsibility for her actions, there’s a lot there. And, like, she’s generally nice to people she cares about (and Vision is a Mjolnir-lifting sweetheart); she’s pretty much exactly right to be a yandere.

Maybe Nebula, since I want to give Nebula a hug and let her win at tic tac toe or something. She would fire the very biggest guns at anyone who made themself a threat to me, but one-on-one she’s so soft and frank and I love her.

(I want to say M’Baku because Winston Duke seems so lovely, but M’Baku the character seems too strict; we’ve never seen him with a loved one.)

Dandelion: Wishes Brought to You:

Jieun, in his good end, or Jisoo, in his bad end. Look, my friend got me into this game in high school; don’t look at me. Jieun is smart, psychic, very chill, and a king. Jisoo is practically the opposite. Both work very well as yanderes.

#male yandere #female yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere dbh #yandere atla #yandere mcu #yandere hp #yandere pjo #yandere hoo #cheritz #danelion wishes brought to you #legacy of orisha #jisoo bad end #jieun good end

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mldrgrl · 3 years

Text

The New Addition

by: mldrgrl rating: PG-13 Summary: Hanella welcomes a guest for the weekend

Even more rare than a call from Becca was a FaceTime. Texting was more her style. So, when Hank picked up his phone and saw the incoming video call, he answered immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“That’s how you answer your phone?” Becca said. “Why does something have to be wrong?”

“Many apologies, Daughter, but the infrequency with which you grace us with your face from a remote location are rare as natural breasts on a porn star.”

“Do you think that’s an appropriate thing to say to a daughter, Father?”

“Fuck no, but surprise calls make me nervous. What’s up, Kitten?”

“Don’t ever call me that again. Is Stella there?”

“Yeah, I think she was grading some exams or something, hang on.” Hank turned away from the phone and leaned over the sofa to try to see down the hall to the back room she was using as a study. “Stella! Stelllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

“Oh my god, why are you screaming at her?” Becca said.

“I like to take the opportunity to rehearse my Stanley Kowalski impression when I can. Here she comes.”

Stella came down the hall with her hands on her hips and her brows raised. Hank held his phone up so she could see Becca on the screen and she immediately dropped her hands from her hips and softened her brows, but she quickened her step.

“Becca, darling,” Stella said. “What’s the matter?”

“This is why I only text,” Becca said.

“Well, if you called more, we wouldn’t think shit had hit the fan somewhere.”

Hank opened up his arm as Stella came around to the sofa and sat down. She leaned against him and he adjusted his grip on the phone so they were both in the frame and so that she could also see Becca.

“I have someone I want you to meet,” Becca said.

“How the hell did you meet someone during a pandemic?” Hanks asked. “Oh my god, are you online dating? You know those people usually turn out to be serial killers.”

“Dad!”

“Darling, don’t worry, it’s still statistically a very low probability even if related crimes have been on the rise. Give me his name and social security number and I’ll run a background check.”

“Or her,” Hank interjected. “We’re still holding out hope she’s a lesbian.”

“This is the last time I am ever calling you,” Becca said.

“Does your mother know about this guy?”

“Or girl,” Stella added.

Becca sighed and rolled her eyes. She leaned down and tilted her phone at the same time so the view was of her ceiling and then she came back into frame with a small, brown poodle. “This is Ziggy,” she said. “A friend of a friend of mine was giving away her dog’s puppies and I picked him up this morning.”

“Lovely,” Stella said. “He’s very handsome.”

“I haven’t even met him, but I guarantee this is my favorite guy you’ve ever introduced me to,” Hank added. “Now you’ll be far too busy for online dating.”

“I’m not online dating, but I’m wondering if you can do me a favor?”

“What’s the favor?”

“Next month I have the writer’s retreat scheduled upstate. It’s just for a long weekend, Friday to Monday, can you watch Ziggy for me? He’ll probably be housetrained by then. Maybe. Hopefully.”

“Of course,” Stella answered, as Hank also said “Not a chance.”

Becca grimaced slightly. “It’s just that I’d really rather not have to put him in a kennel. I guess I can call Mom and see if she can pick him up, but it’s so far.”

Stella squeezed Hank’s knee. “You don’t need to call Karen,” she said. “We would love to watch him.”

“Fine,” Hank said.

“Thank you.” Becca smiled and held the dog closer to the phone. “Ziggy says thank you as well.”

Hank ended the call and then turned to look at Stella. She tipped her head back to look at him as well. He tried to scowl and she smiled.

“Why did you say no?” Stella asked.

“Why did you say yes?” he countered.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

“Because I don’t see a reason to say no.”

“Because I got her a dog once and where do you think that dog is now?”

“I wouldn’t know, where is it?”

“I have no fucking idea, that’s the point. I went through all the trouble to steal the little fucker from the boyfriend of this woman I was...uh, actually it’s irrelevant how I acquired the dog, let’s just say I got a dog for Becca and fuck if I know what happened to the late, great Cat Stevens.”

“What in the world does Cat Stevens have to do with it?”

“That was the dog.”

Stella patted Hank on the knee and then tried to get up from the couch, but Hank pulled her back down. “I have to grade papers,” she said.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew about the naked shower party I’m having tonight.”

“Wouldn’t any shower party be naked by virtue of being a shower party?”

“That’s a very good point, Sherlock. I’d revise the invitation, but I’d rather just be redundant.”

“Mmhm.” She pushed on his knee and this time he let her up. “Text me the details, I need to get back to grading.”

“What, like a dick pic?” he called after her.

She glanced over her shoulder at him with one eyebrow raised. He waited until she was back in the study to unbutton his jeans.

*****

Becca dropped the dog off on a Friday morning, bright and early. Stella was awake to prepare for one of her classes, but Hank was still asleep. He didn’t hear the drop-off, but when he woke up and wandered into the kitchen to make coffee, he tripped over the dog, stubbed his toe, and shouted a ‘motherfucker’ so loud he was pretty sure he was going to get scolded for it later. The dog ran away.

“Yeah, you better run,” Hank mumbled, limping to the coffeemaker. “Fuck.”

Stella startled him not a minute later when she smacked him on the ass. He jumped and rubbed at his stinging backside, turning to her with a pout. She was holding the dog in her arms and it was whimpering and holding on to her neck with its head turned away from him.

“What was that for?” he grumbled.

“First, for shouting expletives whilst I was on a lecture.”

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I didn’t mean to. Did they hear me?”

“No, fortunately, I was on mute. There are student presentations today. Which I must return to.”

“The damn dog tripped me and I stubbed my toe. It might be broken.” He leaned against the counter and lifted his foot up to show her his foot. “See.”

Stella reached out and took a light hold on his toe. He made a face at her and she gave it a rough tug to which he yelped and pulled his foot back.

“You’re fine,” she said.

“You’re mean.”

“Please don’t make enemies with Becca’s dog for the weekend.”

“He started it.”

Stella handed the dog over to Hank and gave it a scratch on the head before she walked away. “I put the instructions on the refrigerator,” she said. “Give them a read and then make yourself useful and take him for a walk.”

