#everything is so much better when it's 70 degrees!

[breakingbobcat]

cartilaginous

this morning I'm thankful for *the awesome cool weather*

my dreams were a little different last night. and i felt different in them. it was...interesting. thank you, brain! "you light up my life"

that was a good song, though, simply the best is stuck in my head already. thank god! the kinks lola is such an earworm and that's been playing non-stop since yesterday. brain: you are like a radio station and a set of speakers playing multiple channels at once.

I need a tuner! hahahaha! That's what's missing from my Arecibo setup. Or no...what's that place with the many radio telescopes? that place that is no longer top o' the line?

how much of my imagination runs on the fuel of the film "contact"?

I am SO IMPRESSIONABLE. i literally listen to everything that comes across my purview. what a mess! and I give too much weight to the masthead.

that's the person who is my captain? or something.

do we need to accept that love can be sexless and embrace this lifestyle? then we agreed that we need to allow ourselves to embrace uncertainty.

people can change. i can be somehow both flexible and yet...what is resilience?

i just keep seeing wheat blowing in the wind. taller than grass. more substantive. grass holds the soil down and keeps it together...but i always wanted to be nutriative.

furniture nutrition. even if i could talk to Salvador, he probably couldn't give me the conversation i'd desire. it'd be a weird translation situation of the gelatinous utterances, like how i would translate melanie ward. which could be fun actually because she was...really likeable. i really like her. i hope she is well.

i forgive her for being a desireable sex pot. she's more than she appears, and also, EXACTLY who she appears to be. isn't that ambiguity so strange about people?

wheat. will i dare to draw today? if only my imagination could transmit itself directly to the page.

i'm so competitive. i'm constantly afraid if i'm not the absolute best that i will be rejected. i need someone to stamp an A on my forehead everyday along with a gold foil star.

maybe i should get one gold star tattooed over my third eye. lol.

i'm such a basket case. i'm really blessed that Roy loves me. i love him too, deeply. he's such a caring teddy bear. i want to do more than appreciate. i think i reciprocate pretty well but...i'm ashamed of myself for not providing equal care and equal resources. i hate being the burden of the household.

brian made me feel like such a burden, even though i provided so much for him in return. in his mind, he was master.

it's hard to accept that roy doesn't feel the same way. roy hides things underneath. all librans do. they stuff their feelings and ignore them until one day the switch flips. librans are dangerous people because they over-self-regulate. they think they can regulate everyone else too.

woah. i didn't know i thought that! hmm. it's too bad librans are the only people who can tolerate me for any length of time.

is there some way for me to be more independent? and to be less a pain in the ass? roy swears he's not but i flat out don't believe him.

just like i don't believe motel fox isn't chris joslyn. yet, i could be wrong on both counts. hell: ALL COUNTS.

i'm SO WRONG ALL THE TIME! cue the Avett Bros.

lmao! so stop thinking you can predict the future with accuracy calypso! just because often you are right, doesn't mean always.

sometimes, just sometimes, you will be surprised. and that could be good. either way: CHANGE IS INEVITABLE. and not just entropy. remember: there's no rebirth without decay and death.

oh my god. OH. MY. GOD! i guess this must be the most efficient universe.

i wonder if it's different on other planets? i wonder if there's a world where living things don't have to consume each other? it makes me sad that life must always surrender to life. in my utter ignorance and non-all-knowingness, i do not approve.

i wish there was room in the garden for every one, and every thing.

i wish serial killers could be fascinated by the blood and not need to kill to get to it.

i love me. calypso is an unusual gem. she is allowed to talk about herself in the third person, second person...any person she wishes! she's a maverick. a fool. a young thug.

[melonpond]

I think it should be absolutely mandatory that people work at least a month in a blue collar job and take time to learn about their coworkers before making a statement about blue collar work. I simply think it would fix so many things.

[strictlyfavorites]

George Carlin's wife died early in 2008 and George followed her, dying in July 2008. It is ironic George Carlin - comedian of the 70's and 80's - could write something so very eloquent and so very appropriate.

An observation by George Carlin:

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships.

These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.

Remember to spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember, to say, 'I love you' to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

And always remember, life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by those moments that take our breath away.

George Carlin

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Every Inch

Summary: After feeling discouraged after trying on a pair of jeans that doesn't fit anymore, Javi shows you just how much he appreciates your body, regardless of what you think about it.

Word Count: 3.5K

Pairing: husband!Javier Peña x f!reader (no use of y/n, reader has no physical descriptions besides the fact her jeans don't fit, because let's be honest, jeans suck no matter what size you are)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), established relationship, unprotected p in v sex (be better), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, creampie, praise kink, body praise (Javi loves ur body holy shit), mentions of weight/negative self image/body issues, jeans being the worst (let's be honest, they are), fluff, sweetness, Javi being the best husband ever

A/N: Inspired by my own personal battle with my favorite pair of jeans and love for BLT sandwiches 🥴

Can be read alone or as a part of the It's Never Too Late Series!

To say that Laredo, Texas had “fall” weather, was generous, to say the least. After spending all of your life in Chicago, you had grown accustomed to the change in seasons from summer to autumn meaning pants, sweaters, sweatshirts, and most of the time by mid October, a winter coat. When you first moved, people were shocked to see you wearing shorts in February, and you were equally as shocked as to why everyone wasn’t when it was 70 degrees out. You had always made fun of Javi for how terribly he handled the cold, complaining every time the temperature got low enough to even consider wearing a jacket. The first time you had brought him back to Chicago for Christmas to experience a real midwest winter, you were convinced that you could have wrapped him in an Arctic Expedition parka and he still wouldn’t have been warm enough. But now, after almost 2 years of living in Laredo, your tolerance for anything less than blazing hot had decreased significantly, signaling a change in the guard from your summer to fall attire in your closet. 

It was the end of June when you and Javi had first moved into your new house, packing away anything heavier than shorts and t-shirts for later. Unfortunately, it had been long enough that later meant now. You shuffled through the things already hung in your closet, pulling out a large cardboard box labeled “warm clothes” that had been tucked in the back corner of your wardrobe since you had moved. One by one, you began pulling out pairs of jeans, jackets, and long sleeved shirts to be hung next to the rest of your clothes, grimacing to yourself at how much you had packed away in such a small box that you had forgotten about. 

It wasn’t before long that your clothes were organized on their hangers, having to find ways to creatively squeeze your clothes into your side of the closet without overflowing into Javi’s equally crammed side. With everything at least in a place for now, you took a step back, nodding to yourself in satisfaction at your completed task, before you looked down to notice a crumpled pair of jeans that must have fallen out of your box when you had pulled it out. 

“Oh, there they are!” You smiled to yourself as you reached down to grab the pile of denim, holding the pants up in excitement. You had been so busy putting away the rest of your clothes that you hadn’t even noticed that your favorite pair of jeans had been missing among the assorted warm weather items. Although the two of you were just planning to spend the day hanging around the house, you couldn’t help but want to change into the jeans, knowing damn well they made your ass look fantastic, and made Javi go absolutely feral. You quickly slipped off your sweatpants, tossing them into the laundry basket by your bed before stepping into the pant legs of the well worn denim, pausing for a moment as you got halfway up your thighs. 

“Fuck, these are tight…” You muttered to yourself, jumping up and down to try and shimmy the pants over your hips, barley getting the denim around your waist. “C’mon, please fit, please fit…” You silently pleaded with yourself, tugging the button of your jeans across your belly, sucking in as hard as you could to loop it through the opening. As hard as you pulled and as much as you tried to push in your stomach, you knew for a fact that there was no way in hell you were getting those jeans to close, let alone fit comfortably. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…” You sighed, looking down at the denim now squeezing your lower half in what felt like all of the wrong places. You gave the button one last try, even though you knew it was no use. 

“Motherfucker…” You could feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes as you glanced at yourself in the mirror, staring at your figure with your jeans unbuttoned, your mind now seeming to find a way to pick out every single flaw you could find. The longer you stared, the wetter your eyes became, tears now streaming down your cheeks as you wrestled with your pants to get them off as quickly as possible, throwing them across the room in a messy heap. Your soft sobs only became heavier as you looked up at your open closet, wondering what else from the box you had just unpacked wasn’t going to fit you this year either. 

