#honestly this is what my brain does to me

[connorsnothereeither]

How do you make Virgils boards, is there a system or do you just like go ham? I find them very neat and am curious

(idk if this has been asked before but if it has i couldn't find it so-)

I don’t think it’s been asked but I would LOVE to ramble about it omg for sure-

It’s sort of a mix of both! I have the advantage of like,,, Virgil canonically thinks the way I think, when it comes to connecting dots, so it’s sort of just a visual representation of my brain and how I picture the lore, lol. In terms of a “process” though:

I tend to start with a list of important plot points, bits of information, and character details Virgil does know. And obviously most of the time, it’s a a bunch of questions that he’s asking, which I’ve woven those into

From there, I make a list of assumptions Virgil makes based off those facts. Sometimes those are correct assumptions that I know are right because they’re planned lore. Sometimes they’re things that I’m spitballing because we haven’t landed on an actual answer, and it’s sort of like,,, testing the waters with an idea I think is fun, but that might not be canon. Sometimes, my favourite, they’re just completely bullshit assumptions that make sense but are so wild and silly, either for the comedic effect or as a red herring.

Once I’ve got all of those, I do just sort of go ham sketching them out! I tend to cluster them based on vibe and theme, so it looks like an evolution of thought. Here is this idea, here is this idea that relates to it, kinda thing. I also try to make sure that there’s a drawing or diagram per cluster of information, to add more visual interest! I tend to shuffle things around once they're drawn out, trying to see what fits best where, the sizing of things, and whats like, an appropriate connection/space for things to go! (for example in the upcoming draft of the board, I had to decide if i put the section on Luxtant near Avianism, near the Avicane, near the Sorcerers, or near Vast and Rune!)

Also before I do the line art, I tend to add the strings on a seperate layer to test the placement! actually connecting things with the red string is less important to me then how it looks visually. I want “main things,” whether it’s drawings or notes, to be visible. Like I try my best to not have string lines being directly over the top of people, or important concepts! You can for example in the current board in Virgil’s office that like,,, the note about Kalia isn’t covered, or the pictures of Vast and Pietro, but things like random questions about Viviana are covered by strings, because they’re less important to notice upon first glance. It’s a lot of finding a way to use the strings to draw the eyes in places I want them to go.

Then the last step of the process is line art and colouring and finalising placement :D

That all makes it sound like it’s a properly like, thought out process but honestly it’s a big mess of back and forth editing and scribbling and deciding last minute to add things to fill up space and just hope things turn out looking okay lol! But I have a lot of fun with it, Virgil and his investigations and investigative process (especially upcoming with things like Void Sickness) are very fun to play out 🫶

[sunlightandsuffering]

‘I lost my asshole friends in the club and you’re hot, help me’

Mikasa has in many occasions in her life as a young adult helped drunken partygoers get home. Friends, family members, acquaintances, strangers, you name it, she even once helped a lost dog get home on a particularly drunken Friday night. 

However, in her limited experience, she does not often help boys get home. 

They are a strange species, too macho to ask for help, and often knowing how to make their own way home, whether it be walking, or drunnkenly stumbling onto the bus. She rarely has to deal with the men in her life losing their faculties so completely that she has to get them home. No, when Mikasa plays mom in the club to her rag tag friend group, it is most often her girl friends who are the problem, namely Sasha. 

Tonight though, Sasha is remarkably well-behaved, sticking close to Connie instead and sharing his drinks instead of throwing back so many of her own. 

Mikasa had thought that maybe tonight would be a break, that she wouldn't be worrying about getting anyone else home.

So colour her surprised, when at 1:30 am, when all her friends are leaving, her the last out of the club, she bumps into the ultimate hot mess himself: Eren Yeager. Eren is hot, attractive in the kind of way most girls dream about, the big bad boy that’s going to sweep you off your feet, drop your panties and fuck you in the back alley before taking you home to cuddle in his bed, which probably doesn’t have a head board but does have a navy blue bedspread. She knows of Eren, has never met him personally, only seen him from afar in Armin’s pictures and too many drunken stories. Yet somehow, at the end of her night, he quite literally falls into her, and despite her own tall stature, it’s a miracle he doesn’t take them both to the floor. Only by the grace of god, her knee-high combat boots and the wall does she stop them from toppling to the floor. Eren on the other hand, deep dives right into the comfortable pillows of her cleavage, and as she catches her balance, one arm bracing them against the wall and the other, clutching his shoulders for support, Eren seems only too happy to be face-first in her tits. She colours bright pink at the thought, because it’s not just anyone diving for her breasts, it’s Eren fucking Yeager. 

“Hey,” she hisses, smacking him as she tries to tear them apart, “Those are my boobs jackass.” “And may I just say,” Eren mumbles, finally pulling himself from her chest, eyes glazed over with the effects of alcohol, “They are really fucking amazing, like seriously, you have great tits.” Mikasa genuinely doesn’t know what to say, because on one hand, wow, what a compliment and from Armin’s best friend the manwhore, it’s definitely high praise. But on the other hand, what the fuck? She settles for a glare and this seems to spark Eren’s brain into action, “Oh my god Mikasa! It’s you, Armin’s friend. Holy shit you’re prettier in person.” Mikasa bites down on her lip to contain her smile because shit, he knows who she is. “Yes, that would be me, what can I do for you Eren?” Eren beams at her, and why is his smile pretty, crooked in a way that’s too enticing, and the green of his eyes it’s fucking emerald sparkling, just like her mother’s wedding ring. 

The audacity of him to be so pretty in the middle of the night in the club when everyone else looks like trash and smells even worse, it’s just unfair really. 

“I umm, I saw you and I don’t know if you can tell but I’m a little more drunk than I’d like to be right now, and I took an edible about an hour ago and it’s realllllly starting to hit,” He tells her candidly, and as he says it she notices just how red his eyes are, and just how fucking out of it he looks, much perkier than she’d ever expect him to be. “But I saw you and I know who you are because Armin never shuts the fuck up about you and honestly, you’re stunning I would have definitely hit on you anyway, but I thought maybe you might be able to get me home.” He’s rambling now, but he very abruptly shuts up again as his eyes slide to her tits and Mikasa fights back a smile because wow she really is getting unfiltered Eren right now. 

“You want me to get you home?” Mikasa clarifies and Eren’s eyes dart up, a patented smirk overtaking his face as second nature kicks in, “To be honest I actually want to take you home, because I think together we would do truly great fucking things, but I think I’m too crossfaded to manage it.” 

