#mobile home window replacement

[philbridges]

Complete Replacing A Mobile Home Window 2nd One

Phil is replacing a window in a difficult area. The previous owners built out the wall to install the window. We’ll need to pull down the wall, cut an area for the new window, and then put it all back together. ⏱️⏱️Chapters⏱️⏱️00:00 Intro00:12 Here’s the second window in the kitchen00:25 Putting a larger cabinet in there00:38 Outside starting to pull out the window01:00 Measuring for the new…

[windowsolutionsusa]

When considering window installation services in Alabama, finding an affordable yet reliable provider is crucial for homeowners looking to enhance their property's aesthetics, energy efficiency, and overall comfort. Affordable window installation services not only improve the appearance of your home but also contribute to long-term savings on energy bills and maintenance costs. Here’s a comprehensive guide to understanding the benefits of affordable window installation services in Alabama and how to choose the right provider.

Benefits of Affordable Window Installation Services

Cost Savings: Affordable window installation services can help you save money in the long run by improving energy efficiency. New windows often come with better insulation properties, reducing heating and cooling costs throughout the year.

Enhanced Comfort: Properly installed windows can regulate indoor temperatures more effectively, keeping your home cooler in summer and warmer in winter. This improves comfort for you and your family year-round.

Improved Aesthetics: New windows can enhance the curb appeal of your home, making it more attractive to potential buyers if you decide to sell in the future. They can also modernize the look of your home, giving it a fresh and updated appearance.

Noise Reduction: Quality windows can significantly reduce external noise, creating a quieter and more peaceful indoor environment. This is particularly beneficial for homes located in busy or noisy neighborhoods.

Increased Property Value: Upgrading to new, energy-efficient windows can increase the overall value of your property. Potential buyers often consider energy efficiency improvements as valuable investments.

Choosing the Right Affordable Window Installation Provider

Research and Reviews: Start by researching local window installation companies in Alabama. Read customer reviews and testimonials to gauge the reputation and reliability of each provider.

Certifications and Experience: Look for companies with certifications and extensive experience in window installation. Experienced professionals are more likely to provide quality craftsmanship and ensure proper installation.

Free Estimates: Many reputable companies offer free estimates. Take advantage of this to compare prices and services offered by different providers before making a decision.

Quality of Materials: Inquire about the types of materials used for window installation. High-quality materials such as durable vinyl frames and energy-efficient glass contribute to long-lasting performance and energy savings.

Warranty and Support: Check the warranty offered by the installation provider. A reliable warranty demonstrates confidence in their products and services and provides peace of mind for you as a homeowner.

Affordable Window Installation Services in Alabama

If you’re looking for affordable window installation services in Alabama, consider Vinyl Window Solutions. They specialize in providing cost-effective solutions without compromising on quality or customer satisfaction. Here’s why they stand out:

Competitive Pricing: Vinyl Window Solutions offers competitive pricing for their window installation services, making them accessible to homeowners on various budgets.

Quality Craftsmanship: They prioritize quality craftsmanship and attention to detail in every installation project, ensuring that windows are installed securely and efficiently.

Energy Efficiency: Vinyl Window Solutions offers energy-efficient window options that can help reduce energy consumption and lower utility bills over time.

Customer Satisfaction: They are committed to customer satisfaction, providing personalized service and support throughout the installation process and beyond.

Wide Range of Options: Vinyl Window Solutions offers a wide selection of window styles and customization options to suit your home’s architectural style and personal preferences.

Conclusion

Affordable window installation services in Alabama offer numerous benefits, including cost savings, enhanced comfort, improved aesthetics, and increased property value. By choosing a reputable and experienced provider like Vinyl Window Solutions, you can ensure quality installation and long-term satisfaction with your investment. Whether you're upgrading for energy efficiency or aesthetic appeal, affordable window installation services can make a significant difference in your home's overall value and livability.

[savorypink]

buckle bunny

you've taken a liking to someone next door.

contains smut. + cowboy!alex.

It’s not wrong, right?

It’s just looking—observing. You aren’t hurting anyone. Well, the potential relationship with your neighbour could damage a few things. Ugh, that word. Potential. It makes your stomach swirl with nausea; potential.

You want something more permanent than ‘potential’. Right now, it seems farfetched, almost out of your grasp. But until permanence occurs, you can at least enjoy the view. 

You draw back the curtains to your window, the mobile home adjacent to yours now in vision. 

He’s home today.

The plastic encasing your popsicle bursts opens with a soft ‘pop’, though the emptiness of your trailer makes it seem louder than usual. The bitter Red 40 hits your tongue before the tart cherry flavour washes it away. It reminds you of something. You recall the fleeting feeling of your heart drumming against your chest the first time you did this—your bitter Red 40.

Then relief covers you in warmth like a blanket, but your stomach still churns, partly in butterflies, the other…disgust? It isn’t your fault. Alex is just that excellent of a specimen. Your microscope will forever fix on him.

It’s like watching a sculpture in motion. But your time in the museum has well passed. Alex is dripping sweat from the damp hair shielding his face to his lean, sun-kissed arms. He isn’t too bulky but shows no signs of fragility, either. Rugged. Masculine. Sharp edges you don’t mind cutting yourself on. Replace the dumbbell in his hand with your neck, and it could leave an attractive bruise. Your body and brain melt at the thought while your thighs come together pathetically. He could crush you like a bug. 

Your lips fall agape as you watch him curl the dumbbell for another repetition. As he curls the dumbbell, your grip on the popsicle grows tighter, mirroring the contracting muscles in his arms. Your peep show is beginning to feel like a workout, with the underarms of your shirt dampening and soreness in your knees from digging them harshly into the mattress.

Your chest burns a fiery red hot as if he’s placed a boot there. Your feeble wheezing congests your ears while the savoury sound of your bones snapping sends a jolt of heat through your core. He could crush you like a bug. He could crush you like a bug.

A pink tongue laps away at the sweat forming across his upper lip. Bumps and edges your body wants to get familiar with. You’d look good on him, and you don’t doubt that, but he’d look delectable between your folds. Your ache could use easing, and he could be your painkiller.

The weight gradually comes up his chest for what you presume is his final set of curls. The strain on his sweaty face softens once the dumbbell is at his side again. With what you think is a hearty grunt, he sets the weight at his feet. His large, gloved hands sit at his hips as he triumphs over the weight. You catch him trying to fight the smirk threatening to paint his features, but eventually, he caves. Shit-eating. Sexy. Belittling.

He’s such a man.

His chocolate eyes study the ceiling, dizzy with power. When his eyes tear away from above, they meet the window beside him.

The window you’re across from.

Your heart falls from where it once was and into your churning guts. This is real, is it? The hot guy from next door watching you is merely a vision trick. Correct? Closing your curtains makes you as cowardly as it does guilty; you remain statue-esque under his gaze regardless. The heat rushing to your neck and face tells you it’s terrible, but something else tells you to embrace it. 

Alex drinks in your stunned state, amused. It’s almost a repeat of the same grin from when his workout finished. Smug. Proud that he’s gained an audience of you. Only you. He reaches for the string of his blinds before swiftly closing them, your beloved show ending on a cliffhanger.

The reality of what happened has yet to smack you in the face. Your mattress hasn’t swallowed you yet. Your underwear is still uncomfortably wet. The trailer is empty; no camera crew tells you you’ve been Punk’d. The quiet is deafening, but a buzz in your pocket quickly follows before allowing you to wallow in your silent shame. 

It’s from your neighbour.

Change your shirt.

You look down at the splotches of red and blue staining your work polo. A warm, sticky puddle of popsicle soaks your skirt’s denim, dying your thighs and fingertips. Groaning, you leave the bed and gather nearby tissues to blot away the pesky Red 40 and Blue 1 splattering your skirt. Before you can angrily toss the empty popsicle in the garbage, you read the text on the stick’s end.

How do you warm up a frozen cowboy?

Yee-thaw!

—

“You still tryin’ to fuck that old dude next door?”

Your head comes up from your magazine to look at your friend. “He’s not old.”

She waits for your protest but smiles when you respond with silence. “Then that means yes.”

The trailer park folk are friendly; it’s something that comes with living in the South. You’ve shaken hands and exchanged hellos, but your only real friend sits beside you. Two trailers away and a bit gossipy, though you felt comfortable updating her on your staring rituals. She ensured your secret was safe with her; surprisingly, she’s incredibly supportive of your efforts. Or lack thereof.

“You two would make excellent babies.”

The summer sun isn’t responsible for the heat rushing to your face. You roll up the magazine and smack her thighs, but her infectious giggling alleviates your embarrassment.

“I don’t just want to fuck him,” the lawn chair squeaks as your back sinks further into the plastic. “Do you think he likes to cuddle? We can cuddle.”

“Naked, probably.” She sighs, about to leave her chair. “Want me to find out for you?”

You hold her wrist in a vice grip. “Don’t.”

She snatches her wrist from you, returning to your side. “You’re strong. You’ve been flicking the bean much more since Al’s been here, huh?”

You shield the magazine over your flushing face. Your friend isn’t wrong. “Leave. Please.”

“You have his number. Send him some nudes or something.” You allow her to get up this time, peeking at her through the glossy pages. “It’ll be more fun than watching him smoke.”

Her flip-flops clap along the pavement as she leaves. Groaning, you toss the magazine at your feet. You hate it when she’s right.

Nudes are a bit extreme, but you’ve made your interest clear. It’s not that Alex isn’t entirely interested, either. If you remember correctly, he quite literally smiled when he caught you. In some roundabout way, Alex opened Pandora’s Box between you two and left the rest in your hands. Your phone can be used to communicate. Did you know this? Alex practically gave you an opening. Enter the door.

Alex is having a cigarette. Double-denim clad. Large silver belt buckle around his hips. His worn hat sits beside him on the stairs leading to his trailer. He’s returned from the ranch. You recognise the exhaustion from your prior viewings. In sunlight, his dark circles are prominent, and so are the tan lines along the collar of his shirt.

A single bead of sweat trickles down his neck, glimmering in the sun before disappearing into the valley of his chest. Your toes curl into your flip-flops as your core tightens around your slick walls. 

Stop staring. Stop staring. Stop staring.

Does he even know you’re alive over there? 

You admire and envy his blase. He could sit in front of you and not say anything, let alone give you a glance. Instead, he taps away at the keyboard on his phone, one letter at a time. Looking absolutely adorable in the process. It definitely shows his age, but your heart flips and bends all the same.

His nonchalance might be a blessing in disguise. He can’t see the imaginary hearts floating above your head.

 What does his search history look like? Who is he texting? Does he prefer Candy Crush or Bejeweled?

Your dumb questions halt once you hear his door shut. The loneliness isn’t as deafening as the night prior. You’ve gotten used to it. In fact, you’d call it a loop of the day before, the way your phone buzzes again.

The next show is tonight at 12. Dress to impress.

You’re alive. And Alex is aware.

Confirmed. See you then.

—

11:59.

Time doesn’t move the way you want it. 60 seconds shouldn’t feel like forever, but tonight, it does. You’re in your usual spot by the window, waiting for something to happen. But rather than silence, it’s your heart hammering your eardrums. Instead of just sitting there, your fingers twiddle with the lace hem of your nightgown. A lump sits in your throat, sour and hot, and you find it hard to swallow with each tick of the clock. 

Where is he?

Could you blame him if he bailed? Not entirely. This is weird; strangers don’t wait by the window for one another. They don’t invite the other to watch them either—you don’t know him. Close the curtains. You can have a good cry about it later.

