#and then it starts to tie in to this whole thing i've been struggling with this week

[monster-noises]

Under the impression somehow that if i simply complain loudly enough to the universe about being single something will happen

Not how the world works

Still mad it's not working

[wilwheaton]

what are your hobbies?

I have a garden that I love to work in every day.

During the lockdowns, I learned the difference between having a garden, and tending a garden. It turns out that I just love to tend my garden. I love to walk in it, smell all the smells, prune it and tie it up where it needs it, keep the soil healthy, and leave it alone when I've done enough.

In a lot of ways, I use my gardening time as a metaphor. One that was particularly meaningful to me lately came when I was pruning this feral tomato that showed up in one of my beds late last year. As a general rule, when I get any volunteers, I leave them alone, except to keep them away from things I've planted myself. But in this case, it was growing so fast and getting so out of control, I had to rein it in a bit, with some pruning and gentle redirection of the parts which were tied to the trellis.

I started thinking about the individual stalks as parts of my life experience: here's one that doesn't have anything growing on it, but if I follow it all the way to this point, I can see that it's providing support and nutrients to this huge, thriving, massively flowering hunk of the plant. It turns out that part may look like it isn't doing anything, but without it, this other part that's gorgeous wouldn't exist.

I could have just looked at it and seen a stalk that wasn't doing anything. I could have easily pruned it right then and there, and only after would I have discovered this lush, thriving, beautiful part of the plant that can't exist without this other part. I was so grateful that I took the time to look at the whole thing, to see that bare stem in context, to appreciate it.

I don't know if this particular metaphor lands on you, but it landed real hard on me. It inspired a wonderful moment of reflection and gratitude, and I also got excited for the ... I mean, it's at least a dozen, but maybe more ... little cherry tomatoes I'm going to get when they finish ripening.

I have recently noticed that, as long as I can remember, I have felt like I can't slow down, like I can't take time for myself, that I should always be working or trying to work. I've been working on healing as much of my CPTSD as I can, and part of that includes doing my best to give myself permission to slow down, to take entire days or even weeks off, because I have earned it. It's such a struggle for me.

And that's where my garden is a metaphor again: it may not be full of blooming flowers or tons of vegetables right now, but that doesn't mean it isn't growing. Maybe it needs to be watered and fed today, and tomorrow, I can just walk through it, and enjoy it.

It's one of my very few hobbies that are mostly private, that I keep for myself. I freely and enthusiastically share my love for classic arcade gaming, Tabletop and RPG games, and all my super nerd shit, so I like that I have this one thing that's just for me.

[trans-axolotl2]

I've been reading Cripping Intersex by Celeste Orr and one concept that I think is absolutely crucial and one of the best resources I've found for understanding my own experiences as an intersex person is the term Compulsory Dyadism.

Dr. Orr coins the term: "I propose the expression 'compulsory dyadism' to describe the instituted cultural mandate that people cannot violate the sex dyad, have intersex traits, or 'house the spectre of intersex' (Sparrow 2013, 29). Said spectre must be, according to the mandate, exorcised. However, trying to definitively cast out the spectre via curative violence always fails. The spectre always returns: a new intersex baby is born; one learns that they have intersex traits in adulthood; and/or medical procedures cannot cast out the spectre fully, as evidenced by life-long medical interventions, routines, or patienthood status. And the effects of compulsory dyadism haunt in the form of disabilities, scars, memories, trauma, and medical regimens (e.g., HRT routines). Compulsory dyadism, therefore, is not simply an event or a set of instituted policies but is an ongoing exorcising process and structure of pathologization, curative violence, erasure, trauma, and oppression." (Orr 19-20).

They continue on in their book to explore compulsory dyadism as it shows up in medical interventions, racializing intersex + sports sex testing, and eugenic and prenatal interventions on intersex fetuses. This term makes so much sense to me and puts words to an experience I've been struggling to comprehend--how can it be that so many endosex* people express such revulsion and fear of intersex bodies and traits, yet at the same time don't even know that intersex people exist? Why is it that people understand when I refer to my body in the terms used by freak shows, call myself a hermaphrodite, remember bearded ladies and laugh at interphobic jokes--yet do not even know that intersex people are as common as redheads? Understanding the term compulsory dyadism elucidates this for me. Endosex people might not comprehend what intersex actually is or know anything about our advocacy, but they do grow up in a cultural environment that indoctrinates them into false ideas about the sex binary and cultivates a fear of anything that lies outside of it.

From birth, compulsory dyadism affects every one of us, whether you're intersex or not. Intersex people carry the heaviest burden and often the most visible wounds that compulsory dyadism inflicts, as shown through often the very literal scars of violent, "curative" surgery, but the whole process of sex assignment at birth is a manifestation of compulsory dyadism. Ideas entrenched in the medical system that assign gender to the hormones testosterone and estrogen although neither of those hormones have anything to do with gender, a society that starts selling hair removal products to girls at puberty, and the historical legacy of things like sexual inversion theory are all manifestations of compulsory dyadism. For intersex people, facing compulsory dyadism often means that we are subjected to curative violence, institutionalized medical malpractice that sometimes includes aspects of ritualized sexual abuse, and means that we are left "haunted by, for instance, traumatic memories, acquires body-mind disabilities, an ability that was taken, or a 'paradoxical nostalgia....for all the futures that were lost' (Fisher 2013,45)." (Orr 26).

Compulsory dyadism works in tandem with concepts like compulsory able-bodiedness and compulsory heterosexuality to create mindsets and systems that tie together ideas to suggest that the only "normal" body is a cisgender one that meets capitalist standards of function, is capable of heterosexual sex and reproduction, and has chromosomes, hormones, genitalia, reproductive system, and sex traits that all line up. Part of compulsory dyadism is convincing the public that this is the only way for a body to function, erasing intersex people both by excluding us from public perception and by actively utilizing curative violence as a way to actively erasure intersex traits from our body. Compulsory dyadism works by getting both the endosex and intersex public to buy into the idea that intersex doesn't exist, and if it does exist then it needs to be treated as a freakshow, either exploiting us to put us on display as an aberration or by delegating us to the medical freakshow of experimentation and violence.

Until we all start to fully understand the many, many ways that compulsory dyadism is showing up in our lives, I don't think we're going to be able to achieve true intersex liberation. And in fact, I think many causes are tied into intersex liberation and affected by compulsory dyadism in ways that endosex people don't understand. Take the intense revulsion that some trans people express about the thought of medical transition, for example. Although transitioning does not make people intersex and never will, and the only way to be intersex is to have an intersex variation, I think that compulsory dyadism affects a lot more of that rhetoric than is expressed. The disgust I see some people talking about when they think about medical transition causing them to live in a body that has XX chromosomes, a vagina, but also more hair, a larger clitoris--I think a lot of this rhetoric is born in compulsory dyadism that teaches us to view anything that steps outside the sex dyad with intense fear and violence. I'm thinking about transphobic legislation blocking medical transition and how there's intersex exceptions in almost every one of those bills, and how having an understanding of compulsory dyadism would actually help us understand the ways in which our struggles overlap and choose to build meaningful solidarity, instead of just sitting together by default.

I have so much more to say about this topic, and will probably continue to write about it for a while, but I want to end by just saying: I think this is going to be one of the most important concepts for intersex advocacy going into the next decade. With all due respect and much love to intersex activists both current and present,I think that it's time for a new strategy, not one where we medicalize ourselves and distance ourselves from queer liberation, not one where we sort of just end up as an add on to LGBTQ community by default, not even one where we use a human rights framework, nonprofits, and try to negotiate with the government. I agree with so much of what Dr. Orr says in Cripping Intersex and I think the intersex and/as/is/with disability framework, along with these foundational ideas for understanding our own oppression with the language of compulsory dyadism and curative violence, are providing us with the tools to start laying a foundation for a truly liberatory mode of intersex community building and liberation.

*Endosex means not intersex

Endosex people, please feel free to reblog!

[rise-my-angel]

I did some rewatching of scenes from House of the Dragon, and I think I've found a root problem with the writing.

And it isn't what was or was not adapted from Fire and Blood, or the plot or characters directions. There are issues there, but there is a bigger one I think that has been severely under analyzed. A massive problem with this show that has a big impact even when you don't realize, is how clunky and unnatural 90% of the dialogue is.

Something Game of Thrones did right, was take the dialogue from the books, and translate it to the screen by simplifying certain things, tightening sentences and changing wordage so that the actors had an easy time delivering the lines. It was a really good mix of the more formal speech and casual delivery. It meant lines that are good in the book, are good but different in the show because they cleaned up the dialogue so it didn't sound forced from the actors.

Everyone gets to speak in the appropriate manner for their class level, but it also is just quick and to the point. The actors all got a chance to do an amazing job, because they weren't forcing their talent through clunky and awkward to say dialogue.

House of the Dragon, is not doing this.

A significant amount of dialogue in this show takes way too long. Characters constantly use very overly formal, flowery, and fanciful language to say the simplest things even when they are alone in a room. Game of Thrones through all it's faults, knew how to cut to the chase and get the characters to just say what they are meant to say without trying so hard to sound fantasy like. But in HOTD, everyone talks like the writers are trying way too hard to make everyone sound like their from a different time when in reality it just bogs the show down and makes it boring.

A lot of good actors on this show fall flat because they have to force through awkward dialogue that normal people just don't sound like when they speak. Whenever Rhaenyra and Leanor discuss their marriage, it is so painfully unnatural. They are alone in the room, and neither of them ever just say what they mean.

When we saw this exact dynamic. As soon as Renly let the veil slip that he is struggling to go through with having sex with Margaery, she drops the act entirely and just cuts to the chase saying, "There's no need for us to play games." They are a bit more formal in the way they say things, but they still talk like real people. Rhaenyra and Leanor never had a single discussion that wasn't overly flowery as both characters talked around an issue we already understood. Laenor is gay and its putting a strain both on his personal mental health and their marriage as a whole. But neither of them ever get to the POINT without taking way too long to say the most basic of things.

Watch back to back scenes from both shows, and you will see that House of the Dragon completely fails to immerse you in it's dialogue beacuse it is trying so hard. Take the scene where Jace returns home after meeting with the Freys. Rhaenyra knows Jace is troubled about not being allowed to participate in the war, and this is the initial start of that discussion.

Rhaenyra: "You chafed at being prevented from action. Imagine my lot. I'm a dragonrider as well, with a war being fought over my ascension. And yet, I must wait here. Always prudent, sending others to fight and be felled in my name." Jace: "You are the queen. The tie that binds us. No harm can come to you." Rhaenyra: "And you are my son and I did not give you leave to go."