Mikasa snorts as she calmly slips herself under his arm, her other wrapping around his waist to keep him steady, “You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning.” “Oh, I don’t doubt it, I’m killing my shot with Armin’s other best friend, and I’ve been waiting to make a move for a long ass time.” 

Mikasa barks out a laugh as she manoeuvres him out the door and past the bouncers who are watching them like hawks. They look suspicious of Eren and one even asks if she’s okay and Mikasa has to chuckle, she’s the one supporting him, she has no doubt he’s going to pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow. “I’m good,” She tells them wryly, before swinging Eren towards the intersection where most Ubers and cabs are picking people up. She sighs as she grabs for her phone, she’d really wanted to avoid fronting the uber bill tonight, but alas, that’s part of being the mom friend of the group. Eren smacks her hand away as soon as she opens the app. “Do it on my phone, it’s in my back pocket, you can put your address in to if you want, but you also don't have to, you could crash at my place."

She looks up at him, eyebrow quirked up, “Is that your really shitty way of telling my I can stay over.” He looks down at her affectionately, eyes sparkling with mirth and far too many substances, “If you want.” 

“I’ll think about it.” She doesn’t think about it, it’s not even a question. She only inputs one address into his phone, and it’s the one he tells her to. 

If he’s going to wake up tomorrow regretting shooting his shot with her, he’s going to do it with her in his bed so he can do it properly the second time around. They wait on the side of the street and Eren keep shooting her little glances, and tugging her closer under his arm, any excuse to touch and Mikasa can’t help but grin when he becomes fascinated with the curve of her waist. “You know, your skin is really soft, like so soft, you would make a great pillow.” 

“Thanks,” She responds wryly, and he nestles her in closer, his fingers lacing with her own where his arm is draped over her shoulder, “Especially your tits, really great pillow I know from personal experience.” “How are you so smooth right now? Genuinely I want to know,” Mikasa comments, looking up at him curiously. She has no doubt he really is high out of his mind, and too cross-faded to function, but seriously, how the fuck is he so suave right now? “I don’t know,” Eren tells her honestly, “I just think you have really great tits and I would personally love the opportunity to sleep on them later.” Mikasa giggles, full genuine laughter, “That’s all you want to do? Sleep on them?” “Of course, I would keep it perfectly appropriate, but preferably, your shirt would be off.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” “I’m not, I just get really chatty when I’m high, and you’re really pretty and I seriously cannot stop thinking about your rack, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all,” Mikasa teases him, helping him carefully towards the curb as their Uber pulls up.

Eren volleys right back, never missing a beat, “I’m not, not as long as you end up in my bed tonight without a shirt, as long as it gets me that I’m not sorry at all.” 

Getting Eren into the Uber is easier than she thought it would be, although he does seem quite reluctant to relinquish his hold on her waist, and seems very put out when they end up on opposite sides of the car, not even their thighs touching. She can’t suppress her smile when his eyes keep slipping to her cleavage, every few minutes like clockwork, he’ll look away, as if chastising himself. Then on cue, seconds later, his gaze is right back, eyes focused entirely on her breasts. Mikasa can’t say she’s too upset about it. 

When they arrive at his place Eren takes the lead, eager to get home now that he knows his surroundings. The car door is barely closed before he’s dragging her towards the apartment lobby. “Eren I was gonna get my own Uber–” “No you’re not, you’re sleeping in my bed, without a shirt,” He shoots her a downright mischievous glance as he clicks the button for the elevator, “Nothing is going to happen because I’m a gentleman, but Mikasa I will be using you as a pillow tonight, and you will like it.” He seems to think better of his sentence as the elevator doors open, looking back at her a little guiltily as he drags her inside, “That is unless you’re uncomfortable with it for any reason, in which case I will take the couch and I will be sad, but I will use a throw cushion.” 

Mikasa laughs again, because god is he fucking funny when he’s high, no traces of the serious playboy Armin always talks about, “You’re surprisingly eloquent you know.” “I’m always eloquent,” The words slip right off his tongue, “My mother was an English major and I don’t dick around when it comes to prose. Thus, my vocabulary is always fantastic.” 

Why is that hot, and why did he use ‘thus’ in a sentence? Who is this man? 

He grins at her, all teeth and it screams trouble. Yes, Mikasa is in trouble as they step out of the elevator and Eren leads her down the hall towards his apartment. Thankfully, he happens to have his keys on him because that would have been a true tragedy. The second they’re in his apartment, he kicks off his shoes, tugs off his shirt, and before she can say a word he’s speeding towards his bedroom. Eren doesn’t even bother to turn a light on, and Mikasa awkwardly follows him, toeing off her shoes and being careful to lock the door behind them. His apartment is very male, sparsely decorated and lit only by the light of the moon. There is a TV, a few plants and a comfortable looking sectional, but not much else. She slips down the hall awkwardly, wondering if she should linger or just let him knock himself out and pretend it never happened, tomorrow morning. But of course, that would mean losing her shot with Armin’s very hot other best friend who is clearly a little obsessed with her right back, and what fun would that be? 

Mikasa tiptoes towards the only open door in the hallway, what she can only assume is Eren’s bedroom. 

She finds him splayed out across the bed, his bedside table light on, and looking up at her expectantly. He’s somehow managed to change himself into a pair of sweats and nothing else, and yeah she was right, his sheets are navy blue. But nonetheless, his bed does look very comfy, the comforter exceptionally fluffy looking and probably nice and heavy, a great weight to sleep with on top of her. And to her immense surprise, he even has sheets, grey ones and they look fucking clean and isn’t that a turn on.

Eren beckons her from the corner of his large bed, crooking a finger towards her, and she goes willingly, stopping at the edge of the bed frame when he holds up his hand in a ‘stop’ motion. 

“Sorry, there’s a no shirt policy.” Mikasa stands in front of him, and without a second thought she strips her shirt off, mushes it up into a ball and then hurls it at Eren’s face with impressive accuracy. It lands with a satisfying thunk and Eren falls back to the mattress like he’s been mortally wounded. She takes off her pants too, choosing not to sleep in her jeans, before crawling into the bed. As Eren throws the shirt to the ground he has a pout on his face, and he looks decidedly unimpressed, “You’re still wearing a bra.”

Mikasa huffs, “You said nothing about a bra.” Now he’s being honest to god whiny, “Please?” 

Mikasa doesn’t really know why she relents. All she does know is that when he finally passes out, not five minutes later, it feels really fucking good to have Eren Yeager’s cheek pressed right against her breasts, his soft breaths fanning her nipple with every exhale. She’s more turned on than she’s ever been in her life, and she has no fucking idea how she’s going to fall asleep, especially not when his erection is so clearly pressed against her ass. 

