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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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Hi. I’m curious. What did you mean by “women who read fiction might get Bad Ideas!!!” has just reached its latest and stupidest form via tumblr purity culture.? I haven’t seen any of this but I’m new to tumblr.

Oh man. You really want to get me into trouble on, like, my first day back, don’t you?

Pretty much all of this has been explained elsewhere by people much smarter than me, so this isn’t necessarily going to say anything new, but I’ll do my best to synthesize and summarize it. As ever, it comes with the caveat that it is my personal interpretation, and is not intended as the be-all, end-all. You’ll definitely run across it if you spend any time on Tumblr (or social media in general, including Twitter, and any other fandom-related spaces). This will get long.

In short: in the nineteenth century, when Gothic/romantic literature became popular and women were increasingly able to read these kinds of novels for fun, there was an attendant moral panic over whether they, with their weak female brains, would be able to distinguish fiction from reality, and that they might start making immoral or inappropriate choices in their real life as a result. Obviously, there was a huge sexist and misogynistic component to this, and it would be nice to write it off entirely as just hysterical Victorian pearl-clutching, but that feeds into the “lol people in the past were all much stupider than we are today” kind of historical fallacy that I often and vigorously shut down. (Honestly, I’m not sure how anyone can ever write the “omg medieval people believed such weird things about medicine!” nonsense again after what we’ve gone through with COVID, but that is a whole other rant.) The thinking ran that women shouldn’t read novels for fear of corrupting their impressionable brains, or if they had to read novels at all, they should only be the Right Ones: i.e., those that came with a side of heavy-handed and explicit moralizing so that they wouldn’t be tempted to transgress. Of course, books trying to hammer their readers over the head with their Moral Point aren’t often much fun to read, and that’s not the point of fiction anyway. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.

Fast-forward to today, and the entire generation of young, otherwise well-meaning people who have come to believe that being a moral person involves only consuming the “right” kind of fictional content, and being outrageously mean to strangers on the internet who do not agree with that choice. There are a lot of factors contributing to this. First, the advent of social media and being subject to the judgment of people across the world at all times has made it imperative that you demonstrate the “right” opinions to fit in with your peer-group, and on fandom websites, that often falls into a twisted, hyper-critical, so-called “progressivism” that diligently knows all the social justice buzzwords, but has trouble applying them in nuance, context, and complicated real life. To some extent, this obviously is not a bad thing. People need to be critical of the media they engage with, to know what narratives the creator(s) are promoting, the tropes they are using, the conclusions that they are supporting, and to be able to recognize and push back against genuinely harmful content when it is produced – and this distinction is critical – by professional mainstream creators. Amateur, individual fan content is another kettle of fish. There is a difference between critiquing a professional creator (though social media has also made it incredibly easy to atrociously abuse them) and attacking your fellow fan and peer, who is on the exact same footing as you as a consumer of that content.

Obviously, again, this doesn’t mean that you can’t call out people who are engaging in actually toxic or abusive behavior, fans or otherwise. But certain segments of Tumblr culture have drained both those words (along with “gaslighting”) of almost all critical meaning, until they’re applied indiscriminately to “any fictional content that I don’t like, don’t agree with, or which doesn’t seem to model healthy behavior in real life” and “anyone who likes or engages with this content.” Somewhere along the line, a reactionary mindset has been formed in which the only fictional narratives or relationships are those which would be “acceptable” in real life, to which I say…. what? If I only wanted real life, I would watch the news and only read non-fiction. Once again, the underlying fear, even if it’s framed in different terms, is that the people (often women) enjoying this content can’t be trusted to tell the difference between fiction and reality, and if they like “problematic” fictional content, they will proceed to seek it out in their real life and personal relationships. And this is just… not true.

As I said above, critical media studies and thoughtful consumption of entertainment are both great things! There have been some great metas written on, say, the Marvel Cinematic Universe and how it is increasingly relying on villains who have outwardly admirable motives (see: the Flag Smashers in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier) who are then stigmatized by their anti-social, violent behavior and attacks on innocent people, which is bad even as the heroes also rely on violence to achieve their ends. This is a clever way to acknowledge social anxieties – to say that people who identify with the Flag Smashers are right, to an extent, but then the instant they cross the line into violence, they’re upsetting the status quo and need to be put down by the heroes. I watched TFATWS and obviously enjoyed it. I have gone on a Marvel re-watching binge recently as well. I like the MCU! I like the characters and the madcap sci-fi adventures! But I can also recognize it as a flawed piece of media that I don’t have to accept whole-cloth, and to be able to criticize some of the ancillary messages that come with it. It doesn’t have to be black and white.

When it comes to shipping, moreover, the toxic culture of “my ship is better than your ship because it’s Better in Real Life” ™ is both well-known and in my opinion, exhausting and pointless. As also noted, the whole point of fiction is that it allows us to create and experience realities that we don’t always want in real life. I certainly enjoy plenty of things in fiction that I would definitely not want in reality: apocalyptic space operas, violent adventures, and yes, garbage men. A large number of my ships over the years have been labeled “unhealthy” for one reason or another, presumably because they don’t adhere to the stereotype of the coffee-shop AU where there’s no tension and nobody ever makes mistakes or is allowed to have serious flaws. And I’m not even bagging on coffee-shop AUs! Some people want to remove characters from a violent situation and give them that fluff and release from the nonstop trauma that TV writers merrily inflict on them without ever thinking about the consequences. Fanfiction often focuses on the psychology and healing of characters who have been through too much, and since that’s something we can all relate to right now, it’s a very powerful exercise. As a transformative and interpretive tool, fanfic is pretty awesome.

The problem, again, comes when people think that fic/fandom can only be used in this way, and that going the other direction, and exploring darker or complicated or messy dynamics and relationships, is morally bad. As has been said before: shipping is not activism. You don’t get brownie points for only having “healthy” ships (and just my personal opinion as a queer person, these often tend to be heterosexual white ships engaging in notably heteronormative behavior) and only supporting behavior in fiction that you think is acceptable in real life. As we’ve said, there is a systematic problem in identifying what that is. Ironically, for people worried about Women Getting Ideas by confusing fiction and reality, they’re doing the same thing, and treating fiction like reality. Fiction is fiction. Nobody actually dies. Nobody actually gets hurt. These people are not real. We need to normalize the idea of characters as figments of a creator’s imagination, not actual people with their own agency. They exist as they are written, and by the choice of people whose motives can be scrutinized and questioned, but they themselves are not real. Nor do characters reflect the author’s personal views. Period.

This feeds into the fact that the internet, and fandom culture, is not intended as a “safe space” in the sense that no questionable or triggering content can ever be posted. Archive of Our Own, with its reams of scrupulous tagging and requests for you to explicitly click and confirm that you are of age to see M or E-rated content, is a constant target of the purity cultists for hosting fictional material that they see as “immoral.” But it repeatedly, unmistakably, directly asks you for your consent to see this material, and if you then act unfairly victimized, well… that’s on you. You agreed to look at this, and there are very few cases where you didn’t know what it entailed. Fandom involves adults creating contents for adults, and while teenagers and younger people can and do participate, they need to understand this fact, rather than expecting everything to be a PG Disney movie.

When I do write my “dark” ships with garbage men, moreover, they always involve a lot of the man being an idiot, being bluntly called out for an idiot, and learning healthier patterns of behavior, which is one of the fundamental patterns of romance novels. But they also involve an element of the woman realizing that societal standards are, in fact, bullshit, and she can go feral every so often, as a treat. But even if I wrote them another way, that would still be okay! There are plenty of ships and dynamics that I don’t care for and don’t express in my fic and fandom writing, but that doesn’t mean I seek out the people who do like them and reprimand them for it. I know plenty of people who use fiction, including dark fiction, in a cathartic way to process real-life trauma, and that’s exactly the role – one of them, at least – that fiction needs to be able to fulfill. It would be terribly boring and limited if we were only ever allowed to write about Real Life and nothing else. It needs to be complicated, dark, escapist, unreal, twisted, and whatever else. This means absolutely zilch about what the consumers of this fiction believe, act, or do in their real lives.

Once more, I do note the misogyny underlying this. Nobody, after all, seems to care what kind of books or fictional narratives men read, and there’s no reflection on whether this is teaching them unhealthy patterns of behavior, or whether it predicts how they’ll act in real life. (There was some of that with the “do video games cause mass shootings?”, but it was a straw man to distract from the actual issues of toxic masculinity and gun culture.) Certain kinds of fiction, especially historical fiction, romance novels, and fanfic, are intensely gendered and viewed as being “women’s fiction” and therefore hyper-criticized, while nobody’s asking if all the macho-man potboiler military-intrigue tough-guy stereotypical “men’s fiction” is teaching them bad things. So the panic about whether your average woman on the internet is reading dark fanfic with an Unhealthy Ship (zomgz) is, in my opinion, misguided at best, and actively destructive at worst.

#long post #anonymous #ask

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egcdeath · 3 years

Text

strangers again

summary: “hiiii sweetie!! can i request a steve x reader where he left yn for peggy. but he always felt guilty and missed yn. he would always stare at her pic. when he came back he bumped into yn while she was dropping a kid to daycare. and steve realized it was his son. kinda sad but fluff at the end pls!!!! and oh i super love your works!!! tysm 🌼🥺💕”

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: decent angst, brief mention of a depressive episode, abandonment, somewhat unrealistic behavior

word count: 3.8k

author’s note: i really hope that this lives up to your expectations but it is a little cheesy. i’d also like to warn that i have not interacted with a child in several years, so.. sorry. (there’s also a lot of exposition so double sorry if that’s not your thing!)

You’d never forget the moment Steve left to return the stones, with the promise to be back in only a matter of moments.

Maybe your definition of a matter of moments was different from his.

You seemed to be the only one without a clue of what Steve truly planned to do, with Bucky only telling you after the matter that Steve was leaving for the past and for Peggy, and probably not coming back.

After finding out, something deep within you broke. You could barely leave your bed for days, you struggled to eat, sleep, even drink water. Every task that used to seem like muscle memory, began to feel like it carried the weight of the world behind it. Every hobby that you once enjoyed becoming empty and bleak.

You constantly felt inadequate. How could you love someone so much, and be told you were loved so much while always being second to someone else?

The simple sentiment of it had left you feeling miserable, and sick to your stomach. Literally. Nearly every morning, and occasionally if you smelled something too strong, you found the contents of your stomach emptied.

You attempted to ignore it at first. Meshed with every other unpleasant symptom you were going through, you’d figured that it was just one more bullet point on the list of things that had been plaguing you. But when your friends insisted that you go check up with your doctor, you had a hard time saying no.

Once you received the results from your blood test, you were completely taken aback by the fact that you were pregnant. You couldn't believe that you hadn’t considered the possibility of pregnancy earlier.

Yet, after a long and hard period of pondering, you managed to surprise yourself once again after you realized you wanted to keep it.

After all, that could be the only piece of Steve you had left.

----

You began to tell yourself that Steve was dead. That was somehow less painful than the idea that he left you for someone that he barely knew, yet had fallen so hard for nearly 70 years ago. You refused to let yourself fall for anyone else romantically, now that you were aware that anyone had the capacity to leave you at any time, no matter how deep you perceived your relationship to be.

You guarded your heart, and made sure to only let in those that you knew you could trust for a fact. For the remainder of your pregnancy, only your closest family members and friends stood by your side.

About 8 months later, you brought a small, but healthy infant into the world. From that moment on, you promised yourself to become the best version of yourself that you could be. No dwelling on the past, and no yearning for what could’ve been. Your only duty now was to provide the best life possible for your offspring.

So you did.

----

You stood in the kitchen, peeling an orange for your son before he bounded into the room. You turned and gave him a big grin, and he grinned back to you.

“Did you get dressed all by yourself?” You asked him excitedly, receiving a nod in return before he ran up to your leg, and hugged it.

“I did, Mommy!” He looked up at you with his soulful eyes, and you couldn’t help but to feel bombarded with emotion.

Even at the tender age of five, Grant seemed to become a bit more like his father every day. The shape of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the sound of his giggle. To the average onlooker, he came across as the same as any other child, but to you, your son was the splitting image of Steve.

“Good work, little man. Now go sit at the table so mommy can finish breakfast, okay?” He didn’t even bother confirming with you before more or less sprinting to the table. You couldn’t help but to ask yourself if your son had obtained all of that energy and speed from his father as well.

Breakfast was over almost as soon as it started, and before you knew it, you were warming up your car after you’d assisted Grant with brushing his teeth.

You were in an oddly nostalgic mood that day, playing music from a time period before you’d even imagined bringing another life into the world. You glanced up at the rearview mirror and watched your son happily bop his head to the beat. You thought in passing about how much of a gift he truly was.

After arriving at his school, you hopped out of the car and over to the furthest seat in the back, where he’d insisted on sitting that day.

“You ready, big guy?” You questioned while reaching out to grab him from the car seat.

“Born ready,” he agreed. You chuckled and shook your head fondly at that while getting him out of the car.

“Who taught you that?”

Grant shrugged, “I came up with it myself.”

“I’m sure. Can you hold my hand while we’re out please?” You reached out for him, and he gladly obliged.

You soon became distracted by a large man across the street, his built figure and light blonde hair making you recall the father of your child. You gave Grant’s hand a light squeeze and continued to approach the door, not being able to help yourself, and glancing over at the man one last time.

Except this time was different. Your eyes locked with the blonde man outside of the coffee shop across the street unexpectedly. Where you once thought casually to yourself that it looked like Steve, you now had confirmation that it was in fact the man who you’d fallen in love with, and found yourself pregnant by.

You audibly gasped, receiving a bit of a questioning look from your child. Your heart dropped as a metric ton of emotions hit you all at once, anger, sadness, confusion. Everything you told yourself you needed to repress, had suddenly come back to you all at once.

Even from a distance, you swore you could see his eyes flit from you to Grant, and the next thing you knew, he was approaching your direction. Looking for an easy out, and a distraction from your rather observant child, you quickly caused a misdirection.

“Grant, is that Stacey over on the playground? You should totally go show her that new version of tag that you were telling me about!”

Your son, ever the speedster, booked it towards the playground, and you let out a sigh of relief. Although, the relief didn’t last long, as just moments later, Steve was almost all the way up to you. As you turned to try to escape, you felt a hand on your arm.

“Y/N?” He asked, almost timidly.

You weren’t even sure what to say. In fact, you didn’t feel like you had control of your own body at this point. “Steve? I-“ You ran a hand through your hair and bit the inside of your lip. “You need to go.” The pain that was rushing through you was too much for you to bare, especially considering the man who caused the hurt had suddenly decided to reappear in your life after giving you a world of self doubt and abandonment issues.

Steve seemed hurt by your statement, but you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand to even look at his face. “Please, Y/N, let me explain,” he begged.

“No, Steve. You don’t get that luxury. You left me for someone else, and I guess you got to live a nice, long life with her. You don’t get to just show back up in my life when you get bored, okay? I can’t afford to play those types of games anymore. Now if you’d let me go-“ You attempted to get to your car, but Steve side stepped you.

“It wasn’t like that. You know it isn’t like that.”

“Just fucking leave! You have no idea what this has all been like for me. You had your opportunity to leave, and you gladly took it. Stay the fuck out of my life, and the hell away from my son.” You grabbed the handle of your car door and got in, reeling as you watched a dejected Steve walk away.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you rested your head against the steering wheel. You were feeling way too many emotions to pinpoint exactly how you felt, but you knew that this couldn’t be good.

——

You put a brave face on for your son that day, picking him up from school in a daze, and only half listening to whatever it was that he was telling you.

You felt bad for only being able to nod along to whatever he was saying, and did he just ask you if he could get a dog? Did you just say yes?

You felt like a stranger watching yourself from the outside in. The ghost of the person you’d developed into over the years watching the past version of yourself slip right back into your body, and take over your daily routine through the next few days of your life.

You had an obscene amount of anger that soon dissolved into a deep sadness, and that sadness shorty developed into a morbid curiosity.

You spent an unreasonable, and certainly unhealthy amount of time searching your old lover’s name on tabloid websites and social media, just to see if he’d given a statement on his whereabouts, or a statement about anything at all.

After about day three of your minor internet stalking, you’d had an epiphany while sitting in your office.

You still have Steve’s number saved on your phone.

That was, of course, if it hadn’t changed between now and the years that he’d been off living in the past.

Something about knowing that you were just one text away from him made your heart race with a mixture of nerves and interest. Just one impulsive decision, and you could change the whole trajectory of the rest of your life.

If you got back in contact with Steve, you might not ever be willing to leave him. You refused to make that mistake again.

Until you did.

After reading Grant his nightly bedtime story, then wrapping him tightly in his little bed, you’d decided to treat yourself to a glass of Chardonnay.

It’d been a weird past couple of days. Your time traveling ex had randomly appeared back into your life, your coworkers seemed to get on your nerves a little more every moment you were around them, and Grant had a temper tantrum in the grocery store that afternoon over a chocolate bar, which gained judging stares from customers, and may have made you feel the slightest bit inadequate.

At least that’s what you told yourself as you filled your glass again, because two glasses can’t hurt, and again, since I kinda deserve this extra one, don’t I? The next thing you knew, the bottle was empty, and you were texting Steve for the first time in years.

Y: Is this Steve?

You watched as three white dots hovered on your screen for a moment, disappeared, then came back once again.

S: Is this Y/N?

Y: Yes.

Y: We should tlak

Y: *talk

S: I agree.

Y: So lets

Y: talk

S: I don’t think this is a conversation for texts.