You tried your best to take a deep breath and distract yourself from your dismay by folding the rest of Javi’s clean laundry at the end of your bed before Javi came in from whatever he was doing to find you crying over a pair of pants. You aggressively folded the last of Javi’s shirts after composing yourself enough to finish your task, taking an extra moment to hug your favorite of his, his well loved red Texas A&M swimming shirt- one of the first he had left at your apartment when you began dating. You held the soft fabric against your face, finding relief in the sweet and familiar smell of him embedded in the shirt. You closed your eyes, letting out a deep sigh as you folded it and placed it with the rest of the pile, not even noticing that Javi had been watching from the doorway, grinning to himself as he watched you put away one of the shirts that had glady become more yours than his. 

“Hey, Hermosa.” Javi smiled as he walked over to you sitting cross legged on the bed, pressing a gentle kiss into your hair. “I’m almost done cleaning out the truck. Do you wanna do lunch after I’m done? I can go pick up Alejandro’s for us. I’ve been fucking craving a BLT all day.” 

“Um, I don’t know, I’m uh- I’m not that hungry, I guess.” You mumbled, looking sheepishly back down at your pile of clothes, trying to hide the frustration on your face as you glared at your jeans laying on the floor at the end of your bed.

A puzzled look grew across Javi’s face as he watched you forcefully fold another one of his shirts, throwing it into the pile of folded clothes next to you before crossing your arms over your chest. Ever since he had met you, there had been very few times that you had turned down a meal, let alone anything from your favorite sandwich shop, especially knowing that you hadn’t eaten since breakfast a few hours ago. “You okay, baby? We don’t have to do Alejandro’s if you don’t want to I-” 

“It’s fine, Jav. I’m not that hungry, okay? If you wanna get a sandwich that’s fine, I’ll just have like, a banana or something.” You replied, perhaps a little harsher than intended, trying to use your anger to ward off anymore incoming tears. Javi quietly sat down on the bed next to you, placing his hand on your thigh as you looked up at the concern pooling in his sweet, brown eyes, clearly knowing all too well that you were not okay.

“Osita, what’s going on?” He murmured, running his other hand through the messy ends of your hair. 

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid.” You huffed, keeping your eyes locked with the denim enemy you had made only minutes ago. You could feel Javi sliding his hand across your face to cup your cheek, forcing your gaze to meet his, only raising an eyebrow at you in response to coax an answer out of you. “My favorite pair of jeans don’t fit.” 

Javi cocked his head to the side, trying to formulate a logical response to your statement. “Do you wanna go out and get new ones? We can go shopping if you need new jeans, Hermosa.” 

“No Jav, I don’t wanna go shopping for new pants, I want my old pants to fit because they were my favorite pair and now i’m too big for them. I don’t wanna try on any other pairs that I just hung up because if these ones don’t fit, those ones probably won’t either. I wanna be the same size I was a year ago when my fucking jeans still fit. I feel so gross and ugly and ahhhgghh they’re just stupid fucking pants and I know I can get new ones, but still.” There was no use in trying to hold back your tears at this point. You rambled as your cheeks grew red and wet, feeling like an idiot for being so distraught for letting a pair of pants ruin your morning, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel frustrated that you had gained enough weight since the last time you had tried them on that they didn’t even button anymore. Javi sat there for a moment, letting you finish your angry rant as you sniffled against his chest before lifting up your chin, using his thumb to wipe the tears from your eyes. 

“First of all, it’s not stupid, or dumb.” Javi softly smiled at you, tracing small circles against your jaw as you looked up at him. “Baby, believe me, I had to buy my fair share of new clothes when I came back home after Colombia, and I felt shitty about it too. Second of all, regardless of whether those jeans fit you or not, I still think that you are the most beautiful, amazing, attractive woman I have ever seen in my entire fucking life. I love everything about you, Osita- every inch of you is perfect.” 

“I’m your wife, you have to say that.” You sniffed, letting out a little laugh as the tiniest smirk began to form on your lips from Javi’s sweet words. Javi laughed to himself, shaking his head before turning back to you. 

“No, it means more because out of all the women in the world there is no one else that I would rather be with than you. “Baby…” He paused, looking you up and down, biting down on his lip before speaking again. “Baby, you know how much I love everything about your body.” Reaching down, he grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as he brought it up to his mouth, carefully kissing each knuckle. 

“I love your hands.” He grinned, leaning his body over yours. “I love your arms.” His kisses began to slowly travel up the sleeves of your shirt. “I love your neck.” He rasped, nipping at your skin, his kisses now beginning to become wet and heavy. “I love your beautiful face. Fuck, you know you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, Osita.” 

You let out a muffled moan as Javi’s lips met yours, his tongue quickly swiping against your parted mouth before pulling away, his kisses making their way back down your body as his hands worked at the hem of your shirt, helping you to raise your arms over your head as he pulled it off, tossing it off the side of the bed, leaving you in your bra. “You know how much I love these.” You could feel his smirk pressed against your skin as his hand freed the clasp around your back, his hands kneading at your breasts, kissing each one before flicking your pebbled nipples along his tongue. 

“Javi…” You whimpered, your breath shaky and weak as he slid himself off the edge of the bed, his fingertips digging into the meat of your ass as lifted you up and slid your underwear down your thighs as they pooled around your ankles. “Fuck, I love your ass.”  He mewled, setting you back down as he gently nudged open your legs, admiring the slick that had already begun pooling between your thighs, your cunt wet and glistening as he kissed up the exposed flesh of your legs. “And you already know how much I love this.” He smirked, swiping two of his fingers between your folds, collecting your arousal as he began to circle around your clit, making you moan. “Prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen, goddamn. I’ll never get over it.” His breath was hot against your entrance as he took one long, drawn out lick with a broad stroke of his tongue against your throbbing bundle of nerves as he looked up with you, a devilish grin on his face. “Let me show you, baby. Let me show you how much I love every fucking inch of you, okay?” 

You nodded frantically, easily complying with his request as he nestled his broad frame between your legs, draping his arm over your hips to hold you in place as he slid two fingers into your heat, curling his hand to reach the spot inside you he knew made you crumble before diving back in between your legs, beginning to lick you up like a man starved. His tongue swirled against your clit, the firmness of each stroke and the deep press of his fingers making you writhe under his touch, grabbing fist fulls of your comforter to ease the tension already building in your belly. You could feel him switching tactics, latching his lips around your sensitive nub, rapidly sucking at the the throbbing bundle of nerves, working his fingers deeper in your cunt as he felt you begin to clench around him. 

“Fuck Javi, fuck, right there baby- fuck, I’m close.” You reached one of your hands down, tugging at the ends of Javi’s dark curls, as if to pull his face closer to you as you could feel your orgasm building at the base of your spine, desperate for him to give you your sweet release. 

His thick fingers bumped along your g-spot, curving them ever so slightly in the way he had memorized like the back of his hand to make you come undone. The tingle along your spine quickly spread down your legs, pleasure building rapidly throughout your body as you felt yourself on the edge of release. Lifting his arm off your waist, he reached down to grab your hand that had been tangled in the sheets, engulfing it in his grasp as he intertwined his fingers with yours. 

“Dameló, (give it to me) sweet girl. Let go, baby, I’ve got you.” 

You could feel the pressure inside you snap, the tingling in your veins quickly transforming into full blown pleasure as your orgasm swept through you. You gushed around his hand, clenching down on his fingers as they gently pulsed inside you as you came down from your high, a smug look spreading across the slick covered sheen of Javi’s face as he withdrew them, licking the juices clean as he sucked his fingers in his mouth. 

“So fucking sweet. Can I keep showing you how much I love everything about you, Osita? Show you how much your husband loves his fucking beautiful wife?” He smirked, kissing his way up your body as he stood, towering over you. You nodded, reaching down to palm at the bulge straining against the denim of his jeans as Javi began to undo his belt buckle, shuffling his pants and boxers down his hips before reaching over his head to pull off his army green t-shirt that had been straining against the broadness of his shoulders. You shuffled back on the bed, Javi crawling over you, nipping at your exposed skin as snaked his hand between your bodies to stroke his cock before running his tip through your folds, collecting the shining slick of your arousal along his length. 

“Please, Javi. Please.” You whined, squirming your bottom half, aching to feel Javi inside you as he continued to tease you relentlessly, relishing in your desperate state. 

