#it’s Such a Visual to me I need to see it …

[loramystii]

Sevika with bartender reader?

ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʙᴀʀᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

— ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ; ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ ɪꜱ ᴀ ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴀʀ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏꜰᴛᴇɴ ɢɪᴠᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜɴɴᴇᴄᴇꜱꜱᴀʀʏ ᴛɪᴘꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ꜱʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʀɪɴᴋꜱ ᴏʀ ɪꜱ ɪᴛ ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟꜱᴇ?

— ᴄᴡ; ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛɪᴏɴɪꜱᴍ, ʙɪᴛɪɴɢ & ᴍᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ, ᴀʟᴄ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴ

You were counting up the money and tips from last night, getting ready to clock in for tonight. Most were regular tips, 20s-50 bills, especially if they were consantly flirting with you. Though, Sevika, your regular, oddly tipped you more than anybody else. You didn’t think much of it, just that she had money and was lonely. And anyways, it was good to be on Silco’s number two’s good side. You moved your hair away from your hair, sighing and placing your hands on your waist as you listened to some random customer’s order. As you turned around the grab the vodka, your thong was visible above your low rise jeans, a low whistle coming from them. Your eyes rolled but a faux smile graced your lips as you turned. Shaking their drink a while longer, you placed it on the counter. “Add it to my tab, sweetheart.” You tilted your head with a nod and a smile.

Customers came in and out, all of them boring you. Yet once the door opened and Sevika’s broad figure was in your line of sight, a shit-eating grin plastered on her face, your eyes lit up. You quickly adjusted your posture and fixed your low-cut shirt, unsure as to why you wanted to impress her so badly. She walked up to the counter, placing her gun down, intimidating others who were surrounding you on the counter. They grumbled yet walked way to the other side of the bar. “There’s my favorite doll,” She spoke throatily. Her eyes darted to your tits and stomach, then to your slightly disheveled hair from working. “Came a bit later than usual, Sev’” You stated, avoiding eye contact and fiddling with the bar supplies.

“I have stuff to do, still passed by to see you, eh?” You chuckled at her bragging, how she was oh so packed in her schedule yet made time in her busy day to eye you and leave you money. “Whiskey neat?” You asked, her usual order, a classy woman if you had to describe it. She nodded, settling down onto a barstool. As you spun to clutch a glass, her wandering eyes landed on the pairing of your jeans and panties, an uncalled for groan leaving her lips. You cocked a brow, only flipping your head to see why she did that. “Just— uh, just a bruise, you know.” You bought it, unaware of the way her thoughts traveled to the filthiest of things. She received her drink, lips placed on the rim to take a sip.

“So, missed me?” She teased, trying to fill the silence. Licking her bottom lip, watching your tits move with your body and hips turn to grab different items. “Not missed, was jus’ bored.” You clarified even though you yourself didn’t understand your desires and feelings towards her. She hummed in acknowledgment, perhaps amusement. “Good, it’s good I don’t bore you.”

Three more drinks later, Sevika was already inebriated. Her words were slurred and her movements were messy. It seemed everybody else in the bar was the same, intoxicated and scattered all over the place. Not many people were asking for drinks anymore, simply dancing, talking, making out, you name it. You were no longer behind the counter but leaned against it beside Sevika. Sevika’s filter was long gone, her heavily lidded eyes shamelessly eye fucking you. “Are you a slut for every customer, or just me?” A surprised gasp left your lips, eyes widening at the drunk words. A slight huff leaves your lips, crossing your arms over your tits. “Seriously? I’m not a slut.” Sevika rolls her eyes tauntingly, hands subconsciously wandering to your waist. Pressing you flush against her, Sevika spoke now, the music still making her hard to hear. “Your damn panties are out for everybody to see and visually ruin you.” One of your legs wrapped around her bottom leg, boot pressed against it. Her condescending tone making heat pool at the bottom of your tummy in need, and this time, you knew exactly what you needed.

A knowing smile came upon your lips, tracing your fingertips teasingly along her facial features. “Maybe I did it for you,” You commented, placing the idea of you dressing up at home in your little panties and bra thinking of what outfit would please her most. Which thong would get her attention. What top would make her wanna fuck your brains out. Which hairdo would make her tip you greatest. It had her eyes rolling to the back of her head, the alcohol making it harder to say grounded. “Though, I think you’re a bit of a coward.” You extended your botton lip, knowing such insults would set her off. She gripped on you tigher, growling besides your ear. “Why’s that?” Sevika questioned, slipping her knee between both of your thighs. There was ultimately no space left between you and Sevika’s bodies. “All you do is give me money and throw sneaky passes at me, why haven’t you just fucked me, Sevika?” She let out a hefty chuckle, licking her dry lips. “Stop testing me, little girl.” She says mockingly, just trying to intimidate you even though you’re not that far in age. “Think you’re the little girl, Sev’, can’t even reach for that zipper if your life depended on it.”

Your endless ridiculing made her grab your ass, squeezing it and lifting you onto the counter. Your back arched against her hands now, arms circling around her neck. Her hand rushed to undo your pant’s buttons, yelping slightly. “Sev’— are you seriously—“ She cuts you off wih a grumble, nipping at your neck. “You fuckin’ asked for it, now you’re complaining, make up your damn mind, doll.” Your hands came to her chest, trying to push her away but failing miserably. “Nobody’s watchin’” She reassured, hands running through your tense frame. She only got the confidence from the drinks in her system, her thumb coming to rub circes on your pulsing nub. Your cunt clenched around nothing, moaning her name into her ear. A few people’s heads turned, observing the slick from your pussy coating Sevika’s hand. A quick glare made them look away, yet you were still worried and turned on from being displayed. “Tell me how to move m’hand, doll.” She demanded, gathering all your wetness on her two digits and ramming them into you. Your legs circled her torso, head hidden in the crook of her neck.

She pumped them in and out of you, watching your every reaction and whimper. She was experienced, you knew that much, yet seeing it in action was different. “Cu-curl—“ Before you ended your request, she curled her fingers into your g-spot, your jaw going slack as she abused that spot. “Sev’, Sev’, too much—“ Her free hand grabbed your throat, ruining your pussy in plain sight. “Close, doll?” You nodded, tears dripping onto her neck from being embarrassed and babbling pleas. A white ring of cum coated Sevika’s fingers, cooing praises, and encouragement, and then sucking a hickey onto your pulse point. “Thought you weren’t a slut?” Her fingers left your sopping pussy with a nasty squelching noise, licking your cum off her knuckles. Your thighs squeeze shut, reaching to zip up your pants. “You’re a bitch.” You spat, legs shaky. “Promoted from coward, it seems?” She leaves 400 on your counter besides you. 150 from her drinks and the rest for.. well..

“I swear to god if you leave—“ you nearly chase after her as she waves her hand walking away. “I’ll be getting myself off in my car till you get off your shift, yeah? Don’ get your panties inna’ twist.”

ʀᴇqꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴘᴇɴ 𐙚

[lesbianherald]

Based Jayce take tbh….also I’m gonna confess this on anon but one of my most pretentious takes when it comes to fandom is that everything would be way easier to enjoy if ppl understood story structure a little more. Like Jayce’s arc is a negative arc. He sucked on purpose! If you had bad feelings about him that was intentional and okay (I do think Jayce hate was overblown but I also get why it existed. Like the audience was just picking up on the feelings the show was putting down). But he was definitely Like That for a reason! Usually in good writing, characters are tools for the narrative first you know…you don’t need to justify his actions to like Jayce because he’s fictional and he’s not a real person youre stanning. But also fandom is for fun so I know this take is pretentious but also it’s my truth. My story structure….my characters who are intentionally challenging my theme….my character arc….

NO NO BUT YOU ARE COOKING ON EVERY LEVEL !!!!

(Note: This randomly turned into a very hasty analysis of the shots used in the bridge scene? Because I got on a tangent about how we interpret visual storytelling as well and oops!)

Story structure is so overlooked. The role characters are supposed to play in an overarching narrative is overlooked. So much gets ignored in the way information is presented both in the story structure and visually that sometimes it frightens me and it makes me really bummed! And it's nobody's fault! Most of us live in a society that devalues art and literacy on purpose!

I don't think it's pretentious to wish people better understood the building blocks of the story or at least understood how to take in general arcs. And I think if they did as a whole most fandom spaces would be a lot more interesting and have a lot less bizarre takes/infighting.

I also think that - where arcane's writing can get weird and murky - the visual language will cover it. (Almost to an extreme.)

It makes me think of one of my favorite scenes in the whole show and how misinterpreted it gets and how quick people are to defend jayce here despite how much it is playing on the themes of the show and how clearly he is painted as in the wrong both by the writing and the shots ok fuck -

I think all the time about the imbalance of power represented by that insane low angle on Jayce. You know what fuck it. I'm going to go get it. Fuck. This is about to become a whole thing. Okay.

If I brought an angle like this into a classroom setting, I would be laughed at for it being too obvious. But its one of my favorites because its so visceral. In fact, I've shown this to a lot of friends - the reaction to this shot is usually an audible "Woah!" or even nervous laughter! Because clearly! He's supposed to be intimidating here. This is supposed to be like. Oh. He is not who he used to be. Oh. Oh no. Its so co clearly a representation of power and corruption you may as well stamp it on his forehead.

He's not only Jayce here, he's a representation of piltover as a whole - in its physical and political positions over Zaun. In a position of power over someone he's close with, who just verbally told someone he would "understand." Now we are seeing that he very likely wont. (He will! But right now, we are supposed to be with Viktor in this scene. We are supposed to become convinced he won't right with him!)

Note that the angle we get for Viktor is way less extreme. Way more eye level. And less centered. I could go on about this too. But oooh boy. Like! Clearly we are supposed to be more with him in terms of who we find rational. Clearly he's the voice of reason here. We are level with him. He is at a safe distance. We are seeing how he is looking up at jayce without looking down at him.

In this shot, he is someone we as an audience are level with, who is gathering information, making a decision. He is remaining more measured than I think the audience is supposed to be given the angle we're getting on jayce.

The only time we do get the "reverse" of that Jayce shot on Viktor is when he is quite literally standing out of the frame almost immediately. Whose furious with the position Jayce is putting him in. This is Right after Jayce says, "They're dangerous." He's gathered the information he needs. He sees Jayce for what he is. Somebody he cannot trust. And he refuses to be put in this lower position.

Jayce is not supposed to be the one we are rooting for here. He is the person we are supposed to be disappointed in. We are supposed to question him here. This isn't only dramatically spelled out in the narrative but also in the shot choicesss!

And then we have the apology -

That's why i always question why people are like. Okay but he apologized. When the apology is framed like this! We don't even get to see viktor's face because the damage is done!! JAYCE ISNT EVEN LOOKING AT HIM !!!! It doesn't matter. We don't even get full access to Jayce here! What's at the center of this shot is the barricade that Jayce has ordered!!! This makes the apology, and "I've had a lot on my plate" purposefully look ridiculous in the context of the Narrative here! It's not enough!

Viktor is DYING. And jayce is standing here all prim and proper, with the Talis symbol very visible in that fuckass suit, saying he's had a lot on his plate. We're very clearly not supposed to look at this and go awww! baby boy <3. If this apology was a meaningful moment for either of them that changed either of their minds - it would not be framed like thisssss. These words are empty in the context of it all. Jayce may be genuinely sorry, but he's accidentally revealed way too much about how he views Viktor's people. Even if he didn't mean to. Even if he didn't realize how deeply his biases ran.

And then we have Viktor lying. Viktor knowing he has to go about this alone. And this is the shot. This is the moment of fracture. Viktor looking back at him in disgust with Jayce's barricade in the background. HES ALONE!! JAYCE HAS FAILED HIM !!! This is so critical in understanding Viktor's entire everything moving forward, and it's so so critical for Jayce as well.

People talk a lot about that moment where jayce has his hand on Viktor's lower back because yaoi but that screencap is so hard to get because that moment is almost immediately interrupted by a protestor from zaun throwing a Molotov cocktail in their direction! And the touch, that reluctant familiarity, despite the conflict, gets broken.

Something that I think gets overlooked is Jayce's face after the (Molotov?) gets thrown by a protestor. ITS ANOTHER LOW ANGLE LIKE!!! Once again. Highlighting the power he has here.

We see Jayce in season 1 act 1 really highlighted with a lot of high angles. A lot of doe-eyed wonder. He looks young. Sweet. This is not the same jayce and it is very very clear in the way he is shot. This is the point !!!!!.

There are a lot of scenes i see misinterpreted but this is the big one. And its one of my favorite scenes. Because he's so wrong here! And he doesn't really fully grasp how much so yet.

I love jayce. I love my complex man. Because here's the thing. He needed this low to reach the character highs he does later. Jayce being as loving and determined to make things right as he is in season 2 wouldn't be nearly as compelling or tragic or exciting were he not like this in season 1. It's brutal to watch him get punished by the narrative! But it's also narratively satisfying!

Anyways anon i agree wholeheartedly sorry i made it into a whole thing.

[bluemusickid]

ᥫ᭡. ⋆. 𐙚 ˚In The Key of Sin ᥫ᭡. ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

🎀Pairing🎀: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader, Joel Miller x Original Character

🎀A/N🎀: Okkkkk so I had this teeeensy idea brewing since quite some time. It's a bit different from what I normally write, I shall admit. But idk, it's been at the back of my mind since a looooong time. Now this may be a bit OOC for the JM we love and cherish, both HBO and Game versions. But oh well, when my muse strikes, she does so with a vengeance. Also, special thanks to @slimybeth69 , I got this idea after I read a certain chapter of Que Sera Sera (which is an AMAZING story and omfg you guys need to read it LIKE NOW)

🎀Warnings🎀: smut, nsfw, 18+, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (don't be silly wrap your willy), slightt infidelity (yea ik but trust the process), explicit sex, degradation, (mild) voyeurism, breeding kink, minors DNI.