She’s so fucked. But in the morning, when she wakes up to a much more sober Eren raining kisses over her chest, and those downright devious green eyes, she thinks she’s made the right choice. 

[daftdrac]

If you were in a conversation, what topic would you like to talk about? :D

Something X-Men related, probably specifically anything deadpool or wolverine (Deadpool isn't exactly X-Men but I'm counting him cause he's also a part of this hyperfixation) anyways I LITERALLY GOT THIS NOTIFICATION WHILE IM WATCHING THE WOLVERING AND THE XMEN CARTOON LMAOOO Yeah I'm super into. X-Men shit right now because I watched Deadpool 3 and my brain said YES. THAT. I am absolutely taking this as an opportunity to rant by the way cause there is so much random shit about this show that has me giggling. Errrmmm spoiler warning I guess ?

FIRST OF ALL LOGANS VOICEEEEEVEVEVDBDBE 👹👹👹 I'm not one to simp for fictional characters (lie) but I'm down bad JUST because of the voice (also lie im down bad for a lot of reasons)

ALSO THE FUCKING AMOUNT OF LOVE INTERESTS HE HAS IN THIS. JEAN, (KINDA-ISH) WHO DOESN'T SHOW UP UNTIL EPISODE 23 OF 26??? SOME RANDOM JAPANESE WOMAN WHO'S MARRIED TO A SAMURAI?? SOME ALIEN-MUTANT-THING WOMAN WHO WORKED WITH HIM AND WAS HIS GIRLFRIEND BEFORE HE LOST HIS MEMORIES OR SOMETHING ?? Emma kinda but not really she's not an explicit love interest but you can kinda tell it's a little implied at some points. I definitely am forgetting a few my memory is still shit but A BISEXUAL CHARACTER AND NOT A MALE LOVE INTEREST IN SIGHT <3 thats why Cyclops is here. He's supposed to be kind of a romantic rival to Logan kinda (cause they both like jean or whatever idk it REALLY doesn't seem like Logan likes jean all that much but I guess he does) but it really just ends in them having tension that feels less like they despise each other and more like they're waiting for everyone to leave them alone so they can go at it so I'm counting Scott even if he isn't like OFFICALLY a love interest he basically is

Oh also gambit is a thing for like 2 episodes. All he does is cause issues which. Gambit core I guess idk much about him 💀 all I know is he is REALLY like. Cunning and confident and shit. Tryin to think of the word. CHARMING yeah he's charming. Or supposed to be I guess he looks a little funny so he just makes me giggle looking at him. Honestly if he wanted to fuck Logan he could probably convince him to buy he's in love with one of magneto's daughters or whatever?? That he met for like a few hours and kissed once?? Before being thrown in a cell for kissing magneto's daughter??? And then abandoning her after promising to take her away from genosha with him?? I don't even know man.

Anyways I'm a complete noob X-Men fan I literally didn't know jack shit about anyone but Logan before I started watching this. Already a hardcore wolverine/cyclops fan they're gay to be fr with you. I should read some of the comics huh. Anyways here's my live reaction to Logan and Scott interacting like normal people:

Also silly goofy images from this show no I'm not sorry 3/4 are Logan he's BABYGIRL in this okay

Here have a poolverine meme to end this post

[youcouldmakealife]

Do you ever mix up names? I love your stories, but I am shit at names and as your pantheon/league grows I find myself increasingly turned around by all the north american dude names (first, last, AND hockey nicknames!!!). I can usually keep track of the on-going series names and names that are less common in North America (Kiro, Sven), but if I'm reading, say, an ask or rereading I usually have remind myself who is who first.

I don't mix them up between themselves and other characters in either a similar name way (James vs Jake, say) or roles (mixing up say, Wheels and Craney and Matty).

(This got so long and off topic, why does this always happen)

What I do mix up is sort of more of a...muscle memory thing, maybe? I'm writing the word, say, gorgeous, and I have to delete georgieous first, because my fingers apparently have become a phone's autocorrect function. I actually did write James as Jake a few times when I was deep deep in editing BTT, but again, it was just sort of like...an autofill error between my brain and my fingers.

The names themselves I'm pretty good with, though I do worry about whether I'll continue to be as a) the pantheon continues to expand (I love this by the way, and now I'm probably going to spend the rest of my evening mentally assigning characters places in the pantheon) and b) I get older. And both things seem pretty inevitable to me.

Unfortunately, the two things I appear to have in common with Leo Tolstoy are brevity and 'these people have three names, and I'm going to use them all interchangeably'. (ie Vinny is Thomas to himself, but Vinny to literally everybody else including me. And sometimes Tommy but only to Anton and his parents and only sometimes. Anton's alternately Anton, Petrov, Tony to Vinny and teammates, or Antosha to his family.)

I'd honestly apologise for it but it's one of those things that's really inextricable from the sort of...falling into a perspective way that I write, the same way I write in American English for American characters and Canadian English for Canadians, or use Christian (and specifically Catholic) references in Robbie or Georgie's POVs but never, say, Mike's or David's, unless we count Mike's very liberal usage of the word goddamn (and it's lowercase with him, but it'd be Goddamn to Robbie.)

And the different vocabularies extends to names. Like William Dineen is William to Robbie, he specifically asked to be called that when he was a teenager who wanted to feel more adult, and Robbie respected that then and continues to now. Georgie respected it in another way -- he was Willy to him, and now he uses Will, which William is fine with, but only with immediate family.

But in the text itself Georgie would never use William, because it'd feel distant to him, and Robbie would never use Will because he'd consider that disrespectful after William specifically requested to be called that, and me choosing one or the other wouldn't be in character, so he's Will and he's William, but never Willy (that's Tate Williams).

I make this all sound like a much more conscious process than it is. A lot of this stuff I've only figured out via metacognition of my writing process, which is, by necessity, done in hindsight.

My original answer to questions like 'why did you do _____ that way?' is invariably '*shrug* felt right', and people tend to find that...unsatisfying, so I often investigate further, and the answer becomes 'felt right because of <this reason I was in no way consciously aware of during the writing process>'. As I've said to my poor beleaguered editor, a lot of my writing process is 'just vibes'. I follow good vibes. Bad vibes tell me something's not working, and I adjust accordingly. I think a lot (I cannot tell you how many times I've been accused of overthinking things), but when it comes to writing, most of it's happening beyond my own perception, so instead it feels more like gut instinct. (which is, indeed, what gut instinct often boils down to: pattern recognition going on beneath one's conscious awareness)

[adverbally]

The String to Strike Within Me

Written for the @steddiesmuttyseptember prompts “rough” and “aftercare” | wc: 1,463 | rated: E | cw: | tags: alternate universe - gender changes, female steve harrington, female eddie munson, bdsm, dom steve, sub eddie, rough sex, strap-on, vaginal sex, light degradation, begging, subspace, praise kink | title from “Heaven” by Mitski

Not much of an excerpt here because of the filth after the cut but here ya go:

———

“Anyone ever done this to you before?” Stevie asks teasingly…

as she buries the strap-on in Eddie’s pussy, grinding just a little deeper when her hips meet the back of Eddie’s thighs. “Fucked you with your own toy while you begged for more?”