If I showed you that out of context, would you be able to tell me this is a mother and son disagreeing over their separate wants and choices during a war? No. It's full of words no one in Game of Thrones used in normal conversation. This is not how even highborns in this series talked to each other, this is writing dialogue in a way that is trying to sound like it is from a more medieval fantasy instead of just what real people sound like.

Neither actor delivering these lines sounds natural, neither can really portray the degree of frustration brewing between them when its being forced through this kind of bad writing.

Now take the same idea from Game of Thrones in a scene where Robb and Catelyn are in an argument over Robb's trust in Theon and Catelyns perceived frustration that Robb isn't putting priority on his sisters safety.

Robb: "Now I'm the one rebelling against the throne. Before me, it was father. You married one rebel and mothered another." Catelyn: "I mothered more than just rebels, a fact you seem to have forgotten." Robb: "If I trade the Kingslayer for two girls, my bannermen will string me up by my feet." Catelyn: "You want to leave Sansa in the Queen's hands? And Arya, I haven't heard a word about Arya. What are we fighting for if not for them?" Robb: "It's more complicated than that! You know it is."

Both use more formal language, but it's in how their sentence is structured rather then the words themselves. They're alone and they're both frustrated and they have absolutely no reason to mince words, they say exactly what they mean. By cleaning up the dialogue here to be more straight forward and simple, it allowed the actors to really shine. You truly feel Catelyns frustration stemming from her helplessness, and you feel Robbs understanding being overpowered by such a frustration that she won't understand his side. By the time Robb raises his voice and shouts at her, we don't take it as out of line because both of them have said exactly what they mean and the audience doesn't need Robb to apologize to know he didn't mean to yell and neither does Catelyn.

Not even the lowborn characters are saved from this in House of the Dragon. Theres a scene in Game of Thrones when Arya, Lommy, Hotpie, and Gendry are arguing by a stream about battle's and armour and they are all quick, talk over each other and it's very punchy and the flow is part of what makes it hilarious. Ser Davos is blunt and speaks with a very quick cadence to emphasize he was never taught to speak formally and thus feels comfortable saying exactly whats on his mind.

Most of the lowborns in House of the Dragon though, have very little differentiation from their highborn counterparts in the way their dialogue is structured. Some of the only differences is literally just, characters like Ulf have a lowborn accent, but that accent delivers the same kind of drawn out, overly formal dialogue that isn't present in Game of Thrones lowborns. It's very easy to distinguish who was raised how in the simple manner which they speak.

Highborns talk slower and more clearly and their sentences are structured a bit better, and lowborns normally talk faster with less refined accents and normally have no real issue saying whats on their mind because they are used to being surrounded by other people who don't care about being formal.

It might not be obvious, but the dialogue is a big reason why people struggle to connect to these characters far more then they did Game of Thrones. The dialogue is clunky, there is no distinction made as to why certain people talk this way or why it seems everyone around them speaks in the same manner when they have no reason to.

There's so much more to get through, to understand what these people are saying, thinking, and feeling because the dialogue works against them. The best acting is done, when the characters are silently reacting to each other because there's no fighting against bad writing to portray exactly what they need to.

Again, there are multiple comparative scenes that you could watch back to back and see this problem play out in real time. Scenes discussing similar issues or portraying similar emotions but House of the Dragon never reaches that emotional peak that connects it's audience to these characters as relatable, because we pick up on the fact that they don't talk like humans. They talk like they are performing a school play, not as if they are speaking like real people just talking to each other.

Try it yourself, the examples I used earlier. Say each set of lines out loud and deliver it with as much emotion as possible. Because I am willing to bet that the Game of Thrones dialogue will be a lot easier to say, and thus a lot easier to deliver with a real emotion.

There's no excuse. Game of Thrones took good book dialogue, and cleaned it up so it had a smooth transition into good show dialogue. House of the Dragon has the freedom to write most of it's own original dialogue since Fire and Blood is written as a historical record and not a pov narrative. There is no transition to make lines from the book that in full may sound clunky and unnatural out loud, into something clean and to the point that makes it easy for the actors to work with the dialogue instead of against it.

But House of the Dragon fails in inventing it's own dialogue, because at every turn it is trying way too hard to sound like the books instead of the show.

Trust me, you wonder why you can't connect, relate or really care about a lot of these characters? I'm willing to bet that the poor writing is doing a lot of heavy lifting for that.

If the characters don't even talk like humans, our brains are more likely to tune out, because it all sounds like actors reading a script, not characters speaking to each other realistically.

Real people talk like the characters in Game of Thrones. No one talks like the characters in House of the Dragon.

And that is a massive problem.

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— his colours —

Warnings: angst, fluff, sad!bucky, liquor consumption

Summary: Bucky might be too late to tell you how he feels.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: ~5.2k

A/N: An idea that popped up in my head and finally broke through the struggle I've been having while writing. Enjoy and feast upon this! Also add yourself to the taglist(s) >here<

Steve narrowed his eyes at the brooding figure in front of the mirror, trying to figure out what exactly was itching in his brain. 

Bucky had always been a charmer, and a damn good one at that. From when he first met Steve’s mother, Sarah, sporting a few bruises and a busted lip, to when he was getting drafted in the war. 

Sarah was a kind woman, but that didn’t mean she trusted easily. With Steve’s father and a few relatives that turned away in their time of need, Sarah fell apart with her own friends and family. Her trust dwindled and started to dim until Steve showed up with Bucky in tow after school. She was weary at first, perhaps thinking that Bucky was no good news, but as the days progressed along with their friendship, she started viewing him as a son. He was around every few days for dinner, bringing a few things that he passed along as extra food the maid had conveniently accidentally brought with her. 

It didn’t take too long for Sarah to put two and two together, but she never said anything to him. Never scolded him for bringing food to their dinner. She knew he did it out of love, not pity or sympathy. He loved Steve as a brother and looked up at Sarah with a boyish grin that made it impossible for her to be mad. 

Steve watched Bucky now, remembering the days when Bucky would simply grab any shirt and pants to wear, grinning as he told Steve about this new dame that had moved into town. He was confident and struck with features that had any woman falling into his arms with just one lopsided smile. A few more grins and some dances later, the woman would offer to leave. Sometimes Bucky would agree with dimples, other times he would politely refuse and say he wanted to do things right. 

Bucky lacked that confidence now, Steve realised, eyebrows rising slightly on his face. It wasn’t evident at first glance. Bucky was steady and graceful, not once faltering in his movements as he knotted his tie. Nor as he shrugged on his blazer. It was when his eyes would flicker over the mirror in front of him. It was obvious when his hand brushed over a spot on his shoulder a few times and fixed his tie to sit straight. Even more so when he fixed the collar of his shirt and then his blazer, only to find his hair sitting slightly off and fixing that instead. 

“You’re nervous,” Steve breathed out, breaking the comfortable silence that they had been in for a few minutes. Bucky paused his actions for a second before seemingly deciding to ignore his comment. Steve watched him pull his shirt sleeves under his blazer, jaw ticking when he caught Steve’s eyes through the mirror. 

“I’m not,” he said simply, as if that ended the conversation. Steve was curious though. Never in his life had he seen Bucky nervous for a social gathering, much less a party that Tony was throwing. After the whole debacle in DC, Bucky had recovered well and fast, thanks to T’Challa’s favour and Shuri’s brains. His memories were hazy at times and he had nightmares—sometimes he had to be restrained by Steve—but that was four years ago. 

Over the past two years, Bucky was able to sleep throughout the night at least four nights in a week. Those night terrors had decreased to about five in the past year or so and his memories had been recovered. He remembered the diner that had been down the block from Steve’s house, the smell of his mother’s cinnamon buns, and the wretched taste of mud and blood in his mouth during the war. His social etiquette returned and Tony started inviting him to parties that Bucky had no problem attending. He was more than happy to indulge women and men in his charms once again. 

“Yes, you are,” Steve deadpanned, sitting up straighter when Bucky shook his head and sighed. His hands came down from his tie that he was adjusting again. He looked at Steve through the mirror before turning around to face him and dropped the hand that had come up to check his hair. 

“What makes you think that?” Bucky asked instead. Steve knew he was deflecting the question, but gave in and nodded at his form. 

“That.” Steve nodded at him again. Bucky frowned and looked down at his clothes, arms going up at his sides. Just as Bucky was about to speak again, Steve cut in. “You’ve been looking at yourself over and over again.” Steve watched Bucky carefully before realization dawned on him. 

“You’re nervous ‘cause she’s going to be there,” he voiced out in a breathless manner. Steve hadn’t even thought of that and he inwardly cursed at himself for not seeing it sooner. Of course, the reason Bucky was nervous was because of the one person who seemed to be able to throw Bucky off his charms. 

Bucky opened his mouth to retaliate, but stopped short when Steve raised an eyebrow at him in challenge. He closed his mouth and averted his eyes as if his eyes would give away the feeling that was smothering him slowly. He licked his lips, turning his attention to a lint that had stuck onto his pants. His hands were sweaty, but he kept them steady as he picked at the lint and smoothed out the wrinkle at his chest. His nerves were acting up today, for this party, simply because you were coming back from Greece. 

“She hasn’t been here in two years,” Bucky finally said, sighing as he brought his eyes back up to meet Steve’s gentle gaze. His shoulders fell with an exhale, trying to calm his thudding heart and roaring ears. “She hasn’t seen me since—since I was still recovering.” When Steve’s eyebrows furrowed, Bucky knew he didn’t understand what he meant. 

“But you guys kept in contact the entire time,” Steve mumbled, grabbing his shoes to put them on and keeping his head down. It gave Bucky a chance to turn around without the annoying glare Steve would send his way for trying to cut the conversation off. 

Bucky did keep in contact with you when he could. He had texted you everyday for the first three months and sent daily reminders to eat because he knew you would forget while working. The texts had abruptly stopped from his end when he was called away on a SHIELD stealth mission. That meant he had called you the second he was able to, throwing off his shoes and tossing his duffel bag away, he called you. You didn’t pick up. He called again and again, but then registered that you were probably asleep. 

He went through your texts, ranging from the top ones of concern to the bottom ones of realization to the last few that varied from your daily tasks. His heart had never felt heavier. The suffocating feeling lingered on his shoulders as he forced himself to lay down. He just couldn’t let go of his phone or turn his head off. He kept his phone on his chest, hair dampening the pillow as he laid awake staring at the ceiling. He kept wishing you called back, but you didn’t. He texted you in the morning with heavy eyes, drooping shut every now and then. 

