#other than I thought it would look cool at the moment

[whitexwolfxx310]

|| What’s Your Favorite Scary Movie? || Part 2.

Pairing: Dom!Bucky x Sub!female reader

Summary: After accidentally revealing that you have a masked man kink, Bucky starts taking it to the next level. The reveal!

Warnings: Smut- MDNI please!, unprotected sexual intercourse (p in v), don't forget no glove no love, edging, asphyxiation, fingering, mild dirty talk, language, praise kink, masked man kink, stalking, harassment, implied harm, breaking in.

Word Count: 5.4

A/Ns: Hi babes! Sorry this took an extra day than intended. Tumblr is being super finicky tonight, I’ve edited and re-edited this so many times. If there’s mistakes just ignore. I hope you like the conclusion!

In case you missed it, Part 1

You didn’t sleep much the next couple of nights, and decided to take some time off of work. Bucky finally reached out, and you updated him as to what was going on. He immediately offered to come home, which you refused and started to downplay the situation.

Hailee has been great with letting you borrow some clothes and little things, since you only grabbed a small bag in a rush before heading to her place to stay a few days ago. You’ve been dreading going back to the apartment, scared to find someone in there waiting for you. But it’s at the point where you need to grab some of your stuff.

Walking into the apartment, it was eerily quiet and uncomfortable. But nothing looked out of place, and was exactly how you left it. Deciding not to spend any longer there than you had to, you promptly tossed a large duffle bag onto your bed and started stuffing it with clothes and any other necessities.

Zipping the duffle closed, you felt a light gust of cool air. Scanning your bedroom window assuming it was the source, you realize it’s open. You never open this window. In fact, it’s always locked. All of the hair on the top layer of your skin stands up to the extent it almost feels like tiny pinpricks. Flight mode is instantly activated; before you can even think, you grab the bag and run, practically tripping over your own feet out of the room.

Grappling with the door knob, the pure panic starts to set in. Just as you’re twisting the knob open, you hear a distant bang coming from another room in the apartment. You freeze at the realization:

I’m not alone.

You know when you’re watching a scary movie and yell at the tv, wondering why the one of the characters was so fucking stupid to do something?

Well, you did exactly that. What possessed you in that moment, you haven’t the faintest idea. But, with your heartbeat pounding in your ears so loudly that you thought your eardrums might rupture, you started to turn around to look.

What primitively catches your attention isn’t what you expected, but quickly makes your chest tighten. The fruit bowl on the kitchen counter that is normally overflowing with lucious, red delicious apples, now just has all apple cores.

The flashback of one being on left on the countertop after Bucky had left blazes in your mind. It suddenly makes sense. Bucky would never leave a mess and it wasn't long after that you saw someone outside your window.

Attempting to swallow the growing dryness in your throat, you continue to turn around. And that's when you see him for the first time. About fifteen feet away, stood an obviously immensely tall man. He wore thick, black shiny leather boots that gleamed lightly in the natural daylight within the apartment. Fitted black jeans with a loose, black hooded sweatshirt that failed to hide how muscular and broad his chest and shoulders were with the hood pulled up.

But two things stuck out the most about his appearance. First, was the tight, black leather gloves he wore on his hands that were currently clenched into rigid fists. The second, was the fact that you couldn't make out his face. All you could see was an elongated paleness, caverned by the blackness of the hood, and it seemed... sinister. He didn't move or make a sound. It was as if you would blink and he would be gone, like a cloud of smoke.

But if anyone was going to disappear, it was going to be you. So taking a chance, you ran. And you didn't stop running. Even with the faint vibration in your pocket alerting you to the new text notification on your phone, you kept going.

It wasn't until you got back to Hailee's place and frantically, out of breath explained to her, that you even remembered about the text message.

"Here," You toss the phone in pure detestation onto her bed, "I don't even want to fucking know what it says." You lean against the opposite wall of her bedroom, crossing your arms across your chest in an attempt to control the body shakes as you come down from the adrenaline.

Hailee watches you for a brief moment, still not having said much aside from asking if you were okay. Her expression was soft and sympathetic and yet had an dissenting undertone. You couldn't blame her, this all sounded absolutely insane.

Letting out a small, exasperated breath, Hailee sits on her knees from her previous crossed legged position and grabs your cell. As the screen comes to life, her teeth clench down reading whatever is on the screen.

“What?” The concern is evident in your voice as you pry away from the wall, though still holding onto yourself.

Hailee inhales deeply through her nostrils, faking a tightlipped smile, “it’s nothing,” her tone is flat. She’s lying. Clicking the sleep button on the side of the phone to make the screen go black, she makes her way off the bed, “hey, how about we head down to the cellphone store and get you a new phone and number?” She asks, trying to sound like her usual carefree self as she grabbed her crossbody bag.

“Hailee,” you uncross your arms and step in front of her, forcing her to make eye contact, “what is it?”

Searching your eyes, you can see that she is torn. She wants so badly to do the right thing, but isn’t sure what exactly that is in this situation. On one hand, she could just keep it to herself. Let the unknown and curiosity eat you alive from the inside out like it inevitably will. But only because she wants to protect you, shield you from anything that brings you the opposite of joy. Or, she can show you what you’re actually dealing with, and the two of you can come up with a plan and handle it together. Hailee decides on the latter.

Hesitating, her hand shakes slightly as she holds out the phone to you. It appears that now both of you will take this predicament more critically now. Grabbing the phone a tad more aggressively then you meant to, you unlock it and open the messages. But it's not often Hailee gets rendered quiet. Scrolling through the back to back texts, you understand why.

Taking your best friends advice, you immediately went to the cell phone store. She tagged along as you got a completely new phone and number, not transferring anything over, not wanting to take the risk. You didn't download any social media, deciding to take a much needed mental break for a bit. The only thing you did do, was take a few phone numbers that you needed out of your old phone, and even then you wrote them down on a piece of paper to manually add them into your contacts later.

Walking out of the store, you felt as if a weight had been lifted. Hailee locked arms with you, leading you around the corner to the nearest cafe to get iced coffee. It was her answer for everything. Bad day? Iced coffee. Need a pick me up? Iced coffee. Need to clear your head and just ramble about random shit for a bit? Iced coffee. Your best friend has an apparent stalker and we're hoping that changing phone numbers is the end all solution?! Obviously, iced coffee.

Sitting at a small table outside the cafe, enjoying the slight crispness in the fall air, you let out a huge, relieving sigh that makes your shoulders sink. You take the opportunity to add Bucky to your contacts and text him your new number. Although, you decide not to go into detail about your most recent encounter while he's still away on a mission.

Putting the phone down on the table and not have it incessantly go off with calls and texts, let's you feel as though you can finally breathe. "Thank you for coming with me, Hales, I really appreciate you."

Hailee is sucking the remnants of her drink through the straw as she looks up at you. She gives you a small, genuine side smile, "you're welcome," before smirking, "so I'm supposed to have a date tonight, with that guy Noah I've been seeing..." she leaves it open ended. "But, I should totally cancel after everythi-"

"No, please. Go out and have fun. You've been dealing with my shit enough," trying to make your words sound affirming, even with the lingering dread that you still felt.

That's one thing about Hailee. You never quite really have to twist her arm to do anything.

After showering and changing into your comfy jeans and oversized cropped sweater, it was hard not to feel the slightest tinge of jealousy watching Hailee do her finishing touches for date night in the mirror. Jealousy in the sense of missing Bucky and going out and having a carefree night, not in comparing yourself physically.

She swipes yet another layer of clear lip gloss on before fluffing her beach wave blonde hair. Turning to face you, her thick heels clack on the wooden floor as she starts adjusting her boobs in her sleek, dusty rose colored dress.

"What do you think?" Her hands glide down over her curves, "Dress is okay?"

"That dress is fire," and it is, she looks amazing. By the smile she's wearing, she's feeling it too, "too bad it's going to end up on Noah's floor ten minutes into your date." Hailee dramatically gasps, as if that's not true. It totally is.

You're both laughing until she abruptly stops, "I have to go!" She gives you a quick hug and starts scurrying towards the door, a bit awkwardly in the heels, "Bye! Love you! Lock the door!" As she goes to close the door behind her she yells back in, "don't read too much smut on your kindle while I'm gone!" and the door slams.

Shaking your head with a small laugh, you lock the door. Hailee just gave you the perfect idea of how to spend your night.

About an hour had gone by, you comfortably laid in Hailee's spare bed, a few chapters deep into your latest book. It was quiet, so when your phone vibrated on the bed next to you- you jumped slightly. Assuming it was Bucky finally having the chance to text you back, you pick it up fairly quickly. But the message you received isn't what you expected at all.

Before even unlocking the phone, you had a text alert from Unknown. There was nothing written, but all the way to the right of the alert, you could see a picture was included.

Promptly, you sat up in the bed and stared at the notification. That familiar wave of unease dispersed throughout your body as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head.

This phone number is only a few hours old, how the fuck did he get it already?

The notification banner and you were in a staredown. You had to know what the message was, but you were absolutely terrified at the same time. Your thumbs hover, occasionally twitching over the screen, until you pull the trigger and swipe up.