18+ blog, Minors not welcome, you are responsible for your own media consumption. Not beta'ed, any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise are all mine. I post my stuff only on Tumblr and AO3, and occasionally Wattpad. I do not give anyone permission to reproduce, copy or translate my work in any form of media, including but not limited to AI chatbots. If you are found doing so, trust me, I will put my law degree to good use. Likes are welcome, reblogs are much appreciated!

Tiring. That was all that you could describe this day as. Work had been hectic, challenging and had pushed you to the limits of your sanity. All you wanted to do was kick off your shoes, maybe have a beer or two, and snuggle with your husband, watching trashy reality TV; listening to him grumble about how stupid everyone in said show was.

With that thought perking you up a little, you walked into your house, your calves killing you. Surely the person who invented heels is burning in hell right now; you thought to yourself. Dropping your bag unceremoniously on the couch, you took off your shoes and your jacket, making your way to the refrigerator as you pulled out a can of beer, the chilled beverage sliding down your throat, calming down your nerves. Perfect. Just as you were about to take another sip, you heard a muffled groan. Weird. Chalking it up to the random noises old houses often made, you shrugged it off.

But then it happened again. As you stood there, you heard a moan again, loud and clear this time. Hmm, that's strange. Joel said he wouldn't be home this early. Maybe it was the wind or a raccoon or something.

You were about to call out his name when you heard a loud whimper, and the porniest noise you had ever heard. Intrigued, you slowly made your way to your bedroom, ensuring that you made no noise; your form shaking as you saw the door ajar.

Heart racing, you snuck towards the door, till what you had heard finally had visual backing. And there you saw something. Something which would have made a normal person's heart drop into their stomach and their palms to become sweaty. Instead, you felt a flutter twist throughout your body.

You saw a very naked woman on her back, writhing and undulating on the bed, as he, your man, ate her out, and rather voraciously at that. The askew bedspread, the clothes strewn about, the whole bedroom was a damn mess; but all your brain could register was that he ate pussy like a god, hearing her wails reverberate through your marital room.

"Yes, yes...i'm almost there!" she whined, her hips moving against his face. You could see him grinding lightly against the bed, his tongue making the girl grab the bedspread tightly between her fingers. It made your toes curl, a tingle passing through your scalp and all throughout your body.

"'S right, slut. Come on my face. Let me feel that cunt squeeze my damn fingers." Joel grunted, the sound of his sucking breaking the silence of the room.

The next moment, big-tits-long-hair screamed as she thrust her hips up against his face, holding him to her mound, curling her fingers and grasping his hair. He moaned as he held her legs up, his mouth relentlessly licking at her.

You closed your eyes as you remembered how his moan felt against your centre, your panties now drenched. Softly unbuttoning your jeans, you reached inside, touching yourself over your underwear.

This feels so wrong, and yet...

Her squeal made you open your eyes, as you saw Joel roughly flip her onto her hands and knees. You nearly moaned out loud, but bit your lip in the nick of time. He was facing opposite the door and hadn't seemed to notice your presence yet, which you were thankful for.

You saw him, Joel; your Joel, eat her out from behind, as he slowly jerked himself off, no doubt trying to stave off his orgasm.

"What do you want, slut?" he drawled, his hand working himself, slowly.

She said nothing, whimpering as she pushed her hips backwards, towards him. Smacking her on her ass, he growled, "Beg for it."

You swore under your breath, his husky command bringing you to the brink. You watched as she whined out breathily, "Please give me your cock, Mr. Miller. I need it inside me."

You bit your thumb as you watched him rip a foil packet and unroll a condom before thrusting inside her snatch in one move, burying himself to the hilt. She squealed, rather loudly, the sudden intrusion causing her some pain.

"Lemme hear you, lil' girl. Need you to scream loudly 'til the neighbours hear." He grunted through clenched teeth, his hips still flush against her ass.

You watched, transfixed, as he lightly began to circle her clit. Sex with Joel had always been mindblowingly hot, but now watching it, as a third person? It was even better than watching porn.

You watched as he jackhammered her cunt, roughly pulling on her wrists, to go even deeper. She wailed, her thighs trembling as she struggled to hold herself upright. You gasped, watching him push her into prone position, his thrusts never faltering.

This was wrong. It was transgressive. But oh god...why was it so hot? Why did it feel like YOU were the intruder? A sudden grunt broke you out of your reverie as you watched Joel manhandle her to his liking.

You watched the love of your life pound into her with such vigour you feared the bed would break.

"Ohh..ohhhh...god....i'm....cumming..." you heard her keening, her hands searching for something, anything to hold on to as Joel wrecked her, his hips faltering as he too, neared his end.

"Yeah...fuck.....'s it. Come on my cock, want t' feel you gushing around me.." he grunted, yanking on her arm to haul her up on her knees, fucking her with abandon. You doubled your efforts, circling your clit as you slipped a finger inside, muffling your groans as you could feel yourself inch closer and closer to your climax; your pussy getting wetter by the minute.

Her wails, her loud screams, enough to wake the dead resonated through the house. You were half afraid that Mrs. Davis next door would think there was someone being murdered.

You could feel your walls clench around nothing as you saw Joel pull out of her, jerking himself off and groaning as he finished all over her round ass, his hips shunting as he milked out every drop of his spend on her perky butt.

Breaking out of your horny haze, you decided that you'd had enough. You needed to leave before either one of them caught you. Rebuttoning your pants, you quickly exited the house, going for a small walk around the block to clear your mind.

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀

Almost an hour had passed since the "incident". You had come back home, thankfully, after the girl had left, and had busied yourself with preparing dinner. As you were slicing the vegetables, you felt his arms circling around your waist, his breath tickling your ear as he slowly ground his growing erection against your hips. Wordlessly, you turned around as he weaved his fingers through yours, the slight pressure a welcome distraction as he pulled you in the direction of your bedroom, seating you on the very bed where he had been with another woman not too long ago.

"So, you were watching." he said, his Southern drawl thicker than usual.

You hesitated for a bit, before nodding.

He sniffled, nodding slightly as he ran his fingers through his beard thoughtfully.

"Was it up to the mark?" he asked, a little shyly, if you could decipher his tone correctly.

Turning your chin up, you looked into his eyes, your lips pursing. Your mouth upturned into a smirk as you looked at the ground with your eyes, your intentions abundantly clear.

He immediately dropped to his knees, between your legs; awaiting your words with bated breath. It turned you on to see him like this; it was always hot when he took charge but it was even hotter when you took charge, which was a rare but delicious occurrence.

"Oh baby." you smirked, as you took his chin between your fingers, slowly caressing his beard with your thumb. "It was so, so good. I nearly lost control and joined you both."

You felt his sigh of relief ghost over your drenched panties, his fingers tightening on your thighs as he looked up, his big brown eyes reflecting his solace.

"So was it a good early birthday present?" he bashfully whispered, his fingers lightly caressing your clit through your panties, his jeans getting tighter by the minute.

Grinning, you ran your fingers through his gorgeous mess of curls, scratching his beard lightly.

"It was amazing. I was a bit skeptical at first, but that was the hottest thing I've ever seen. It was like a porno, except more personal; like it was just made for me." you moaned, as you felt his finger nudge your panties to the side and lightly caress your wet folds.

"What else, baby?" he growled, his fingers becoming more insistent as he plunged a finger inside you, his thumb caressing your swollen nub.

You mewled, dropping down on the bed as you felt your walls clench around him; your orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks. You didn't quite catch what he said to you, trying to focus on his movements.

As you caught your breath, you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching your husband undress with ill concealed lust. He caught your heated look, smirking as he pulled off his boxers, crawling over to you on the bed.

"You didn't answer my question, sweetheart." he drawled lazily, his tongue circling your nipple.

You writhed under him, struggling to answer him. "Are you fishing for compliments right NOW, Miller?" you murmured dryly, your fingers making their way to his hard member.

Joel grinned as he took himself in hand, slowly but firmly pushing inside you, pressing his lips to yours as he swallowed your moan. Fully seated inside you, he waited a moment before pulling out and thrusting back in, a gasp being punched out of you.

He began moving faster, feeling your silky walls encase him tightly as he picked up his speed; your breathy moans and gasps adding to the symphony of your mingled breaths. He looked into your eyes lovingly entwining his fingers with yours.

It was like some unintentional barriers had been broken that night, and a new chapter of your married life had begun. If you thought you couldn't trust Joel more, you were wrong. You trusted him more than anything now and this rendezvous had only strengthened in your mind what you knew all along in your heart; that Joel Miller would do ANYTHING for you, no questions asked.

"Baby?" you gulped, struggling to keep your climax at bay as he pounded you into the mattress.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I want you to come inside me. Put a baby in me, Joel."

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀

EEEEEEK. I'm going to hide in my corner; I know this isn't a kink many share but oh well, i do (sometimes) and just needed to get it out of my system. Come yell at me or cackle with me in my inbox, feedback is always appreciated!!!!

Xoxox Lexi

[craziertogether]

mike’s behavior shift & byler endgame confirmation

little yap moment (long rant):

just to start, i wanna say that i was a m*leven lover from s1-s2. given i was young asl, it was a wonderful ship for kids, but as i’ve grown and gotten more into analyses for media it has become clearer to me why my dislike of mike wheeler’s character despite my love for him originally, actually came from a lack of understanding.

so yeah, i truly think the moment i started developing my own byler agenda was in season 3. i had always known that will was queer, season 1 episode 1 with joyce and episode 4 with troy, it was just so clear to me. but i never saw it actually developing into a love story, i actually saw it as a little bit of queerbait when i saw the “crazy together” scene (ik crazy to say but i was also literally 11). but season 3, was like a huge smack in the face that oh mike is 100% the queer one WITH some kind of feelings towards will. i love how we as bylers joke about it? but truly will’s feelings for mike were so masked it’s insane to me.

back to my rant, i was a little caught off guard by mike’s CRAZY behavior switch from likable friend and leader to el’s personal make-out buddy and actual hater of his own best friends (mind you mike was always my favorite character originally, he was the protagonist that was a little unlikable but that’s my favorite kind of character). it wasn’t until my rewatch recently that i totally clicked for me again that mike was so in love with will, i can’t remember who mentioned it but mike inviting will to his house after el dumped him was absolutely unnecessary, lucas was needed but mike just had will there because of his genuine need for will to be there. rain fight outburst and post breakup crawling back to will was so clear that mike valued will on a level unbeknownst to anyone else around him. even beyond the el breakup, mike is lowkey such an ass to everyone else 😭. he needed to be guided by everyone else to apologize to el, lucas, and dustin. but will was like air to mike, he breathes will, the second he hurts will, he immediately crawls back to him because he knows at the minimum that will’s feelings are greater than his own arrogance.

and now season 4? there are so many wonderful analyses out there regarding mikes straight up queer behavior, but i really feel like this season is what fully converted me. btw i was still afraid of this possibility of queerbaiting, i had a strong feeling that maybe i was still reading into it too much but when will’s feeling were CONFIRMED in the first like minute, i knew in that moment that byler endgame was real. like i said above the way will’s queerness was clear to me was no shock, but seeing it be visually shown that he was IN LOVE with mike i was truly convinced in that moment that this was it, they were setting them up to be THE endgame couple. (ps i had NOT interacted with any byler content until very recently, i just had this instinct). and after now having read the analyses and rewatch the season again, i literally felt like my eyes were opened and like the show was spelling it out for us. the california plot line being the MOST boring without byler development, the fights and apologies, the heart to hearts, and van scene all just either fed my confirmation bias or proved to all audiences that this is what we need to be looking at. it is insane that season 4 has like 6 incredibly byler focused deep moments and there’s still byler doubt in my opinion. anyways yeah back to my original point the complete decline in mike’s character development the last two seasons completely confirmed it for me in my most recent rewatch. there was no reason to absolutely nerf his character like that, and if they do set up m*leven endgame, i actually will have lost respect for the duffers but also for my favorite character. but i have full faith that this show would not destroy everything it spent the last decade building up to.

TLDR: byler endgame is imminent and as a once byler skeptic and even m*levin fan, i cannot wait to see this story wrap up in season 5. i need the trailer, actually the whole season but the trailer will do for now.

[yua0ra]

𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐲

WARNINGS: theatrelover!theo x cinemalover!fem!reader, sex, porn with plot, semi-public sex, p in v, raw, cursing, hot, fingering, NSFW, english is not my first language. not proofread | minors please dni. smut 🂡

SUMMARY: In the cool of the evening, when everything is getting kind of groovy, you call me up and ask me: would I like to go with you and see a movie? First I say "No, Ive got some plans for tonight." But then I stop and say "All right".

WC: 6.3K AN: HAHAHAH finally, after what it seemed like a fucking eternity, I bring you... Theodore SMUT. Everyone say thank you! JK, enjoy it, you whore. <3

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

Theodore Nott had an insufferable, borderline pretentious love for contemporary theatre. He would wax poetic about the brilliance of Jez Butterworth, the raw grit of Simon Stephens, and the immersive absurdity of Caryl Churchill. You, on the other hand, were a cinephile at heart—Tarantino’s razor-sharp dialogue, Scorsese’s masterful character studies, Nolan’s intricate narratives. You could analyze Pulp Fiction’s non-linear structure just as easily as you could tear apart The Wolf of Wall Street’s moral ambiguity.

Despite your differences, you both had an undeniable appreciation for storytelling—whether on stage or on screen. And naturally, that appreciation often turned into petty arguments.

"You can’t tell me The Ferryman isn’t one of the best pieces of theatre in the last decade," Theo scoffed one day, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair.

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, please. Jez is just doing modern-day Greek tragedy with a sprinkle of Irish drama. It’s compelling, sure, but it’s not reinventing the wheel."

Theo narrowed his eyes. "And what, you think Tarantino’s constant foot fetish and non-linear storytelling is revolutionary?"

"At least Tarantino has mastered the art of tension," you shot back. "The Sicilian scene in True Romance? The diner scene in Reservoir Dogs? You don’t need an elaborate set change or monologues drenched in metaphor—you just need two people in a room and a damn good script."

"That’s rich coming from someone who praises Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller—two of the most dialogue-heavy playwrights in existence."

Your friends groaned. They were used to this. You and Theo could argue for hours over narrative devices, symbolism, and whether theatre or cinema was the superior storytelling medium.

