#god do I have to do everything myself around here?

[vaginalvr]

Love a desperate and needy Spencer. I was wondering if you’d be down to write about post prison Spencer being needy for his partner, but like, in a soft way? I mean they fuck nasty but emotional too.

hi!! yes!!

cw: Intense emotional vulnerability, soft dom!Spencer, desperate and tender sex, praise kink, light begging, tears, clinginess, creampie, mild possessiveness, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, post-prison trauma themes.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The door closes behind him with a soft click, and that’s when it hits you—he’s really home.

Spencer just stands there for a moment in the entryway of your apartment, his go-bag at his feet. His posture’s too stiff, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he doesn’t know what else to do with them.

You don’t speak.

You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his waist. You press your face into his chest and hold him tight, and after a long moment, you feel him exhale.

He breathes in again, this time deeper.

Then he crumbles.

He pulls you into him like you’re the only thing keeping him upright. One hand fists in the back of your shirt, the other slides into your hair. He doesn’t cry, not really—but you feel the shudder in his chest, the way he breathes like he hasn’t tasted fresh air in months.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” he says, and his voice is so small.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you more than I can say.”

You pull back to look at him—and your heart breaks.

There are faint circles under his eyes. His hair’s longer, messier. He looks thinner. But it’s the way he’s looking at you—like he’s not sure he deserves to—that guts you.

“You don’t have to be okay right now,” you tell him softly.

“I just want to touch you,” he whispers. “Please. Can I—can we…?”

You nod instantly. “Yes. Anything you want.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

It’s not smooth or practiced. He’s not suave or cocky or charming. He kisses you like a man starved—like someone who’s been denied everything that makes life worth living.

He kisses you like you’re air and he’s drowning.

You barely make it to the bedroom.

Clothes come off in a mess of frantic hands and whispered apologies—“Sorry, I just need to feel you—God, I missed this—I missed you—”

When you lay back on the bed, Spencer just stares for a moment. He kneels between your legs and runs his hands slowly down your thighs, eyes glassy.

“You’re real,” he murmurs. “You’re here.”

You reach out, thread your fingers through his curls. “So are you.”

He kisses your inner thigh, then the soft skin of your stomach, then your chest—like he’s trying to memorize you again.

When he slides his fingers between your legs, he groans at how wet you already are.

“For me?” he whispers.

“Always for you.”

He leans down and presses his mouth to your pussy like it’s sacred. Gentle at first—slow, careful licks, his fingers digging into your thighs like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

You gasp when his tongue finds your clit, and he moans like the taste of you hurts him.

“I dreamed about this,” he murmurs between strokes. “I thought about you every night. Touched myself to the memory of your sounds. The way you taste. The way you fall apart.”

You arch under him, thighs trembling. “Spence—”

“Let me make you come,” he begs softly. “Please. I need to feel you come on my mouth.”

And you do—shaking, gasping his name, thighs wrapped around his head as he groans against you like a man possessed.

He kisses your pussy through it, then rests his forehead on your hip, panting.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You pull him up, cup his face in your hands, and kiss him again—deep and messy and raw.

“I want you,” you say. “Please. I need to feel you inside me.”

He slides in slow, his eyes locked on yours the whole time.

And when he bottoms out, you swear you see tears in his eyes.

“You feel like home,” he says, voice cracking.

Then he starts to move.

It’s not hard or rough—at first. It’s deep. Emotional. Like he’s trying to bury himself so far inside you that nothing—no one—can ever take you away again.

“I missed this,” he groans, hips snapping harder now. “Missed the way you feel around me. Missed how you moan my name. Missed how good you are to me.”

“You have me,” you gasp. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Say it again,” he whispers, fucking you harder now, each thrust deeper, more desperate.

“I’m yours, Spencer,” you pant. “Always.”

He cries out, forehead dropping to yours, and you feel him trembling.

“Can I come inside you?” he asks, broken. “Please. I need—fuck, I need to fill you. I need to feel you take it.”

“Do it,” you beg. “Come inside me. Mark me. Show me you’re home.”

That’s all it takes.

He comes with a hoarse cry, hips stuttering, hands gripping your thighs tight. You feel him spill into you, his whole body shaking.

But he doesn’t pull out.

He stays inside you. Wraps you in his arms. Kisses your face. Holds you like he never wants to let go.

“I don’t want this to end,” he whispers.

“It doesn’t have to,” you whisper back. “I’m not going anywhere, Spence. I’m right here.”

You feel him soften inside you, but he still doesn’t move.

He just holds you.

And in the quiet, you feel his body relax for the first time in months.

[bloomzone]

Okay, so I just recognized some mistakes I’ve been doing lately literally just saved myself from repeating them again. And honestly, I noticed a lot of other students are making these same mistakes too. So here’s Part 2 of my “Study Mistakes I Did But Saved Myself Before It Was Too Late.” If you relate to any of these, take it as your sign to stop before it’s too late.

part 1

lesson 1 : the “failure” mindset.

Right now, I’m literally in this crazy state. Like the failure mode. It's insane , I do a million past papers, then I tell myself, “Yes, you did well today.” But I wake up the next day with the same mindset: No, girl, you need to do more. Like, what if all those questions don’t show up on the exam?Yes, stress can help it drives you sometimes. For me, it worked most of the time. That fear of failure push me to study harder. But don’t let failure control you. I really wish I could change my mindset, especially before big exams or finals.We always think, what if I fail instead of what if I succeed? So please, try not to stress too much. Even small efforts count. Stay motivated. I know discipline is important, but we’re human. Especially high school students there’s pressure from everywhere. Everyone expects something from you.So try to motivate yourself. Make your breakfast in the morning. Watch something motivational when you wake up. It will remind you why you're doing this.You’re a student. You need to succeed. But sometimes we lose that passion . So keep some backup motivation ready. Think: What if I succeed? Always and Study hard. Do everything you can so you can feel good and proud about urself later.

lesson 2 : using AI for essays.