Us. Hailee...

Driving to your apartment, you broke nearly every single traffic law that there is. The entire time you tried calling Hailee’s phone back to back, just repeating the same mantra; please pick up. Please, please pick up. She never did.

“Hailee!!” You run through your apartment door, not having to mess with it for long as it was already unlocked. You had a feeling it would be. “Answer me!” You yell, breathlessly. The apartment is eerily dark and quiet.

Coming to a halt in the main living space, you whipped your head around looking for clues and try to listen for any signs of distress. But it was so difficult to hear anything over your own breathing and pulse drumming in your ears.

You knew where you had to go, the last picture of your friends dress laid out on your bedspread was the roadmap. The bedroom door was just barely closed over, a creepy orange glow lining it and trying to escape from underneath. Each step closer that you took, felt as if a large spider made entirely of ice was crawling down your spine.

Pushing the door open slightly with just a fingernail, you peered into the room. You knew this is exactly where this person wanted you. For what? There’s only one way to find out.

There didn’t seem to be anyone in the room, so you took a few small steps in. The glow was more prominent now, giving the room an uncanny romantic ambiance with numerous amount of white candles lit all along the dressers, night tables, and bookshelves.

Taking a broad step forward, your attention is now focused on the bed. Hailee's dress is no longer laid out like it had been in the picture. Instead, there are flower petals sprinkled across your comforter. The intriguing curiosity drew you even more into the room without you even realizing. Picking up one of the petals, you rub it between your fingers, feeling it's supple and delicate smoothness as you examine it more closely. In that moment you recognize it- the familiarity of it's dark appeal. They're black dahlia petals.

Some of the petals congregated in one particular area on the bed, revealing an elegant, black gift box about the size of a large book. Your lips part slightly as you pick up the box, captivated by it's alluring magnetism. Taking off the lid, your brows furrow slightly in confusion. It's a chain. A long, thick slip chain that looks like a necklace but almost long enough to be a leash.

As your finger smoothes over the cold indentations of the chain, you hear a creak come from the floor behind you. In a startled jump, you drop the box- a slight ringing sound deafens the scene even more from the chain hitting the floor. But that's not your concern. Because as you turn around, you see him.

Within arms reach, you are confronted with the person that's been behind all of this. He's even taller up close, broader. Dressed in all black attire, this time swapping the black hoodie for a black t-shirt and black leather jacket. And without the hood, you're able to see the elongated white face from earlier.

It's a Ghostface mask.

He stands as still as a statue, watching you intently, waiting. Your eyes persist in looking him over as your chest rises and falls deeply. When your gaze meets his face once again, his head creepily tilts ever so slightly to one side.

"What's the matter?" He speaks, his voice deep and low, "you look like you've seen a ghost," the tone almost mocking.

Squinting your eyes, you look at him again. And this time you really look at him. His body frame, the clothes, the familiarity of his voice. Your eyes widen at the realization.

"Bucky?" you gape, completely stupefied. Taking the first fearless step in what feels like months, you wrap your arms around him. He returns the sentiment and you feel safe, for the first time in what feels like forever. It suddenly dawns on you that he's not actually on a mission. And probably never was.

"What- What is this?" You ask, looking up at him, slightly pushing the mask up to reveal his stubbled chin and promiscuous grin.

"There’s just something so dark and exhilarating about an unknown man behind a mask that stalks and is obsessed with you. The anonymity of it..." He repeats back the words you said to him a few months ago watching the Scream movie.

The memory of you how you told him about this kink of yours curls around your mind. That this entire time, you were never in any kind of serious danger, he just brought it to life. Weeks and months of preparation went into this, here, tonight. You should have known all along that Bucky would never have been so nonchalant about you in any type of significant situation. You're safe. You always were and always will be.

The tiny icy footprints that had trailed up your spine were long gone, now replaced with a burning and tantalizing desire. You've missed him, thinking he was away while you were dealing with this on your own. But now he's here, fulfilling your deepest desires.

Looking up, Bucky's Pacific blue eyes are already gazing down into yours, a built up and unsatisfied hunger prominent. Moving up onto your tiptoes and grabbing him behind the neck, you bring down his head and capture his lips.

Your mouth parted his, gliding and massaging his tongue with your own. A low growl reverberated from within his throat with approval, and promise to make everything up to you tenfold. Bucky's intoxicating cypress scent fills your nostrils as your inhaled deeply, pressing your breasts up into his chest. Taking off the leather gloves and shrugging his jacket onto the floor, his hands started to wildly wander around your body, giving light squeezes on your hips before settling and interlacing gingerly in your hair.

That didn't last long, though. There was a sudden and hard tug from where Bucky held your hair, enough to pull the two of you apart. The aggressiveness of the gesture was unexpected, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't fucking love it. His eyes linger on your already swollen lips, now wearing a pursed, provocative grin. His hand releases the tight grip he had on your loose curls, watching the relief from the sting flash across your eyes. Bucky has always been tender, gentle and using your body as a place of worship-but tonight is different.

Grabbing the hem of your sweater, he maneuvers it up and off to join his growing pile of discarded clothes. Dropping to his knees with a loud thud, he undoes the button and zipper of your jeans, pulling them down and weaving his tongue along the freshly exposed skin. Hissing through your teeth, your hips instinctively press forward. He lets out a dark laugh, before grabbing the chain you dropped before. Standing back up, he takes your hand, "Come," he says, leading you towards the cornered edge of the mattress.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, his muscular body causes it to sink slightly. His free hand, still holding the chain, grips his own thigh before giving it a light pat, "Sit," he commanded, again keeping that firm edge in his voice that you weren't used to. You enthusiastically follow his orders, sitting delicately facing outward in just your matching ivory lace bra and panties. It's hard not to notice how you just fit. And how much you secretly love his significantly large frame pressed against your much more petite body in comparison to his.

The soft tip of his nose runs along the outside of your neck, his large hands coasting along your shoulders, down your arms, sides, before settling on your thighs. The calluses on his hands leaving a sensational trail of tingles and heat to disperse under your skin.

"Look," his head nods forward once to get your attention, and now you see the reason why he sat you here. In the corner of the bedroom, just a few feet away, is a full length standing mirror angled perfectly to reflect everything.

You see yourself, already flushed with arousal and breathing heavily as you make eye contact with Bucky in the mirror. His devious smile pins you in place as you watch his hands pry open your legs, entrancingly over his. They willingly spread open wide for him, your restless hips now squirming, aching for more. His fingertips trace small circles on your inner thigh.

"I want you to see your face as you fall apart, " he taunted, his voice sultry in your ear, still holding your gaze in the mirror. His middle finger skims across your already embarrassingly dampened panties, causing your back to press against his rigid chest.

There was a vague rattling sound, followed by Bucky placing the large opening of the looped chain over your head and around your neck, “Bucky, what are you doing-” you watch curiously in the mirror. Part of the chain dangles between your breasts, which he wraps around his hand once and slowly starts to pull, causing the loop around your neck to compress.

It’s a choker.

Your eyes go wide, nervousness rippling through you as you grasp his intentions, “Bucky, I don’t know-”

“Do you really think you have a choice?” he barked, pulling the Ghostface mask down back onto his face. Talking to you through the mirror, “I won’t hurt you. Trust me,” he whispers, breaking character for a moment to assure you’re safe.

You nod in response, your reflection visibly eases in the mirror as the necklace slackens around your throat. He lets the chain lax too, for now.

Large hands are back to kneading your thighs, a lone finger brushing between your legs when gravitating along the inside. It’s not long until the sensation has you starting to wriggle once again.

Cupping your sex, his hand gently moves up and down, keeping a firm, yet delicate and delicious pressure. Your greedy hips tilt forward, wanting more from his right hand, while the coolness of his left continues to lazily stroke over your skin. But when that icy touch quickly grabs and tears your underwear off in one jolt, you gasp at the tiny bite the ripping cloth left behind.

Now you’re left wide and exposed- to yourself, to Bucky, to the reflections of yourselves staring intensely, watching every movement. The warmth of his hand is back, leisurely gliding two fingers between your already achingly wet pussy. Swallowing hard, your breath hitches as you can not only feel, but see, yourself start to lose composure.

Bucky pulls the two fingers away, holding them up just to your mouth, "wet them for me," he instructs, his voice silk like satin. Taking the two fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirled rapidly around the digits, savoring the salty-sweetness of your arousal. Slowly pulling them back out, you see them shine with your saliva.

Something comes over you in that moment, call it gluttonous, but you pool some extra moisture into your mouth and spit onto the fingers. Just for good measure.

There's a murmured hum of approval in your ear as he spreads your folds, teasing your increasingly sensitive clit between his two fingers. And getting Bucky's praise will only enhance the entire night. Your legs quiver at the deliberate sluggish pace, letting out shaky breaths as the overwhelming throbbing demands more attention.

Finally, the pads of those fingers start to rub your bundle of nerves in unhurried circles. Gripping onto his thigh to steady yourself, your nails clutching his jeans, a whine escapes as your hips try to buck against his hand.