“Such a good girl, asking so nicely. So needy, hmmmm? This what you want?” He rasped, gently pushing himself inside you, making you gasp as his hips flushed with yours, feeling his cock bottom out against your cervix. His thickness made you breathless, only able to whimper and nod in response as every inch of him filled you. Almost painfully slowly, he began to pull back, his strokes slow and methodical as the lewd sounds of your moans and the wetness between you coated the walls of your bedroom. As his thrusts began to speed up, he ran his hands down your arms before grabbing your wrists, pinning them above your head and holding them in place with his broad grasp. He caged his chest with yours, the warm touch of your bare skin pressed against each other as he rocked into you, planting hot, wet kisses along your neck, sucking at your pulse point. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet, Hermosa. I can’t believe this is all fucking mine.” He whispered, his voice low and tender as he slipped his grip away from your wrists, sliding his hand under your back to pull you up, resting his palm on the small of your back as he helped you to sit in his lap. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your head in the nape of his neck, and fingers in the dark curls of his hair, the new position making the pressure building in your core grow rapidly. Javi snaked his hand between your bodies, reaching down to rub back and forth along your clit as he punched into you, each thrust somehow more satisfying than the last. 

“Oh shit- Javi, fuck- Fuck, you feel so good, please don’t stop baby, don’t stop.” Javi had learned all too well from the tremble of your incoherent babbles and tightness now squeezing around his cock that you were close to coming undone, and he knew exactly what you needed to push you over the edge. 

“Yeah? I know you’re close, baby girl. Give me another one, Osita. Be a good girl and cum one more time around my dick before I fuck myself so deep inside you. Fuck me, you’re so fucking perfect. I know you’re close, baby, it’s okay.” 

Javi was snapping into you, splitting you open with each thrust, making every inch of your body shiver as the tingling in your lower belly began to build towards your sweet release, your mind going blank from his filthy words he knew damn well were your weakness. 

“Fuck, Javi, Javi, oh shit- Fuck, Javi, I’m gonnahhhhhhhh-” Your legs shook as your orgasm flooded through your body, the cries of your husband’s name quickly turning to silent sobs into his shoulder as your body went slack, pleasure taking over you. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re so hot when you cum like that. Shit- I’m close too, Hermosa. Eres perfecta. Mierda, tengo tanta suerte. Te amo con todo mi corazón (You’re perfect. Shit, I’m so lucky. I love you with all of my heart). Oh fuck me, shit, oh fuckkkkkk.” With only a few more thrusts deep inside, Javi followed suit, milking himself of every last drop of his spend into you, the mixture of your arousal pooling beneath you as he slumped into you, your chests heaving with shallow breaths as you came down from each of your highs. 

Reaching his hands up to cusp your face, Javi leaned in to kiss you, his lips strong and tender against yours, making your cheeks warm as he pulled away to brush back a stray piece of messy hair that had fallen in your face. “I know I can’t fix how you feel, but I hope that was at least some reassurance that I mean it when I say that you are the most beautiful woman on earth, Osita.” Javi smirked at you, rubbing his thumb against your jaw as his chocolate brown eyes gazed at yours. 

“I meannnn, it does help a little.” You giggled, pecking a quick kiss onto Javi’s lips. “Thank you, Jav. I definitely still think that’s a bit of an overstatement and doesn’t help me fit back into my jeans, but it’s really sweet of you. I love you.” 

“Te amo mucho. (I love you so much.) It’s true. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. In fact…” Javi’s face lit up with a devilish grin as he wrapped your arms around your back, scooting the both of you off the bed, making you squeal in delight as you locked your legs over his waist, holding you up, beginning to walk you both towards your bathroom. “I think that we need to take a shower and I can show you again just how much I love everything about you. And then…” He pepper ticklish kisses along your neck and collar bone in between each word as he sat you down on the bathroom counter, hands grasping your face. “We’re gonna go out and get BLT’s for lunch because I know you’re fucking hungry and I don’t want you to be cranky when we come back home and fuck you until you can’t walk.” 

“I’m honestly fucking starving, I could eat 14 BLT’s right about now.” You laughed, shaking your head at the thought that not long ago, you were willing to forgo your favorite lunch because of a stupid pair of pants. “God, you’re amazing. And a fucking menace. You better get me in that shower, Peña- You’ve got a hungry, horny wife waiting for you.”

Taglist: @cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @blackfemalenerd @beware-my-thorns @deppydelta

[galactic-rhea]

Do you guys ever think about how the generational cycles of abuse slowly crumble in The Simpsons? Do you ever think about it?

I love The Simpsons, and by no means it's supposed to be taken as a show that takes itself seriously, because it doesn't. But yet it handles heavy themes, it does handle strong subjects, particularly first seasons had certain, strong character's driven episodes meant to actually make you take it seriously. Even later seasons, albeit it becomes less and less of a thing (it becomes a bit heartless), has certain episodes like that. And is what makes The Simpsons a bit unique on the adult shows landmine.

Not to say it's completely original on this, because The Simpsons come from an era where sitcoms were everywhere, and sitcoms tend to be 70% comedy and then a few strong, heart-felt moments. This is because to keep you laughing, you need downs, otherwise, joke after joke after joke, you get a monotone story were there's no stakes nor pauses between a punchline and another. Comedy needs a tiny bit of seriousness, so you feel your feet on the ground, and then they will throw at you a joke, that, if is well written, is meant to surprise you, you don't see it coming. In the Simpsons, many of the classic jokes you remember best? You don't see them coming, not really, because the way they wrote the jokes in the simpsons is actually very clever, if I were to graph them, there would be several curves and points because they're jokes within jokes within jokes.

And then is a bit of dark humour, that is meant to reasonate with the audience somehow. So you laugh a bit at the fact that Homer's dad let him drink beer just so he would stop bothering him, but then the show makes you care, sometimes, about Homer being extremely hostile with his very old dad. But then you also laugh at the fact Homer's mom was a hippie, a rebel hippie, at that, that took him to Woodstock and is one of Homer's happiest memories of his childhood, and then you don't expect her literally dying.

And returning, in a way, just because she wants Homer and his family to continue what she started, and the show makes you care, the show makes you feel for the characters. Because Abe is a war veteran, he was awful to Homer and to his wife, but you also know he cared, and you also feel bad because he lives in a retirement home and wants to live with Homer and his family, but Homer will literally start the engine and leave him there, and at his age, he doesn't deserve that, but what does he deserve? Should Homer forgive him for everything? No, not really, you don't have to forgive abusers, but then it gets messy and complex because abusers don't deserve to be abused.

Homer, however, does forgive Abe, sometimes (and because of the nature of the show, it gets retconned, or forgotten, or brushed away, and etc). But more interestingly, he forgives his mom. Homer's mom was a much nicer parent, she was kind and Homer's refuge for happiness, so it's easy to forgive her, despite the fact that leaving Homer with someone like Abe was certainly, not a good choice, and we know that many, MANY of Homer's problems, all come rooted from either trauma or behaviours he learned from his childhood. And he's rightfully angry about it, he acts a bit like a rebellious teenager, because Homer is fairly inmature and this is because a extremely troubled youth.

But he forgives her right when she's literally a corpse in a chair, and then the closure comes from finishing what she started years ago as a radical environmentalist advocate.

So Homer knows, extremely well from first hand, his parents' flaws, and he is, to some degree, aware of how these affected him, which is more than most of the audience he represents realizes. But he's still an awful parent. He is abusive, towards Bart, but he also cares and tries deeply. He does an incredible much better job as a parent and as a partner than his parents.

And that's still not enough. That's not enough because trying doesn't mean sucess. The nature of the show makes it a bit harder, because sometimes it can be uqite inconsistent. There's a whole episode focused on how Homer decided to give up a lot and to stay under the awful working conditions from Mr. Burns because of Maggie, and then there are episodes where he literally forgets he has a third child.

But that's still better, somehow, than his upbringing. The bar was low, quite low, but he doesn't know anything else, and yet tries to be something different. And that's, from a narrative sense, interesting.

The cycle is breaking, is not completely over, is not a good job, but it is an attempt, it is watering down the abuse, it is making it less awful. Is like trying to purify a river, you're starting to remove the trash bags, you blocked the wastes tubes, the water is still contaminated, there's no grass and the ground is infertile. But it's a start, you need to start somewhere.

And then, in the futures episodes with Bart (and Lisa, and Maggie, even) we learn that, he isn't doing that much better either. Bart is divorced, his ex hates him because he's inmature and his children aren't very fond of him. Lisa's marriage is a bit of a mess, and her relationship with her daughter echoes a bit the one she had with Marge and Homer: She can't understand her, there's a lack of cummunication.

But it's still incredible, much better, than what they knew while growing up. Bart tries to be more responsible, he isn't abusive, his problem is that he's inmature and therefore can't connect with his children. But he doesn't quite yell at them, or tries to choke them (at least in the future episodes I remember, there are several). And unsurprisingly, he resents Homer a lot, which is logical, given everything, but he's also baffled that his children love Homer, and as a grandparent, he actually does quite a good job.