But one afternoon, during an extracurricular drama lesson, the argument escalated to a level that left everyone in the room speechless.

The class was discussing adaptations—how literature, theatre, and film intertwined.

Theo, ever the theatrical purist, argued, “Plays allow for the rawest human emotion. There are no camera tricks, no fancy editing—just an actor on stage, exposed. That’s why theatre will always have a deeper emotional impact than cinema.”

You weren’t about to let that slide. “That’s a wildly limited way of thinking. Film is just as much a visual art as it is a narrative one. Sure, theatre relies on the performer’s ability to hold an audience, but film can show a character’s internal struggle without a single word of dialogue. A glance, a shift in lighting—those subtle details can hit just as hard as a monologue.”

Theo tilted his head, amused. “Alright, then. A Streetcar Named Desire—would you rather see it on stage or in Elia Kazan’s adaptation?”

You smirked. “Kazan’s adaptation is brilliant, but you’re proving my point. The film version utilizes Marlon Brando’s raw, visceral performance while also using close-ups, sound design, and visual metaphors to enhance it. Theatre is powerful, but it’s limited by its medium. Film has more tools.”

The tension in the room thickened as you both volleyed back and forth—citing everything from Angels in America to Taxi Driver, from Arthur Miller’s The Crucible to Nolan’s Memento.

By the time you both stopped to take a breath, the rest of the class was staring at you like they had just witnessed an academic duel to the death.

Blaise, looking mildly concerned, muttered, “I think you two just argued in a language no one else speaks.” Pansy blinked and slowly nodded her head, “did you just name-drop fifteen different playwrights and directors in the span of five minutes?”

Draco, unimpressed, simply said, “I came here to watch people pretend to be trees, not to witness whatever that was.”

You and Theo exchanged a look. And, despite everything, a slow grin spread across both your faces. Because for all the arguing, all the differences, and all the passionate debates—you loved every second of it.

- ★、

The weekend had finally arrived, and with it, your much-anticipated cinema trip. It wasn’t every day you got to slip away from the castle, apparate to London, and immerse yourself in the warm glow of a dimly lit theatre, the smell of buttered popcorn thick in the air. Tonight’s screening? A Tarantino classic—Inglourious Basterds. You were practically buzzing with excitement as you stepped into the theatre, savoring the moment before the film began.

And then you saw him.

Theodore. Bloody. Nott.

Leaning against the concession stand, hands in his pockets, looking as if he belonged in some noir film with his perfectly tailored coat and unimpressed expression. His sharp gaze flicked over to you, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, well,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Didn’t peg you for the type to sneak off to London alone for a late-night film screening. How rebellious.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t strike me as the type to appreciate Tarantino. What are you doing here, Theo?”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “What, am I not allowed to expand my horizons? Maybe I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Oh, please. You’ve spent weeks slandering film in favor of theatre, and now you suddenly show up to a Tarantino movie of all things?”

Theo hummed thoughtfully, stepping closer, so close that the scent of his cologne—expensive and frustratingly good—filled your senses. “Maybe,” he mused, “I just enjoy riling you up.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was betraying you with its traitorous thump against your ribs. “Right. So you apparated to London, found this exact cinema, and happened to pick the same showing as me? Coincidence?”

His smirk deepened. “Perhaps.”

Before you could interrogate him further, the theatre doors opened, and people started filing inside. You exhaled, shaking your head. “You know what? I don’t care why you’re here. Just—don’t ruin the film for me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, trailing after you.

You found your seat, sinking into the plush velvet, determined to ignore the fact that Theodore Nott had somehow ended up in the seat directly beside you. He stretched out, looking infuriatingly at ease, as if this hadn’t been some grand invasion of your sacred cinema time.

And then, as the lights dimmed and the first scene flickered onto the screen, Theo leaned in—just enough for his breath to ghost against your ear.

“If this film doesn’t impress me,” he whispered, “you owe me a ticket to the next play I pick.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze, and smirked. “Fine. But when you inevitably love it, you’re admitting I was right.”

Theodore just chuckled, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest. “We’ll see.”

As the film unfolded on the screen, you found yourself hyperaware of Theodore’s presence beside you. It was ridiculous, really—how could one person occupy so much space without actually moving? 

His elbow rested dangerously close to yours on the armrest, his long legs stretched out in that careless way he always sat, as if the entire world was his to lounge in. 

You tried to focus on the movie, on the tense exchange between Landa and Perrier LaPadite, but Theo shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours, and suddenly, every bit of dialogue seemed to drown beneath the sound of your own heartbeat.

You weren’t sure when it happened—when the push and pull of your debates, the sharp edge of your banter, had morphed into something more charged, something that left a static hum in the air between you. 

Maybe it had always been there, simmering beneath every eye roll, every challenge, every smirk that lasted a second too long. And now, sitting here in the dim glow of the theatre, with flickering light casting shadows across his annoyingly perfect features, it was impossible to ignore.

Halfway through the film, Theo leaned in again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Alright, I’ll admit it. The dialogue is brilliant.”

You smirked, keeping your eyes trained on the screen. “Told you.”

His fingers tapped idly against the armrest, a steady, maddening rhythm. “Still doesn’t mean it’s better than theatre.”

You turned your head slightly, lips curving in amusement. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Theo tilted his face toward you, his voice dropping lower, smoother. “Because film lets you hide. Close-ups, cuts, music—it manipulates how you feel. Theatre? It’s raw. No second takes. No distractions.” His eyes flickered over your face, lingering just a moment too long on your lips. “You can’t escape it.”

A shiver ran down your spine, though whether it was from his words or the way his voice curled around them, you weren’t entirely sure. You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus. “You call it hiding. I call it perspective. The camera lets you see things no audience member ever could—something intimate, something only you get to witness.”

Theo hummed, considering that. The tension between you had shifted into something heavier, something that pressed into the space between breaths. He was still close, close enough that you could catch the faintest scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from where his arm rested near yours. It would be so easy to lean in just a little more, to close that final inch between you.

And then, just as you were about to force yourself to sit back, to pretend none of this was affecting you, he moved.

Slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed against the back of your hand, the touch featherlight, testing. Your breath hitched, your pulse hammering against your ribs, but you didn’t pull away. Theo, ever perceptive, took that as permission, his fingers shifting, tracing the delicate curve of your wrist.

“You’re… mad, Theo. You’re out of your mind,” you murmured, barely aware you had spoken the words aloud.

His lips quirked, but there was something darker in his gaze now, something that sent heat curling low in your stomach. “That’s right…,” he murmured, his fingers sliding between yours, “but you’re too, you haven’t moved.”

You knew you should say something—should tease him, should act unaffected—but all logic had abandoned you the moment his hand fully curled around yours. The room around you had disappeared, the film reduced to a distant hum in the background.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Theo lifted your intertwined hands, brushing his lips against the inside of your wrist. It was barely a kiss—more of a ghost of one—but it sent a shiver straight down your spine, igniting something electric in your veins.

Your breath hitched. “Theo—”

“I know,” he murmured, voice impossibly low, as if he was reading every thought racing through your mind. His thumb traced slow, teasing circles over your palm, his lips still hovering dangerously close to your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t.

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head slightly toward him, meeting his gaze through the dim flicker of the screen. “What if I don’t want to?”

His smirk deepened, but there was something softer there, something almost unreadable. For a moment, he just looked at you, as if memorizing every detail, before he finally whispered, “Then we might have a problem.”

And the worst part?

You wanted to find out just how much of a problem it could be.

The world outside of your little bubble had disappeared completely—the film playing on the screen, the murmur of the other audience members, the distant rustling of popcorn bags—it all faded into nothing. All that remained was Theodore, his touch burning into your skin, the weight of his gaze heavy as it flickered down to your lips.

His hand tightened ever so slightly around yours, his thumb tracing the delicate skin of your wrist, and you swore you felt your heartbeat stutter. There was something unbearably patient about the way he was looking at you, like he was waiting—waiting for you to pull away, to scoff and shove him off, to turn this into just another one of your never-ending debates. But you didn’t move.

Instead, you found yourself leaning in, the warmth between you growing thick, heavy. Your noses brushed—barely, just a whisper of contact—but it sent something electric crackling through your veins.

Theo exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath. His voice was nothing more than a murmur, just for you. “You’re really not stopping me.”

You smirked, fingers tightening slightly around his. “I thought you liked risks.”

His lips caught yours in the next breath, slow at first—just a soft, testing press, as if he wasn’t entirely sure this was real. But then you sighed against his mouth, tilting your head slightly, and finally leaned in.

Theo let go of whatever restraint he had left. His free hand came up to cradle your jaw, fingers pressing gently beneath your ear as he deepened the kiss, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second.

He tasted faintly of Italian summer and something richer, something entirely him. His touch was both careful and possessive, like he was memorizing the shape of you beneath his fingertips. You felt yourself melt into it, the heat between you intensifying, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You barely noticed the way his thumb brushed over your cheek, the way he tilted your chin just slightly to kiss you deeper. Everything about it was intoxicating—the way he moved, the way he swallowed the quiet little sigh that escaped you, the way his fingers flexed against your skin like he didn’t want to let go.

Somewhere in the background, the movie continued playing—gunfire, sharp dialogue, the rise of a dramatic score—but it all blurred into nothing. All you could focus on was Theo, on the way he was kissing you like he’d been waiting for this, like he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance.

When he finally, reluctantly, pulled away, his lips barely ghosting over yours, you were both breathless. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his fingers still cupping your jaw, his thumb tracing absent patterns over your skin.

You opened your eyes slowly, meeting his gaze. His pupils were blown, his lips slightly parted, and for the first time, Theodore Nott looked entirely, devastatingly undone.

A slow, lazy smirk curled at the corner of his lips. “Well,” he murmured, voice slightly rough. “I suppose I owe Tarantino some credit after all.”

You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes. “Unbelievable.”

He chuckled, fingers trailing down the side of your throat, as if he wasn’t quite ready to stop touching you yet. “Admit it,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “You liked that more than the film.”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Jury’s still out.”

Theo smirked, his lips brushing yours again in a featherlight kiss, like a silent promise. “Then I guess I’ll just have to convince you.”

And as he pulls you back into another kiss, slow and deep and utterly devastating, you realise with absolute certainty—you were in trouble.

Theodore's hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his lips moving with an urgency that steals your breath. He pulls you closer, eliminating any remaining distance between your bodies, his heart hammering against his ribs. 

His other hand splays across your lower back, pressing you flush against him as the kiss grows more heated, more demanding. He nips at your lower lip, his tongue soothing the sting before delving back into your mouth, stroking along yours in a dance that leaves you breathless. The cinema, the other people, the movie - it all disappears. There is only the two of you, lost in the passion of this stolen moment. 

When Theodore finally breaks the kiss, you're both left panting, your chests heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering open to gaze into yours with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. “Fuck..." he breathes, his voice ragged with desire.

And then, an act on impulse, a surge of primal instinct driving him. In one swift, fluid motion, he reaches under your thighs and lifts you effortlessly, settling you straddled on his lap. The sudden change in position startles you both, but the shock quickly melts into a shiver of pleasure as you feel the hard, muscular length of his thighs beneath you. 

The cinema has long since faded from your awareness; now there is only the two of you, the heat building between your bodies, the electricity crackling in the air. 

Theodore's hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh almost hard enough to bruise as he holds you in place. Your chest is pressed against his, and you can feel the pounding of his heart, the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. 

His eyes are dark, almost black in the dim light, blazing into yours with an intensity that makes your own pulse race. "Darling," he murmurs, his voice a low, husky rumble. His hands move again up your back, one tangling in your hair while the other cups the back of your neck, pulling you into a searing, desperate kiss. 

The kiss is a clash of lips and tongues, a dance of passion and pent-up longing. It's a kiss that speaks of a hunger, a need, a desperation that can no longer be contained. Theodore kisses you like a man starved, like he is trying to devour you, to consume you, to make you a part of him.

Red faced, messy hair, you look up at him. “Sh-shit Theo, we shouldn’t be doing this here.” You quietly giggled.

Theodore chuckles softly at your giggle, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. He doesn't stop his ministrations, his hands still roaming your curves with a familiar confidence. 

But he does lean back slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

"Shh, shh, bella, what's the matter? Don't tell me you're getting shy on me now..." he teases, his voice a low murmur meant only for your ears. 

"We're just two lovers, lost in the moment. Surely there's no harm in that?" His hand slides from your hip to your thigh, his fingers tracing maddeningly slow circles on your skin. Your breath hitches at the touch, a fresh wave of goosebumps erupting across your flesh.

Theodore's eyes darken with lust as he feels your hips squirming against him, your plush rear rubbing against his hardening cock through the fabric of his trousers. 

A low, guttural groan escapes his lips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. His other hand slides up your side, his fingertips skimming the side of your breast, teasing you with the promise of his touch. 

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your flesh. "Gorgeous, you feel what you do to me, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice a low, husky growl. 

His words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your stomach as your grip tightened on his coat. The way he spoke, all dark velvet and wicked amusement, made your head spin. You did feel it—the tension thrumming between you, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way his fingers ghosted over your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you. And Merlin, it was driving you insane.

Your breath hitched as you shifted against him, creating more friction, desperate for anything to relieve the ache building inside you. His sharp inhale, the barely restrained groan against your throat, sent a rush of satisfaction through you.

"Fuck," Theo muttered, his lips grazing the delicate skin beneath your jaw. "You're dangerous."

A breathy laugh escaped you, but it was cut short as he tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. His nose skimmed along the column of your throat before he pressed an open-mouthed kiss there, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the way you trembled against him.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he murmured, lips brushing against your pulse point. "Arguing with you, watching you get all worked up—Merlin—and now this?" His teeth grazed your skin, not quite biting, just enough to make your breath stutter. "Gorgeous, you have no idea how long I've wanted this."

His confession sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you couldn't help the way your hips rolled against his, seeking more of the delicious friction he so easily provided. His hands gripped you tighter, his restraint fraying with each passing second.