That dark laugh is in your ear again, "good girls don't come until I tell them too," Bucky breathes, overly indulging in how you respond to his touch. It feels like torture, in the best possible way. The combination of his words and caress... you have never felt this good. This wanted.

Your head falls back slightly against his shoulder in small disappointment, whimpering, knowing that he's going to make you beg. And you're getting desperate enough to do so.

The leisurely pace of his fingers picks up, causing your back to arch away from his chest as you start panting. Each swipe building pleasure, layer on top of agonizing layer. Finding yourself in the mirror again, you unapologetically watch as your body vigorously writhes against his hand, your moans spilling from your mouth more and more.

"How badly do you want to come, princess?" The Ghost breathed, his chest rising and falling heavily now, trying to fight off his own desire, evident from the hard protrusion you keep rolling your hips against.

"S-so bad... Please! Please," you pleaded, not caring how desperate it sounds. Adding some additional pressure, your hips stutter. Your breathing practically stops as your moans transform into one long, drawn out strangled whine as you come apart, "O-ooh...oh my god. Oh god!"

Not even fully coming down from the repeated waves, you hear, "God's not here," growled into your ear. In one sudden movement, Bucky stands up with you in his arms before tossing you onto the bed, "just me.” the low rumble emits from his chest. Ripping off the mask, he kneels on the bed and uses his left arm to support his weight. Using those same damned two fingers, he plunges them into your drenched pussy, siphoning a sound from your throat that’s unrecognizable.

“Again,” Bucky breathes, his eyes glazed over with a new kind of wickedness as they lock into yours, “Come for me again. I fucking love all the sounds you make,” With his palm face up, his fingers start pumping you from the inside, running over your g-spot in a come here motion.

Since there was no remission from your last orgasm, the tightness in your belly never fully went away. Watching Bucky, seeing him in the tight black t-shirt while his bicep flexes from working you, his slightly furrowed brow and his lips slightly parted in determination, you could feel it building up once again.

Feeling your walls contract around him, he grinned. He changes his hand motions to going in a frantic up and down movement, and if you know, you know. Your rasped whimpers became silent as you forgot how to breathe and your vision blurred. The build up came on so fast and so strong, the only sound in the room was your ever increasing wetness.

Your mouth dropped open into a silent O, not able to think not a single coherent thought, "Thaaat's it..." Bucky coaxed, "I want you to gush all over my fucking hand," and with his words, your body quivers as you completely shatter with a loud cry. "Goood girl. God, what a good fucking girl," he soothes. You winced slightly as he pulled out his fingers, collapsing back more into the bed as you try to rein in remembering how to breathe. Bucky sits back on his knees, and almost entirely up to his elbow is glistening with how hard you just came.

With a flat tongue, he presses it to his palm, and licks all the way up to the tip of his middle finger, "Perfect," Bucky hums in satisfaction to himself. Your throat goes dry at the sight, being the cherry on top of all the mouth breathing you've been doing. Am I fucking dreaming?

Pushing his jeans down to his knees, his thick, flushed cock rebounds out of his boxers. Bucky grabs you by the hips, pulling you down the bed before flipping you over onto all fours. Each of his hands grabs a fistfull of your ass, before slapping one side. You moan at the bite of the smack, feeling delusional from needing him inside you so badly. He rubs the reddened cheek before dropping a teeth grazed kiss on the sensitive skin.

There's a coolness between your legs, and you realize that it's your juices sliding down your thighs. Not needing any preparation, you feel the tip of Bucky's fat cock lining up to slide into your tight little slit. He rubs the head up and down, lubricating just enough to push himself in. As he started to sink into you, it took every bit of will you had not to collapse as you felt his slight struggle to get in.

"Fuck, you're tight," he sighs. But truth be told, he's just that big. As if he had a direct roadmap, he slides in effortlessly right to the hilt, poking the sweetest spot of all making you choke out a sob, "You can take it, can't you angel?" He breathes huskily, amusement draped around the words as he dragged his cock back maliciously slow, letting you feel the ridge of each vein, every delectable centimeter of his length.

You feel your eyes roll closed, enjoying the all consuming sensation. With one quick thrust all at once, Bucky simultaneously yanks on the chain of the forgotten choker forcing your eyes open with a loud cry to find him glaring at you in the mirror, "Look at me when I'm fucking you," he reprimanded, in a subdued yet stern voice.

He started to move in a merciless rhythm, keeping the chain taut in one of the hands that clenched your hips. Each thrust delivered not only a delectable deep nudge against your cervix, but a small slap of his balls to your achingly sensitive clit. The combination of internal and external stimulation has you singing your own personal explicit cry, almost on the verge of tears with the intensity.

It's almost cruel the way that he fucks you, like he's dismantling you piece by piece, mentally, physically, emotionally. Never have you been treated like such a prize possession and a cheap whore at the same time. Your walls flutter around his cock, swallowing him needing moremoremore. You're body's accepted that this pussy is Bucky's. It's meant for him. It was made for him.

In the reflection you can see Bucky wet his lips, his eyes darting between yours and your ass bouncing off of his snapping hips. He continues to murmur soft, filthy praises as he fucks another orgasm from you. The choker tensed as you came, making the edges of your vision blurry- your walls clenching so tightly, causing each stroke to become more intense than the next. After you completely shattered, the chain went slack once again.

Manhandling you one last time, Bucky lays back flat on the bed and positions you to straddle him. You shake your head in an almost delirious state, "I-I can't. Buck, I-" you whisper, thoroughly cock drunk, "I can't," you pleaded.

"Yes you can, angel," his hands glide over your sweat coated thighs, a lecherous expression on his face. You nod ever so slightly, because even as spent and exhausted as you feel, you want to see him come apart. You want to look down into his eyes as joins you in the fucked out bliss.

You grab the base of his cock, using it to align yourself before sliding back down on top of him. Bucky's eyes widen, watching intensely as your bodies joined one another. All the air releases out of his lungs at the sight of your greedy pussy sucking him all the way in- deeper, your thighs already trembling. His hands clench your hips as your they start to grind back and forth.

His ab muscles flex under your nail piercing grasp- that pressure once again starting to build. He's just so deep, you're still just so wet from coming 3 times in a row, and now his wide tip is nestled so perfectly against your cervix that each motion of your body feels like you're going to spontaneously combust and die. But there's no way that heaven could be better than this. Those painfully beautiful sapphire blue eyes filled with an rapacious hunger that only you can fulfill.

You're mouth opens in attempt to say his name like a prayer, or something as equally dirty, but all that comes out is a sputter of shuddered gasps. Bucky's unapologetically loud moans grow more frequent, turning into their own long, drawn out beautiful melody, "fuck," he whispers, "that's so good."

Leaning down, chest to chest, you capture his lips in yours- swallowing those gorgeous sounds. Bucky takes this opportunity to thrust his hips up, massaging your inner walls as you push back against him. The loud smacking of flesh borderline drown out the sounds of both your orgasms, but you could feel the vibration from deep within Bucky's throat through the kiss. Rope after rope, you could feel his warmth emptying inside of you.

The strokes became laguid as he maintained the kiss- Bucky's hands cupping your face gently, which was such a dichotomy compared to the way he fucked you tonight. You finally pull your lips apart, collapsing fully on top of his body. Laying in silence, all you can hear is each other's ragged breathing and the drumming of his heart in your ear against his chest.

"I am... never getting rid of that fucking mask," Bucky chuckles lightly.

"Just so you know," you prop your chin up on your palm, "there's 5 other movies in the franchise."

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[ohnopeh]

i love the idea that ian finally understands he had been making mickey believe he wasn't loved enough for not singing the paper.

he goes to mickey showing a ring and mickey is hopeful but also wary of what is happening, then ian says it

i love ian, but darling, you can be a bit dumb (its okay you are learning)

what could have mickey possibly thought? that ian will marry him cause gallagher keep their promises? that's all to it? is it not because he supposedly loves him and genuinely wants that?

the look on mickey's face as he realises what ian said makes me think that it was the moment mickey fears were ''confirmed''. ian didn't love him enough, of course he wouldn't, why would he? ian bought the promise ring, yes, but he still wouldn't wear it but hang it on his neck where he can hide it, is mickey not it? and then mickey says it

he realises mickey had been thinking ian didn’t love him and that’s it, he tried many times. by coming out, being there during the whole diagnosis, being broken up with but still thinking of him and hoping to be together, thinking he will be with him in mexico and then getting himself back to prison so that he can be with him, support him through all that. but that was it. he didn't have it in him to fight for them anymore, he had the rights to finally put himself first and say ''that's enough''. ‘you don’t love me enough now, and that’s fine, it’s cool.’

but ian fucked up. he now knows that mickey believed he wasn't enough, he wasn't the right one for ian.

it didn't even cross his mind that it could have been a possibility, cause since the diagnosis, ian had been so sure that he wasn't worth of mickey and the pain that comes by being around him, loving him.

so ian thinks : how can you ever be so sure you love me? how can you even possibly be in love with me when i have such disorder that won't make it easy for you? what do you even see in me to think i'm worth all of that?

the only explaination ian can think of for someone like mickey to fight so hard for their relationship to work is that : he's either crazy or he never experienced any other type of relationship before.