You responded and he started texting like usual, only this time it was rare for you to reply in the same day. His social battery lowered and he usually found himself in the corner with a drink or leaving early with a quick excuse. He never asked why the texts had been reduced. He was too scared of getting an answer his heart couldn’t handle. His heart already ached with each passing day you two spent apart, not knowing how you were doing. He wouldn’t be able to text you if you told him that you had met someone and were busy with them. 

He was a coward. A coward for not telling how he felt when you left. 

You were the only one that didn’t tip-toe around him and treat him like he was made of porcelain. You were gentle, but that didn’t stop you from telling him exactly what you thought. You respected his boundaries that had been set quietly. You didn’t touch him before telling him and asking if it was okay, but you also told him that he should get used to people not asking before touching as well. You kept your distance from his left side if you two walked together, knowing very well he still wasn’t over the murder and torture it had executed.

It was easy to fall for you. You made it so easy for him to stumble, trip, and fall in. 

“Buck?” Steve’s voice was tinged with concern and worry, a small crack seeping through the vowel. Bucky’s eyes flickered up, hands unconsciously sliding down his front to smoothen out his shirt again. 

Bucky swallowed. “Yeah, we did.” His throat burned with the white lie. You two had stopped texting each other three weeks ago with a simple ‘goodnight’ from the both of you. 

Steve stood up, his light blue blazer and pants with the white shirt made the green flecks in his eyes pop and the blue seem darker. Steve looked over at him once, eyebrows furrowing in deep thought as his eyes swiped over his outfit. From the black loafers to the midnight blue pants to the matching blazer and black shirt to the silver tie he had worn. In a few seconds, Bucky watched Steve’s confused face morph into one of amusement. 

“You wore her colours,” he declared with an annoyingly smug grin. He fixed his cuffs as he stared at Bucky who cleared his throat at the accusation. 

Bucky felt his cheeks warm with the obvious choice. It was unintentional at first, picking out the silver tie and blue blazer, but Bucky had realized soon enough that they were your signature colours. He was looking for your colours when he shopped. He had stopped and picked out a few blazers in different styles and some with patterns, but they had all been a dark blue colour. His ties at the last few events had some incoherent swirls of silver. His hair had been swept to the side since you had complimented it styles like that. 

Bucky ignored Steve’s expression and gruffed out, “We should go.” Steve somehow agreed and started for the door, but stopped short with his hand on the knob. 

“You should tell her how you feel tonight,” Steve said gently before twisting the knob and stepping into the hallway. Bucky could hear the loud metal music blasting through the Compound then, his door wide open as Steve made his way down the hall towards what Tony liked to call the party room. Bucky swallowed thickly, the burning feeling back in his throat, and followed Steve down the hall. 

Steve stopped in front of the doors with a wicked grin. “Thor brought his Asgardian liquor,” he told him, emitting an easy grin from Bucky. That was a good thing, Bucky thought. If he had to face you tonight, talk to you maybe, he wouldn’t be able to do it sober. 

Steve pushed open the doors and spread out his arms to announce his arrival. Bucky rolled his eyes and pushed past him, straight to the bar where Natasha was standing with Clint while Thor made drinks. With the heavy music now over, a pop song that he had heard once or twice before playing, he could hear the clinks of glasses and chatters humming in the air. The dance floor was bustling with SHIELD agents that had been invited as per Tony’s request. He didn’t know all of them, but he could recognise a few as he walked by. 

“Ah, Bucky!” Clint greeted, patting him on the back and drawing him nearer. His hand was wrapped around a bottle of vodka that Bucky was sure was Natasha’s favourite. It was the strongest stuff in the bar—other than the Asgardian liquor, of course. “Settle a debate for us, will ya?” Bucky inwardly grimaced at the smell of vodka on his breath and slightly pulled back. 

“What’s it?” Bucky asked, looking between the three of them with a grin. He leaned against the bar island just as Thor came over with Asgardian liquor. He dropped a small pail of ice near him and nodded at it. Bucky nodded back his thanks. 

“How long that guy’ll last here,” Clint said with a loopy grin. He took a swing out of the bottle, looking over at Natasha with a wag of his eyebrows. “I say two weeks before he runs.” Bucky took a sip of his drink, eyebrows furrowing and eyes darting to Natasha for answers. Clint was clearly teetering on the brink of tipsy and drunk, slurring his words together. Natasha was perched on the stool with a sober expression on her face while her eyes were fixed on Bucky. 

“Wait,” Bucky breathed out with a light chuckle, “who are we talkin’ about?” He pushed off the island and looked at Natasha expectantly. The pop music had turned into slow, smooth jazz-type of music that was almost sensual. Natasha leaned forward, towards Bucky as if she was going to share a secret. To his surprise and confusion, Natasha’s eyes softened with something close to pity. 

“Y/N’s boyfriend, Sohan,” she whispered, her emerald eyes flickering towards the dance floor. 

Bucky’s eyes followed her eyesight, painfully slowly, to the dance floor where you danced with Sohan. He was a dark-haired and dark-eyed man with lightly tanned skin. The blood rushed to his ears, heart thudding violently in his ears as he watched Sohan lean in towards you. He looked away before your lips made contact. He felt as if someone had dumped that pail of ice down his back. A shiver licked up his spine and he downed his drink, eyes and throat burning with the harsh liquor. 

“So, what d’you think, Buckaroo?” Clint asked and leaned forward to lay on the island, oblivious to the feelings coursing through Bucky. 

Bucky slammed his glass down loudly enough to grab Thor’s attention. “Get me the whole bottle, please,” he gritted out angrily. Thor looked uncomfortable with the glance Natasha sent him, but he gave over one of the few bottles he had brought with the scowl setting onto Bucky’s face.

 Bucky swiped the bottle off the table and popped open the cork. He put it to his mouth and looked over his shoulder to see you speaking into Sohan’s ear. His eyes quickly drank you in. The black dress you wore had a corset that clung to your torso and accentuated your curves. The tulle flared out slightly and the fabric underneath it was decorated with delicate gold accents. 

They were his colours. 

He spun around and chugged faster, ignoring the look Thor was giving Natasha. 

“Two hours,” Bucky muttered out and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His throat felt like it was on fire. Somewhere, in the more logical side of his brain, he knew he shouldn’t drink so fast. Thor’s eyebrows pinched in concern when he saw the half empty bottle. 

“Bucky, I think that—” Thor cut himself off at the withering glare Bucky sent his way. Before Bucky had a chance to feel guilty about his behaviour, Thor turned away with a small smile to attend to another attendee. 

Bucky bitterly reminded himself that he had no reason to be angry at anyone, but himself. The slow songs changed into heavy rock again, Tony’s enthusiastic voice echoing amongst the drums and guitars. He brought up his hand to run it through his hair, shaking with emotions he couldn’t place. It wasn’t pure anger or jealousy. Heartbreak perhaps. He took another large gulp and felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder. 

He looked over, a scowl on his face and intentions to tell the person to fuck off, but the words died on his lips when he saw your face. 

Your lips were painted a deep red and stretched out into a gentle smile. Your hair tumbled down in soft curls that made him want to hide his face in it. A smither of glitter on your nose and peaks of your cheekbones highlight your face, contrasting it from the smokey eyeshadow and black eyeliner coating your eyes. He hadn’t noticed the sheer fabric that covered your stomach, showing off skin when the light hit it just right.The urge to spin you around, kiss your cheeks, lips, neck, was strong. He held back. 

He could tell you put effort into your makeup so he grinned through his heartbreak and said, “Don’t you look like something outta a fairytale?” He wasn’t sure if you would fall into the category of pretty princesses or of attractive villains. His thoughts were muddled, even more so with the liquor starting to take effect. He would regret drinking so much in the morning. If he made it through the night, at least. 

“Thank you, Buck,” you said with a grin. He couldn’t just call it a grin though, not when it set every fiber of his body on fire. His head spun when you let your eyes glide over his body through hooded lids. “You look handsome, too.” 

Your fingers delicately pressed into his shoulder before sliding towards his neck to adjust his collar and then his ties. He could feel your hand burn through his shirt, branding his skin with your print, resting it just over his heart. He could have sworn he felt an electric shock course through his veins when you patted his chest. When you grinned, the teasing one that you sent him during boring meetings, he felt his shoulders relax from their tense state. He grinned back automatically, forgetting about his breaking heart and the man you were here with when you were looking at him just like you looked at him before. 

“How are you?” You asked, pulling away and waving to Thor. You acted as if nothing was wrong. As if he was the only one who felt the heat of tension and urges of desire, laced with sweetness. He still tasted the bitter remnants of the Asgardian liquor on his tongue, hoping you wouldn’t be able to smell it. 

“Good,” he replied simply. There was no need to tell you how much he had changed. You didn’t need to know that his sleep was nonexistent when you didn’t text back. His attitude, his recovery, his emotions that had grown, those were all hidden on the tip of his lying tongue. He was not okay, but you didn’t need to know that. 

“I’m glad, Bucky.” Your hand landed on his forearm to squeeze it lightly. Thor placed two drinks in front of you with a wink, glasses clinking on the marble as he slid them towards you. You smiled at him, a little dimmer than the one you sent Bucky right after. “Wanna meet Sohan? He’s really sweet.” 

He wanted to say no. “Sure, darlin’.” There was no way he could say no to you when you looked so endearingly adorable. Lips pulling wider a bit and eyes lighting up with relief, you looked around the crowd. You gestured to Sohan to come over when you saw him. He excused himself from Tony and sauntered over to you with a grin Bucky knew meant he was cocky. 

Bucky’s gut dropped. 

“Hey, princess,” Sohan started and patted your lower back in greeting. He nodded his head at Bucky with a slightly smaller smile, one that held a linger of smirk. “You must be the famous Bucky Barnes.” He extended a hand towards him. 

Bucky refrained from cringing and gripped his hand. It was a little tighter than he usually would have held someone’s hand, but he was sure it wouldn’t hurt. He didn’t notice that it was his metal hand until Sohan’s eyes widened. 

“Fuck!” Sohan whipped his hand back with a howl, holding it to his chest. You were by his side immediately, hands on his bicep and face, gently prying his hand away from his chest to inspect it. No marks or bruises appeared, no broken bones were heard cracked. Yet your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, seeking out any hurting places with the tips of your finger pressing in. 

Bucky watched with a stoic face, knowing that he hadn’t pressed in too hard. It was for show. He could see the way Sohan’s eyes quickly darted over you in admiration, brown eyes twinkling. He could feel Natasha’s eyes on him and, out of the corner of his eye, saw her exchange a glance with Thor. Steve had appeared sometime before for a drink, now standing beside Bucky with his chest puffed out and ready to defend, no doubt. Once you were done checking his hand, you pulled away with a small smile on your lips, looking at Bucky. 