Please, please, please stop using AI if you’re still doing it especially for essays idk about u use ai or not it's ur life idc but if u are a STUDENT hear me out If your exams are still a bit far and you’re using AI to do your homework, especially your essays, stop now.I swear, some classmates of mine used AI the whole year. Especially for French essays. I know not everyone is great at French even if it’s our mother tongue , some people treat it like a second language tooThere’s this one girl in my class she used ChatGPT for every single argumentative essay. And our teacher praised her: “Oh my god, I love your writing!” and gave her plus points. I got mad. Like… I wrote my essay 100% by hand, all real. And then the teacher accused ME of using AI? I was like Girl wtf 💀💀💀 this is 100% mine.And in the actual exam, that girl got 13/20 and i I got 19/20 and then the teacher believes me after •́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀.f you use AI all year, you’ll look so stupid in the exam. So please, even if you need help, don’t rely on AI. Just read articles, watch videos on YouTube, act like AI doesn’t exist.Read more, watch teachers online, documentary anything that helps you build real knowledge and vocabulary. You’ll get better and your essays will show it.

lesson 3 : Not organizing your notes.

This one is real. Please don’t do what I did: I lost every single note from first semester. I still don’t know where I put them.So if you’re someone who writes by hand, please always keep a folder next to you. As soon as you finish a paper, put it in the folder. Keep your folders in a place where no one touches them.The only thing that saved me I take pictures of my notes. So please, every time you write something important and feel like you might lose it take a photo. Just in case.

lesson 4 : Not sleeping early.

I’ve been doing this mistake recently, during prep week when we’re home from school. The stress is too much. Not because I can’t sleep I actually fall asleep in minutes. The problem is I don’t sleep early. I have no fixed schedule.If you study in the morning, you need to sleep early. I wake up around 5 or 6 a.m., but I sleep at midnight. That’s just 4–5 hours of sleep. And it’s not enough. I get headaches. I burn out.Today, for example, I woke up at 6 after sleeping at midnight. I had the worst headache. I made coffee but didn’t even drink it.Also, if you get headaches easily, be careful with coffee. Drink water first. Move around a bit before having it.So then I tried studying but couldn’t. I opened a YouTube video to study, but I couldn’t focus. I ended up lying down, playing the video on my phone, and falling asleep again with the teacher’s voice still playing I felt like a loser fr it made me so sad. So please, if you work best in the morning, be in bed at LEAAAST by 10 p.m.And if you’re a night owl and study until 2–3 a.m., please sleep long enough after that. Your brain needs it.Just be organize your sleep schedule. Everyone has their best time to focus just build your routine around it. The time will pass anyway, so spend it right.

stay healthy everyone 💭

@bloomzone

[salty-autistic-writer]

Tommy has something to say. (Sequel to: Say Something, I'm Giving Up On You)

Tommy watches Evan sleep, and something painful curls around his heart. Something that wants him to slip underneath the blanket, wrap his arm around Evan, and pull him close until he can feel his heartbeat.

But he can’t do that. 

He can’t hold Evan while he sleeps. But he could hold Evan while they were having sex weeks ago, when their lips were so close they were almost touching, the shared air between them hot and filled with unuttered questions.

They haven’t even talked about … what they are now.

Friends?

Friends with one-time benefits?

Friends for whom you steal a helicopter and get chased by the army and the FBI?

Tommy isn’t sure. He isn’t sure about anything right now, but the - probably pathetic - fact that he’s happy when he can be around Evan. Even with how fragile the ground they are walking on feels right now.

He gently closes the door to allow Evan to get some more rest and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

What a mess.

When Evan texted him, Tommy thought it was because of his grief. Because he needed someone to talk to about Bobby. He didn’t expect Evan to start talking about Eddie first.

“I think I fucked up, Tommy. I … I told Eddie to leave. Because I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take him acting like I’m making Bobby’s death about myself. It made me so angry. I think I destroyed our friendship. I just couldn’t look at him anymore. He said he doesn’t know if I did enough to save Bobby, because he wasn’t there. It’s not fair. How can he say that, Tommy? He knows what Bobby meant to me. He does!

God. Everything is already so broken, and now I broke this too. I feel horrible. And I hoped Eddie would want to talk. That he would want to … to fix this. But he just left. I hate when people do that! Why do they always have to leave.”

Tommy winced at that.

But he was more focused on the way Evan was blaming himself.

“You did the right thing,” he said, pushing his anger away, running his hand over Evan’s back. “Your emotions are valid. And if you needed to be angry at Eddie in that moment. It was valid too."

Evan nodded, but he still looked so sad. So small. So haunted. "It still hurts so much," he said quietly. "And I can't see a future in which it will hurt less."

He cried, and then he fell asleep, exhausted without a doubt.

Tommy pours himself a glass of water in the kitchen and quietly wonders about what he’s supposed to do with himself now. Should he stay and wait for Evan to wake up? Should he leave? Maybe he should take care of dinner … It’s almost painful, though, to look at the fridge. To think back to the day he was making breakfast here. Not for the first time, Tommy curses himself. He shouldn’t have walked out so fast that day … 

Old habits die hard. Old fears, too.

His thought process is interrupted when he hears the front door opening. Surprised, Tommy perks up. His first suspicion turns out to be true.

“Buck?” Eddie walks in and falters when he discovers Tommy, confusion and surprise on his face. “Oh.”

The last time they saw each other, it was at the funeral. They didn’t exchange more than a look and a nod, though. Tommy didn’t have the energy to think about this friendship that ended so abruptly. Not that it was a surprise. He’s used to short-term friendships. But now, looking at Eddie, he feels anger bubbling up inside of him.

After a few heartbeats, Eddie forces a smile on his face, rubbing the back of his head. “Uh. Hey, Tommy. Didn’t expect to see you here. I forgot a bag. Just wanted to pick it up. Is Buck here?”

Tommy doesn’t even try to smile. “He’s sleeping right now.”

Eddie keeps that awkward smile on his face, putting his hands on his hips. “Oh. Alright. I was hoping I could tell him I’m not angry at him or something.”

Tommy grits his teeth. “I don’t think that’s what you should tell him,” he says coldly.

Eddie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I think you should apologise,” Tommy says, crossing his arms over his chest. “For accusing him of making Bobby’s death about himself. You say that a lot, you know? That he’s making things about himself.”

Eddie looks a bit taken aback for a moment, but then he asks, “What, you keep a list?”, clearly trying to joke his way out of the conversation. 