cause ian has, ian has dated other people after mickey and none of them loved him. one cheated on him, gaslighting him that it was okay cause it was a chick and not a guy. the other made it a challange for ian to be attracted to him, didn't respect ian when it came to his trauma regarding monica, didn't really care about ian being off his meds, being more concerned that his mania was making him the star of the news and not what trevor really wanted. mickey had never done that, mickey had always been there for ian and he knows that— he knows that mickey is the one he loves and the one that will do anything for him. he broke up with him because he loved mickey too much and wanted him to be free.

being with those people made it impossible for ian to even pretend that mickey wasn't the one he loved and that loved him back.

but mickey? he never had a relationship other than the one with ian, so how could he know that ian is the one if he never dated anyone else? someone ‘normal’, someone that wouldn’t make him worry and watch for his mood swings?

ian is telling mickey that he has a choice to do better— he’s telling him that out there, there’s someone that won’t hurt him, that won’t make mickey think they’re not in love enough to take the big step with him. cause ian knows mickey is everything— but how could mickey know that ian is that for him too?

i love how mickey’s expression changes as ian speaks. it's the moment it hits him that ian loves mickey enough, he loves him too much so that he questions himself just as much, deciding for both of them (once again) what mickey needs and who he shouldn't be with.

and i love that mickey finally understands everything, he understands why ian broke up with him in s5 and tried to move on and pretend mickey wasn’t what he wanted. mickey's first reaction is just to shake his head and say ''jesus christ, ian.''

and ian looks so confused, he might be thinking : what did i say wrong? i know i am right, you know that this is true. i'm a problem, i'm not worth it, can't you see? but that's mickey’s limit, it was ian’s moment to work on his not worthy of your love shit and realise that it’s all bullshit cause mickey is all in for them. he always has been no matter what.

and mickey knows so well that he can't do anything else to prove it to ian. he straight up tells him the answer to lip's ''figure out why you don't wanna marry him.'' 'cause he doesn't believe he's worth it. but mickey has proved him enough, mickey has told him what's ian true fear is and its not mickey's love for him that will fix it. it was ian's job to work through with it (and he did!! of course he did) back when this episode came out, i was so angry and frustrated about it, i guess growing up makes you see things differently uh?

#i legit can't shut up about shit #all i do is rewatch their scenes #draw them #read fanfics that make me think of their canon interactions #so that i end up thinking about those #and just brainstorm things #also tumblr why can i only share 10 pics thats not fair #i want to share every screenshots ever of their scenes #also noel fisher you act with your eyes i love you #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #gallavich #shameless #shameless us

[bird-inacage]

Love Sea (Episode 1): Tongrak's Striking Sensitivity

I'm really intrigued by Tongrak's characterisation so far. He's more openly sensitive than I had pictured. Yes, there's some unyielding arrogance, but it's often coupled with noticeable self-doubt - which is what really has my attention. This is not the confident, suave, uppity writer I anticipated from the trailers.

Peat has a talent for conveying fragility. And there's something about Tongrak that feels distinctly helpless. It's early days but there were a couple moments in Episode 1 I felt were worth dissecting.

Shaken but not Stirred?

"Don't you feel anything at all? Not a single bit?" "My charm didn't work? Someone like me failed?" Tongrak is upset when he thinks Mut isn't enticed by him sexually (though we see this isn't the case later).

"Don't you feel anything at all when I look down on you?" He says again when he tries to get under Mut's skin by refusing every dish he brings to the table. When Mut doesn't respond in the way he'd hoped, Tongrak falters, deflates, and is agitated by how unbothered Mut appears to be. Mut isn't easily ruffled, riled or offended. He takes everything in his stride. Nothing Tongrak has said or done has deterred him from doing his job.

To me, there's an undertone of shame in many of Tongrak's reactions, which funnily enough Mut makes a point of saying "Ever since you've got here, you've only displayed two faces. Arrogant and embarrassed." What is Tongrak embarrassed about? Could it be:

Why do I feel so powerless in my ability to affect and control the situation/people around me?

Why do I have so little purchase over my own feelings? Why can't I be more cool/collected, indifferent or nonchalant?

Each time Tongrak gets flustered, it seems to be because 'things are not going the way that I want them to.' Which is interesting when you consider the appeal of being a writer. The very profession that allows you to take control of the narrative into your own hands.

Expect the Unexpected

Tongrak is clearly shaken up when he thinks Mut has fallen off the boat. He accuses Mut of playing with him, that perhaps this was an appalling joke at his expense. The fact that Mut warned Tongrak moments ago not to lean too close to the side, proves he isn't the type to do so. No matter how you look at it, Tongrak's accusatory tone is surprising, considering how little he knows of Mut at present.

Because this is MAME, I don't want to always assume there's trauma involved, but it definitely comes across that way. I think the average person would probably go 'Jesus Christ, you scared me, I thought you'd fallen in, thank god you're alright!', rather than 'Is it fun messing with me like that? Do you want to see me die from a heart attack?" It makes me wonder if Tongrak has some form of survivor's guilt or has been witness to a life in danger before, where he was powerless to help them.

You can also consider his reaction through the lens of shame (feeling exposed) by getting so worked up in the first place. He panics. He cries. Maybe he feels like he's made a fool out of himself and wildly over-reacted. Even more so when Mut always seems to be so calm, rational and level-headed in his presence. He's angry at Mut for not giving him a heads up before going into the water, but he also seems upset at himself for reacting so intensely as well.

Tongrak doesn't seem to deal well with situations that don't go as planned. Especially when it subsequently causes a reaction in him that is perhaps a bit more revealing than he'd ideally like. His sensitivity to and in almost all things appears to be his undoing.

This is just my attempt to extrapolate my thoughts on Tongrak from this episode, which really had my gears turning. The two points above may or may not be related at all. I can tell there's going to be tonne to unpack in the coming weeks.

You can check out bird-inacage’s BL meta directory for all my other posts around Love Sea.

#love sea #love sea the series #no novel spoilers pls! #love sea meta #tongrak x mahasamut #rakmut #fortpeat #fort thitipong #peat wasuthorn #i just want to give him a cuddle #he just looks so lost all the time #peat is superb at vulnerability

[shmolish]

Longan Dragon x Reader

Oneshot

Synopsis: You braid their hair

Warning: Some angst

Being as strong as the Ivory Dragon is, it makes perfect sense that they can have whatever they want. Riches, power, knowledge. Anything really.

And yet, for someone as powerful as they were, the current moment confused them. They were being reduced to that of some mannequin in which you braided thier hair.

"I don't see how this is necessary.." they mumbled, staring off into the distance.

"It's not-" you began, "but it's nice. Right?"

"I suppose."

Time slowly went by, and the once blue skies shifted into an orange and pink. A cool evening breeze swept through the land.

"I'm done," you chimed.

They couldn't see it in the moment, but they knew the braid was nice. Anything you did always turned out that way.

"Thank you," they said, turning their body to face you. The faintest of blush dashing their face.

You smiled at them before laughing and lying down in their lap while covering your face with your arm.

"Why are you laughing?" they questioned, their gaze slowly falling to the ground nearby.

"Sorry sorry-" you took a breath. "I'm just so happy right now." You uncovered your eyes to look at them.

"Did braiding my hair really make you so happy?" They asked.

"Not just that. It's just... you look so relaxed now. You're usually so put together and I'm just glad to see you let loose for once."

Longan had a realization here. A realization that they yearned for you more than they should. They thought they could never come to love anyone. Yet here you were proving them wrong. You and your foolish smile. You and your loud voice. You and your nurturing touch.

A silence followed shortly after that. Not one of the awkward ones that made everything feel heavy. It was a comfortable one that the two of you basked in for a while.

Then you were struck with an idea.

It was very apparent in your expression.

"Longan, do you remember when we used to walk in those flower fields?"

You both often went there in your free times. You'd look around fondly at all of the wild flowers that Longan had already seen plenty of times before. You looked at those plants as if they were ancient treasures, and each time Longan couldn't help but think about how they could give you real treasures.

"I do," they'd explain, nodding their head.

Your expression softened. "Can we go there now?"

The Ivory Dragon had lived for thousands of years. They feared no one and bowed to no one. Yet now, they just couldn't bring themself to say no.

You twirled happily amoung the flowers, spinning without a care in the world. Then you got dizzy and bumped into Longan.

They couldn't help but admire you.

The way the golden light bounced off of your figure stunned them, though it hardly showed on their face. Their expression was always so stoic and unchanging.

Yours on the other hand was quite the opposite.

Your smiles always were so bright. Your frowns always so full of melancholy, and your fury was one that could ignite flames. Your emotions were perfectly human in every way.

That's right. Human.

In the end, you were nothing more than mortal; and Longan was forced to remember that in everything that you did.

How loving you would be like betraying their kin.

Yet their body seemed to move on its own as their hand began to cup your face.

Your face seemed to heat up as they gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

It felt so wrong.

But it was so natural as they inched closer to your face.

As they inched closer to the biggest mistake of their life.

They hadn't even had the time to realize it before you closed the space.

You pulled away soon after.

"Sorry. I don't know why I did that." You'd say softly.