“He’s all good,” you said simply, grabbing your drink and taking a sip. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat, tongue darting out to lick his dry lips. His hand gripped the neck of his bottle a little tighter when Sohan opened his mouth. 

“Could be more careful with that death trap,” he muttered bitterly, sending a glance over Bucky’s shoulder and looking at Steve once. Bucky scowled at Sohan. Before Steve or Natasha could say anything to defend Bucky, you turned to Sohan with a glare. 

“Say anything to him and you’re done interning for me,” you bit out through gritted teeth. Bucky’s eyes flickered to you in surprise. 

Interning. He was a fucking intern. Not your goddamn boyfriend. 

He slammed his bottle once on the counter and turned to Natasha with a newly found emotion of betrayal and anger, ignoring the other four pairs of eyes on him. Those glances she gave Thor when he heard her tell Bucky that Sohan was your boyfriend suddenly made sense. It clicked in his head that it was her plan. Natasha fucking Romanoff wanted him to feel his heart break. He didn’t know why just yet, but he was going to find out sooner or later. Whether it be a calm conversation on comfortable sofas or a quick spar on the mat to beat it out of her—she never took the easy way out anyway. 

Your hand wrapped around his hand on the bottle, gently pulling his fingers off of its neck and intertwining your hands together. Your other hand came to cup his chin, tenderly pressing your palm into his cheek and forcing him to face you. When he didn’t budge, glowering at Natasha with a murderous fire in his eyes, he felt your body heat envelop him in its embrace. Your lips brushed over his earlobe, a shudder running through his body at the contact and a shaky exhale making its escape from his lips. 

“Let’s go to our spot, yeah?” You whispered into his ear. Your breath was hot and cool at the same time. He absentmindedly nodded and let your hand guide him out of his chair and out of the room, leaving behind a gaping Sohan. He would beat the reasons out of Natasha tomorrow or the day after, depending on what happens with you. 

You reached the doors to the balcony and pushed them open to be hit with the cool night air, the smell of summer in the air. You sighed lovingly and dragged him along to the edge of it, looking over the trees and the landscape of the city in the distance. The crescent moon and stars twinkled overhead, disappearing the closer they got to the city lighting. He watched you close your eyes and breath in the scent of leaves and plants before looking over at him with a raised eyebrow. 

He shook his head and muttered out, “Nothing.” Your face pinched in pain at his response. You let go of his hand and gripped the railing, turning your face away from him. He felt a stab under his rib. “Y/N?” He placed his hand—his metal hand—over yours, inflicting a mild squeeze in hopes of providing some solace. He wasn’t ready for you to turn back to him with unshed tears in your eyes. Another stab-like feeling ensued in his chest.

“Who is she?” You raised a hand to wipe your tears away, carefully so you didn’t smudge eyeliner and mascara, before they fell. You averted your eyes once again, looking down below at the parking lot. His blazer crinkled and his loafers skid as he turned to lean his side on the railing. He tilted his head down, placing his warm hand under your chin and tipped your head back slightly so that he could meet your gaze. 

Eyebrows furrowing, he asked, “What?” He had had half a bottle of Asgardian liquor in under five minutes and he was starting to feel it start to hit him, but he was sure it hadn’t muddled his mind that much. Not to the point where he forgot someone. 

“The woman you’re in love with,” you mumbled out slowly. Bucky blinked once and then again, eyebrows now furrowing further in together. His lips curled down in a frown, hands coming down and seizing yours. You shifted to mimic his position, letting him lace your fingers together. 

“Come again?” His voice was low and rough, more puzzle pieces joining together the more he racked his gears. He stepped closer to you, the skirt of your dress brushing his pants. His hands itched to touch your waist, your hips, and feel your skin through the opaque fabric covering you. He wanted to pull you close, wrap his arms around you, kiss your neck, but he could control those urges right now. 

“Natasha said you were in love with someone,” you mumbled, eyes dropping to his tie. Of course, Natasha was involved somehow. “Steve said you had been for a while when I asked him.” Bucky wanted to groan in frustration. Steve probably told you that because he had been in love with you for years now. A long while. Bucky had loved you for a long time, but never had he had the courage to say it out loud. 

You slid your hands out of his grasp and fixed his tie. He gave in to one of his urges and placed his hands on your hips, being respectful of where his hands were placed. He didn’t want to read this wrong. Your tears and the questions you asked, even the way you ghosted him three weeks ago, made sense. His senses were working well enough for him to know what you were feeling. He felt his lips tug into a smirk, a little mischief seeking through his demeanor and into the sober moment you two were having. 

“I do love her,” he whispered and gripped your hips a bit tighter each time he spoke. “I’ve loved her for a while. A long time. Ever since I met her. She’s so incredible and kind and gentle, but she doesn’t take any shit from me.” 

He thought back to the few times you broke the news of his past, affirming that those things weren't and were never going to be his fault. He took a step closer to you, loafers disappearing into your tulle skirt. Your heels bumped his shoes, breath hitching at the closing proximity. One of his hands slipped behind to your lower back, index finger drawing slow and deliberate swirls on you. Your hands shook as you raised them to his face, thumb caressing his cheekbones and fingers lightly tracing his jaw. 

“She’ll tell me it exactly how it is and she knows exactly what I need. She’s funny and her laugh makes me want to keep making her laugh.”

His eyes darted down to your lips, remembering the giggles that had left your lips for every sarcastic comment he had passed during any boring meetings. How he had mourned the loss of your laughter when you had left for Greece. His tongue licked his lips as he watched your lips curl upwards. He raised his eyes to meet your teary gaze. This time he knew it was a good thing. His heart soared into his throat. 

“She loves my friends like her family, she saves people with her talents, and she cares for me.” His hands cupped your face and he leaned down closer to you. “Her name is Y/N and I love her with every breath I take.” 

“You do?” You choked out, an airy chuckle escaping your lips. 

Bucky nodded and whispered, “Yeah, I love you, Y/N. I love you, darlin’, so much.” His lips landed on your forehead, mumbling promises and some more declarations of love against your skin. 

You pulled away from him, eyes twinkling with tears and happiness. “I love you, too, Bucky.” Bucky’s shoulders fell with his next deep exhale, thumbs swiping over your cheeks and tucking a stray hair behind your ear. He saw your eyes flicker down to his lips twice and he absentmindedly ran his thumb along your bottom lip. 

“You’re drunk,” you managed to whisper against the pad of his thumb. He pulled back a little, letting go of your face and placing his hands on your hips. He knew you weren’t rejecting him—just conscious of the fact that he had had a bottle in his hand, halfway empty. He spun you two around a bit to have your back against the railing. 

“Doesn’t matter. ‘A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts’,” he mumbled, shrugging. He let go of your hips. He was giving you a way out of this if you wanted it, taking half a step back. You took a second to think about it. 

He was about to tell you that it was okay if you wanted to go back in and talk about this tomorrow—after he beat Natasha in a spar—when you moved. Your hands brought his head down and your lips connected with his. He groaned at the contact, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you close and leave no inch of space between your bodies. He heard the little noises you let out, moaning and whimpering into the kiss. Those little sounds of his made his head spin and his body heat with desire. He picked you up, arms wrapped just under your ass. Tilting back and stepping backwards, his back hit the wall near the door. 

Only then did you two pull away, chests heaving and breaths mingling together. 

“You wore my colours,” you breathed out. 

“You wore mine,” he said huskily, two fingers tracing the ribbons that tied your corset together.

———

Taglist: @pinkposttragedy @gen-genevieve

[whumblr]

Hey! I just wanted to say that I absolutely love Home is Where the Hurt Is, I've been rereading it over and over again for literal days, it's great. You're a really good writer! I was wondering if you would be willing to do a drabble with restraints for Jay? Idk i just think that Zayne would have fun with that. feel free to ignore this, ofc, if you don't want to do it no pressure.

“Whoawhoa, wait! Wait!”

But already spinning in midair with the wall approaching at breakneck speed, there wasn’t much to wait for. Besides the unavoidable crash right into said wall. Which he managed to break, just about, catching himself with his free hand. He grunted at the collide, dazed for a second, time that Zayne used well by snatching up his other wrist and twisted it to his back.

“How about a something like this?”

Zayne pressed further up against him, pinning him to the wall with his body. He clamped both Jay’s wrists together in one hand, keeping them firmly to the small of his back. With his free hand, he pulled something from his pocket. Jay immediately snapped from his daze.

“Oh, no! No, no, no, absolutely not!”

Zayne wiggled the long piece of plastic around. A zip-tie. “Absolutely, yes.”

Jay struggled with all his might, pulling one hand free from Zayne’s grasp, only to be caught again and renew his struggles to break free. A dance they continued for a bit until Zayne leaned his full body weight against him and forced one wrist up to his shoulder blades.

“Then I take you want me to rip your arm from its socket. Only a little more slowly,” he said, actions following his words, slowly forcing Jay’s wrist further up in-between his shoulder blades, relishing the bitten off cry. “Twisting it until it finally grinds free and—"

“NO!”

“You give such mixed signals, you know.”

The sharp pain in his shoulder subsided and Jay mentally called himself – and Zayne – all the worst names he could think of as he voluntarily, under threat, pressed his wrists together.

A zipping sound crinkled the air, filled his stomach with dread before he even felt the plastic pull his wrists together, biting into the skin. He yelped out an indignant sound.

Zayne grabbed him by the collar, yanked him back and with a simple tap to the back of his ankles pulled him right over.

Jay flailed—or well, didn’t. His intended wild swing of both arms was restricted, the force absorbed by the plastic around his wrists. Unable to break his fall, and not wanting to land on both arms, he twisted best as he could and landed with a grunt on his shoulder, the shoulder that he was glad still remained in its socket but shifted precariously against the sudden impact.

The plastic hadn’t given at all at the sudden yank, but his skin had. He hissed at the sudden pain.

“Take it off!” He tried not to struggle, knowing it would only make things worse but the discomfort made him automatically twist his wrists. “It's— Agh!— It’s too tight!”

“I might consider it if your fingers are turning purple.”

But by then it would be too late… Though Jay didn't say as much. Because the immediate future – Zayne now unfolding his knife – demanded much more attention than the near future.

Fearful eyes met cold eyes looking down on him.

He scooted a few inches back in retreat, feet scrambling, shoulder sliding over the floor, pushing himself away and keeping his eyes on the threat. He was vulnerable as fuck, barely able to move. All he could do was buck like a fish on dry. And even those small movements caused nothing but pain. His arms were screaming in protest, straining as his own body weight pressed them down.