12:00.

Alex opens the blinds.

The towel wrapped around his hips is oddly thick. You want to kick yourself for letting your eyes land there first. He must’ve noticed. Alex is going for the towel. You ball up your nightgown and wiggle in your seat; your heart is the only echo in your ears.

Thwip!

There’s another towel underneath.

The air feels less thick as you laugh, the bricks on your shoulders tumbling to the ground. His lightheartedness is endearing; it makes your palms less sweaty. It’s a quality lacking in the boys your age: pure charm. You wonder what else he can do to fuzzy your chest. Make you laugh. Make you feel wanted. The skin on your arms raises at the thought. Butterflies flap wildly around in your belly. He could be yours.

Your phone lights up.

Show me something.

You’re unsure of what he means for a moment, but your body understands it clearly. You slip the nightgown straps down your arms, wincing as the cold air hits your bare skin. The blood rushes precisely where Alex wants it, frigid air and arousal stiffening your nipples. Your glazed eyes notice an inviting and prominent dent in the towel. 

Another text.

Beautiful.

Wetness damps the pillow underneath you, and shamelessly, you rut against it. Your fingers swirl your nipples in circles, closing in on them with a hard pinch as Alex finally removes the towel. The strong arms you watched him work hard for get their chance to shine. He spits into his hand and begins pumping, almost in tune with your twist on your breasts. His fists, hefty, veiny, and what you’d picture as calloused, nearly eclipse his cock.

Already leaking out of the fat head, looking heavy in his hands, you don’t doubt he can fill you to the brim. You wouldn’t have it any other way. Your bodies demand to collide; the hunger between you two is almost never-ending.

You get a firm grip on the pillow and start grinding. A breeze wicks away the sweat forming on your brow, and you grind harder, the fabric painfully rubbing at your unnerving ache. Alex has an idea of what you’re doing and what you’re doing it with, and he knows it should be him instead.

Captivated with your breasts dancing and your slack jaw, he can’t tell if his new speed is out of anger or lust. You’ll be so good to him. Good for him. You’re worth the trouble.

A heat rises in your belly as your hips follow his hand’s maddening pace. The friction between your core and the pillow hurt all so good. Your folds will probably be a puffy, burning mess afterwards, but Alex makes it worthwhile. His body shines with sweat, defining his v-line and biceps, glowing him in the dark. He mouths what you think is your name but finishes with an audible “Oh.” 

White stripes spurt out of his cock and onto his knuckles and bedsheets, but his movements continue as he waits for your arrival. You mewl and rock against the pillow until your legs tire. You hold your tongue when the heat in your stomach rushes through you, but you’ve made him aware of what you need.

The ceiling looks as if it’s made of stars with your head thrown back as you ride out your bliss, though you feel your movements becoming desperate again. When you dip your head back, Alex closes the blinds, leaving you alone again. The wet spot in the pillow grows cold quickly, and you prepare for silence again.

Until your phone goes off.

You wish it was your hand, don’t you?

You type out your message, hitting send with your eyes shut.

You wish you were the pillow, don’t you?

—

Ask him for a cup of sugar.

You’ve had dumber ideas. 

It seems innocent enough. It’s more tasteful than just showing up and asking Alex: “What are we?” You even went out of your way to buy ingredients for a cookie recipe, knowing that a bag of sugar exists in your cupboard. Typically, you would hate lying, but this one could have an enormous payoff. Maybe you’ll finally figure out if he likes to cuddle. Your teeth ache at the sweetness of it all. 

His door seems more menacing up close. It’s easier for you to turn heel, return to your house and act like the past few days never happened. You’d be better off that way. But the actions from your home are what lead you here. You’ll have to face that silence if you go back. Your skin will ache from unfulfillment, touch-starved and bone dry. Desires will continue to pound in your ears, and you’ll have no one to share them with. It’ll be you like it’s always been. You’re bored of it.

You knock firmly on the door, your heart halting as his footsteps approach.

The door swings open to reveal Alex draped in worn pyjamas and an equally worn shirt. Warmth wells in his eyes at your form. He smiles. “Hi.”

“It’s you.” Your voice is barely a whisper. 

“In the flesh.” 

“Can I…do you have sugar? I need a cup.” 

He moves out of the way of the door, the scent of air conditioning pungent. “Come. Can’t have you waiting out here.”

You could pinch yourself a million times, but this will still be your reality. This isn’t a dream. You’re here. He gestures for you to sit at the kitchen table, and you sit statue-esque with your hands in your lap. Nervousness and curiosity keep your eyes bouncing from one thing to another.

The TV is playing some western on low volume. Kung-fu movies on VHS sit in a quiet corner. Playboys and painkillers sit on the end table next to the yellow couch, guitar picks scattered in the mix. There are no family photos; he wears no ring. There isn’t a life you could ruin. You can breathe a little easier. The silence still has you wheezing, though.

“Your spice cabinet is pretty full for a white guy.”

Alex closes the cupboard, turning to you with furrowed brows. “Thank you?”

All the blood in your body goes to your face. “Uh-huh.”

It might be best if you didn’t say anything.

He sets the sugar in front of you and then pulls out the chair across from you. “What other activities do you like besides peeping?”

It feels like more of an interrogation than an ice-breaker. You twiddle your thumbs. “Baking. Daydreaming. Long walks on the beach.” You force the last part, needing to be lighthearted; your arms can’t hold something this heavy.

“You like cowboys?”

You’re not picky, but you like this cowpoke specifically. “They’re fine, I guess.”

He clutches at his shirt dramatically, letting his head fall back. Acting as if you’ve shot him at point-blank range. He’d be as good as an actor as a lover.

“Woman, you wound me.”

You giggle, and he yearns to hear more of your laughter. “There’s a ranch not too far out from here.” Alex begins. “It’s where I work. Beautiful. All the acres you could want. The family’s filthy rich, too. I can sneak you in if you want. Teach you how to ride—a horse.”

The invitation is enticing and as charming as he is. It’s got those butterflies flapping about in your stomach. Without a thought, you slide out of your flip-flops and let your skin graze his ankle. Gooseflesh forms immediately at your contact.

“What else can you teach me?”

When your toe hits his calf, he takes your ankle. “We can get a head start on riding. You pick the place.”

His hands feel the way you pictured them. Calloused and rough—the hands of a working man. You look around the trailer. The couch is inviting. The kitchen counter won’t work. You’ve seen his bedroom, and your presence makes sense, but a question slithers into your head when your eyes meet again. What’s wrong with right here?

Alex releases your leg, allowing you to stand before him - albeit a nervous wreck. He embraces you regardless, the same calloused hands seemingly lightweight around your hips, grazing the bone with his thumbs. His nose pokes at your own, and Alex nudges it cutely, wanting your approval for a kiss. He doesn’t need to ask, but you tilt your head, and you two collide. 

Finally.

It’s better than what you pictured. The fizz of Coke on his skilled tongue, his beard etching burns into your skin. Your failure to catch up with your tongue makes him clutch you tighter, the seams of your sundress nearly coming apart in his grasp. He bucks into your clothed core, and you mewl, returning the gesture with movements of your own.

A hand finds your breasts and squeezes possessively, another pathetic moan leaving your mouth. He drinks your sounds like water, rewarding you with noises from his gut. You steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulder, but to your dismay, it breaks the kiss. Alex pulls back with a grimace, hissing through his teeth painfully. Your heart drops into your gut immediately.

“What…happened?” Concern shrills your voice.” Did I do something?”

He kisses you in assurance that he’s fine, albeit timidly. It has you second-guessing if he’s truly at his best. “I had a fall on the ranch. It’s unimportant.” 

You begin tracing shapes along his shirt. “It’s important to me,” your lips curl into a pout, and you can feel his legs tremble. “I don’t wanna hurt you, Alex.”

His hand palms the lacy material of your panties, already sticky and damp to the touch. “You couldn’t hurt me even. Not even if I begged for it.”

You grind against the ridges and lines of his hand, but softly enough to reduce any damage you could do to his arm. His palm is hot under your core, and the lace of your underwear begins to burn at your ache. Your wetness spills out of his fingers in excess, adding to the stains you already stamped on his pants with your needy grinding. You claw at the waistband of his pyjamas, his bulge more prominent than before.

“Can I…? Please?” Your fingertips hook the elastic.

Alex withdraws his hand, pulling your panties to the side. “Take what’s yours.”

You slide him out of his pyjamas and boxers hurriedly. Your core tightens around itself as the tip already leaks precum. With a teasing finger, you smear the substance along his slit, another hiss leaves his lips, but it’s not out of pain. Alex retaliates by sliding two fingers into your leaking core, grinning when your finger spasms. 

“Tight.” His fingers scruff the spongey part of your bits. You moan. “You’re gonna be so good for me. I know it.”

The wet squelching sound at the expense of your core is louder than your heart in your ears. Alex’s fingers curve and swirl, pumping mercilessly in and out of you. The moment heat pools in your lower belly is when his fingers withdraw from you. You whine.

“Don’t whine.” Alex lazily drags his tip along your folds before slipping inside you. “I got ‘cha.”

The bulbous tip is enough burning on its own, effective in stretching you out and making your toes curl painfully inward. With Alex fully seated inside you, your core is scorching, the burn is too harsh, and it is too delightful to ignore. Instead of his shoulders, your hands grip the neckline of his shirt, looking up at him with watery lenses.

“Like I said, I got you.” Alex guides up his cock, stilling at the base, then resuming, bringing you all the way to the tip. Your hot slick runs down each thick, lengthy inch of his cock, your wall’s usual grip uncomfortably wet and slippery. Alex has your hips coming down at a moderate pace, and you’re sure his shoulder is to blame. You try not to apply too much weight but let your head rest there, pressing kisses.

He wants more of you, and it’ll hurt him to do it, but he brings you down faster on his cock. His shoulder screams in agony, groaning in lust and in pain. He needs you to talk him through it. You’ll make it more bearable.

“No boyfriend, right?” He pants in your ear. “Besides your pillow, I mean.”

If he weren’t already in pain, you’d hit him. “Leave him out of this. He’s just a friend. Promise. Mmm, so good, Al. Close.”

You feel him twitch inside you. “Can’t wait to meet ’im.”

Another hotness spills from you again, but it’s stickier than you’d produce. Alex spills into your walls with a primal grunt. Everything but his hands go limp as he paints your core a hot, gluey white, his bouncing off your body slowing down.

Unlike that time in your room, his name comes out of your mouth with confidence as you succumb to the burning heat in your belly, clutching him tightly as your vision turns to pink haze. Both of your pants bounce off the walls of the trailer, the scent of sex breezing away from the air conditioning.

Alex shifts the chair, giving you room to stand. Your footing is shaky on the way up, your knees nearly buckling as you rise from his lap. He brings your underwear back to its original position, plugging the release and threatening to slip out of you. He gives your core an affirming smack, smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress. 

You twiddle your thumbs and watch as he tucks himself back into his pants, the silence you know all too well blanketing the room.

“...So?”

“So.” Alex drums his fingers against the table.

You give two clammy thumbs up. “We’re good?”

“More than good.”

You take the cup of sugar, grinning. “Cool. Um, do you like cookies? I’ll bring you some when they’re done.”

He takes your hand and grazes your knuckles, kissing them tenderly. “You don’t need cookies to come see me. Visit anytime. You know where I stay.”