Oh. They hadn't kissed back.

Loving you now meant making you their everything.

Loving you now meant losing everything.

Because you were simply mortal, and Longan would live for thousands of years after your death.

But Longan just couldn't help pulling you closer once again for another kiss.

Because you had slowly become much more than their everything.

...

Being as strong as the Ivory Dragon is, it makes perfect sense that they can have whatever they want.

They thought that meant they could have you too.

Yet here they were; sitting on an empty throne with no one to accompany them.

Forced to realize that they had lost you long ago.

#crob #cookie run: ovenbreak #longan x reader #longan dragon x reader #longan dragon cookie x reader #longan dragon cookie #longan dragon x reader crob #longan dragon x reader angst

[genesis-otto]

If there is one thing that I'm sure of, it's that the losers club always bake cakes for their birthdays. But as we all know, they are iDiOtS. And their cakes are just...bad. I don't mean the taste, the cake always tastes good cause there are some responsible people in this group who somehow manage to do this part right. It's the visual that is horrible. Like do you imagine them trying to decorate the cake without fucked it up on purpose (or not) ? Yeah me neither. So here is what I imagine all the cake that the losers have done one year :

This one is for Bill, it was the first time that they actually made a real cake so he is ugly as fuck. Bill is born in january which makes him the oldest of the losers and I would imagine the losers always making fun of Bill for being old. And since he is the first to celebrate his birthday, the others will totally tease him all the time with the fact that he has now like 15 while all of them are still at 14. This nightmare will last until Beverly finally celebrates her own birthday in february. One entire month of torture for Bill Denbrough.

Bev is the only girl of the group and I'm sure that sometimes she's just so done with the bullshit of the other losers. She always reminds them that "boys are trash, but no offense guys." So it was obvious for them to make her a cake ridiculously girly with that beautiful sentence on it. (The cake is way better than Bill's cause they eventually did practice for it to be perfect. 'Bev deserves a perfect cake' they all said. It took them at least three tries before to manage to make it look good).

This one is obviously Richie's. They did it the year when Richie officially came out to them. They wanted to make a trash cake at first (Eddies and Bills idea) but Stan thought that making a gay joke was funnier. Mike agreed saying that it would show that they truthfully support their gay favorite trashmouth <3. (Eddie still used colors that didn't match together cause he wouldn't let go the trash idea).

(I don't know who are the people on the pictures, but let's just pretend that there are the guys of the new kids on the block). So this one is Ben's. It's Bev that came up with the idea and all of the others followed her cause they like to make fun of Ben for his, as Richie says, bad tastes in music. Ben still was happy when he saw his cake (and he ignored the comments of his friends) cause he thought that his cake was matching with Bev's.

This is Stan's cake. Who is surprised ? Not me. It was a collective message of all the group and Stanley flipped them off when he read what they had written (even if he found it funny, which he will never tell out loud). He also tried to say that he didn't need to go to therapy that bad but they're all traumatized, Stan fooled no one. (Bill promised him that they'll make him a bird's one for the next year so Stan was happy).

Mike is a sweetheart and they all know that. So they HAD to make him a cool cake. They know that Mike LOVES the animals at his farm so they wanted to make him a cute cow. They eventually manage to not completely fucked it up and Mike, very happy with his cake, give it a name. So when Bev tried to cut the cake for eating it, Mike took it away from her because "YOU CAN'T EAT JOHNNY, HE'S MY CHILD."

Eddie is the youngest, born in september. And oh god you don't know how long it seemed for Richie who was waiting for this moment all the year. Since the first time making a cake for Bill, he already knew what he wanted to do for Eddie's when it'll be his turn. The losers all made the cake and it was pretty nice. They left it one moment without supervision and it took only one minute to Rich to fuck it up. He was very proud when the others came back with Eddie and saw the note. Richie died this day.

#richie tozier #stan uris #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #losers club #it fandom

[kairithemang0]

curtwen masquerade ball curt dips owen in a ballroom dance can't see owen blush like a maniac that's it that's the ask

So, would they know it's each other?

If they didn't, maybe it would have Curt being like "oh this guy is so hot..." and not knowing Owen is working with him on a mission or something

Hold on gonna just write about this and see where it goes (will not be edited, probably. very much a first draft)

Curt brings the mysterious man away from the party, his mask still draped over his face. He holds onto the man's wrists, his hands hot as he holds the cuffs of the man's suit jacket. They found a quiet corner, Curt's face still coded red under the mask. He listened to the man's laugh, which felt like being stabbed with knives of sweetness. He wanted to know if the man was as flustered as he was. He wanted to look back and ask him to take the mask off, so they can have a real face to face.

"Not used to being dipped now, are you, love?" The mysterious man pushed Curt against the wall of the corner they found themselves in, the only light illuminating the blue and purple mask of the man was the glimmer of moonlight from the window near them. Curt's clothes felt tight, he loosened his tie a bit. The mysterious man watched him like a vulture about to attack, ready to feast on all the skin Curt let himself show.

"It's not the first time, I simply wasn't expecting a man with your charms to show up tonight," Curt tried his hardest to be able to breathe, to keep his cool while his face began to burn with a mix of embarrassment and the feeling as if he could melt into the man at any second. He almost forgot he was working, still looking for his partner for the mission. Owen Carvour, he assumed he hadn't shown up yet. It gave Curt time for this moment, this sweet perfect moment.

The man touched Curt's collar, brushed a finger along where the fabric ended and Curt's skin began, "Your skin is surprisingly soft, love," he grinned under the mask, letting out a grin as Curt moved his neck away from the touch out of instinct, "You're cute, aren't you?" His accent was rich and gorgeous, Curt wanted to be surrounded by that voice he had for ages.

Curt didn't respond to that. He was a lot of things, but he would've never described himself as "cute". But if this man was saying it? Curt wanted to say as loudly as he could that he was the cutest man to ever live.

"You've gone quiet, what's on your mind?" The man's finger trailed up his neck and onto Curt's chin, before he made his way to Curt's trembling lip and pressed his finger into it just enough to where he heard Curt let out a quiet whimper, "Now that's a noise I didn't think could come out of your mouth, love."

"Yeah well, you've got a lot to learn about me," Curt choked out, he could barely hide it anymore, not that he was trying to. He felt the man's chest push against his, Curt didn't realize how close his face had gotten to his, he couldn't tell if it was his eyes playing tricks on him or if his face was really as red as Curt thought it looked. He was gorgeous either way.

The man laughed, and trailed his fingertips back down Curt's face, letting it travel lower than his collar and down to his loosened tie, loosening it more with his delicate finger, "Maybe I do. I'd say we should start with names, but this isn't the setting for that, is it?" Curt could practically smell his breath that was a mix of mint and pure sweetness that made Curt feel like he was going to go on a sugar rush just from breathing it in. Curt closed his eyes and his chest rose as the man touched the buttons on Curt's shirt, "Maybe I'll buy you a drink later, find somewhere with less risk."

Curt practically melted, and unable to contain his eagerness any longer and grabbed the man's face and kissed him. Curt strung his hands through the man's hair, as he felt the mask slip down the man's nose and fall to the floor. Curt didn't let that stop him, and the man grabbed his shoulders and pushed him hard against the wall.

The man's lips tasted just as good as Curt thought they would and was painfully disappointed when he felt him pull away. It was too short, he needed it back. Curt watched him, his brain beginning to work again. He knew the face, he recognized it even though he didn't look as flustered in the picture as he did now.

"Hello, Agent Mega. A pleasure to meet you," Owen Carvour fixed his hair and held his hand out to Curt, who through the confusion and desperation to feel his perfect skin again, shook it firmly.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Agent Carvour."

Again very much a first draft, still fun to write (you didn't ask for a fic, sorry :/)

#spies are forever #tin can bros #tin can brothers #owen carvour #agent curt mega #curtwen #fanfic #should i finish this? #up to yall #saf fanfic

[sonorrihazbinobsessingoverhh]

This guy 👆

#i hate him so much #/aff #I decided to steal his wings because #I think he would suffer more without them #the rest of the design has 0 meaning #other than I thought it would look cool at the moment #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #sinner adam #??? #demon adam #??? idk #my art #sonorri art #sinner adam hazbin hotel

[ryelleart]

LEONARDO NINJA TURTLE LIKED MY ART?? HELLO???