Theo let out a strained chuckle, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with something dangerous. "If you keep doing that, sweetheart," he murmured, voice thick with desire, "I'm going to forget we're in a bloody cinema."

The thought sent a thrill through you, but you knew he was right. The dim glow of the screen cast flickering shadows across his sharp features, but the reality of your surroundings was quickly slipping away, drowned out by the intoxicating heat between you.

You licked your lips, breathless. "Then maybe you should."

Theo stilled for a fraction of a second, his fingers flexing against your waist. And then—Merlin, then—his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

"Brilliant idea, darling," he purred.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before the haze of lust could fade, Theo was back at it again, with more force and more desire.

Theodore's hand cups your breast fully now, his thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling your hardened nipple through the thin material of your shirt. His lips trail up your neck, pausing to nip and suck at your pulse point before moving to your ear. 

"I want to bend you over the back of this seat and fuck you until you scream, until the entire cinema knows who you belong to," he whispers, his voice rough with need. 

"I want to make you come on my cock again and again until you're begging me to stop, until you're completely and utterly satisfied..." His hand slides down your stomach, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your skirt, teasing the sensitive skin just above where you crave his touch most. 

Theodore's eyes blaze into yours, filled with a hunger and a desperation that makes your core clench with anticipation. "But I suppose I can be patient, for now," he murmurs, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

"After all, the anticipation, the build-up, the waiting... it's all part of the thrill, isn't it? Knowing that I could take you right here, right now, but choosing not to... for now." 

He pulls you into another searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you, consuming you, until you're left breathless and wanting. 

When he finally breaks the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours, a wicked glint in his eye. "Tell me," he murmurs, his voice a low, sinful purr. "What do you want, my clever little witch?”

“N-no, Theo.” You blush, feeling hot. “I’m too turned on, I’ll be quiet I promise.” 

Theodore's eyes flash with triumph and desire at your breathless, needy words. A smug, satisfied smirk spreads across his handsome face as he realizes the effect he's having on you. 

His hand slides further down, his fingers brushing against your clothed sex, feeling the damp heat radiating through the fabric. "Mmm, is that so, pretty?" he murmurs, his voice a low, husky purr. 

"You want me to fuck you, right here, right now, don't you? Want me to slip my hard, aching cock inside your tight, wet little cunt until you're screaming my name?" His fingers rub slow, teasing circles over your clothed clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm and whimper with need. 

Theodore leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, his voice dripping with sinful promise. "I promise, I'll make it worth it. I'll fuck you so hard and so good that you'll forget where we are, and every single time, that you watch this movie, you will only see me.” 

His other hand slides up your shirt, pushing the fabric out of the way to expose your heaving breasts. He cups the soft mounds, kneading and squeezing them, his thumbs and forefingers pinching and tugging at your hardened nipples. 

"You just need to be a good girl and stay quiet for me, understand? No matter how much you want to scream, no matter how much you want to cry out in ecstasy, you need to stay silent. Think you can do that, tesoro?" Theodore's eyes blaze into yours, filled with a hunger and a desperation that makes your core clench with anticipation. 

His hand slips beneath your skirt, his fingers brushing against your slick folds, feeling the evidence of your arousal. 

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Are you ready for me to fuck you like you've never been fucked before, right here, right now, in front of all these unsuspecting people?”

Theodore takes your silent nod as the consent it is, his eyes darkening with a new wave of lust and desire. 

His hand slips further beneath your skirt, his fingers brushing against your slick, bare folds, feeling the evidence of your arousal coating his skin. With a low, guttural groan, he pushes two fingers deep inside you, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. 

He pumps his fingers in and out of your tight heat, his palm pressing against your clit with each thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through your body. Theodore leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, husky whisper. “Shit, you're so fucking wet. So ready for my cock, aren't you? I can feel your greedy little cunt sucking me in, begging to be filled..." 

His other hand still up your shirt, pushes the fabric of your bra out of the way completely. He leans down, taking the stiff peak into his mouth, suckling and nibbling until you're writhing against him, barely able to stay silent. 

Thank Merlin, you guys are in the last row, and the cinema’s loud speakers consume the room, the attention of the silent watchers move away from you both, the world narrowing down to the feeling of Theodore's hands on your body, his fingers pumping in and out of your dripping sex, his mouth on your breast. 

You can feel the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against your ass, the evidence of his own desperate arousal. Theodore's hand slides from your breast to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as he grinds his hips against yours, the rough fabric of his trousers rubbing against your sensitive flesh. 

He captures your lips in a searing, desperate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you, consuming you. 

"Mmh... please Teddy." You can't hold it in. It's been too long, he's teasing too much. "Hurry up so we can get the hell out."

Noticing your discomfort, and your inability to stay fucking quiet, Theodore’s eyes widen briefly at your plea, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He chuckles softly, a low, sinful sound that sends a shiver down your spine. 

His fingers continue their relentless assault on your dripping pussy, pumping in and out, curling against that sensitive spot deep inside you that makes your toes curl and your back arch. "Mmm, so eager, aren't you beautiful?" he murmurs, his voice a low, teasing purr. 

"So desperate for my cock, so hungry for me to fill you up, to make you mine..." 

He nips at your lower lip, his teeth tugging on the tender flesh, before soothing the sting with his tongue. His hand slides from your neck to your hip, gripping the curve possessively. "Very well, my love. I suppose we can finish the movie another time… too bad we couldn’t do it in here.” 

Theodore's voice is low and rough with desire as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your dripping sex. You whimper at the loss, your body aching to be filled, to be stretched and used. He stands abruptly, pulling you up with him. 

With deft, practiced movements, he straightens your skirt and shirt, making you presentable once more. Taking your hand in his, he leads you quickly and quietly out of the cinema, weaving through the darkened aisles until you reach the emergency exit at the back. 

Pushing open the door, Theodore pulls you into the cool night air, the stars twinkling above you in the inky black sky. He doesn't stop until he finds a secluded spot behind a tall hedgerow, hidden from view of the cinema and the buzzing streets of London. 

Turning to face you, Theodore pulls you flush against him, his hands gripping your hips with hands that you knew would leave a mark. 

He connects both your mouths, hurriedly, impatient to fuck you good.

He groans into your mouth, his tongue delving deep, stroking along yours, tasting you, consuming you. His hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing the firm globes before lifting you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist.

 He carries you a few steps further, until your back is pressed against the rough bark of a sturdy brick wall. 

Breaking the kiss, Theodore leans back just enough to look into your eyes, his own blazing with a hunger and a desperation that makes your heart race. 

He reaches down with one hand, fumbling briefly with the fastenings of his trousers before freeing his aching cock. It springs forth, shiny and veiny and heavy, the swollen head already glistening with precum. 

He strokes himself once, twice, hissing at the sensation, before gripping your thigh and positioning himself at your entrance. "Tell me, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a low, rough growl. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you need my cock inside you, filling you, claiming you, making you mine. Say it, cara mia..." He rubs the head of his cock teasingly against your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. 

His other hand slides up your jaw, cupping your face, his thumb playing with your swollen pouty lips. His eyes bore into yours, filled with a desperate, aching need. The cool night air kisses your skin, but the heat building between your bodies is scorching, all consuming.

Theodore's chest heaves with each ragged breath, his heart pounding against his ribs. He's waiting for your consent, your permission, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. 

With a sudden, sharp thrust, he sheaths himself inside you, burying his thick, hard length deep into your tight, wet heat. He groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that sends shockwaves through your body. 

He starts to move, his hips rolling against yours, his cock sliding in and out of your dripping sex with long, deep strokes. “Cazzo..." Theodore grits out, his voice strained with exertion and ecstasy. "You feel exquisite, like you were made just for me. So fucking tight, so fucking perfect..." He captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. 

His hands grip your hips, pulling you down to meet his thrusts, the force of them making you shake against the hard wall.

Theodore groans at your sudden cry, the sound turning him on. He pistons his hips faster, driving into you with a newfound urgency, the force of his thrusts making the old oak tree shudder and sway around you. 

"That's it, bella," he pants, his voice a low, rough growl. "Let me hear you. I want to hear every little sound you make, every desperate plea falling from your pretty lips. Were not in there any more, don’t hold back princess…” 

One hand slides from your hip to your thigh, pushing your leg higher up his waist, opening you up to him, allowing him to delve even deeper into your tight, clenching heat. 

The other hand slides up your shirt, exposing once again your heaving breasts to the cool night air. Theodore leans down, taking one hardened nipple into his mouth, suckling and nibbling at the sensitive bud until you're writhing against him, your fingers tangling in his dark hair.

 He laves his tongue over the reddened flesh, soothing the sting of his bites before moving to its twin, giving it the same attention.

 All the while, he never stops his relentless assault on your pussy, his cock pounding into you with a force that steals your breath and makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

 You can feel the tension building low in your belly, the coil tightening with each thrust, each stroke, each press of his hips against yours. Theodore's hand slides between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles over the swollen nub. 

His touch is electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through your body, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "That's it, baby," he murmurs against your breast, his voice a low, sinful purr. 

"Come for me, my love. Come on my cock like the perfect little angel you are. I want to feel you…” 

Theodore feels your sex clamp down around his cock like a vice as your orgasm overtakes you. He groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that echoes through the quiet night air, as your walls flutter and spasm around his throbbing length. 

He doesn't slow his thrusts, instead pounding into your quivering heat with a newfound fervor, prolonging your climax, drawing out your ecstasy. 

“Yes, yes, yes… just like that” he growls, his voice ragged and strained with his own impending release. "Fuck, you're squeezing me so tightly, like you never want to let me go. I can feel your greedy little cunt trying to swallow this big dick.” 

He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure, his tongue delving deep to stroke along yours, to dance and twine with yours in a lewd, filthy imitation of the act taking place below. 

His hands grip your ass, squeezing the firm globes, pulling you harder against him, burying himself impossibly deeper inside you with each powerful thrust. Theo's fingers continue their relentless assault on your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles over the sensitive nub, pushing you through your climax and straight into another. 

Your body is trembling, shaking, the pleasure almost too intense to bear as he fucks you through the aftershocks, the waves of bliss crashing over you again and again. He can feel his own release building, the tension coiling at the base of his spine, his balls drawing up tight. 

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside your still fluttering sex, his cock pulsing, throbbing, as he finds his own completion. 

"Fuck, pretty, fuck!" Theodore roars, his voice echoing through the night as he starts to come, his thick, hot seed spurting deep inside you, painting your walls white. 

His hips continue to roll, grinding against yours, drawing out his orgasm, filling you up just like he promised.

 He holds you close as the waves of pleasure slowly ebb, your combined releases trickling down your thighs, marking you, claiming you, making you his. 

Theodore's heart hammers against his chest as he tries to catch his breath, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes locked with yours.

You felt colder now, the sharp night air finally biting at your flushed skin, but Theo barely let you move away from him. His arms were still wrapped around you, firm and possessive, as if he had no intention of letting you go just yet. And honestly? You weren’t about to complain.

Your breath came in slow, uneven pants as you tried to recover, your forehead still pressed against his. His lips curled into the ghost of a smirk, his usual arrogance softened by the post-bliss haze settling over both of you.

“Merlin,” Theo finally muttered, voice still thick and gravelly, “that was—” He exhaled, shaking his head like he couldn’t even find the words.

You let out a breathy, satisfied laugh, tilting your head to look at him. “Better than theatre?”

His lips twitched, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re really asking me that?”

You hummed, feigning nonchalance even as your body still buzzed from everything you’d just done. “Well, I mean, I know you think theatre is the peak of human artistic expression, but surely even you have to admit that was… cinematic.”

Theo let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Cinematic?”

You grinned, biting your lip. “Perfectly timed tension, intense buildup, and an unforgettable climax—I’d say we just gave Scorsese a run for his money.”

Theo groaned, tipping his head back, but you caught the way his lips twitched, like he was trying so hard not to smile. “You would turn this into a bloody film analysis.”

You shrugged, smug. “And you would turn it into a tragic, forbidden romance.”

“Obviously,” he shot back, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Star-crossed lovers, clashing ideals, unbearable tension—”

“—and a dramatic resolution that makes the audience swoon,” you added, nudging his ribs.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled you in closer. “Fine, I’ll admit it. That was—” He lowered his voice, leaning in to whisper against your ear, “—Oscar-worthy.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp, pushing playfully at his chest. “You’re giving credit to film? You? Theodore Nott?”

He smirked, completely unbothered. “Even I have to admit, some performances just can’t be staged.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you finally let yourself melt into his arms, letting the cool London air wrap around you both. “Well, I suppose there’s only one thing left to do now.”

He raised a brow. “And that is?”

You looked up at him, feigning seriousness. “Debrief. Proper analysis, compare our perspectives—”

“Absolutely not,” Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re insufferable.”

You grinned. “And yet, you’re still holding me.”

Theo sighed, shaking his head with an affectionate smirk. “Yeah, well… Guess I do have a weakness for a well-written story.”

His lips met yours again, soft and unhurried this time, and you couldn’t help but think—whether it was theatre or cinema, tragedy or romance—this? This was your favorite story yet.

[gayaest]

i hope this isn't a weird thing to say (im sorry if it is) but the fact u have a visual impairment and still make such insane art is very cool! i love to see disabled people make art as a (non physical) disabled person myself! keep up the good work!! :3 [cat emoticon]

Hi! This isn’t weird at all, thank you for being so kind! ❤️

I should add, I definitely have a mild visual impairments compared to some, who have much more severe, so I want to acknowledge that what works for me and what I can do, is much different than what others do!

I also wanted to explain a little about my visual impairment! I have Neurological issues linked with my eyes. This causes a couple different presentations to show, and affect my eyesight in a dynamic way, sometimes is much worse than others, while other days feels relatively “normal” (if I’m wearing glasses). Otherwise, Any of my visual impairments do NOT get corrected with my glasses, which is why they are classified neurological. It isn’t a problem with my eye, rather the problem is with my nerves.

Here is an example I made of a few of the ways my visual impairment can present;

Some days are better than others, while other days, I cannot open my eyes at all or see anything beyond colors and light, and rough blurred shapes.