You'll be back. Cookies or not.

Guaranteed.

[highonmarvel]

Ribs [II]

Bucky Barnes: Mob!Bucky has you. 18+ only.

Part I: Ribs

content warnings here!

You have limited mobility in your left arm without having sharp pain shoot across your shoulder and, of course, damaged knee caps—Dr Banner replaced the shattered one, luckily your right knee only had flesh wounds, no damaged cartilage; you still needed a cane to walk, but three months later you could at least walk without the help of another person. Theee months.

How you had survived was more a curse than a blessing, you wished you’d just died on the spot.

Bucky hadn’t hurt you since, and if you didn’t know better, you might have assume he felt genuine remorse and guilt over his actions. He’d dragged you to the car and you assumed sedated you, because you next woke up in a hospital bed. He wasn’t even there when you opened your eyes. After everything he couldn’t even be bothered to fucking show up.

Dr Banner you wanted to believe was a good man who had just got caught up with Bucky’s line of work—you remember vaguely hearing Banner “owed him” and he was now his personal medic, patching him and his men up when things went awry. He had a sad look in his face when he noticed you gaining consciousness; he didn’t speak, you (physically) couldn’t, neither of you had to—he could sense the disappointment in you, that he was going to help cover up such a violent assault, so violent you couldn’t imagine Bucky had ever tortured one of his enemies this way—maybe he fucked them up, and fucked them up bad, but raping someone was beyond.

It took a few days for you to be able to be able to speak coherently and sit up on your own after initially waking up—not once did Bucky visit.

But Steve did.

Bucky was extremely strict with you not getting involved in his business, not talking to any men, including his own. You had seen Steve a few times, spent a little time with him as you waited for Bucky to wrap something up, and gathered he was Bucky’s right hand man, but you’d never really spoken to him, and you got the sense he was under strict orders not to speak to you.

His visits were short and from afar, but you caught him watching through the window a few times with the most somber expression: he knew this had gone too far.

One night, Dr Banner had left, the nurse slipped out for the second, and you caught Steve through the window, mouthed the words “Help me.”

His eyes widened, he looked down both sides of the corridor and you were sure he was going to rush in and do something, get you out, or even just speak to you, if not for encouragement at least some form of brief conversation outside of basic health questions with Dr Banner would have done—he could even have yelled at you, you just felt like you needed to speak to someone—but he didn’t; he shook his head and left.

Three weeks later you could go back “home,” they said—Bucky’s penthouse wasn’t home. It wasn’t a hospital you were in, it was one of Banner’s labs with a few hospital beds, the drive to the penthouse was less than ten minutes. Bucky hadn’t visited. You had expected to see him in the car, but when you were put in, it was a blond instead.

The door shut, the car started rolling, and Steve didn’t look at you.

“Steve,” you breathed, though you couldn’t reach towards him with your arm in a sling, “Please help me.”

He stared straight ahead, but you saw him gulp; you knew he was opposed to this, opposed enough to go against Bucky? You couldn’t even beg, plead for him to help, you were still a little fucked out on pain killers, but you had noted that day you could get him to help, even in just the slightest way. You could.

Steve pushed you in on a wheelchair, and when the elevator opened to reveal the lavish foyer, Bucky stood with a glass of scotch in hand and a small smile, a soft look in his blue eyes you never thought you’d see again.

He crouched down, eye level with you, “I’ll never hurt you again. Never.” And you had heard that before, you knew better than to believe him, but you just wanted this to be over, you forced yourself to believe him as tears spilt from his eyes, just enough to get through hell.

Even through the drugs, you could feel your ribs sting.

Three months now, and you went down for a glass of water in the middle of the night, not that you needed it, but you needed to get out of the bed you shared with a devil. He stirred, asked where you were going, he knew you had a glass right next to you, but you told him you just needed to stretch your legs more than anything, but only to the kitchen. To your surprise, he didn’t protest.

You hobbled down the stairs, cursing the winding steps as you made your way down, slowly.

Upon entering the kitchen,

“Steve.”

You say as you spot him leaning against the counter.

“You need to leave.”

Tears spring to your eyes. You knew it; you knew there was good in him; you knew he could do it.

You nod furiously as you take a step towards him.

There’s a sound, a loud sound, and a hole in Steve’s head, red seeping from his forehead, down his face, blank blue eyes staring back at you.

You can’t even scream, there’s a hand on your mouth instantly. Now you shake your head, struggling to breathe under the force of a palm pressed against your lips, heavily breathing through your nose, tears streaming down your face with such speed you’re momentarily worried you’ll run dry, dehydrated yourself and collapse on the kitchen floor.

Maybe this time he’ll kill you.

A knee connects with the back of your bad one and you fall forward onto your hands and knees, that splintering pain shooting through your legs again. You drop onto your stomach with a cry, reaching shaky hands down to hold your knees.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky coos as he crouches. He runs a hand down your cheek which you can’t even slap away, your own holding your legs as you breathe so shakily and heavily you’re near hyperventilating, body trembling.

“That wasn’t to hurt you, I just needed to get you down, okay? I didn’t hurt you, see?” he tries, tone gentle and assuring.

You manage to stretch your neck back to look up the room. You hadn’t even heard Steve’s body hit the ground, but there it lays, blue eyes once full of emotion devoid of it, and still staring back at you. Blood pools around him, staining the pristine white of the ostentatious kitchen.

Bucky places a hand on the back of your neck, bends your head forward to face him again.

“I don’t want to do this again,” he murmurs, eyes welling with tears, “I don’t want to hurt you again, but you can’t leave me, angel, you know that; it hurts both of us, and everyone around, see? Steve’s dead, my best friend, because of you; you killed my best friend.”

You don’t have the will to fight anymore; you’re broken, physically and mentally. You want to just nod, and you want to apologise, but you can’t through silent screams leaving your throat as you try to calm yourself from the hot, unbearable pain in your knees.

“And I still love you. I know you’re confused, but you love me too. Doll, you can do anything to me; scream, kick, try to kill me, if that’s what you want… but don’t ever leave me.”

His voice goes dark as he emphasises those last few words, so dangerously low you’re worried you’ll slip into that tone and keep falling in, and those words, more so the way he said them, will haunt you forever.

“That’s the one thing: don’t leave. I know it’s been difficult, but look at you still standing. Everything can be fine, you just have to stay. I can change, just don’t leave. I love you.”

It’s not love, nowhere near close, and you wish he’d never used that word and that he’d never use it again, it’s some fucked up need to possess, keep and own, to have and to hold, as an object, it’s like he just wants a doll—maybe that’s why he calls you that.

He places his gun aside, deliberately away from you, you can tell, and sits cross-legged next to you. His fingertips lightly graze your left shoulder. You wince through your other frantic efforts to adjust to your much more prominent pain, and he snatches his hand away, like you’re hot to the touch. Slowly, he brings his fingertips back, and though you jerk slightly, he doesn’t pull away. Calloused fingers graze where your shoulder had been popped out of place, and so gently he does it for a moment you forget he’s the one that caused it.

He presses down harder, and you cry out.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over like a prayer. You look up at him and see that sinister glint in his eyes, that thing that possesses him, that look you know better than well, that look engraved into your mind, so deep it’s an integral part of you, at this point.

That sadistic glint. He will never change; he can’t change. And you can’t escape.

✪

[redd956]

Tornado Safety

This year’s tornado season prediction for the united states is looking quite grim, so I decided to make this lil tornado safety post.

Difference between Warning and Watch

First you need to know the different between a tornado warning and a tornado watch. 

A tornado watch means there is a potential risk for tornadoes.

A tornado warning means that server weather as bean spotted.

The real one you know to get going for is the tornado emergency which means that there is truly something heading your way. However you should respond to all of these appropriately, and if one is issued keep watch for the weather.

What to look out for

The calm before the storm is a real thing. The wind may die down, and the air become still. Everything might fall silent for a moment

The sky is turning dark really fast, or green, or both.

A roar similar to that of a distant freight train. Tornado’s sound like freight trains.

Fast moving and rotating clouds, especially if they’re making a funnel shape

Obviously tornado watches escalating for tornado warnings

What to do

Let’s say the tornado warning is now issued, and eventually a tornado is coming your way. What do you do? Well the situation depends on how immediate the danger is, and what your circumstances are.

First let’s start with the “average”  American advice. Go to the lowest level of your home, and hopefully a basement or storm shelter. 

Now if that isn’t an available option, there’s no need to fear or panic. The lowest level of your home is advised. Try an small enclosed room, with low to minimum windows, such as a bathroom, closet, or center hallway.

If you are in a mobile home GET OUT OF THERE. 

WHY DOES THE UNITED STATES HAVE THESE, WHEN THEY’RE OVERPRICED ANYWAY, DEATH TRAPS, AND ITS THE COUNTRY WITH THE HIGHEST TORNADO RATES.

Let’s say there’s nowhere to go.

Go to a safe available nearby building, especially if it has a basement. However if that is still not an option lie in the nearest ditch (I know it sounds crazy but it works) and shield your head/neck with your hands

If taking shelter in a home, make sure everyone is with you. That can include pets, but if you’re in a super emergency situation it is better to leave them and get to shelter as quick as possible.

If you can get low and shield head, or body with a mattress, blanket, etc.

Natural Disaster Safety

Doesn’t matter where you live, you should probably have an emergency kit, especially one attuned to the climate of your area. This doubles if you’re in a natural disaster prone area.

Many of those in the United States have learned lately what the consequences of not having the proper equipment on hand are.

So what should you have for a tornado?

Battery Powered Radio

Flashlight

Extra Batteries

First Aid Kit

Water & Canned Food

Emergency things tailored to people of household (medical problems, etc)

If you live in a cold region also have cold safety materials too

What NOT to do & Extra

Don’t disregard the watches, and especially the warnings. They are there for a reason, and you should really keep an eye out. You might even want to head to shelter anyway if the wind is crazy strong.

Don’t stand near windows, or be that classic midwesterner who is on their porch getting a good shot of that swirly cloud of death. I know its fun...but its not safe.

If the situation is an absolute emergency don’t take time to grab your valuable. Its devastating to lose them, I've been there, but you can replace most tiny things and not a life.

Make sure any invalid family members have their own viable tornado plan. My grandma lives in a tornado prone area, and the plan has completely changed since she’s been confined to a walker. Make sure your family members like that have a plan.

Being in a car during a tornado is not safe at all. Drive to nearest shelter, or get out and hop in that ditch.

If the tornado looks like its standing still, it’s not. That shit is heading towards you.

Always be sure to remember to cover your head, or help shield your children.

Myth Busting

Overpasses are not safe shelter for when you’re in a car. It’s a myth, take that ditch instead if need be, or drive to a shelter.

Hiding under your car is dangerous. Tornados can drop on your car, either crushing you or sucking you up into the air along with your vehicle

Cars cannot outrun tornados

Don’t open your windows. It’s not going to stop the tornado from blowing your house over, instead it may even help it. It will allow for debris to enter your home easier, and cause the wind to be able to tear your house apart from the inside out.

Aftermath

It’s hit now, maybe your house was safe or not. Keep track of watches still, tornados can return, or could be apart of a tornado outbreak, meaning a second or even third tornado can hit the area. 

Assume all downed lines are active and dangerous, try not to use the gas, electricity, and water til you’re sure its safe.

If you’re not home return home once it’s deemed safe

Keep aware of damaged buildings, glass, debris, etc. 