#ik this isn’t an art post #but I wanted to archive these pics somewhere other than my photo gallery #and bc it’s nice to see evidence of people (whether they’re well known or not) enjoying your work #never thought anyone other than my family friends and other random fans online would see my stuff #it’ll be easy to look back at this moment and remember how cool this is now that it’s on my blog #also yes I’m still technically on hiatus 😭 #hopefully I’ll be back by Christmas 🤞🏽 #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #leonardo #leo #text post #art feedback

[mqonlighting]

real talk in the tags for a second because i have a crush on a girl and i. a hehe. ahehehe.

will be burying this in reblogs and never touching on it again

#so random disclaimer this girl is like a year older than me and in high school it’s like a nono for older and younger batch to like be #a thing so i know i generally have no chance but i like to live in my own insanity and the progression of my crush on her has been absolute #ly cuckoo bananas. so like it started out as ‘i wanna be your friend’ and progressed into ‘shit they’re really pretty’ to ‘wow ur so??’ to #‘fuck i like them’ and then it died down and then by all golly it came back but more of a hallway crush now which is bearable bc i’m #not really a part of their life?? like we know each other but we don’t wave and shit and we don’t like ever interact that much so i was lik #ok this is fine bc they literally never think of me so i’m just admiring from afar. and the FIRST inciting incident was i request them onig #and i expect to not get accepted because according to their friends they onyl accept close friends and i’m like k this is a bad idea probs #but the worst that could happen is i get left in their follow requests right?? RIGHT?? but then within like two hours of reqing. lord. #i got. ACCEPTED. and they requested back. and suddenly it’s +1 tangibility like ok?? maybe we’re not as strangers as i thought we were #i later discovered i was not that special for this but also?? cool?? anyways for a while it kind of laid dead and we never spoke at all eve #tho i was in their acc now (at this time they barely posted but whenever they did it was so?? funny like they would slap the randomest shit #on that acc) and it was still a hallway crush altho my friends r awful (/pos) people who would always make me pass their hallway and i #would run into them so often but at this point we only ever like exchanged glances and they would walk right past me like i wasnt even ther #but THEN the second incident happened which was basically we had to play instruments for this christmas event thing and bc they’re literall #y amazing they played for it and i was roped into it and. i was so gay the whole time. bc who wears a leather jacket to school and gets the #prettiest haircut ever right on the last day before a long break?? and the worst part is whenevr something confusing happened they would #turn to me and this one other person and we’d b laughing together. like we r friends. and they’re so fucking nice they were checking up on #us the whole time i was literally dying i kept dropping my pick and stealing looks AURURUGH and they’re so gen funny and interesting i just #and the first few days of holiday break i just couldn’t stop thinking abt them it was so bad? like that was the moment where i was genuinel #like is this more than a hallway crush… eventually it died back down until the next event we had to play together where they were being SO #SO much more comf w me? like exchanging knowing looks when smt funny happens and that stuff.. at this point i didnt even know what to like #think of my crush on them so i just let it be yk. atp they’re not even waving at me in the hallways at all still so maybe they’re just bein #nice! BUT NO. THAT IS UNTIL I AUDITIONED FOR A BAND (theyr in charge of accepting) AND THEY ACCEPTED ME WHICH COOL BUT LIKE A DAY LATER I #HEARD FROM OUR MUTUAL FRIEND THAT THEY SAID ‘yeaa im so happy i got (my name)’ AS IN IN THE BAND. LIKE. HELLO?? HI U THIUGHT ABT ME?? and #during the first band mtg where everyone’s all awk they kept making eye contact w me and asking if i was good and making sure i got to say #smt before anyone made a decision and it. murdered. me. i’m sorry maybe it’s the fanfic writer in me or this shit is literally nothing and #think they’re just nice to everyone but who cares bc it means they’re nice to ME too. and then last week happened. which was like the nail #in the coffin. INTERACTION ACTIVITY. I IMPULSIVELY ASK IF THEY WANNA B GROUPMATES AND THEY SAY YES. THEY ONLY TALK TO ME AND THEIR FRIENDS. #I ACT STUPID. THEY ALUGH AND TOUCH MY SHOULDER. I ASK ABT THEIR CAMERA AND THEY GO ON A LONG-ISH (cute) RANT ABT SMTH. THEY ASK WHY I HAVE #BIG ASS STACK OF POST ITS. WE TALK. THEY LAUGH AT MY JOKES. SUDDENLY. THEY SAY A FULL HELLO IN THE HALLS. THEY WAVE AT ME A DAY LATER. FUCK

[deus-ex-mona]

“a sicks’ dream come true; coming soon to fanfic channels near you”

#presenting my cursed sleep-deprived brainworm of the day: nagisa gets sold to ft4 for uni fees #or well. more like they’re looking for a live-in assistant dude. thing. or sth. idk #and papa shiranami just sells his son off bc ‘hey it’s literal free real estate!!! plus he’s gonna get paid for the entire deal so why not?’ #nagisa initially pitches a fit at his dad a la gamushara yelling scene bc ‘dad!!!!!! how could you just sell me off to some strangers?!!!!’ #‘shhhh son; think of the free housing. in ✨t o k y o✨. stuff’s expensive there yk’ ‘but still!!!!!’ #so nagi sulkily packs his bags and heads out; trying to motivate himself with thoughts of ‘hey at least i’ll get to see hiyori more often’ #then he arrives at the train station and sees our favourite 5-man non-idol gang… and promptly passes out #when he comes to… poor guy finds himself right smack in the middle of a hugeass canopy bed #with dai sitting smugly by the side like ‘the great me carried you back mans. you’re welcome ;)’ with a tip of his cool fedora #and that’s when nagi realises that 1) it’s not a dream and that he actually has to live with his oshis now. and 2) damnnnn this bed is soft #cohabitation shenanigans happen. as they would seeing as the entire gang + rio’s niece live together in this oddly huge megu-owned penthouse #plus free bi-weekly vacations to megu’s family villa bc they can never spend a waking moment without each other #and nagi finds it strange that the group is oddly accomodating of his uni schedule when it concerns his job tasks and such… #or that they collab with lxl (hi hiyori!!!) way more than they should typically be… #but he brushes it off when rio asks him to cook with him or sth idk i mean how often do you get to cook with your oshi???? #and idk eventually the jig is up and it’s revealed that hiyori was the one who was accidentally behind the whole thing #like a ‘sorry nagisa i told uchida that you’d be moving here too but lxl were there the entire time and they went and got ft4 to buy you’ #or something kinda thing. idk. bc everything has to be lxl’s fault; even when they’re just lurking in the bg #i’m def gonna regret this later lmao. it’s almost 2.30 in the am; i have not written in months; and i’ve never read a sold to 1.d. fic ev er #this is the kind of cosmic horror that only sleep-deprived brains can cook up ig…….. oh wells #it is suiyoubi my dudes #the dude from gamushara

[polaraffect]

venting in the tags yippeee

#damien.txt #gender talk time 🤪✌️ #.................................................................................... #screaming crying throwing up rolling around on the ground <- said completely deadpan #uhm. as always. thinking abt gender. and questioning. my whole life. bc. i cant stop doing that #soooooo like. my big thing. abt gender. is as much as im like. he/they-ing it here and irl. its kind of... complicated? #as ive gone on ive realized more and more that i dont. really. feeling Anything towards those pronouns #neither do i she/her. or they/them. #and just generally the whole Concepts of male/female? so like. im always like hmm. whats happening here #and other completely incoherent statements djbdhdbf sorrry anyways #i keep having these moments where im like. hmm. maybe. im leaning too hard into the masc. maybe i am not. he at all. #but ive like. really full committed to the bit yknow? like esp irl. all the ppl ive introduced myself to in the last 2 years have known me #as 'he'. and as someone who wears mostly masc clothing and generally attempts to present masc #and like. i bought a skirt a while ago and i was trying it on today and i was like oh. wait. #and before u @ me i KNOW!! clothing does not equal gender!! but there was just something abt it #and recently (the past like. year lmao) ive really been contemplating like. what i actually want out of transitioning or whatever #bc like. increasingly its become more obvious how... fucking difficult that is. #and the more i think abt it the more im like. bro its not even worth it for me? tbh? also like. sometimes i look in the mirror and am like #hmm. this does not feel better than it did when i hadnt transitioned at all. yknow? #like the last 10+ years ive been existing in this state w my body where im basically just. tolerating it. ignoring it. even. #and that hasn't... changed. after t. and ik thats not like the fix-all but its got me wondering if some of it/a lot of it #is just body dysmorphia? rather than dysphoria? bc like. god knows i have that too. #and just. idk. i feel Really Really anti-gender most of the time. would in fact. not like to be conceived of at all. #but on some level im trying to think abt it practically bc if that ^ is my thoughts on gender fr. i have to decide whats worth it #and like. i miss cool clothes. god men's clothing is so fucking boring. holy fuck. #and AGAIN i KNOW gender doesnt equal clothes but also like. i am Aware to the wider world it still works like that #and truly if i rocked up to work/class in a skirt everyone would be like What The Fuck #and i kind of want to!! but im also scared of that reaction lol #AHHHH why must gender be so complicated. i want to lay on the floor #lol there was literally more but i ran out of tags LMAOO sorry everyone. gender complicated. peace ✌️

[neverendingford]

.