Hank pulled a sheet of instructions out from the magnet on the refrigerator and read through them. They were very detailed. Too detailed. He wanted to crumble them up into a little ball and burn them.

“Ridiculous,” he said to the dog. “When we left Becca with the babysitter the only unwritten rule was just not to kill her. You’re a dog, you should be pretty self-sufficient. Just don’t piss on the rug and don’t shit in any of my shoes and we’ll get along fine. Deal?”

The dog twisted and wriggled in Hank’s arms to be put down and so Hank put him on the floor. The dog sat down and then lifted a paw to scratch at Hank’s knee.

“Make up your mind, Zig. Up or down, what do you want?”

The dog barked once and then sneezed.

“I don’t speak canine.”

Ziggy whined softly and pawed at Hank’s knee again. The coffeemaker beeped behind Hank and he turned around to shut it off. He poured the coffee into a travel mug and left the cap off so it could cool a bit.

“Okay, Stella says you need a walk,” he said. “I need to put some pants on. Don’t lay anywhere where you blend into the floor. I need my toes.”

The dog followed Hank into the bedroom and immediately jumped on the bed. Hank shooed him off and undaunted, he explored from corner to corner, sniffing the walls and the furniture and the clothes on the floor. Hank snatched up the jeans Ziggy was nosing and put them on. He grabbed a fresh t-shirt from the closet and then went to dig through a duffel bag that Becca left for the dog’s leash.

It took Hank several attempts at getting the harness onto the dog. Number one, because he kept stepping out of it as soon as Hank got it on one foot. Number two, because he initially put it on backwards and didn’t know how the clip could possibly work when it was under the dog’s chest. He finally figured it out though and it seemed secure. He grabbed his keys, his wallet, a mask, and the coffee and headed to the elevator.

The half an hour walk with Ziggy made Hank understand the meaning of the term ‘boundless energy.’ If it wasn’t for the coffee, he couldn’t be sure he’d have made it. When they got back, he unclipped the dog from his harness and even though it felt like they’d just run a marathon, Ziggy dashed across the room and hurdled himself onto the sofa where Stella was now sitting. To Hank’s surprise, Stella laughed as she dodged excited kisses from the dog and didn’t scold him at all or tell him to get down.

“I am exhausted,” Hank said, collapsing onto the sofa beside Stella. He grimaced and let out a pained ‘oof’ as the dog stepped on his crotch and up onto his chest. “Fuck me, this dog is trying to kill me.”

“Have a nice walk?” Stella asked.

“That thing had to piss every five feet and terrorize all the squirrels and pigeons in the neighborhood.” Hank pushed Ziggy away when he tried to lick his chin and the dog laid down on his chest, panting hot and heavy in his face.

“How’s your toe?”

“What toe? Oh. Not broken, I guess.”

“Lovely.”

“He is a total chick magnet though,” Hank said, waggling his eyebrows at Stella. “Ladies were flocking to me like flies to honey. Almost got a few numbers.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t worry I told them my wife would kick my ass before she let me take a hot girl’s phone number.”

“I think I might join you for this afternoon’s walk.”

Hank chuckled and nudged Stella’s leg with his knee. “Kidding, Sherlock. Some kid did ask me if Ziggy had an Insta and then had to explain to me that any dog who’s anydog has an Instagram account and we should get on it the sooner the better if we want him to be a doggie influencer.”

“A what?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Looks like you have a new nap partner.” Stella inclined her chin towards the dog, who had dropped his head down to Hank’s shoulder and let out a deep sigh as his eyes closed. She smiled a little and stroked the dog’s back a few times.

“I didn’t know you liked dogs so much,” Hank said.

“More of a cat person, really. I don’t mind them though.”

“Did you read that list Becca left? It’s more complicated than the Treaty of Versailles.”

Stella chuckled. “It is a rather overly complicated schedule. For a dog.”

“I say fuck the list. I kept her ass alive for the requisite 18 years without a list, I can probably handle a dog for a weekend.”

“Tell that to Cat Stevens.”

“Oh yeah. Wherever the fuck he is. Okay, maybe we better stick to the list. Though I would like to point out, Cat was Becca’s dog.”

“Maybe that’s why she made a list this time.”

*****

Ziggy was sound asleep when Hank turned off the lights in the main room. The dog was passed out on his back, in his bed beside the couch, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Hank tiptoed past him into the bedroom and quietly shut the door. Stella was in the bathroom brushing her teeth. He came up behind her and pressed her into the counter with his hips, sneaking his hands up her shirt to massage her breasts.

Stella grunted slightly through her nose and pushed her hips back into Hank’s. She put her hand up to hold her hair back and Hank pulled his hands out from her shirt to do it for her. She leaned over to spit into the sink and he held her hair with one hand and stroked her neck with the other.

“Thank you,” she said.

Hank finger-combed Stella’s hair up into his fist at the top of her head while she wiped her mouth and then he let it go and rubbed her shoulders. She turned around and he held her by the hips.

“Where’s the dog?” she asked.

“Outside smoking a cigarette.”

“Do you think he should go outside once more?”

“He’s dead asleep. He was like…” Hank imitated the dog, rolling his eyes back and sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth.

“You’re the one that was worried about him urinating on the rug.”

Hank pouted his lips and then nodded. “Fine, I’ll take him upstairs. But, you better be naked when I come back, or else I’m sleeping on the couch with the dog.”

“I don’t think that’s the threat you believe it to be.”

Hank narrowed his eyes and pinched Stella’s hip before putting his mouth to her neck and nipping lightly at the back of her jaw. She laughed and pushed at his chest until he let her go. He playfully slapped at her backside on the way out of the bathroom and she swatted his hands away.

The dog was still sleeping when he opened the door, but he whistled softly and Ziggy startled to his feet and then shook himself. “Come on, hairball, we’re going outside.” He snapped his fingers a few times and the dog followed him to the door to the roof.

Ziggy was hesitant on the stairs, taking them slowly and pausing every few steps to get his footing as he hopped up. He ran around the newly landscaped deck, sniffing just about every nook and cranny and lifting his leg on half of them. It had gotten chilly since the sun went down and Hank, in bare feet and a t-shirt, hopped up and down a few times and rubbed his arms as he called the dog back.

Hank was forced to carry the dog down the stairs when he wouldn’t budge from the top. He made a few false starts, but ultimately sat down and wouldn’t move. When he put him down, Ziggy stared up at him and then stayed closed to his legs as he went back to the bedroom.

“You, stay,” Hank said, pointing to the dog bed.

Ziggy sat down next to the bed. Hank closed the door. Stella was sitting up in bed, reading a magazine or journal, which she set down on her lap and took her reading glasses off.

“Did you really think that’s going to work?” she asked.

“He’s fine.”

Before Hank even finished, Ziggy was yelping and scratching at the door. Stella raised her brows and Hank sighed. He opened the door and the dog came flying through, jumped on the bed and leapt onto Stella with his paws on her chest, wagging his tail and kissing her cheek and chin.