I do have glasses, and I have had them since I was 9 years old — but the reason that my visual impairment is different than “just needing glasses” is the fact that they aren’t fixed with my glasses, it is there whether my glasses are on or off. There is just a baseline.

This isn’t the only way it can present for me, as well. Overall, I just wanted to show how it is like for me! When drawing, I can NEVER see clean lines, it’s always blurry no matter how large of a zoom % I do, none of my work is ever “clean” and “clear” to me, but to others, apparently it is! I suppose it helps that I didn’t always have this visual impairment, so I have some muscle memory of drawing before.

I hope this makes sense!

[nameless-ken]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - part four

The Stranger That Knows Me Best is a heartfelt story about connection, vulnerability, and taking chances on the unexpected. Two introverts discover that sometimes, the person who understands you best is the one you’ve never met.

part one | part two | part three

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: the usual, mostly angst!

Masterlist

authors note: I am currently moving into a new home so I hope you enjoy reading this part until I can update again! I think there might be one more part, maybe two. If you have any requests, please send them in, I need the inspiration and am looking forward to my new writing set up!

The apartment feels suffocating, too quiet. Bucky is on his couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His stomach churns, not just from the headache pounding behind his eyes but from the gnawing pit of regret. 

The image of you, standing by the bar last night, arms crossed and eyes guarded—that’s what makes his hangover worse. Not the lingering taste of whiskey or the meaningless, hollow kiss he wishes he could take back. 

Just you. And the way you looked at him like he was exactly what he feared becoming—someone who couldn’t be trusted with your heart.

He runs a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. He needs air.

Grabbing his jacket, he steps outside, the cold midmorning air making his eyes sting. He sniffles and zips up his jacket, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he moves on instinct, as if his feet remember his usual route than his brain does in his current state. 

He makes it to the coffee shop, pausing before walking in, hoping to find you. He takes a deep breath and walks inside. His eyes wander to the back table but find it empty. His shoulders slump in disappointment. He tries to shake it off as he orders a cup of hazelnut coffee. He takes a seat at the same table that used to bring him comfort but now it just feels cold. He sits there, letting the untouched mug grow cold and stares ahead, remembering the way you smiled at him over the rim of your own mug. He hates how upset he feels, knowing he doesn’t deserve to feel this way. Since he brought you here, the atmosphere has changed. The sight of the empty chair in front of him twists anger and hopelessness deep in his chest.

The park is quieter this morning, the usual sounds of dogs barking and groups of old women chatting on their morning walks, are dulled by his intrusive thoughts. He walks along the path where you had strolled beside him, past the hill where you had sat together. He stops and visualizes the way you had tilted your head up, watching the light filter through the trees, and how he had caught himself watching you. He misses the smile that would appear on your face as he spoke about his past and how much he loved that he was the reason for it. The realization of that had startled him then. Now, it haunts him.

The Brooklyn Promenade stretches out before him, the skyline hazy against the afternoon sky. He leans against the railing, the same spot where you had stood. He remembers the look in your eyes, gleaming as you took in the Manhattan city outline. He had been drawn to that look on your face, the way you absorbed the world like it still had so much beauty to offer. And he had found himself watching you instead, more taken by your beauty and wonder— it made him feel some unfamiliar stir in his chest, something terrifying and real.

Now, the space beside him feels too empty.

The record store is the last stop. The familiar scent of vinyl and dust wrapping around him. Music plays softly over the speakers but it doesn’t make him feel the usual calmness. He walks to the listening booth, stopping in front of it, remembering the way you helped him through a difficult memory. 

He hadn’t realized just how much he liked seeing you experience his happiness. Now, all he can think about is how easily he’s managed to ruin everything.

He swipes a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. He’s spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, convincing himself it’s better that way. But you—you slipped through the tiny cracks. And last night, he shattered the fragility between you. 

Bucky swallows hard and leaves the store, his mind still a tangled mess of regret.

The fear had crept in before he could stop it. The moment he started wanting this—you—it became too real, too much. He had been here before, letting himself believe in something good, and look where it got him.

Losing his mom nearly broke him. Having Natalie leave right before shattered whatever pieces were left. And now, standing in the wreckage of his own making, he wonders if he’s doomed to repeat the same cycle—pushing people away before they have the chance to leave on their own.

He rubs a hand over his jaw, clenching as he exhales through his nose. He doesn’t know how to fix this. He doesn’t know if he can.

But the thought of losing you for good? That terrifies him more than anything.

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky is scared of something that isn’t the past—he’s scared of the future.

And what it might look like without you in it.

A sharp knock rattles the apartment door. He knows it’s not you, you still haven’t returned from your hasty exit this morning. He texted you once, just wanting to know if you’re okay. He hates the thought of you walking around in an unfamiliar city. You read it but didn’t reply. 

He ignores the knocking at first, slouched on his couch, staring at the floor like it holds all the answers he can’t find. But the knocking comes again—louder, more impatient. He knows who it is.

With a sigh, Bucky pushes himself to his feet and opens the door.

Sam doesn’t wait for an invitation. He steps inside, arms crossed over his chest.

“Alright, man,” Sam greets with a stern look and pressing eyes. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Bucky exhales sharply and shuts the door, rubbing a hand over his face. “Not in the mood for a lecture, Sam.”

“Well, that’s too damn bad.” Sam’s eyes darken as he takes a step closer. “Because somebody’s gotta say it. You say you don’t want to lose her, but you’re doing a damn good job pushing her away.”

Bucky clenches his jaw, looking away. “It doesn’t matter.”

Sam scoffs, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”

Bucky groans, shoulders tensing. “You don’t get it—”

“No, I get it just fine.” Sam cuts him off, his voice sharper now. “You’re scared. You’ve been running from these feelings for years. And now, instead of dealing with your own shit, you’re just hurting her.”

Bucky flinches but doesn’t argue.

Sam exhales, shaking his head. His voice softens, but there’s no less weight behind it. “I remember what you were like after your mom died. You were wrecked, man. And Natalie? She just walked away. Left you when you needed someone the most.”

Bucky swallows hard, the memories hitting him like a punch to the gut. The loneliness. The heartbreak. The way he shut himself off from everything and everyone after that.

Sam steps closer. “You’ve been keeping people at a distance ever since. And maybe that made sense back then, but not now. Not with her.”

Bucky’s hands clench into fists at his sides. His throat feels tight. “I do care about her, Sam.” He looks away, jaw tightening. “More than I’ve cared about anyone in years.”

Sam nods, like he already knew that. “So what the hell are you doing?”

Bucky exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to let someone in like that again. What if—” He stops himself before the rest of the thought can spill out.

Sam watches him for a long moment before speaking. “You don’t get to use that as an excuse forever, man. Yes, she will be going back to Oregon soon but that doesn’t mean she’s leaving you for good. It’s scary. It’s always gonna be scary. But if you don’t face that fear, you’re gonna lose the best damn thing that’s happened to you.”

Bucky lets out a slow, shaky breath, his chest aching. He doesn’t know what to say—because deep down, he knows Sam’s right.

The bell above the door chimes as Sam steps into the coffee shop, sweeping over the room until he lands on you. You’re by the window, hands curled around a cup of coffee that’s long gone cold, staring out at the city. But you’re not really seeing it. The movement of people, the rush of yellow cabs, the flickering neon signs—they’re all just blurs beyond the glass, as distant as the thoughts clouding your mind.

Sam doesn’t hesitate. He walks over and slides into the chair across from you.

“You look like you could use some company,” he says, resting his arms on the table.

You blink, snapping out of your daze. Your lips tug into a small, tired smile. “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey,” he replies, but there’s a softness to his voice, a knowing look in his eyes. Like he already sees the storm inside you before you can even say a word. He leans forward slightly. “You doing okay?”

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the ceramic cup. The truth is, you’re not sure. The emotions tangled in your chest are too heavy to sort through. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “I’m just… trying to make sense of it all.”

Sam nods like he expected that. He glances around, then exhales. “You see him now, but you don’t know the version of him that I do—the guy who didn’t even want to get out of bed, who stopped talking to me for weeks.”

Your brows draw together as you look up at him. “After his mom passed?”

Sam nods. “Bucky was different after that. He was always the guy who carried everything on his shoulders, but when she died, it crushed him. And Natalie?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “She didn’t stick around. Their relationship was already rocky, but when grief hit, she made him feel like a burden.”

A sharp pang twists in your chest. Your mind flashes back to the way Bucky had spoken about Natalie. How his voice turned hollow, how his shoulders tensed like even the memory of her was something he wanted to bury deep. And suddenly, you understand it more. The way he hesitates, the way he pushes and pulls, how he keeps you at arm’s length even when his eyes tell a different story.

Sam continues, his voice quieter now. “He stopped showing up. Stopped answering calls, stopped seeing people. And when he did come back around… it wasn’t the same. He didn’t let anyone in after that. Not really.”

You lower your gaze, tracing the rim of your cup with your fingertip. The weight of Sam’s words settles into your chest, filling in the gaps of a story Bucky never quite told you himself.

“And now?” you ask, your voice softer.

Sam studies you for a long moment before answering. “Now, he’s trying. Or at least, he was—until he screwed up.”

A humorless laugh escapes you as you shake your head. “Yeah. Until he screwed up.”

Sam doesn’t argue with that. He just watches your reaction.

You swallow hard, staring down at your untouched coffee. “I don’t know what to do, Sam. I care about him. A lot. But I can’t be someone’s maybe. I can’t stand here waiting for him to decide if he wants me in his life as a friend or as more.”

Sam nods, thoughtful. “I get it. And I’m not here to make excuses for him. What he did was messed up. But I just thought you should know… he’s not a bad guy. He just doesn’t know how to let himself be happy.”

Your throat tightens. Because as much as you hurt, as much as you’re angry and disappointed—you know Sam’s right. You’ve seen it in the way Bucky looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, in the way his fingers hesitate before touching yours, like he’s afraid of wanting something he’s convinced himself he can’t have.

And now you see it in yourself, too. The ache in your chest isn’t just from what he did—it’s from knowing he doesn’t believe he deserves more than what his past taught him.

“I just…” You pause, your voice smaller now. “I want to be there for him.”

Sam exhales, offering you a sad smile. “Maybe he needs to figure out how to let himself be loved first.”

You nod slowly and let his words sink in. Understanding Bucky doesn’t erase the hurt. But it does leave you with one painful question:

How much longer can you wait for someone who’s still learning what he wants?

That night, when the knock on the guest room door comes, you’re not surprised.

You’ve been expecting it.

Still, you hesitate. Your fingers hover over the handle for a beat too long before you finally pull the door open.

Bucky stands on the other side, looking exhausted—like he hasn’t slept in days. His hoodie hangs loose on his frame, hands shoved deep into the front pocket, shoulders hunched like the weight of everything is pressing down on him all at once. But it’s his eyes that catch you. There’s no shield there, no guarded walls—just rawness. Regret.

“Can we talk?” he asks hesitantly.

You inhale slowly. There’s no anger left in you, not really—just exhaustion, just a dull ache where warmth used to be. Without a word, you step back, leaving just enough space for him to walk inside.

Bucky lingers for a moment before he moves, running a hand through his hair as he exhales. The silence stretches, pressing down on both of you.

Finally, he breaks it.

“I was wrong,” he says, voice rough. “I keep messing this up. I keep pushing you away, and I know why—I just don’t know how to stop.” He swallows hard, shifting his weight like he’s fighting himself. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just… I don’t know how to be what you need.”

His words land deep, stirring up everything you’ve been feeling since you got here—the warmth of him, the way he made you feel seen, the way he kept you close, then pushed you away in the same breath.

You tighten your arms around yourself, steadying your voice. “I care about you, Bucky.” The words come easier than you expect. “But I won’t be someone you keep at arm’s length just because you’re scared.”

His jaw tightens. His hands ball into fists at his sides. “I’m not scared of you,” he says too fast, then, softer, “I’m scared of what this means.”

“I get it,” you say carefully. “But fear isn’t an excuse to push a friend away and drown your sorrows in alcohol when I’m here because of you. You wanted me here, Bucky. And everything was going great—until Natalie showed up, and suddenly, it was like you weren’t even the same person anymore.”

Bucky flinches, his lips pressing together in frustration. 

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “I understand if seeing her brought up a lot for you. If it messed with your head. But why couldn’t you talk to me about it? We’ve traded letters for months, you’ve been open with me in ways I don’t think you’ve been with anyone else. But now, in person, it feels like there’s a part of you you’re hiding on purpose.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose as he responds. “I wasn’t trying to hide. I just… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to let myself have something good without waiting for it to go wrong.”

Your chest tightens. “That’s the thing, Bucky,” you say softly. “I wasn’t waiting for anything to go wrong. I was just here. I am here”

His breath stutters, and for a second, you see something crack in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you believe him. You really do.

But believing him doesn’t change the fact that something in you has shifted.

You let out a slow, steadying breath, feeling the ache of the words before you even say them. “I think it’s time for me to go home.”

Bucky’s head snaps up, his whole body going still. “What?”

You force yourself to meet his gaze, to keep your voice level. “I came here to spend time with you. To figure out how we would be together. And I think I have.”

Something flickers across his face—panic, maybe. Regret. The kind that comes too late.

Bucky’s lips part like he wants to argue, to fight, but no words come out. Because what could he say?

And then, after a long, agonizing beat, he nods. Once. Just enough to let you go.

The morning light filters through the window, casting soft golden streaks across the ceiling. You’ve been awake for hours, staring at the shifting light patterns. Sleep never really came last night—not when your mind kept replaying every moment, every word, every hesitation in Bucky’s voice.

This isn’t how you imagined this trip ending.

You wanted clarity. Connection. A reason to stay.

Instead, you’re left with the stark realization that no matter how much you care about Bucky, no matter how much he might care about you, he’s stuck in a place you can’t reach. And you won’t break yourself trying to pull him out.

The thought sits heavy in your chest as you finally force yourself to move. Each motion feels mechanical—pulling your suitcase from the corner, folding clothes with a numb detachment. You hesitate over the little things he’s given you, the small tokens of your time together—his hoodie draped over the chair, the vinyl from the record store, a book he’d set on your nightstand with a quiet, “Thought you’d like this.”