And the cycle is almost completely broken. Perhaps you can't absolutely clean it all, at least not in so few years, but it's happening and the change and evolution is logical, despite it being a sitcom, it is quite well written and sadly realistic. Bart and Lisa and Maggie don't have perfect lives as adults, and they struggle and the narrative shows you that a lot of these struggles come from their toxic enviroment.

And they're still doing better, because Homer and Marge chose to do slightly better than their parents. And so the cycle is near to the end.

I could talk about Marge, but sadly, in terms of her upbringing, there isn't much, besides the fact that she grew in a conservative home. We know her mother told her to held back tears and always pretend to be happy and force a smile, which is how she carried out in her life in many facets. And then we see she tries, at first, to teach the same to Lisa, and then decides to break that rule, to break what she forced herself to do and let Lisa be sad and express her emotions fully.

We also know she was quite bullied by her older sisters, and she's the one to always try to stop fights between Lisa and Bart, and the first one to try to stop rivalry between them when Homer tried to make them fight the other for attention.

Marge is flawed in a sense that she internalized a lot of misoginy and conservative ideals and then, sometimes, she tries to spread it, unwillingly, because is what she knows. Despite this, we know she supports Lisa's interests in studying and artistic skills. We know her mother was cold, and a bit detached, but Marge tries to be as warm and supportative as possible.

The Simpsons reasonates, mostly, with a generation that came from similar home enviroments, and, to some degree, some people in the audience could realize of their own flawed origins or how they carried those flaws, because I think the creators and writers had this in mind, the change and the struggle with trauma, the "not being good, but being better than what I remember".

So there's that. Deeply, deeeply flawed people that were raised in awful enviroments, and ultimately fail at being "good" parents, but they tried to change, and they tried to be better, and trying does matter in the end , because it's a start. They didn't end the cycle, but they planted the seeds for it. And to me, that's extremely interesting, and more so because this is the fricking Simpsons, a comedy, but like the context and narrative it generates, reasonates deeply with me despite not being for any of the generations the Simpsons represent, I'm a queer person in their 20s that was raised and still lives with an awful, awful family, but that I know their upbrinding was just so so so so much worse. And I know they try, and is not enough, and I can't quite forgive that, but I can see they try. And I know the cycle ends with me, at the very least.

[taranida]

What exactly happened in the 70’s

I’ll start with The Poet and The Muse. I’ve written about the real Thomas Zane being a poet already, but left out this piece of evidence (not at all on purpose, truth be told), but I want to discuss it here, since it goes well with the point I want to make.

In the song we learn the story of a Poet living happily with his Muse and telling her stories about treasures beneath the waves. Then one morning the Muse goes to the lake and drowns. The Poet at some point realises that something happened and comes to the lake, calling for the Muse, but to no avail. Whole day spent in search, and in his desperation, he swears to bring his love back. He writes a story and succeeds to some degree. The husk of the Muse comes to him in the night, possessed by some dark force. The Poet takes her in, but in trying to fix his mistake, vows them both to silence beneath the lake. The story concluded with the peculiar:

Now if its real or just a dream One mystery remains For it is said on moonless nights They may still haunt this place

Now, what exactly the boys of the Old Gods of Asgard are hinting at here (aside from the existence of the Dark and Bright Presences) I can’t tell for sure: they might just toy with all those who have that buzzing question of “who wrote whom”, but I will treat the story of Thomas Zane the Poet as a true story, that happened without any help of tortured writers. Although I will use the manuscripts as well as every other source of information.

Prepare for a long read, since firstly, I would like to present all the bits and pieces that I’ve managed to collect, and then tie them all up in a version of events, I believe, happened in July 1970.

First, the dialogs.

Tor and Odin (whom I cannot stop lovingly call “the boys”) say this:

“Tom’s just lost, is all. Baba Yaga got to him too, the damn witch!” “She used us all, taken from all of us. Took my thunder, the witch.” “And my ravens, what was...what were they? Memory and Thought! The hag.” “She took something from you too, didn’t she? That’s what she does.” “Oh, we’re better off. This place, the lake, it gives you power. If you’re a creator.... An artist, a god!” “Nightmares shifted in their sleep in the darkness of the lake...” “Heh heh, yeah, that’s the one. She makes sure it comes out twisted and wrong. Just ask the Lamp Lady. She knows what happened to that other writer.”

 Cynthia Weaver tells us:

“I knew them both. Tom and Barbara. I had such a crush on him...such a beautiful man. I was jealous. There was a part of me that was maybe a little glad when she had the accident. And then Tom started writing and woke the darkness up.... He tried to bring her back...but you can’t do that. There are no free rides like that.” […] “The witch looked like her, but it wasn’t. Barbara was sweet. He didn’t understand until it was too late. He tried to undo it, wrote himself, her, everything he’d ever written out of the world.”

We have Samantha’s dream in “This House of Dreams”, that gives us even more details:

“The diver told me that a dark presence had taken over his girlfriend (the woman in the photos). He’d tried everything he could think of to banish it from her, but everything had failed. In the end, he finally understood what he had to do, finally understood the true nature of the dark place that was hidden under the waves of the lake where they lived. The lake was an opening to dark place that was much bigger than the lake itself, in fact, much bigger than the whole universe we live in. He wrote one last poem, his masterpiece, a secret poem, a hidden poem, a poem that’s not among the poems I’ve found in the shoebox. And he took his girlfriend for one last dive. Together they sank down into the depths, far deeper than he had ever dived before.”

Then we have the manuscripts, that expand on the story:

More so, we have the dates and newspaper articles:

The last one is cut awkwardly, but, really, all I needed from it are the dates of publishing and of the seismic activity.

So, what really happened during this week? On the morning of 10th July Barbara went for a swim and drowned. As Cynthia notes in her article, Barbara was quite a swimmer and her death does seem odd. At the same time, we have another article (that I will put in the very end for those who are curious) about a writer visiting the area and encountering Taken — Robert “The Colonel” Hambleton dated 6th July 1970. Thomas even makes a snarky remark about not ever hearing about him and calling him “an uninvited guest”. All hints that with all the artists in the area: the boys of Old Gods of Asgard, Thomas Zane, Cynthia Weaver and Barbara Jagger, the Dark Presence still pounces on every other creator unfortunate enough to choose Bright Falls as a place to visit. Might’ve been because it could not make the gang mentioned above do its bidding?

The Dark Presence might be of a very different mind, alien to humans, but it’s cunning. As stated in one of the manuscripts, when it senses Alan, “all he'd need was a little incentive.” For Alan it had to drag Alice to the pier and into the lake; for Thomas it might’ve used the help of its ravens or some other means necessary to overwhelm Barbara long enough for her to drown, as at the time the Dark Presence had no physical body (but there might’ve been some other Taken swimmer around). And after Thomas spent the whole day searching for his lover, succumbing to desperation more and more, he got that incentive, the Dark Presence needed.

In the night Thomas wrote a poem to bring Jagger back. The Dark Presence plan worked and it was now in the world, almost free, wearing Barbara’s skin. But it was still constrained by the story Thomas wrote, and in his story he surely wrote something along the lines of them being together and in love again, therefore we see that the Dark Presence cannot do anything to Thomas as he ties it to the chair, carves its heart out and writes countless pieces to undo his mistake. It just couldn’t get out of the role of the loving Barbara, who would never hurt Zane. It had to go through the story in which, probably, Thomas and Barbara lived happily ever after and died on the same day, to be completely free. Which doesn’t mean that the very, pardon, presence of the Dark Presence in the world was not affecting Bright Falls at the time, the Taken might’ve been multiplying and awful things happening during this week. Yet, unlike Alan, Thomas didn’t go into the woods, fighting for his life, he searched for a solution at the cabin, armed with his typewriter and the (kitchen) knife.

The only solution he found in the end — one last dive. To bring this darkness back to where it came from.

There are still a few mysteries left:

in the guide for the first game we can read excerpts from the book “Taken by the Dark Presence” found in a shoebox that has no author, but has initials of T.Z. and J.Z. on some pages, apparently written in the late 1960’s. And, oh boy, I have lots of questions for this one!

the Bird Leg Cabin and the Diver’s Isle, that might or might not been retroactively removed by the eruption under the Cauldron Lake.

the extent of Thomas’ writing powers, since as much as it is stressed a lot that he wrote himself out of reality, Barry, with a little research, is still able to find out about his existence, yet Alan in one of the “Writer in the Cabin” TV’s claims “A story is a beast with a life of its own. You can create it, shape it, but as the story grows, it starts wanting things of its own. Change one thing, and you set off a chain reaction of events that spreads through the whole thing.” The chain reaction here never happens: we have hard evidence that both Thomas and Barbara existed.