If you want to and have the chance help your fellow man, lost animal, and etc. Checking on people is a kind and lifesaving thing to do, as well as securing people’s pets.

All of this from a person who lived in a tornado prone area growing up, to you.

[afeelgoodblog]

These are The Best News of Last Week

1. Brazil’s new president Lula vows to halt Deforestation.

For many Brazilians, Bolsonaro’s defeat represents a rejection of the explicit anti-Indigenous, anti-environmental agenda he enacted while in office.

Lula has promised to update Brazil’s climate goals to steer the country back in line with the Paris Agreement. He has also committed to a list of climate proposals put forth by Marina Silva, the most prominent environmental activist in Brazil who served as his former environment minister. In his first speech as president-elect late Sunday night, he reiterated his strong support for zero deforestation in the Amazon. “Brazil is ready to resume its leading role in the fight against the climate crisis”

2. All-terrain wheelchairs arrive at U.S. parks: ‘This is life-changing’

For anyone who has to use a wheelchair, the state says it will soon be easier to be able to enjoy several parks, historic sites and wildlife centers because these locations will provide free all-terrain wheelchairs.

The Georgia Department of Natural Resources said it has partnered with the Aimee Copeland Foundation to provide high-mobility, all-terrain track wheelchairs at 10 different locations across the state. DNR said the initiative “encourages those with mobility impairments to reconnect with nature, explore nature trails, go fishing and attend adaptive hunts.”

3. Electricity-generating windows? Swiss scientists design more efficient transparent solar panels

All that natural light flowing through your windows may one day do much more than brighten your mood. Scientists in Switzerland have reached a new efficiency record for transparent solar cells, paving the way for electricity-generating windows that could help power our homes and devices.

Also known as Grätzel cells, dye-sensitised solar cells (DSCs) are a type of low-cost solar cell that use photosensitised dye attached to the surface of a semiconductor to convert visible light into energy.

4. In France all new large parking lots must now be covered in solar panels starting in july 2023

The new provisions are part of French president Emmanuel Macron’s large-scale plan to heavily invest in renewables, which aims to multiply by 10 the amount of solar energy produced in the country, and to double the power from land-based wind farms.

Starting July 1, 2023, smaller carparks that have between 80 and 400 spaces will have five years to be in compliance with the new measures. Carparks with more than 400 spaces have a shorter timeline: They will need to comply with the new measures within three years of this date, and at least half of the surface area of the parking lot will need to be covered in solar panels.

5. Car horns replace gunfire as Ukraine’s troops return to jubilant Kherson

Ukrainian soldiers swept into the southern city of Kherson on Friday, seizing a major symbolic and strategic prize from the retreating Russian army and dealing a bitter blow to President Vladimir V. Putin.

Just weeks after Mr. Putin declared the Kherson region a part of Russia forever, his troops were forced to abandon its capital city, their third major retreat in the war. The setback further dented the once-formidable reputation of an army that has mismanaged logistics and sent unprepared and unmotivated soldiers into battle.

Jubilant crowds poured into the streets, greeting Ukrainian soldiers and waving flags

6. Lab-grown blood given to people in world-first clinical trial

Tiny amounts — equivalent to a couple of spoonfuls — are being tested to see how it performs inside the body. The bulk of blood transfusions will always rely on people regularly rolling up their sleeve to donate.

But the ultimate goal is to manufacture vital, but ultra-rare, blood groups that are hard to get hold of. These are necessary for people who depend on regular blood transfusions for conditions such as sickle cell anaemia.

7. A pod of dolphins got stuck in the mud at low tide — here’s how a N.S. community saved them

According to the Digby Fire Department, there were 16 Atlantic white-sided dolphins, of various sizes, stranded. People of all ages rushed to the scene in Digby on the afternoon of Nov. 4 after it was discovered that 16 dolphins were stranded in the mudflats of an area known as The Joggins.

“We are happy to report that all 16 dolphins eventually were ushered into the water,” the department posted on its Facebook page late in the afternoon. “We are hopeful once the tide keeps rising, they will safely make their way back out to sea.”

- - -

That’s it for this week. If you liked this post you can support this newsletter with a small kofi donation:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Have a great week ahead :)

[gazs-blue-hat]

Chapter two of my King!Johnny X Siren!Reader series!

Warnings: Mentions of hypothermia, Royal duties, religious trauma mention (not much), canon typical violence, canon typical language. (Please let me know if I missed any)

AN: As always, Dedicated to @sprout-fics for listening to my Johnny thoughts. Formatting may be weird due to me being on mobile.

Word Count: 2,255

Johnny MacTavish stood on the docks, his cloak over his shoulders and a lantern in his hands. His bag, weather worn and water rusted was tucked under the wheel, holding the small skiff steady. His eyes were glued to the sea, water like glass and stars reflected in the surface. He glanced back to the castle, large and black against the twinkling sky. He could see the silhouettes of the people inside the castle going about their evening. He could see the maids, dusting various fixtures and polishing fittings on the windows. He could see the knights, patrolling the hallways and stairs in pairs.

He sighed again, turning back towards the silent sea. It had been a fortnight since he had seen the siren on the shore and he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since. Every waking thought was haunted by her. He would often wake in the night, hearing that scream in his ears and feeling the slap of her tail against his face. He would then fall asleep to the memory of her eyes. Eyes so full of anger and of fear, but also mystery and curiosity. Eyes as deep as the ocean itself but also full of the light of electricity from the sky.

He reached into his pocket, removing a small leather pouch tied off with a silver chain. He opened the pouch, looking at the glimmering scales within. He picked one out, rubbing his thumb against the slickened material. The scale had cracked against the rocks, it was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It glimmered in the lantern light like the last glimmer of sunlight over the waves. It reflected light like the water at sunrise, shimmering and shining as he moved it around in his grasp.

He closed his fist, replacing the scale back in the pouch and placing it back in his pocket. He stepped onto the skiff, water peacefully lapping at the wooden sides like the touch of a friend long since seen. Johnny inhaled deeply, feeling for the first time since he took up the crown, like he was home. The feeling of wood under his hands, the scent of salt in the air, the movement of the ship under his feet.

No doubt about it, this was his true calling. A man and his ship, alone on the tapestry of stars and sea. He thought back to his friends for a moment and the warnings they had given him. All four of his closest companions and advisors had warned him not to go on this venture.

The surgeon had warned him of the water’s temperature, of how the icy liquid would certainly be his death if he fell in. The Knight Captains had warned him of the vulnerability out on the water. And that if someone wanted to kill him, out on the open ocean would be the perfect place to do so. His royal advisor had mentioned all of the duties he had to see to in the morning, that he would be too tired to attend court the next morning.

Of course, none of the warnings had worked. Johnny was haunted by the siren he had seen and he would be damned if he couldn’t see her again. He pushed off the dock, using the oars he had to paddle away from the land. It was hard work, and it caused his shoulders to burn in a way they hadn’t since he had taken the crown.

“Had it dropped on my head is more like it.”

Johnny continued to row. Pulling and lifting and pushing and lowering, then pulling and lifting and pushing and lowering. He continued this cycle until the castle was no longer visible and he was alone in the sea of glass. He didn’t know exactly where he was going, only following the feeling in his chest that hadn’t gone away since he saw the siren on his shores. The feeling acted as some kind of compass, leading him further and further from the coast.

Once he felt he was in the right spot, he pulled the oars in and sighed softly, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles that had started to burn. It felt good to be working with them again, and it seemed that he had gotten far enough away that he was only able to see stars and the moon reflected on the ocean.

He extinguished his lantern and moved to the front of the boat, watching the ripples his skiff caused as it bobbed in the slight current that moved it. He looked out across the ocean, looking for any sign or...something.

“C'mon lass…you brought me out here. I cannae get a solid snooze without seeing you in some corner or hearing your scream.” He didn’t know who he was talking to, but he felt like he should speak. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, feeling the overgrown state of it. The surgeon had offered to trim it for him and give him a “proper cut”, but he had declined, opting to keep the hairstyle his crew had affiliated with him.

He sat silently for a long while, just looking up at the sky and the water. His mind wandered deep in his memories of the open sea and he realized how truly alone he was in this moment. Usually on a ship, he’d have his crew bustling above and below. It didn’t matter what time of day it was, there was always at least a few people milling about. But now, on this empty sea, he was alone. Completely alone with his thoughts and not a single other soul.

He shifted, his arms folding under his head to act as a barrier against the tough wood of the ship’s side. His breath crystallized before his eyes and he tucked the cloak tighter about his broad shoulders, refusing to shiver. He looked out, seeing the occasional shift in the water from some current or other natural occurance. He felt stupid, coming out here all alone just to get a glimpse of something that might not have existed in the first place. Still…something in his bones told him that he was in the fight place. He just needed to be patient.

Patience was never his strongest suit, and anybody who had served with him would tell that to anybody. He was known to be stubborn, headstrong, determined and a whole other slew of words that he didn’t pay much mind to.

After another hour of nothing, Johnny stood up, crossing his arms over his chest and looking into the depths. What was it his mama had always said? “If you want someone to approach you, you’ve gotta be friendly. Wipe that scowl off your face John, it doesn’t suit ye.” Taking a deep breath, he leaned over the side, looking into his own reflection in the water.

“I know…you were probably scared. Scared and beaten two ways to Sunday. Nobody deserves a beating like that, and I’m honestly shocked you lived through it. I’m glad…you washed up on my shores so I was able to help ye.” His words were soft, and settled over the stillness like a soft blanket on a bed. He felt at peace out here, the rocking of the boat and the smells of the sea. He felt like someone was truly listening to him, hearing his words and taking them to heart.

He spoke to the air for a long while, going from sitting to standing to pacing the length of the small wooden vessel. He spoke to the sea about her daughter. About how afraid for her he had been, and how much he longed to see her again. He didn’t know if the siren was listening or if the presence he was feeling was that of the ocean herself. All he knew was that it felt nice to speak freely without the thought of being judged.

He spoke about the stresses of being king, of how he never asked for the burden of monarchy to rest upon his shoulders. He spoke of his comrades, how his advisors didn’t know how long the conflict with the south could be avoided. He spoke about the surgeon and the knight captain, how they were sneaking into one another’s quarters and thinking nobody knew. He knew, of course. It was his castle after all and they were his closest friends.

Once he had exhausted the worries in his mind, he felt lighter than ever before, smiling softly at the water. He then thought back to the siren and groaned, forgetting why he had come out here. “Just a glimpse of the lass, I swear it. Just one more look and I won’t…” he sighed softly, shaking his head and sitting down with a heavy sigh. What was he doing out here? Speaking to nobody?

Praying?

Johnny MacTavish wasn’t a religious man. At least not anymore. Not since God had failed the men under his command. Not since God had abandoned them when they needed him the most. Not when God had taken his life away from him.

He groaned softly, laying back so he was laying across the width of the ship. He folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the stars, mapping the constellations in his mind and taking deep breaths. He felt for the pouch of scales in his pocket again, holding tightly to it like a life line. The only proof he had that she was real. That there was something for him to see out here.

“You’re a right bastard you are. I cannae sleep. I cannae think. I cannae breathe without thinking of her. That siren…you’re off your heid, that’s for damn sure.” His sentence tapered off as he closed his eyes and found himself drifting off to the first peaceful sleep he had experienced since seeing the siren two weeks ago.

——-

The first rays of sunlight weren’t what woke Johnny from his sleep. Nor was it the soft rocking of the ship and the rustling of the sail as the wind began to pick up. No, it was the sound of coins being dropped into his boat.