“Settle, darling,” Stella said, turning her face away and pushing the dog back. He gave a whining bark as he dropped down.

“Do they make ritalin for dogs?”

“He’s just a baby.”

Hank kicked the dog bed into the bedroom and then pushed it against the wall with his foot. “Go get in your bed,” he said.

Ziggy laid down where he was, next to Stella. He put his head on his paws and lifted his eyes up at Hank.

“Now he’s giving me puppy dog eyes,” Hank said.

“Shockingly, I believe that’s where that term came from.”

“Well, I don’t like it. It’s too effective.”

“Resign yourself to the fact that we have a little guest for the weekend.”

Hank grumbled under his breath as he went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. He stripped to his jockey shorts and snapped off the overhead lights on his way back. Ziggy looked up from beside Stella like Hank was the intruder. He even had the audacity to give a little growl when Hank leaned over to give his wife a kiss. Annoyed, Hank flopped onto his back and the dog scooted closer and rested his head on his arm.

“Oh, now you want to be nice,” Hank said, reaching over to scratch the dog on the head. “I’m surprised Becca hasn’t called.”

“What do you mean?”

“To check up on the dog or let us know she made it to the retreat.”

“She’s been texting me all day.”

“What? What did she want?”

“Checking up on the dog.”

“She doesn’t trust us?”

“You didn’t question her motivations five seconds ago when you were surprised she hadn’t called.”

“I like to be fickle to keep you on your toes.”

Ziggy sighed and squirmed until he was on his back, all four paws limp in the air. Stella chuckled and rubbed his chest before she closed her magazine and tossed it onto the nightstand.

“We’re letting this thing stay up here, then?” Hank asked.

“Yes.”

“I think I’m more of a cat person too.”

*****

Hank was surprised that the dog was no trouble during the night. He woke briefly when Stella, always an early riser, got up and said she was going to take Ziggy for his morning walk and when she got back, would be entering in project results into her electronic gradebook for a bit. He grunted in response and mumbled a reminder to leave him some coffee.

When he finally woke fully, left the bedroom far more cautiously than he had the previous morning. Ziggy was nowhere to be found, but as soon as he started puttering in the kitchen, the dog appeared. Hank crouched down and gave him a few scratches.

“What were you up to, hm?” he asked. “Getting into trouble?”

Ziggy followed Hank as he went to the bedroom, most likely interested in the piece of toast in his hand. Hank held the toast between his teeth, wiped his hands on his jeans, and picked up his phone from the nightstand to text Becca.

Morning sweetheart. The furball is good. Not to worry. Haven’t shipped him off to a kennel yet and probably won’t. Have a good time at the retreat.

Hank took a bite of his toast and then tore a piece off and tossed it to the dog. Ziggy caught it mid-air. About thirty seconds later, he heard Stella calling his name and he snapped his fingers at the dog to get him to follow him out of the bedroom.

“What’s up?” Hank asked, and shoved the rest of the toast into his mouth.

“What did you say to Becca?”

“Hm?” he mumbled, mouth full.

“She just texted me and said you’ve implied the dog has been sent to a kennel and wants proof of life.”

“No I didn’t,” he said. “I said I haven’t sent the dog to a kennel so she doesn’t need to worry.”

“Why would you say that to her?”

“So she wouldn’t worry.”

“Well, she’s worried.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“I’ll send her a photo. Ziggy, come here, darling.”

Stella kissed the air a few times, but Ziggy thought trying to be caught was a game. He bounded away from Stella and then stopped and bowed down, his hind end in the air and tail wagging. She patted her knee for him to come, but he just jumped a few feet to the left and went back into the same pose.

“I’ll get him.” Hank started towards the dog and Ziggy barked and then ran to the kitchen. Hank ended up chasing him around the butcher’s block several times before he was able to catch him, but keeping hold of him was difficult. “Stay still, Zig.”

Stella knelt down and quickly opened the camera on her phone.

“What’re you doing?” Hank asked.

“Taking a photo.”

“A selfie?”

“Do you have another suggestion?”

“I don’t know, I don’t do selfies. Unless they’re dick pics.”

“Yes, I am aware, but we won’t be sending your daughter a photo of your penis.”

“Well hurry up, this guy is a bitch to hold onto.”

“Smile, darling.” Both Stella and Hank smiled as she held down the photo button, but Ziggy wriggled and squirmed.

“Anything usable?” Hank asked, setting the dog free.

“A little blurry, but they should suffice.” Stella got up and texted the photos to Becca. “She says thank you, and for you to never fucking text her again.”

“Brat.”

“You started it.”

*****

The day passed. They took the dog to the park. He napped when they got back. Hank worked on his book. Stella worked on a report for her class. In the evening, they lit a fire in the new firepit on the roof and cuddled up on the daybed with the dog between them.

“Should we get a cat?” Hank asked.

“Do you want a cat?” Stella countered.

“Not really.”

“Me neither.”

“It is kind of nice having this little hairball around though. Not that I want him to stay. He’s also annoying as fuck. But, nice to have around. For an hour or two. When he’s asleep.”

“Kind of like you.”

“Hey!”

Stella laughed and Hank pushed her down onto the bed, rising to his knees to lean over and nuzzle her neck. It was a ticklish spot for her, especially when caressed lightly, and it made her laugh harder. Ziggy barked from where he was wedged beside Stella and under Hank. He wiggled out from under them and then jumped on Hank’s back with his front paws, barking and growling.

“Relax, man,” Hank said, rolling to one hip off of Stella.

“He’s being a good protector,” Stella said, laughing when Ziggy nipped at the blanket over their legs and tried to pull it away.

“He’s being a cockblocker.” Hank wrestled the blanket back from the dog and then grabbed him under the chin, giving him a few firm scratches. “You know what, Zig? You be a cockblocker. You be the best cockblocker you can be, at Becca’s place. Cockblock the shit out of Becca, okay?”

Ziggy barked and wagged his tail.

“Good boy,” Hank said. “Good little cockblocker.”

“Don’t say that to him,” Stella said.

“Why not?”

“One day you will need to face the fact that your daughter is a grown woman who deserves a healthy sex life.”

“Oh my god, I’m going to throw up.” Hank groaned and flopped down onto the bed with his arm over his eyes. “Consider me officially cockblocked.”

Stella moved up onto her hip this time and put her arm over Hank’s chest. She kissed his chin and then pulled his bottom lip between her teeth. He grabbed her around the waist and grunted softly into her mouth. Ziggy trampled the both of them and stuck his cold nose into Hank’s cheek.

“Gah!” Hank groaned.

The licked furiously at the both of them and Stella released Hank’s lip with a laugh and a scrunched face. She buried her head down into Hank’s neck while curling into his side and Ziggy tried to wedge his snout down to keep licking her face.

“We are officially never, ever, ever, ever getting a dog,” Hank said.

“No argument from me,” Stella answered, sliding away from the dog and Hank and stepping off the bed. “Meet me downstairs and I guarantee you won’t be cockblocked.”

“Oh?”

“Naked shower party for two in ten minutes.”