But those are theories for another day. This is already a long enough read to throw those into the mix.

And here’s the article about Robert “The Colonel” Hambleton (spoiler alert: there is another one, confirming that he died):

[sirenc0re]

hello, sirenc0re! i come here to ask if you have any RTC character headcanons that you wouldn't mind divulging?

ohhh i have a few! these are somewhat disorganized, i dont think ive really shared these outside of a single reddit comment. anyways:

penny loves boybands ofc (backstreet boys, nsync, obviously 'seven up' before it split) but further than that i think she likes 60s-70s pop too- fleetwood mac, kate bush, the beatles, etc

ezra is the one that's genuinely really into gangsta rap. NWA, tupac, snoop, dr dre... and of course eminem (though he isnt really a gangsta rapper. it's adjacent) i think rap in general is something he likes. though he's like, a smartass. so i think that at least early on he would "like" it the same way he likes penny's boybands (something to mock as the pinnacle of empty and vapid commercialism) before he actually starts appreciating it as art (JK-47 notwithstanding) and not something he has to prove against. so im saying he would genuinely like tribe called quest. it's in my mind. i am manifesting it. as a side note, i jokingly wanted to be like AND HE LISTENS TO MACKLEMOREEEE but im a hard ass and in the timeline that exists in my head it's 2009. and in 2009 mackle had the penis song as the first track of his debut album. make of that what you will

ocean's whole straight-lace schtick is her twisted version of a teenage rebellion against her hippy parents. she also makes herself seem better off than she actually is. im of the firm belief that pretty much everyone in uranium (except perhaps constance's parents and misha's adoptives) is broke. and i think that with her parents lifestyle, ocean would be on the lower end of that spectrum and it's a big insecurity of hers that she tries very hard to project against to varying degrees of success

noel says he was saving up to go to france, but if you looked at his bank account there would be maybe 200~ saved there. most of his wages went to supporting himself and his single mother

post-cyclone au, i think ocean would shift away from politics and become a personal injury attorney

post-cyclone au, ricky becomes a sci-fi erotica author… i like to think he's extremely successful in that particular niche

post-cyclone au, ocean and noel's relationship becomes wayyy less hostile. they still 'fight' but all the venom has been sucked out of their words. one time he tripped her in the hallway inbetween class periods, which prompted her to halfheartedly kick his ankles, which leads to a 'fight' that gets her in trouble in school for the first time in an actual decade (she's pissed)

post-cyclone au, constance's epiphany about life being beautiful makes her a lot more bold. which is to say she now has the confidence to go on a million little sidequests for no other reason than to experience the bounties of existence. penny wants to go to a concert 3 hours away but she's still banned from the bus? constance knows how to drive and the unlimited trust of her parents, hop in

very much inspired by ray winter's take on misha when he was answering asks about it so i've absorbed it because it makes sense: misha was a class clown back home and pretty well-liked. he's such a solid and passionate dude, and way more kind than he's allowed to be because everything in canada seems to hate him. i believe that his 'attitude' problem mostly stems from loneliness, (which is kinda exerted on him but also enforced by him after a certain point since i think he retracts himself into his phone with talia rather than be in the real world where he is miserable) and that he would have done so much better if he had one genuine friend he could talk to. in a post-cyclone au, he gets a bunch of those, and no longer feels like all of those emotions are being stiffled or bottled up

those are all the HCs that are relevant i think ^_^

[flightyalrighty]

Favorite horror genre?

uhhhh horror! i wanna say horror is my favorite horror genre :)

To actually answer your question (sorta):

The one I can tolerate watching a movie of: Horror Comedy, Psychological Horror, Werewolf Stories, probably old 70s/80s slasher horror

The ones I enjoy from a far distance (consuming through every which way other than directly): Supernatural Horror, Analog Horror (somewhat), Folk Horror, idk like all of it? I just really like horror in general. My anxiety won't let me touch most horror things with a ten foot pole, however.

I am, without a doubt, a total coward. When I was young I couldn't set foot in a Spirit Halloween bc the sound the welcome mats made scared me. I couldn't handle Courage The Cowardly Dog after that King Ramses' Curse episode. Dolls FREAKED me out, especially American Girl dolls. The concept of ghosts still scares me a LOT.

So, because I'm a coward, and I know my limits, I experience horror in what few ways I can.

If I see absolutely anyone on youtube talking about a horror movie I've never heard of before, I'm absolutely gonna be looking up everything I can about that movie and pretty much experience a deconstructed version of it, a practice that I'm pretty sure takes a year off my younger film degree sister's life every time I do it.

I do horror best in the form of comics, where I'm in complete control of when I'm gonna see Stuff, and the still images are things I can handle way better than Jumpscare City (modern horror films).

I enjoy videos by Ryan Hollinger, May Leitz (Nyxfears), In Praise Of Shadows, Dead Meat, and many more. If you haven't heard of her before btw, DEFINITELY check out Nyxfears if you haven't already.

My thoughts are very scattered here. Anyway yeah i like horror :)

[luna-rainbow]

Thanks again for answering my ask and sorry to bombard you with these.

I absolutely agree with you about Bucky and Zemo on TFatWS. This might be long as I have so many thoughts about this. The series seems to fail to understand T'Calla wasn't just someone who helped Bucky although he was of course. He was his friend. The movies don't get everything right with Bucky but I think Bucky and T'Calla's relationship is one of the high points. We don't see them much but when you do you can tell Bucky respected T'Calla immensely and not just because he's a King. He seems to be really genuinely fond of Shuri as well, asking her to call him Bucky instead of the formal Sargeant Barnes.

I know I said it before, but the Wakandans are his friends/his protectors/his adoptive family. He is not just some white guy with colonialist arrogance who expects favours from the African State. If anything its the other way around- he fought because he felt he owed T'Calla and his family a debt.

As such- I do not think he would ever have helped the person who killed T'Callas father. Yes he didn't know T'Chaka, but that is his friend's father. Its like if he found out someone killed Steve's mother and worked with them. Like slapping his friend in the face, and I can't see him doing that.

Also, finally can we talk about how the show robbed us of the emotional impact of T'Challa's death on Bucky? He's sad about Steve leaving but I firmly believe would have grieved for T'Calla too. He's lost not one but two of his best friends within a very short space of time, so he's got grief alongside all his other problems to deal with. Don't know how that man managed to stay sane. Well relatively sane and didn't have a complete breakdown.

Thanks for all the asks!

I love the idea that T'Challa and Bucky had a strong bond. I agree I think Ryan Coogler intended in that short post-credit scene to show that Wakandans have accepted Bucky as part of the family.

The kids are peering down curiously at him as he sleeps, and he doesn't startle, nor does he startle them when he wakes. There's a high degree of mutual trust there. He lives in their community, not in a boxed off high tech room like the one where he was put to sleep. They dressed him in their ethnic clothing and colour-coded it to match Steve. Someone tied (and probably combed) his hair for him when he didn't have a prosthesis. Someone has folded a blue shawl and tied it into a pretty sling to protect the stump of his arm. This is the image of a guy that was being well looked after -- not just in an impersonal, we gotta keep him alive kind of way, but in a what can we do to make his life better kind of way, and if that isn't some sort of family I don't know what is.

I mean...compare with this costume...that looks like some random sweatshirt from some sports brand worn backwards with the extra fabric pinned and pulled over tautly over his right shoulder, complete with the soft elastic cuffs and the weird neckline. Coogler put more effort into a 30 second cameo than TFATWS did for one of Bucky's most emotionally poignant scenes in a series where he's the main character. Sorry I'm never going to pass on an opportunity to shit on the series.

And like yeah, while I don't ship T'Challa and Bucky (I really like T'Challa with Nakia in the MCU), I think they're an underrated dynamic. They strike me as somewhat similar in temperament? Both peace-loving, respectful and compassionate guys, who have a strong sense of loyalty and a fierce streak when someone they love is hurt. And both Bucky and T'Challa are older brothers to younger sisters, and they both have that oldest kid sense of weary responsibility. And for someone who was broken out of 70 years of brainwashing by being reminded of a promise he made, Bucky clearly has a strong sense of loyalty and responsibility.

So yeah, it makes no sense to me that Bucky would actively do something so personally hurtful, so disloyal and irresponsible to T'Challa, without adequate justification.