At the first soft clunk sound, he had opened his eyes, rubbing them free of sleep and beginning to stretch himself awake. He turned his head in mind yawn and then froze, blinking a few times to be sure he was seeing things right. One hand was holding tightly to the side of his skiff, the nails long and sharp, more resembling claws than regular fingernails. Johnny didn’t dare breathe as a second hand came up, a fist full of golden coins dropping the contents onto the wood of his ship.

Three more times the hand dropped coins on his ship, and with each delivery of gold, Johnny sat up more and more. By the time the hand retreated the third time, Johnny was able to peer over the edge of the skiff and see the rest of the person or thing giving him riches.

The same siren from before was right below him, her eyes just as piercing as they had been that night. She blinked at him, head turning to the side as she lowered her hands back into the water. Johnny placed hands on the railing but didn’t lean forward, not knowing what to do or what to say. The siren did the same, just treading water with her powerful tail and minimal arm movements.

Looking into the water, Johnny was able to see that her tail was still extremely tattered and she had wrapped it in some kind of seagrass or seaweed much like his surgeon had wrapped his wounds with fabric in the past. He slowly nodded and smiled at the siren, watching as she lifted her hand to her chin and slowly moved it in a downward arc towards her chest. Her arm didn’t bend and he could see the palm of her hand when she was finished.

He moved slowly, extending his hand out towards the siren in a form of handshake. He was careful not to lean too far over the side, lest he fell into the frigid water below. The siren hesitantly lifted her closed hand as well, reaching up slightly as if she was going to touch him. Johnny held his breath as the siren glanced between his hand and his face. Was she going to take it? Was she going to touch him?

Was he going to hear her voice?

The siren’s hand opened and a pearl sized emerald dropped into his open palm. He caught the gem and watched as she bared her teeth, hissed and then dove back into the water, quickly vanishing into the depths of the sea. He leaned over a bit more, causing the ship to tilt dangerously. He cursed himself and righted before the ship could list and further to the side.

The wind began to pick up and Johnny immediately went to fasten the sails. The ocean had shown him his siren again. She had shown herself to him. Sure she had hissed at him and disappeared once more, he had seen her again, and for now that was enough. With a smile on his face and hope in his heart, he aimed the bow of his ship towards home, all the while keeping the emerald tightly held in his hand.

“Until next time, my siren.”

[gaysindistress]

When Night Comes - twelve

Summary: Who would win in a staring contest? New York’s resident mob boss and master of the side eye Bucky Barnes or the daycare teacher who really wants to go home and smoke?

pairing: Mob!Vampire!Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: mob!vampire!Bucky goes hard in this chapter, smut (fianlly, I know I know), blood, drinking of said blood, vampire sexy times, a n g s t because I don’t know how to write without it, ummmm probably more that I’m forgetting so be warned y’all

word count: 2.6k

eleven | masterlist

tag list:  @elizacusi-blog @mal-adaptive-dreams @thebuckybarnesvault @unaxv @hidden-treasures21 @buckybarnessimpp @cakesandtom @vonalyn​

a/n y’all I’m about to fight the mobile app. For the last 2 hours, it has been fighting me when it came to saving and posting this chapter. I’m literally about to throw hands with it so please let me know if you want to be tagged and you weren’t. 

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

“I can’t keep guessing if it’s me,” Bucky whispers as he leans up to ghost his lip over hers, “you want.”

Her eyes flicker down as she tries to come up with something, anything at all to bring his lips back to hers when she settles on the ring that adorns his middle finger. Letting her fingers brush against the metal, she allows herself to think about him, to think about THEM for the first time. The cool ridges chill her fingertips while she fights an inner battle she’s losing rapidly. What little self-control remains dwindles as she becomes more engrossed in the details of his ring. Just as she had let herself look at him and see him, her resolve is falling because she was in the throws of temptation to let him in. Would it be so bad? Would letting him have her the way they both want? Would becoming one be the worst outcome? The sudden movement of his hand when he brings it up to the rest of her chest has her eyes darting to meet him. Tapping begins in time with her heartbeat. Each time her heart beats, the ring lands softly on her chest albeit through the thick material of her worn-out sweatshirt. Having barely escaped, she left with little but the clothes on her back and the few articles she packed. The UCLA sweatshirt, worn and broken in, had engulfed her in comfort but now the tapping of Bucky’s ring replaced it. His other hand draws her in by her neck even though they’re already impossibly close. “Am I the only one you think of?” He asks, his own fears rising to the surface as he feels her pound louder against his hand. She hums in response, eyes focused on his darkening eyes. She repeats his own question and earns a small nod in response however she’s not satisfied. “Prove it,” she challenges. His proof is in the way he pushes off of the window seal to fully embrace her in a kiss of hungry and unspoken devotion. The force of his standing pushes Y/N against the opposite wall and she becomes pinned by his body. Her hands grip onto the front of his shirt while he wanders across her body and under the sweatshirt. When she breaks away for breath, Bucky takes the chance to take off the offending article of clothing and sets to work kissing down her neck. The allure of her blood tempts his self-control and years of practice as he nibbles at the delicate skin. Her moans grow louder however her constant shifting alerts him that something is wrong. “Couch,” she says breathlessly when he leaves her neck to look at her. Nodding, he returns to her lips and backs them off of the wall to sit. He drops first but she’s quick to climb on top of him and takes off her bra in the process. He doesn’t take this display of trust lightly and guides her back to his lips whilst his hands work on her chest. The contrast elicits deeper moans and his name from her as she drops her head against his forehead. Tugging at the hem of his shirt, she gets him to take them off so they’re evenly undressed. He presses soft kisses to her wrist while she takes in the sight of his chest covered in tattoos. Across his torso is an array of kilim symbols, runes, and what looks like various orthodox imagery. Feeling her gaze, he nips at the palm of her hand, effectively drawing her attention back to him. “Later,” he promises as if knowing that her curiosity has been struck. One hand moves to sit on his left shoulder while the other falls to the waist of his pants as her attention goes back to him and pops the button with ease. “Are you sure?” His sudden words freeze her for a second so she can look at him. “Yeah, are you?” “We can’t go back from this.” “I know, I want this, I want you,” she tells Bucky as she slides off his lap to rid herself of her bottoms while he kicks off his pants and boxers. Gripping her by the hips, he has her back in his lap in seconds and the tension is becoming unbearable for him. Their lips crash into each other again, faster and devouring each other this time. He sneaks a hand in between them to feel her wetness and she lets out another heavenly moan much to his enjoyment. His newfound favorite sound rings throughout the room when he slips two fingers inside and his thumb catches her clit. “Bucky please… please.” “Tell me what you want Y/N,” his breath is hot against her ear as she shudders above him, hands gripping tightly on his shoulders. “I want you… fuck I want you.” She whines as he removes his fingers but is quickly replaced with groans when she feels him slide his cock against her slit. “Anything for you,” his voice cracks when he is fully sheathed inside of her. Their chests rise and fall as they get used to the feeling of each other. Nature takes over, causing them to move desperately to reach their highs. The daze from their newfound fondness of each other slows the moment down, allowing them to feel every sensation and react to every emotion they’re feeling. Lust is what fueled their initial interaction but now the need for intimacy and belonging is what drives their actions. Quickened breaths and rising voice volumes make it clear that neither is going to last much longer. That familiar knot tightens in her stomach when he groans her name against her neck. She can feel the sharpness of his fangs against her neck even though he desperately tries to keep them hidden. “Bucky,” her gentle voice fills his ear, making the black veins take their rightful place under his eyes and down his cheeks. Her hands leave his body and find a place in his hair. She calls to him again as she tugs on his hair, “Bucky.” With fluttering eyes, he looks at her in all her glory riding him within an inch of his life and his body threatens to betray him at the sight. Her hair frames her familiar yet foreign features as bliss consumes and sustains her at the same time. The call of her voice is that of an angel’s and in this moment, Bucky has what he thinks is the closest thing to a religious awakening he can imagine; the woman he’s longed after for months asking him to BITE her while he takes her. His brain shortcircuits for a moment and he stares blankly at her with his mouth gaped. To urge him even more, she tosses her head back to expose her neck which forces her chest into his face in the process. “Do it,” she gasps out when he greedily draws her back and prepares her neck with harsh bites. He soothes them with his tongue and sloppy kisses however the marks remain. One particularly painful bite causes her to claw his back and let out a downright filthy sound. Bucky’s resolve finally breaks when she pleads with him one more time and at last he sinks his fangs into her. Feral. Feral is the only word to describe the absolute animalistic desire that takes over him when he finally tastes the sweet nectar that pumps in her veins. The feeling of her life bleeding into him causes the dam of release to break within the both of them. An abundance of emotions wash over them as he feeds from Y/N and fucks up into her; desire, attraction, want with a hint of more but she forces it down. With the growing pace of her hips against his, she does what she can to keep conscious but her eyes start to grow heavy as her moans grow more pornographic. Bucky, on the other hand, fights himself to release her because he knows that soon it’ll be too much. It had happened before. The first time he fed on Celeste he had dipped her too close to the brink of death and he swore to never do such a risky thing again. Sensing her heart slowing to a dangerously still rate, he shoves himself back against the couch and instead watches her with wide eyes. She has her head dipped low, her eyes squeezed shut, and her body is moving in slow fervent motions. Now able to focus on more than his animal hunger, Bucky grips her hips and bucks up into her as they chase their highs together. In a string of Romanian and barely coherent words, they meet their releases at the same time. His chest heaves at the effort and she all but collapses into him. Two tiny streams of blood trail down her clavicle and onto her breasts, smearing where their skin joins. With little energy left, Y/N does nothing to clean it and doesn’t even seem to notice. Bucky does and bites his wrist to offer his own blood to her. She makes a disgusted look, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head at the sight. “Just drink. You’ll feel better.” Bucky nearly has to force her to do as he says but she does regardless and drinks from him as he had her. Within moments, her body regains what it had lost and more, it rejoices in the newfound source of energy. Her heart picks back up and with it, his hunger grows. 

“Good girl,” Alix mocks to herself as she reads over the message from Peggy. A huff comes from the other side of the cot and she looks over to see a disgruntled look on her partner staring at her, arms crossed as they stare at each other. “You praise a Strigoi whore but not your own Lycan?” she questions as she begins to grow self-conscious of her naked body hiding just beneath the worn blanket. Alix rolls her eyes before tossing her phone away to turn her attention back to the woman.   “Isabel,” she whispers to her, lulling her into a false sense of security, “You know you’re my good girl. Let’s forget about all of that and get back to us.” Isabel giggles when Alix descends upon her and Juliette groans from the other side of the room, pulling her pillow further on her head. Although it’s thin, it does what it can to block out the horrendous noises from Alix and Isabel.

Maybe it’s unfair to both of them for him to imagine a whole life together, full of happiness and love, and not even tell her. But who is it more unfair to really? Bucky or Y/N? She’ll never know the life he planned for them, the vacations from heaven, the house that they call home, or the love that is shared between them.  

Who is really suffering here? Bucky or Y/N? She’ll never know the nights slow dancing in the fridge light, the early mornings talking about everything and nothing as the sun comes up, the late nights they stay up trying to catch the other before they fall asleep, or the mid-days spent at the park eating lunch together.

Who’s really hurting here? Bucky or Y/N? She has no idea how much he loves her, how deeply he feels for her, how unexplainably and hopelessly he wants to be able to hold her in his arms.