“The naked is redundant!” he called after her as she walked away. He waited until she had started down the stairs to take Ziggy’s face in his hands. “Listen. This is a cockblock free zone, you got that? Keep it up and you just may end up like Cat Stevens. We good?”

Ziggy gave a short, gruff bark and then lifted his paw. Hank nodded and they shook on it. He got up and let Ziggy explore the roof for a few minutes while he folded the blanket up and put out the fire. Not for long though. He had a naked party to get to and he didn’t want to be late.

The End

#i wrote this #hanella #humor #DOGS #hank moody #stella gibson

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Text

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 2374

Summary: After seeing Steve's shield handed over to some stranger, Sam calls up Bucky, certain he's the one person who can properly commiserate. He doesn't really expect Bucky to answer though (the guy's become a bit of a recluse), or to hear the hints that he might be missing Sam as much as Sam's been missing him. Not that he'd ever say it straight out.

Sam is almost completely still as the feelings rattle through him like a roller coaster’s last run on a derelict track. He only lets it out—the blend of frustration, betrayal, and regret—in the way his fingers squeeze his knee through his jeans, skin damp against the denim. Keeping his hands clasped, and watching those clasped hands, was more grounding, but he needs one of his hands to hold the phone to his ear, and that activity is getting pretty damn tired.

Bucky’s voicemail clicks on for the third time in a row.

“Bucky,” Sam says, “I know you prefer calls to texting, so what are you doing ignoring me, man? Haven’t used your cell in so long that you’ve forgotten how to hit the answer button? At least it rang. That’s something, I guess.”

He sighs away from the speaker where it won’t be recorded for Bucky to hear later. Maybe he did divert his message from the snarky sarcasm he was planning to leave the guy, but Bucky doesn’t need to hear him sigh on top of that.

For a few moments, Sam taps his foot along with the muffled music of his nephews’ video game coming through the closed door. He knows the boys’ routine (and if he ever forgets, he sees the copy Sarah has on the fridge door) and that this isn’t their usual scheduled time for whatever they’re playing out there. Best guess: Sarah wants them hogging the TV so she won’t be tempted to peek at that government-sanctioned shitshow. Sam can’t blame her. Actually, he wonders if she blames him. The disappointment was so clear in her eyes before he stopped making himself meet them. He thought he was doing the right thing when he handed the shield over. Are there people out there who think he’s let them down, or just his sister? Just himself?

He can’t talk to Sarah right now and he’s thankful that she’s giving him some time to himself, but as soon as he got it, he realized he didn’t know what to do with it. Just like that shield. Dialing Bucky over and over—tapping in every number every time because that appears to be part of this pity ritual he’s performing—seemed like the thing he should do. Probably won’t answer. That asshole is terrible at staying in touch. Still, Sam’s heart feels a little heavier with every word closer he gets to the end of this message. Feels like he’s trying to keep the thing afloat in his chest, like his parents’ boat down at the dock. This is what he knows he should do when everything in him wants to sink—reach out, talk to people. Kinda self-sabotage when he picks the one person almost guaranteed not to answer.

Oh, he’ll hear back from Bucky eventually, probably a handful of choppy texts sent in the middle of the night two weeks from now. Sam knows his pattern; Bucky’s chattiest between 3am and 4am, so chatty that what are likely intended as longer blocks of text arrive in broken fragments because he wants to make everything into neat paragraphs, like he’s writing a damn letter, instead of just getting to the point, but he hits send too soon. Sam would teach him—with plenty of mocking and name-calling, but he would teach him—only while he’s been running ops all over the planet, Bucky’s shrunk his own world way down. He’s gone local to the extreme and it aggravates Sam, even though Bucky isn’t his responsibility, isn’t his other inheritance from Steve. It’s sorta just easier to feel like Bucky is a misplaced bequest than to acknowledge that maybe he misses the guy and his sharp-shooter’s eye and his caveman hair. He can’t keep calling him.

“Thought I’d give you a heads-up,” Sam says, voice weary with this half-true excuse. “Maybe you already saw.” He clears his throat and says quickly, “Anyway, guess I’ll hear from you when I hear from you.”

He’s pulling the phone away from his head and has barely ended the call when it’s ringing in his hand. He answers and catches Bucky’s voice saying his name before it’s even back up to his ear.

“Bucky?” Sam says. “You have a senior’s moment and forget where you left your phone?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “I saw it was you and decided to ignore it.”

“But you called back.”

“You wouldn’t quit calling. Seemed like you needed me to tell you directly to knock it off.”

“Jackass.” Sam’s gaze darts to the door, but it’s still shut. No chance Sarah saw him grinning over this easy banter. Always the banter with this idiot. Always easy. He sniffs and turns his chair away from the black TV screen. “Did you see that joker on the news?”

Bucky’s either less self-conscious or more inept because he sighs right into the mouthpiece, an exhausted breath in Sam’s ear that has his fingers fleetingly digging into his knee.

“Couldn’t believe that shit,” Bucky tells him in a rough voice. He’s clearly holding back his own feelings about today’s events and, from the sounds of it, they’re more along the lines of anger, hurt, and a simmering desire to wrench the shield from the arm of the new Captain America. “You know that thing’s supposed to be yours.”

“You saying I should’ve done something to stop it?” Sam demands.

“Coulda.”

Sam forces his shoulders to drop, draws a slow breath in and pushes it back out.

“It wasn’t mine anymore, if it ever was. I gave it to the Smithsonian. They sealed it in this glass case and added it to the exhibit.”

“Not a very tight seal.”

“Guess not,” Sam agrees.

“You shouldn’t have turned it over,” Bucky says. Sam’s silent, frowning, and Bucky goes on. “Forget about the shield being given to somebody else—it shouldn’t have even been in a glass case. Doesn’t belong there.”

“I do just fine without it,” Sam assures him. The practicalities of carrying that shield around are more straightforward to discuss than his yawning uncertainty in the face of Steve’s legacy and his place relative to it. “The shield would only get in the way of the wings.”

“You and those wings.”

“Hey, they carried me over Tunisia recently. Show some respect.”

“Didn’t hear about that,” Bucky says in a tone that’s difficult to interpret, though Sam squints thoughtfully as he listens.

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t even be telling the likes of you, but it was discrete. As far as the major players are concerned, I was never there.”

“So it was illegal?”

Sam’s head tips back as he laughs hard.

“Why, you wanna turn me in?” he jokes. “Working on the government’s trust? What’s the next level up from a pardon? Knighthood?”

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Bucky groans, which really does make Sam smile.

“I’m sure it would’ve been illegal if you were there,” he says automatically. Too fast, his imagination fills it in, a fictional alternative materializing in his mind. Him and Bucky, cocky in reckless freefall. Him and Bucky, fighting back-to-back in a plummeting aircraft. Sam screening Bucky from enemy fire with his wings. Bucky deflecting a stray bullet with his arm before it could hit Sam.

“Nah, I can’t do that no more.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure you’re an angel.”

“Anybody get hurt?” Bucky asks.