Y: Then call me???????????????????

S: We should talk in person.

Y: Im not gonna do that sober

S: You’re not sober?

Y: do you think id text u sober u big fuckni asshole

S: I guess you’re right

S: So are we gonna talk?

Y: no ur gonna meet me at b cup cafe tomorrow at 10

S: AM or PM?

Y: AM I’m off

S: Are you sure you want to do this?

Y: Say yes before i change my mind

S: I’ll see you there

Y: Bye babydaddy

S: ????

You promptly deleted the messages, tossed your phone somewhere on the sofa, and sunk into the seat. Even in your not-completely-sober state, you already felt the all too familiar sense regret. You dragged the blanket that hung over the top of the sofa over your exhausted body, and closed your eyes, wishing that this was somehow all a dream.

----

It was not all just a dream.

You woke up with dried drool on your chin, and a deep pit of bad feelings and regret in your chest. Of course, you ignored the bad feelings and got ready, business as usual. You successfully dropped Grant off at school with little complications, and found yourself perking up a bit more.

Yet, something still felt slightly off. You reached into the passenger seat for your phone, and as you looked down on it, saw the familiar notification of a calendar event.

10:00 AM b cup coff w Steeb

You groaned out loud at this. There was no obligation for you to go meet with him, but perhaps going and talking to Steve would bring you some sort of closure. Maybe then you could move on with your life, get with a nice guy who would mean it when he tells you he won't leave you, who loves Grant like he’s his own biological offspring, and to take care of the both of you through thick and thin.

You gladly daydreamed of this fantasy man while driving to the shop, but you couldn’t help but to see Steve’s face doing all of the aforementioned things. Before you even fell pregnant, that’s what you’d truly wanted with Steve. To be a family. To have your definition of home be with your people, rather than a place.

Entering the coffee shop, you briefly ordered your drink before looking around and find Steve sitting alone in a booth, mindlessly stirring around the liquid in his cup.

Timidly, you approached the booth, before setting your purse down and sitting across from him.

“You... you came?” He looked up to you with almost watery eyes.

“Of course I did,” you tried to hold yourself back from mentioning something about following through on your word. You wanted this to be as civil as possible. To build bridges rather than burn them.

“I just didn’t expect to see you in person again. And, you know, you were running a little late,” he added.

“Well, you try waking a five year old up and getting him ready for school every day,” you expelled a humorless chuckle to deflect from the slight agitation you were feeling.

“While you’re hungover?” Steve asked with a bit of a smirk, trying to lighten up the mood.

“While you’re hungover,” You confirmed, genuinely laughing now. It felt good, natural even. You’d kind of forgotten just how pleasant things used to be with Steve.

“Did you mean it last night?” he interrupted the laughter with a serious look.

“I honestly cannot remember anything I said last night. Elaborate, please?”

“That he’s mine. Your son.” He watched you silently nod, then began to speak again, “Wow, I just didn’t realize… How did that happen?” He looked down into his drink nervously.

“Well, it’s kind of hard to recall the exact details, but when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much...” You trailed off, and looked up as a barista called a butchered version of your name.

You were glad to have an excuse to get up and leave for a moment. Adrenaline was racing through your body, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep your composure before you erupted into tears, or had some sort of angry outburst.

Bringing your cup back to the booth, you sat down and took a sip of the scalding drink, “Where did we leave off?”

“I believe you were giving me the birds and the bees?”

“Right! Well, I think you know the rest. I’ll tell you more about Grant later. Right now, I want to know why you left and suddenly decided to come back.” You genuinely felt proud of your delivery. This was the moment you’d practiced in front of the mirror for years, and you didn’t even butcher it.

Steve shook his head and looked into his drink once again. It was so hard to look at you, let alone make eye contact with you, when he knew that he’d been the one to give you an ocean of grief. Yet, he was somewhat intrigued by hearing that his son’s name was his middle name.

“It’s kind of a long story,” Steve began.

“Good thing we have time,” you crossed your arms as you spoke.

“Well, waking up in a whole new time period isn’t exactly the easiest thing ever. You and me both know I missed it there, and it’s always been more than just nostalgia for me. I truly believed that I belonged back there.”

Of course, you had an idea of this, but hearing Steve confirm what you’d already thought made your insides twist.

“But I was so wrong. More than anything, I guess I was in love with a romanticized version of the past. Of Peggy.”

Hearing her name, especially from Steve, made you bristle. You wanted to interrupt him at this point, but it wouldn’t do you or him any good to become hostile while he explained himself.

“By the time I realized, it was too late. I figured you’d already moved on and found someone else to take care of you, and the world, this world, didn’t really need me anymore. But something possessed me to come back.”

“So you’re telling me that if you stopped being an idiot that just assumes things, we could’ve worked this out before? That you could’ve been an active participant in your son’s life?”

“I guess that’s a good way to interpret that story. I know I haven’t been in his life, but is there any way that I can still meet him?” Steve asked hopefully.

“Yeah, of course. He’s just like,” you sighed a bit to yourself. “He’s like a carbon copy of you. Especially his personality, but like, down to his mannerisms. I always struggled to understand how he could be so much like his dad, and never even had met him. You’ll love him.”

“Even if I didn't like him, I’d still love him.”

“How do you still manage to be such a cheeseball all the damn time? You think you’d be able to make it to dinner tonight?”

----

At exactly 6:30 on the dot, your doorbell rang, and before you even had the chance to think about opening it, Grant already was at the door, and opening it. You cringed on the inside, and made a mental note to have another conversation about stranger danger with him.

“Do I know you? Who are you?” you heard your child question from the other room as you set down the last of the plates in your dining room.

“I’m Steve, your mom’s friend... and…” Steve nearly spilled the beans to his son, but didn’t want to cause any more damage than he’d already done. “Her friend.”

“That’s so cool! I have friends too, like Nick, and Stacey, and,” you’d rushed up to the door and wiped your brow, internally hoping that you hadn’t just smudged the makeup you’d put on for the occasion.

“Hi, Steve, come on in,” You beckoned him in, and pulled Grant to the side, quietly scolding him before leading Steve into the dining room. “Grant! This is the last time I’m telling you about opening doors, okay?” He nodded obediently, then followed you and Steve.

“Can I sit next to your friend, Mommy?”

“Is that alright with you, Steve?”

“More than fine.”

Grant sat down next to him, and scooted a bit closer than necessary, while you sat across from the two of them.

“I have to in… enter a gate you now. Because Mommy never brings any over her friends over. I didn’t know she had any friends.”

You blushed a bit at this, at your son’s overdramatic behavior, and his admission that you’d become a bit of a loner.

“Go ahead, pal,” Steve chuckled heartily.

“When did you meet my mom?”

“Before you were even born.”

“Wow! That’s a long time. You’re really old. What’s your favorite dinosaur?”

“I’ve heard T-Rexes are pretty cool.”

“Have you met any?”

You nearly spat out your drink at this. If only your son had known.

“Nope, never. Have you?”

“Hmm, not yet. But they’re my favorite dino too. Now your ‘gating is over.”

You couldn’t help but to burst out into laughter at the bizarre exchange, but you were glad that your son and Steve were getting along so well.

The rest of dinner went pretty similarly, with Grant bantering with Steve, and Steve indulging him. You could tell that the relationship between the two of them was something that came both naturally and easily. You couldn’t help but to grin as Grant began to ramble about how cool Steve was, and how he swore he was better friends with Steve than you were.

“Mommy, isn’t Steve the best? You guys should totally get married so he can have dinner with us every day!” he swooned. “He even kinda looks like me, right?!”

That’s why you couldn’t help what came out of your mouth next.

“Grant, Steve is… He’s your dad,” you said quietly.

Grant nodded, then slurped up a noodle, “That’s why he’s so cool! He gets it from me, right Mom?”

“That sounds right to me,” You glanced up at Steve, and noticed his surprised expression. You mouthed something along the lines to ‘He’ll process it later,’ and waved a dismissive hand, before going in for another bite of food.

----

After putting Grant to bed, You and Steve stood at your kitchen sink, bumping elbows occasionally as the two of you silently worked together to wash and dry dishes.

The domesticity and familiarity of the action brought you an obscene amount of comfort. You remembered how you once believed that this is what your future would look like. Your thoughts were interrupted by Steve beginning to talk.

“Doesn’t this remind you of life after the first snap?” He asked, breaking the silence.

“Kind of. You’re not off the hook yet, by the way. You still have plenty of explaining and proving you’ve changed to do.” You set the last cup in the cupboard, then dried your hands off.

“I know, I know,” Steve began.

“We don’t even know if you’re ready for fatherhood. But right now, I kinda don’t care. I really just want you to kiss me.” You reached up to Steve’s cheek, and he pulled you in for a soft and chaste kiss.

You’d never felt more at home.

——

me with this fic:

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #angst #captain america x reader #captain america x you #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #request

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sluttyten · 3 years

Note

“This movie is really scary, but you’re into it so I’m trying not to cover my face the whole time, but- WHAT IS THAT?” “You can’t leave without letting me hug you first”

Haechan😊

Can I ask for it be kinda e2l? If possible no worries if not. Thanks!

(this one actually gets kinda long, so I did put it under a read more)

You and Lee Donghyuck did not get along. Like at all.

It was a strong annoyance to all of your mutual friends at university (which was most of your friends, honestly), but he was basically your enemy. Donghyuck was the one person that frustrated you beyond belief, and any time you were around each other all you could do was bicker, physically fight, or play mean pranks on each other. So you understood why your friends hated it because they were often collateral damage. The enemyship with him had even ruined a few relationships in the past on your part and on his.

So it was no surprise to you that when the university’s computer programming/technology department put out a prototype app just in time for the Valentine’s season, your friends insisted you make a profile. The app was meant to find you a top match based off a personality test you would take; it would compare your profile to all the others in the university (as this app so far was only available to students at your university), and select the top ten most likely matches.

They advertised it as some cupid match-making service, free of charge. They were just hoping for some good reviews and a great audience to test their app-developing skills on.

Your friends pushed you to make your profile, pointing out how single you’d been since your bickering with Donghyuck had caused you and your last boyfriend to breakup.

“It’s Valentine’s Day this weekend!” One of your friends said, jabbing at the screen of your phone. “We’re trying to find you a perfect date!”

So you play along. You answer all the questions honestly. And even as you’re kind of skeptical about the whole thing, the optimistic part of your mind is already racing, really hoping that the cute boy you saw at the campus gym or the handsome musician playing on the quad last week might end up being the perfect match for you.

But then just a handful of minutes after you complete your profile, your results are in.

The best possible match for you is Lee Donghyuck.

You nearly throw your phone across your dorm, ready to fight someone, possibly one of your friends beside you because you’re certain they somehow set you up. There was no possible way that you and Donghyuck were even remotely compatible.

“Oh, come on,” one of them says to you. “You two spend all your time bickering over nonsense, how would you even know what you have in common?”

You can’t help thinking it’s ridiculous nevertheless, and you plan to ignore that the app said that you and Donghyuck were each other’s Top Match. Preposterous.

But as the days dwindle away and Valentine’s Day is just two days away, the campus explodes in swathes of pink and red, hearts and lovey dovey stuff everywhere. All you see are couples. All of the advertisements on social media are romance-related. So many of your friends and acquaintances and classmates are preparing for dates with their significant others or with their matches from that damned app.

Therefore, on that Friday night when you get back to your dorm room from your last class, you break out a bottle of wine and make some questionable decisions.

For one thing, you message Donghyuck using a messaging feature on the matchmaking app. Even while drunk you know it’s a bad idea, but you do it anyway. You complain to him how dumb this app is that it matched you and him as Top Matches when really you hate each other, but you think that if he doesn’t already have any plans on Valentine’s Day, you’d be open to seeing if maybe this app is onto something.

The moments between the words under your message bubble changing from delivered to read seem to drag on, but the time between read and receiving a response from Donghyuck are an eternity. You are well and truly blitzed by the time your phone buzzes with his response, inviting you over to his dorm on Valentine’s Day for a movie.

You refuse to tell your friends about it, and as soon as you wake up the following morning and realize that the conversation you’d had with Donghyuck the night before wasn’t just a weird dream, you swear him to secrecy too. You don’t want your friends learning about this and trying to make it a big deal or anything. You’re just giving him a chance. Just one chance to make a friend out of an enemy.

It’s certainly not a formal date, and you’re fine with that. You show up at Donghyuck’s dorm room wearing leggings and a hoodie, and when he opens the door he’s dressed the same.

“Nice effort you put in for the holiday.” He teases, looking you up and down.

You step around him into the room. You’ve been in here before because you’re friends with his roommate, but those visits had been brief, always interrupted by Donghyuck returning and the two of you fighting. But now you’re alone in the room, and when you turn to look at Donghyuck again, you can tell that he’s trying to be on his best behavior and you suppose that you at least owe him the same.

“I ordered some food,” he tells you, rubbing the back of his neck. “You like Thai food, right?”

As you wait for the food, you sit down at the chair in front of his desk, he sits down on his bed, and for the first time since the two of you met each other, you actually talk to each other, speaking civilly and getting to know each other. You discuss those things that you surprisingly have in common, and as you’re laughing together about some drama that you’re both watching, you realize that maybe Donghyuck isn’t so bad after all.

The food arrives and you eat, and you realize at some point that you’ve never been actually alone with him before. You’ve always been in public or around friends, and maybe that’s been part of the problem all this time; having an audience has fed into this relationship’s harshness. And despite your history, you do find yourself feeling rather comfortable even as you sit on his bed on the bottom bunk, sliding back until your back is against the bundle of pillows against the wall as Donghyuck (”Haechan,” he’d insisted a few moments earlier. “Everyone else calls me Haechan, and if we’re planning to change things between us, I think you should too.” But you like calling him Donghyuck.) messes with the large monitor on the desk across from his bed, queueing up a movie.

And while you had mentioned horror movies in your profile, claiming that you at least weren’t opposed to watching them, you didn’t expect that Donghyuck would choose a truly terrifying one. You were fine for the first few minutes of it as Donghyuck (Haechan,a voice whispers in the back of your mind) was sitting beside you looking comfortable. But then the horror shit started and you gradually started drawing your knees up toward your chest, pulling a blanket up over your lap, staring at the screen but thinking instead of anything that was less horrifying.

It’s not like you expected to watch a romantic movie on your Valentine’s date with your enemy, but he enjoys comedies so you’d hoped a bit for that. You hadn’t thought that some scary horror movie filled with suspense would be the choice. Occasionally you glance over at Donghyuck and he’s looking at the screen, his knees drawn up under the blanket, his hand over his mouth, but he’s watching it.

You both jump violently at one point. He moves so high that the top of his head smacks into the slats if the bunk above his.

“Are you okay?” You reach over to feel the top of his head. You’re smiling a little just because the string of expletives leaving his mouth sound funny. “You jumped so hard,” you tease him, slipping your fingers through his hair to that tender spot he just hit. “Are you scared, Hyuckie?”

He looks over at you, something confused in his eyes.

There’s a loud bang and scream from the movie, and you both wince. He sighs and glances back at the screen, only to slap a hand over his eyes as the demon appears suddenly on screen. “This movie is really scary,” Haechan admits suddenly, “but you’re into it so I’m trying not to cover my face the whole time, but- WHAT IS THAT?”

He’d split his fingers to peek at the screen again right as some violent and new terror appeared on the screen.

You can’t stand it either, so you hide your face, but it just so happens that you hide your face by pressing it to the back of Hyuck’s shoulder and clutching tightly at his arm. After another moment of the sound coming from the movie being nothing good for the characters, Hyuck pulls away from you, climbing off the bed, and he goes to shut off the movie.

“You chose the movie!” You tell him as he looks back at you on his bed. “Why would you chose something that was just going to scare you?”

“Because your profile said you liked scary movies! But why were you so scared?” He turns his back, searching quickly through the options for other movies, and only turns back around to join you on his bed when there’s a new movies playing. You’re grateful when the title screen pops up and you can see it’s a comedy movie.

When he sinks back again beside you, he’s closer this time, his shoulder leaning against yours, and neither of you pull away.

This movie is loads easier to watch, yet despite that you can feel that he’s not watching it as intently as he should. You spend about half of the movie ignoring the way that you can feel Donghyuck looking at you from the corner of his eye and sometimes more directly. You try to ignore how you think that if you’d met him under different circumstances long ago, you probably would’ve liked him a lot more, maybe would have dated him instead of all this time spent fighting with each other.

When the movie ends you realize that you and Hyuck have sunken together. You’re pressed against his side; he’s even got an arm stretched along the pillows behind you.

For once he’s looking at the movie, smiling at the last scene, but you look at him, just observing his face and how close the two of you are right now. And in the light of the recent realization you made about how you probably would’ve dated him ago age, you’re just in awe of how he looks right then. He’s handsome.

Suddenly he turns his head to look at you.

That’s too close, too much. His lips are like an inch away from yours.

You tear yourself away, off his bed in two seconds. “I had fun tonight,” you say as you push your feet back into your shoes and start searching around for your jacket. “But it’s getting late, I should head back to my dorm. Maybe-- Maybe we can do this again sometime.” You suggest it without looking at him, scared that if you make eye contact now he’ll see what’s really going on in your mind--your brain playing out a scenario where you hadn’t pulled away just now, a scenario where he’d kissed you and you’d kissed him too.

Hyuck moves forward so he’s sitting on the edge of his bed. “Your coat’s on the desk chair.” He points, and you quickly grab it, slip it on. You hesitate for a moment, not reaching for the door, but clearly not wanting to stay here. Lee Donghyuck your former enemy, stands up and says, “You can’t leave without letting me at least hug you first.”