Who’s really in misery here? Bucky or Y/N? She’ll never know the future that he can see every time he look into her eyes. She’ll never know the joy he feels when he catches a glimpse of her hair. She’ll never know the happiness he feels when he sees that smile or hears that laughter or hears that voice. She’ll never know how much he wishes that they would be wearing matching rings. She’ll never know how much he loves her.

Who’s really in pain here? Bucky or Y/N  because he can’t tell anymore. They all say he’s in just as much pain as her even if she doesn’t want to admit it just yet. They tell him that she and he look at each other in the same way, the longing and sad kind of way. But how can he believe them? There’s no a chance that they belong together in this world or even the next. There’s no a chance that this life will allow them to be together no matter how beautiful their life may be together. This life isn’t cut out for them and he is starting to believe that he’s going to have to be content with loving her from afar no matter the pain. Even after finally having her in the most biblical way possible, Bucky has resigned himself to never fully being able to have and love her the way he wants.

[fostersffff]

The Big Gundam Watch, Part 11: Mobile Suit Gundam 0080: War in the Pocket

In my experience, when it comes to recommendations for getting into Mobile Suit Gundam, there are three common answers. The most sober- but intimidating- answer is to start with the original 1979 anime or trilogy of compilation movies, and go from there in chronological order. The next best answer is telling the person asking the question to check out whatever they think looks interesting; after all, you're more likely to investigate a franchise further if you have a good first impression. The runner up to these two choices is to recommend The Good OVAs- The 08th MS Team and 0080: War in the Pocket.

The rationale behind recommending these two typically falls along the following lines: they're both relatively short- 12 and 6 episodes respectively, compared to the ~50 episode run of most TV anime- they both look terrific because they're OVAs not beholden to a TV production schedule, and they're more "realistic and grounded", which makes them an easier buy in for people not acquainted with the mecha genre. Personally, I'm not really a fan of this recommendation: for one thing, it makes it sound like they're the only things worth watching, and for another, both are side stories to original series, which I feel implies you should probably check out the original series anyway.

Having now watched War in the Pocket, I can at least understand why it's such a prominent recommendation, and while I still think it's not the best jumping on point, it's certainly one of the best Gundam things I've seen.

THE STUFF I LIKED:

No contest, this is my absolute favorite ED of all the Gundam stories I've watched so far, and I don't think it'll be replaced. It's ultimately just a series of images, but the images are candid photos of everyday life against the backdrop of the One Year War, and the way they include shots that could be from real life, like the photo of the refugees sitting next to their luggage or the kid crying in the middle of the road while soldiers walk by, along with Gundam specific ones like the kid swimming around a scuttled Zaku or a kid looking out the window of a space shuttle to see an explosion is just fucking perfection.

By my count, War in the Pocket only introduces three new mobile suit designs- which makes sense, considering when it takes place- but hot damn are all three of them home runs. The Hygogg is the first amphibious Zeon mobile suit that doesn't look like a joke, the Kampfer feels like the apex of what Zeon mobile suits should look like, and the Gundam Alex is literally the missing link between the RX-78 and the Zeta.

On a similar note: all the mecha fights in War in the Pocket are actually pretty simple, in a way that I think benefits the argument of this being easily recommendable to people as a starting point for Gundam. Like, even as someone who is into mecha, it can be difficult to remember all the different kinds of mechs that show up and what they come equipped with and relative power/threat levels. The Kampfer versus the Alex is a great example: Mischa is a better pilot than Chris, and the Kampfer has seems to have a weapon for basically any situation, but with just the arm-mounted gattling gun, the Alex shreds the Kampfer like tissue paper.

(This is also of course reinforced by the actual story, because it's already obvious from the circumstances that this is a desperation measure, but its worth complimenting how well the mecha aspects are integrated).

Al is perfectly executed petulant shitkid. Not only is the scene of him intentionally destroying everything in his video game perfect foreshadowing, the way he’s just droning “yes mom, yes mom, yes mom” while doing it is such a real shitty kid thing.

I also think his coming to grips with the reality of war is good because of how long it takes, and it takes so long because he’s just constantly in denial. The scene with the dead kid being extracted from the rubble is the most obvious one, but I also really love the scene where his friends are showing him the spoils they picked up from the school being bombed out, and he starts to cry, and the friends are like “hey man don’t feel bad you can come along next time” and he’s either trying to hide it or genuinely doesn’t understand why he’s crying. It’s so good!

In general, all the characters are well-writen and executed, although I want to especially highlight the Cyclops Team. They're all grizzled veteran assholes, but they're not evil, which is my favorite part of Gundam. Or maybe it'd be better to say "not evil beyond what's necessary to do their job as soldiers", but that should be taken for granted.

Ordinarily I don't care about spoilers in these, because they're long form things that you probably wouldn't checking out unless you already saw it yourself, but I'll avoid talking about The Moment in the last episode, because even knowing how everything resolves, finding out why it resolves that way and how casually it's revealed was genuinely heart-wrenching.

THE STUFF I LIKED LESS:

I thought the way the Federation was portrayed in this series was kind of at odds with what we've seen to date, or just weird that we don't see any high-ranking Federation officials. Chris is a white meat babyface, through and through, and that's fine- refreshing, even- but the scene where the cops are grilling her for information and she's trying to stonewall them with "I HAVE NO FURTHER COMMENT AT THIS TIME" doesn't sit right with me. We, the audience, know that she's a good person who's trying to wrestle with the guilt of people being killed as a result of the Federation's covert activities, but in the absence of a face to pin that decision to, it just comes across as a personal struggle for Chris and not institutionalized disregard for human life by the Federation.

Maybe it's intentional, but it's very weird how casual Bernie is when he first meets Al. Like, if I were an inexperienced pilot who got shot down in neutral territory, I'd be scrambling out of my fucking mind to stay hidden, not posing on top of my mech for a cool shot.

Also possibly intentional, but the fact that Bernie swung for the Alex's head in the final confrontation instead of the chest is bizarre. Arguably, Zeon didn't know how the Federation designed their mobile suits, but I don't know why he'd think the cockpit was in the head instead of the chest like his Zaku.

If it's not clear, I'm struggling to put anything here. War in the Pocket is really solid.

OTHER OBSERVATIONS:

I just want to be on record, as this is maybe the most applicable place to put it, that I think the people who turn up their nose at Gundam- or really any media- for having an anti-war message while also having cool spectacle based in war are just dumb.

To my knowledge, War in the Pocket was conceived of entirely as an OVA, so it's strange that it has eyecatches for commercial breaks. Maybe they were in case they ever planned to have them televised?

I think the extent of referencing 0079 is that one of the mechanics working on the Alex says it's going to be shipped out to "someone on White Base", which is the exact level of reference that should be made. No hero worship for Amuro or the Gundam, just "yeah it's supposed to be going out there", which is in line what the general Federation attitude towards White Base at this time.

Circling back to that scene of Al playing the video game: it's just straight-up lifting sound effects from Super Mario Bros. 3. This is notable because SMB3 only came out like six months before the first episode of War in the Pocket, and I'm also not sure how they could have gotten such a clean sound effect at that time.

I swapped over to the dub after I found out Bernie was voiced by David Hayter (best known for Solid Snake), and in general I think this is a stellar of-its-era dub cast- Al is Brianne Siddall (personally best known as Jim Hawking from Outlaw Star), Chris is Wendee Lee, Colonel Killing is Richard Epcar- but special shout-out to Mona Marshall, pulling double duty by using both of her voices, Overbearing Mom and Young Boy Who’s Kind Of A Dick.

On the sub side: I think it’s incredible that Al’s voice actor, Daisuke Namikawa, has become a prolific voice actor to this very day, which makes the commercials he did for the DVD and Blu-ray releases of War in the Pocket where he voices a ���grown-up” Al even more affecting:

IN CONCLUSION:

I actually watched War in the Pocket back in March, and I kept putting this off because I was trying to figure out what I could say about this besides "it's good, it's good, it's really very good", but like... that's what it is! War in the Pocket deserves the status it has as one of/the best entries in the Gundam franchise, whether you've never seen a Gundam before or if you've watched everything else to date.

Next up: Mobile Suit Gundam F91! I've actually watched this shortly after I finished watching War in the Pocket, which is another reason this has taken so long. Not to spoil it, but I think my post about F91 is going to be a little more even-handed than this was.

[hungee-boy]

so since were like halfway to getting it ill just share it now

next year well be getting a new mobile home and im so excited for multiple reasons

it has five bedrooms, so thats enough bedrooms for all of us plus a dedicated office

TWO living rooms!!! i legit thought that was only a rich brick and mortar house thing but im so excited to be able to just have more places to retreat to if someone else is in a space

actual closed off pantry with a door. the amount of times our cats have gotten into bags of chips and shit.... im excited for that

i get my own bathroom.... god bless.

brand new working HVAC with insulated walls, doors, and windows so we can actually have comfortable summers

i know this basic but the bedrooms havent had doors in ten years. not by our choice just kids breaking them and not having the money to replace it so we just got curtains but i am so fucking excited to have doors everywhere. i can completely close myself off. i can have a purely quiet space. god bless

new water heater that stays on all the time and that we dont have to manually flip the breaker for

new full sized fridge and new unbroken, not 30 year old stove

floor with no weak points where you sink like half an inch and fear falling through the damn house

walls and floors that havent degraded over 30 years and are actually easy to clean and paint and put wallpaper/tile on

brand new plumbing that wont freeze and burst over the winter

both plugs of every outlet working

theres a closed off closet in the hallway that we can put our seasonal things in instead of just keeping them out or putting them in the shed thats already too full

working lights and ceiling fans in every room, also easy to clean

so many cabinets and storage spaces, shit wont just be left out anymore

ive literally prayed for a better home since i was ten years old. 14 years of yearning and wishing and planning out ways i could earn enough money to afford it. now its just possible where we are now when it comes to money. we didnt even intend it to be possible. my mom just works for walmart and receives social security for my siblings since my dad died. ill be working soon hopefully so my money will also go towards down payment, furniture, etc., my bf is really smart with money and is helping with all of this too. the house were getting was on sale and i paid the min deposit to keep the price for the year itll take us to save up and get the land prepped. were actually buying a brand new home. a house that hasnt been lived in before us. itll start with us and i never had that ever. its surreal to live so badly for my entire life, especially more so since my dad died, to now be able to naturally obtain a normal life in a normal house that can actually accommodate all of us and give us comfort and not just bare minimum shelter. i only have to suffer one more year. god what a relief

[theultimatepumpkinpie]

Friendly reminder that adobe sucks and that you can get a lifetime license for paintstorm studio for $20

Or any of the affinity creative programs for $40 each (or $100 for all three) which is also a one time payment

Also for writing and other general office purposes you can get onlyoffice for replacements for microsoft word, excel, or powerpoint for FREE. They also have an online version to replace google drive for the privacy conscious & mobile versions.

(There's also libre office which is open source but that takes more work to get an appearance you like and default is real old school ugly lookin)

Please support other good programs if you can! It's a huge help for putting the tyranny of overpriced goods to an end (more so than just piracy)

[antiquatedsimmer]

Happy New Year!

As the winter frost thawed and the vibrant hues of spring painted the landscape, Eddy and Helena found themselves filled with renewed hope. The arrival of the new year brought with it a promise of great things, and they were eager to embrace the change.