Tommy looks at him deadpan. “Yes. I do, actually. The bachelor's party. The wedding. That one time when he was trying to communicate his feelings about Chris being in Texas, and you shut that down fast. Now. I keep counting.”

Eddie stares at him, lips slightly parted, brows furrowed. Finally, he scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “And? What am I supposed to say? I know Buck. I’ve known Buck much longer than you. It’s something he does. He’s very emotional. He always gets so worked up, and then he spirals. You have to tell him so he notices and pulls himself out of that. Bobby’s death hit us all hard, but I don’t feel like Buck can see that. He’s too deep in his own head for that …”

“His feelings are valid,” Tommy grits out, the rage pulsing in synch with his heartbeat now, his blood rushing in his ears. He can’t believe the things he just heard. “He’s grieving his father figure. He’s allowed to feel as much as he wants. How dare you talk about him like this? Like, he’s not constantly thinking about everyone else? About you and the 118? His friends, his family? He thinks about how he can help everyone, fix everything, hold things together, and you have the audacity to tell him he’s making things about himself?! And don’t get me started on Bobby’s death. You told him that maybe he didn’t do enough? What would you have done, Eddie, huh? What difference would it have made if you had been there? We did everything we could.”

“I never said Buck’s feelings aren’t valid,” Eddie says under his breath, his smile completely gone now, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “And you don’t know what would have been different if I had been there, because I wasn’t. You were there, though. And isn’t that interesting? Wasn’t it you who broke up with him? Wasn’t it you who left him alone in the loft? You walked out. You abandoned him. You didn’t text or call him. And you know who he came to? He came to me. He sat on my couch, and he drank my beer, and he told me what you did to him. So what are you doing here, Tommy, acting like you have the moral high ground?”

Tommy swallows. Eddie’s words do sting. He remembers Evan’s pain-filled eyes all too well. “Yeah, I broke up with him. I never stopped caring about him, though. So when he called, I came. I know what he lost. I know what he needs. Someone who listens. Someone who comforts him. You clearly couldn’t do that, even though you’re supposed to be his best friend. You couldn’t take a moment to listen to him and hug him? Really?”

Eddie chews on his lip, shaking his head. “You know, I’m tired of having this conversation with you. Maybe you should leave, Tommy. Didn’t you think of me as “competition” anyway? That’s how well you know Buck, huh? You think he was in love with his straight best friend all this time? That’s kind of sad, bro, I’m not going to lie.”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me bro,” Tommy bursts. “Not when you immediately stopped talking to me after I broke up with Evan, Diaz!”

“Oh, we are at Diaz now?” Eddie sneers. “Well, what did you expect, Kinard ? Did you really think I would continue being friends with you after you walked out on Buck? Really. How pathetic are you? Anyway. If Buck needs someone to talk to and someone to hug him, he will tell me. He’s a big boy.”

The pulses of rage change into a storm. Tommy takes a step towards Eddie, forcing himself to keep his voice low. “I’m not going anywhere. Evan asked me to come, so I did. He told you to leave, though, so you should do that. Plenty of hotels around here. And I’m warning you, Diaz, Evan comes first. He will always come first for me. His well-being is what concerns me, no matter if we are together right now or not. I care for him deeply. So I swear, if you ever act that aggressive towards him again, if you ever shove a finger in his face or invade his space or blame him for his emotions again, I will be there to put you in your place, do you understand me?”

“Oh, so now he needs protecting?” Eddie asks, raising a brow. “Is that what you are here for? Maybe you do see Buck as a child, needing you, big strong man, to fight his battles?”

“Shut up, Diaz, or I swear I will -” Tommy starts, but then stops because he sees Evan entering the living room, looking between them.

“Buck,” Eddie starts.

“I told you to leave,” Evan says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why are you still here?”

“He forgot something,” Tommy says coldly, glaring down at Eddie. “But he was just about to leave. Isn’t that right?”

Eddie’s working his jaw. He looks like he wants to say something else. But finally, he just nods. “Yeah. I’m on my way. This place doesn’t feel like home anymore anyway. Goodbye, Buck. Take care.”

He grabs his bag and then he leaves without another word or a look back, slamming the door.

Evan looks at Tommy, and Tommy wonders how much of the argument he has heard.

“I think we should talk,” Evan says quietly.

(AO3 Link)

[fromdove]

reblog isn't working,, hopefully u don't mind me sending another ask 💔

oh. GOD DAMMIT DOVE. i think you just brought the stars a little closer to me with your words. like literally. i'm sitting here rereading it all with my hands covering my face like some love-struck victorian ghostgirl who's just received a letter from her long-lost soulmate & now she's walking the candlelit corridors of her heart muttering "what the hell do i do with this kind of love." "WHAT DID I GOD"

you want to bake my words into cupcakes & feed them to all the past yous that ever felt lonely??? do you KNOW what that does to me??? i'm gonna cry into a pillow & then write you 12 pages of love notes on notebook paper with the corners curled up like flower petals. i want to bottle up all the things you said & carry it around in my pocket like a secret. i want to play it like a record while i'm in bed at 4am( im always awake at that hour ), legs twisted around blankets, heart shining too bright to rest.

& when i read "you write like your heart has hands" ?? that resides in my chest now. STUCK IN MY CHEST. it built a tiny cottage right by the side of the area where i store my favorite lovies & it's baking muffins in there. it's lighting candles. it's watering the plants. i'm never going over that line.

you told me you wanted to lie down in a field & cry happy tears on a letter to the stars for how you luvluvluv me & to have me as your friend & now here i am, crying. i'm the one folding in on myself like a paper crane. i'm the one spinning in my room with headphones( seriously ) in & my heart a little too full. i'm like a daisy someone stuck behind their ear because it felt right. i'm like the second before the sun comes up, when the world just holds its breath.