You trace your fingers over the spine before slipping it into your bag.

Leaving feels wrong. It feels like severing something that was never meant to be broken. But staying? Staying would hurt more.

You reach for your phone, your voice quiet but firm as you reschedule your flight and call Wanda to see if she can be there to pick you up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon… No, it’s fine. I’m ready to come home.”

The words feel like a lie even as you say them.

Bucky doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.

He was heading to the kitchen when he heard your voice from the guest room. He freezes in place, your words slamming into him like a gut punch.

"I’m ready to come home."

The finality in your tone knocks the breath from his lungs. You’re leaving.

He knew this trip wasn’t permanent, but hearing it like this—knowing you’re leaving now, that you might never come back—makes his insides unravel.

His grip tightens on the edge of the counter, his pulse a frantic rhythm against his ribs. His mind races through every moment—the way you laughed with Sam at the bar, the way you fit so easily into his world, the way your fingers brushed his as you walked around his city. The way you looked at him last night, waiting for something he couldn’t give, and the way he hated himself for it.

He wants to stop you. To tell you not to go. To finally say everything he’s been too afraid to say.

But what if it’s too late?

What if he’s already lost you?

His feet move before he makes the decision. He’s at your door in an instant, his breath uneven, his heart pounding like it’s trying to break free from his chest.

He lifts a hand to knock—hesitates.

Then, before he can talk himself out of it, he pushes the door open.

You turn, startled, eyes wide as you clutch a sweater to your chest. The sight of you mid-pack, standing in the middle of a room that already feels emptier, hits him harder than he expects.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Bucky swallows hard, his voice rough when he finally finds it. “You don’t have to go.”

Your breath catches, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. “Bucky…”

“I know I messed up,” he rushes out, stepping closer. “I know I pushed you away. And I know I don’t deserve to ask you this, but…” He exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “Stay. Just—stay a little longer.”

You close your eyes briefly, willing yourself to hold firm. “I can’t.”

The words are soft, but they land like a hammer between you.

Bucky’s jaw tightens, his expression crumbling for a fraction of a second. He nods, stepping back as if to brace himself. “Right.”

You watch him, waiting for something—an argument, a plea, anything that might make this easier. But he doesn’t fight you. He just looks at you, and for the first time, you see it clearly.

Bucky doesn’t know how to fight for someone to stay.

And you can’t be the one to teach him.

The ride to the airport is quiet.

Bucky insisted on driving you, and despite everything, you let him. Maybe because you weren’t ready to say goodbye back at his place, maybe because a part of you wanted just a little more time with him.

Now, sitting in the passenger seat of his car, watching the city blur past, the silence stretches between you like a thread pulled too tight, on the verge of snapping.

He grips the steering wheel with both hands, knuckles taut. Every so often, he glances over at you, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

Neither of you turn on the radio.

Neither of you break the silence.

Because what is there to say?

You’re leaving. And this time, Bucky isn’t stopping you.

The airport comes into view too soon, a cold reminder that this is real, that in a few minutes, you’ll be walking through those doors and out of his life.

He pulls up to the curb and puts the car in park, exhaling like it physically pains him.

You unbuckle your seatbelt, fingers trembling slightly as you reach for your suitcase in the backseat. When you turn back around, Bucky is already out of the car, stepping around to meet you. The weight in his eyes nearly makes you stumble.

You shift on your feet, gripping the suitcase handle too tightly. “You didn’t have to drive me.”

He tries to swallow the thick sorrowness that’s creeping its way up. “Yeah, I did.”

A pause.

The wind picks up, rustling your hair.

Bucky shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his gaze flickering over your face, trying to commit every detail to his memory. “I, uh…” He clears his throat, shifting on his feet. “I know I don’t deserve to ask, but—will you still write to me?”

The words nearly break you.

You exhale sharply, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I don’t know, Bucky.”

He nods stiffly, looking down as he expected that answer.

You step closer, hesitating just a fraction before reaching for him. Your fingers brush over his forearm first, then move up, slowly wrapping around his back. And Bucky—Bucky doesn’t hesitate at all.

His arms come around you in an instant, pulling you against his chest with an urgency that nearly knocks the breath out of you. His grip is strong, desperate, he’s afraid to let go.

Your face presses against the worn fabric of his jacket, and for a moment, you let yourself breathe him in—his warmth, his quiet strength, the scent of the familiarity and fleetingness of his presence.

You don’t know how long you stand there, wrapped up in each other, neither one of you willing to be the first to pull away.

But then the announcement sounds out over the speakers, a reminder of where you are.

You close your eyes and force yourself to step back. Bucky’s arms drop to his sides, fingers flexing because he wants to reach for you again but knows he can’t.

“Take care of yourself, Bucky,” you whisper, holding back tears threatening to fall. 

His jaw tightens. “You too.”

You grab your suitcase, forcing your feet to move toward the doors, toward the life waiting for you in Oregon.

You don’t look back.

You can’t.

But if you did, you’d see Bucky standing there, unmoving, eyes glued to you as you disappeared from him.

And as he finally drags himself back to his car, gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing holding him together, the tears start flowing. .

Bucky unlocks the door to his apartment, stepping inside as silence greets him. He exhales slowly, taking off his boots and jacket and makes his way to the kitchen. His hand hovers over the light switch, hesitating.

His eyes land on the mug you last used. He picked it up for you before you arrived, wanting you to have something of your own while you stayed here. He remembered you writing to him that you always have a mug of tea before bed every night. 

He wanted to make you feel at home or at least like his home could be yours too. 

He walks over to the sink and picks it up, noticing it still full and untouched of dark brown liquid. 

His grip tightens around the ceramic, his jaw clenching as he stares down into the empty sink. The anger isn’t really at the mug, or even at you—it’s at himself. 

With a sharp inhale, he sets the mug back down. Not because he wants to, but because he knows if he doesn’t, it’ll end up shattered in his hands.

Bucky doesn’t think—he just moves.

He grabs his running shoes, shoves his headphones in and steps out into the cold night air. The Brooklyn streets are quieter now. He starts off at a steady pace, his breath coming in measured exhales, his body falling into the familiar rhythm of running.

When the weight of the world gets too heavy, when the noise in his head refuses to settle, this is what he does. He runs until his legs burn, until his lungs ache, until there’s nothing left but the sound of his feet hitting the pavement and the steady pounding of his heart.

But tonight, it doesn’t work.

Because tonight, every step feels like he’s chasing something he already lost.

His mind flashes back to you—the way your shoulders tensed at the airport, like you were holding back everything you really wanted to say. The way you held onto him just a second longer during that last hug before finally letting go.

Bucky pushes himself harder, his feet slamming against the pavement as he takes a sharp turn down a quieter street. His breathing is ragged now, his body screaming for him to slow down, but he doesn’t. He can’t. Because stopping means thinking, and thinking means feeling, and he doesn’t want to feel this.

He runs past the coffee shop and his stomach clenches. He runs past the record store where he  shared such a thoughtful, tough memory with you.

Everywhere he goes, you’re still there.

He finally comes to a stop at the Brooklyn Promenade, hands on his knees, chest heaving as he stares out at the city lights reflecting over the water. He used to love this view. Used to come here when he needed clarity.

But right now, all he sees is the ghost of you standing beside him, a memory he can’t outrun.

The realization crashes over him like a wave, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky feels it all.

The regret. The longing. The emptiness you left behind.

And for the first time, he doesn’t know if running will ever be enough to escape.

Thank you so much for reading <3 please reblog or comment below, I love hearing your thoughts and feedback!

[masterj]

Watching SLOTLT:

....Okay... we need to talk about Sodor's Legend Of The Lost Treasure. Many TTTE fans love it and call it "the best special" and "the peak of CGI Thomas." But we need to face facts. It's far from everyone's favorite and actually the Most Controversial of CGI Thomas.

My stance? I say people who don't like SLOTLT are right- just for not for the valid reasons. Prepare to be roasted.

The movie heavily flanderizes Thomas and ruins his character development throughout the series. It practically takes everything that made him unlikable in the Miller era and turned him back into a complete, 100% irresponsible idiot. Take The Great Discovery, a special VERY similar in plot for example. After his trick on Stanley that demolishes the tower, he actually shows full remorse and tries to make up for his mistake.

In Lost Treasure, that is not the case. Here at the start of the movie he's just like, "I'm number one so I can do what I want!"

And it's not until THE DAY AFTER the Dynamite Incident that it finally sinks in and he's like "Aw it was my fault..."

Plus, he would've been mature enough by now not to let Gordon's teasing get to him. In Season 5, he literally tells Percy to just ignore George's insults and simply does just that.

Why are insults such a big deal to him NOW that he has to run of with Gordon's coaches and derail them??? This doesn't make sense! Yes, he is meant to be cheeky, but how the hell do we go from how he's written in Tale Of The Brave to this?!

So much dumb shit happens that could've and should have been easily avoided. The accidents Thomas cause would've have been stopped in a heartbeat if they ACTUALLY REMEMBERED drivers and firemen exist. When Thomas falls into the cavern? HOW THE HELL are they so unaware of the workmen shouting trying to stop them?! How do they not once look where he is going and see the signs?!

They're not even trying! Look at them in the cab! Up until the accident happens they're practically just chillin'! You're not fooling anybody! Are they high on crack in there??? Are they paying rent in there??? Do they just spontaneously go blind and deaf??? Hello?!?! Wake up and control your fucking train!!!

Let's cut back to the coaches. WHY is Thomas shunting Gordon's coaches when that is NOT his job anymore now that he has his branchline?! That's the whole reason the big engines went on strike and Percy was brought to the railway! Topham has HOW many shunters now? And you're SERIOUSLY gonna tell me not a single one could've done it instead? Look how empty Knapford is!

What about the Diesel Boxcab introduced this season? Why isn't he in this movie to do that instead? Did he die?

Overall, SLOTLT is just a pointless Great Discovery rehash sprinkled with stale RWS references, (which help set up this movie's god awful plot in the first place) returned characters, and cinematic visuals and music pretending it's actually a good movie with a likeable plot. Not only does it take the three-strike formula and fail miserably at making it good, (The three accidents Thomas causes) it can't even remember the show's continuity properly for God's sake! For a what's supposed to be a tribute to the RWS, this is not a good look at all, Andrew Brenner. You did not cook.

What's even worse is that for all these years everyone in this fandom just blindly glazes over everything this movie does wrong and then act like it's illegal for someone not to like it and it's disgusting. This movie single-handedly damaged the entire TTTE fandom for 10 years. 10. FUCKING. YEARS.

We already had a special that did this kind of plot so much better in every way. WHY are we doing it AGAIN??? Why wasn't The Adventure Begins enough for this year???

We did not need this. We did not need any of this shit. Just skip to Season 20 and you are not missing too much, I promise you. Peak CGI Thomas my ass. HALF the CGI specials are the least bit more deserving than this shitshow.

This movie sucks. We do not speak of it, I'm done talking about it, it's not canon, it doesn't deserve to be, it never existed. It's dead to me.

All it's got going for it are the visuals, voice acting and music, Donald, Douglas, Alfie and Oliver, Max, Monty, and Daisy returning, and the Miniature Engines introduced. That's it.

Just because a movie looks 'cinematic' does not automatically make it good.

[aq2003]

okkkk some jumbled thoughts from my 3rd macbethening, this is a combination of things related to the film version plus just the production in general because i love it so much

i don't think i'll ever stop being floored by the opening scene. the music, macbeth's expressions (the exhausted, haggard way that he moves as the praises for his viciousness on the battlefield ring out behind him)... i'm deranged forever. bonus points this time for the close-ups on his face

the macbeth's embrace when they first reunite is so tender :( the way they hold onto each other :(

thanks to me having the soundtrack on loop i noticed a few interesting things re: the soundtrack. for instance the motif of the psalm first plays when duncan is naming malcolm heir (although much less dark and creepy i think). then it comes in at full force when macbeth is crowned king

it was stated in the traveling folk interview that iomar ò illean mhara was the song played at the irl funeral of duncan, and quite fittingly the first time it plays in the production is when lady macbeth welcomes duncan to inverness. though over the course of the play it definitely becomes lady macbeth's theme and plays over/in between her most pivotal scenes (including before and after the sleepwalking scene and right before her final exit). this makes me think about the parallels between them and how duncan's ghost haunts her (this production keeps the line about him reminding her of her father...!) def need more time to marinate in this

the little cascade is definitely banquo's motif (or the motif representing banquo's lineage). it plays during the first scene with him and fleance and then when the apparitions show macbeth banquo's legacy becoming kings !!

love the bird's eye view of macbeth bowing to duncan (and how it establishes a visual parallel w/ him on the ground before getting crowned, and him being lifted up by the witches)

LOVE how the ceilidh was filmed, it was even more stunning (!) than when i saw it live although that may have been where i was sitting lol

the only parts of the film version i don't think live up to when i watched it live were the "stars hide your fires" scene (i would like to see more of the slo mo clapping!) and the final fight (i think the choreography prob improved when staging it at the harold pinter, it was cleaner and less chaotic having everybody come at macbeth from only two directions)

of course it is stated in the credits that the "child" role is fleance, the macduffs' son, and young siward, but there are a few moments i think are solidly the ghost of the macbeths' child (he's behind the glass the whole time). when he appears over lady macbeth welcoming duncan to inverness, when he's walking along to the ceilidh (and you see him between the macbeths during the time-slow bit), and when he's frantically knocking as the macbeths dance together (after they resolve themselves to murder duncan). in this way i think he serves both as the embodiment of their reason to kill duncan and the embodiment of their guilt

the big, single knock of the ensemble behind the glass before macbeth has his monologue abt how "every noise appalls him".... the hands pressing against the glass when macbeth talks abt how he'll never sleep again..... so delightfully creepy. i love it so much.

i didn't have a good enough angle to see it either time i watched it live but the Look between the macbeths after lady macbeth pretends to "faint" was so good... i think dt's macbeth makes me actually believe that him killing duncan's servants was like this fucked up manifestation of his guilt and "violent love" and he was dissociating badly + didn't know what he was doing. anyway now in this scene he's making himself look insanely guilty so lady macbeth has to take everyone's eyes off of him for a hot second. love how the murder power couple are kind of cringe fail in their own funny way

the very uncomfortable look that the murderers share with each other when macbeth brings up killing fleance. suuuuuch a good touch to that scene

you all know i am a huge fan of the dagger soliloquy cuz it was macbeth grabbing at his own shadow, macbeth as the "dagger", resolving himself to be more a weapon than a man, etc, but also this theme is repeated in his last monologue in 3.2! he talks to his shadow again when he's justifying arranging the murders of banquo and fleance to himself. OOF

in my notebook for one of my points i just wrote "3.4!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" cuz, obviously, david's acting in this scene is just fucking riveting and still gives me full body chills. also, staging note, i love that when he hallucinates the ghost for the second time everyone at the "table" moves away and it's like we're not watching him lose it in the eyes of everyone else we're being fully dunked into his head as he completely unravels

i think i like both the donmar and harold pinter versions of the 2nd witches scene equally! the choreography for the donmar version is a lot cooler and makes the witches feel more otherworldly but the harold pinter version connects it back to the theme of macbeth's trauma and grief and how the witches take root in that

i think it's just the fact i could see her expressions better but i teared up during the sleepwalking scene.. like aughhhhhh cush jumbo you came for my knees!!!!!!!!

the deranged grin on macbeth's face when he disarms macduff and he says "thou losest labor" i am soooo. i am SOOOOOOO. [chews on my arm]

BIG POOL OF BLOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RAHHHHHHHH

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Weekend Ramblings

GelBoys Episode 1

Great first episode. I like that they're using public transport and walking outside a lot, it feels more alive and realistic even if I have no real frame of reference. I like that the nails are telling the passage of time and this is going fast. The first episode spanned 3 months at least judging from that, probably more.The visuals are really good and I really like the editing, and the way it's shot almost makes me feel like I'm watching a documentary. Seems like this will be messy and angsty teenagers kinda bl and I'm ready.