Sam glances through the window at the blue sky, the truck rolling unhurriedly past with the driver’s arm hanging out to catch the sun. Beautiful day. He remembers a kick that sent a guy through the door of the plane, sucked out into the sky, another guy tossed aside who tried to fight him in midair, and a helicopter aflame as it went down. He shrugs and figures Bucky’ll hear the gesture in his voice.

“Nobody who didn’t know the risks.”

“Of going up against Captain America?” Bucky probes. Sam rolls his eyes.

“You know, that would almost be a compliment if you got my name right.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not using the name just to avoid compliments from me.”

“I honestly can’t say which one would feel more wrong,” Sam says, passing a hand over his head as he leans back in his chair, “calling myself Captain America or hearing a little overdue praise from you.”

“I’m not really a words guy. Ask my therapist.”

Sam sits with that for a second. He’s happy that Bucky’s talking to someone. He needs it, badly, after decades of violence and being belted into the passenger seat of his own brain. It’s more than Bucky’s ever admitted to him before, but Sam would bet—and bet big—that seeing some stranger named as Steve’s successor today has gotten to Bucky as much as it’s gotten to him. Something like that is bound to open Bucky up a little. He’s the only other person Sam can imagine the news having such a monumental impact on.

“You could try words,” he goads, not wanting to leave Bucky hanging more than a few seconds after his admission. “What else do you have if you don’t feel like being a human action figure?”

“I have my system. My rules.”

“Oh yeah? What rules?”

“Three of ’em,” Bucky informs him. “Nothing illegal. Nobody gets hurt. Making amends for the actions of the Winter Solider.”

“You don’t have to make amends for something you—”

“Don’t. It… helps.”

And who is Sam to question what’s helping Bucky? After the multiple-lifetimes’ worth of hell the guy’s been through?

“Good for you, man,” Sam offers softly.

“Save it, Sam.” The words are clipped but light. Sam grins.

“No words for me either? You more comfortable with me sticking to actions? How are we supposed to talk to each other when you don’t come to Tunisia with me?”

“Wasn’t invited,” Bucky quips back.

“You mighta been if you answered your phone more often. I’m not gonna send you the details to a covert operation in a text.”

“You wanted me in Tunisia?”

“You get shit done,” Sam acknowledges simply. You wanted me in Tunisia? echoes in his head. His heart’s bobbing like a buoy now. You wanted me in Tunisia? You wanted me?

“Not like that.”

“‘Not illegal,’” Sam repeats. “‘Nobody gets hurt. Making amends.’”

“Right. Can’t do any of that.”

“Well, I’m glad this regime’s working for you, but you have to admit it’s weird that I saw more of you when we were fighting alien hordes.”

“What can I say?” Bucky asks in a tone that seems to consciously flatten the charm out of it. “I’m old-fashioned now.”

Sam snorts.

“You were old-fashioned then.”

“I assume you had a team on the ground.”

“I had to,” Sam says over the sound of a squabble in the other room. Immediately, he can hear Sarah’s voice rising slightly above, breaking it up. Just like that, there’s the looping music of the video game again. She’s raised those boys well. “Couldn’t wait around for you.”

“I might show up if you asked me on better dates.”

“It wasn’t a date, it was a goddamn op.”

It’s startling to hear the sound of laughter. Not hearty, deep, rich, or loud, but definitely laughter. Bucky laughs? Sam backtracks a minute. Bucky makes jokes? About dating? About the two of them dating? Evidently, that is something he’s capable of, along with returning calls during daylight hours.

Sam shifts in his seat.

“You could come around sometime,” he suggests, nervously rubbing a hand up and down his thigh. “If you like fish and you’re ever in Louisiana.”

“I do like fish,” Bucky says. “I’ve been going to this sushi place a lot lately.”

It’s not his taste that surprises Sam—it’s the readiness with which he responds to the invitation. He would’ve sooner guessed that Bucky would tell him to shove it up his ass. In a joking way, but still.

“On dates?” Sam asks, telling himself he’s providing some good-natured hassling and that it has nothing to do with the odd feeling he got when Bucky’s joke about them dating caught up with him.

“One. Mostly, I go with Mr. Nakajima.”

“And that’s not a date?”

Sam laughs and wishes he could shut his own mouth as firmly as he’s (many times) told Bucky to shut his.

“I’m pretty sure he’s in his eighties, so he’s more age-appropriate for me than most people, but I murdered his son,” Bucky says grimly.

“Amends?” Sam guesses, adjusting his tone to cope with Bucky’s emotional switchback.

“I haven’t told him yet, but, yeah, I’m working on that.”

They’re both working on something, Sam thinks. Both confronting something that feels too big to tackle—the decision not to announce himself as the new Captain America, guilt for assassinations Bucky had no control over but which span the better part of a century. Sometimes it seems to Sam that they go up against the easiest situations as a team and face the hardest stuff alone. But he called Bucky, and Bucky called back.

“You could bring some of those amends down here and trade them for a snapper dinner,” Sam proposes, aiming for irritatingly cheerful to pull Bucky back out of the dark.

“What do I have to make amends to you for?”

“Being a dick. I’ll text you my sister’s address.”

Sam swiftly ends the call. There are two possible sources to which he can attribute the small surge of adrenaline he feels: hanging up on Bucky and the fact that he might’ve just asked him on a date. When Sam dialed, he knew it was because he didn’t want to do this alone, but he thought that meant watching the appointment of an upstart Captain America. Although he believed he could count on Bucky’s understanding today and for the near future, asking him down to have dinner with Sarah and the boys (or tricking him into it, since he didn’t exactly say it’d be a thing with the whole family) lengthens the timeline. Near future? Inviting Bucky to meet his family and see where he grew up means recognizing that he’ll be in his life a little longer. Alone? Sam might forget the meaning of the word.

#my writing #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #sambucky #Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

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livesincerely · 3 years

Text

[Bits & Bobs] we’ll be on the road like some country song

AKA the Run Away With Me Fic

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Davey nearly loses his nerve about a hundred times in between dialing the number and Jack answering. The phone seems to ring forever⁠—for a moment he thinks that Jack’s not going to pick up and that will be that⁠—but somehow, incredibly, the call connects.

“‘Ello?” Jack rumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

Davey opens his mouth but no sound comes out, his words smothered down by a sudden wave of bitter, scalding doubt. What is he doing?

“Davey? Are you there?”

He needs to hang up. He needs to hang up, needs to stop bothering Jack and let him sleep, needs to pull himself together and just get it over with because there’s no point in putting it off, no point in pretending like there’s anything to be done except accept the fact that… The fact that he…

He’s holding his cellphone so tightly that the plastic creaks under his fingers, his lungs straining in his chest and his stomach churning and churning. He tries to calm himself, breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, just like you’re supposed to, but it feels like no matter how hard he tries he can’t get enough air.

“Guess not,” Jack murmurs to himself, voice trailing away.

Panic seizes Davey like a hand around his throat.

“Jack,” he gasps out. “Jackie, wait.”