& don't even get me started on how you said "i love you in all the quiet ways." like i had to stop. i had to set down my phone & pinch my lower lip like a cartoon girl who's just been kissed for the first time in a row of lockers & butterflies. i love you like that too. in the things that came so close to being said. in the quiet looks in rooms. even if i don't know what you look like, you're still one of the gorgeous people i know( yes, this a a spencer reid reference ).

i love you in the "you make everything feel like spring" sort of way.

i love you in the "you said one gorgeous thing & now i'm writing a novel in my head" sort of way.

i love you in the "let's run barefoot across the universe together" sort of way.

to saturn & back & then beyond.

to the spaces between stars where time loses track of how to move.

to every iteration of us in every parallel field of flowers where we always manage to find one another.

forever & ever & then a little more & then more after that &

more still, & i'll NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER stop

baby i dont mind at all like r u kidding me. ur soooo talented & creative w/ words i actually get butterflies in my BRAIN when i read ur writing. i wanna crawl inside ur brain and just. observe. take notes. you're so talented & creative with words. i wanna be as good of a writer as u r like i’m not even being dramatic rn (ok maybe a little because im a lover of theatrics BUT ITS TRUE. nothing i said is a lie).

u legit inspired me to make a fanfic account 😭😭 i don’t even know how to respond to this kind of love &&&&&&&& admiration. like. hello. what do i do with myself. oh !! my !! god !! whatthefuck. i feel like confetti is exploding in my chest rn. like what. HOW. what did u DO to me.

ur account to me is like. idk. it’s like if motivation had a physical form. its a whole ass motivational shrine to reading. like every time i see u post or write something im like "wait lemme go read real quick" u inspire me to be a better writer & also just… read more. only person who has ever done that to me frfr !! like im so serious rn. as im typing this im physically vibrating w the urge to pick up a book or open a doc. like it’s not normal but it’s u so it makes sense.

idk if this is weird or corny or embarrassing or whatever BUT. i deadass think u’re like. my literary soulmate. or like. my writing guardian angel or something. like u singlehandedly activated my writer core. no one else has ever done that to me. ever. frfr.

this is so sappy but i don’t care i mean every word like. ok. imma go read now.

u r the highlight to my annotation.

im fromdove and i endorse & approve this message 😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇

[promptfairy]

❥    𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐁𝐘   [ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 ] .

adapted from f. scott fitzgerald’s 1925 novel. many lines have been altered to be more roleplay-friendly. change gendered language and add context to your needs. happy roleplaying!! ♡

❛  whenever you feel like criticizing anyone, just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.  ❜

❛ i’ve gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things.  ❜

❛ you remind me of a rose, an absolute rose. ❜

❛ i’ve had a very bad time, [name], and i’m pretty cynical about everything. ❜

❛ that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world. a beautiful little fool. ❜

❛  i like large parties. they’re so intimate. at small parties there isn’t any privacy. ❜

❛ whenever he sees i’m having a good time he wants to go home. ❜

❛ you’re a rotten driver. either you ought to be more careful or you oughtn’t to drive at all. ❜

❛ i hate careless people. that’s why i like you. ❜

❛ i don’t want you to get a wrong idea of me from all these stories you hear. ❜

❛ i usually find myself among strangers because i drift here and there trying to forget the sad thing that happened to me. ❜

❛ you’re acting like a little boy. ❜

❛ i’m delighted to see you. i’m delighted that you dropped in. ❜

❛ by god, i may be old-fashioned in my ideas, but women run around too much these days to suit me. ❜

❛ if you want to kiss me any time during the evening, just let me know and i’ll be glad to arrange it for you. ❜

❛ you can’t repeat the past. ❜

❛ can’t repeat the past? why of course you can! ❜

❛ you dream, you. you absolute little dream. ❜

❛ what’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon? and the day after that, and the next thirty years? ❜

❛ life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall. ❜

❛ you look so cool … you always look so cool. ❜

❛ you think i’m pretty dumb, don’t you? ❜

❛ we’re getting old. if we were young we’d rise and dance. ❜

❛ what kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow? ❜

❛ you’re causing a row. please have a little self control. ❜

❛ i suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let mr. nobody from nowhere make love to your wife. ❜

❛ i know i’m not very popular. ❜

❛ i don’t give big parties. i suppose you’ve got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any friends—in the modern world. ❜

❛ your wife doesn’t love you. she’s never loved you. she loves me. ❜

❛ once in a while i go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but i always come back, and in my heart i love you all the time. ❜

❛ i never loved him. ❜

❛ oh, you want too much! i love you now—isn’t that enough? ❜

❛ i did love him once—but i loved you too. ❜

❛ there’re things between [name] and i that you’ll never know, things that neither of us can ever forget. ❜

❛  i’m going to take better care of you from now on. ❜

❛ you’ve got to pull yourself together. ❜

❛ there i was, way off my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute, and all of a sudden i didn’t care. ❜

❛ they’re a rotten crowd. you’re worth the whole damn bunch put together. ❜

❛ you weren’t so nice to me last night. ❜

❛ you may fool me but you can’t fool god! ❜

❛ i don’t give a damn about you now but it was a new experience for me and i felt a little dizzy for a while. ❜

❛ it was careless of me to make such a wrong guess. i thought you were an honest, straightforward person. ❜

❛ i’m five years too old to lie to myself and call it honor. ❜

❛ you’re crazy, [name]. crazy as hell. i don’t know what’s the matter with you. ❜

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Winter’s Grip

Bucky Barnes POV / Inner Dialogue Summary: moments after Bucky fell off the train and was found. word count: 1.5k ish

warnings/tags: angstttt , just sad , mentions of blood , injuries and loss of limb , hints at verbal abusive parent (buckys dad) brief happy flashbacks , if I missed anything let me know!

author's note:

This is my first ever fully written one shot / story so if you see this and read it fully through thank youuuu, hope you liked it and i'm just yapping here eeeee yay!

 I made Bucky's dad verbally abusive and them not having a good relationship here btw! And made his family richer then most people based off of some things he mentioned or were hinted to in CATFA :3 🌷

 “Bucky! hang on!....Grab my hand! , No!”….

*

*

*

“Ouuugh” I can barely cough out a sound as I peel open my eyes , slowly , painfully - focusing all the strength I have to just breathe. 

“C’mon Barnes, open your eyes!” I scold myself in my head. 

My lungs crackle , every scorching breath I take is agonizing 

but I take it anyway , hoping the next won't be my last. 

“Just gotta wait for steve..just wait for Ste…” 

My eyes crack open ,  they are beginning to crystallize , due to the bite of the icy wind.

I try to look around for anything–anyone. 