With the joyful news of impending fatherhood, Eddy's heart swelled with a newfound determination. The thought of not only cultivating the land as a farmer but also nurturing his children within the walls of their humble cabin ignited a fire within him. No longer content with a mere living space, Eddy yearned to create a proper home where his children would feel safe, loved, and cherished.

Eddy toiled tirelessly under the bright sun, his brow glistening with perspiration as he worked to transform the modest property. With unwavering determination, he set out to uproot the unwanted dead plants and clear away the rocks that marred the land. Each shovel of dirt and every heavy stone lifted brought him closer to his vision.

In the past season, Eddy had crafted fences and furniture, and with calloused hands, Eddy diligently set to work, driving wooden fence posts into the fertile ground. Each thud of the mallet resonated with purpose, marking the boundaries that would safeguard their garden. The sturdy fences rose, encircling the designated area, forming a protective barrier against unwelcome intruders.

The chickens, once confined to a coop, now enjoyed the freedom of their enclosed roaming space without the looming fear of foxes.

Armed with a sum of money from the sale of his woodwork, he acquired plans and set to work constructing sturdy barns that would serve as a haven for animals in the days to come.

As each beam fell into place, Eddy couldn't help but reminisce about his former life in Brindleton Bay, a life lost to the tumultuous waves of the Silver Panic. Determination burned within him, fueling his resolve to build a future that would not be snatched away.

Amidst their trials and depleted funds, Eddy, Helena, and a large group of working men Eddy had hired in Finchwick embarked on a grand endeavor to transform the humble Bramblewood Cabin into a magnificent southern farmhouse. They labored tirelessly for most of the spring, pouring their sweat and soul into the renovations.

Their hard work paid off as the once-dilapidated shack underwent a remarkable metamorphosis. Walls were rebuilt, roofs repaired, and windows replaced. The sound of hammers and saws echoed through the air as the structure stood tall, proudly showcasing its newfound glory.

As Helena's pregnancy progressed, she embraced her new role as a homemaker, channeling her creativity and nurturing spirit into the art of crafting. With a growing belly and limited mobility, she gracefully shifted her focus from heavy lifting to the delicate art of knitting and stitching.

Helena's nimble fingers weaved vibrant carpets and intricately designed rugs that breathed life into the space, And with a meticulous touch, Helena carefully stitched together pieces of fabric, creating beautiful quilts that adorned their handcrafted bed.

The transformation of their living space brought about remarkable changes. No longer confined to two large rooms, Eddy and Helena now enjoyed the luxury of a small hallway that connected the living room to the kitchen.

In one corner of the hallway, a cozy nook had been created. A simple yet functional storage space housed a laundry basket and a coat rack. Next to the nook, a set of sturdy wooden stairs led to the second floor. Eddy had crafted them himself, pouring his craftsmanship into each step.

The area was kept simple with the spare pot belly furnace that once stood in the living room, now radiating warmth and coziness throughout the top floor.

There were two small bedrooms, each with its own purpose and anticipation. One of the bedrooms remained vacant, awaiting its future use, while the other had been lovingly transformed into a space dedicated to the imminent arrival of their baby.

After the arduous task of moving and arranging their belongings in their newly transformed home, Eddy and Helena found themselves longing for a moment of respite. They nestled together on the plush fabric couch that they had chosen to indulge in, a well-deserved treat after months of sitting on a cold, hard, creaky bench.

Absolute Huge Update for the Doyle Legacy, You have no idea many dining tables Eddy crafted and how many objects Helena knitted to be able to afford this. Here's a before and after of the Bramblewood property :)

Before:

After:

The Bramblewood Property - 1894

[silkenblankets]

A bronze and leather machine, best of its kind, carefully crafted and encompassing a uniquely steampunk look. By now, they're an antique, passed down from its original creator, tweaked by his child, taught by a grandchild, upgraded and refurbished by a great-grandchild, left to gather dust in the corner of an antique shop after they could find no next of kin.

For the first few months, they explore the other antiques, they wish to chat with customers and fix any out of tune music box or chipped vase. Gradually, their metal and leather frame begins grinding against itself, losing mobility.

Two years after arriving, they're most often mistaken as a statue, a frozen artifact of a bronze and steam era. Sometimes a child will poke at the shining steel pocket in their back, a tiny flash of static giving just enough power for a brief crackle of a voice box in their chest.

Until they wake within a cozy home; with warm lighting from large open windows and a shining wooden floor fitted with a little gray rug. Someone smiles, massaging oil into their stuck joints. Little by little, they begin to move again.

"Well aren't you a curious little guy!"

The human is very kind, letting the machine explore and giving them a few days to adapt. The human sits them down after those few days, explaining that they want to do some maintenance on them; they're more than happy to oblige.

That is, until they begin to feel the human's hands, attaching wires and adding more sensations. They're confused, looking back to ask why. The human just laughs, tickling the machine and making them emulate something resembling a giggle. In the midst of their laughter, it sharply turns to a screeching sound. The human is holding a few torn wires, watching them hit the floor with a tight fist and sputter a million questions about the bad feeling, the horrible- evil feeling.

More.

They couldn't see.

What was human doing?

They wanted to scream, but their voice was muted as its wires became twisted into a useless knot in their neck. Human was murmuring gentle words, their shivering body making such a ruckus with all its parts clinking against one another; they couldn't hear a single thing.

Their back panel was shut tight, a warm hand rubbed their head and began to guide the jittering mess through a door.

It was raining outside, every drop of water that slipped in between their bronze and leather shell felt burning, slipping between stretched out seams and cracking metal. They flinched and twisted as the feeling covered them, like a box of nails forced into every exposed crevasse. Human held their hand, giving a cold, robotic rub over the soft backing of it. They felt like falling to their knees and screaming as loud as they could, but the ground was wet, and burned their feet as it seeped through the metal soles. They couldn't scream if they wanted to, anyway.

The rain's pitter-patter was out of sync with their clitter-clatter. Human raised his voice.

"Sure is nice. I knew you'd like it."

Their body tensed and twitched in response, unable to move how they wanted. Everything gave out, hitting the ground with one arm held up by Human's hand. Laying on hot coals, their hearing cut in and out, sensations becoming erratic.

Shutting down.

"Useless."

Left in a scrapyard, an arm and both legs taken. Leather stripped from their body.

"Well isn't this a curious little thing..."

Something was tickling at their back, and something clicked into place. Their head jerked up, screaming in agony as their remaining arm clawed at thin air. Unable to hear the frantic voice trying to reassure them, they continued to thrash until their screaming turned to soft cries.

Their vision blurred, becoming focused as those mystery hands worked. Everything was tainted with a strange snow overlay, they'd need replacements for their eyes. Looking down, they found where all the strange have-not sensations came from; also discovering they were suspended. Their head was turned to one side, then the next, then pushed forward.

"... Okay, was that the right one? I'm sorry I scared you."

They turned to look at the Human, much different from the other; a little crooked smile with shining, kind eyes in a darker shade of brown.

"He-llo."

"Hi buddy. Don't worry, I'll find some limbs for you in a bit. Do you know where you came from?"

They hesitated, giving a stiff nod.

"Oh- can you tell me your name? Do you have one?"

They shook their head. "N-o name."

"Can I call you..." "Bud-dy." "You wanna be Buddy?" "... Bu-ddy. Ye-s."

Human's smile seemed to grow.

"Okay, Buddy."

-🤖

[generalsnivy]

Life Update: Things Going From Bad, to Worse (I’m likely going to be homeless soon!)

Hello there everybody. This is General Snivy. It’s been a while since I last posted an update outside my artwork, random tweets, and retweets on Twitter. (And for those asking, I refuse to call Twitter “X”! It’s such a stupid rebrand, but that’s not what we’re talking about today!) Today, I want to talk about what’s been happening with me in my personal life and how things have officially gone from bad, to worse. To catch people up, back in December 2022, I started my stream playthrough of Kingdom Hearts Birth By Sleep Final Mix and I have only done one session of the game so far. I had every intention of continuing the playthrough, but life got in my way, grabbed me by the ankles, and dragged me along against my will. To make a long story short, my computer broke on me, twice within ~20 days in between the first problem and the second. After I got my computer fixed the 2nd time, Mom and I prepared ourselves to go on a road-trip to see my sister back in May of this year. After the trip, other personal things kept happening and thus, I didn’t have time to stream at all. Recently, on June 30th, my computer froze up on me while I was doing my monthly backup of my computer with WinRAR. (Which could mean that I’m having overheating issues again.) Thankfully, after hitting the physical reset switch on my computer, I was able to reboot, complete the backup, and take care of whatever else I needed to do before shutting it down properly and I haven’t turned it on again since. The reason why I haven’t used my desktop computer since June 30th is that this was how my first GPU (my graphics card) died on me the first time and I fear that my current GPU, which is an Nvidia GeForce GTX 770, may be on its way out too, but I don’t know that for sure. I intended to get my computer checked out and possibly repaired this month as I have the money to pay for labor and a potential GPU replacement, if necessary. However, as of a couple of days ago, we received a letter from our realtor company, informing us that our rent will be increasing from ~$1250 per month, to ~$1500 per month come October 1st, 2023, which is an increase of roughly $250 per month! Worse, is that we had our rent increased earlier this year and we were barely making it! Now, we won’t be able to pay our new rent bill coming up and we have 2 months to pack up all of our stuff and find a new, cheaper place to live! What this means, for me, is that I cannot get my computer looked at or fixed if there’s a problem with it as I have to hold onto my money to help Mom with paying for a moving company to move all of our furniture and stuff to a new home! So, we need to pay first months rent, last months rent if applicable (which it is, most of the time.) and the security deposit at the new location! Don’t be surprised if I end up going off the grid for a while come October as Mom and I will likely be homeless and all of our services will be shut off due to our phone service being tied to our ISP, Spectrum. (We might be able to keep our mobile services without internet, but I’m not holding my breath.)

At this point, it should be obvious that my stream playthrough of Kingdom Hearts Birth by Sleep Final Mix is on indefinite hiatus until we’re able to find a new place to live, until I can either get my computer fixed or better yet, replaced, and when I have time to stream after the dust is settled. (So much for guaranteeing that I’d be able to stream again this year. What can I say, life happens.) Thankfully, I still have my old school laptop to work with, but there’s no way in Hell that it can be used for streaming as it can barely run Windows 10 as is due to it being an ancient relic from 1930. (That’s an exaggeration, but you get my point.) You might be wondering, “Can’t you just use your PS5’s built-in streaming feature to stream more Kingdom Hearts Birth by Sleep Final Mix?” Technically, yes, but the problem is copyright as the ending song is copyrighted and I have no way of muting it myself. I can get away with talking over the song as much as humanly possible, but only on Twitch as they’re a little more lenient when it comes to that kind of stuff. YouTube, no. Not at all. That would very likely get blocked in several countries with the quickness of the Flash and Sonic the Hedgehog combined! I could skip the credits and avoid the problem entirely, but I want to show off the people who had a hand at developing the game. Skipping the credits outside of a speedrunning setting is just rude and disrespectful, in my opinion.

I have thought about learning how to speedrun another game that I can play on my PS5 in the meantime, but then I run into another problem; time. Time is something I’ve been lacking lately and to be able to learn a new game, plus being able to stream my attempts, is a commitment and time is something I just don’t have right now. Not only that, but to keep up with a consistent stream schedule is something I’ve struggled with for years due to my personal life taking priority over stream and creating content. Plus, with recent events, those plans went out the window completely.