Eddie’s only response is a whimper, muffled by the bedspread she’s hiding her face in. Stevie threads her fingers in Eddie’s hair, close to the scalp, and pulls her head upward. In Eddie’s current position on her elbows and knees, it forces her neck to crane uncomfortably.

“No,” Eddie gasps, “no, just you.”

“Good girl,” Stevie tells her with a smack! to her ass that makes Eddie clench just as Stevie is thrusting back into her.

She’s never heard this kind of noise from her own mouth before, a high-pitched stuttering cry for more. Eddie’s almost embarrassed for a moment, but then Stevie’s petting her flank like she’s a well-behaved pet and it’s so confusingly sexy that Eddie’s shame melts away like ChapStick in a hot van.

Stevie keeps up her slow and steady pace while her hand on Eddie’s ass rubs in comforting circles. “Okay, sweetheart?”

Eddie honestly doesn’t think she could form the words to explain if she wasn’t okay, but she is. She props one arm up to show Stevie a thumbs up.

Then Stevie’s fingers are digging into Eddie’s hips to pull her back onto the dildo, giving her the leverage to thrust harder. Eddie can hear their skin clapping together with each surge forward, the squelch of her cunt, the unconscious little ah, ah, ah noises pushed out of her with each stroke. The sound of Stevie fucking her might be the most amazing thing she’s ever heard.

“Look at you, being so good for me,” Stevie croons. Her voice jolts with the force of her movements.

Eddie doesn’t even know what else there is, but she’s begging Stevie, “More, please,” hoarse with wanting.

“Of course, baby, thank you for asking so nicely.”

Stevie does something that changes the angle of Eddie’s hips and suddenly the strap-on is hitting deeper than anything that’s ever been inside her. The fullness takes her breath away, especially when Stevie’s fucking her so hard that Eddie has to stick an arm out to keep her head from smashing into the fancy metal headboard of Stevie’s bed. It’s perfect.

“How’s that, sweetheart?”

Eddie sighs into the side of her outstretched arm. Her brain is so tingly with static that she can’t remember how to speak. Instead, she reaches her free hand behind her back as far as she can, waving it until Stevie takes the hint and interlaces their fingers.

“It’s just what you wanted, huh? My little slut, begging me to be rough with you.” Stevie speaks to her softly, squeezes her hand with a gentleness that doesn’t match the brutal movements of her hips. “You just needed me to fuck all those thoughts right out of your brain.”

She did. She had come home and asked for it, needing Stevie to get Eddie out of her head, and it was working. Stevie knows exactly what will drive Eddie into this mindless mess of pleasure: a little pain, a little edge of condescension in her caring words, a little too much stimulation. Rough, hard but slow, leaving Eddie helpless to her inevitable peak. It works every time. It’s working now.

“Why don’t you touch yourself for me, sweet girl?” Stevie leans over her to speak into Eddie’s ear. “Make yourself come on my cock.”

Eddie obeys automatically. She releases her death grip on the headboard, trusting Stevie’s hold on her to keep her from moving further up the bed, and snakes her arm under her body to toy with her clit. Just soft, glancing touches at first, the kind that make her stomach flutter. When she dips her fingers lower, she meets silicone, feels how her pussy stretches around the girth of the dildo.

Her moan comes out like a sob. “Please, please, Stevie.”

“I’ve got you, honey, you’re almost there.” Stevie showers kisses along her shoulders and the back of her neck. “Keep going just like that.”

Gathering the lubricant from around her entrance, Eddie drags her fingertips in clumsy circles around her clit. Oh, it’s good like this, when Eddie can forget everything else and just focus on bringing herself to the edge. She knows Stevie will take care of her, she just has to do this one little thing.

“Gonna come for me, baby? C’mon, I wanna feel you.”

Eddie hopes Stevie can feel her, the way her cunt is squeezing the strap-on, the wetness smearing halfway down Eddie’s thighs, the frantic motion of Eddie’s hand trying to push herself over the edge. Fuck, she’s so close, tightening up like she can’t bear for Stevie to stop, too much and not enough…

The tension snaps when Stevie bites down hard on Eddie’s neck.

She goes quiet when she comes, too strained and breathless for any sound to escape. Her orgasm brings tears to her eyes. She lets them fall onto the bedspread, imagining her stress falling away with each droplet that darkens the fabric. It’s pure relief, physically and mentally.

It’s not until her oversensitivity kicks in that Eddie’s voice comes back. Still without words, just a low groan that drags out while her toes curl in the blankets. It prompts Stevie to let up her merciless thrusts, slowing to a stop with the strap-on still inside Eddie.

“Is that better?” Stevie’s voice loses its faux-sweetness as she checks in. She sounds like the real Stevie now, a little anxious but full of love and genuine questions about Eddie’s wellbeing.

Eddie’s next exhale is a loud sigh. She doesn’t want to talk yet, wants to enjoy the quiet a little longer. But she knows Stevie needs an answer, so she hums, “Mmm-hmm.”

“Does your arm hurt?”

It has been twisted behind her for a while, Eddie has to admit. Reluctantly, she lets go of Stevie’s hand, flexing her fingers and dropping her arm to relax on the mattress next to her. It immediately relieves the pain in her shoulder that she had barely been aware of.

“There you go.” Stevie sits back on her heels, still not pulling out yet. “Anything else hurt?”

Eddie shakes her head. Her pussy is sore but that’s the good kind of hurt, not the bad kind Stevie means. She clenches around the dildo inside her to feel the ache flare again, like pressing on a bruise. It’s not too bad now that Stevie isn’t shoving it in as far as it can go. Eddie wishes it hurt just a little bit more.

“Do you want some water or something?”

No, she wants to lie here and feel Stevie’s warm skin against hers and bask in the love surrounding her and stay in this moment forever. The tears well up again and she shuts her eyes to stop them from overflowing.

“Okay, I’m going to grab a washcloth and clean you up a little—”

Eddie can’t stop the tears any more. “No!” she cries, knowing it’s going to make Stevie worry about her, which makes her cry even more.