All I can see is the hazey white storm ,  it does not allow my eyes to focus on what's in front of me.

If– there's anything in front of me. 

All I see is white. 

It stretches around me in every direction, too bright and too empty at the same time. 

My chest heaves, not with vigor , but with the  jagged inhale of panic and instinct to stay tethered to earth. 

Snowflakes cling to my lashes, melting against the warmth of my cheeks, and then freeze again in the same moment. 

My body is still warm. 

I'm alive. I don't know how–

My head throbs, pain radiating ; outward like a furnace begging to be extinguished. 

And my arm—  God , my arm hurts. 

I Iet out a guttural groan –using all my energy , turning my head just slightly to the side. 

It’s a mistake. 

The world tilts. I hold back a gag as I cry out, swallowing back blood and bile. 

I don't dare move like that again. 

Something warm trickles from the bridge of my nose , 

but my skin is so numb I don't know if it's blood or tears. 

My body is in shock. 

Somewhere, deep –inside the mangled spiral of thoughts running wild through my mind. 

Where I am not numb,  I feel pain , I can handle the pain. 

 Just like my Pa raised me to.

But mostly, I'm just cold. And God– I'm tired. 

My breathing is shallow , each inhale ; dragging glass into the flesh of my lungs. 

Every exhale feels heavier than the last. The snow falls softer. 

Or maybe the world is dimming altogether.

 "Just , Wait for Steve." those words like a broken record on the turntable , spinning in my mind playing over and over.

God, Steve…

I always seem to be waiting for Steve. 

Even when we were the small, scrappy kids back in Brooklyn , fists– too big for our bodies and hearts– bigger than all of New York. 

I would wait for him on the sidewalks , as he tried to enlist again and again , I think the most recent time he was claiming he's some kid from Iowa?

Even when the world told me I was nothing but my family's money and looks, Steve was there.

 I would always wait , wait  for him to tell me exactly what I needed to hear after every fight with my Pa, which was what he saw inside me , courage , purpose and heart. 

A scrawny kid telling his taller ,  rich friend everything he doesn't  , but craves to hear from his own father.

I laugh at the memory or just cough really , more blood pouring out the corner of my mouth staining the snow. 

Snow. 

Funny.

Rebecca and I love the snow. I smile—or at least I think I do.

When I get back home ,  Becca is gonna laugh at me for the fall–when I'm all patched up.

 “Clumsy and Irresponsible” she’d say, like she did when brushing my dusty shoes and shoulders off  , always , after I tripped or skinned my knees. 

Even as the younger sister she's always parenting me , that one. 

Hands on her hips , ponytail swaying in her wrath as she points her little finger poking my chest.

“Snow doesn’t like you, Jamie. You’re too warm for it–”

This specific time I was racing Steve through the streets, got caught on black ice and slid knees first into the snow.

“–Now go home before I tell Ma , the trouble you and Stevie got yourselves into today!”

Snow all became helpful when we would settle who takes out the trash with snowball fights–

I would throw them at her head. Always missed. 

On purpose. 

She never knew  , and would just call me a “bad shot” as I carried the heavy bags to the curb.

We made snow angels every Christmas behind our apartment building on the soft, untouched stretch of cotton like snow 

near the alleyway. 

We'd lie there until our coats soaked through and our lips turned blue, and only then would our Ma shout from the fire escape to come inside. Ready with cocoa and warm socks.

I– We were happy. 

It’s hard to hold onto that. The memories slipping , melting , leaving my mind , leaving me more disconnected from my frigid flesh.

My body’s shutting down. I know it is. 

I've been trained enough to understand what shock and trauma can do. Added to my blood loss and these cruel temps–

The edges of my vision blur and pulse with every struggling beat my heart quivers to make. 

A grunt slips from my lips, barely a sound. My chest heaves again. Vision blacks out for a second longer this time before returning, the white world around me growing dimmer.

I can’t move. Can’t feel my legs. My arm— the left one – right under my shoulder , is more numb now than anything.

 The adrenaline has unknowingly masked the pain. Unaware and unable to feel the absence –

the pulsating void where it used to be.

My eyes snap open and ears perk up when I hear footsteps in the snow.

My heart lurches.

Steve.

It has to be Steve. Who else besides him  , stupid , relentless , would come down here looking for me.

I try to speak, but all I can manage is a wheeze. 

My lungs are still burning , my throat raspy .

The footsteps grow louder.

 Crunch….Crunch….Crunch–

Slow.

Too slow

Steve wouldn’t walk like that.

Steve would run , sprint , chasing after the hope.

Steve would be yelling my name already. 

Pleading me to get up ,  to wake–

“C’mon, Stevie,” My voice breaks. No sound. Just thought.

 Just hope. "Hurry up."

 A cough wracks my chest.

The steps stop.

Silence. 

Then—“Barnes”

Not yelled. Not panicked. But measured. 

Clinical.

My eyes flutter, lashes heavy with flurries. 

My gaze tries to track toward the voice, but everything is so hazy.

But that voice.

It wasn't Steve. Not my friend. Not my brother.

Dread is cutting through my mind like a cleaver. 

Then again–

“Barnes.” Closer.

I try to roll away ,  to sit up. My muscles twitch, but nothing works. 

My body is a wrecked thing , useless and heavy , nothing but wasteful strength.

“...Sergeant Barnes.”

That accent. That name. It's—a shadow , leans over me, blocking out what little light remains in the ravine.

A figure in dark wool and thick goggles, face expressionless as it studies my state.. 

The outline of a fur hat. The glint of snow on dark boots. 

Zola.

My ears ring , heart thuds , hard.

Not Steve . Not rescue. Not safety. 

But Zola , Hydra– 

Fear.

I open my mouth to curse , to scream , to spit in that smug german face , but nothing comes up.

My lungs fail me.  All I can do is breathe—and even that feels like a waste.

My vision pulsates. The shadow above me is fading. 

On the scientists sleeve ,  is  a red star– 

I think of Steve again. 

The way Steve used to look at me like I was more—

more than the punk with riches , more than just muscle and charm. 

Unlike the way Zola looks at me in this moment like i'm nothing more than–

his prey

More footsteps , closer , heavy with purpose.