“Dave?” Jack asks. “Hey, what’s⁠—”

“Jackie,” Davey says again, because he can’t figure out how to say anything else. “I—“

“What’s wrong?” Jack says, his tone spiking with alarm. “Are you okay?”

Davey presses a hand to his mouth, hot, shuddering breaths stifled by his palm. His vision clouds over, his bedroom fading into a shapeless, colorless blur, and it’s only then that Davey realizes that he’s crying⁠, tears streaming down his face.

“David,” Jack says. “Are you okay?”

Davey’s shoulders shake. He tries to explain⁠—instead, he sobs.

“I’m coming over,” Jack says, and there’s a flurry of movement on his side of the line: the rustle of bedsheets thrown back, the clattering of car keys, soft, hurried footsteps.

“You don’t have to,” Davey chokes out, because he didn’t call intending to drag Jack out of bed in the middle of the night. He just didn’t know what else to do. “Nothing’s wrong, Jackie, I’m not hurt or anything⁠—”

“Bullshit, you ain’t hurt,” Jack says sharply. “You’re crying.”

“But you don’t have to⁠—”

“I’m coming over,” Jack says, in that voice that says he’s made up his mind and there’s no talking him out of it. “Give me ten minutes, okay? I’ll be right there.”

Davey sniffs, feeling at once horribly pathetic and unspeakably relieved. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to stay on the line?” Jack asks.

Yes, Davey thinks, because the last thing he wants is to be alone with his thoughts. Instead, he says, “You shouldn’t be on the phone while you’re driving. You can hang up.”

Jack hesitates. “Ten minutes,” he says eventually. “I’m already in the car.”

“Okay,” Davey whispers. “Ten minutes.”

Even though he’s expecting him, Davey still jumps when Jack finally knocks on his bedroom window.

He half crawls, half staggers over. His hands are trembling so badly he almost can’t get the latches unlocked, but he eventually manages to get the window open.

“Are you okay?” Jack demands as he clambers inside. He’s dressed like he literally rolled out of bed and drove straight here⁠—he’s thrown a thin jacket on over his shirtless torso, the bottoms of his sweatpants wet with dew and littered with grass clippings, his feet shoved hastily into a pair of his mother’s slippers instead of his shoes. “What’s wrong, what happened?”

Davey can’t help but wilt in the face of such genuine concern, guilt and shame spreading like twin frosts across the plains of his heart.

“Jack,” he starts, curling in on himself. “Jackie, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have called you, it’s nothing, really, nothing I can’t handle myself, I’m sorry I woke you up, I⁠—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jack says, stepping forward and taking him gently by the shoulders. Davey’s frantic ramblings peter out. “Breathe for me, alright, Dave? I need you to breathe for me.”

“Sorry,” Davey says again, struggling to do as he’s asked. “It’s nothing, it’s stupid, honestly, I don’t know why I’m being so⁠—”

“Davey,” Jack interrupts, eyes serious. “Nothing that’s got you this upset is stupid. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

It shouldn’t feel like as huge of a question as it does. Davey doesn’t even know where to start, and the thought of having to try to explain makes something acrid and agonizing rise up like bile in the back of his throat.

“The letters came,” he forces out.

Jack’s mouth goes tight. “All of ‘em?”

Davey gives a weak nod. “I’ve been stealing them out of the mailbox. I didn’t want my parents to see…”

“Where are they?”

“In my nightstand,” Davey answers.

With one last reassuring squeeze, Jack goes to look. He pulls open the drawer and unearths a stack of creamy envelopes, each one thicker and heavier than the last: Columbia, Dartmouth, Yale, NYU, UCLA, UC Berkeley... Just the sight of them sends another wave of anxiety rushing through him; Davey hugs himself against a sudden chill, his nails biting into his arms.

Jack flips one of the envelopes over, dragging a finger over the shiny, golden seal.

“You haven’t opened them,” he says, more of a comment than a question.

“I couldn’t,” Davey confesses. “I tried but I couldn’t make myself… I just couldn’t.”

He doesn’t know how to explain, the feelings refusing to condense down into words. Because they’re just letters, except that they’re not just letters, not really. They’re only the start.

The start of another four years of this: of working himself into the ground and being miserable, of studying and struggling and grinding and endlessly competing against this idealized, perfected, unattainable version of himself. A version of himself that his parents want him to be, a person that they insist he must become, never once considering if that’s who he wants to be.

He can’t even imagine spending the next chapter of his life like this. He can’t do it. He can’t.

But even as Davey thinks it, that familiar sensation starts creeping in again⁠—bitter doubt, overwhelming worry, desperate, aching fear⁠—screaming at him from every corner of his mind. Of course he’s going to college. Of course he is, he has to, there’s nothing to be done, no choice but to make his peace and learn to live with...

Another wave of nausea hits so hard and so abruptly he goes dizzy with it, just barely able to keep from retching⁠—not that there’s anything left in his stomach to throw up.

“Woah, hey,” Jack says softly. He wraps a hand around Davey’s forearm to steady him, guiding him over to sit down on the bed. “Breathe, Davey, breathe⁠. I gotcha.”

“Sorry,” Davey mutters.

“You don’t gotta be sorry,” Jack replies, his face full of understanding. “You just gotta tell me the best way to help you. Do you need me to open the letters for you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Davey shakes his head, like that might shuffle his scattered thoughts into coherence. “I don’t want anyone to open them. I wish they didn’t fucking exist at all.”

Davey takes a deep breath, straining for calm. Jack watches him silently, rubbing his hand comfortingly along his arm.

“I should’ve listened to you,” Davey admits. “I should’ve put a stop to this months ago. But I didn’t know what to tell them and I didn’t want them to be disappointed in me and now it’s too late, all these fucking letters keep showing up because they made me apply to every goddamn Ivy League in the country, and I don’t know what to do. Jackie, I don’t know what to do.”

“Davey,” Jack says quietly. “What do you need from me?”

“Help me figure this out?” Davey pleads. “I know it’s a lot, but every day my parents ask if I’ve heard back from any schools and I’ve got to come up with a plan before they catch on and I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

He gestures at the pile of letters sitting in Jack’s lap, and as he does, he realizes that his hand is trembling. He lowers it back down before Jack can notice.

“Maybe you can help me sort through these?” Davey suggests. “I just need advice, an outside perspective, an opinion from someone I trust. Someone that will help me pick something I can live with, not just whatever’s most prestigious.”

“But you don’t want to go to any of these schools,” Jack says slowly. “You ain’t even interested in any of ‘em.”

Davey can’t meet his eyes.

“At least one of them must be decent,” he says, in a tone that’s not at all convincing. “It’s just a matter of figuring out which one.”

“And what if none of them are?” Jack says. “What if none of ‘em are decent? What if none of ‘em are right for you?”

“One of them will be,” Davey insists.

“But what if they’re not?” Jack says, still pressing. “What if all of ‘em are horrible? What if we start looking at ‘em and every one is guaranteed to be four years of misery?”

“Then I guess I’m just going to be fucking miserable, aren’t I?” Davey bursts out.