#tag talk #kind of morose rn. I wish kind wasn't functionally the same as trusting. #I wish trusting wasn't the same as gullible #I wish gullible weren't the same as stupid #I know so clearly that lies are easy to tell. and yet I know that in order to live freely I need to choose to believe sometimes #and this is one of those times I knew would happen. the inevitable failure that walks hand in hand with trying #and I will try again. because failure is a chance but not a guaranteed outcome. but it's annoying. it's exhausting. #this is about getting stood up twice in one night. in case you thought something actually important happened. nothing big. but annoying #annoying when you put out your genuine self as the best way to attract authenticity in others and instead it's played with #and I guess I should have looked for more ahead of time. demanded reciprocal honesty instead of simply trusting things would work out #trust but verify. #I just. I don't have a cynical bone in my body. I've had to learn all this #and I rephrase stories to make myself sound cleverer than I really am because I can think of a million witty retorts an hour later #but in the moment I'm just naive and trusting and over messaging it's so easy to take advantage of that #and I can't even report them for the undoubtedly stolen pics they baited me with because they block as soon as the game is up #oh well. live and learn and take away the experience and use it for something #I did meet a dude who actually plays age of empires so that's fucking sick. #got stood up twice. but met two actually cool people so it works out maybe. we'll see what happens. #I just- bruh how hard is it to get some good dick in this town? #anyway. I had a nice walk around the park while I waited. found a gravel hill with a hollow on the top and waited there to escape the wind #it was actually a really nice time at the park aside from the social circumstances

[birdantlers]

A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.

(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.

(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")

“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.

“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”

The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.

I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?

I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.

Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.

Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.

So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.

Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!

Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol

What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.

I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.

Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.

Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.

How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’

i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.

I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.

I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”

….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.

No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.

If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.

His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.

We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.

Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.

You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.

The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.

And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.

You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.

Give a heads up.

Something.

But don’t. kill. the media.

The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.

Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.

I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.

It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.

Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.

If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.

And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.

Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.

the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.

The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.

Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.

Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.

If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.

•

Muting notifs

#artists on tumblr #Artistic #digital art #art history #anthropology #humanity #art discussion #art theory #skit yells

[threadbaresweater]

megumi's friends can tell when he's thinking about you.

"fushiguro, you're turning red again."

"megumi's got that look in his eyes..."

"hey lover boy, your feelings are showing."

he'll glower at them, but there's a hint of a smile that curls its way onto his face, and his eyes sparkle when he scratches the back of his neck and looks away. "shut up."

"did she text you?"

"have you guys even kissed yet?"

there's laughter at the table, remnants of lunch scattered about. megumi pokes at his leftover rice and rests his chin in his hand. he has kissed you, in fact. it may or may not be what he was thinking about before his friends interrupted him with their good-natured ribbing.

he doesn't divulge many details to anyone about you or your blossoming relationship. the moments you share are for you and him only. it isn't that he's embarrassed of you. far from it. he's filled with an overwhelming urge to shout it from the rooftops that he likes you, and you like him back, and when he holds your hand he feels all those horribly cliché emotions that he's only ever read about.

he doesn't understand how he got so lucky, and he doesn't want to ruin it. he doesn't want to scare you off with just how devoted he is. so he tampers it down. he plays it cool, indifferent even, and pretends that you don't occupy every thought when you're not at his side (and sometimes even when you are).

"hi megumi."

he can't breathe when he hears your voice. nobara and yuuji wave and smile while megumi turns around to see you standing there, lunch tray in hand, your smile brilliant and adoring.

"can I sit with you?"

"we were just talking about you!" nobara says, elbowing yuuji in the ribs. if looks could kill, megumi would be accused of first degree murder.

you slide into the seat next to your boyfriend and laugh lightly. "well, I hope it was good talk!"

"we were teasing fushiguro about how–"

"shut up," he warns, though there's little threat detectable in his expression because he's rendered into hopeless fluff when you're this near.

yuuji holds his hands up in surrender. "fine, fine! but I bet she'd think it's cute that you–"

"–look like a total sap when you're thinking about her," nobara says before he can kick her under the table fast enough.

"it's no different than the way he looks at me normally," you say through a smile. the two friends on the other side of the table howl with laughter. megumi looks like he wants to dissolve. "it's cute."

you're left alone eventually, just the two of you, and megumi reaches for your hand. he's tentative, as if holding himself back from touching you in a more intense way.

"no one's ever told me I'm cute," he says. he's looking at you with those lovestruck eyes again, and your tummy does a flip or two.

"well, they're blind," you insist. he doesn't know how to respond to that, so he squeezes your hand a little harder.

"I think you're beautiful. and I think about you all the time," he admits.

it's your turn to feel flustered, but the way he's so earnest about his compliments makes it hard to tear your gaze away from his face. "Thank you," you whisper.

neither of you really know how love is supposed to work, but you think maybe you're on the right track.

#megumi x reader #megumi x you #jjk x reader #oh this is so silly soft

[sabertoothwalrus]

There’s something I love love loveeee about Laios and how badly he wants to be cool.

Let me preface with this: in general, I believe the harder you try to be cool, the less cool you actually are. The less you care what people think about you, if you’re “cringe” or “weird”, the more likely people will perceive you as confident and self-assured.

There are countless pieces of media where characters try to fit in with some group, change every part of themself to look/act like what they’re “supposed” to be, and end up miserable, often realizing the people they’re trying to impress aren’t worth the trouble.

I’ve experienced this in my own life too! Sometimes when I go out I wear a rainbow propeller cap! Cause I think it’s funny and silly and!! I ALWAYS get compliments!! I don’t wear it to be cool, I wear it because it makes me happy. And people overall have a positive reaction to it. it’s a huge contrast to when I was teenager and didn’t really put as much of myself into my appearance/wardrobe, and barely left any kind of impression on people.

So anyway, let’s get into it.

Laios… he’s been hurt so badly by people. He resented humanity for it. And yet, he still yearns for the approval of others. He wants FRIENDS!!!! and was angry and frustrated to learn his perception of his relationship with Shuro was so drastically different than Shuro’s!!!!

He KNEW that people were put-off by his love of monsters. Up until Falin got eaten, he deliberately suppressed how much he talked about it with others. He probably thought by not talking about monsters so much, it was working!! He was doing all the Right Things now! So Shuro confessing he always hated him was a huge blow.

But the reality is, he loves monsters. And most importantly, he loves cool monsters. He fantasizes about what would make the Ultimate Monster.

He feels very strongly about what he considers “cool” as well. He finds all aspects of monsters fascinating, but can still be HORRIBLY underwhelmed when they look too lame for his tastes.

He knows most people don’t feel the same way he does. He knows his “cool” is everyone else’s “weird”. It’s so tragically sweet how he latches onto Kabru the moment he shows interest in monsters, and takes every opportunity to infodump about them to him.

He wants people to find monsters as cool as he does!! But, he also wants people to think he’s as cool as he finds monsters.

Like!!! djkfghadkfjg IT DOESN'T EVEN BOTHER HIM WHEN PEOPLE HAVE A WRONG IMPRESSION OF HIM! He's FLATTERED by it. It's almost like, at this point, it doesn't matter to him if people don't like him. People can not like him and still think he's cool.

And my favorite thing is, it works. Laios IS cool as fuck. You KNOW he thought he looked so badass when he did this and he was RIGHT:

And yet, this is him trying very hard to look cool. But it's Laios's version of cool. It's almost contradictory, in that sense. Cause he knows people still don't get it. Like. He wants to be cool. He doesn't care about the "normal" ways to be cool. He thinks his cringe thing is cool. He does his cringe thing, that people very much do still think is cringe. So you would think that, since he wants people to think he's cool, he would not do the cringe thing. But he wore the pelt because he thought it was cool. And people clapped and cheered for him anyway.

is what he's doing really so different than this? ^

YAYYYYY WOOO GO LAIOS YOURE SO COOL!!!!!!!

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #long post #photos #laios touden #I LIKE HIM A LOT!!!!!! HES SUCH A GOOD CHARACTER!!!!!

[pucksandpower]

Theories of Relativity

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: you don’t need TikTok theories to prove that your relationship is a dream come to life, but it doesn’t hurt when your boyfriend passes all of them with flying colors

The Olive Theory

When you love someone, you have to be willing to make sacrifices and compromises for them (even if those sacrifices are something small like pretending to hate olives just so you can give them to your olive-loving partner instead)

You sit across from Charles at the long dinner table, smiling as he animatedly recounts the race from last weekend. His hands wave through the air, punctuating his story as he describes the final lap battle with Max down to the last corner. You’re only half listening though, too distracted by how handsome he looks in his dinner jacket, his tanned skin glowing in the low light of the restaurant.

As Charles pauses to take a sip of wine, you lean in and whisper, “I wasn’t really watching the race, I only had eyes for you.”

Charles chuckles, his nose crinkling adorably. “Oh really? So you missed all the action then?"

You shrug, trailing a finger down his arm. “What can I say, I find you far more interesting than the other cars going around in circles.”

Charles opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by a mechanic sitting a little way down from you. “Oi Charles, why do you keep picking all the olives out of your salad?"

You look down, noticing the small pile of olives Charles has stacked onto the edge of his plate.

Charles glances at you, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. “Oh, um, I’m not a huge fan of olives.”

The mechanic frowns in confusion. “But I’ve seen you eat olives before. You always get them on your pizza.”

“I, uh ...” Charles stammers, clearly flustered.

Under the table, you squeeze his hand reassuringly. Charles looks at you and you give him a small nod.

“Well, the truth is,” Charles says, turning back to the mechanic. “I actually love olives. But Y/N loves them even more than I do. So I pick them out of my food to give to her.”

You smile softly at Charles, warmed by his thoughtfulness. The mechanic chuckles and shakes his head. “You two are so cute it’s almost gross.”