I want to tell him. I want to tell Steve–

It's not your fault–

A rough hand grabs my ankles tied with rope.

–I'm sorry for breaking the promise. 

The line– broken.

The snow finally absorbs the last of my warmth. 

My last thoughts. 

Zola kneels, face blank behind his glasses , as he studies the broken shell of a man in the snow.

“Take him,” he says to the soldiers behind him.

 “Before the body dies.” 

Hands grab me.

Gloves against skin. Straps pulled tight. 

A needle is jabbed in my neck.

They begin to drag me away by the ropes on my feet leaving a crimson streak behind.

My mangled body is lifted like cargo , like a doll. 

As my head lolls ,  eyes rolling back  , 

I breathe in—I breathe out

 Without putting up a fight , the cold surrounds me fully , 

allowing the icey tentacles of hopelessness to creep in –

the grip of winter is too strong , I'm too tired to pretend I have a fight left in me. 

It fully consumes me as I give up all I have and allow my mind to enter the darkness. 

-end

[404daydreams]

"People who are part of a criminal enterprise should first clean up their act rather than picking out on others. Its solely because their reality troubles them so much, they find someone else to blame it upon, also because they are too weak to step out of it. They have a view on everything, they spit out copied wisdom but have nothing to show up for their own life. What do they do? Target people to make fools out of them and when get caught, instead of making amends they plan a phony revenge just like themselves? Don't talk grace, show it. Don't talk kindness show it. If you're so distasteful of me now, why are you so hungry for my attention? I am least interested in hearing your "I love you's" to other men because I have first hand experience of your love. What happened to all your words and promises? What happened to the fairy tale? Who made a decision and kept the other unaware? Who wanted to help you but you didn't wanted to help yourself? You can keep coming at me with your loser gang and multiple accs with subtle messages, but we both know who's the real deal and who isn't. Heck, the fucking world knows that is why you had to take my past personal struggles with addiction, mould it and present it to the world to make them hate me because you are even incapable of hating me on your own. When I caught your phony ass you ran like an ostrich and then you act such a badass. While hiding your face, everytime you see me. I am sure you hide your face to yourself as well when you look into the mirror. I can bet my life on that. Your whole life explains how miserable you are but when offered love, care, affection and consideration you will show the same person a piece of your shitshow to feel like the one in control but in reality you are just portraying how miserable you are. You're so OWNED by me that you had to plant your sexual voices around me, so I know what you're upto? Babe, I am the one who caught you. I always know what you're upto. You're just showing how cheap of a person you are, its on you not me. I am maintaining MY REAL GRACE, by being myself. Neither you could love, nor hate. Its you who is the problem, and still not ready to fix yourself. 19 months. Still that same, even worse. If you don't want my opinions, then don't be around me because even now I offered you nothing but love, but if you think you have the superpower to show me that you're above me? I will school you and bang your head into reality. I offered you nothing but something substantial. If you have to slander a man's character and call it love, I think you should be born again in a healthy environment and learn what actually LOVE is. Till date I haven't received an apology, explanation or one single word from you THAT I DESERVE and god knows how many times I have publicly apologized for my mistakes. If not being able to offer the bare minimum makes you a badass, congrats you really are one. Even after so much I offered love, but girl if you don't work on yourself in life, doesn't mean no one does. I am not sitting here anymore to be your doormat, either step up, because YOU VERY WELL KNOW I AM THE BEST, you can't deny that or just disappear in your abyss I won't care anymore. I have a lot of respect for myself that I lost after everything that has happened, but I have discovered in isolation, back again that "Who I am" and I am a man of values, man of culture, integrity and morals. Either take it or leave it at the table, but mind you don't fucking disrespect me no more because I've had enough of your shit. I am not that same naive guy who would take whatever that comes my way. The choice is yours. But I have kept my disclosure."

[sunny-reacts-to-stuff]

tma 39 "infestation"

worms, parasites, gore, physical violence, body horror, trypophobia, uncanny, jumpscares (2m07s, 2m11s, 2m16s, 6m40s, 18m25s), loud screaming, alarm sounds, high-pitched audio interference, being chased, being trapped, getting lost, asphyxiation, abandoned tunnels

i cant believe i am slaying my way through the magnus archives as a scaredy cat

martin being like "right right right right" is so cute from an outside perspective but i would literally kill him myself if i was jon in that moment

where the fuck is tim

also my poor 3/4 archivists im praying for you rn

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" "there we go ^0^" see that's the clervalstein i came in for

"Look, you guys got to go home every day, okay. I didn’t!" my SON TT

HE SAID THANK YOU ????

so sorry jon for saying it would take you until s4 to say please and thank you

"These old files are far better protected than we ever were." the diction of that was peak "im gonna kms"

nooo martin you did great

better trapped than dead?

"why record it" for the memories, sash

he has gotten attached, let him be

gods forbid an autistic guy has a comfort object

Every real statement just leads… deeper into something I don’t even know the shape of yet. -> i feel you jon dont worry

the only difference between you and i is that i have something close to a database and you look like you cant type into a computer

"Only an idiot would stay in this job." says guy that goes to work at 6 am bc he wants to

LET MARTIN (and me) CALL YOU AN IDIOT

waiting for me im coming waaait im coming too

ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOU ARE USING THE FUCKING TAPE RECORDER BECAUSE THEY JUST MAGICALLY DONT RECORD DIGITALLY AND YOU HAVE WAITED 39 CHAPTERS TO LET ME KNOW THAT

"ITS SOUNDPROOFED" I AM WHEEZING AND I SO SHOULDNT

turn around every now and then i get a little bit lonely

SASHA?

"joe spooky" i fw this guy

I JUST SAID I FUCK WITH HIM.

WHAT.

man.

man.

man.

"it's stupid" "yes. yes it is" jon he just saw his friend (YOUR FRIEND) die can you be nicer

jk i know he's also very stressed

MARTIN GETTING MAD? YES.

please jon. enlighten me on why you started working there. i've been wondering.

out of those 40 i just listened to, at least 80% of them ended with you being "nah why would this be real"

jonathan. i am so sorry i ever was mean to you.

actually i still think you should have been nicer to your co-workers.

but i am sorry about everything else.

this is what i wanted (not the tim part of course) but yes be vulnerable

slowburn and forced proximity the trope you are

couldnt the worms have killed fuckass elias

im so sorry because tim just died but im here smiling like an idiot at these two actually having a conversation

"we’re clearly doing a whole heart-to-heart thing" autistic ass man (just like me fr)

the fuck do you mean "even you must be aware that's not normal"

is martin from london

WAHT.