As for the mourning, yeah. At the time they didn't know how Coogler was planning to write T'Challa out of the story, so that might be why the mourning wasn't in there. To be honest, Bucky's feelings about Steve was handled poorly too. As I've mentioned before, the series avoids actually addressing how Steve's departure played out. Sam and Bucky are sad about Steve's absence, but never talk about the hurtful way Endgame!Steve abandoned both of them, which is far more emotionally relevant. They talk about him as though he had died in a noble sacrifice, not dumped the world on them and went to mess up someone else's timeline.

[cyberneticnightmares]

okay listen.

i like to think that william inherited the purple car from his old man. you know how it was back in the 70s. cars lasted and often got passed down from father to son (SYMBOLISM). he hated the damn thing, but it's what first caught henry's attention one day while on campus. henry drove a much newer car.

while william went to college solely on scholarships courtesy of his smarts and obscenely high GPA, henry's parents footed their son's bill because they could afford it.

"how can a couple of hippies afford to send their kid to school for art?"

"double majoring, actually. dipping my toes into business too."

william hates him for it. it's just so unfair that henry can afford to dress nice but doesn't, because he much rather walk around in comfortable overalls covered in paint. he hates him even more when henry discovers a passion for computers and makes the jump to engineering, almost as a way to compliment william's knack for robotics. william hates him because no, why would you do that, you have no idea what i would've give to be allowed to simply do performance arts. he took after his mom, after all. would've been a professional dancer if his dad had allowed it.

but then one day, because they totally hate each other or whatever, and because their final round of finals before graduation are coming up, henry proposes they skip town. they already got all the technical know-how they needed. who needs a flimsy piece of paper to tell them what they achieved over the past four years?

william takes some convincing. there's a bunch of expectations on his shoulders now. fancy degree, a good paying job, a girl to bring home and follow in his father's wretched footsteps. he can't just... drop it all and run for the hills with his not-friend, right? the not-friend who's always covering his meals and getting him nice flamboyant jackets every birthday and christmas (most of them handmade, of course, really high quality stuff).

henry tells him it's better to ask for forgiveness than to ask permission. "just give it a try, man. imagine if we do get successful. imagine we make it." but what convinces william is the fervor with which henry speaks, the way he looks at him, as if it's just them against the world and they're winning the lottery and nothing could ever go wrong so long as they're side by side.

william abandons his father's car in a lot the following week, hitching a ride out west on henry's fancy car. it's a convertible, by the way. cherry red. some of the best memories william has, after it all goes to shit, is of henry lowering the hood in the middle of the night along a long stretch of dusty, deserted highway. a bug flies into his mouth at some point because he was too busy singing along to the 8-track, but the way henry laughed at his sputtering made it all worth it.

he keeps a polaroid from that roadtrip safe in his pocket, even after everything is said and done.

[messrsrobyn]

for your anon concerned about tokenism which is a very important thing, it truly is. but what made me go easy on myself was realizing that fanfic is kinda not the place people should go for when looking for rep? now let me explain. it’s not that fics shouldn’t have rep, or that fic writers are exempted from having to incorporate it, because i don’t think it’s neither here and there. that’s not the argument we should be having. we should have rep in proper media, in things that actually make an impact in the world. that’s where the rep should happen and we should advocate for that etc etc. we also should be mindful of what we consume and how we do it and see if we only engage with cishet westernized stuff. but aside from that, if people are demanding from fic writers those things it’s kinda weird to me. like, my dude, you love the whitest, most cishet work of all times and that’s fine with you, but this random writer from xique xique bahia (brazilians will understand my joke) has to know all the intricacies of being a teen in the 70s in wales? or else they’re not doing a good work? like, maybe…! go read books that are diverse and engage in those fandoms too. a lot of HC are just like that anon said, so widely spread that just makes sense. desi harry is very dear to me. even if i also vibe with latino james. idk man, i think we can call off straight up problematic stuff. racist stuff. but if you go into fics trying to be educated maybe open a proper book and like, don’t expect fics to be a manifesto? i just want to see gay people kissing. and i think that’s the gist of it, i read books, i study, i educate myself so when i go into fanfiction im expecting to have a good time. i can also find amazing political stuff in it, but i don’t demand an academic work from writers. but some people are so braindead nowadays that the thought of actually opening a book and studying it too time consuming. so, anyways, yes please don’t be racist don’t be weird don’t be creepy, but also guys, maybe y’all should take fanfic less seriously and engage with other things outside of fandom.

I COULD NOT HAVE SAID IT BETTER MYSELF ‼️‼️‼️

the beauty of fanfiction is how chill it is !!! which is something that's been lost recently with all the moral debates (noisy jegulus haters, i'm looking at you and frowning) !!!

i'm doing a lit + pol degree, and that really shows the difference for me. yes, whilst i read these works for university i'm picking apart everything, i'm cross-referencing it with the politics of the time and how they've developed, at the back of my mind i've always got this idea of representation.

i don't with fanfiction. because that's not the point.

fanfiction is the a FREE and OPEN resource. we don't have to worry about whether publication companies find value in our ideas, we don't have to worry about whether our words hold as much worth as others. we just Write.

people get too concerned with the morality of fanfic, they expect perfection from people Doing A Hobby. and i get it, i get where frustrations come from, but at the end of the day this is a bit of fun.

and yes, diversity is SO important but at the end of the day, fanfiction is already the most diverse form of media out there. if you want deeper explorations, either write them, or take your frustrations out on the core material that fandoms are derived from. take your frustrations out on the fact that we have to add diversity to fandom spaces because it's not in original media.

fanfiction is fun, it's a hobby and i am getting So So So tired of people nitpicking and deciding what words have worth when that's the exact reason i criticise official publishers.

BONUS YAP: "i think that big authors needs to step up and-" NO ‼️‼️‼️ just because they have more hits does not mean fandom etiquette doesn't apply. just because their works have more kudos does not mean they owe anything !! maybe stop putting people who are Having Fun with a Hobby on a pedestal to be your moral light.

IT'S ALL SO FRUSTRATING IM SORRY. every time i open tiktok it takes a year off my life because it's not even FUN anymore 😭 why are we policing everything

[histrions]

hi! ♡ this is neve ( she/her ) and i've brought to you blush boutique's owner, nam yeonji. since she's been in ansong for twenty five years, you best believe she has done a lot of things since then! feel free to read her about and memories here. more ( like, a lot more ) details on her can also be found under the cut. and before i forget, drop a like on this post if you're up for some plotting! ( ps. i'm so happy to be here and please do expect me to be very annoying in your ims soon! )

ansong

tried dropping all of her items down at the building's lost and found. sure, she had that familiarity in her heart but what the hell would she do with a children's make-up kit? bffr.

she spent ten whole years studying at ansong university, majoring in fashion design, creative writing, then visual arts. still likes painting and reading to this day. (her subconscious was probably pushing her to do so because she barely graduated high school in her waking life.)

about fifteen years ago, she opened blush boutique and the rest is history. thanks to it, she was able to unlock her first core memory too. (her first collection was inspired by the color palette of the aforementioned children's make-up kit.)

purposefully moved to floor #09 unit #09 to try and figure out what her "nine" notecard means. (spoiler alert: nothing good.)

for now, the only thing she remembers of her past is that she was very close to her grandmother.

personality

looks like a bitch, sounds like a bitch, is a bitch. i was originally going to make her less complicated but where's the fun in that!

success has always been the most important thing to her and it's no different now; take a look at her degrees or her boutique. pushes herself hard and pushes others even harder.

the beautiful thing about her is that no matter how cold or intimidating she may be, she mostly just doesn't know how to interact with people. she doesn't necessarily want to be rude, but she also doesn't care enough to apologize and try harder when she fucks up... so, you know. she sucks but not that much.

on the bright side, she's nice to party with! just don't work at blush or get too close to her and you will be fine! i think.

in my head, she has the same energy as that one annoying coworker who comments on everything you do and spreads gossip for fun. i support women's rights and wrongs.

another slightly concerning thing she does is people-watching. doesn't try to be subtle about it either. if you think she's judging you, she most likely is.

but she's not all bad! (please don't give up on her pleaseplaeasepelapselease)

very creative. puts a lot of thought and effort into everything. extremely loyal, both to her craft and to those she loves. doesn't lie or pretend; always very straightforward about her intentions. if you're her friend, you will never feel unappreciated! you will be showered in gifts and that's a threat. just don't expect words of affirmation from her because she doesn't have the slightest idea how to do that.

connection ideas

any antagonistic plots, obviously! she called your outfit ugly, stole your cat, hit on your boyfriend/girlfriend at a bar, etc.

rivals. maybe another business owner who gets on her nerves.

that one unlikely friend who is all "i can fix her" and it grosses her out.

if you need a low maintenance friend, you have found her! your muse could ghost her for years and she wouldn't even notice.

anyone who is into art in general! if you nerd out with her, you might see a better side of her, just saying!

let's give her another weird ex! she can't remember the one from her waking life so it's okay. <3

or anything else you want. i'm all ears!

and now, onto the part you're probably curious about!

trigger warnings: brief mentions of abuse (child, domestic, and alcohol), depression, suicidal ideation, and murder.

life and death

let me set the scene: late 70s, jeju city. baby yeonji's parents, living their best life thanks to grandma yeonji, so much so that they even named their only child after her. thing is, her grandmother was one of the most successful actresses of her time, which allowed the family to live luxuriously.

naturally, this privilege also came with its own set of expectations. her grandmother and mother were both adamant that yeonji goes down the acting route herself.