“What?” You ask, incredulous at the suggestion.

“Well, coming in here before tonight, we kind of hated each other didn’t we? I feel like we should make some kind of show of peace between us so we can both remember that tonight wasn’t just a pause in all the fighting.” He rubs the back of his neck and glances at the monitor on the desk where the movie credits are still rolling.

You nod. “Okay.”

Maybe it should feel awkward hugging him now after everything in the past, but it doesn’t. It feels nice and warm. His arms wrap securely around your shoulders, you feel his chest against yours, your fingers twist in the back of his sweatshirt. You can feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, and you wonder if he’s nervous, and you can’t fight down the smile.

You remember a time long ago, shortly after you’d met and begun this argumentative relationship, one of your friends suggesting to you that maybe Donghyuck liked you, had a crush on you like a middleschool boy who doesn’t know how to confront his feelings head-on. You thought that was ridiculous, but now you wonder if there’d been some truth to it.

He’d been so quick to agree to this date tonight. He’d ordered food he knew you would like, put on a movie that he thought you’d like, and requested a hug with some flimsy excuse. Maybe Lee Donghyuck did have a long-standing crush on you.

You unknot your fingers from his sweatshirt, trailing your hands down around to his sides, slipping down to his hips, and you pull back.

Haechan’s arms loosen from your shoulders, but they don’t move away completely. When you look into his eyes, he’s already gazing intently at your face. He’s already got such warm skin, but you can see a slight flush of pink rising to the surface. Your faces are so close once more; his lips are just an inch away.

This time you don’t pull away, you push in.

The kiss is short, barely more than a damp press of your lips on his, and then you’re backing off, reaching for the door. Haechan’s fingers drag at your shoulders, like he wants to hold you close, reel you back in for more, but you’re already out of reach, fingers on the doorknob.

“Don’t tell any of our friends about this.” You say as you crack the door open. “I’ll text you when I make it back to my dorm. Goodnight, Haechan.”

And right before the door closes behind you on your way out, you hear a quiet and dazed, “Goodnight.”

thank you to everyone who sent these in! prompts/requests are now closed, but I’ll be working on the ones I got before this! to see more drabbles you can click here

#asks #haechan drabbles #nct drabbles #nct dream drabbles #nct 127 drabbles #this one kinda turned out longer than a drabble #i just ended up really liking the idea once i got it set in my head

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lady-star-strings · 3 years

Text

About Dream’s Tweets...

To begin with, I’m demisexual and have been part of the community for years - I think I have pretty good credence to speak on this matter. I try not to throw my two cents into situations like this because I can’t stand the ignorant responses of the internet anymore at my age - DeviantArt Dark Ages vet right here - but sometimes I just have to. Whether you agree or not, I could honestly care less, but I would appreciate it if you read everything and gave it some thought before responding, be it positive or negative. With that said, let’s dive in...

At this point, if people are taking the shipping/fanservice jokes and banter between the Dream Team and other creators surrounding them seriously, I don't know what to tell them or really even say, honestly. They've all stated they're not looking to start relationships with each other - multiple times and on-stream/Twitter, might I add, because people keep donating and asking/demanding an answer to both that and about their sexualities - and that it's just messing around with friends. (If we want to talk about making people uncomfortable and being offensive in that regard, don’t you worry because I've got opinions on that too.) Bottom line is, you can't get mad at them for the fan-service now when you supported it before, especially when nothing has changed and they’ve been transparent about how everything actually is.

I understand that some may feel it’s an insensitive and inappropriate thing to do in some regards, and that's perfectly valid, but please don't go mobbing through the town with pitchforks over literal jokes between friends. Keep in mind, they’ve made it clear that’s all it was before people starting jumping down their throats, and still there are groups using their sexuality to attack them over it because "YoU'rE nOt MlM sO yOu CaN't MaKe ThOsE jOkEs, YoU'rE hOmOpHoBiC!!!!!" They're even openly attacking lesbians and bisexuals - whether they agree with them or not - because they're not gay and that somehow renders their words “invalid.” You can't accuse them of being ignorant for messing around as friends because it entertains the fans, and then turn around to attack literally the entire rest of the community for offering their opinions because they aren't valid enough for you in the argument to count - that makes you ignorant. You also can’t claim to be of the opinion that everyone’s sexuality is their own business, but then demand for them not to be ambiguous about it when it pleases you. Honestly, even thinking about people doing that is so incredibly hypocritical that it gives me whiplash.

I completely understand not everyone is a fan of this behavior, but to accuse them of queerbaiting, being homophobic and faking allyship over it all right now is just ridiculous and borderline disgusting to me. They've made it clear they're not romantically interested in one another countless times and that it's just fun between friends because they're super close - they aren't playing the "Am I, or am I not?" game with anyone for gain so no, they're not queerbaiting. Queerbaiting is when it’s not explicitly said at any point whether someone is or isn’t LGBTQIA+ so they can play both the community and conservative side by putting them in ambiguous situations that can lean one way or the other for gain, whether it be monetary or otherwise. Not to mention, if they were really as “homophobic” and “falsely allied” as everyone thinks, why would other LGBTQIA+ creators such as Antfrost, Eret, Scott Major, etc. not only support them, but also consider them friends? Again, I get the offense and hurt people might have taken from this behavior, but your opinions and feelings are ultimately not universal so while they are all valid, that doesn't make them right and the final say on the matter. I don’t mean this to say you’re wrong or inferior in the argument, just that you can’t demand others to see your point of view and abide by it without granting them the same respect. The road goes both ways kiddos, I’m sorry.

Side note, there's no one to blame but the fans themselves for the jokes and whatnot to have continued on this long because they not only supported it, but also actively encouraged it. It’s been taken so seriously that Dream has outright stated on a stream - and now on Twitter - that he and George aren't together and more than likely never will be because they're honest to goodness just really good friends screwing around. Now if you think you're uncomfortable as part of the community, how do you think they feel being accused every five minutes of being against it because they won’t openly state their sexuality? Not to mention, they can't ever talk about actual relationships or joke about other ships because people will literally send death threats to whoever the other party is because they're "rUiNiNg ThE sHiP" at this point - need I remind you of the Septiplier fiasco? It’s alright if it’s a persona or a personality, but for the love of all things holy, please stop treating people like Barbie dolls that you’re trying to make kiss. They gave us the go-ahead to ship them because it makes us happy and allows us to be creative with the concept - don’t ruin it by trying to force them to play the parts you’ve constructed in your head and then get pissy because they won’t.

Also, it is unbelievably messed up for you to donate money to ask their sexuality and/or for them to tell each other that they love them - which then basically makes it a demand because if they ignore it they get blasted for not responding and “taking their money.” For example, Dream will say he loves any of his friends without issue because he does - just not in the way everyone is assuming or wants - and that's just the type of person he is, but George doesn't like to express it that way and that's okay. He shows his love in other ways that we don't always need to know about or see to make it real, just as it is with anyone else in the world. I don’t know how so many people miss it, but when he gets a donation to tell Dream - or anyone for that matter - he loves him on stream, you can easily tell how uncomfortable it makes him - and yes Dream presses/teases him about it sometimes, but he still drops it and doesn't flame him for it for eternity. Those that donate and chat, on the other hand, will not let it go when he doesn’t say it and continue to pour donations in begging him to say it when he’s already made it clear he won’t. You honestly shouldn't be bribing them to say or do anything through donation because that's beyond messed up and manipulative, especially where these matters are concerned.

And even if they weren't straight - which used to be the case and may have changed by this time, we can’t determine such things nor should we try to - or were in a relationship with each other, it isn't any of your goddamn business to know - no way, no how. What they do offline and out of the public eye isn't anyone's business but their own and people need to respect that, not try to force it out of them or play detective to dox that information for the attention. I mean, if you want a good reason as to why Dream hasn't done a face reveal yet, this is absolutely number one on the list because there will be little to no form of privacy for him after he does and he isn't ready to lose that just yet. I certainly can’t blame him for that considering all that’s been happening to him and his friends as of late, and neither can multiple other creators who hold the same beliefs and fears - ie. CorpseHusband, H20Delirious, Ohmwrecker. No one should have to tip-toe on eggshells in their personal life because fans online don't understand boundaries, that's just cruel and unfair after providing the content and comfort that they do without asking anything but support in return.

At the end of the day, I truly just don't understand how people can join in and support the jokes that they've made clear are purely just messing around, but then turn around and crucify them for the exact same thing later down the road. How can you practically harass them about their sexuality and relationship status through providing monetary means, then go on a witch hunt because they’ve decided to be more private with that information in the present? You can't play both sides and then expect to somehow be right or justified in the situation whichever way the tide turns because, at that point, the only wrong one is you. I completely agree that they need to watch their step with what they say and do sometimes - just as everyone with a strong platform does - but only more so now because people will create a problem the second they do anything that could spin into them being horrible people with too much power.

They’re all still incredibly fresh and new to the realm of social media popularity all things considered, and they reached said popularity startlingly fast so it can’t be easy to adjust to all the attention on everything you say and do. With that said, they’re doing remarkably well so far and I have faith that they’re going to continue to learn and grow in this arena given the time. They might mess up and make mistakes - already have, in fact - but that’s part of the gig and you can’t always please or satisfy everyone, so the best you can do is acknowledge your faults and move forward. You can’t demand someone’s head on a pike when they’ve made an effort to right things and it wasn’t good enough for everyone, it’s just not a fair standard to hold anyone to. In that same vein, you also can’t demand whatever you want out of them with the excuse that they owe it to you as a fan - you’re not a fan in any way, shape or form when you play that card, and you need to either shape up or ship out if you're doing that.

If you don't support it and/or don't like it, just don't follow or watch them anymore, it’s truly as simple as that. You can't continue to watch and support them as a “fan” while also touting how ignorant and horrible they are as detractors, that's just not how it works - pick one or the other and stop attacking them and those that don’t agree with you. They’re only on year one of their careers and the amount of people trying to “cancel” and tear them down over things that really aren't issues already is ridiculous, you aren't the righteous keyboard warriors you think you are and it's things like this that are ruining the internet for everyone, not just you.

That’s all I have to say on the matter and will continue to say going forward - sorry if you came here looking for my usual nonsense, but I really felt this needed to be said and addressed. I usually try not to do these sort of rants, however, this is a serious matter and a discussion that we as a community have been needing to have for a while, so now’s as good a time as any.

So, with my peace being given and my two cents thoroughly tossed, why don’t we focus on the bigger issues with YouTube such as their blatant ignorance of pedophilia and copyright abuse? Those seem like a much bigger problems to address at this point in time since that effects creators and fans as a whole - both in the present and the future - don’t you think?

#don't sleep won't sleep #sleep is for the living #rants with mady #dream team #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #sapnap #dreamnotfound #tldr #the hypocrisy is SCORCHING rn #there are no pedestals to me #been there done that with other creators #ain't no one special in my eyes #this is just an explanation of another viewpoint #all replies welcome #sorry not sorry kiddos #LGBTQIA+

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solastia · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary | 2

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x F!Reader

Summary: Your bed & breakfast has a new regular...Jeon Jungkook of BTS

You shuffle into your office, still a little sleepy despite having a shower and having a steaming cup of coffee in your hands. You weren’t sure what the cause of it was, but you’d been entirely too restless to sleep well. Too much excitement, perhaps?

You shrug to yourself and sit into your office chair with a loud yawn, ruffling your still damp hair as you power on your laptop. You still hadn’t received any reservations for this week and you were hoping someone would come by for the weekend at least. You had some honeymooners reserved for next week, but that didn’t help you now. An entire week without guests would put a noticeable deficient in the books.

That’s why when you pulled up your check-in program and saw that you’d been booked for the entire week by a single client, you had to verify that you weren’t still asleep. You pinched yourself and cringed at the pain, staring again at the program.

Sure enough, it was all still there. One client, for seven days straight. They’d booked the biggest room upstairs, the only one up there besides your own. What was incredibly strange is that they changed the offered rate. Normally, you were one of the cheapest places in the area and charged $120 a night. Not bad for one of the more expensive areas in Northern California. This person was offering you a deal of $300 per night, along with fees for meals and a hefty “to be discussed” tip if you were to close reservations for anyone else. They were trying to rent the whole place? So probably some celeb going for anonymity by hiding in an unknown B&B.

You shrugged. It wasn’t that crazy, although most local celebs tended to hang out in Carmel rather than around here. And it certainly wouldn’t be the first one you’d hosted, simply the first one that had been so generous. The other two were well-known names and you’d been expecting a hefty tip from them but they’d been surprisingly tight-fisted. One had even tried to argue your nightly fee down in exchange for using the name of your place on his social media. You’d been happy to decline.

While a little more business would be nice, you didn’t want the place overrun. You wanted it small and cozy. Safe, for yourself as well as your guests. The whole purpose of the place was to have somewhere calm and comfortable to escape to.

This person must be especially desperate if they were booking the entire place to be alone. There wasn’t a mention of them bringing any other guests with them. You exhaled noisily and clicked accept, sending them a little welcome email with all the instructions they’d need. You wondered with a self-amused grin if you should start putting a little footnote mentioning that celebrity scandals or drug-filled parties were not allowed on the premises.

You lean back in your chair when you’re done, taking sips of your now luke-warm coffee as you think over everything that you have to do to get ready. According to the form they filled out, they’d be arriving that evening. You kept the house in shape daily so you didn’t have much to do in the way of chores, but you should make a menu for the week, get the fireplace in the room prepped, and hit up a few of your friends for the local event tickets.

Thor comes up and bumps your thigh, reminding you that you still had to take him out.

“I got you, buddy,” you chuckle, standing up with a groan and going to fetch his leash. “We have a long day ahead of us, and then maybe you’ll have a new friend for a bit, huh? You gotta be on your best behavior.”

Thor barks softly and you pretend he’s answering you instead of demanding you hurry the hell up with your shoes. You decide at the last minute to throw on a hoodie too since the temperature was lowering fast. You hiss as you step outside and hope that Thor manages to get his business done fast. But even the chill wasn’t enough to bring down your mood. Today was going to be a great day. You could just feel it in your bones.

****

You had just finished putting another batch of cookies in the oven when you heard someone arrive and ring the little bell you kept on the front desk.

“Good evening! I’ll be right there, but go ahead and shut the door if you want!” You holler from the kitchen as you wash your hands.

You’d left the door open just in case they came around while you were putting around the place, but now that they were here you could finally turn on the heater.

You dry your hands and pat down your shirt and pants as you walk, hoping you didn’t look too casual. Jeans and a flowy blue button-up blouse with matching flats seemed casual yet comfortable. And you were wearing your pearls just in case they were the stuffy sort that would look down on you for not looking at least a little professional.

“Hi, welcome to Sanctuary! I’m -”

“Hey, Noona,” a cheeky-toned voice answered as you turned the corner and entered the foyer.

Your eyebrows fly up as you see the tall figure standing there. “Jungkook?”

He looks...fucking glorious. Black pants that look like they are painted on tucked into those stomper boots he seems to love. Plain black t-shirt tucked into his pants and a blue flannel shirt over that. Sitting next to him is a large black backpack that is easily half as big as him.

He grins cockily and leans against the desk. “They gave me a couple of weeks off so I’m here on vacation. Please take care of me,” he bows with mock formality.

“You’re the one that booked the whole place, right?” you ask, bringing up your computer application to check him in. He leans in way too close and looks over your shoulder as you work.

“Yup! One of the managers did the form though. Did he do everything I asked? Up the rate and made sure you feed me?”

You snort, “Yes, Jungkook. They are paying me an astronomical amount and I have plenty of food. Although, I only went shopping for one normal person. You’ll probably go through it all it two days, so make me a list.”

He chuckled lowly and you shivered, feeling his breath on your ear.

“Well, I’m not eating every meal here. I’m going to go out sometimes, too. Maybe noona can show me some nice places?”

You struggle to hold back a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

A shrill beeping started in the kitchen and Jungkook jumped back, looking around curiously.

“Cookies,” you answered the silent question. You finish typing a couple of things in the program than jump up and rush towards the kitchen, amused to notice Jungkook hot on your heels.

You shove your hand in a glove and pull out the pan, your own stomach rumbling a little from the delicious smell of chocolate chip cookies. It probably also didn’t help that in your rush to prepare for your guest you might have forgotten your own meals.

You scoop them onto the wire rack, so focused in the work that you forgot about the other person beside you until his thieving hands begin reaching towards one of the scalding hot cookies. You smack it with the spatula.

“Let it cool,” you order unapologetically, forgetting for a moment he was an actual guest. His sheepish grin assured you that there were no hard feelings. And that he would probably do it again.

“Are you hungry for actual food?”

He nods quickly, helping himself to one of the bar stools at your prep counter.

“Yeah. I ate this morning, but then I had to finish this interview before they’d let me go free. And that means an hour in hair and makeup for five minutes of questions,” he rolls his eyes and props his cheek onto his hand as he watches you.

“Ugh,” you grunt sympathetically. You look around for the menu you’d made for the week and hand it to him. “Look this over, will you? Let me know if there’s anything you don’t like.”

He silently reads your list as you prepare him a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. And maybe you sneak a couple for yourself as well.

Finally, he nods and tosses it over. “It’s good. Maybe add some Korean food if you know how to make any. I noticed there weren’t any restaurants.”

“Yeah, this place isn’t really known for its diverse cuisine. But if you want fifty seafood places, we have you covered.”