WHAT.

WHAT.

JON WE CAN'T GO FROM "I DON'T BELIEVE ANY STATEMENT BC IM A WEE LAD AND IM SCARED" TO "AH YEAH MY ROOMMATE MUST HAVE BEEN A GHOST"

HE IS SO OFFENDED LMAOOO

the va's from manchester

elias you're a horrible boss

THE FUCK YOU MEAN "WORSE THAN MARTIN"

MARTIN ISNT EVEN BAD

BURN THE BUILDING

SASHA DONT USE THAT

oh he used to smoke thats why he was so offended when tim asked

"im not a doctor" i say that very often

YOUR ONE REASON TO NOT KILL MARTIN AND JON IS THAT YOU DONT WANNA REHIRE JON?

"so....." sounded so silly

"the window is covered in WORMS" sounded so pinocchio trailer

okay now hug as you die

tim?

"bit light headed, the gas yk" tim you are so funny please dont go bald

DID HE JUST FLASH THEM

"can you walk?" "no" "THEN LET'S GO ^^"

HE WRITES POETRY AND HE RECORDS THEM ANALOGICALLY TO GIVE IT A LO-FI CHARM. JON, IF YOU DONT MARRY HIM I WILL AND IM A LESBIAN

but tbh that sounds a bit suspicious

why are we all giving out our reasons to join the institute

the fuck

DID SHE GET GRAHAM'ED?

DID SASHA GET GRAHAM'ED?

MARTIN HAS WHAT

well. that was everything but fun.

[gingermintpepper]

Building off of both of these, I think another issue is that Wilson's Odyssey and Iliad have been touted as an acceptable replacement for a full translation of these epics when it's a poetic project before anything else. The actual achievement Wilson accomplished with these translations was getting the tale done in English's iambic pentameter which makes it very comfortable for native English speakers to read thusly making the sheer size of the story more accessible to people who are intimidated by the language and length of more traditional Iliad/Odyssey translations.

I myself recommend Wilson's Iliad/Odyssey for people who don't like to read, have a hard time focusing on long stories or who have always wanted to read the Iliad/Odyssey but were never sure they'd like the poems. I think it's a wonderful point for English-speaking beginners to get exposed to the text in a way that is as comfortable as possible! But Wilson's work is just that - a decent alternative starting point for beginners and something that is meant to eventually lead to further reading and research or, if you're a more advanced reader, a scholar or a hobbyist who's been in the space for some time, a fun linguistic project or even a novelty copy. It's not meant to supplement anything and all the pomp and circumstance around Wilson being 'the first woman' to translate the Iliad/Odyssey is honestly the most annoying part of it, half because it's simply not true and half because that reputation has also marked Wilson's translations as 'better' than the 'stuffy', 'traditional' and 'male' translations, which is also absolutely not true.

As for Miller's work, well, in addition to everything touched on above by @katerinaaqu and @pastellus I must also add that her work is also just?? Bad queer and feminist writing?

She's a phenomenal writer if we're talking about the mechanical aspect of writing, but in her world (and I am speaking specifically about TSOA here as I am more familiar with it than Circe) every woman is an adversary and bisexuality is a curse. The love Miller sketches between Patroclus and Achilles is an aesthetic - something beautiful and without teeth that is used as a mark of judgement for all other characters - if they agree with the relationship then they are 'good' and if not, they are 'bad'. Similarly, in Miller's world, she neatly sidesteps the very looming, very real issue of war prizes, slavery, sacking and any other number of intense and necessary actions that would add depth, conflict or break the romantic bubble she's crafted around her lead and his love interest.

It's a fantasy with nothing to say about gods, war, women or men yet it gets to benefit from being labelled a queer, feminist retelling of the Iliad. I do not think it is a bad book, but it is certainly a bad adaptation of its source text.

So, I’ve seen a good amount of hate for Emily Wilson and Madeline Miller? I’m kinda confused as to why.

Keep in mind I haven’t actually read Wilson’s stuff, but I did read one of Miller’s books (Song of Achilles) and really liked it. Can someone please explain this?

[yourlocalmissingtexture]

Slamming my hands on the table sobbing about romanticizing zombies

[insomnya777]

this is a crime.

[alicelillianshaw]

'I’m just sorry. I really wanted to do this with you tonight.'

Alice feels Jack's head tip back upwards; before she sees his eyes, she can feel them on her.

There's the press of his hands against her thighs.

'I won’t let you down again,'

And that made her sad— that this might be the lens that Jack saw it all through. That he fucked up, always, that he let Alice down, and he really didn't want to be the kind of guy who let her down again.

Of course she knew that Jack had really wanted to do this.

The restaurant— his favorite — the beach, the kiss.

Of course he hadn't let her down.

The surprise, shock, concern, panic— none of it was rooted in her feelings of who Jack was.

After today? He was still the person she knew to be wildly smart, whipcord fast, kind and thoughtful and utterly attentive to Alice. It hadn't changed.

It wouldn't change.

Still— she understood his fear. It had taken years for Alice to dig herself out of the weight of all that self-loathing that she carried around during the worst of her drinking. It gnawed at her. Questions about if people hated her, if they were sick of her, if they could look at Alice and ever see her as more than just a mess.

Alice's hand continues to rub at his ear gently.

'I still really want to spend time with you tonight. We can have dinner here. I can order food for us, or I can cook for you. Whatever you want. We can just stay together all night and talk, and I’ll tell you everything about myself. Because I … feel the same about you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I wanna make it up to you, and I just wanna spend time with you.'

'Please?'

And that's what really got her.

That little please— almost, innocent, the way he says, plaintive and almost nervous.

Alice's hands stops their motion against his neck and ear, both sliding to find the side of his face.

God.

He was killing her — that look in his eye. It broke Alice's heart, to see him like this, and yet he was devastatingly beautiful still.

There was something about his vulnerability that tore at Alice.