Stevie shushes her and runs her hands up and down Eddie’s sides like she’s petting a nervous horse. “Okay, it’s okay. I’ll stay right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She bites her tongue on an apology. Stevie always tells her she doesn’t have to be sorry for how she feels, especially not after a scene. It still feels wrong, making Stevie scramble to appease her. She definitely can’t say she’s sorry for being sorry, so she just sniffles into the bedspread instead.

“Is it okay for me to pull out, sweetheart? Then I can lay down and hold you.”

“Please?”

Stevie does just that, twisting awkwardly to shimmy out of the strap-on harness and settle next to Eddie without disturbing the bed too much. She pulls Eddie close, letting her head rest on her chest and combing her fingers through the sweaty tangle of Eddie’s hair. “How’s that?”

“Better,” Eddie croaks, and it’s not a lie. Her cheek is pillowed on one of Stevie’s fantastic tits, surrounded by strong arms and soft curves and shiny hair and sweet perfume.

“Good.” Stevie presses a kiss to the top of her head. “You were so good for me, baby. Did everything I asked.”

The praise settles into the hollow spaces inside Eddie, the part of her that feels empty without Stevie inside her. The praise fills her like she’s a helium balloon and Stevie’s arms around her are the ribbon tethering her to the ground so she doesn’t fly away.

She floats comfortably into sleep like that, held and loved and lighter than air.

[walder-138]

Questions for Annika, Jack, & Oswald:

What's this oc's biggest fear?

What's this oc's mental health state?

What's your favorite thing about this oc?

How does this oc feel about physical affection?

How does this oc get along with people they just met?

VICE!!!!! WHADDUP GIRL!!!! TYSM FOR THE ASK!!!!!

1) What’s this oc’s biggest fear?

Annika: People. Not in a social anxiety typa way (scared of judgement etc), but of what they are capable of. Annika has been exposed to human cruelty from a young age, growing up as a child soldier in a terrorist organization convinced her that every single person around her wanted to hurt her.

Over the years, her fear manifested into hate for humanity. It was never real hate, but ‘hate’ was the only label she could put on it without feeling like a coward. Fear is weak, Anya. Fear is weak. Hate and anger protected her; who wants to pet a rabid dog?

Jack: His scientific ‘research’ being exposed to the public. Jack is incapable of fear or anxiety; he’s a textbook sociopath, but he really doesn’t wanna stop performing his research and experiments (he worked on MK Ultra since he became a doctor) Seeing it flourish due to his involvement has been his greatest achievement, that being taken away from him would tear him apart.

Oz: Losing his daughter, Jenny. I’ve said this before and I’ll say this again; she’s the reason why he got off drugs following Vietnam and stopped being a verbally abusive misogynist to almost every single woman in his life. Oz knows that if he lost her, he’d most likely have a pretty bad relapse and fall back into his old bad habits.

2) What’s this OC’s mental health state?

Annika: Take a wild guess.

Jack: He’s balling honestly 😭 With everything that happened with Bell being a complete success, (assuming Annika isn’t Bell; she detonates the nukes) he basically saw his top project take off. Sure, the dumbasses in the safehouse didn’t listen to him about keeping Bell under that trance or whatever, but he can always start again; make another one.

Bro’s walking on sunshine!

In reality, Jack can’t feel anything. All of his emotions are fabricated. There could be a spark; of hope, or pity, or amusement, or some kinda love, but it’s never enough. He’s almost completely numb. He hates it sometimes, but Jack can’t miss what he’s never had.

Now about the state of his actual brain… uh ask Abbey about that. She fed him the curb

Oz: Shitty. He is constantly haunted by visions from his past. He can barely sleep at night without seeing his men -his sons- dead around him. The heroin, the morphine, and the LSD were the only things keeping him from having to see their mangled bodies scattered every time he blinked. Rehab helped him get over his addiction, but he hated talking to those damn prissy ass shrinks. But now that Jenny’s around, he can’t be high all the damn time, so Oz has to deal with it without any assistance from anyone but his ex.

He’s stressed, and he thinks he can’t do it anymore, but he wakes up every morning and does.

3) What’s your favorite thing about this OC?

Annika: How far her development’s come along. I based her off me when I play video games (I rage a lot 😭) and had to think about how, realistically, someone with an erratic fighting style would come to develop it. Since I die a lot, I figured Annika wouldn’t have any formal military training except by the terrorist organization she was raised in. I really wanted to make her a reflection of my video game playing style, and I’m happy to say that she does. Just with more depth now.

Jack: He’s not far along in his development process, so this will most likely change but so far, it’s how two-faced he is. When you talk to Jack, he genuinely seems like a nice guy that you’d wanna crack a couple cold ones with on a nice, hot day, while all of his ‘patients’ are horrified of him. Dudebro’s the reason Abbey doesn’t like British people 😭

Oz: I’ve got two things. How real he is. I’ll admit; a lot of my ocs are over exaggerated, but at least in my opinion, he’s the most realistic. I’ve made a post going slightly more into depth about this a while back. The other thing is that Oz is somehow my 2nd most morally stable character after all the shit he’s done 😭😭😭

4) What does this OC feel about physical affection?

Annika: She yearns for it. Annika’s never felt the loving touch of any individual that wouldn’t later be used to hurt her. Now, I’m not saying it’s a smart idea to abruptly give her a hug, unless you wanna pull back a bloody stump or you’re her girlfriend, as that scares her, tying back to her fear of people.

Jack: He doesn’t particularly care for it one way or another. Jack might tuck someone’s hair behind their ears if he’s being patronizing, or pat them on the shoulder to reassure them, he doesn’t really get anything from it. He won’t provide any physical contact if it doesn’t benefit him, unless it’s with his partner. Everyone else, even Jack’s own kids, can go to hell.

Oz: Oz is touched starved. At this point, he’d take any form of physical contact from anyone. The problem is, he doesn’t feel like he deserves it, so he recoils from it at every opportunity it’s shown. He says it’s unmanly, but if a woman even patted him on the cheek, bro’s getting a bit excited 🤭

5) How does this OC get along with people they just met?

Annika: Not well. Annika already hates the people she actually knows, introducing her to a person she doesn’t know will ensure hostility. Unless you’re going on a mission with her, she doesn’t want to know anything about you. She doesn’t want to know what you think about the weather. Her life wouldn’t be impacted if you lived or died, and she wants you to know it 😭If she can, Annika would just walk away after the initial greeting.