He snorts, “Kinda like home.”

You laugh, remembering how many little food carts littered Busan’s beaches.

You place his snack in front of him and he dives in happily, his eyes wide with happiness. You slide into the seat next to him and study him.

“So, Jeon Jungkook. What are your plans for the week? Are you going to stick around the house most of the time or should I maybe find some places for you to visit? I have lots of friends that I can get tickets from.”

He takes a huge gulp of milk and sighs contentedly before he answers. He shrugs, “Mostly around here. This is my time to actually relax. Definitely going to the beach and taking some photos. Other than that, I don’t know.”

“Hmm,” you hum, propping your chin in your hand. “The main attractions out here are all marine-based, so it’s up to you if you want to see any of it or if it’s all just old news to a Busan boy. But we do have the marine sanctuary nearby, there’s whale watching, and I think the butterfly exhibit is still going on. It really depends on how far you’re willing to travel. Monterey has even more things to do.”

He looks almost shy when he glances up at you. “Is it okay if we just stay here tonight?”

Your filthy disgusting mind conjures up all sorts of things hearing a sentence like that coming from Jeon Jungkook’s mouth, but you gulp and hope your voice sounds normal.

“Yup. Of course. It’s your vacation. Most guests don’t even interact this much with me. They just check-in and have meals sent to their room.”

“It’s okay. I like having noona around,” he grins, his eyes crinkling mischievously. Brat.

He looks around suddenly. “Hey, where’s Thor?”

“I usually keep him in my room until I figure out how pet-friendly the guest actually is.”

“You can let him run around, I’m fine,” he grins with excitement and follows behind when you get up and head towards the stairs.

Once you reach the top you can already hear Thor sniffing on the other side. You fling open your bedroom door and let him practically fly towards Jungkook. The man tries to sneak a peek inside before you slam the door shut, not ready to let the international celebrity see your mess.

Instead, you nod towards the room across the hall and gesture with your arm.

“This one is yours.”

He grins softly and walks around peeking at everything, patting the covers of the bed until Thor jumps up. He sits next to him and nods.

“It’s so nice. You did a good job.”

“Thanks,” you grin lopsidedly as you take a quick look around. “I think I did okay too. I’m no interior designer, but I was hoping for homey.”

“It’s relaxing,” he agrees with a nod. “I couldn’t even do this with my own place. I just threw some blankets on the floor and set up my PC. I don’t even think I have proper dishes. I had to eat cereal out of the plastic bag inside,” he giggles.

You shake your head, unsurprised really.

“This TV is pretty big too,” he grunts as he climbs towards the headboard of the bed, then crosses his ankles with a sigh, setting against the plush pillow behind him and playing with the remote. “Do you get all the channels?”

“Yeah,” you nod, standing there awkwardly now as he gets comfortable. You should probably go make dinner now or something, right?

“Oh nice,” he suddenly exclaims exactly, tossing the remote away. “Deadpool is on. Come watch, noona,” he says, patting the spot next to him on the bed.

His eyes are huge and there’s not a single hint on his face that this is a joke. He looks innocent and earnest. Just where was this “shy” Jungkook you’d always heard about?

You shuffle towards the bed and slowly lower yourself onto it, trying your best to avoid actual contact with him. He didn’t seem to approve because he actually scooted closer until his rock hard thigh was pressed right up against yours.

“Get comfortable, noona. I don’t have rabies,” he chuckled, tugging you down a little more until you were sharing a pillow.

Fuck. How was it possible for a man to smell so good, you moaned in your head. Thor - the traitorous bastard - was cuddled in a circle right in between Jungkook’s legs. He looked well on his way to taking a nap.

You focus on the tv, not really watching the movie, and trying instead not to hyperventilate. He was so close and you didn’t know what to do with your hands. You felt like a nervous teenager.

It was probably midway through the movie when you first heard it. A tiny little wheeze. Then, the man next to you felt like he was slipping. You turn and grin when you notice that Jungkook is pretty much out for the count. His head has slipped right onto your shoulder and his mouth is wide open as he sleeps, his nose making a cute little rattle instead of outright snores.

You huff and look around, yawning as the feeling of laying in bed finally begins to catch up with you as well. You hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, so it was understandable. But Jungkook probably didn’t get much sleep on a regular basis, so you’d hate to disturb him now. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to rest your eyes for a little bit. Just until it was time to make dinner.

You give in to the lazy feel of the room and shut your eyes, snuggling into the pillow a little more. You barely noticed when a strong arm flipped you over gently and pulled you closer.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #fanfiction #jungkook x reader #jungkook #noona #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #mxr #sanctuary #solastia

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yanderecandystore · 4 years

Note

The bullies with an S/O that’s just completely off the board? Like no matter how much they look the bullies can’t find /anything/ on them, all their school papers are forged and their home just isn’t able to be found no matter how hard they look? Maybe due to the S/O changing their identity after doing something bad?

That's hella specific and I love it?? XD

Sure thing boo, let me see what I can do.

Also, I'll change the ocs profiles to be paper drawings with digital coloring because believe me boo, I'm tired of redrawing them (and I believe y'all are tired of always seeing these new drawings).

I noticed that my paper art is a lot better than my digital art, and although I'm kinda proud of them I still feel a little petty because I wish to do cool stuff on the computer ;-;.

Anyway, just a heads-up if you see something off with the oc's bios.

TW/Tags: I have no idea what to tag this lmao // identity theft // illegal/unauthorized inscription // not an accurate representation of university/how universities work lol // abusive household/abusive parents // I may or may not have changed your concept a little, I'm sorry for it 😔

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Suspicion (fuck yeah, I don't know what to title this) [Yandere!Bully OC x Reader - Headcanon]:

→Adrien Coldwell:

For a person that prides themselves as the "know it all" when it comes to people's social media and reputation, he doesn't know anything about you.

This is a first for him, which is both annoying and honestly so intriguing. You didn't strike him as a person who would hide any secrets, and he had a hunch this was about to be good.

He searched for social media first, not finding anything about Avery Remington. Well, at least nothing with your face on it.

However, he did find something very, very interesting while looking at the school's documents, specifically the archives of all the students that have already studied here. He honestly didn't think he would find anything about you in these old papers, he was probably doing all this stupid work for nothing.

However, he was half right and half wrong. He didn't find anything about you, but this whole search wasn't completely lost, as he did find "you", Avery.

"- Student name Avery Remington, average grades and apparently no history of wrong doings or any bad behavior in general. Their registration to the Academy dates to 1980."

Oh. Ooooh, this was rich.

"- Huh." He said closing the documents and letting it where he found it. He was at least kind enough to let the palace a little organize after going through each paper trying to find your name.

Well, "your name". The only things that he kept for himself was photos of both the old documents about Avery Remington, and the earlier documents about Avery Remington. It was clear that you did something probably really, really bad, and you know he'll take advantage of it.

He had built his own theory about this, as in: you somehow found the paperwork of Avery's registration and their previous school's records so you could somehow impersonate them and get a free entrance to this institution.

He knew that you had something to hide, no one can be so perfect. But knowing the action itself wasn't enough for him, he needed to know the motive behind it.

For someone that is lazy and doesn't bother to care about important things, he sure spent a lot of time trying to scoop some dirt on you. When he finds the perfect opportunity, without any witness around, he'll take the chance to use this information against you.

"- Well, hello "Avery"." His tone was already suspicious, his voice not hiding anything from you. He came here to belittle you for his own entertainment.

"- H-Hi Adrien." You said shyly, hoping that your anxious mind was wrong and that this was all just a misunderstanding. You were hoping that the growing feeling of him possibly knowing about your fraud, was wrong.

"- Ya know, I'm kinda jealous of whatever plastic surgery you went through to look so young, maybe you should ask the faculty to correct your age tho." He said while showing the pictures he took of the documents.

"- Wait! I-I can-"

"- Honestly, I didn't think you were over 60 years old! Could have fooled me." His smug face was the selling point. You knew that you wouldn't find any form to convince him that what was on his phone was false.

He had a victorious smile on his face. Ever since you entered this school you always acted a little too paranoid and almost too friendly for his liking, and to confess to himself that he has fallen for you would be the bottom of the pit to him.

Still, he wanted to know why you did it. Why didn't you pay to get in if you wanted the scholarship so badly? What, you were too poor for it?

And what about a talent, or the test? Obviously, the university hasn't gone out of their way to pick a loser like you and insert you inside their classes on a whim, as they thought you were Avery Remington, a student that is already registered in school's documents (yet, of course, their system haven't verified the date of the registration, either by incompetence or by a "small mistake"). So you didn't do the test too, simply pathetic honestly.

Your sad dramatic story explaining how you managed to get into the academy. You did your best to get into the academy by legal means, but they always rejected you. Apparently you thought it would be a good idea to use your grandparent's documents to squeeze yourself into the institution.

"- But why in hell would you do such a thing? Are you that pathetic dearest?"

"- I… I wanted somewhere to go. Somewhere I could grow into a better person, a-away from-" You cut yourself short when the memories of your old home started to come into view.

For some reason, your parents couldn't stand the idea of you getting into a decent university, if anything, they thought you weren't capable of even washing some dishes at the local pizzeria. In their eyes, you were worthless.

When you found out your grandparent used to frequent this institution, and that they managed to disattached themselves from their familial routes and thrive as a musician you got instantly inspired! Determined to follow their steps and prove your family that you're just as worth ass-

"- Urghhhh- Boring! I don't care about all of that. Are you serious? You committed a crime just so you could stick it up to your shitty parents?"

"- …. Yes?"

"- Huh. Geez you're cooler than I thought. Listen, how about we make a deal?"

The deal was simple, he would not tell anyone about your little secret, and he would even help you keep your scholarship and help you reach your ambitions as long as you started spending more time with him. Which, at first you thought it sounded absurd, this man is holding your whole life by a thin thread as long as you give him attention?? What?!

And although that sounded extremely suspicious, you accepted it, not knowing that for the next few years you would have to endure a harsh training to discover your talents and to improve them before you two graduated. However, you started to think Adrien was starting to see your deal in a different light-

"- Come on now, after this we can go eat something okay? Where would you like to go this time? Our last date I chose the best restaurant I know, so you better choose something of equal value."

…. Date?

→Alexandra Coldwell:

You were suspicious from the very start. Overly friendly and too- Ugh! Too cute?!

You were always skittish whenever someone called you. What, you had a problem with your name or something?

And the worst part was how no one seemed to know where you lived. Every group project with you was considered annoying by most of your classmates, as you never called people in your house or never let anyone have your address, not even your phone number??

You didn't have any social media, what are you, a weirdo? What the hell??!

She is not even pissed about you being a loser, she is pissed that she has fallen for someone like you! A complete weirdo that was always panicking over nothing.

She started stalking you with the intention of finding at least one thing that she could hate on you so she wouldn't feel so- Lovey dovey towards you!

But what she really found was something worth an entire gold mine.

A private phone call between you and someone who was losing their shit. She couldn't understand too much of the conversation as she didn't have any context, yet she could hear a lot of things that you and the person were discussing.

The person yelled [Y/N] multiple times while in the phone call, saying how you were absolutely the worst mistake of their lives (which by the way, rude much? Who is this asshole?), that you were a selfish brat that needed to learn to appreciate their hard work.

Oh… Oh. She now knows who you're talking with. She decided to record the entire thing the moment she saw you taking your cellphone to have a private call.

She was planning on recording your voice for her own hearing pleasure, but this? This was so… Interesting.

"- [Y/N]?" She called your attention after the conversation ended, and because you haven't been accustomed to people calling you "Avery", you turned around saying "what" instinctively.

And when you noticed Alexandra smirk for a split second, you regretted answering your parents call. Not that you needed anymore reason to regret it, but this was certainly the last nail in the coffin.

You begged for her to understand that you couldn't go back, you simply can't go back to them, ever again! You told her the whole sob story about how your grandparent had decided to run away from home and fulfil their own dreams as a musician, even if people didn't really hear their music all that much, and now that you think about it, that's probably the reason why no one have recognized their name at all.

Your grandparent had a really small fanbase, and you knew that because you were part of them. They weren't popular at all compared to Amaryllis Academy standards, yet they were happy singing their songs to the world.

You kinda wish your family hasn't broken the old recorder that belonged to your grandparent. Their first album was in there, it was cheesy and filled with errors, yet they sounded so happy when doing what they loved, and you wanted something like that for yourself!

You needed to live that hell hole and so you did. You rented a small apartment that was falling apart, the reason why you never gave people your address was because you knew they would bully the hell out of you because of how poor you are.

After finishing your story you noticed Alexandra snoring beside you. You thought she was only exaggerating, but then you saw her drooling and acting really dizzy after you woke her up.

"- Oh my God, so… That was it? You ran away to follow your dreams and stuff?" She asked, still kinda sleepy.

"- What? Of course it was-" You were fuming with anger, how dare she-

"- And I thought you only looked cool because I liked you! You're pretty strong for sticking up for yourself." She interrupted you, looking at you with admiration in her eyes.

She proposed to you a deal. How about you two keep this secret together, and, if anything does happen she'll still help you stay inside the institution. However, you'll need to work your ass out to become the best you can be, and you'll let her guide you through, because you're too much of a dummy to do it all by yourself. You'll have to spend time with her and let her help you out.

At first, you thought it sounded absurd, this woman is holding your whole life by a thin thread as long as you give her attention?? What?!

And although that sounded extremely suspicious, you accepted it, not knowing that for the next few years you would have to endure a harsh training to discover your talents and to improve them before you two graduated. However, you started to think Alexandra was starting to see your deal in a different light-

"- Why you never hold my hand? Come on, "Avery", won't you hold the hand of your dearest girlfriend?" She asked playfully while taking your hand anyway.

…. Girlfriend?

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

#sheep stuff #yandere oc #sheep's stuff #yandere x reader #yandere bully #yandere twins #yandere oc headcanons #yandere oc x reader #yandere bully x reader #yandere bullying #yandere headcanon #special delivery headcanons #special delivery request #yandere

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hanbereviews · 4 years

Text

Heartslaybul Main Story Review

We will be taking a short break from the otome review to tap into the joseimuke side of this blog and start by reviewing a new popular mobage named Twisted Wonderland. I shall be using looser criteria than my otome review, as this can be a bit rambly due to it being my sole opinion. Thus we will simply be reviewing each character in regards to the plot. I will also be reviewing with the idea that one has already read the story, or at least tangentially knows of the struggles presented here.

Heartslaybul suffers from incredibly poor characterization for some, whilst reaching the narrative end of an arc for others. In particular, the big winner of this story is of course Riddle, the main antagonist. The biggest loser? Cater Diamond.

But before we address either of those characters, let's take a look at the first years! So the twst writers made a decision to primarily include the first years Ace and Deuce as main characters not only in this story, but in each main story beyond. However with their native dorms being Heartslaybul, you are treated to respective backstories.

Ace Trappola

Ace’s brother used to be a heartslaybul student several years ago, and Ace has a bit of an inferiority complex because of it. Naturally, the main inner conflict with him is the idea of living up to his brother whilst also still remaining himself. It is more than a bit barebones, the only other thing we learn about him being that he had a girlfriend in middle school. However throughout the story he serves as the main combatant to Riddle’s antagonism. A popular suggestion is that he takes the place of Alice’s role when she disputed the Queen’s ridiculous rules. Ace does the same here, being the main source of question when it comes to Riddle’s nonsensical rulebook and the abuse of power he wroughts upon Heartslaybul students.

Deuce Spade

Deuce in contrast, does not get as much of a shining character moment as his dorm mate ace does. However he makes up for it with a rich backstory that while ultimately simple, gives a pretty fair view of his personality. Being a former delinquent, he cleaned up his act and tried hard to get into Nightraven College for his mother’s sake, and even now he attempts to be a good student. Sometimes this doesn’t end up working out, but it certainly makes for an endearing character trait. He displays that trait a lot throughout the narrative, to some’s annoyance, and other’s glee.

He’s naturally competitive with Ace, being his rival and bickering with him constantly. However the narrative does not position them as hating each other, and instead makes their exchanges more into playful banter. Deuce and Ace are showcased in Heartslaybul and onward to have an extremely strong bond with each other.

Now, with that out of the way let’s take a look at the third years, and the Heartslaybul dorm head.

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is once again, the main antagonist of the narrative. As it progresses we learn that his abuse of power and commitment to the rules results from serious parental trauma, raised by a helicopter parent of a mother who refused to let him engage in any childish things. Riddle reacted to this by maturing at a younger age than most of his classmates, but it also severely hurt his ability to simply act like a teenager.

You see these two opposing ideas come into play here, and I will make the bold suggestion that Ace represents the childish side of him that he so terribly fears coming into contact with once again. Ace frequently shows very little care for the rules, only attempting to follow them when he is forced to. And as the story progresses, you see Riddle go into overblot not only due to Ace turning the dorm against him, but because he resents that Ace and his friends can so brazenly defy authority while Riddle was subject to it all of his life. Even as his overblot is calmed down and the narrative ends, Riddle still shows that he is more than a little uncomfortable indulging in the normalcy of his teenage years. However, the fact that he is even able to shows major character growth and sets him up for future exploration.

Trey Clover

Next we move to Trey Clover, vice dorm head. Trey is Riddle’s childhood friend, and as such their backstories are intimately connected. Inparticular, Trey feels partly responsible for Riddle’s state due to Riddle frequently sneaking out of his house to play with him and their friend Che’nya. Riddle’s mother caught onto these playdates, and thus Riddle was treated much more harshly as a result. Trey has “corrected” this behavior by essentially letting riddle become a tyrant to his dorm. This aspect of his is heavily criticized within the narrative by others, and presents Trey’s major character flaw.