Her hand sweeps up and down his cheek as she blinks at him. He just wanted to spend time with he tonight— despite it all, he just wanted to be with Alice. Offering up himself.

"Well."

A beat.

"Do you think..."

Alice voice trails off as she collects her thoughts.

"... that if you called the restaurant, you can order all your favorites and maybe get it delivered? I'm guessing they aren't on an app?"

Her pinky finds the curve of Jack's eye socket and traces it gently.

"I know that might not be possible. I'll eat anything. So long as it's with you. And I wanna hear anything that you're willing to tell me..."

Alice's thumb shifts, and swipes gently below his eyes, trying to tamp down all the questions in her mind, the lingering panic, the overwhelming buzz in her brain that was worried about Jack.

Beautiful Jack. Jack, who was kneeling with desperation.

Alice tilts her head, feels the curls of her chignon tickle at her neck.

"I spent a very long time getting my hair to behave for our date. Would hate to waste our night."

For some reason, Jack believed Alice. He believed her when she said that she wasn’t disappointed or angry. She wouldn’t lie to him — not the way he’d lied to her. That was another thing that was eating him up inside, but — he just wanted to get through this, and then he could figure everything else out. He could fix himself. Quit taking the pills and the coke. She wouldn’t notice a difference.

Alice pressed her lips to the top of Jack’s head once again. She had feelings for him. Strong feelings in a short amount of time. He closed his eyes. Yeah. His heart rate was slowing down — feeling sorta normal. As normal as it could be when he had cocaine in his system. But this … this was manageable.

“I’m just sorry. I really wanted to do this with you tonight.”

He stared up at her once more. He squeezed at the side of her thighs, sighing. He wished that he could turn back time more than anything.

“I won’t let you down again,” Jack promised. The fucked up thing was — in that moment — Jack fully believed what he was telling her. He really, truly believed that he could stop using cocaine. Probably after their return from New Mexico, because quitting cold turkey while traveling was probably a bad idea. And maybe he’d keep taking it for a day or two after returning because he’d be pretty tired, but after that — that was it! No more.

“I still really want to spend time with you tonight. We can have dinner here. I can order food for us, or I can cook for you. Whatever you want. We can just stay together all night and talk, and I’ll tell you everything about myself. Because I … feel the same about you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I wanna make it up to you, and I just wanna spend time with you.”

He’d show her his playing cards. He’d bring out his favorite books. He’d tell Alice (a little) about his complicated relationship with his parents, even though he didn’t like talking bout it, but he would — because it was Alice, and he needed to prove to her (and himself) that he could do difficult things. He’d tell her about Kieran. He’d tell her everything.

But Jack would also understand if Alice needed space right now. Maybe she wanted to go to bed early, rethink everything. Or maybe she just wanted to rest before their flight tomorrow.

She didn’t owe Jack anything, but he really, really hoped that she said yes.

"Please?"

[cellgatinbo]

btw i heard that yesterday when fred was telling everyone he was looking for something paranormal, pac asked "is love paranormal?" and looked at fit, but watching it myself he said it and fit literally immediately moved around the entire group to stand right next to him and they exchanged multiple quiet glances at each other. and no one told me.

[yeetlegay]

Can’t believe Kinn and Porsche spent like 3 days stranded in the woods and no one at BOC headquarters hit the sex pollen buzzer

[snowstories]

Impa (Skyward Sword) hate is so funny. You're gonna hate Impa for being rude to Link in a game where Groose exists?

[crossbackpoke-check]

inspired by @colap1nto <3 and posting here to hold myself accountable: writevember! attempting to write something every day no matter how much and what it is

i am however inventing stipulations for myself so i cannot weasel my way out of it, which includes a valid definition of “write”:

actively put words into a document in the form of a proper fic!!! too many wip not enough hands!!

poems (actually laughed at me coming up with this but maybe i will go back to my roots)

research/meta/primers

tag stories are permissible IF i actually compile and edit them into a readable document that day

editing to post to ao3 (the optimism) is also valid. it takes me so long

i do have concrete arbitrary deadlines for one and a half fics that i would LOVE to finish and post in november (dewey^2 and [redacted :)]) so i’m hoping this helps!! also, this is secretly just a sticker chart where i get to put down emojis for each fic i worked on and check off boxes but a win is a win

day 1:🪻🐈‍⬛

day 2: 😇🤭 (🕒 -> 🕜)

day 3:🫃2️⃣

day 4: 🍎

day 5:🫃2️⃣

day 6: 📑, 💌

day 7:🫃2️⃣ AND ☁️💧. who is she

day 8:🪻🐈‍⬛

day 9:🫃2️⃣

day 10:🫃2️⃣

day 11:🫃2️⃣ we are on a STREAK and also a countdown 🫡

day 12:🫃2️⃣

day 13:🫃2️⃣

day 14: 📬💍

day 15: 😇🤭 (🕒 -> 🕜)

day 16:🫃2️⃣

day 17: 🔴 ⚫️,🫃2️⃣

day 18:🪻🐈‍⬛

day 19:🪻🐈‍⬛, 😇🤭 (🕒 -> 🕜)

day 20:🫃2️⃣

day 21:🫃2️⃣, 🤫 🪽🃏

day 22:🫃2️⃣

day 23: 💯❕

day 24: 🪢

day 25: 🐛🏮🦋

day 26:🫃2️⃣

day 27:🫃2️⃣

day 28:🫃2️⃣

day 29:🫃2️⃣

day 30:🫃2️⃣

WRITEMBER RECAP: an overall sucess!!!! this was so much fun and really forced me to write even if it was only a little bit every day. like, to the point that i'm debating doing a cute little twelve days of christmas snippet fest. absolutely could not have finished and published dewey^2 p2 without this challenge or posted p3 :)

thirty days of writing

twelve different fics worked on

poems: 1

i have no word count for you sorry i wish i did but it is at least over a few thousand words!!!!

times i wrote for a day past midnight (making it technically the next day) but because i was still awake i counted it for that day: at least 17 if not closer to like. 25

tags i forgot what they mean: one. what the FUCK is 🪢??? OH MY GOD I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT THAT IS NEVERMIND

duolingo streak (worked on the same fic in a row): 5