His hand already started to feel numb, the added pressure sending a tingling sensation to his pinky finger. Like bubbles creeping up over his hand, coating every finger one by one until his whole hand was pins and needles.

But as he struggled for a form of relief, a single heavy footstep made him go still.

Zayne stepped towards him, raised one leg, and Jay could do nothing but watch as he slowly rested a boot heavily against his shoulder. He ignored the soft pleaded ‘no…’ and forced Jay over onto his back.

Jay winced hard, both arms crushed under his own weight, tendons straining, hips pressing his wrists painfully against the floor. Every pointy bit of bone protruding grinded hard against the floor, wrist bones, elbows, shoulder blades…

Zayne smiled down on him, slowly forcing more of his weight down, leaning forward, taking in every wince, every struggle. Watched as Jay’s hips bucked up, how his face twisted in pain. And only when a soft cry of pain scraped out of his throat, he let up.

For merely a second. The boot retreated, but was replaced by Zayne’s full weight as he settled over Jay, straddling his waist. He pulled him up by the front of his shirt. Almost an relief, as the pressure lifted from his arms. But now the knife teased into his line of vision, moving down his jaw line, making him go still as the tip scratched over the vulnerable skin of his throat.

He knew that even with his arms free he still couldn’t do a damn thing to make Zayne stop. But struggling or at least being able to put a hand on Zayne’s shoulder to give the illusion he was holding him at bay was better than absolutely nothing at all.

“Don’t,” he settled on, voice his only defense as he hung limp in Zayne’s grasp.

“I quite like this,” Zayne said, voice soft. “Not having to catch flailing hands for a change, having both hands free for—” He dipped the blade under the neck of Jay’s shirt letting it rest just above his clavicle – “other things…”

“Don’t! AGh!” His head fell back, teeth clenched as Zayne excruciatingly slow let the tip sink into his skin and dragged it across the length of his clavicle. Blood tickled over the bone, dripping down his chest, staining his white t-shirt.

A soft chuckle. The blade retreated and just as sudden Zayne let go of him.

Jay hissed as he landed on his wrists again. He immediately rolled over before Zayne could stop him, with a groan of relief as the pressure lifted from his arms.

“I think my hands are about to fall off…”

Zayne stepped over him. “Oh, stop your whining. I’m sure it’s not that ba— oh shit.”

“What?”

“Damn, I’m sorry—I…”

“What?!” Jay nearly twisted his neck trying to look over his shoulder what got Zayne to fucking apologise.

“Here, let me just…” The cold of the knife touched against his skin and with a quick flick upwards, the plastic broke.

Jay’s hands shot back to his front. He twisted his hands back and forth. Going by the numb feeling and Zayne’s words, he expected purple fingertips, ready to either fall off or explode due to a lack of blood. He turned his hands up and down, left, right, back again, and wiggled his fingers. But besides the red circles around his wrists, everything was in working order. Nothing dying off.

Panicked eyes turned exasperated, and he shot a glance of rage up.

Zayne had pressed his lips together in a badly hidden smirk. “All fine.” He rustled in his pocket again and pulled out a handful of zip-ties. “Meaning we can safely try this again.”

-

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror

@susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime

@freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks

@hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion

@afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8

@itsmyworld98 @whumpifi @painless-and-colourful @withdrawingramen @lolrpop

[theamazingdigitalraceway]