Trey does not care about other people. The story is bluntly phrased, Riddle is objectively the bad guy in this situation. Yet as Vice Dorm Head, Trey supposedly cannot do anything to stop his reign of terror. This is blatantly not true, considering the fact a few first years are able to help completely restructure the dorm into a much more tolerable place to be. So with this point in mind, the only way to reconcile Trey’s behavior with what happens in the narrative is that he prioritizes Riddle’s feelings over everyone else’s.

Trey positions himself as “helping” when Ace’s magic is sealed by Riddle’s unique magic by making more tarts. However this is all he really does, when Riddle expresses annoyance at bringing the “wrong” tarts to the party, Trey throws up his hands and says there’s nothing else he can do. This is due to the fact that to get out of the situation, Trey must challenge Riddle and go against his ideals. This is something he just blatantly does not want to do, Trey has evidently had an easier time adjusting to Riddle’s ideas more than others and thus these issues do not get in the way of his guilt in regards to Riddle’s trauma. Even as the narrative ends, Trey doesn’t exactly learn anything from this whole fiasco. Why is that? Because it worked out without him having to be the one to lead the charge in opposing Riddle!

Cater Diamond

For our last character and one of my personal favorites we take a look at Cater Diamond. Cater actually seems to be a victim of the fact that Heartslaybul is the first dorm to be introduced in the narrative. One can’t help but feel like one character had to be picked to be shafted and he was the natural choice. We learn little about Cater besides small hints here and there. Uniquely despite being a third year, he doesn’t seem to have a particularly strong connection to Riddle. In contrast to Trey’s fake powerlessness, Cater is actually powerless to do anything about Heartslaybul’s situation. Whilst he tries to help as much as he can, the situation quickly slips out of his hands. Cater is thus forced to rely on other people to truly fix the deplorable state Heartslaybul is in.

Though beyond that, we actually don’t know much about him. We know that he loves social media, that you could perhaps characterize him as a gyaruo type or something similar. But his relationship to his dorm mates and even other characters isn’t exactly anywhere in the vein of complex. And that is not necessarily his fault, because it isn’t like Cater can’t be an interesting character. But once again, with Heartslaybul being the first dorm introduced it’s not like he can interact with others outside of it. And Trey is so wrapped up in Riddle that Cater can’t exactly worm his way into that dynamic until the end of the story.

Final Thoughts

Overall while being very strong plotwise, Heartslaybul needs to be backed up by character events to really solidify their characters and give themselves a place in the world of Twisted Wonderland outside of the dorm. This makes it a bit of a weak story in terms of characterization, but due to the wonderful nature of mobile games that characterization has tons of potential to be fleshed out in other avenues besides the main story itself!

#twisted wonderland #heartslaybul #joseimuke review

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radicalcommonsense · 4 years

Text

Radical Common Sense: Introduction.

Though we all may be very different, we likely have one thing in common: In one way or another 2020 has changed each and every one of us. As if these last four years hadn't already filled our brains to the brim with political jibber-jabber from the mainstream media. I think we can all agree that the news has been persistently focused on politics (more specifically allegations against President Donald Trump) and that it has been a constant noise buzzing all around us, effecting each and every one of our lives. When we turn on the radio, when we scroll through our social media feeds, when we're on the bus, or eating peacefully at a restaurant and the person behind us is talking a little too loudly. As if all of this weren't enough to endure, the pool of politics became much, much deeper for us to swim in when we were locked up in our homes for months on end. I lost my job on March 15, 2020 when we were forced to close. I was fortunate enough to be able to continue to live comfortably with my boyfriend, but the time on my hands felt endless for the next 6 months. Like many I first went mad and began organizing every closet, cabinet, and sock drawer. I held so much pint up and nervous energy in my body that I felt like I was in a constant state of sticking a fork into an electrical socket and could burst into a series of sparks, burning to a crisp at any moment. I began dowsing myself in CBD products to try and keep my cool. I started painting, reading a ton and took an online Interior Design course???

Once I had finally grown somewhat accustom to my new and strange life of gardening, day drinking, reading on the balcony and pretending that I was a retired old woman, that's when the riots started happening. The shutdown alone had caused even more friction to rise between both ends of the political spectrum. Conservatives voiced their objection to government overreach while Leftists called people jogging outside without a mask "grandma killers". There was certainly ignorance shown on both ends of the spectrum, but the point I'm making here is that the tension was growing with each and every day that we all were forced to stay home, leaving our means of having any income in the hands of Daddy Government. I did my best to limit my social media intake, but even 5 minutes scrolling would reveal a whirlwind of very strong and accusatory opinions of the shutdown, Black Lives Matter, racism, systemic racism, systematic racism, another cancelled syrup bottle or comedian who wasn't politically correct in a stand up act back in 1994, white privilege, voter fraud, total Covid-19 hysteria and a whole lot of shaming those who didn't follow suit with the mainstream narrative. There were people fueling these fires and if you dared to question their motives you were on the chopping block, also embarrassingly known as Cancel Culture.

We all know what it is, but I am afraid to think of how many of us have actually experienced it. I certainly did when I shared a video of a BLM event happening in Chicago. This video was particularly alarming because the crowd of "peaceful" protestors were so extremely organized in their attack. I felt overwhelmed with fear watching as they took their giant "Black Lives Matter" sign made of pvc pipe, that stretched across what looked like 6 lanes of highway, hid behind it, changed into all black clothing and then proceeded to use it as a shield as they grew closer to their target. Once they were close enough, the pvc pipe was pulled apart to reveal that it had been constructed from pieces of pipe that they had sharpened to a nice and lethal point. They then began to throw these sharpened pieces of pvc pipe, along with frozen water bottles, frozen cans, rocks and explosive devises at police officers who appeared to be standing back, allowing the protest to happen without interference prior to this attack. So much so that most of them were even unarmed, not expecting violence to prevail on either side. (Feel free to watch the video to see for yourself.)

This certainly wasn't the first video I'd seen where "peaceful" protestors were being destructive or even gruesomely violent, but it was the first that made this movement look like a well organized militia, inspired by an organization which I believe has a Marxists, or communist agenda. When I shared my fears about this, calling the movement "violent" I received quite a lot of hate from the friends I'd somehow collected on Facebook over the last 10 years. They urged people not to support my creative endeavors. People took screenshots of the post and shared it on their other social accounts (completely out of context as the video was of course removed) in attempts to reach an even bigger audience. I received direct messages from total strangers who called me racists, among other things. I had already been “cancelled” by some close friends prior to this for going to the beach on the day it re-opened in Daytona and posting about it with a caption that suggested it was safe to be outside. This idea seemed to really devastate some people and they made sure to let me know it as they called me the following names: Laughably f*cking stupid, Karen, Privileged, Nazi, uninformed, insensitive, stupid b*tchh, flat-earther, ignorant f*cking b*tch, racist, a “Trumper” and the ever popular white privileged b*tch. These are just some of the insults that I can remember off the top of my head.

My message here is not meant to invoke pity, or rage, or anything in between, but it is necessary for me to give you some back story as to what led me to my obsession to understand something very few people care about today, the Truth. I knew that the ideas I was hearing, coming from the mouths of the majority were wrong, but I wanted to understand why and I wanted to be prepared to defend myself, since it had been made abundantly clear to me that, that was going to be necessary. So, I delved even DEEPER into politics, government, American history and the criminal justice system. I am happy to say that this thirst for knowledge led me back into school, where I'm finally finishing up my associates degree (and getting straight A's). But I digress. Time went on and I calmed my little hummingbird heart over the dramatic smearing of my name (which had previously been widely accepted due to my Leftist blabbering of things I didn't really understand) and I continued to quietly read and research. I dared to peer my head back into the land of Social Mania and posted yet again on Facebook. This time I felt I had something to say that was rather mild on the offensive scale... that proved to be incorrect. A friend of mine had shared a video with me of a fallen soldier whom he'd fought beside in Iraq. They had grown close and the video showed as they draped his casket with the American flag. The message he sent attached to the video said "this is why I'll always stand for the flag." I found his message really touching and shared the video along with what he had said (of course not mentioning his name out of respect). Later that day I received a message from a previous co-worker that was quite belligerent and sloppy, but somewhere in his (I'm assuming drunken) rage he asked the question: "Have you been radicalized or something?"

We are living in a world where the narrative has completely shifted. It is no longer radical to preach about the wonders of what Communism "could" be. It is no longer radical to loot, riot, burn down churches, kill police officers and even innocent child bystanders so long as it is under the guise of social justice. It is not radical to want to uproot your countries entire political system in order to replace it with a "better", socialist/communist one that has proven to not only fail but ruin/end the lives of millions. It is now radical to suggest that we should honor our flag, those who fought for our freedom and to simply lift ourselves up to stand for the American flag.

It is now racist to celebrate the 4th of July, insensitive to celebrate Thanksgiving, homophobic to practice Christianity and don't even think about subjectively acknowledging the accomplishments of Christopher Columbus. In fact, don't dare to celebrate the intellect of any of our founding fathers. It is now radical to be proud to be an American. It is radical to support a free-market economy. It is radical to defend straight white men against any and all accusations as they are the "obvious" oppressors of all. People will gasp if you question the effects of Drag Queen Story Hour and you're likely just "uneducated" if you don't understand why the nuclear family is outdated.

In summary, do not practice critical thinking and especially not Common Sense. Just repeat after the mainstream media and you might be spared from exposing your truly "radical" ideas about traditional American values and your love of oppressive straight white men.

I will continue to write about these topics as well as covering current events from the perspective of someone who is dedicated to understanding the Truth, how we can connect what we’re seeing today to human History & to earn a better understanding of human behavior. I do not intend to use this as a platform to rant vigorously about my own personal feelings. Rather to defend what I believe to be Common Sense values.

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arcticdementor · 3 years

Link

Wokeness has not simply taken over the CIA, as the entire foreign policy establishment has moved in the same direction. A particularly sinister aspect of this shift is that we are seeing a merger between a fanatical new faith and long-standing institutions specializing in manipulating populations.

Spreading democracy is an important part of American foreign policy. While it’s fashionable to brush off concerns with democracy as hypocritical or just a cover for power politics (“look at Saudi Arabia!”), I believe that outside of the Middle East, where pretty much everyone is non-democratic, American foreign policy is driven by ideological goals that aren’t reducible to material interests.

In this worldview, all countries called “democracies” have reached the end of history, while all others are candidates for regime change, if not today then when the time is right. When countries fight back against this, it’s considered aggression on their part. Hillary Clinton believes that Putin interfered against her in the 2016 election because she spoke out against his government as Secretary of State. I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s certainly what I would do if I were Putin, and the lady who tried to overthrow me was running for president.

It seems strange that such a concept would drive US foreign policy, given how little Americans themselves agree on what is or isn’t “democratic.” Was Trump casting doubt on the legitimacy of 2020 “undemocratic”? How about when Democrats did the same in 2016? What about gerrymandering? Court packing?

These are silly debates, and I feel sorry for people who have strong opinions on them, which always boil down to “what my side does is democracy, what the other side does isn’t.”

…

Nonetheless, the American government clearly has something in mind when it uses the term, and it often relies on non-governmental institutions (NGOs) as supposedly objective sources of information. One of the most important of these is Freedom House, and it is therefore worth looking at the organization in some depth.

According to its financial report, in the fiscal year that ended in 2019, Freedom House raised $48 million. Of that, $45 million, or 94%, came from the American government. Its current President is Morton Abramowitz, a lifelong American diplomat. The Chair of the Board is Michael Chertoff, who was Secretary of Homeland Security under the second Bush.

Looking at the 12 members of the Executive Board, and just going off their bios on the Freedom House website, it appears that 6 have had jobs for the federal government, with at least one other appearing to have worked as a government contractor.

You might think that an organization that is funded almost completely by the American government, and staffed by former American officials, wouldn’t have much credibility as an “independent non-governmental organization.” Yet it is called an NGO, and regularly cited by the press as an objective authority on which government actions are legitimate.

Much of what is called “civil society” functions this way. The American government then uses the work of “independent” organizations to justify its own policies, as you can see by going to the State Department website and searching for “Freedom House.”

…

Freedom House has represented the American foreign policy establishment as long as it has existed. According to its own website, the organization at its founding in 1941 had among its leaders Eleanor Roosevelt and Wendell Willkie, the Republican who lost to FDR in 1940. So imagine a “non-governmental organization” today being founded by an alliance of Jill Biden and Donald Trump.

After advocating for American entry into World War II, Freedom House supported the Cold War. Although the website mentions these facts, it tends to downplay or ignore its more recent history, which has involved cheerleading for disastrous wars in the Middle East.

…

So it is this organization, run by former American officials and funded by the US government, whose former Chairman was also the director of the CIA and helped lie the country into Iraq, that is the nation’s most important source for deciding who is or isn’t free.

Recently, Freedom House released its annual report on the state of democracy in the world. It would be one thing if the organization simply declared some countries “democracies” and others not. Instead, it gives a number to each country on a scale that goes up to 100, updating the scores on a yearly basis. So in 2020, Ethiopia gets a 24, Switzerland is a 96, and North Korea is a 3. After 20 years of war, the US has managed to get Afghanistan to 27.

Here’s an interactive map where you can find out how well your country is doing.

There’s actually a formula that they use to calculate each score, although it’s not always clear what causes a country to gain or lose points. 40% of the score is determined by how well a country does on “Political Rights,” and 60% on “Civil Rights,” with subsections under each of these headings.

The 2021 report tells us that 2020 saw “the 15th consecutive year of decline in global freedom.” Sounds really bad. But it’s one thing to say, that for example, the US is freer than China, or that the coup in Myanmar was a blow against democracy. It’s quite another to pretend to have a neutral formula that can compare the state of democracy in say Hungary versus France, the US versus Canada, or Syria versus Cuba. But that’s what Freedom House gets tens of millions of dollars a year from the American government to do.

…

In Europe, Freedom House tells us that “Hungary has undergone the biggest decline ever measured in Nations in Transit, plummeting through two categorical boundaries to become a Transitional/Hybrid Regime last year. Poland is still categorized as a Semiconsolidated Democracy.”

That’s a nice coincidence, how the two European countries that have moved in the most conservative policy direction are the ones also becoming more “authoritarian.” Looking in more detail, it appears that Freedom House classifies conservative countries as authoritarian in two ways

1) Portraying things that would otherwise be considered normal politics as “authoritarian”, while ignoring things that are similar or worse when done by non-right wing governments; and

2) Just directly penalizing countries for conservative policies.

…

This map gives the game away.

…

The connection between how many genders a government acknowledges and its level of democracy is never explained. The report also mentions the Polish government’s opposition to abortion and Slovenia reducing funding for its public broadcaster.

Many conservatives in the United States criticize the media and would like to ban abortion, cut funding for NPR, and not have schools teach that gender is a social construct. They may be surprised to learn that they are engaging in “anti-democratic” activities.

To show the kind of hackery at work, here’s the report on Poland for 2020. We are told that the Archbishop of Kraków describes “LGBT as a ‘rainbow plague’ bearing similarities to communism.” So apparently countries are judged based on the wokeness of their clergy, so Poland loses a point in part for that, and appears to get another point deducted for some combination of the government’s positions on birth control, abortion, and gay adoption.

You can really tell that American conservatives annoy Freedom House analysts more than any other people in the world. In the US, not only are conservatives’ views on abortion and gay marriage undemocratic, but so are their positions on organized labor, with Freedom House mentioning a Supreme Court ruling that government employees could not be forced against their will to contribute to public sector unions.

…

Not only does Freedom House portray the behavior of conservative governments in an unflattering light, but it looks past what are much clearer violations of individual liberty and democratic norms when they are committed in the service of left-wing social or political goals.

Sweden, for example, is one of only three countries to receive a perfect score of 100. This is despite having hate speech laws, which have in the past been used to arrest Christian preachers for their interpretation of the Bible. Norway, another “perfect democracy,” in 2020 expanded its hate speech laws to cover gender identity, with punishments of up to three years in prison for violators.

“Whether a country arrests people for speech” seems like it could be a clear criterion an organization interested in democracy can use, but Freedom House prefers a vague points system that allows it to penalize countries for everything it doesn’t like.*

…

As seen above, Freedom House doesn’t mind criticizing the United States; the country after all only gets an 83, making it a not very good democracy. Yet it’s notable what the US doesn’t lose points for: NSA spying programs, and the prosecution of journalists who have brought them to light. Julian Assange is, in the words of Glenn Greenwald, “responsible for breaking more major stories about the actions of top US officials than virtually all US journalists employed in the corporate press combined,” and he’s now facing life in prison. Yet Assange goes unmentioned in the 2020 report, along with Edward Snowden.

On the question “Are there free and independent media?” the US only gets a 3 out of 4, because “Fox News in particular grew unusually close to the Trump administration” and “Trump was harshly critical of the mainstream media throughout his presidency, routinely using inflammatory language to accuse them of bias and mendacity.” The US gets 4/4 on the question “Are individuals free to express their personal views on political or other sensitive topics without fear of surveillance or retribution?” Surveillance programs are mentioned, but here no points are deducted (the US also gets 4/4 on academic freedom).

It’s a strange algorithm that deducts points for criticizing journalists, but not for putting them in jail. It’s the algorithm you’d expect, however, from an organization run by former American government officials.