Some of you may be wondering, “Since you’re posting artwork on Twitter and other social media channels, couldn’t you open up commissions to have us help you out with your dire financial situation?” There are a few reasons as to why I’m not doing so at this point of time, but the TL;DR of it is, I need to do more research as to how to go about accepting commissions, which payment platform to use to handle payments from clients safely, and how I can best track these commissions after accepting them, amongst other things. I do have a general idea of how I want to go about setting up a commission sheet of what I will and will not draw, but there are a few more things I need to figure out and finalize. Plus, I need to come up with prices of what kind of artwork I’ll provide, plus examples for said prices. I also need to figure out a Terms of Service for my work as one can never be too careful when it comes to dealing with certain bad actors and businesses transactions, in general. Better to be safe than sorry.

So yeah, that’s everything that’s going on right now. I’m going to be having a hectic two months or so, scrambling to pack up everything, finding a new place to live, and getting my computer either fixed or replaced. I know that I’ve been keeping you all hanging for the past year and for that, I cannot apologize enough for my lack of content and to some extent, lack of communication. It may look like I’ve been lazy, but I’ve been dealing with life behind the scenes and as I always say, life comes first before content creation. For those who continue to stick with me, despite my lack of activity, thank you for doing so. I appreciate it. And, for those who left, thanks for joining me, regardless of how long you did so. I hope that I entertained you while I was active and that you enjoyed my content. If you wish to keep up with me and whatever I post, I’m most active on Twitter (aka, X. God, I cannot get over that name change!) so, follow me there. My Twitter handle is @/GeneralSnivy (Remove the slash.) This is General Snivy. Thank you for taking the time to read this long winded update and I hope to be able to stream again in the near future. See y’all again!

[sunrayretriever]

ok so im gonna put this one under a read more since its just my thoughts and not actually like. safety information that everyone should know (again nobody is obligated to read especially this because its fucking long and just a heads up im gonna get kinda gruesome so :\ but if u read all the way thru then u are a real one and i wanna kiss u sloppy style

meyah okay so. follower, come here im gonna tell u something. im not a professional. im not a meteorologist. all of my research and information is found online and by myself. but i have seen the damage that the earth inflicts on us. it is not an act of god, and i really dont care for when people say 'mother nature is pissed'. this is real. this is real life. the damage done to people is real. lives are torn apart. entire families are wiped away with the debris of their poorly constructed homes. if you survive, theres a million different ways you could be injured, and not just physically. the trauma, the grief, the emotional pain of losing not only lives but your home, your business, your car, your pets, your livestock, your city's infrastructure, your community... to lose it all is something that makes me choke up just thinking about..

ive seen videos of people huddled in shelters above ground screaming and crying and praying and the sound of wind and glass crashing and debris flying and sirens going off is pure horror.

something even more terrifying is videos of people STANDING NEAR WINDOWS AND GLASS DOORS AND EVEN OUTSIDE during tornadoes. glass nails 2x4s bricks furniture cars. they become bullets in those winds. wood can get embedded in telephone poles. do you know how incredible that is? its hard for even me to believe!!! and here in the united states IT HAPPENS PRETTY OFTEN!!

cw im about to show u destroyed houses!! click away now if u dont wanna see but i really wanna show anyone who DOES wanna know abt the damage these fuckers cause!!!

so i want you to imagine here. this is your neighborhood. let's say we have an EF5, the most intense a tornado can get. now, a tornado can be rated an EF5, but that doesn't mean it does EF5 level damage THE WHOLE WAY. shall we take a look at how your neighbors houses fared?

mmkay so here we have EF0 level damage. about 35-40% of the tornadoes in the united states are rated this level.

not too bad! shingles are replaceable!

as we go on we pass by a house with EF1 level damage.

whoa! 35% of tornadoes in the US are this level!! but it's JUST the framing of the roof, right? thank goodness the house stayed mainly intact! hopefully everyone followed their safety plan and got to shelter right away!

looks like the house a couple miles down got hit with EF2 level damage.. their entire roof was blown right off, exposing the whole house and everything in it to rain, hail, wind and debris from the tornado... but its just the roof, right? i mean, only between 15-19% of tornadoes get this strong...

EF3 level damage. 6% of tornadoes are this level. everything but some walls and the roof were destroyed. where will that family live now? who's going to help them clean up?

EF4 level damage. almost all above-ground structures are vulnerable to a tornado of this strength. this was a well-built, permanent home. look at how the tree snapped. these winds can uproot the entire thing. thats a 4ft+ tall projectile. thank god only about 1.1% of tornadoes in the US are this strong... but what could be stronger than that?

EF5 level damage. 0.1% tornadoes are this strength. the last one on record was in 2013, moore oklahoma. it destroys virtually everything in its path, and can rip people out of their basements if their door isnt reinforced. the memories from that home are gone. completely gone. there are appliances and vehicles that were never found from tornadoes this intense.

and these are well anchored, permanent houses. mobile homes were destroyed and twisted back in the EF2 level. anything above that turns them into smithereens. lost to the mercy of the winds.

"so james," you say my lovely follower, "what's the whole takeaway from this? what's the point?"

and i grab your hand very gently. and i look you in the eyes. autism be damned, we are locking eyes. and i ask you this:

what if it was you? would you know what to do? are you weather aware? do you have a plan on where to go when your towns tornado sirens go off? does your own even HAVE tornado sirens? what about your pets? the people you love? do they know?

for a while i felt bad for.. trying to spread this around. i felt like i was being a downer. i dont know why but it felt taboo to talk about... i dont know if it makes people uncomfortable or scared but.. it needs to be talked about. we cannot stop the weather from doing this but we can make sure we're safe. we can keep ourselves safe.

i don't want you to be afraid of these storms. i know plenty of people who have a fear of severe weather. fuck, for the first 23 years of my life i was one of them! when the tornado sirens would go off, even for a routine test, my stomach would turn and i would panic. after the 2022 december tornado outbreak, i was watching the news and i heard about the damage caused. i thought 'what in the world could do something so devastating?' and i think it changed my life forever. i went from fearing them to ACTIVELY WANTING TO SEEK THEM OUT. and not only is everything about weather fucking awesome, i know how to keep myself and everyone i care about safe. i can tell my dad when to get ready to go to the shelter before the sirens go off. i can check the radar and tell my friends in other states how big the hail is gonna be before it even gets there.

and it.. really wasn't hard. even a basic sense of weather safety can help. knowing myths from facts helps EVEN MORE!

the earth is so beautiful, my friend. a tornado swirling around in a desolated field in kansas is something that even in video takes my breath away. when it rains, i run outside to see the rainbow that usually forms afterward.

but with this beauty comes a price.

[valeriasfragments]

The Rigors And the Heft - Part 1

She was born a mad woman, mad as Mae, mad as Arla, mad as Lærke. Mad as all of them, maybe more. She lost count the number of times she lost her mind, lost down the rabbit hole with Alice, down the well with Sadako. Not many people wake up in an irrigation ditch at 11 years old with their pants around their ankles without going mad from time to time.

Regaining her sanity (as if), in the ruins of her life, shredded by her own hands, bloody boney things, hateful things. No excuse powerful enough to undo the curses cast from her own maddend hands. They say we hurt the ones we love the most and she was efficient.

Years of this cycle and Chance has run herself aground, a bloated whale corpse heart ready to burst with rot. Laying on this beach of a bed wracked by nightmare after nightmare, screaming awake on an air mattress with a leak, she wakes up every few hours and reinflates it in the dark of her room while the anxiety of her nightmares drains away.

She wakes when she dreams, she sleeps when she wakes, she stays up the whole night. She takes the little green and blue capsules when she starts to hallucinate at the edges of her vision. Hydroxyzine Pamoate to dull her mind and lull her to sleep, she's stockpiled more than a lethal dose, though she has never even thought of doing that, probably very painful anyway.

She rolls out of bed and onto the filthy carpet, half deflated bed like arms of a desperate lover who can't get enough. Stark angry noonday sun lancing through the crack in her beige lifeless curtains to ensure she is awake. The same drapery supplied with the apartment 10 years ago, never bothered to replace them either, apathy was her favorite interior decorator.

Just 24 hours prior she was in Kansas on the threshold of her aunt Arla's single wide mobile home, maroon and white corrugated aluminum shoebox similar to the one Chance grew up in. Two big windows on the front like doe eyes, a barren planter box, and a carport filled with dozens and dozens of 30 quart rubber bins.

The smell of the dead woman is thick in the air, she's wearing two masks and still has the urge to vomit, it's a smell that doesn't leave her for days. Not even the first dead body Chance has smelled, though her aunt was taken away 2 days ago, he stinking days old rot still clung to the air.

How does one begin to even go through a mad woman's hoarded possessions? A life of clutter accumulated in every nook and cranny, barely a walkable path though the trailer.

The hallway lined with National Geographic magazines from floor to ceiling, they have congealed from an unfixed leak, the soggy paper shape of a stack of magazines. There's even a perfect handprint in the paper wall where an EMT mistakenly put their hand.

The floor in the back bedroom squelches under foot and sags in the middle, a putrid smelling mattress with decomposing bits of her aunt's body, a shit river stain and a floor covered in never been clean clothes and half filled bags of trash.

One end of the room is a closet that dominates the wall, inside it is full of boxes, some collapsing, and others with odious stains on the corners. The dresser built into the wall had no drawers, in fact Chance couldn't even find them anywhere on the premises.

The other wall is a gaping hole where the fire department cut out the death trap horizontal slot windows, the type long out of style and only found on older models without any renovations. The hole is lined by cancerous pink cotton candy that Chance's intrusive thoughts keep telling her would be a good idea to eat.

Chance finds nothing in the house worth saving but she does spend a few hours i going through the tubs in the carport. She dug out a copy of Mysterious New England from 1971, a ratty later edition of Prometheus Rising by Robert Anton Wilson, a cat skull, some small glass bottles with cork stoppers, things her mom would call "witchy shit" oh and Dino Crisis for the Playstation, her crazy aunt contained multitudes.

She would be kinder to her aunt's memory if she hadn't been so cruel, her mad woman aunt who talked to the dead and heard their voices. Chance's kindness long lost because of a knife at her throat, a gun to her head, and the constant stream of verbal abuse that made it hard to function.

Now jetlagged Chance is on her bedroom floor, her clothes covered floor, just like her aunt and her grandma and her mother too. Everyone's mad in her family, a long line of mad women as far as she can remember. Chance and her mother are the first generation to never be committed but that isn't a very high bar to clear in these supposedly more enlightened times (yeah right).

Chance retrieves the pack of clove cigarettes from the pocket of her jeans on the floor, flips it open, retrieves a single clove wrapped in black paper, and places it between her lips still caked with last night's lipstick, a cheap black from the drugstore, a small cheap comfort she allows herself.

She lights the clove cigarette and takes a short, quick pull from it. The aroma hits her nose and she is immediately taken back to that first kiss, to the girl who smelled of patchouli and cloves, and left a taste in her mouth for the rest of her life, the kiss never forgotten, a soul moving kiss nobody had ever duplicated, almost against her will, the girl who smells like heaven or the closest she had ever been.

She remembers this kiss each time she smokes, the only reason she really smokes them anymore. Chance still won't let anyone else call her "baby" or "lover", those words belonged to her, the girl who hated her guts, the girl she hadn't seen in 20 years. Chance doubts the girl would even recognize that boygirl she kissed in high school.