THREE WAY

AN NSFW RACEWAY AU ONESHOT

@spyderlondon

WARNING: ⚠️ NSFW,MDNI⚠️ VERY OOC, no plot, no lore, 2 on 1, monster tongues, rough sex, double penetration, PinV, oral, anal, choking, bulging, cum overflow, overstimulation, masterbation, dry humping

~~~

A/N: THIS WAS SO HORNY FROM THE START, I HAD TO PUT THE WHOLE THING UNDER THE CUT! ENJOY!

Pomni squirmed against her hand between her legs. She rubbed her groin harshly through her tracksuit, desperate for some semblance of friction. No matter how hard she pulled, the zipper down the center of her suit didn't budge. "Come on..." She whimpered.

Restless energy rippled through her like a race rush that wouldn't wear off. Her breaths came hot and heavy, her legs squirming with need. She felt hot waves of buzzing static in the code of her avatar, like she was on the verge of glitching, but never going over.

She couldn't take it. She lifted her red gloved hand and snapped. Her tightly closed eyes opened when she felt her bed shift. She was no longer in her room in the garage, she wasn't even in her own bed anymore. She has been teleported to a grand masterbedroom of bold reds and golds.

Caine was sitting in a high back armchair, smoking his pipe by a fireplace. "Evening, my dear. I was wondering when you'd call. Today's excitement really has you wound up. I can feel it from here." He looks over to her, his eyes smoldering.

"Caine, please. Help me take care of this. I need you. I really...need you."

"Hm. Begging will get you everywhere with me." He chuckles. "But this seems...bigger than a one man job. Don't you agree?"

Pomni shuddered. "More than you..?"

"Oh yes, and I do believe he's just been dying to sink his fangs into you. It should be an entertaining watch." Caine snapped his fingers and the shadow he cast grew. The shadow molded and took shape from the floor, stepping towards Pomni with purpose.

Pomni dug her fingers into the sheets as the shadow's details came into focus. "Seth."

Seth spreads her knees with his own as he leans over her. His leather gloves hands brace on either side of her head. His piercing silver eyes look Pomni over hungrily as his double forked tongues glide along his teeth. "Such a delicious sight. The greatest racer, reduced to mewling for a good fuck."

"Are you here to dance or talk? Because I'm already bored." Pomni sassed.

Caine snorted, leaning against his hand in amusement. He loosened his tie and pulled it off. "My, my, someone's feeling bratty today. Seth, I don't think we should take that."

Seth gripped Pomni's neck and pulled her up to his face. "We won't. Be careful what you wish for, racer." With his words, wisps of shadow seeped out from under his clothes and wormed their way under Pomni's.

Pomni squirmed against Seth's tight hold on her neck. The shadows mingled inside her avatar, slithering like snakes under static skin. The sensations lit up her body with unique waves of pleasure. "What...what are you doing?" She barely squeaks out.

"Rendering." Caine stood up and his coat slid off his shoulders. He neatly laid it over the arm of his chair. "I've been busy. Trying to make everything a bit more...real. Haven't you found it strange that you're struggling to breathe when you don't need air?"

Seth pressed the fingers of his free hand between Pomni's legs. She jumped, he smirked at her reaction. "So sensitive. It won't take much to make you whimper."

In a flash of silver Pomni found herself straddling Seth's lap, her back against his chest, his hand still on her neck, the other still between her legs. Pomni held onto Seth's forearms, not struggling against his hold. She was actually grinding into Seth's lap, eager for more.

Caine held the zipper of Pomni's tracksuit. Gold energy lit up his hand. "And like magic..." He drags down the zipper, revealing a pale white female body hiding behind the colorful tracksuit.

Pomni felt warm and light headed. The code of her avatar felt like real skin. Small breasts perked, exposed to the cool room. She looked longingly at Caine.

"Ease back, Seth. Wouldn't want the poor thing to pass out before we've even started." Caine cupped Pomni's breasts. Thumbs grazing over her nipples.

Seth loosened his grip and Pomni gasped for air. She barely got a breath when Caine leaned down and shoved his tongue into her mouth. Caine's disembodied eyes watched with glee as Pomni welcomed him in greedily. Seth's tongues flow over Pomni's collar bones and slide inside her suit.

Pomni dry humped against Seth, the friction sends her spiraling. Hands exploring and groping, tongues tasting her inside and out. Then teeth. A sharp pierce on her shoulder makes her groan against Caine. Seth has dug one of his fangs into her.

Pomni shook with pleasure as an unexpected orgasm took over her body. The multitude of sensations left her reeling, but they did not stop. Caine was now pinching and licking at her chest. Seth was taking a turn at her mouth and kept rubbing her soaked pussy.

"I need that mouth to swallow more than my tongue." Seth growled. "Take her."

Caine snapped and positions changed. Pomni was on her hands and knees on the bed. Seth was on his knees in front of her. Caine behind her. Seth unzipped his pants to reveal a shadowed phallis. It wasn't quite realistic, more stiff tentacle in appearance. He dug his fingers in her hair and thrust his dick against her cheek, he chuckled when she recoiled slightly. "What's the matter? I thought you were here to play." His voice arrogant.

Caine snapped away Pomni's tracksuit, leaving her naked and exposed. He gripped her hips, grinding his clothed hard on against Pomni's wet thighs. "Be careful what you wish for." He echoed Seth.

"Just don't poke my eye out, jerk." Pomni hissed and dragged her tongue along Seth's shaft. She only got one more stroke in before Seth was pushing her lips down on his length. Pomni tried to bring up one of her hands to brace against Seth but it was held down to the bed by a wisp of shadow. All four of her limbs were held down.

Pomni sucked and swallowed Seth down her throat. Looking up, she caught his glowing eyes watching her intently. Caine was moving in tandem with her movements.

Caine released his own phallic appendage with a groan, his pants uncomfortably tight. He spread Pomni's ass cheeks, taking her all in. "So many options...eeny meeny miney this one." He drove himself into her vagina in one strong thrust.

Pomni jerked forward on Seth, a moan muffled in her throat. The rough treatment made her eyes roll back, Caine burying himself inside her and moving with Seth. As she was moved back and forth, tongues slid around her body. They teased and tasted her abdomen and chest.

Pomni lost herself in the torrent of pleasure. It was overwhelming, drowning her. She let Caine and Seth move her, being stretched at both ends.

It was Caine touching her clit that sent her over the edge again. She shuddered, tightening around Caine. His thrusts went out of sync, chasing his high after hers. Seth kept his movements smooth until he was spilling down her throat, the only tell he was cumming was a husky sigh.

Pomni swallowed load after load, as Caine pumped himself into her from the bottom. There was so much of it. It spilled down her thigh and neck. Her thin body lightly distending from the volume of cum.

Seth finally let Pomni breathe. She coughed and gasped, cum dripping from her lips. He eyed Caine holding himself to Pomni's hips. "You done yet? It's my turn to stuff that pussy."

"So impatient." Caine rolled his eyes and snapped. Positions changed again. Pomni straddled Seth laying on the bed. He wasted no time sliding his cum and spilt covered dick inside her leaking vagina.

Pomni had no energy to move. "Forget it..."

"Are you calling for a red flag?" Caine stopped to ask.

"No, I'm just not moving. I don't care what you two do."

"Very well." Caine pushed Pomni forward, exposing her tight asshole. He kneeled down and his flexible tentacle of a dick wiggled inside, slowly stretching her out.

Pomni gasped and gripped Seth. His strong, gloved hands grabbed her hips and moved her against him. She felt so full, it was an indescribable amount of pleasure mixed with pain. She felt dizzy with overstimulation.

Seth and Caine fucked her holes harder than before, sinfully taking Pomni for all she was worth. Pomni panted against Seth's shoulder, holding onto him for dear life. Seth's head floated away from his shoulders and chomped down on one of Pomni's ass cheeks, his eyes watching it all from 3rd person.

For the third time, Pomni orgasmed hard enough to make her shake. She cried out in pleasure at full volume now that nothing was in her mouth. Her lower abdomen distended a little further as Seth filled her.

Seth got off on Pomni's scream. He thrust up and added his own cum to the dripping cream pie that was Pomni. He eyes lulled out of focus midair, rejoining with his teeth before they fell.

Caine has too much gusto this round. He kept going, moving Pomni against Seth. Both Seth and Pomni moaned, going along for the ride. Seth shamelessly made out with Pomni, tasting himself on her tongue.

Caine roughly thrust his rut into Pomni, surely ruining her ability to walk or sit for days to come. He came with a loud groan, painting her inside with hot strings of cum. "Holy-..." He trailed off, shaking with overstimulation.

Caine and Seth slid out, cum leaking from both of Pomni's holes. Caine snapped, Pomni curled up against chest as he relaxed back on the bed.

Seth stood, stretching and zipping his pants. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall. "Not your worst idea, Caine."

"Heh, high praise, coming from you." Caine sighed and kissed the top of Pomni's head. "Did you have fun, dear?"

"Oh yeah...I'm going to need a double order from now on." Pomni hugged Caine's chest, burying her face into his shirt and sighing contently.

[esamastation]

hi!!! i just wanted to pop in after reading some of your AC fics (ones where desmond, ezio, and/or altaïr are at the forefront so in this case: i was born for this, terrible two, stone angel, gift of living well, impermanence, three fold, & earthly scene) and say that you're a brilliant writer. as someone who's trying to write longer, more impactful stories, it's admirable how you prioritize the plot and how romance is a sweet part of it. (this is part 1 of this message bc of the word count!)

you construct romance in an original, cathartic way that feels effortless. i just finished 'i was born with this' and the romance that forms between the characters feels so natural and unforced. another thing i love in your fics is that when desmond goes back in time, he always (unintentionally at first) makes an impact in furthering knowledge, inventions, etc centuries ahead of when they were supposed to happen. more importantly, desmond finds his well-deserved happy ending.

your fic ideas are also so creative and out of the box. i'm currently going through the games right now and desmond has been so so much shit (unwillingly) and he deserves some rest and happiness :,) another thing i love is how you always leave a hopeful ending that makes me ache to know what happens after!! you flesh out the characters so much over the span of + 100,000k words, tie things wonderfully at the end, and make me feel out breath (in a good way)

yeah, to sum that up, you're an amazing writer!! i also wanted to ask you some questions about writing. i aspire to write long fics, but i struggle with plotting out events =( i feel like i rush the events in how i want to get to the end where the characters are happy! do you have a writing process? do you plot out your stories or kind of go with the flow? do you have any tips on improving your writing? i totally get if you don't have any advice! have a great day!

-

Thank you for your nice comments, sorry it took so long to reply, I was feeling very antisocial. Anyway.

I do not have a writing process - I'm what they call a gardner writer, I take characters and I put them into situations and see how things develop and plot either happens or it doesn't. Maybe I have vague plans like "here's a scene I want to see in future" and "this is a result I want them to come to" and then try to write towards those goals, but they don't always pan out. It's all very chaotic and leads to lot of dropped fics, but it's how I enjoy writing. (It really helps having someone reading your stuff and poking at the plot holes though, I got a lot of fics that only got as far as they did because nimadge or someone else was there along for the ride.)

I dunno if there's anything other that just practice that can improve a person's writing. Some people recommend writing short stories and flash fiction, some people say your should write X amount of words every day. If all else fails there's thousands YouTube videos on subject.

Personally I'm a huge advocate of taking ideas from other people and putting your own spin into them. Derivate, rehash, put them in a blender, see what comes out. Like, don't copy Lord of the Rings word for word and publish it as your own work, that's bad - but maybe dwarf and elf going on adventures together is a idea that could go places. Fanfiction is all derivation upon pre-existing ideas.

Related, I whole heartedly endorse anyone who wants to take plots and ideas I've written and taking a crack at them with their own style. It's pretty much how I learned to write as wee bab on a typewriter, stealing from the books I enjoyed. And hell, if you don't have a style, try someone else's. One is my most popular fics started with me trying to emulate the style and cadence of narration of a completely unrelated TV series I was watching at the time. I don't think anyone even noticed.

Once you have enough practice under your belt, your style will develop on its own.

[lighthouseshepard]

i told myself i wasnt going to put this up anywhere but im continuously a sucker for domestic jarthur and. this is based off some of @izel-scribbles wonderful art!! honestly you should go check out everything theyve done overall! insanely talented and inspiring🫶

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

John's eyes remain focused on what lay in his lap: two warm palms clasped together fresh and alive. Out of everything else the sight of those ten fingers, long and far more capable than he could have anticipated, continued to trip him up the most. He'd developed the nervous habit quickly enough, intertwining those newly formed hands, fidgeting with the tips of his own fingers, but he couldn't say for sure where the gesture came from. Arthur's own aimless restlessness, possibly. It was difficult to tell. Holding your own hand felt much different than grasping the other of the body you once shared.

A lull of contemplative silence answers him. John clears his throat and tries anew, studying the backs of his knuckles.

"Arthur? You don't mind?"

Above him, a soft hum stirs the back of his head. The impression of touch ripples outward, a stone skipped across a lake he couldn't hope to see the other side of. Most sensations possessed a strange poignancy this way, he'd come to notice. They started off small and blossomed beneath his skin, infinitesimal points of light interconnecting in an unpredictable dance: the brush of an arm, the press of someone's lips, a wayward elbow. He still had yet to decide if it was all too overwhelming, or if he wanted to drown in it once the ripples ceased their stretching stir.

"Hmm?" Arthur answers. "Mind what, John?"

"This," he says, huffing. "What you're doing, you don't... it isn't too much trouble?"