Perfect 10 Liners Episode 16

I'm still comfortable in my hypocrisy and will use this gif whenever it suits me. Cause Faifa is me, in any other show but this one.

There's something about a brooder begrudgingly falling for the ray of sunshine he swore he’d never need, that I just adore. Add to that the fact that the brooder is played by Perth and I'm in uni bl heaven. I loved this arc so damn much. These two make such an adorable couple and Perth and Santa are great together. I'm surprised with their chemistry but also not, cause I think both of them can probably have chemistry with anyone. If they stay a pair for now I'm on board. Although I do enjoy seeing Perth kissing different boys. We had another parental forgiveness moment which I hate but at least she's moving away and I won't have to see her again. I love Faifa and as much as I hate saying goodbye to YothaGun, it's gonna be fun to watch him and Wine. I do hope just like ArcArm, I still get some crumbs from those two.

Boy Next World Episode 6

Say what you will about Mame but she can deliver a sex scene like no one else. I like that Phu has agency here and that there's real communication happening around and during the nc scenes. Boss and Noeul also deliver as usual but I find the dynamic a little too similar to LITA, and I don't love that. I think it happens more when it comes to Noeul, although I concede that I'm often too distracted by Boss's face to notice much of anything at all, but there are moments that I'm seeing Rain instead of Phu. Fake dating seems to be the go-to these days to keep psychos away and I'm not mad about it. That mother though. His stalking tendencies notwithstanding, it’s a wonder Cir is a functioning human at all. I really like the sides and I adore Jin.

Sangmin Dinneaw Episode 7

This show continues to be the weirdest. And I don't know what I did to deserve this but I think I got a double prize today. Amnesia plot my beloathed and some noble idiocy to follow. At least when it comes to the amnesia we were warned. Although I'm not sure when he actually remembered, so he might not have had amnesia at all. Honestly, who knows with this show? Half the time, I have no idea what's happening, and the other half, I wish I didn't. That scene with the sides gave us the usual whiplash, and the scene with the mother was just insane. It's psycho mom's day, apparently. At least with this one, we got to see some mom-on-mom fighting. It's all bonkers but at least there's only one more episode to go. Sangmin better have a damn good reason for leaving, although I doubt it. At least let me have some fluff from these two, cause they are cute. Also why is the hotel dude still breathing?

[tackytigerfic]

Writer interview game

Thank you to my pals @arminaa8, @citrusses, @garagepaperback, @houndsinhades, @sorrybutblog, @sweet-s0rr0w, @wholahoop for tagging me - as always i'm deeply late to the party, due to an anxious few weeks/horridly busy work month! so love being tagged in these things though, i appreciate you all and loved reading yours.

how many works do you have on ao3? 69 😏 under tacky and 2 under BrassTacks (the account I set up when I was going to migrate all my fics over to a new name for some reason)

what's your total ao3 word count? 679,422 (nervous laughter) (also this is just the tacky account)

your top 5 stories by kudos? (a clear indication that kudos count means fuck all imo, three of the five of these are very much not my best imo - but which three?!)

If It Takes All Night (E, 11k)

A Lick and a Promise (E, 55k)

Modern Love (E, 62k)

And One To Play (E, 22k)

Through the Window, Clear Skies (M, 1.4k)

do you respond to comments? I used to reply to all, then i fell hugely behind with Modern Love, and then life got exceptionally busy and for ages it was either reply to comments or write new fics. i am currently working my way through comments on my new long fic though - really trying to catch up, albeit slowly.

what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? People might say my MCD fic Last Offices. I would say The Quiver of a Heartstring.

what's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? First Watch, imo - i think they really had to work for their happy ending, and also it's a double Drarry happy ending

do you write crossovers? I have a rough idea for an F1 crossover based on the Grosjean fiery crash/coming back wrong trope

have you ever received hate on a fic? a few times, that stuff doesn't really bother me though. personal unpleasantnesses are much harder to deal with but luckily don't happen often.

do you write smut? yes i do! it's something i've been actively working on improving, in fact. my most recent fic Standing in the Way is probably my best (though the sex scene at the end of First Watch was the one I found most satisfying in terms of the resolution of the fic)

have you ever had a fic stolen? yes, had a few put on that AI voice-recorded site recently.

have you ever had a fic translated? yes, a few - always a great honour as i see translation as an art in itself

have you ever co-written a fic before? yes! and it was very fun. Body Electric with @shealwaysreads and the Dreaming Skies Dronarry fics with @sweet-s0rr0w

what's your all-time favorite ship? look i've been reading drarry since around 2002 so...

what's a wip that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? Dudley with a magical baby/forced marriage/drarry on the run after Muggles find out about magic. MoD Harry who keeps dying but not for good having to go retrieve Draco from death. Draco going through the Veil to get Sirius back. Vicar Harry that I started years ago and would probably need a full rewrite. Caravan park worker Draco in a holiday camp in France. Seer Ron. I have lots. Though I do hope to finish them at some point!

what are your writing strengths? probably immediacy of emotions/ a strong visual style?

what are your writing weaknesses? sloppiness, sameiness, trying to be concise but just making it dull. getting discouraged at never being as good as the writers i really admire.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? i... don't really have many? if someone in the story speaks a foreign language and doesn't speak english then I'd find a native speaker to help me translate their dialogue. I would never write an accent/dialect phonetically a la JKR though (RIP Fleur and Hagrid, you deserved better)

what's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? F1!! I have two WIPs, a Maxiel non-racing AU where Daniel owns an organic farm shop and Max is a finance bro who makes friends with him and joins his 11-a-side amateur footie team and they hook up on a stag do while dressed as mariokart characters, and a Galex fic with Vicar!George.

what's your favorite fic you've ever written? First Watch! I think it's a really good fic (relative to my writing i mean), it does exactly what i hoped it would, and the people who like it seem to really genuinely love it, which is the best feeling. Also I do love the Voldemort-Wins trope and we don't have a huge amount in Drarry so I'm happy I wrote one.

Since I'm so late I'm not sure who's done this already (will try a few F1 pals too in case this hasn't reached you yet) @beloved-child-of-the-house @boxboxlewis @disarmd @elskanellis @epitomereally @faiell @kendra-vendetta @maesterchill @magicalrocketships @powerful-owl @saxamophone @skeptiquewrites

[geoledgy]

your oc website is SO SO SO SO INCREDIBLY COOL how the hell do you even start learning how to do this ?? if you learned how to do this by yourself online, are there any tutorials or resources you can share with us? was making this website free??

omg THANK YOU SO SOOOOOO MUCH!!! It makes me so happy to hear that folks like my little site. I code my site with Phoenix Code (for the live viewer and number dials) and I host my site on Neocities - it is all free. Phoenix can be used in browser or on desktop, but I like having it on desktop more for big projects in case my files get deleted. I use the browser version when I just want to test something quickly.

The 2 videos I use and can not recommend enough to anyone who asks me are this HTML tutorial and this CSS tutorial. They are simple and easy to understand, but I recommend watching it the first go, and then following along the next few watches until you get the flow of basic parts to a website, how they're organized, and what order they go in. At this point, I've memorized exactly where everything goes, and it is all thanks to these 2 videos.

If I am being honest, I learned how to code by myself, not quite even with online tutorials but just from being stupid and messing around myself (1, because I was a kid, and 2, because I didn't understand English very well to know what tutorials are saying.) I used to do html coding for Neopet pages when I was a kid with too much online time, first by just editing the default petpages and adding info and images, and then just doing trial and error with the html. I'll just try something and then if it doesn't turn out the way I want it, I try to find out why it didn't work and also get inspiration from other similar sites to figure out where things go or how they coded (with this nifty thing called right click > inspect page or right click > view page source). And BOOM, working webpage.

It was rudimentary, white blank background without any boxes or anything, you just scrolled down the page and sections were separated by a horizontal bar. OH and every text was centered! I had no idea how to make scrolling boxes or fancy assets, but damn I still had so much fun working on it every weekend. When you find authentic selfmade sites from the 90s and 2000s, most of them aren't super fancy either unlike what modern nostalgia makes you think. So I hope you don't feel discouraged if you begin making a website and feel it isn't "fancy", you're already doing a first big step which is making a webpage and learned your first set of html code!

It was over a decade later before I coded webpages with html again. I've gotten lazy and started relying on site builders, but nothing was quite as versatile as html. I wanted to try coding my own OC site again, so that was when I started working on OutKrop (the site I posted). Until I started coding again, I had literally no idea what CSS even is (and let me tell you, it's a game changer!)

Personally, I work best when I can do things hands on. I don't read through tutorials, I code first then go back and read through coding help sites like w3schools when I find myself stuck and unable to figure something out. Sometimes I grab existing codes and play around with them to see what changes and what I can do with it, cuz having visual context is what helps me a lot.

I can also share my process:

Once I gather up some ideas, I make a sketch, including what boxes (divs in css) should approximately go. It is very rough, but shows me exactly what I need to know.

Next I load up my coding app (Phoenix Code in my case) and "sketch" the layout. Nothing fancy going on here, just putting things where they need to be, and fixing size of boxes and margins if needed. I give my boxes all a background color so I can easily see how big they are and where they are located.

After some adjustments like moving stuff around and adding assets like backgrounds and images, and changing colors of the boxes, rounding off corners, etc., we get this!

so recap + additional useful sites I use:

Coding app: Phoenix Code

Site hosted on: Neocities

Video tutorials: HTML and CSS

Sites for learning code: w3schools, also lissa explains is a great site that is written for kids to learn html so it's easy to understand. Finally, sadgrl has a lot of great resources for coding as well!

I recommend looking through these sites AFTER you tried taking a spin at coding - it doesn't have to be anything fancy just follow the HTML video tutorial I linked!

Thanks for the ask, and I hope this helps you and many others out there who are interested in building a site with html/css! Don't be afraid to get things "wrong" or have an "un-fancy" site. This is how you learn to code, and it'll become so easy once you get the hang of it.

Anyone is always more than welcome to reach out for coding help and advice :-]

[0bs1d1an-r0se]

Erm, for better reading: Kingsie (left) has an Italian New Yorker accent and Cole (right) has a Londoner/Cockney British accent.

I completely forgot that Tumblr actually has a format I can use to properly post something like this LMAO so I don't need to have this rotting away in my files for only my Discord server to see- yippee!!!

For context, I made this back when Kingsie & Cole were originally part of what is now an AU- they used to be primarily part of me friend @megasocky's OC world (Mythica) but now they primarily exist in mine. The dynamic they have here is technically still canon, it just would've happened in the past but this situation/dialogue would only happen in the AU.

For... additional context, the "alien" they're talking about is Ichor who, in this AU, would have still come from my OC world (Cerenillia) and not Mythica.

I'm probably not making this very easy to understand but whatever you can just take this as an example of my characters interacting lol.

Also, it's meant to mimic/look like a visual novel cause... for some reason I imagine my OCs in something like that a lot.

[tifalikesart]

[WKDG AU 🌊🌿 - where there power comes from]

Okay so This is a horrible visual but basically they take energy from the ground like plants. (It's more of the spiritual type of energy though.) The energy starts from their feet and goes up into the rest of their bodies. Chris takes his from the Soil, Trees Plants. While Martin takes his from the Sea, any body of water, to rain. They don't strictly need to find energy there (like Chris can get energy from water and Vise Versa) but the Amount of energy they can take is significantly cut in half. Which is why I made them barefoot cause If they wore shoes they would never get enough energy to sustain their powers for the way that they use them.

And their marks glow too when they're getting energy from nature.

And also they can physically see energy when they need to collect power.

Does this mean they can take too much energy and suck the life out of living things? Yes but mother nature would strip them of their powers if the bros did try to do that.

Anyway that's all! Tell me if you have any other questions about their lore!

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Masterpost

Heavenbound Masterpost

Vox, the noisy video box

So Vox may not be my favorite character, but he is probably my favorite redesign. I laugh every time I look at him now. He looks like a weird mix of Spongebob, Kraang(TMNT), and Mr. Electric(Sharkboy and Lavagirl). He absolutely hates it.