Jack: He’s the opposite of Annika, at least on the outside. He introduces himself, shakes your hand, and offers to take your coat. Very gentlemanly, especially to women and children. He presents himself as a genuine caring and kind man, giving gifts and offering to listen/help anyone around him. So whenever people (Abbey) accuse him of doing something, everyone tends to be like “Not Jack! He helped me sort through my divorce!” even if they barely know him, cause Jack’s just so damn polite.

Oz: Oz is extremely awkward. Most of the times when he’s meeting someone for the first time he just kinda stands there like🧍‍♂️waiting for his friend to finish talking so he can go watch the Patriots game. He isn’t rude about it though; he’ll smile and wave but he isn’t too good at small talk. Only when he starts to open up more will he start being the asshole we all know and love.

[justali-anne]

May I please have a cartoon series about the brothers going on wacky misadventures and making life interesting in Snowdin? Because to me, that's what this text is implying.

Like a bunch of goofy fun and antics, maybe even getting into trouble and causing a little bit of chaos... Mostly Papyrus, though. I dunno, it just seems like Papyrus would be the "leader" of the two, I guess? Sans just follows along with whatever he's doing and makes jokes and quips at his expense.

I can imagine the series consisting of Papyrus wanting to try something new and dragging Sans into his antics. Once on a blue moon, maybe it's Sans who will come up with something and they inevitably leave another impression on the town. They seem well-liked by Snowdin anyway, judging by the above quote and the reactions of the townsfolk if you kill Papyrus. To be fair, the bunny lady seems kind of amused/fond of them. I would be too if I lived in Snowdin.

So, yeah, does anyone remember Funny Bones? That animation about Sans and Papyrus that consisted of them and their funny antics?

This one?

Yeah, that just sounds like pilot material. If there was a cartoon about Sans and Papyrus... Well, it would be just like this!

Honestly, I think it would be primarily some sort of heartwarming slice of life comedy, with occasional creepy and sad bits in-between. (Ooh, and songs! The cartoon-loving theatre kid in me would love to hear occasional songs!)

Anyway, I would ramble on about what kind of stuff they would get up to all day, but I think I'd prefer it if you come up with your own stuff for this hypothetical series. What sort of antics will they get up to? What would it even be CALLED? Please feel free to share your thoughts, I really want to discuss this more. :)

[rawliverandgoronspice]

Always a bit puzzled by people saying that anyone who wanted long-term consequences for TotK Zelda's sacrifice are "edgy".

I'm not even particularly in the camp that she should have remained a dragon forever (I think this should have been Ganondorf's fate, it would have been sooo much more impactful than to explode him and move on but anyway). To be honest, I wish the rules for turning back would have been 1) clear 2) active gameplay on the player so that it feels like it's something we have earned, and 3) not make her have amnesia about it and/or at least having her gain some crucial insight because of the experience.

(also: doesn't she crave knowledge? isn't that insanely mean to have her watch over every civilization and every bit of history ever and then take it away from her? kind of dislike how totk privileges the comfort of the player's feelings over what the characters would actually want or need tbh)

To be perfectly honest, I fully expected us needing to turn her back before engaging Ganondorf so we would fight him together, especially since Zelda as a compagnon exists in the game code already (though in a very subdued state). It feels very very strange to me that all of this mechanic of Sages following us existing and yet we never have the very climactic cool Zelda-staple moment of facing Ganondorf or Ganon together (OoT, WW, TP, ST and probably more that I'm forgetting all did this in some way --even BotW had Zelda more involved than in TotK). I'm not sure Mineru was a compagnon that was needed over Zelda honestly, especially given the kind of non-insight she gives us on the zonai (even if the idea of the mecha is cool, it really could have been Zelda using her zonai + sheikah knowledge to pilot one for us or something).

But anyway: yeah, even if this isn't what I would have wanted personally, I think wanting Zelda to remain a dragon is kind of arguably more respectful of her relationship to Link, in a way, that what the game ended up doing. When she enacted this sacrifice, Zelda decided to trust him to such a extent that she lost herself, reciprocated his trust in her and his devotion to her, and now the future of Hyrule exists beyond her and beyond what Hyrule once was, but she trusts them to follow through and be happy and she will watch over them from the stars moving on. It's fine if we manage to save her from that fate, but even if we don't, honestly this sounds like a beautiful story/tragic romance to me, if you want to read it that way. Tragedy doesn't necesserily involve edginess. Fictional pain isn't always mean, or out to get you.

[merlinfromberlin]

Never have I ever seen a smile this fake.

[lmk-vibes]

Still thinking of the micheal in the bathroom prime defenders parody/cover

[yayforocs]

I Have Once Again Been Consumed By A Fic (Redstone and Skulk by @silverskye13

[moeblob]

Demyx (my beloved)

[front-facing-pokemon]

[firstelevens]

from the prompt list: 21 and Sam/Bucky ✨

21. you come and pick me up, no headlights

For a second, when Sam wakes up, he can’t remember where he is. He’s the kind of disoriented that only comes from sleeping deeply and for way longer than you’re supposed to, a little over-warm under the covers and still fuzzy on the details of the room around him.

It comes to him in pieces: the bed is perfectly firm and the sheets are comfortable the way hotel bedcovers never are. The room is cool and dark, and the pillow beside his carries the familiar scent of too-fancy haircare products. Sam presses his face into it for a moment, not quite ready to be awake but not tired enough to go back to sleep.

He’s back in Delacroix, he realizes belatedly. He’s back in his own house, in his own bed, after a mission that felt like it had gone on forever and didn’t feel finished even after he’d signed the last piece of paperwork. Being home is always a relief, but never more so than when a mission reminds him of all the things that he still can’t do, even as Captain America.

Memories of last night slowly filter in the more he wakes up: flying in on the quinjet with aching shoulders and a worrying tightness in his knee, and dreading the hour long drive to a house that would be empty, thanks to Thunderbolts business taking Bucky from Louisiana before Sam had left for his own mission.

When they’d touched down, Sam had barely managed to avoid stumbling off the jet, shield and wingpack in one hand and duffel in the other. As he picked out the shape of his truck in the distance, he spared a second to be grateful for Carlos, who’d offered to drop it off earlier so Sam wouldn’t have to wait on a ride after he landed.

He’d almost made it to the driver’s side door before getting the shock of his life, nearly dropping his bags as the supposedly-empty truck started up with a growl. Sam had been tired enough to think of that one Stephen King book and wonder if this wasn’t revenge for the new cars he had test driven last week, but the headlights weren’t on, and he seemed to remember something about those being kind of important for an evil car.

It was in the middle of that slightly delirious train of thought that the door had opened to reveal Bucky, who was out of the cab and already loading Sam’s bags into the bed of the truck before Sam had fully processed what was happening. He’d gone without protest when Bucky had chivvied him into the passenger seat, fully intent on asking when Bucky had gotten home and instead immediately knocking out once the engine started up.