Charles just grins and pops an olive into your mouth. “Anything for mon amour.”

You crunch the olive happily, then lean in to give Charles a quick kiss on the lips. “People who say chivalry is dead have simply never met you.”

The conversation moves on, flowing from racing to travel and everything in between. Under the table, your fingers stay intertwined with Charles’ the whole time.

After dinner, you all head outside into the cool night air. Charles’ team members head off towards their own cars, calling out goodbyes.

You snuggle into Charles’ side as you walk towards where his Ferrari is parked. “Thank you for the olives,” you say. “But you really don’t have to deprive yourself on my account.”

Charles wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. “I want to though. I like making you happy.”

You stop next to the car, turning to face him. Running a hand down his chest you say, “You know what would really make me happy right now?"

“Hmm?" Charles murmurs, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

You grin mischievously. “A stop for gelato on the way home.”

Charles laughs and opens the car door for you. “Anything for you, mon cœur.”

The Bird Test

If you say something that could be deemed insignificant and your partner responds with genuine curiosity, that’s a really good sign that your relationship will last a long time

The Brazilian sun beats down as you wander hand-in-hand with Charles along the edges of the Interlagos circuit. It’s the day before qualifying, and Charles brought you out to the track in São Paulo to share the grid walk with you.

You stroll slowly, enjoying a rare private moment together during the hectic race weekend. Charles points out details along the track — the tricky off-camber Turn 3, the sharp left-right complex at Turns 5 and 6, the long full throttle blast down the back straight.

You love seeing him so in his element here, his passion for racing evident in his voice and gestures.

As you round Turn 12, heading down the home straight, a flash of bright blue in the trees catches your eye. Gasping in excitement, you grab Charles’ arm and point.

“Look, a hyacinth macaw!”

Charles follows your gaze to the large, vividly colored parrot perched in the branches. “Wow, that’s amazing! I’ve never seen one outside of a zoo.”

You bounce on your toes, thrilled at the sighting. “Aren’t they gorgeous? That bright blue is unreal. Macaws are pretty rare around here, I can’t believe we spotted one!”

Charles smiles at your obvious delight, then turns back to observe the macaw with curiosity. “What do they eat?" He asks. “Fruit, like other parrots?"

“Yes exactly!” You reply eagerly. “Mostly palm nuts and acai berries. And they need a huge range of territory, something like 80 square kilometers.”

As you chat more facts about the brilliant bird, Charles listens attentively, asking more questions and commenting on its beauty. His genuine interest and engagement makes your heart flutter happily.

Eventually the macaw takes flight, its bright wings flashing blue against the trees as it disappears into the forest.

“Incredible,” Charles murmurs, watching it go. “What an amazing thing to see.”

He turns back to you, eyes shining. “Thank you for pointing it out, I never would have spotted it myself. I love seeing you so excited teaching me about something you’re passionate about.”

You step closer, looping your arms around his neck. “And I love that you always listen and want to know more, even if it’s not about racing.”

Charles wraps his arms around your waist, smiling tenderly. “Of course, your passions are my passions now too. I want to know everything that sparks that beautiful light in your eyes.”

The Orange Peel Theory

A partner’s willingness to perform small acts of service is indicative of a healthy relationship

Early morning sun filters into the kitchen as you sip your coffee, still wearing the oversized Ferrari shirt you slept in. Charles stands at the counter across from you, freshly showered and humming to himself as he browses his phone.

Setting your mug down, you grab an orange from the fruit bowl and start to peel it. Or at least you try. The tough rind puts up a stubborn fight, your nails scraping uselessly against it.

“Ugh, I hate peeling oranges,” you grumble after a minute. “Whose idea was it to make the peel so impossible?"

Charles glances up with a sympathetic smile. “Here, let me.”

He takes the orange from your hands and deftly digs his thumb into the top, effortlessly tearing the peel away in one long curl.

You watch in admiration as he strips the rest of the orange until it’s completely naked and ready to eat.

“Voila,” Charles presents it with a flourish. “One perfectly peeled orange for mon ange.”

“My hero,” you grin. You go to take it from him but Charles playfully keeps it out of reach.

“Ah ah, allow me,” he says. Holding your gaze, he gently pulls apart one glistening segment and brings it to your lips.

Happiness bubbles up in you at this sweet, unexpected gesture. You let Charles pop the orange slice into your mouth, savoring the bright citrus burst.

“Delicious,” you murmur. Charles smiles and leans in to kiss you softly, his thumb brushing a drop of juice from your lower lip.

One by one he continues to peel the segments and feed them to you, interspersing each with tender kisses that taste of orange and love.

You close your eyes blissfully, letting the sensual ritual relax you. Charles takes his time, not rushing. He knows this is your favorite part of the morning, stealing these private moments together before the busy day sweeps you both up.

When the last segment is gone, Charles kisses you again, deeper this time. You loop your arms around his neck, melting against him.

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” you whisper when you finally separate.

Charles nuzzles your nose with his. “You may have said it once or twice. But I never get tired of hearing it.”

You lean into him contentedly. As always, his thoughtfulness and care warms you from the inside out.

Peeling an orange is such a small act but the meaning behind it speaks volumes. Charles knows your quirks and preferences, and cherishes these little opportunities to make your day brighter.

The little things that mean everything.

You’re still musing dreamily about this when Charles tips your chin up. “Where’d you go just now?” He asks with a curious smile.

You shake your head, focusing back on him. “Just thinking about us. And how perfectly you peel my oranges.”

Charles laughs. “Well I’m glad to be of service. I know how you hate getting orange string stuck under your nails.”

He kisses your fingertips one by one. “Can’t have anything marring these beautiful hands.”

You scrunch your nose at him. “Oh yes, I need to keep my hands soft and dainty in case a prince comes along to propose.”

Charles squawks in protest and tackles you against the counter, fingers digging into your sides to tickle you mercilessly. You dissolve into helpless giggles, swatting him away.

“No no, stop! I take it back!” You gasp.

Charles relents, holding you close and nuzzling into your hair. “Too late, you’re stuck with me now,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.

You snuggle into him contentedly. No fantasy prince could ever compete with the reality of Charles.

The Invisible String Theory

An invisible string connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance (the string may stretch or tangle but it will never break)

The living room is filled with laughter and happy chatter as you and Charles sit surrounded by both your families. Your wedding is only two days away, and his mother suggested gathering everyone together one night for reminiscing and quality time.

Looking through old photo albums is proving to be hilarious and heartwarming. Baby pictures, school plays, family vacations — memories preserved to embroider the story of your lives before fate brought you together.

Charles smiles wistfully as Lorenzo shows an album from their childhood. “I wish my godfather and father could have met you,” he says softly. “They would have loved you so much.”

You take his hand, leaning your head on his shoulder. His lost loved ones are always close to his heart.

Your mother passes an album to you with a smile. “Oh this one is from our trip to France when you were five! So many cute little Y/N photos.”

You roll your eyes but obligingly open the album, Charles peering over your shoulder. You flip through pictures of your younger self building sandcastles on the beach, wearing a hilariously large sun hat, beaming gappily with missing front teeth.

Charles grins down at you. “Adorable. I can’t wait for our kids to-”

He stops abruptly, staring down at the page. You follow his gaze to a photo of your family in Nice, taken in front of the Le Negresco hotel. And there in the background, almost out of frame — four familiar figures walking down the promenade.

A young Charles holds the hand of a teenage boy you immediately recognize as Jules. On Charles’ other side, his father Hervé carries a toddler Arthur.

Your breath catches sharply. The families fall silent around you. Charles’ fingers tremble slightly as they trace over the image.

“Of course we went to Nice often,” he whispers. “I had no idea ...” His voice trails off, thick with emotion.

Arthur cranes his head to see. “Is that us? With Papa and Jules?" He looks between you and Charles with wide eyes.

“Almost twenty years ago,” Lorenzo marvels. “And your paths were already crossing.”

Pascale wipes at her eyes, grasping Charles’ other hand tightly. “It was meant to be. Some invisible string tying you together even then.”

Charles’ fingers tremble as they trace over the image. For one brief, impossible moment, it feels like you’re all together — you, Charles, Jules, Hervé. Preserved in time, intersecting at the crossroads of past and future.

Though you never met in life, somehow you were all bound in that instant, tied by invisible strings of destiny. Strings that would one day guide you and Charles to each other.

It’s only a photo, yet looking at it you feel Jules and Hervé’s presence like a bittersweet embrace. As if across the years, they’re saying we know you. We love you. We’re so happy for you both.

You stare down at it, this captured moment of impossible synchronicity. A glimpse of the thread that wove itself silently through your lives until the day it finally drew you together.

Charles meets your eyes, his own shimmering with tears. Without words, you know he feels it too. The impossible link stretching back through time. Proof you were always meant to find each other.

He pulls you close, kissing the top of your head. “I believe that with all my heart, we’ve always been connected somehow.”

“Soulmates,” you whisper.

You cling to him, overwhelmed with certainty. Through accidents of time and geography, missteps and milestones, your story was always guiding you here.

Meant for each other. Destined, even then.

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