…

If the US government and the NGOs it relies on define conservatism as undemocratic, we will in the coming years find ourselves having hostile relations with nations that do not threaten American interests and whose only crime is offending the sensibilities of a liberal elite that holds positions that are far from universally accepted within the United States itself.

The potential implications for liberty at home are no less catastrophic. If conservatives are not only wrong, but “undemocratic,” it becomes easier for the other side to justify attempts to silence dissent and take extreme steps to prevent them from coming to power.

The media, when it advocates censorship or government suppression of its enemies, never says that it’s going about silencing dissenting views. Rather, the propaganda it uses involves classifying what the target is saying as “hate,” “disinformation,” or “foreign propaganda” to delegitimize the speech as unworthy of either First Amendment protection or respect from non-government institutions.

…

It’s fine to disagree with many aspects of American conservatism, as I certainly do. And it wouldn’t be correct to say that there is no objective measure of democracy one can use; certainly, some countries pick their leaders through fair elections, and others don’t. But democracy is supposed to involve a respect for various segments of society, and a consideration of their views. A definition of the concept that delegitimizes what large swaths of the population believe about economic and social issues, while overlooking the prosecution of journalists disfavored by American foreign policy elites, is little more than a tool of propaganda and potentially oppression.

Luckily, it’s easier to know what to do about Woke Imperialism than Woke Capital, or Woke Institutions more generally. The national security establishment does not survive by its ability to bring in voluntary donations or make money through selling products and services people want. Freedom House, like many other similar institutions, is almost exclusively dependent on the American taxpayer, despite the NGO label.

Given how much contempt the organization clearly has for a large portion of the public, and the threat to political liberty that can result from identifying democracy with one side of the political spectrum, there is no reason for that support to continue. While cutting it off would certainly be seen as “undemocratic” by Freedom House, it would remain at liberty to continue writing reports at its own expense.

#richard hanania #read the whole thing #freedom house #woke imperialism

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

Text

Codename Cupid: Chapter 3

Previous: Love at First Algorithm

Pairing: Kim Seokjin X OFC

Genre: Light Angst, Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Light College AU

Rating: PG13

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: None

Summary: Kim Seokjin and Lee Euna are flirting the line between classmates and crushing, will he return her feelings?

Daddy’s Favorite & the First Date

Fall, Junior Year

Lee Euna is the youngest heiress to Lee Enterprises, one of the largest conglomerates in the history of economics. Heralded as one of the leading forces in banking and stock trades, it has banks all over the world catering to the highest cliental, princes and princesses, kings and queens all lined up to put their worth, jewels and all, in the vaults of Lee. Their smaller subsidiaries managed the trading of stocks, networking in millions of dollars for various clients who inhabited a lesser tier of society but strived to reach the upper echelon. Generational wealth, for the Lee’s and their clients, made their work heavily guarded and secretive. Getting hired by them was near impossible, and once you were in, death was the only way out.

It was a misconception that Euna had little to live up to, as her parents favorite and owner of the highest IQ out of her four siblings, she was set to become CEO, while her siblings were relegated to chairman of the board, and heads of philanthropy. The titles suited her siblings fine. Dae-Seong loved bossing around the members of the board, encouraging frivolity and billable hours while scheduling grueling development that often-bored members to tears. He ruled with an iron fist, what he said went, that is unless the CEO had a differing opinion, and then, both out of spite and seniority, Dae-Seong fell in line with what their father wanted. Dae-Seong didn’t care for the familial atmosphere their father had run Lee Enterprises with, and favored a cold regimented environment that was almost impossible to work in. Dae-Seong always said that the best blooms came from the hardest earth. Whether or not that was proven, he didn’t care, at LeeEnterprises, he would make it so.

Jun-Seo and Kwan-Min loved running the philanthropy branch of the Enterprise. They, like their father and mother, adored a good party and held several charity balls each year. Together, they raised hundreds of millions for a variety of causes that Euna barely paid attention to. The food was always exquisite, the drinks plentiful, the glimmer of the party always outshining the family feud that erupted hours before guests showed up, and the scandals that would be whispered about the morning after. Though the scandals never tarnished the reputations of Jun-Seo and Kwan-Min, they certainly provided a necessary indulgence to all the attendees.

Kwan-Min, the second oldest, was thrilled with her role in Lee Enterprises. She and Jun-Seo were heralded as visionaries, doling out millions of dollars every year to causes that ranged from climate justice to underfunded schools, and cancer research. They were responsible for funding some of the most progressive movements, as well as backing lobbyists for liberal, bordering on socialist, legislation. They dedicated an afternoon a week, usually Thursdays, to spend their time scouring the internet for new charities to donate money to. This was the heart of their jobs, finding niche organizations that were struggling, food pantries in rural towns or women’s shelters in battered parts of the city, that sustained their other work and lessened the blow of the billions in their bank accounts.

It was hard to be known as a large corporation benefiting from tax breaks while subsequently funding social movements. The family never discussed the dichotomy of their predicament, instead choosing to let their actions speak for themselves.

Anyone could donate thousands to St. Jude.

Only the Lee’s could donate a hundred million.

While Kwan-Min found satisfaction in donating to negligible organizations, Jun-Seo found bliss in hounding friends and acquaintances for money. A natural salesman, he strived on the pressure he created for himself. Nothing was ever good enough, or enough period. He was always wanting more. More money to give away, more money to spend on vacations and lavish trips, more alcohol, more clothes, everything in excess. His work, and Kwan-Min’s, was regularly overlooked by both their parents, Dae-Seong and Euna. The good they did was always outshined by the amount that Euna and Dae-Seong pulled into the business, the new dignitaries transferring their funds, the latest piece of the Queen’s jewelry put into one of their vaults. They’d always played the role of second fiddle, and as years went by, no matter their accomplishments, they were never held in the same esteem as Euna and god forbid, Dae-Seong.

If Jun-Seo and Kwan-Min were relegated to the B-Team, Euna was first off the bench for the A-Team. Every Lee child attended college, but none went to the most elite universities with the most widely renowned business program, with guarantees to intern anywhere they wanted, except Euna. Her older siblings watched as she rose through the ranks, mastering the cello, classic ballet and calculus by the time she was thirteen. They watched, with pride and in horror, as she crunched numbers in her spare time, pirouetted across the most elegant stages and slung her bow delicately against the strings of her hand made instrument. It was clear from an early age that Euna was the best of the four of them.

In fits of anger, Dae-Seong would chide that their parents had hit it out of the park with him and kept trying until they got another diamond. If fate had been on their side, Euna would’ve been second, and if the gods really favored them, she would’ve been a boy. He routinely failed to acknowledge his other siblings, whom he owed a great deal of gratitude. It was their work that kept the paparazzi and critics at bay, their work that allowed him to go on benders and run his corporate torture seminars. Their good PR paid for his mistakes, with change left over.

Dae-Seong specialized in breeding discontent, of taunting his siblings, bullying them, forcing them against each other. Euna had recognized this side of him from the time she could identify his actions weren’t full of love, but malintent. The announcement that she would train to be the next CEO had sent Dae into a blind rage, which he quickly turned into a bender in the most elusive clubs. They didn’t hear from him for a week, and when he returned, their father had lashed out at him before sending Dae to a ‘conference’ for a month. The siblings knew what had happened. The belt had come off the wall, and Dae, though grown, had succumbed to his father. Dae was sent to a ‘conference’ every two years or so, when his behavior and attitude became so unkempt that Mr. & Mrs. Lee felt they had no other option than sending him away for a month to sleep, reset, relax and most importantly, detox.

There was something so pathetic about Dae-Seong’s ability to break bad and as punishment, spend a month being massaged and covered in salt scrubs.

Euna was relieved when her parents let her move away for university and elated when Mr. & Mrs. Lee took it one step further and sent her, each summer, to work at various branches of Lee Enterprises. A summer in Seoul, a winter break in London, summer in Manhattan, another winter in London, a stop in the UAE, followed by tours of the Cayman Islands and a summer in Rio. Euna was grateful for her time away from her family and absorbed everything she was learning. She didn’t just have to prove Dae-Seong wrong, she had to prove her parents right, show that her genius wasn’t due in part to her rookie status, that her prowess and instincts weren’t dismissible as beginners’ luck.

Spending winter and summer breaks at various branches, Euna let her work speak for her. She learned how to manipulate to make a sale, how to aggregate data in order to create an accurate projection of stock trades, to look at holdings of dignitaries and suggest how they could diversify their portfolios. The more she worked, the better she became. The harder she worked, the easier it was to pretend she didn’t know anything. Euna was in for the long haul, and that meant manipulating her persona to mystify and baffle the masses. A woman in power was a threat, and she would be damned if she let the company and the world take that from her.

She had watched Kwan-Min and their mother being dehumanized in the media, in board meetings, at the hands of her father and Dae-Seong. When they gave too much of themselves, the world readily ate it up, devouring them whole. As a girl, Euna watched Kwan-Min change from intelligent and driven to flirty and ditzy. She watched her sister, who she idolized in secret, disappear into the mold their father had crafted. Euna wondered how long it would be before she had to adapt a highly manicured image? A version of herself in complete juxtaposition of her ingrained personality?

It was this turmoil, this paradox, that threw Seokjin after their first meeting. She was nothing like he’d read or seen in their years at university or in the news. Though he hadn’t paid much attention to her and would admit he knew nothing about her besides the obvious, he was constantly being surprised.

“Did you check the latest model and run the analysis?” Euna asked on a Thursday some weeks into their project.

“Yeah, and it looks like, if Dr. Cho opens the market next class period, we’re going to see a major boom,” Seokjin answered. He’d been working on looking at Euna more, particularly when she spoke to him, and she found it all the more endearing.

“How major?” She asked.

“Multi-millionaires by end of week,” Seokjin informed her.

“Good, what’s going to ruin it?” Euna set her pen down and stared at Seokjin. His lips were pouted, bangs sweeping in front of his glasses. He was beautiful.

“If some major political event happens in the next four days, or if something happens in China,”

“Ah, China,” Euna said rolling her eyes. “Always have to look out for the Chinese.”

“The American market is fairly stable, but it’s the US,”

“So, hold your breath and pray it’ll be okay?” Euna chuckled, a sound Seokjin had never heard. He laughed in response. “You have a great laugh.”

“Oh, thank you,” Jin looked back at his computer. “You know, we’ll only have to monitor the project for a few more weeks.”

“Seokjin, are you trying to tell me you’ll miss me?” Euna inquired.

“Maybe, maybe I’m trying to ask if you want to hang out, maybe get a drink or coffee outside of work hours,” Seokjin shrugged, his blasé attitude ignited something within Euna. For the months they had been working together, she’d tried and failed to get him to ask her out. His disinterest in her, in anything about her, drove her crazy. He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t inquire about work or god forbid her family, or other classes she was taking, even her friends. She could have anything in the world, and yet, this man, out of reach.

“I’d like that,” She responded.

“Cool, how about coffee, this Sunday?” Jin suggested.

“I can’t Sunday, family obligations,” Euna cursed her family for what felt like the millionth time.

“Tuesday, instead of working,” Jin compromised.

“Will the numbers wait?” Euna was partially joking, which Seokjin caught immediately.

“They’re fictional numbers,” Jin reminded her.

“It’s a date,” Euna replied.

Next: Codename The First Heartbreak

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fictionalarsonist · 4 years

Text

heartache — pt.2

pairing ›_yoonkook

content ›_angst ; fluff ; underage drinking ; mild language ; jealous!yoongi rating ›_pg word count ›_4.3k

―

premise ›_they’re two idiots in love still figuring things out.

a/n ›_this is an unplanned follow up to the heartache drabble, requested by taesboba and jazzy3120 at ao3. I hope they enjoy it as well as everyone else who reads. Feedback is always appreciated. edit ›_(Aug.2nd) had to change the title because part 3 was requested. 😂😂 the funny thing is, I wrote heartache as part of a drabble in which I compromised myself in not writing too much, but i'm always happy to take requests. credit › _thank you so much to @mindays for beta-reading and helping me out with this one for me. _😘💕

「 ao3 | masterlist 」

[ heartache | part 2 | epilogue ]

The car stopped and Yoongi looked through the window, part of him expected to see Jungkook somewhere among the other students. He felt the driver’s eyes on him through the rearview mirror and forced himself to divert his attention, sliding his wallet out of his jacket’s pocket to pay the man.

“Look,” the man started, chewing his gum way too obnoxiously for Yoongi’s taste, “If you don’t have a dorm or anything and— y’know, need a place to stay...”

Yoongi saw him reaching inside over the panel and for a piece of paper and a pen, write something down and slide the paper in the folded bills before handing it to him.

“It’s cheap and somewhere— near ,” the man cracks a contained laughter that shakes his shoulders a little, “I guess we could say that?” His laughter dies when Yoongi doesn’t seem to respond to his antics, “Just try giving a call, okay? Have fun in college, kid.”

Yoongi pocketed the money and stepped out of the car, glad that he could breath fresh, untainted air yet again. Yoongi swung his backpack on his shoulder, the old thing could fall apart any day, but he’s oddly attached to it. He shifted the gym bag he’s been carrying from one hand to another after shoving the money in his pocket and leaving his hand tucked in there as he took a quick look around.

Yoongi isn’t exactly what one would call a very good navigator, but he could remember by heart the address Jungkook gave to him. He walked straight along the park until the second intersection, then he crossed the street. Yoongi can’t help but to notice how these traditional colleges have the same type of environment and architecture, but the locations are always random or so it seems.

One could never know where everything is supposed to be. Yoongi recalls how long it took him and Hoseok to figure out the different paths and shortcuts to go from one place to another. Jungkook, being the ever infamous golden boy that he is, always figures things out as if it was nothing to others. Hoseok told him about it, Hoseok would always update him on anything Jungkook related— Not that Yoongi ever asked him too. But, he couldn’t just— Simply ignore it and not listen to it. He just pretended he didn’t.

Then again, of course, this was before that day. Before Yoongi saw the mess that he created. That late afternoon when he cornered Hoseok and made him trace Jungkook’s phone location, grabbed his friend’s car keys and rushed to the place he still knows by heart because that's where Jungkook would always oh-so-coincidentally bump into him with his friends and his girlfriend. Saying he felt like a piece of trash seeing Jungkook wasted like that is an understatement.

It took so much of Yoongi to keep himself together and try helping Jungkook at that moment when he himself was a turmoil inside, not knowing how to feel or how to act. The only thing he knew was that that scene right there was dangerous and he knew Jungkook’s story with alcohol so it made it all worse— All the more scary and Yoongi just couldn’t stop blaming himself.

Not when he arrived nor when he managed to get Jungkook to throw up all that was inside of him and sober a little. Not when he had Jungkook in his arms and felt so powerless because even though he was there he kept pushing Yoongi away and this could be too late for them.

It was hard, stumbling on his thoughts and uncertainties in front of Jungkook sitting across from him in that truck. The way Jungkook looked at him, utterly vulnerable, physically sick, and emotionally hurt when Yoongi— very inappropriately, mind you— gathered whatever courage he could to finally spell it out his confession.

It could be called a miracle that things turned out good considering how much of a neglecting asshole he was for so long. Now, he’s doing again, dragging himself halfway across the country to meet that annoying brat that is his boyfriend. Six months is too long, Skype calls, phone calls, texts. Nothing’s anywhere near being good enough when Yoongi thinks of just how they were together almost the entire time over their summer break. Even so, it wasn’t enough.

Yoongi’s not quite sure what he expected, but Jungkook is nothing he could imagine and the thrill of a new relationship still burns between them very frustratingly with the many miles that keeps them apart. It’s almost consequential that one of them decided to reach out first and see the other, and since Jungkook’s still going over his finals Yoongi decided to arrange his final project’s schedule around it.

A quick look around told Yoongi he’s close enough. He could see the statue, ‘The Patron’ as Jungkook told him it’s called. And as Jungkook said, it’s decorated with some weird accessories provided by some students that were starting to celebrate the end of another semester, or, in other cases, the end of their major. Yoongi recognizes Jungkook’s contribution to the mess, he’s seen before in the picture Jungkook sent him to let him know what the statue looks like on the ‘How to get to my dorm’ file.

It’s quite unbelievable how the dean doesn’t even try to stop this anymore. His college, on the other hand, would have the staff throwing a fit just for the sombrero on the statue’s head. Jungkoook’s contribution is a copy of Yoongi’s tattoo, painted in white on the dark green statue, at the same place Yoongi has it. A little too detailed, Yoongi thinks, and way too unnecessary as he said before, but professing that to the bratty Jungkook only earned him an amused chuckle and a very teasing-toned reply.

“Oh! C’mon, hyung!” Jungkook started all by himself, knowing his teasing would always stir a nerve in Yoongi, “It’s the end of my second semester. My first year, my first collaboration on the project! I was told to contribute with something that means something important to me.”

“My tattoo?” Yoongi replied, refusing to acknowledge how affected he was by the way Jungkook smiled at him with a purpose and Yoongi liked even less that Jungkook quickly shifted into his mocking demeanor.

“Well, it’s not like I could draw you there. I couldn’t pin you there either,” though, despite his worlds, Jungkook seems to be putting some thought into it.

“Whatever you’re thinking of — Just don’t!” He tried to cut Jungkook off when the other half-smiled to himself and shifted in bed to lay down.