Sam can’t quite remember getting home or making it into bed—there was a bath in there, maybe, and a cup of tea when he’d refused food—but he knows enough to be sure that he’d fallen asleep with Bucky’s arms around him, his face tucked against Sam’s shoulder blade. 

The other side of the bed is cold now, but Sam can hear Bucky making a ruckus down in the kitchen, utensils clinking as he talks animatedly to…someone. If they’re answering him, Sam can’t make out the voice. It’s a phone call, probably.

He drags himself out of bed, rolling his shoulders as he stands and noting with surprise that yesterday’s aches haven’t lingered as much as he expected them to. He puts a little pressure on his knee just to test it, braced for the twinges of pain that he’d felt for the entire quinjet ride, but at worst, it’s just a little stiff, and even that dissipates with some stretching.

Absently, Sam rubs at the spot on his lower back that always hurts after a long day with the wings on and finds that that feels better, too. He’s confused until he spots the little jar of muscle salve that Bucky always grabs when they’re in Wakanda, some kind of superpowered Tiger Balm that he usually rations between visits in case his shoulder flares up. Sam makes a note to tell Shuri that they’re running low so that Bucky doesn’t have to go without.

He just needs coffee, he decides, and starts making his way to the kitchen to find some. When Sam gets to the landing, he stops for a second. He just means to listen to the sounds of home for a second: birds chirping outside and Alpine playing with whatever her latest bell-and-sparkly-tinsel toy is and Bucky clattering around the kitchen, fussing with the newest recipe that he’s been taught by the circle of parish grandmas, all of whom are technically younger than him. (Sam would be hard pressed to admit it, but watching Bucky and Miss Irene and Miss Letty commiserate over how terrible powdered eggs were back in the forties ranks among the top ten cutest things he’s ever seen.)

It’s Bucky’s voice that stops Sam in his tracks, carrying out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Over the years, Sam has heard the Brooklyn accent peek through from time to time, rearing its head when Bucky’s tired or he’s spent a couple days around someone who hits their vowels the same way. In all that time, he can’t think of a moment when he’s heard it this thick, sweet and almost crooning.

He’s so distracted by the accent that Sam doesn’t even think about who Bucky might be addressing, transfixed by how much younger he sounds, how much lighter his words are.

“Did you do that all by yourself?” he’s asking. “You’re so smart, bubs. I didn’t realize we had a prodigy on our hands.”

Sam frowns, trying to figure out who Bucky could possibly be talking to. The most obvious choice would be Alpine, except she’s curled up in the sun at the foot of the stairs, and while both Sam and Bucky tend to baby her, he’s not sure either of them would shower her with praise for doing the exact thing that she spends roughly fifty percent of her time doing.

(Okay, maybe they both would do that, but Alpine is out here with Sam and not in the kitchen with Bucky, so this can’t be about her.)

As if in direct answer to Sam’s unspoken question, a baby’s laugh sounds from the kitchen, giggles rising in pitch until Bucky is shushing them, and now Sam is only more confused.

Where on earth did Bucky get a baby? Does it have to do with the Thunderbolts? Is that why he came home earlier than expected from his mission? That makes sense, honestly. Sam’s met Val; if there were a choice between leaving a baby with her or a literal tiger, he might seriously consider the tiger. 

“Take it easy, huh?” Bucky says, as the baby coos at him. “We can’t have you tiring yourself out, can we? How’re you gonna charm everyone at the park today if you’re napping?”

There’s a pause for the babble that the baby offers in response, and Bucky hums thoughtfully at the end of it.

“That’s a good point; you probably could charm them all even if you were sleeping,” he says. “Like I told your Ma, you’re too cute for your own good. You gotta learn to use that power responsibly.”

The baby babbles again, punctuated by another shriek of laughter. Sam stops spinning out baby acquisition scenarios to appreciate how adorable it is that Bucky is talking to this literal infant like they’re having a full blown conversation.

“Come on, kiddo,” says Bucky. “I thought we had a deal. You don’t wake up Sam while he sleeps off this mission and I play peekaboo with you until my arms fall asleep.”

“Bah!” is the baby’s emphatic response, and Sam’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but Bucky is.

“Oh, yes we did. We shook on it.”

A gurgle, and then another laugh.

Bucky lets out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, fine, I shook on it and you just tried to eat my left hand. Still. That’s a gentleman’s agreement.”

Sam muffles a laugh behind his hand, and the sound is apparently enough to disrupt Alpine’s time in the sun. She casts an imperious look back at him before curling up in her spot again, having sufficiently expressed her distaste. Sam wonders if her mood has anything to do with the fact that Bucky’s attention has been claimed by a different adorable someone, and confirms his theory by sitting down on the stairs and waiting her out as he listens to the conversation in the kitchen.

The step squeaks under him, but he’s pretty sure he gets some cover from the baby yelling, “Buh!” and clapping excitedly.

Alpine startles at the noise and gives Sam a look like, Are you seeing this right now? He shrugs at her in a way that he hopes is commiserating, and she responds with a flat stare that she unquestionably picked up from Bucky.

From the kitchen, Sam hears Bucky say, warm and encouraging, “Yeah, that is a bird. You want to go look at the birdfeeder?”

The baby makes another noise that must be a yes. Alpine, now probably offended by the baby and the talk of birds, has begun a stately prowl up the stairs. Sam avoids looking at her as she makes her way up, but immediately offers chin scratches when she settles in his lap.

There’s a running commentary on the birds at the feeder now, finally giving Bucky a use for all the bird facts he picked up while helping Cass with that project on local ecosystems last month. 

“That’s a goldfinch,” he’s explaining, and the baby lets out a soft ooh at whatever the bird is doing. “Uh-huh, he’s real pretty, right?”

Alpine curls up more comfortably in Sam’s lap, and he rests his head against the railing and lets Bucky’s voice wash over him, comforting the way it always is, even when they’re arguing over something stupid.

“You see that one over there on the railing? All showy with the blue and white? That’s a blue jay. Sam likes those, but there’s this red finch that’s his favorite.” He pauses for what Sam assumes is more baby babble. “You, too, huh? Yeah, I guess they’re nice. Not my favorite, though.”

The baby must make an inquisitive noise, because then Bucky’s humming thoughtfully.

“I’m trusting you not to tell anyone, okay? This is top secret stuff.” The baby gurgles and that seems like reassurance enough, because Bucky goes on to say, “All these years and my favorite bird is still Sam.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. At some point, that joke is going to get old, he’s sure, but as far as Bucky’s concerned, it hasn’t happened yet.