Notes under the cut

There's too many twinks in this show. So when I was trying to decide which characters I could change, for body diversity, Vox was an obvious one. He needed more bulk so his body could conceivably support the old TV models. Those things could get heavy. The change also had the side effect of making him shorter, which just worked better proportionately.

I liked the idea that Vox could never get rid of his original bulky 50s TV, but also wanted him to be able to upgrade. So I decided his true body is the 50s TV, and he adds an upgraded monitor for a head as technology improves. He's hates that he's stuck as an old fashioned TV, so he hides that under his suit. Since the monitor is just an addition, it can be swapped out easily. It can be damaged and he's technically unharmed. But he can't see through his suit without the monitor, unless he wants to use a security camera and direct himself 3rd person style.

I didn't like that basically everyone has sharp teeth. It reduces the impact for characters like Alastor or Rosie. So I've been having the default be just sharp canines. But with Vox being a TV, there are so many possibilities. I gave Vox "regular" teeth, which helps him look more trustworthy. It fits the corrupt businessman vibe. But the appearance can change with his mood too.

Color TV became available in the 50s, so Vox always had color vision. But I think it'd be funny if, early on, he had a tendency to glitch out by going into black and white vision when he gets worked up. He's mostly grown out of that glitch, but he can't seem to shake the static or TV color bars, and developed new ones as he integrated computer and internet tech into himself as well. Now he gets the Blue Screen of Death, system errors, and city wide power surges.

Messing around with his face is so fun. When he's bored or tired a Voxtech logo will bounce around like the DVD logo, or display a screensaver. His face can get too big for the screen when he's excited, or be small when he's feeling embarrassed. I need to put a troll face on him at some point. It may be an old meme, but man, it feels right.

His left eye turns red when it's hypnotic, to reference those blue and red 3D glasses.

Of the three Vees, he is absolutely the most powerful. Val and Vel are the content creators, but Vox is the platform. The other two, while still powerful in their own right, would never have gotten to the level they're at if it weren't for Vox. He controls the mainstream media.

--TV set--

So we've got some interesting implications with how he functions. He's a TV, but he blue screens like a computer, and he shorts out the power grid. I think it's safe to say he is more than just a TV, he's a multimedia entertainment center. That, and TVs are starting to really blend with computers these days. He's mainstream media.

At some point, I realized that a TV set was a "set" because it wasn't just a single device. A television set was a collection of components, which boils down to a radio hooked up and synchronized to a visual display. I bring this up mostly because I am a sucker for one-sided radiostatic. It's so funny to me. Vox is obsessed.

But I'm going to refrain from too much theorizing about their relationship. Alastor is absolutely not interested in romance. Nor a QPR. He's not even interested in friendship. Alastor is too invested in power dynamics to really consider anyone a friend. Mimzy is probably the closest he has to a friend, and even that has manipulative elements on both sides. But I'm supposed to be talking about Vox!

--Human Vox!--

He is not tall, haha. But his proportions are a bit taller than his demon form. I wanted to go for square glasses, but I didn't see many examples of that in the 50s photos I found. Oh well! My goal was a sleazy business man. He probably had a variety of jobs, but they primarily involved TV. Commercials, PR, interviews, news, game shows, talk shows, screenwriting, etc. Whatever he could do to get more influence. He found himself favoring the business end of things. Making deals and pulling strings. He decided what would go on the air. He's one of those network executive types.

I see lots of people give him heterochromia, but I don't really see a point to that. He hypnotizes people with his left eye, sure, but it's not a different color. It's not disfigured in any way either. Maybe he just had a tendency to wink at people, I dunno.

I think his death involved some sort of severe skull fracture focused around his left eye. Maybe a car accident, maybe he was shot, idk. Maybe seizures were involved. But he was somewhere in his mid 40s to early 50s. I ended up writing 45, but I'm not super committed to that or anything.

For a human name, I see lots of people calling him Vincent and that's sorta grown on me. So I might go with "Vincent Cox".

And because I fell into another research rabbit hole...

--TV evolution--

(below) 50s-60s CRT TV: TV sets were treated as furniture and there could be some very interesting cabinet designs. Color TV was introduced in the 50s, but wasn't quite profitable until the late 60s.

(below) 70s-80s CRT TV: Color TV became more affordable and commonplace.

(below) 90s CRT TV

(below) 2000s CRT to Plasma and LCD TVs: The three display technologies competed, but LCD won out in the end. Plasma and early LCD didn't look substantially different. Plasma was a little bulkier, but was still slimmer than CRT.

2010s and on: LCD improved with LED backlighting. But then OLED removed the need for backlighting entirely, which mixed the benefits of plasma and LCD. (Didn't bother to find a picture example. It's so close to modern at this point)

--Display technology-- (These overviews are very simplified)

CRT(Cathode Ray Tube)--Used through the 1900s to approx 2010. Monochromatic until Color TV developed aroung the 1950s. Worked via vacuum tubes and electron gun that lit up the pixels. They were bulky, heavy, and used a whole lot of power. Widely considered obsolete and no longer made. Video games made while these were in use tend to look better in CRT, since the graphics accounted for the image quality.

Flat screens-

PDP (Plasma Display Panel): Used from early 2000s to approx 2015. Used gas cells that light up pixels when electrically charged. Good image quality and good contrast, but expensive, heavy, and used a lot of power. Considered obsolete and no longer made, despite still having a desirable image quality.

Plasma and LCD competed in the 2000s to early 2010s as CRT popularity waned. LCD eventually won out due to weight and overall cost(including market price and energy efficiency).

LCD (Liquid Crystal Display): Introduced for TV around the same time as Plasma. Works via a liquid crystal layer with a backlight. Slim, decent image quality, energy efficient. Viewing angle matters because image colors are warped at wide angles. Cheaper than plasma. There are two main backlighting types:

--CCFL(Cold Cathode Fluorescent Light): Used fluorescent lighting for the backlight. Image quality was decent, but didn't have good contrast. (the blacks were never truly dark because of the backlight)

--LED(Light Emitting Diode): An LCD that uses LEDs instead of CCFL for the backlighting. Better contrast and efficiency than using CCFL.

OLED(Organic LED): Mixes strengths of plasma and LCD. Self emitting LEDs. No backlight or LCD panel needed, which improves contrast(about as good as plasma was, which is why plasma is basically obsolete now).

--QD-OLED(Quantum Dot- OLED) Adds a layer of Quantum dots to an OLED to improve color gamut. I think. I can't let myself fall too far into this rabbit hole, so I'm not double checking anymore.

(Edit notes will go here if needed)

[sombra-conlangs]

Conlang year 2025 · Day 1 - 4

I decided to try out @quothalinguist's conlang year, it is basically a series of daily prompts that guide you through the process of creating a new language, by the end of the year you will end up with a conlang that is developed enough to participate in relays and lexember, you can find it on quothalinguist.com

It looks like conlang year is mostly geared towards creating languages that are naturalistic and evolved from a proto-language, and the concept I have for this is not going to really fit into that, you'll see why once I start describing it, but I don't imagine that'll be too much of an issue, it's still useful to have a guide for the different aspects of the language I should focus on. I'll try to adapt the prompts to work with my idea and I guess I'll skip the ones that I can't figure out how to adapt.

I'll be combining many prompts together into single posts for convenience, I'll tag these posts as both #Conlang year and #Conlang year 2025 so you can search those in my blog to see them all if you want (once I name the language I will also add it to the tags, but the language doesn't have a name yet).

If you want to see all of the information from these posts compiled into one place I will be adding all of the information about the conlang I create on my website: tekseni.bearblog.dev

Day 1: Set an intention for your language

(warning: this gets a bit heavy, but I try not to make it too dour)

I haven't been feeling great lately, I won't go into details, I'll just say that it can be difficult to manage your emotions when the world seems to be in such a terrible state, living through historical events is not easy.

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

I know there's some people who say you have to be constantly staying informed on every bit of news because if you don't you're a bad person, but that's not a sustainable way to live. It's important for us to keep ourselves sane, if you're going to help others through turbulent times you have to make sure you have your own feet on firm ground. I won't be of much help if I'm having a crisis, so taking care of my own mental health is important, and for many of us that can include a bit of escapism and using art as an outlet, using art as motivation to keep going and enjoy life despite the circumstances. This conlang is my escapism.

With all of that being said, here's my 2 main goals for this conlang:

1: I want this language to make me smile

I want to create something that helps me to find some beauty and hope in the world, I want the choices I make with the language to make me smile, and I want to be able to have fun while working on it, without having to worry too much about how naturalistic it is or anything like that, so ideally I'd also avoid comparing this to other conlangs.

If we compare this to visual art, I'd say this is less like trying to create an awesome painting with perfect perspective, colors and composition, and it's more like me doodling in a sketchbook that is meant primarily for me, but I also want to share it with others in case they find it to be at least mildly interesting or it helps inspire them in some way.

It's not like my other conlangs don't bring me joy, I guess what I'm trying to say is that this time I will try to design the language without worrying about things like naturalism or trying too hard to make my worldbuilding interesting or deep, it's just a canvas where I can throw paint and let myself go wild, trying out things I normally wouldn't, and making choices based on my personal preferences instead of what I think I "should" do, so I guess that makes this is a personal language.

2: This is going to be a surrealistic conlang

I have already decided who the speakers of my language will be, I'll elaborate more in the following prompts but I currently call them "dream angels" because they're basically benevolent beings that exist in the world of dreams, and because of this I want to try my hand at making a surrealistic conlang, @dedalvs wrote an essay on fiat lingua about what such a language might look like, and I keep coming back to it every now and then because I love the concept.

Even before that essay was posted I remember thinking of what conlangs might look like if they were inspired by different art movements, and a surrealistic one fits particularly well into the dream world idea, it will also allow me to fulfill my first goal fairly easily; making something that makes me smile without having to worry about naturalism and letting myself experiment. I've always been drawn to surrealism for one reason or another, not entirely sure why but I know this is something I'm excited to work on.

I'm not expecting this to be the best surrealistic conlang out there, but it doesn't have to be, it just has to be fun for me, and it will work as a learning experience regardless, so if I want to try again at some point I will have a better idea of how to approach it. I'm sure someone out there will make an amazing surrealistic conlang one day and I'll be excited to see it when it happens.

Day 2: Set an intention for sharing your language

Basically the main audience is me, I hope that future me will be able to look at all the different translations, grammar choices and vocabulary I made and feel like it's a fun language that still brings me some joy in some way or another, even if I don't keep working on it for much longer after the conlang year has ended at least I hope it was a positive experience.

I also want to share the language online (on this blog and on my conlang website) mostly because I'm hoping that at least one person is going to look at my conlang and feel inspired, or maybe it will make them smile too, so I'm going to try to describe all the features in a way that is understandable for other conlangers.

Day 3: Determine your speakers and conworld

The basic idea is that there is another plane of existence, one we can't see when we're awake, and the world where dreams exist is connected to this other realm, so when we dream we sometimes come into contact with the ethereal beings that speak this language, and they are kind and loving.

The dream angels usually don't interfere with human affairs too much, but they sometimes help us by making nightmares go away and soothing the people they see, at least while the people are asleep (since they can't interact with us outside of dreams).

They also shift the way they speak to be a bit more familiar to the person they're encountering, so I imagine the phonology of their language might shift a bit from its default form depending on what your native language is, the language would still be unintelligible to you but it would sound a bit like someone speaking your L1 in a weird way (which also means that it will be easier for you to pronounce the language if you are able to speak back at them because you will at least get to use sounds you already know how to pronounce, though you're welcome to pronounce it in its original form).

These beings are very surreal in their appearance, there's probably different types of dream angels but the ones I'll be working with are kind of like a mix of various sea creatures, drifting through space peacefully, building all sorts of things and admiring the nature that exists in their world.

I imagine their settlements are built on floating islands full of all sorts of critters and nature, and their world as a whole is probably a bit weird and doesn't always seem to follow logical rules, in keeping with the kind of things you see in dreams, so they might look a bit like something you'd see in an M.C. Escher artwork, where you're not exactly sure what you're looking at, but it has a certain beauty to it.

Day 4: Describe (or design) your speakers

And finally here's a picture I drew of a prototypical dream angel:

They might look a bit intimidating or scary to you, but I chose to take inspiration mostly from various sea creatures because they help to convey this kind of ethereal and weirdly beautiful aesthetic, when I look at jellyfish I often wonder how those are living beings that exist in our world, they look more like they're inanimate objects drifting in the water and yet they're alive, and they're so mesmerizing and fascinating, like a living nebula.

I imagine different dream angels would have different characteristics, but in general they're basically like some sort of jellyfish with 3 main tentacle-like appendages, many thin tendrils, 6 insect-like arms, 6 little wings (because it makes them look a bit more angelic lol) and they have one eye, but no human has ever seen their eyes because it is always covered by something, in this case it's a butterfly, but whatever is covering their eye it does not prevent them from seeing, this is the dream world after all.

I think there might be other types of dream angels, and they're all able to speak a human-like language because they don't need a mouth to speak, they just telepathically send sounds to other beings, so the speakers of my language will be characterized by being similar to sea creatures, perhaps there's other dream angels that are more similar to other types of animals, or inanimate objects, maybe some are just completely out there and don't even look like anything we're familiar with as humans. By the way if you feel inspired to design your own dream angels go ahead! I think it'd be nice if I was able to inspire creativity in others with my work.

I'm also choosing to use a human-pronounceable phonology because I enjoy pronouncing the words and sentences of my conlangs, but perhaps at some other point I will make a different register of the language that uses different noises as phonemes, maybe sounds of water and nature, or maybe something like one of those really peaceful synths, after all their phonology is not limited by their physiology or even things like logic.

But anyway that's it for now, I feel a bit vulnerable putting myself out there so much, this feels a bit more personal than my other conlangs I've shared, it's not like a regular fantasy worldbuilding project or a fanlang or an a posteriori language, this one is very out there and weird, but again I want to share it in case other people find it interesting, and hey, we need more examples of surrealistic conlangs, so I'm more than happy to contribute to that.