(this was mostly to make up for the fact that her mother never succeeded as an actress. passing down generational trauma, the tragedy of being a daughter, etcetera. you know how it goes.)

so yeonji became a child actress, constantly missing school just to keep up with her work. by her early 20s, she started to win awards of her own. acted in a lot of romance k-dramas, which she absolutely hated.

her then boyfriend (who is unnamed for plot purposes but also because i hate his ass) proposed to her at an award ceremony (way to make it about yourself, buddy) and the two got married soon after.

long story short, their relationship turned really abusive and yeonji started drinking. she would also frequently call suicide hotlines as she felt like she had lost control over her life. (or that she never had any to begin with.)

just a minute before the clock struck midnight on new years' eve in '99, yeonji had an argument with her husband and was pushed off a balcony. (not so fun fact: the nine notecard refers to the year and the number of floors she fell down.)

currently thinking about how both her grandmother and mother outlived her but.. that is a heartache for another day..

if you read this far, have this lore accurate yeonji depiction:

[strictlyfavorites]

George Carlin's wife died early in 2008 and George followed her, dying in July 2008. It is ironic George Carlin - comedian of the 70's and 80's - could write something so very eloquent and so very appropriate.

An observation by George Carlin:

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships.

These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.

Remember to spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember, to say, 'I love you' to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

And always remember, life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by those moments that take our breath away.

George Carlin

[slothpower-central]

Rolling out the Red Carpet for the Cinema branch!!

Hello,hi, it's me that one person who makes the funny videos and thinks she can draw(she cannot) Inspiration hit me in the middle of my film studies course while watching Vertigo by Alfred Hitchcock and I thought "what if I made my own LCB branch where every sinner is based on a movie I've watched in my film class (and just general classic Hollywood cinema) and so I did it! The branch is currently VERY unfinished,as I add a new sinner each week for every film we watch in the class,so lemme introduce you to the guys that I've at least doodled so far(awful art incoming lol)

First up,we need a manager,or should I say,director(get it, because it's based on movies?) anyway here's Dorothy! If it wasn't obvious, she's based on the Wizard of Oz,She may or may not have come from the Outskirts and now she's running around with these sinners,and her little dog too! Oh and her red slippers(boots now,IG lol)? Those have a use, clicking her heels 3 times allows her to bring her sinners back to life!

Our guide is Glinda! Also based on Wizard of Oz,I have....not drawn her yet! But she is ultra hands off,she mainly communicates by sending Dorothy letters in bubbles,oh and did I mention she's a color fixer? ...yea I probably should have started with that

Now onto our actual sinners, don't ask me about major plot details about them,I haven't worked it out yet,

Sinner #1,This is Chaplin! Based on Modern Times by Charlie Chaplin,this guy is more of a fusion of the two main characters of the movie since uhm...neither of them have names and frankly their stories are both so intertwined that You could easily mix them together so here we are. They are the most comical of the sinners,I have described them as having a lot of cat like behaviors to a degree, and they are selectively mute(silent film lol) They have a white board they write on like it's Lethal Company and they have Heelys(mainly for the funny)

I haven't uhm.....finished sinner #2 yet because everytime I try to draw him my art style makes him look like the Pringles mascot lol but it's Kane! Kane is based on Charles Foster Kane from Citizen Kane by Orson Welles! Right now currently he's like "god I'm in a company of all women...AND CHAPLIN" He's rich like....richer than Hong Lu rich,he does seem to offhandedly mention something Rosebud and it seems almost like he's searching for it...wonder what that could be?(Btw go watch Citizen Kane, I'm not telling you what Rosebud is)

Finally out last Sinner at the moment: Sinner #3 Judy based on Judy from Vertigo! Yessir this is the reason for the branch, her source got my imagination spinning (she may or may not be mine and Amia's favorite atm of the branch) I would have made Scottie a sinner but......I hate his ass and need him exploded and not in the cute way(JUDYYYYYY YOU DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER GIRLLL) Judy is also 20x more fun as a character than Mr. "I'm gonna stare at women for 70% of my screentime" Honestly I could gush so much about her but I won't to keep this brief... essentially by the end of Vertigo Scottie convinces her to change everything about herself to turn her into his lost love/obsession Madeleine (ai know there's more too it but uhm....Go watch Vertigo, I'm not spoiling the movie)[PS, Ignore the doodle in the corner, that was from an idea that Amia's OC Tessie and Judy would get along well]

Tomorrow we'll actually have Sinner #4 who's gonna be based on someone from the movie Sunset Boulevard ( I don't pre watch these bc my attention span actually increases so much when I analyze movies for Limbus)

Anyway I'll keep updating you on the Cinema branch their tag is "LCB Cinema Branch" if you want everything in one place oh! And feel free to draw my lil guys if u want,just @ me or tag me or something. uhm don't ask about their weapons or colors or anything I haven't thought that far ahead yet lol

[andkisses]

♡ raindrops | jay ♡

you should be working, but being in his arms are simply so much more appealing.

♡ jay x gn!reader | wc. 775 ♡ genres/tropes: fluff fluff and more marshmallow fluff ♡ mentions of/warnings: none ♡ a/n: iirc i had this posted on an old blog that has since been deleted; it was originally for changbin from skz; i rewrote/reworked this more than i normally would a redo/repost; enjoy <3 ♡ a/n: also, thank you for 70+ followers! ♥

Raindrops hit the windows with distinct plinks, a pattering that instantly runs down to the sill in rivulets. The edges of the window pane fog with a difference in temperature–too hot and humid outside, too cool and crisp inside. The rain had been in and out–some days sunny, some days like this.

And today, you’ve decided the weather is too much to deal with–too humid, too hot, and too rainy. With the fan lazily swirling overhead, you keep a blanket loose around your shoulders as you sit on the couch and work, laptop open to a half-started, half-finished essay. You can easily get this finished within the next hour.

Except, you don’t recall falling asleep. It certainly wasn’t your intention, yet here you are. Your laptop, somehow, made it safely to the coffee table, clock-like screensaver staring back at you. You’re lying on your side, the throw blanket a crumpled mess around you. The room is a haze of post-dream vision, scattered with the pattering sound of rain, and your mind is slow to return to reality as the world around you sharpens back into focus.

The arm slung over your waist grounds you, however, pulling you further from your forgotten dreamland, and the breath against your neck, smooth and steady, leaves your skin softly ablaze.

You need to get up and do things—that’s what you were originally doing, what you’re supposed to be doing. There’s homework to finish, after all—summer classes didn’t finish themselves and degrees didn’t earn themselves. The plates from dinner are still by the sink. There are emails you have yet to reply to. But the arm around you tightens as you try to leave.

“Let me go.” It’s borderline a whine, and you both know it. The rain continues as night falls across the city, taking the ambient sunlight with it.

You feel Jay shake his head, tickling the nape of your neck ever slightly as his hair brush against your skin. “Nope,” he murmurs, as if that’s the most obvious answer. “Don’t wanna.”

“But I have things to do?” You try to push against the arm around your waist, pry yourself out, but to no avail. It’s as if every time you struggle to escape, his hold tightens. It’s frustrating and endearing. “There’s deadlines and due dates and—”

"And nothing’s due until Friday?" Jay pushes himself up to see over your shoulder. You silent curse for keeping him so involved. Of course he remembers. “And it’s what day right now?”

You turn to avert your gaze as you mutter, “Wednesday…” with a serious pout on your lips.