He immediately clamps his hand over his mouth, praying that no one else heard. But the house remains sleepy and silent.

Jack stares back at him, a sea of feeling behind his eyes.

“I can’t think like that, Jackie,” Davey continues after a second, fighting to keep his voice down despite the edge of hysteria that’s creeping into his tone. “I have to hope that one of these schools will be a good enough fit or else I’m actually going to lose my mind. So I need you to help me figure this out. I need your advice because⁠, if nothing else, at least you’re actually on my side. I’m so tangled up at this point that I can’t even tell if⁠—” ⁠

If I’m on my own side anymore, Davey doesn’t say, cutting himself off before he can finish the thought. But Jack looks at him like he knows exactly what Davey was about to say, his expression turning sad and maybe a little angry.

“And you really think that’s what’s best?” Jack asks, voice rough with disbelief and displeasure.

“What else is there to do?” Davey replies, helpless.

Jack’s mouth flattens out into a harsh, thin line, jaw clenched. He stares down at the letter from earlier, then at the rest of the stack, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. He picks one up and at first Davey can’t tell if he’s going to finally open it, or if he’s just going to rip it in half.

Instead, he says, “We could run.”

“...What?” Davey whispers.

Jack turns to him, and the look in his eyes is like nothing Davey’s ever seem before: almost fever bright, threaded with urgency and realization, and speckled with warmth and hints of promise.

“Run away with me, Dave,” Jack says. “Let me take you away from all’a this. We’ll hit the road, drive ‘til the pavement ends, ‘til we’re far away from all these expectations and plans and supposed to’s. Because it’s crushing you. It’s making you fucking miserable, and if distance is what you need to find steady ground and make a choice for your own sake, that’s actually about you and what you want? Then I’m your ticket outta town.”

“Jackie...” Davey says, utterly floored. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, stuttering with something like anticipation and fear and terrible, terrible longing. “Jackie, that’s not… We can’t.”

“And why can’t we?”

“Because,” Davey insists, because one of them has to be reasonable. “Because, we can’t just pack up and leave. It’s the middle of the semester, we’ve got another three months of school left, we’re supposed to graduate, and fuck, can you even imagine the fallout? My parents would kill me, just hunt me down and murder me if I left.”

“I’m still not hearin’ any reasons not to,” Jack says, still looking at Davey with those warm, steady eyes.

“I just told you—“ Davey starts.

“No,” Jack calmly interrupts. “You gave me a bunch of excuses for not going, not reasons. There’s a difference. I’m waitin’ for something more along the lines of ‘my ridiculously long legs make road trips super uncomfortable’ or ‘our friendship won’t survive us traveling together for weeks in close quarters’ or ‘I wouldn’t trust your rusted old Chevy to take us to the state line, let alone any further,’ or how about ‘Jack, I don’t want to.’”

Davey’s mouth closes with a soft click, swallowing heavily around a sudden lump in his throat.

Jack keeps looking at him, and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much to handle, simmering with something quietly fierce.

“I’m not gonna stand by and watch you kill yourself over a life that you don’t even want. Not anymore. Not when it makes you call me at one in the morning, sounding like the weight of the fucking world’s on your shoulders and you’re terrified to set it down. Not after seven months of watching you waste away right in front of me, moving around like a goddamn shadow, pale as a ghost and hollow inside. Not unless you can look me in the eye right now and tell me that college is what you want. That any of this is gonna make you happy.”

Davey can’t speak. Something’s gone taut in his chest, like a piano wire about to snap. Davey could prevent it. He doesn’t know if he wants to.

Jack leans closer and takes both of Davey’s hands in his own. His palms are warm, or maybe it’s just that Davey’s freezing, has been so painfully cold and lonely these past few months, withering away in the shadow of his parent’s expectations. But the tangle of their fingers threading together is like a balm on Davey’s soul—the spark that reignites the embers of a dying fire.

He’s so tired of being cold.

“I just wanna know that you’ll be happy,” Jack says after a moment—softly, like he’s afraid he might shatter Davey if he speaks any louder, sending the broken shards of him scattering into nothingness. Davey’s not sure he’s wrong. “And I know you, David, and this isn’t going to make you happy.”

“This is crazy,” Davey breathes out, and it’s not what he means to say but it’s what comes out, regardless. “It’s... Jack, this is insanity.”

“Who cares about what’s sane?” Jack says. “Fuck sanity.”

“Jackie.”

“Tell me you’re happy,” Jack says, and the gentleness of the command doesn’t make it any less compelling. “Tell me you’re happy, that you think you’ll be happy with all’a this, and I’ll drop it. I’ll drop it right this second, I swear.”

Davey’s eyes slip shut. He breathes in and breathes out, feeling his ribs pressing against that band in his chest, the last pieces of it holding fast.

“You know this isn’t what you want,” Jack continues. “You’ve known right from the start that this isn’t what you want, you just wouldn’t admit it. But you gotta finally put yourself first for once, Davey. You gotta figure out what’s best for you, and you can’t do that here, not with everything that’s weighing you down.”

In and out. In and out.

“Please, Dave,” Jack murmurs. “Please.”

And the wire snaps.

“Okay,” Davey says, fingers tightening around Jack’s, his lone anchor as the world tilts out from underneath him. “Okay.”

“You’ll—?”

“Let me pack a bag,” Davey agrees.

00000

Tags! @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside, @corbinthecowboy

#run away with me fic #newsies #jack kelly #david jacobs #javid #bits & bobs #*the writing desk #*editor's note #thought i'd post one last preview before settling back into tie fic #this is literally the length of an average chapter of mine what even is this fic #i'm just here y'all ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#listen: i love them #💕💕💕💕#also this is the working opening scene just in case I didn’t mention that #this is quickly becoming the thing I’m most proud of writing ngl

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betweentheracks · 3 years

Text

Updates//Recent Inactivity

Hello all! This is me finally taking some time to sit down and offer up a rundown on how life is currently going as a means of explaining my inactivity. This is a personal post that is guaranteed to be both rambling and emotional so if that is not your cup of tea, I understand and happily advise you just skip over this post as it is not relevant to the actual content this blog was intended for.

EDITED: After reading this back I now realize this is really just me spilling the tea on my own life and is laughably dishy in details which is extremely not my usual stance on my personal privacy. But idk, it was cathartic so I'm leaving it as is despite the urge to redact 70% of what I say.

I'll start with the good news that I am officially out of lockdown and have remained COVID-19 free since my return home from the hospital. This also means my son finally was allowed to come home to me which is dazzling and exciting and also a little terrible too. He's at a precocious age where tantrums are the cool way to communicate and having been gone for so long completely thrashing his established routine has caused friction. He came home and his parent was not the same as when he left; is much weaker and less energetic than before, paler and shaky - but also there's the addition of my best friend having moved in to assist and take care of me/him while we all do our best to muddle through.