“I swear, hyung. I’d be a waste, if I could bring you all the way here, I’d pin you right on this bed.” Jungkook provoked, placing his laptop beside him instead. “Do you have any idea of how much I miss you right now? — ”

Yoongi doesn’t really want to think of how Jungkook’s voice sounded so purposefully provocative and instantly made him weak. It’s just embarrassing how things turned out to be. Not that Yoongi doesn’t like it, but he prefers not to think about the way goosebumps runs over his skin and he’s always so responsive to Jungkook.

Jungkook, on the other hand, has been enjoying himself all too much, pushing some limits here and there and seeing Yoongi just allowing him with nothing but meaningless protests. Yoongi’s been quite pathetic, while Jungkook has been enjoying having this effect on his hyung a little bit too much for Yoongi’s liking. Jungkook isn’t Yoongi’s first relationship, but with him everything’s so much more than Yoongi ever had.

The statue certainly means he’s going the right way and Yoongi decides not to let his mind wander too much or he might get lost which isn't the ideal at the moment. So, from the statue he should take the second left. Jungkook said he’d be in class and would meet him at the apartment, his roommate moved out— Seokjin, or Jin-hyung as Jungkook likes to call him, Yoongi remembers well because Jungkook couldn’t stop singing praises about the guy that Yoongi saw plenty of times on Jungkook’s social media.

It doesn’t quite surprise Yoongi that he recognizes Seokjin when he looks over and he definitely doesn’t need a second glance to clearly see Jungkook beside him. Yoongi pauses his steps as he stops and stands there, furrowing his brows. His watch tells him he’s not late or early, actually, he’s right on time. Jungkook had told him he’d be in class for two and a half hours, so why is he in the middle of the campus, talking to his ex-roommate? Without as much as a second thought Yoongi finds his feet taking him their way.

“You’ll be okay without me around, right?” Jin asks.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, hyung.” Jungkook smiles with a shrug.

Jin takes a once-over at Jungkook and his eyes stop at the messy hair falling over the younger’s eyes.

“You really should cut your hair,” Jin says introspectively, reaching out to try and arrange the loose strands, running his hand through Jungkook’s hair.

“Alright! Geez!” Jungkook starts complaining, pulling back from Jin’s obsessive mania of getting everything into place. “I will, hyung! When the finals are over-,” Jungkook tries to lean back to escape from Jin’s obsessive behavior of always fixing everything.

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook’s heels scrape the gravaled ground as he turns to Yoongi walking up to him with purpose. Jungkook’s first reaction would be greeting Yoongi as he meant to do since they parted ways, but something tells him that there doesn't seem to be a space for that at the moment. Whatever Jungkook says is lost in the wind while Yoongi locks eyes with Jin as he coolly retracts his hand from Jungkook’s hair. Seemingly unfazed by Yoongi’s hard, threatening stare.

“I thought you’d be in class,” Yoongi speaks up, his eyes taking their time to look away from the calm and collected Jin in front of him to Jungkook.

“I should , but the professor didn’t show up,” Jungkook says, “I was about to go home and wait for you when I met Jin-hyung.”

Yoongi’s eyes quickly land on Jin again, clearly displeased to see that he’s still there. Jungkook’s eyes find Yoongi’s backpack hanging from his fingers and he tries to take it from him, though Yoongi’s fingers have a firm grip on it.

“Just give it, hyung,” Jungkook insists.

“You already have enough on you,” Yoongi contests, resisting even though Jungkook doesn’t let go, nodding at Jungkook’s own backpack and the books under his arm.

“I’m alright, hyung.” Jungkook assures him in a half-annoyed tone, his fingers forcing Yoongi’s to let him take it.

Yoongi sighs and Jungkook knows he’s embarrassed with this, it’s been a pleasure apart from everything else to know this other side of Yoongi. It’s been all the more fun to explore this side of Yoongi too, but Jungkook knows now’s not the moment to push it further. Not with the way Yoongi looked at Jin just a moment before.

Jungkook’s eyes snap at Jin for a moment. “Oh, right. I almost forgot.” Jungkook says with one of his mischievous smiles he knows Yoongi’s always suspicious about and he gave his boyfriend plenty of reasons to be suspicious of, although not enough— or so Jungkook thinks.

“Hyung,” Jin’s attention never left them but his eyes had been softly watching Yoongi with something rather unreadable in them, they slide over to Jungkook, “This is Min Yoongi-hyung—”

“Ah!” Jin extends his hand, “Of course.”

Jungkook turns to Yoongi next and manners his hand to Jin, “I told you about Jin-hyung before, right?”

“Yeah, you did,” Yoongi speaks up loosely.

Against his own will Yoongi pulls out his hand from his pocket and takes Jin’s hand firmly in his locking eyes with the guy. Yoongi doesn’t want to let his mind go over unnecessary things, but he didn’t like how Jin’s taller and perfectly put together self is presented to him. But, the real reason as to why Yoongi gets put-off by Jin is that arrogant smile flashing towards him as if Jin knows something Yoongi doesn’t.

“It’s good finally meeting you,” Jin says with a casual politeness that is an obvious characteristic of him, even not knowing him Yoongi could see it. “You know,” Jin smiles pleasantly, but it just makes it harder for Yoongi to not dislike the guy, “Jungkook’s always talking about you.”

“I’m sure he’d do that. I’m his boyfriend.”

Yoongi finds himself saying, squeezing Jin’s hands in his and pulling back harshly. Jin raises an eyebrow, tilting his head with a clear contradicted expression at first that only lasts for a second before he portraits his signature polite smile.

“Well, I’m just his roommate— Well, I mean ex -roommate, right?” Jin lets out what Yoongi clearly sees as a posed smile, a posed chuckle that he has no doubt others can easily fall for. Not him. “I was kicked out.”

“I didn’t kick you out, hyung!” Jungkook protests.

“Oh, c’mon, Kookie!” Jin seems to genuinely enjoy calling Jungkook that nickname, Yoongi, on the other hand, isclose to having enough of it. “I got pretty sick and tired of you complaining about how our living arrangements wouldn’t allow your boyfriend to come over and stay with you. It was too clear for me to not take the hint, it just worries me about the rent, though.”

“Don’t worry, hyung. I got it.” Jungkook reassures him.

“Well, if you say so—” Jin shrugs dismissively, “Let me know if something comes up. I can always move back in.”

If only looks could kill, Jin would be a dead man long before he could finish saying that with that ridiculous, arrogant, posed smile that’s started to rub off on Yoongi in the wrong way everytime Jin does it.

[ ⁕⁕⁕ ]

“Hyung?” Jungkook calls out for the nth time as they walk to Jungkook’s place. “Hyung, what’s wrong?” Jungkook insists on despite knowing it might not be the best idea, “Hyung! Yoongi-hyung!”

“I’m just fucking tired, okay?” Yoongi speaks between his teeth and Jungkook sighs as the elevator doors open and they step in.

Yoongi turns to look at Jungkook, examining him.

“What~?” Jungkook asks, half-irritated now.

“What’s the problem with your hair?”

“Huh?” Jungkook looks up, not being able to reach up to check it since his hands are busy.

“That guy was running his hands in your hair when I saw you. What’s wrong with it?” Yoongi asks with even less patience and Jungkook chuckles looking back at him.

“Ah, that. Jin’s kind of obsessed with everything being clean and right… I don’t know,” Jungkook shrugs, “He keeps nagging at me.”

“You don’t wash your hair?”

“Wha- No! Hyung, no!” Jungkook laughs, “It’s just that— I should’ve got a new cut, but I can’t find the time to do it, since there’s still some finals to go through and some stupid project I have to finish. I just haven’t had time to go to a barber since he moved out.”

“I think it’s just fine like this,” Yoongi speaks up, “Just cut the ends, I think. So it won’t fall over your eyes.”

He’s not used to this yet. Especially since he knows the provocative smile Jungkook’s wearing right now.

“Thank you, hyung. Actually, I was thinking... I was thinking of just cutting a little just so the hair won’t fall on my face, but I’ll keep the long bangs.”

Yoongi sees Jungkook moving closer to him, he looks over only to find his boyfriend’s face just a breath away from the distance of him. Yoongi turns to look at the closed doors again and feels Jungkook’s breathy chuckle on his ear, sending shivers down his spine. Yoongi can pretty much feel the blood running to the surface.

Jungkook’s always a brat, always finding a way to get to him, the problem is Yoongi finds himself being pretty vulnerable to it.

“But, hyung~,” Jungkook breaths on his skin and Yoongi gulps down the tension building up on his muscles, “That’s only if you’d think I look hot like that. If you really like it, you know?”

Yoongi feels thankful when the doors slide open and he clears his throat. He’d move his feet to bolt out of the elevator first if his feet didn’t seem to be glued down at the moment. He watches Jungkook, with that stupid smug face of his, walk out first.

As Yoongi follows Jungkook down the hall he tries not to think about it, he really tries not to, but he can’t help it. Jin sets him off, he just knew it’d be like that, he didn’t like the way Jungkook kept singing nothing but praises about the guy. How intelligent, eloquent, caring, or whatever this Jin guy is, how they went out and this and that happened, how Jin knows almost everyone who’s someone around the campus.

Yoongi can’t stop thinking how many times Jin walked down this hall together with Jungkook and this is so fucking silly, but Yoongi can’t get out of his mind how freely Jin acted around Jungkook. This was nothing like someone who sees the other as just a friend and Yoongi’s not sure if Jungkook’s oblivious enough not to see it or if he’s pretending not to. Either way, it doesn't help the case.

Yoongi closes the door behind him and gives a quick look at the apartment’s living room. Everything’s organized and clean, something he knows Jungkook isn’t that good at.

“What?” Jungkook asks, his eyes trained on Yoongi.

“Was it you or your ex- roommate who cleaned the place?” Yoongi wishes he didn’t say it like that, but the words just rolled out of his lips.

“Hyung-”

Yoongi finds it odd how close Jungkook’s voice sounds, so he looks up only to be caged in by Jungkook’s body and the wall behind him. He didn’t even have the time to take off his shoes.

“Are you jealous, hyung?” Jungkook provokes, stepping closer to Yoongi now pressed with his back flat against the wall. Jungkook had that stupid smug grin pulling the corners of his lips, “Are you thinking of Jin being here with me, is that it?”

Yoongi moves his head and Jungkook presses his hand on the wall next to Yoongi’s head, grinning when their lips brush much to Yoongi’s dismay. Jungkook humms, low and provoking and Yoongi swallows around nothing, taking a sharp breath, his eyes drawn to his boyfriend’s lips molded into that stupid grin Yoongi’s oh-so-tempted to cover with his own lips.

But before he can do anything, Jungkook moves his lips to Yoongi’s ear and Yoongi tries his best to not allow his body to shake with the goosebumps that run under his skin so violently. This is the aftermath of pent-up sexual tension between them and Yoongi knows it. He wants Jungkook just as much as he knows Jungkook wants him. Yoongi has been pushing the boundary and testing Jungkook on it, only to be surprised by the younger’s immediate reaction.

Jungkook’s lips brush on his earlobe just for a moment before he pulls away enough just so all Yoongi can feel is his skin tingling under Jungkook’s breath.

“Hyung,” Jungkook breaths on his skin and chuckles when Yoongi can’t stop the tremble that shakes through him, “Hyung, do you think I’d even think of someone else? Me?”

Yoongi isn’t conscious of Jungkook’s hand sliding down the wall beside him until he feels his hand pulling his body and Yoongi can’t help but to be compliant. His hand reaches up on its own until he has a firm grip on Jungkook’s sleeve.

“My Yoongi-hyung.”

Yoongi’s eyes close once Jungkook’s lips touch his jaw light as a feather, brushing on the spot as Jungkook’s hand takes a firm grip on his waist, pressing Yoongi’s side to his chest tightly, leaving Yoongi wanting more than that.

“I could never look at some other guy,” Jungkook speaks smoothly against his skin, lowering his lips down Yoongi’s neck, stopping unexpectedly to press his lips at random spots, causing Yoongi’s pulse to jolt and race each time. “Not when I know I can have you.”

Jungkook’s hand slid down Yoongi’s side, finding the hem of the shirt under the jacket. Yoongi’s hand grips tightly on his boyfriend's biceps and he licks his lips. Jungkook glances at Yoongi’s face just enough to see him frowning; swallowing thickly around his words and Jungkook knows what he wants to say.

They’ve been waiting for this, to hold each other, feel each other like this, push the boundaries they couldn’t dare to during that summer break when Jungkook was nothing but an inexcusable, pathetic mess and Yoongi couldn’t, for the life of him, put together a comprehensive sentence right now. Yet, this seems to be going too far too fast, Jungkook knows and he doesn’t want to force anything, but it’s so deliciously pleasing to have Yoongi there for him, so pliant and responsive.

Yoongi feels Jungkook’s fingertips pressing on the small of his back, tracing his skin without pressing yet. Yoongi finds himself edging against him and even though this isn’t supposed to be happening, not now. Maybe Jungkook doesn’t know, maybe he can’t tell, but somewhere under the haze and warmth of the feeling of having Jungkook surrounding him, Yoongi knows this is just too soon.

“I craved you the whole semester, y’know?” Jungkook mutters against his skin and Yoongi tries his best not to close his eyes, it’s what Jungkook wants and he’s not willing to let him have it. “You don’t know how much I keep thinking about how your voice sounds over the phone- I loved seeing your face flushed that day too.”

Yoongi can’t help it, his eyes close before he notices as he feels Jungkook nibbling on his skin, at a particular soft spot near his clavicle. He fists Jungkook’s jacket and feels the smug grin pressed on his skin and he wants to complain, but all he’s able to muster is a deep groan that has Jungkook humming along as if they’re singing a song together. Yoongi hates this as much as he wants to keep it going.

“I keep thinking about that one time you called me drunk in the middle of the night, hyung~” The words color Yoongi’s mind with blurry faint memories, the embarrassment of what happened serves off a remedy to make him snap out of this trace, just enough to get him to think of saying something.

His lips part even if he doesn’t know what he’d say and Yoongi hears the sound of a struggled gasp falls from his own lips when Jungkook all knowingly pressing an open-mouthed kiss on his pulse while his arm circle his middle underneath the shirt and his hand now presses harder on his skin. This is ridiculous, it’s nothing much. Yet, Yoongi can’t help himself. He loses himself in Jungkook’s warmth just as easily.

But, next thing he knows, he can’t feel Jungkook anymore, even so, Yoongi’s still into that haze Jungkook wrapped him in, still too lost to see through it all and Jungkook gives him a moment. He stands there, watching this new side of Yoongi; once he sees his hyung is stable again, Jungkook pulls away and he can see the confusion in Yoongi’s eyes looking for him. Jungkook wishes he didn’t have to stop there, but there’s still time.

Jungkook walks away with one of his soft smiles, taking a last look at how flustered Yoongi looks pressed up against that wall, pretending his fingertips doesn’t still tingle, craving for the touch of Yoongi’s skin again. He just has to pretend to not be that much affected and it’s not easy.

“I’ll put your things in my room,” he speaks up, not sure if Yoongi actually hears him, then he leaves before he can get any response. Yoongi could very well ask to stay in the other room and Jungkook doesn’t want that.

Yoongi runs his hands over his face and groans, this time disapprovingly of himself. He doesn’t recall how it started, but he’s relieved Jungkook seems to understand, or, at least, Yoongi hopes he does. Jungkook has always been a brat and he could’ve stopped just because he felt like it, but Yoongi wanted to think it’s because he understood. He pushes himself off the wall and finds himself lost inside the rather small apartment.

“I cleaned it because I knew you’d nag at me, hyung,” Jungkook says ever so casually as he walks in the living room again, as if what just happened was nothing but a speck of Yoongi’s imagination that came out vivid enough to leave the burn on his skin where Jungkook had touched him, “Are you hungry?”

Yoongi swallows, fighting off the awkwardness of not quite knowing what to do with himself and he sees Jungkook grinning to himself as he steps into the kitchen area.

“Why? Did you cook?” Yoongi didn’t even try to hide his skepticism and chose to sit on the couch, he looks down only to see Jungkook’s notebook open on top of a stack of books. He skims the page and naturally doesn’t understand a word.

“I’m living alone for over a year now, hyung,” Jungkook points out and looks back only to see Yoongi running his hand on the back of his neck, to make himself feel better. “If you’re tired just lay down a bit, I just have to heat this up. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

Yoongi can hear Jungkook saying something about the bed, but to him, the couch sounds good enough. He tries to keeps his eyes open just a little while, just to drawn in the sound of Jungkook in the kitchen; different than what Yoongi imagined, Jungkook’s not loud, he barely makes any noise and he doesn know if he’s trying to be quiet or this is who he is while cooking. Just one of the things Yoongi would like to find out over these weeks. He hears the fridge being opened and the knife slicing the vegetables, hitting the cutting board and the place’s small and quiet enough for Yoongi to hear the shuffle of Jungkook’s bare feet on the floor and he sleeps with an unexpected reassurance.

⇽ part 01 | epilogue ⇾

#mine #bangtanxm #bangtanscenery #kwritersworldnet #btswritersnet #hyunglinenetwork #angst #yoonkook #yoon!kook #yoongixjungkook #mxm #bts #suga #jungkook #jjk #yg #myg #idiots in love

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asgardianthot · 4 years

Text

A funeral chuckle (Sambucky AU) – Part 1

one / two / three

Summary: After the loss of a family member, Sam Wilson returns to his hometown, where an old crush awaits.

A/N: We keep tagging 'Sam Wilson is a good bro' but do we ever stop and wonder if Sam Wilson NEEDS a good bro? Wonder no more. Also, important note at the end.