Another hum. John knew enough by now to tell Arthur's mind was somewhere off in the near distance, wandering through thoughts he couldn't be privy to. For the moment, he was content to let him be. The feeling of trying to perceive every individual strand of his own hair was taking up enough of his focus already. 

"Trouble? No, it's no trouble at all. I volunteered, remember?"

"Yes, but," John presses, shifting. His legs were growing stiff against the firm surface of the kitchen chair. In the afternoon light all which surrounded them simmered in a gauzy haze of late summer heat, translucent and golden. His own skin glowed with it, deep brown and unmarked in the way Arthur's flesh was decidedly not. "It feels like you're..."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "What, John?"

"Struggling."

"I'm not- Jesus Christ," he says dryly. "I'm not struggling! It's just been a while since I've had to comb someone else's hair, alright? You and I both know I hardly managed my own well enough in the past few months."

John attempts to glance over his shoulder at the man standing behind him. He barely catches a glimpse of the familiar made strange now that he could view it from the opposite side - tousled auburn hair resplendent in the light, a brown eye filtered through with fragments of faint gold - before a gentle hand guides him with a tap to turn back around. 

"Moving won't make this any easier, you know."

Frowning, he dips his chin with a pout. "Sorry."

Those hands return, after some hesitation, to his hair. Fingers narrow and slender weave through locks like shadowed silk, once again trying to pull it all into a tie. A slow shiver travels down his spine at the whispered scrape of nails along his scalp, all at once another sensation to simultaneously wrangle with and be devoured by. Much of humanity's new nuances he would willingly let swallow him whole, he thinks absently, if it could grant him another second distended in time of Arthur lovingly slipping a strand of his hair over his palm.

Hair was a tricky thing, it turned out. Like clothing, like walking, like maneuvering through a world made miraculously tangible, he found the intricacies of it difficult to navigate. He'd only asked for help after snapping the second comb they'd bought in two, and even then no small amount of odd guilt hung low over his shoulders at the request.

"Okay," Arthur says after a minute. "You know what? I've made a decision."

"Oh?" His gaze flicks across the room to the window, lost as he so often was when they were in the kitchen, in the depth of the plum throated blooms filling the magnolia tree just outside. 

"Yes. I've decided I'm utterly hopeless at this."

The earnestness of his announcement catches John so off guard he can't do anything but laugh. His amusement rolls, a joyous and soft thunder rumbling through the air. Arthur's helpless chuckle accompanies him, sonorous and sweet. 

"It's not," he tries, biting his tongue, "it's not funny-"

"It's objectively funny," John drawls. His anxiety dissipates in a forceful sigh. "Perhaps you could... we could always cut it, I suppose, if that would make it easier."

"Absolutely not. I'll braid it, if anything. Yeah? I used to braid hers all the time, I'm sure I could do that, at least... That sound agreeable to you, darling?"

John turns in the chair to look behind him once again. This time, Arthur lets him. A sheepish smile curves his lips as he comes into view, the tie he'd been attempting to use held loosely. No irritation at having to deal with something John thought he rightfully should have been able to handle himself lingered in the lines of his face. Instead he saw only an unfathomable willingness, a love he wasn't certain he'd fully yet earned, the origins of which he'd likely spend the rest of his human life trying to uncover. 

"Yes," he says, faltering as his and Arthur's eyes meet. "That's-"

"John?" A single finger taps beneath his chin, coaxing his head up. "What is it?"

As abruptly as he shifted around, he focuses back towards the window. Arthur gingerly takes a handful of his hair once more, separating it into three sections. 

"John?"

"It's nothing," he mutters. "Forget it."

"Are you sure?" Arthur insists. "Do you not want your hair out of your face after all, or-"

"No, I do. It's... just never mind, Arthur."

"Alright." He gives a small shrug. 

John's eyes flutter briefly closed at the warmth of Arthur's lips brushed along the side of his jaw. These always hurt the most, the simple touches of his mouth. Against new skin they threatened to break him under the unfathomable lightness of some divine ache. He took every kiss, thoughtless or desperate, claiming or hungry, with renewed gratitude and a promise to himself he'd try to deserve it. 

"Just don't expect a bow at the end," Arthur mumbles teasingly. "And for the record, John," he adds in a softer tone, "I'd do this whenever you asked me to."

"Arthur-"

"Although, I think some blue silk would work here to hold this together."

John crosses his arms. "Absolutely not."

"I have that new necktie. If I use the bottom part of it-"

"Don't you dare. Arthur?" He glances to where Arthur had darted down the hall, his laughter bright. "Where are you going? Arthur? Arthur!"

[gemmahale]

Here's the thing. I'm in a red state, in a county that went red.

I knew that when I moved out here four years ago. (Yes, it was April 2020 and no, I do not recommend moving during a global pandemic.) I accepted that that would be part of it. I made my peace with it, and I do what I can to mitigate the effects.

I'm not scared for me (minus the bodily autonomy thing since my state now has a 12 week abortion ban, and the general fuckery of facists in power) because tbh, I'm white and cis-het passing.

I'm nonbinary and bisexual. Can't tell any of that unless I tell you, and I don't make it well well known. I use she/her at work, wear skirts and dresses, and respond to Mrs/Ms Gemma or Hale (actually folks use my legal first or last name 😉); though Dr. is preferred if I get the choice.

I fly under the radar as a quirky white woman. I'm relatively "protected."

In the wake of the election results rolling out, I'm apprehensive for:

Kallen, who is white-passing Cherokee and a disabled veteran. I've been party to how he's treated differently than I am - by the same checker at the store not more than 5 minutes apart. He moved out here after I established my career, so he had little to no input of where we moved to (other than "I want to be with you.")

My coworkers who already face harassment for being POC in the community (including foreign exchange students that come to do part of their PhD here because of the proximity to the university system). People have been chased out of their positions here due to the racism they've experienced.

My coworkers who would seek to have an abortion (I'm included in this myself).

The LGBTQ+ community here (remember - I'm not out out).

The immigrant and POC communities here

And folks beyond my immediate viscinity

A lot of the community operates on a "mind your shit" basis. But I have to look people in the eye with Trump 2024 caps on and answer their questions politely. I have to drive by trucks with religious bumper stickers and greet them and give them scientifically sound information.

I wanted to believe in a world that valued competency and skill; and then I remember: I was the only one that applied to this job in the boondocks, and we've struggled to get positions filled out here. And I know part of it is not because of the low cost of living or lack of proximity to major shopping centers/social options. 🙃

I'm poking around into what local groups I can get into and donate my time to. My job puts me in direct access with food security resources, so that's probably where I'll start. Perhaps tie into the LGBTQ community because I know there's an active group out here. (I want to get more involved in the community anyway.)

I have to swallow this fear I have of being connected to causes while in my position. Yes, my employer is technically neutral ground, but that doesn't mean I have to be. I am allowed to be civically involved, as long as I make it clear when I am working in a work capacity (branded gear, name tag, etc.) and as a private citizen.

I admittedly got spooked when I received a few letters (to my private address, mind you) stating that I was a poor representative of my institution because I didn't maintain my yard like I should when I first started. (It was a whole thing and got escalated up higher than it needed to and yeah. I still have those letters in my office.)

But folks are starting to know me, and I'm starting to know them too. I need to cast this fear I have aside and be true to my values - accessibility, inclusivity, equity, and justice.

[bengiyo]

Cherry Magic TH Ep 11 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Achi and Karan tried to prepare for their upcoming separation by not living together for some reason. It didn't go well! They missed each other. Achi also ended up frustrating Karan by trying to read his mind to confirm he was just putting on a brave front. Thankfully, the squad came together and helped Achi do a grand gesture for Karan since they are going to miss Songkran. Meanwhile, Jinta struggled at being away from Min for a week and was also jealous because shippers ship Min with his bandmate. I'm looking forward to Achi working the new position.

Hey, look at Achi starting to understand Karan without his power.

Poor Achi. This is not a great starting line with his team.

Welcome back, Guy! You've been with us for so long.

I really like this thing where they film phone calls like both people are present. It lands every time.

Achi asking for advice is a good sign that he thinks of Karan more like a person.

They did now use candy PPL to have Achi befriend kids. My goodness.

The Jinta and Min moments continue to tie in well with Achi and Karan.

Was the daughter watching OffGun vids??

Curious to see how much structural homophobia we'll deal with here.

Call Pai! She'll get you to the audition on time.

I love Jinta so much.

My boy suited up and broke his nose for the squad!

Suddenly, Karan. I knew he wouldn't stay away the whole time.

My man Karan is like my other Big Dawg Patts. They both leave notes to explain their absences.

Overwork! My boy is down!

Excellent use of Achi's power, Karan.

I really love Achi having a positive experience when he came out to his team. I love that their motives in asking about his partner were well-intentioned. That was very sweet.

They were smart to use Sing Harit. I'm always susceptible to his charm.

Thank you, Thai BL Beach Trip, for not letting me down. Tay and Newwie are very pretty kissers.

Oh, the conversation about Karan voice and Achi nodding yes was solid.

Pillow talk, my beloved.

Wow, meet the families next week.

That was excellent. I love that distance didn't hurt them, and I loved them still succeeding at their tasks. I am so glad Achi was able to connect to more people without relying on his power, and instead relying on the advice and support of his partner in conjunction with his own natural good nature. I'm so happy that the team responded to that and accepted him. I am also relieved that TayNew got to play these characters because their chemistry delivered what I've been needing from Cherry for years. We won today.

[asimplevampire]

so thanks to angelapleasant's take on Buzz in Something Wicked (brilliantly written btw), I've been thinking about how I want to do the Grunts, because I was never satisfied with how I was writing them. If I ever bring back my modern uberhood (I have the canon URL!) or if I want to play them in medieval PV or what have you. and well.

I do like the fanon more than she does, but I also want it to be more. complicated. tastier. a bit less... teenage. and seeing angelapleasant's depiction of Buzz and Tank made it click, the exact dynamic I want.

so in order to make this work we first need to accept a postulate: all the Grunt boys are neurodivergent. yes, all. None of them will ever get a proper diagnosis while they're living under Buzz's roof. But...

Buzz is the kind of middle-aged white guy who yells at everyone if he can't keep to his strict routine, and only eats three foods, and has Strong Opinions about sportsball statistics. He's very invested in Looking Like The Right Kind Of Person-- he's constantly masking, honestly-- and very invested in Being Normal. (Incidentally, this is why Buzz hates PT- not aliens in general, PT and the Smiths. He can't stand that someone so Weird is better at Being Normal than his family.)

Tank takes after his dad, and also has the profound misfortune of Taking Ideas Seriously. When Tank believes in something, he genuinely believes it with his whole chest. This is a rarer quality to have than one might think. It is also a deeply unfortunate quality to have in a place like Strangetown.

Ripp doesn't like routines. Or being told what to do. Or having to focus on anything but the, like, three things he cares about. And none of those things are Normal- he likes art and music and writing terribad romance novels. He's also flamingly bi, and since he's a Romance sim, he's not very good at keeping it under wraps. He started talking about having crushes on boys in kindergarten.

Buck has exactly one interest (pet fashion!), is also an incredibly picky eater, doesn't like loud noises or crowds, and can't tie his shoes or tell time on an analog clock. He talks a lot with family and friends, but completely clams up around strangers.

And so we've got this family dynamic where...

Buzz is harder on Ripp than he is on either of his other children. Buzz desperately wants Ripp to be Normal, for both selfless and selfish reasons. The world's a cruel place to be Not Normal, after all... and it's a cruel place if your kids reflect Weird back on you.

Perhaps a bit too hard. Perhaps pushing into the realm of "asking Ripp to do the unwise or impossible". Perhaps getting worse and more unreasonable the older (and surlier) Ripp gets.

Ripp resents this, ofc, and pushes back. They've got a vicious cycle going where Ripp rebels harder every time the General puts more expectations on him, which makes the General push back harder with more expectations, which makes Ripp rebel...

Tank has been watching this horrible cycle his entire life. And no one bothered to tell him that the expectations Buzz puts on Ripp are not the same expectations that Buzz wants him to live under.

And Tank takes ideas seriously.

So Tank is desperately struggling to live up to this impossible ideal that no one asked or expected of him. He's trying to be the perfect soldier, get perfect grades, be perfect at his job, keep his room perfectly tidy, be Better At Being A Good Normal Person than anyone else in the family, hate the people the General wants him to hate...

If Buzz knew what Tank has internalized, at this point, he'd be horrified. He mostly just wants his kids to do their best... and mayyyybe not publicly embarrass the family.

Buzz is also easier on Buck than either of his other children, because he's the baby and you just kind of ... instinctively want to take care of him. It doesn't hurt that Buck looks more like Lyla than either of the other kids...

So Tank is desperately struggling to live up to an impossible ideal that no one asked him to live up to; Ripp is desperately kicking against the pricks of an impossible ideal that everyone seems to want him to live up to; and Buck is alternating between Getting Forgotten and Getting Spoiled Rotten.