“So it stands to reason that there’s time?” A hand comes up to poke your nose. “You can relax and stay here, in my arms, with no problem.”

You manage to lightly elbow his side as he sinks back into his spot, and Jay fakes an injury to humor you, his own fake pout on his lips. “I hate it when you’re right,” you complain, lowkey whining again.

But you loved being with Jay, even if it unhealthily played into your procrastination habits or kept you up past your bedtime sometimes. Time with him was better than any other time, no matter what you were doing. He had a seemingly magical ability to make you happy (and you didn’t know it, but you had the same effect on him, too). His presence helped make things more manageable—the sad times or the happy times, and everything in between.

Jay also knew how to give the best cuddles and snuggles, like, ever. Of all time. He would like to say it’s all the gym time, and you like to say it’s simply your presence that’s so inspiring. Either way, spending time in his arms, warm and safe, was extra nice.

“You love me,” he murmurs, again like it’s the most obvious thing. He presses a gentle kiss to the edge of your jaw before nestling back into the crook of your neck once again. It makes you shiver and sigh with content.

This is so much better than any essay or the dishes.

“I do love you, Jay,” you reply, It makes your heart race just as it did when you first said it.

You hear him sigh, just as content as yours, and feel him relax around your frame, arm hooking snugly into your waist. It’s silent for a while, aside from the raindrops and the city noise around you. Then, Jay speaks, quiet and deliberate, just for you. His words fill you with a sparkly kind of warmth that you wish you could bottle up and keep forever. “I love you, too.”

[alexanderlightweight]

Hello! For Writing Wednesday could we please have some more Spoils of War or Created for Death? I’m obsessed with both of these to an insane degree:

What I love about SoW: tentative!Alec whom Magnus has to work at gaining trust from? I love it. There’s a line in one part about Magnus having to fix how the Clave broke Alec before Magnus can gentle him and I just—gorgeous, perfect, headcannon accepted. Veiled consorts? Hooooooly that’s so cool omg I swear I heard a symphony in my head when I realized where you were going. The mask? Alec’s hesitance and obedience, thinking everything is out to hurt him but doing it anyway because what choice does he have, is so beautiful, and Magnus mourning a little that he didn’t have more time to make the experience better for Alec but not willing to risk the delay and risk Alec growing even more distant is just 😍—lmao I could write an essay about how much I love this universe.

CoD: I fucking love eldritch angel nephilim and this is giving EVERYTHING. Nephilim who are cobbled together projects of the angels, their biology so skewed by angelic power that even the nephilim don’t know what their children will look like/heal like/die like. Mostly the difference being subtle, but sometimes Not. Raised to hate and fear their full potential, anything that is Too Angelic, and Alec a living hearsay/blasphemy even when his blood was only 30/70 because if it. AND THEN. It’s not losing Jace that tips Alec over, it’s Magnus dying—demon-born prince/king of edom enemy of the Clave. So gorgeous, holllyyyy. I can’t even think too much about Magnus collaring 6-winged Alec, about Alec kneeling for him, about the terrible kindness and protection in Izzy disowning her brother, about the gentleness of Magnus hiding Alec away and covering his eyes and hushing him because even the ANGELS wouldn’t know what to do in this situation, with this new body, and then Team Immortal coming in and IMMORTALITY and wow

Anyway yeah sorry for spitting up my lovestruck brain in your asks but I had to make sure that you knew you’ve struck me deeply with your writing and that’s why I’m begging on your doorsteps for literally any content in either one of these verses 💜

i'm very glad both stories are being enjoyed so much and please don't apologize i love stuff like this! it's a huge compliment but also it's just really nice to see that other people are as into and obsessed with my verses as i am. because sometimes i wait for my sleep meds to kick in and i just plot where i'm going and end up passing out in the middle of a mental scene being written lol

so i wrote a thing for spoils of war and thank you! i'm glad it was enjoyed because i have this big headcanon about how consorts are really magically important to warlocks and magical kings if dominion magic is in the fic and a big thing about that is protecting the consorts identity. via masks but also cloaking the consort in so much magic that you can't even tell anything abut them besides what the warlock allows you to know. and there is a lot of history thats hinted at

-

for created for death

izzy was fucked up about that, okay. but she had to relinquish alec as a brother because otherwise the clave still had ties to him. since they don't need them anymore, the clave sort of doesn't let true nephilim have any rights. so alec had to be disowned as a nephilim and then magnus was basically like 'okay but my magic is on him so hes mine since i calmed him down' and izzy was like 'he totally counts as a weapon. yours now. because thats the safest thing for alec atm

so alec is actually 70/30 and most nephilm are 30/70 in a angelic/mundane equation. which is why he was being kept watch over by the clave but uh, the fear of magnus dying kinda made him lose it

i hope you enjoy this!

<3 lumine

spoils of war

—

Alec doesn’t know what’s going on.

Magnus didn’t bother explaining what the ritual was or what it did beyond that it was yet another bonding ceremony. But even their political wedding that signified the end of a war didn’t feel this elaborate.

Alec knows it doesn’t really matter, that he’ll be taking part in the ritual whether he knows what it does or not. In fact, it's almost better not to know than to know what he might need to do.

Alec can’t say no to whatever is going to happen and he knows that, so he takes comfort in the fact that he can still see. The mask has magic in and through it and Alec tries not to consider where it’s from and why he can feel nephil magic still fading from it.

Instead, he concentrates on Magnus and his magic and puts out the thoughts and details of his surroundings, like being watched by over a thousand warlocks and their companions, all hidden with their faces hidden behind a variety of masks.

It’s daunting to be here, to be taking part in something that feels so old and sacred when Alec was supposed to be no more than chattel. Fodder for a war built on the blood of innocents that Alec’s own people started.  It feels wrong to be here so defenseless and yet know that Magnus’ magic will protect him better than any weapon.

—

Carefully, Magnus uses magic to take off Alexander’s ceremonial collar and he instead replaces it with a loop of pure magic that will slowly take on more and more power until the image of it will always become whatever Magnus wishes it to be.

For now, however, it is a tight loop of deep purple magic that pulses with Magnus’ magic and power in time to Alexander's every breath.

It’s a show of power to summon a single adamas arrow — one that Alexander gave to Magnus by his own hand — and hold it without harm. Alexander sucks in a startled breath — perhaps at the sight of one of his own arrows or that Magnus can hold it with ease — and Magnus can feel him quiver under Magnus’ palm.

“My protection is absolute. When you bleed it will be because I wish it, for no other is allowed to spill your blood.” Magnus uses the arrowhead to nick Alexander’s upper lip — just as he cut the lower with the stele — and then he leans forward to lick it off and suckle the cut until he earns a whine of pain.

“The flames of Edom will devour all before allowing anyone to touch you without my permission.” Magnus promises and his fingers dance with flames that brush harmlessly over Alexander’s neck — the shard of Magnus’ soul claiming Alexander in an undeniable way that will protect him from harm in Edom.

Alexander seems torn between leaning forward and stepping away and Magnus knows his boy better now than he did when they were wed. Alexander needs no leash as Magnus first thought, just a steady hand and Magnus’ voice.

The bonds between them are the only tether Magnus will ever need with Alexander.

“Sweetheart—” Magnus teases, his voice caressing Alexander with magic and he can see how his boy shudders at the sound and feel of it. He steps forward unconsciously, he's been instinctively drawn to Magnus from the very beginning and Magnus croons and reaches out. His palm blooms with hellfire before settling on Alexander’s hip and Magnus pulls him closer still.

“Should any look at you without being graced by my benevolence, their sight shall be consumed by my magic. A payment for stealing a glimpse of what is only mine to see.”

Magnus’ vows are instinctive and there is a primal surge of delight as he takes the ritual a step further, cursing any being who would dare look at Alexander’s uncovered face without his blessing.

It’s an old tradition.

Older still than the ritual Magnus is using and it’s something that has been out of style for over three centuries. Magnus still remembers the stories of how the legend of Medusa started. A warlock desperate to protect her gorgeous consort cursed her love with a vicious, loving protection.

Magnus knows now that Alexander expects to be a spectacle.

A disgraced nephilim in the eyes of his own people, traded away for a peace bought with his soul and virginity. Alexander expected to be paraded around as a mockery, a whipping boy for the clave to offer to the warlocks and it’s clear that’s what the clave told him he was.

But Alexander is not something to be gawked at.

He is not someone who Magnus will allow others to see, not to admire and certainly not to laugh over. Alexander is his consort and if that means that Magnus veils him in magic and curses all those who dare look upon him, then so be it.