Words: 3621

Warnings: grief, angst, closeted gay characters

Sam awaited for good news. Anything. There is something very cliché about sitting on your childhood bed, which every film director ever has had their take on; it is a place to reflect on your life, to question every decision you have made since you moved out, to long for lost memories of a simpler time, to feel small. That was certainly the case. Sam felt small. He used to believe the house wasn't big enough for both his and his father's ego, which was why the latter always occupied the bigger presence, but today, with his father gone, Sam stepped in as old and as successful as that room had ever seen him and still he felt smaller than ever.

Sitting on the bed, he fixed the hems of his jacket while waiting for good news. The tiniest information would do the trick. Even going online and finding out a dog had been rescued and adopted would be enough. Yet when he unlocked his phone, all that he found was grief and lament.

Messages including the phrases "my condolences", "your father was a great man", and "I am sorry for your loss" plagued his direct messages on every social media app. He couldn't get himself to reply to all of them. Most were just formalities, not truly heartfelt, so why should he dignify each and every single one of them with a response? Still, Sam Wilson was too polite not to, at least, stress about it.

Suddenly, a knock on his door made him stand up, and made the echo of distant voices hearable again.

"It's Steve." The man said from the other end of the door, "Can I come in?"

Sam opened the door instead, and welcomed his childhood friend with a tired expression.

"Hey." He made an effort to withstand a grateful grin.

"Hey, bud." The blonde dragged the words for as long as he hugged Sam, "How you holding up?"

"Good." He nodded, "Good."

Of course, they both knew there was an 'all things considered' hidden at the end of that. Steve gave him one last pat on the shoulder before they both stepped inside.

"Listen, take your time." Steve tried to appease him, "I just came to let you know everything’s ready. I think the entire town’s here already.”

Sam nodded again. Steve had showed up like an angel from heaven the second Paul Wilson died. He was Sam's closest friend and the only friend he kept from his hometown. Even though Steve had built a life just a few blocks away from the Wilson's, while Sam moved to Washington DC as soon as he graduated high school, they met as much as their distant living situations allowed them, and remained in touch on, at least, a monthly basis. He was like a son to Sam’s mother, and so naturally, he stepped into the grieving period and saved the day.

"Where's mom?" Sam asked.

"Downstairs. Bossing the caterers." Rogers replied as if they both were expecting that sort of behavior.

Disappointed but not surprised was a perfect way of describing Sam. He exhaled a tired scoff, thinking ‘that sounds like her’, for Darlene Wilson could be more than bossy; especially when it came to the art of culinary. But most importantly, she wanted to take care of things, even when she needed to. She would have cooked everything herself if Steve had allowed it. The latter had done ninety-nine percent of the work while Sam traveled from DC to his hometown, which meant handling the entire funeral, including the service, the catering, and all the energy-draining tasks.

"Thank you. For taking care of everything.” Sam said with honesty, and sounding as if he feared he could never repay his best friend, “I don't think I've thanked you properly."

However, the blonde shook his head, humbly.

"Don't worry about it, pal. That's why you got me.” He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “All you gotta do is grieve and say hi to everyone. Leave the rest to me."

"Thanks." Sam took a deep breath, "I'm ready. Let's go."

As soon as the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, they noticed the amount of guests, all there to lament the death and celebrate the life of Minister Wilson. By how populated the house was, and how small the actual population of the town, one would think Steve was right when joking about the entire town attending. Hopefully, it didn’t take long to find the woman among the sea of tuxes and black dresses.

"Hi, mama." Sam approached her with a warm hug.

Darlene reciprocated tightly, then stepped back to hold her son’s face on her hands.

"Oh, my sweet boy.” She frowned with pity. “How'd you sleep?”

Unfortunately, she didn’t allow Sam to answer the question, for she was instantly distracted by a waiter carrying a tray of appetizers. Her loving expression quickly turned into one of extreme disapproval, probably judging every choice made by the people Steve had hired.

“No, that can't be right." The woman began.

"Mom." Sam glared, trying to stop her from going frantic.

"It's fine." Rogers backed Sam, using a tone that would hopefully tranquilize Mrs. Wilson.

Yet her eyes followed the waiter with concern, "No, they-"

"How 'bout we let them do their job?” Sam insisted, less lovingly now and more annoyed, “You know, cater? It's what we paid them to do."

"People are gonna think my food is that bad!" she protested.

Sam rolled his eyes, "You're a widow, no one cares about your food."

Steve stepped in as quickly as possible, in an attempt to cover-up his friend’s rudeness. If it hadn’t been for him, Darlene would have probably showed herself offended.

"He meant everyone knows your cooking is amazing.” He tilted his head to the side with a kind smile, “No one judges you for not doing the work yourself."

Eventually, the woman had to agree and stop worrying. She was merely freaking out as her way of grieving in such circumstances, after all, considering how many people expected things from the Minister’s widow. Allowing herself to leave the work to her boys, she placed a hand on her chest and nodded.

"Family's waiting to see you, Samuel." She said before moving to another group of people who wished to talk to her, although her expression remained rather distressed.

Sam did as told, in order to not upset his mother any further. He barely ever went back home. Usually, his parents flew to DC whenever they wanted to meet up, and so, the man would avoid every single person he grew up with –except for Steve and his close family– for a large amount of years, successfully.

He forced himself to receive a few family members’ condolences, plus engaging in small talk about his job, his life in the city and his lack of wife or girlfriend. When the townspeople began approaching him with their devoted speeches about Paul’s work at the local church and their religious beliefs on the dead man’s soul, Samuel had to escape.

He found his friend rather desperately, and placed a hand on his back to get his attention.

"What can I do?" he asked Steve when the latter turned to him.

"I have everything covered, don't worry." The blonde thought he had to calm Sam down.

Yet Sam knew for a fact that Steve had placed at least one person to do each task, almost professionally so. He had made sure to pay for the flowers’ people, gotten one of his friends to supervise them, sent his mom Sarah to check up on Darlene Wilson every ten minutes, etcetera. The service at the Wilson’s house was going according to plan like clockwork, and Sam was very much sure of it.

He just wanted to be busy. He wanted to escape the pitiful looks and the condescending words and the shoulder pats. He needed to get away, have something to focus on.

"No, I know, but what can I do?" he insisted.

Fortunately, Steve got the message. He nodded and thought for a second.

"Maybe help out in the kitchen?"

“Thanks.” Sam mumbled before heading for the kitchen.

Once in there, he saw the place practically deserted. A waiter walked out as soon as Sam stepped a foot inside, carrying a big tray of poured drinks, and left the room for one other person; he had his back to Sam, focused on the running water as he did the dishes, and wore tux pants along with a white dress shirt.

"Need a hand?" Sam offered to the man who was clearly a guest and not a part of the catering service, assuming by his clothing.

When the appellee turned around, it seemed like his chest heaved a painful breath that he didn’t allow himself to take. Sam, on his part, felt like all blood left his head. His heart skipped a beat as he processed the fact that the man in front of him was no other than his childhood crush, James Buchanan Barnes. No matter how obvious it had seemed to Samuel that he would be seeing old classmates and neighbors, he had absolutely blocked the existence of Bucky.

Perhaps because it reminded him too much of a time when he concealed his true identity from everyone; being a boy who’s attracted to boys in a small, conservative and mostly religious town was already hard, but being the minister’s son on top of that had always forced Sam to remain in the closet. That meant keeping all of his feelings for Bucky locked inside, especially around the crush himself. Unfortunately, both being Steve Rogers’ best friend never made it easy.

"Hey.” Bucky smiled minimally as he placed a dripping dish on the drying station, “Steve put me on dishes duty."

Sam nodded and approached him, still preferring to offer his help and stay in the kitchen with him than going back outside to the sea of chaos. So he grabbed a cloth from the top counter and began drying the wet dishes with it in order to make space for more plates and cups.

"James." He greeted the brunette, choosing to ignore the nickname Bucky, for it probably was just something left behind in his childhood, “Haven't seen you since High School."

"Yeah, I guess.” Bucky smiled, still focusing on his task, “So how've you been? I mean... I'm sorry. Sorry for your loss."

The immediate regret and embarrassment coming from Bucky after messing up his condolences and their reunion so royally made Sam smile.

"Thank you." He said in a tone that eased Bucky’s guilt and told him not to worry about it.

Still, he let out an awkward laugh, "I never know what to say in these things." He admitted.

The last sentence made a lot of sense to Samuel, not only because he himself didn’t know what to say about his father’s death –not even what to tell his own self–, but because he remembered that James’ father had died when he was only four years old. In fact, when Sam first met Bucky, the latter acted like he had never even had a dad. So it was only expected that Bucky felt weird about that kind of loss.

"I feel you.” Sam sighed, “All these people that haven't talked to me in years are... offering their help, their phone numbers, a shoulder to cry on. I don't know them, why would they ask me to stay in their house?"

Bucky cracked a chuckle, which was too joyful for the occasion, even coming from him.

“Small town brand.” He mocked the alleged grieving neighbors, “Everyone wants to cook you their best casserole."

Sam raised his eyebrows in agreement before engaging in a proper conversation, "You still live here?"

Although he felt the question sounded mean, like he was judging Bucky, he couldn’t really take it back or it would sound condescending (“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s fine if you still live in this shitty town.”) and that would be even worse.

"Yep. Well, I was in New York, but I came back last year. Moved into an apartment downtown... temporary roommate situation, and now I can't seem to move out.” James replied easily, as if he had prepared his ‘seeing your old crush after a decade’ speech with anticipation, “Where you at, these days?"

"DC. I work at Veteran's Affairs."

Barnes was about to ask more about that, having heard of Sam’s double tours in Afghanistan and desperately wanting to hear about his heroic job there, but was interrupted by Steve’s loud presence.

"I called it.” The blonde said as he approached his two best friends, “This place is turning into a high school reunion."

Both turned to face him, and suddenly their gut instinct of when they had to pretend not to be attracted to each other came back. They both checked to see if they were standing too close, or gazing into each other’s eyes, and put on an uninterested face for Rogers. Apparently, the body doesn’t forget.

"Who else came?" Sam asked out of impulse, for he didn’t truly care.

"Half of our senior class." Steve replied with a tone of disbelief and disappointment.

Bucky frowned, "What do they think this is, a casual gathering?"

Steve shook his head, the disgust towards insensitive townsfolk hitting too close to home, for the Wilsons had always been his family, and he despised whoever took the opportunity of Paul’s death to make an appearance. Samuel, however, wasn’t surprised, and had prepared himself for something like that; that didn’t mean he didn’t deeply appreciate Bucky standing up for the Wilson family. In fact, it brought a familiar flutter to Sam’s stomach.

"Anyway, Wanda's looking for you, Bucky." Steve informed the man.

As he heard the nickname, Sam felt bad for having called him James. It probably came off as distant, when he just wanted to be respectful and mature.

The man in question turned off the faucet and dried his hands on his black tux pants, before giving Sam a smile on his way out. The name Wanda echoed inside Sam’s brain; he wondered if she was his girlfriend, or maybe even his wife. As far as he could remember, Bucky never showed any romantic nor sexual interest towards women at all, but he also took in consideration that too many years had passed. He couldn’t pretend to actually know the man just because of what they shared during their teenage years. He could be an entirely different person for that matter.

As Bucky made his way to the front door, he saw Wanda standing outside through the side window. He opened up, making her smile exaggeratedly.

"I'm sorry, I locked myself out again." She cringed, hoping not to upset Bucky.

"You really need to stop losing your keys.” He said without much amusement.

"I know, I’m the worst roommate ever, I’m lucky you’re too lazy to move out.” The young woman recited the words she knew by heart, since Bucky enjoyed repeating them over and over again, “The keys?”

He sighed, reached for his back pocket, and handed the item to her, reluctantly.

“What time are you coming home?” Wanda asked while she safe-kept them inside her purse.

Bucky turned back to glance at the sea of guests.

“I don’t know, just leave them under the doormat.” He faced her again.

Wanda felt a little sad for his roommate, because he was helping out at some funeral, and that couldn’t be the most fun activity, but it also meant he probably wasn’t a stranger there. so, she switched to a kinder tone.

“Well, I’m ordering Chinese for two, you can reheat it whenever you get back. “ She offered with a small grin, earning a grateful nod from the man, “Can I ask who died?”

"Sam's dad.” He replied, only to raise the question ‘who’s Sam’ in Wanda’s face, “Just a high school classmate. Steve's best friend."

"I thought you were Steve's best friend.” She narrowed her eyes, but quickly opened them wide when she came to an impactful realization, “Oh my God, is it Sam, the guy you made out with?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Yeah, a billion years ago, just drop it."

"Okay.” She obliged with an amused frown, “Just don’t hit on a grieving man.”

“Bye, Wanda.” He shut the door on her face.

At the church, the attending townsfolk filled up every space inside. A large amount of black dresses and tuxes could be seen at the back of the venue, standing because they ran out of seats. As the priest recited his planned words on the wonderful man Paul Wilson had been, people nodded in agreement, with respect and enthusiasm. Some held worn tissues to their faces, drying practically unnoticeable tears in an attempt to never be seen not crying. Darlene Wilson allowed herself to tear up every other minute, but mostly remained calm and satisfied with the service.

But the pain in Sam’s chest was unbearable. He knew his mother wanted him to weep. She wanted him to be a good, sensitive man like his father taught him. But Sam always felt like he had to toughen up in front of Paul, as a way of overcompensating for his romantic attraction. It was a maneuver that made absolutely no sense, but it was wired onto his brain, therefore, he was having a hard time opening up his heart.

“Paul was, first and foremost, a father.” The priest continued with his praising words, “He was a loving parent to Samuel, and he was a father to us all.”

That was when Sam’s bottled up feelings came to a halt. His breathing became more hectic and his chest burned hotter.

“He loved each and every single one of us, and cared for our problems more than he cared for himself. Whether it be religious guidance, life advice or a supportive shoulder to cry on, we could always count on Paul. He didn’t judge, he didn’t punish, but instead he was a listener.”

Perhaps it was plain paranoia, but Samuel swore he could feel all hundreds of eyes burning a hole on the back of his head. He had ceased to even stare at the priest, and resigned to look at a random spot on the floor, fidgeting with his fingers and working on his breathing.

“He always made sure we knew he loved us unconditionally, and I believe he left us a very important legacy. Paul might be gone, but we must honor his life and what he stood for: we must do the best we can, each day, to be more caring. More supportive, more empathic, and maybe the hardest thing to do, we must be honest with out loved ones. That is what Paul Wilson believed in… compassion and honesty can heal a heart. And a healed heart can heal the world.”

Sam couldn’t hold himself in place. His body was running at four hundred percent. He stood up from his seat at the front and walked out, trying not to do a scene. He opened up the gates minimally, escaped through the creak and as soon as he shut them back, leaving the funeral behind, he allowed himself to freak out.

He had become overwhelmed, more than he prepared for, and didn’t feel like he could go back inside. He didn’t want to be at his father’s funeral, he realized. He wasn’t ready to accept his grief. As he paced around in circles, he took big breaths and slowly came down from his hectic state.

“Are you okay?” he heard.

Sam hadn’t even noticed that Bucky had walked outside as well. He took a deep breath and sat at the bottom of the stairs. He let his head rest on his palms and nodded into them to not worry Bucky.

“You don’t look okay.” Bucky said with a hint of pity, before sitting down next to the dead man’s son, “But… that’s how you’re supposed to look, I guess. Not okay.”

Sam raised his gaze and directed it to Bucky’s dressing shoes.

“I’m supposed to look like I’m mourning, then why does it feel like I’m not?”

After a long second of silence, Bucky shrugged, “Maybe you’re not ready to mourn yet.”

The statement settled extremely well on Sam’s head. It made sense. He didn’t want to let go just yet. He took another profound and painful breath before relaxing his muscles.

“I just want to get the hell away from this shit-show.” Sam spoke with very aggressive words, but his voice was soft and small.

“Don’t you have to get back?” Bucky asked, anticipating the sadness he would feel for Sam as soon as he walked back inside.

Wilson shut his eyes and ran a hand down his face.

“No one expects me to be there, that’s just something my mama tells me to make me feel special.”

Bucky felt a sparkle of hope and joy at the sound of that, for even the smallest hint of a joke, or self-deprecating humor, meant so much when it peaked through pain.

He couldn’t help but smile big, “In that case, mama’s boy, you wanna get away from this?”

For the first time during that entire interaction, Samuel locked eyes with the brunette. He wanted to scream ‘yes’ immediately, but he felt like, as the deceased person’s son, he shouldn’t show himself too excited to run away.

“I guess I could eat.” He nodded with a half-smile.

“I know just the right place.” Bucky gloated as he stood up and offered Sam a hand, “Hope you like hot coco.”

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

Important: This is an AU. In no way, shape or form would I want to erase the original background story given to Sam Wilson in the comics; he grew up in a Harlem neighborhood that was filled with poverty and violence. His father (Minister Paul Wilson) was killed while trying to stop a gang fight in order to defend young boys. I feel like it is an incredibly important aspect of the character, especially considering the narrative given to the Falcon and in ‘All New Captain America’. However, this fanfic doesn’t follow the comics’ chronology nor the superhero aspects of Marvel, and instead retrieves part of the character’s stories and personalities. It is simply a romantic AU, and I set it in a small town that is rather suburban because it fit the plot better. Always respect Sam Wilson’s story xx

#sambucky au #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #tw: gay closet #tw: grief #sam x bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes #ftws #tftws #the falcon and the winter soldier #sambucky fanfiction #fluff #angst #marvel au #sam/bucky #sam wilson/bucky barnes #stackie

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