You've got this horrible, horrible family dynamic, that could probably be resolved with, like, three honest conversations and some honest renegotiation around expectations. But all of these men (except maybe Buck?) are incredibly emotionally constipated and Will Not Talk To Each Other without some severe goading from an outside force.

idk, that's just where I'm at at this point, and I don't think I've seen anyone else with this specific headcanon. especially not neurodivergent!Buzz.

[where-theres-smoak-2]

The Artful Dodger Spoilers!

So I may have rewatched the artful dodger a few times, ok so it may have been an unhealthy amount of times and I may have a slight obsession but the show is just too good and dodgerfox has a hold over me.

But anyway on my most recent rewatch something struck me and I just love how poetic it was that Jack finds the solution to saving Belle's life in a noose.

Like Jack is someone who has always had this threat of the hangman's noose hanging over him. When he was a child he was a pickpocket and there was always that danger of getting caught, now he's an escaped convict and if anyone finds out he'll be hung. This is something that is established in the show from the first episode with the scene where Jack watches a man who is an escaped convict hang. Throughout the series the hangman's noose continues to be this looming threat over Jack and is brought up consistently, like when they go to Tim and say 'the noose is upon us' and there are other instances were the characters talk about the danger of them being hanged.

Then you have that scene with jack after he and belle have failed to do the surgery on the cadaver, the woman he loves is dying and it seems like there is no hope at all, then he looks out the window and sees the noose and that is what gives him the idea to tie the thread into a noose allowing him to have more control when tying the ligation. It gives him hope.

What I love the most about this moment is how it links back to the conversation Jack and Belle have in 1x02 when Belle tells him that there is more to medicine than just death, there's life, there's hope. I think Jack has struggled with how limited he has found medicine up until Belle came into his life. It's established right from episode 1 that Jack does care for his patients and when he loses a patient it effects him deeply. It also seems like due to the way the hospital is run and the limitations Jack has to work with, because the prof is ignoring all new progress in medicine, Jack loses patients alot and has come to frustratingly accept that its just part of medicine, nothing you can do about it.

But then Belle comes into his life and she starts introducing all these new, ground-breaking things to medicine, the ether, the carbolic acid, access to literature on medical breakthroughs from around the world. For Jack this opens up a whole new side of medicine for him, he is able to do procedures that just weren't possible before, like abdominal surgery. Before Belle an abdominal injury meant his patient was going to die, but now there was hope that they could be saved. As the series goes on we see Jack going from 'no that surgery is too much the patient will die from the pain, its not possible' to trying and succeeding at performing more and more difficult procedures in the hope that his patients will live and it works, charlie lives, rotty lives, the sailor is able to continue navigating. I think Belle very much becomes his hope.

Which is why for me that scene with the noose hits so hard. At the time when he feels like he is losing hope, literally in that he can't save Belle who has become his hope, it is something that Jack associates with death, with the finality of death, that gives him hope that he can save Belle. It's just such a beautiful scene, even in the way that it is shot, the way they use light in this scene is just perfect. How when he first looks out the window and sees the noose and he turns around to look back at the heart he is experimenting on, sunlight just floods through the window. How when Jack is tying the thread into the noose and the sun has lit him up all golden. Also how when Jack holds them up side by side and we get the close up of first the hangman's noose and then the thread and the thread is again lit by the sun and seems to be glowing with a golden light. It was all just so well done.

I really do think its such an under-rated moment. Anyway I think I've rambled on enough now.

[blacktobackmesa]

I've always found the parts like Tommy's wonderment at "you built this? This, this whole world?" And darnolds "Might as well, Darnold supposed, he’d built the damn house, Darnold just chose all the furniture and lived in it." - I think its a really interesting concept of these guys living in a world that was built completely by one of their friends. Maybe its too broad or vague but do u have any more thoughts on this? Sorry I just rly like streamman and have been rereading (*´`)

Yes! I have lots of thoughts on this, and if you come up with a more specific question I'd be happy to answer that too. But as it is, I do have things to say about this!

One thing I think about is this little moment in Start Again, where Coomer comes home to their new place with groceries for the first time. it passes very quickly.

A struggle between Bubby’s grouchiness and his curiosity always tended to end in the latter’s favor. He rustled through two bags before finding his prize. “They had Bug Juice?” Coomer gave an eager nod. “That stuff isn’t always easy to find, you know. I was lucky to find it in such a small store!” Bubby pursed his lips. “Lucky is one word for it, I guess.”

And then they just go on with putting the groceries away. Bubby's not excited that the store happened to carry his favorite drink, and he's not moved that Gordon put that much thought into the world. Gordon has lost his trust at this point, so instead of this being a thoughtful touch, it's unsettling. If your friend remembers your favorite food, it's sweet. If someone who isn't your friend does-- or someone who you thought was your friend, but turns out to be a stranger who had you in a web of lies and was filming you without your knowledge or consent-- it can charitably be called creepy. What does he have to gain from combing through his footage, finding the things that would keep Bubby complacent?

Of course, it's really not all that nefarious. Gordon just knows that his friends have nowhere else to go, so he wants to be a good host. He didn't build this place to be a Coraline Otherworld that's too tempting to leave, he built it so they could continue to exist. If they want to go somewhere else and it's possible, that's their choice. He just wants his door to be open for them.

All that being said, later on the extended Science Team totally likes to use the fact that Gordon was the project lead on their world whenever they want to prove a point. Which is frequently.

"He's still not dressed for the ceremony?! God, how can the man pull a functional plane of reality out of his ass and not know how to tie a windsor knot?"

"Hey, I-- first of all, I didn't build the program all by myself, I had help."

"Do you need to set up a Kickstarter or something to teach you how to dress like a god damn professional?"

"BUBBY."

[jenny-from-the-bau]

I loved season 17!!

So, I've been having a blast with the new season. I started making theories during the first two episodes, and (not to brag) I was basically right! I loved how they started us off thinking about like QAnon and AI Deepfakes and how Voit could be involved with Gold Star. Then, we got to know the Gold Star kids and really understand WHY they were so angry.

I like that the seasons spent a lot of time getting us to know and like (at least I do) Jade and Damian, so that when we find out their whole backstories, it's more impactful. I've always liked the episodes where we know the killer the whole time and it feels like the BAU is always a little behind. So, it was fun to try and figure out what Gold Star was and what the conspiracy theories were while also watching the BAU struggle with themselves and their histories. It really made me enjoy the end when Emily and Jade finally met.

I will say that if they hadn't stuck the landing, then I would have hated the season. It only held up because they were able to tie it all together. Like the BAUgate stuff in the beginning disappeared, but then it made sense because Voit had been helping Pete see what was real and what was a Deepfake. Voit had that experience because he'd been doing BAUgate. The whole "save the children" thing SCREAMED QAnon and Cosmic Pizza and then at the end, JADE SAVED THE CHILDREN. It's like, sure, the Goldstar program wanted to create a team of young people loyal to them by convincing them that they could help children, but it was all a lie. the program never wanted to help children. BUT! Jade had always hung onto that hope that she could stop other kids from going through what she went through, and she did!

I do have some criticisms - Luke really needs some space to shine and exist. He's been put to the side a lot and that isn't far to him. Rossi retire challenge (impossible). I want JJ and Penelope to be close again. I miss their friendship, and it was weird to me that JJ didn't know what Penelope's keys looked like. That's such a small friendship thing. Also! If Penelope/Tyler is going to be a thing, then he's really going to have to get his shit together haha

okay, that's enough rambling for me! Next season goes back to killer-of-the-week style episodes, but Elias is clearly going to be involved. Can't wait!

[sevlawless]

dead apple's discography: 1/?

review taken from their local newspaper:

Dead Apple's debut EP 'Running Out of Time' has hit all streaming platforms, and despite the title, they are doing anything but. Their punk rock influences shine throughout, as well as co-lead singer Arabella Aveiro's love for Fiona Apple, partially to credit for their band name. The band consists of its other lead singer, Seven Duckstein, guitarist Rowan Hart, bassist Devyn Powell, drummer Jazzy Dawson, and Iris De Luca on the keys. Each track has a emotional tie in to at least one person in the group, making the five tracks feel as though you're experiencing their lives yourselves.

When the current 11th graders of our own Green Meadow High were asked about this, Aveiro simply said:

"We want to make music that people can relate to. I think it’s more rewarding when you create something that you love, and that other people can love as well. Making these songs with my friends has been so fun, and we can't wait to make more music together."

For everyone's sakes, let's hope this band never runs out of time.

cover and songs breakdown under the cut <3

the cover was taken by seven when the whole gang went to the city. devyn had just got her license and her parents let them take the minivan to fit everyone LMFAO and arabella stuck her head out the window on the drive home. earlier versions of the ep had seven on the back cover doing the same pose (arabella had taken that photo in return <3), but after the breakup any physical copies printed had the same picture on the front but blurred.

where the heart is

written by: jazzy and seven

the drums on this song YOU KNOW jazzy had a hand in this! she wanted to write a song for the ep and was kinda struggling but seven helped her out :) so this is one of their many co-written songs together <3 this being the opener is so fitting for me because of lines like "6:30 alarm, brush my teeth, and start the car" and "it's time to go home again, that's so boring"

starting off at 6:30 am, early in the morning, starting off this ep with this song just feels fitting to me! and the whole "i hate my town" rite of passage most punk rock bands go through!

favorite lyrics:

"all in all, i've always had the same thoughts riling up my heart // and all in all, i haven't changed a single thing to feel differently"

"my mind's been in a million places, but my body hasn't moved an inch"

"if i could just take a chance, i wouldn't feel so bad // to see past myself, i wouldn't feel so bad"

baby tonight

written by: devyn, arabella

this is just an iris and devyn love song im afraid! i have this VIVID headcanon of devyn coming up to arabella and being like "i wrote some lyrics for a song about iris can you help me out" and arabella IMMEDIATELY being on board! i imagine devyn inviting iris over to her house and the whole band already being there in the garage ready to play this song for her :) it's such a cute lil moment and i like to think whenever they have a gig on or around iris' birthday or their anniversary they play this song! they put this on their first ep because they love devyn and iris and SO DO I!

favorite lyrics:

"she's a diamond in my fucked up world // prettier than the pearls that lay around on her neck // she makes me so fucking SICK!"

"so baby won't you take my life? or maybe you could crush my soul?"

red with love

written by: seven

unrequited love is really something else huh LMFAO i like to think that seven wrote this after him and arabella went to a party and played spin the bottle which resulting in them kissing for the first time (which later on when they're dating arabella doesn't count it as their first kiss because her eyes were open and the kiss was horrendously bad because that's her BEST FRIEND and she CANNOT have feelings for her BEST FRIEND-)

anyways ! i think seven started developing some sort of feelings for arabella after that and this song is the product of a late night writing session on his roof. when he shows it to the band they're like "who the HELL is this about" and arabella just looks at him like she knows and is immediately just like "let's practice it right now!" much to seven's relief.

when they're dating though and they perform this song together i like to think that after the line "you kiss me so sweetly, it gets me high" arabella ALWAYS without fail would kiss seven on the cheek :)

they stop performing this song when seven leaves the band.

favorite lyrics:

"the sunlight through my windowpane illuminates your face // i need you closer and you're not even an inch away"

"when you come home, you call my name // believe me when i say // tomorrow i will love you more than i did yesterday"

"i can't seem to get enough // it makes me sweat, you’re in my head // it turns me red with love"

sleep to dream

written by: arabella, iris

this bitch loves fiona apple idk what to tell you. i imagine that during high school arabella dated the WORST people but that just fueled her writing so she wrote this after one particularly bad boyfriend. iris also helped with the piano composition! i fear these breakup songs will become a pattern for arabella in later works LMFAO

favorite lyrics:

"i tell you how you feel, but you don't care // i say tell me the truth, but you don't dare // you say love is a hell you cannot bare // and i say gimme mine back and then go there, for all i care"

"this mind, this body, and this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways // so don't forget what i told you // don't come around, i got my own hell to raise"

where the lines overlap

written by: arabella, rowan

just the first of MANY certified rowanbella classics! rowan came up with the basic chords and arabella wrote the lyrics. this song is just them basically saying we're so happy to be in this band with our friends and we hope that never ever changes and it WON'T… right?

anywayyyy.. this song is an absolute crowd favorite and whenever they play a gig they always play this one last :)

favorite lyrics:

"no one is as lucky as us, we're not at the end but oh, we already won"

"now i've got a feeling if i sang this loud enough, you would sing it back to me"