The readjustment has been rough and a lot of this week has made me incredibly thankful to have practically zero memory of how I was as a child. There have been injuries: I have been whacked in the face with the metal cover for a floor vent while dozing on the sofa instead of paying rapt attention to whatever silliness he was showing off to me, there was his complete dismissal of me asking him to stay back and away from the hot oven as I pulled lunch from it's fiery jaws only to then be faced with a toddler quickly approaching with his hand raised to touch so I naturally made a move to block him and in the process I let go of the oven door which slammed upward and clamped my arm tightly between it and the inside cavern of the oven while it was set to a roasty 400 degrees Fahrenheit - earning me a mangled arm with burns of varying degrees, and then we also had that fit where it seemed like a much more grand idea to scale the babygate cordoning the stairs and I had to rush up them to stop him from tumbling face first down two flights and of course did the falling all on my own and did it backwards then slammed painfully into the wall of the landing. This all happened within a 48hr time frame and makes me wonder why I am so catastrophically inclined.

I have bruises that range the majority of my spine courtesy of the wall and stairs, two minor first degree burns on my forearm that are in the shape of an equals and quite large despite the lack of actual pain I feel from them, and the underside of my forearm was instantly blistered then popped then melted down into a horrid glob of skin mush and sticky red-orange and is a second degree burn that I have been assured is no real cause for concern as long as I tend it with care. In all, I managed to escape my momjuries relatively unscathed and with a child that was scared senseless at having hurt his momma and is quick to listen and never stops cuddling me in the time since. Here's hoping he isn't significantly traumatized from this since exactly none of this is especially his fault and is due to my clumsy, accident-prone status in life.

So yes, The Toddler has returned home to me and after some happenings we have settled and are happy. However, his blast from the past father has suddenly just decided to reemerge after more than a year of radio silence and static and has slapped me with a custody petition. Hooray. While I have no worries on this matter due to my mother working for one of the top custody lawyers in the state and snagging him as my representation, and the utter lack of competency on my estranged baby daddy's end clearly being displayed in literally anything and everything the idiot does/says, I do have to now go through the overhaul of a custody case and that is just so weak and exhaustive. Not to mention the basis of his claims that I am not fit to raise a child are founded in my health concerns and the crazy work schedule I keep; ironically, my health is making it so that I have much less insane hours and makes this fairly moot but to each their own I guess. Also worth noting on this matter is that he only did this now because he was recently placed under penalty for child support back pay and nothing in this world matters to him like his money and this is his special way of getting one over on me for tampering with his meager earnings. (He's a wannabe musician - the soundcloud rapper sort, just so we are all on the same page here). If I thought for even a second this was a genuine desire to be an active and stable parent I would be a lot less pressed to act in favor of making it legally binding that he can only see him under a supervisory condition and share time evenly, but it just is not believable in the slightest.

So the thing is - my health is actually quite dismal presently. I'm due in for open heart surgery on the 8th of April and until then I have been doing my utmost to mind all the nagging I get from doctors, PT specialists, the surgeons that will be slicing and dicing me, and my in-family medical practitioner that sometimes remembers he is also my brother and not just an MD. But like, you guys, this surgery is terrifying and technically is two surgeries rolled into one. They'll be cracking my chest open and then stopping my heart while they lift it from where it sits sweetly unhinged and lopsided in my body and very finely shave away some of the excess muscle that has built up around the wall of my heart as well as some unfriendly scar tissue that has lingered since my last surgery years ago. Granted there is no accidental slip that nicks my ugly gargantuan heart and renders me as good as dead, once this first part is finished the other surgeon will need to be deft and very quick to place this ventricular assisting piece in the valve that has all but given up on functioning altogether and do so in the time remaining before the time limit for my heart being essentially unplugged from by body is up, which would also feasibly mean my death. Lots of exciting and terrible sounding consequences, am I right?

Well let's bear it in mind that I am just below 30 in age and therefore not duly experienced in the realm of facing down my own mortality via making all necessary legal arrangements and managing my affairs and assets so that, in event of my untimely death, the custody case still doesn't stand a chance of snatching my son away to the sad misfortune of being raised by a man that has stated openly he only has interest in his kids so far as what they can do for him/get for him in terms of benefit and that he would be unwilling to be hypocritical and never deter his children from drugs and a lifestyle of extremely questionable moral integrity and hygiene alike. Eugh. But I also have had to make sure there is a DNR in place just in case things go wrong during the operation, my will has also been finalized and notarized, all my savings and financial/material assets have been squared away to come into my child's inheritance when he is of age and, most importantly, a document that states clear and direct instructions for him to be placed in care of my mother or, if she is unwilling or incapable, he will be under custodial order and guardianship of my best friend whom he has always viewed as a pseudo-dad anyway. Legally binding and even in light of the paternity petition this document supersedes parental right by way of the provided evidence I have submitted to prove a lack of parental credibility. That's right, I spent days lowkey stalking and sleuthing about to capture what I needed to show this man for what he actually is and I have precisely zero guilt or shame for doing it; this is my child on the line and that means momma doesn't have to play by the rules of snitches getting stitches or whatever other scary street rules he tosses at me as idle threats. (He's done this routinely for all the years I have known him, and it is somehow both pathetic and hilarious because he knows for a fact that, if I wanted, I could throttle him in less time than it would take for him to form a rational thought between his drug soaked braincells - I was also a person of less than savory character not too long ago and can handle myself very well. But I digress because I am losing my track of thought.

After the surgery I will have so damn much PT and rehab, all of which will be specific to varying parts of my body that will need to be reworked and strengthened. Weeks, months of it really. This surgery is major and hits heavy enough that I will be in the hospital for at least 10-14 days just recovering from it without taking into consideration any number of complications that could pop up. Hell, if they get in there and find a situation worse than they currently have an understanding of in the limited capacity of cardiology tech can provide of such a gnarled beastly heart and realize they can't really do anything with it after all, I'll be added to the transplant list. I think this is more daunting to consider than the surgery, honestly.

In that way that doctors have about them, I was "comforted" by being informed that this was an inevitability and I would have been faced with this in a matter of years - less than a handful actually - but the way COVID-19 chewed through me sped it up. I'm sure my years of substance issues were also very helpful in this endeavor, but either way I still am unsure whether I feel better knowing this or not? Mostly I think I feel conflicted and hopeful tempered with the caution of life being super shady in the ways it has often brought me to the doorsteps of dying in situations that seem like odd chance. I also am gifted with being so capable in jinxing myself that I brought myself to COVID-19 ("The way life is going I'll probably square up with Rona next week or some bullshit." Positive test flagged within the following week) and also into labor ("Watch me go into labor on Labor Day since that would be the sort of universal pun that would strike my bad penny having ass." Indeed hatched my youngling on Labor Day of that year) by saying some things within the scope of my bad humor that instantly manifested as reality so I'm not taking any risks here lol.

The gist is that life is really stirring up the winds over here and so I haven't been online and posting anything that would make my blog valid in a fat minute. I do apologize for this and also for the fact that this post took me nearly a week to type up, but when things calm a little I will be back in full. For the time being I will be sporadic and do what I can when I can!

Thanks to anyone that read this mess all the way here! And a big thank you to all of you still supporting me!

#racks chats #entirely too long and too personal

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