“I know, I know,” Bucky’s saying. “But the first time I saw him fly, he literally knocked me off my feet. That sort of thing tends to leave an impression.”

More cooing from the baby.

“Yeah, okay, so I’m a little biased,” says Bucky, and punctuates it by blowing a raspberry that sends delighted giggles carrying through the house. “But you’ve never seen him fly. He’s nice to look at all the time, but when he’s up in the air? It’s like he was born to be up there. There’s nothing better.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Sam’s heart too full to even think of a quippy response.

“He really is beautiful,” Bucky says, completely sincere, and the part of Sam that hasn’t completely turned to mush feels a little bit guilty for eavesdropping on Bucky like this. The feeling immediately dissipates when Bucky adds, a little bit louder, “It almost makes up for how bad he is at sneaking around his own house.”

Sam looks down at Alpine. “This is your fault,” he tells her as she looks up at him. “I was just trying to figure out if your dad had stolen a baby. I would’ve been like a ghost if I hadn’t sat down to pet you.”

There’s a snort from Bucky, who appears in the doorway to the kitchen with a curly-haired baby on his hip. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

“I will,” says Sam. In his lap, Alpine perks up as soon as she hears Bucky’s voice, then rears back at the sight of the baby. They watch her hop off of Sam and flounce her way into the family room, probably in search of Fig. “So are you gonna explain where this baby came from or…?”

“I’m not sure I have time for an entire birds and the bees talk right now,” Bucky says, blinking at Sam as innocently as possible. “I’d offer to give you the highlights but I think Jordan’s a little young to hear all that.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” says Sam, as he takes the last couple of steps moves towards the kitchen. He smiles at the baby, holding a finger out for him to grip. “Hi, Jordan. You have fun birdwatching with Bucky?”

Jordan looks at Sam, wide-eyed at the sound of his own name, and grabs onto Sam’s hand before turning to Bucky with a beatific if gummy smile.

“Did you say hi to Sam?” Bucky asks, tickling Jordan’s stomach and making him giggle. “Did you tell him you like blue jays, too?”

There’s something about the way that Bucky moves with a baby in his arms, swaying and bouncing just the right amount, alert but not tense. He’s confident anytime they’re out in the field, and time in Delacroix has helped him shake off the shyness and hesitation that colored his earliest visits here, but there’s an element of this that goes beyond that. It seems instinctive, somehow.

Sam has the mildly embarrassing thought that he could watch it for a while and not get bored, and decides not to test how obvious this inclination is by coming up with a distraction. “I’m starving,” he says. “Have you eaten yet?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Got a little distracted when Miss Letty showed up with this one,” he says. “And he keeps touching my left hand, so I didn’t want the metal heating up near the stove.”

“If I make breakfast, you think you and your co-pilot over there can handle putting on some coffee for us? Is there a stroller or something that we can put him in?”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Bucky, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Juggling a kid and making breakfast?” asks Sam, as he pulls eggs and milk out of the fridge. “Who are you, June Cleaver?”

“You know I don’t know who that is.”

Sam just shrugs, letting Bucky have the out if he wants it, and gets a mixing bowl from the cabinet so he can start making pancake batter. After a few moments of working in relative silence—Jordan is still as chatty as ever, and Bucky keeps up his end of the conversation—the coffee maker starts burbling, and Sam feels Bucky come up to stand beside him, his chin resting on Sam’s shoulder as he peers into the mixing bowl.

It’s like waiting Alpine out on the stairs earlier. Sam keeps working, measuring out his flour and whisking in baking powder and salt. Bucky nudges the carton of eggs over before Sam has to reach for them, and he just hums in acknowledgment when Sam thanks him.

“Evie went through a phase,” is what he finally says, when the batter is nearly done. “Right after Rose was born, when she wasn’t the baby of the family anymore. Any time she saw Ma holding the new baby, she’d want to be held, too. I got real good at juggling a two year old in one arm and whatever I needed to get done in the other. Then Ma went back to work, and I would sit up with Rosie when her colic got bad, walk her around the apartment until she calmed down enough to sleep.”

Sam can picture it perfectly: teenaged Bucky, still growing into the dashing good looks that were memorialized in all the textbooks, but with the same sense of duty that would keep him at Steve’s side years later, soothing tears and finishing fights in the same afternoon. There are so many skills that Bucky carries that Sam has watched him struggle with, not knowing whether HYDRA put them there or why he might have needed them. He can’t help but feel relieved that Bucky also gets to keep this, too, this muscle memory that belongs wholly to the person he was before tragedy could touch him.

It’s rare for Bucky to talk about his childhood at all, between the gaps in his memory and the grief over what he’s lost. As a rule, Sam tries not to make a big deal out of it when it happens, so in spite of how full his heart feels, he just leans into Bucky’s warmth, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he can pull away.

“Sounds like they were lucky to have you,” Sam murmurs.

“Yeah, maybe,” says Bucky, sniffing a little. “I guess so.”

“They were,” says Sam, more firmly this time. “Trust me. I know the feeling.”

He has the sense that Bucky’s about to argue, but then Jordan cuts him off with another well-timed, “Bah!”

“See?” Sam says, pointing at Jordan. “You have to listen to us. You’re outnumbered.”

Bucky lets out a gusty sigh, looking down at Jordan, who just coos at him. “I can’t believe you’d betray me like this.”

“He saw a better deal and he took it,” says Sam. “Sorry, baby.”

“Fine,” grouses Bucky. “I’m conceding, but I’m gonna be persnickety about it.”

“You can be as persnickety as you want, as long as you know I’m right,” says Sam, carrying the bowl of batter to the stove.

“In that case, if I tell you that you’re right again, will you add those pralines we bought to the pancakes?”

“I’m above flattery, Barnes,” he says, but now he’s thinking about brown sugar and pecan caramelizing against the pan and it sounds delicious. “But yeah, maybe.”

Bucky sets a coffee mug on the counter in front of him and steals a kiss. “Chocolate chips, too?”

“Don’t push it,” says Sam, but he’s already turning to grab the Toll House bag from the pantry, and he can’t even be that annoyed about it when Bucky crows about his victory.

It’s good to be home, he thinks, and throws a chocolate chip at Bucky’s head for good measure.

[zymstarz]

yeah sure that's how i'll [re]come out

[aether-weather]

car doodle that i finished at home 🔥🔥

ive never drawn pomni before but i think i did pretty well for my first try!! :D

this is also my first time not using bright ass colors as a substitute for actual rendering!! gaia bless🙏