#ness cinematic universe

[sere-ness-ima]

1300s/1600s/1850s/1920s/1940s/1980s/2000s

picrew: ElenaA's Windswept Oc Maker

My Fel during various stages of his life :) courtesy @elena-illustration's awesome picrew

[sere-ness-ima]

sorry but it came up on my feed and i can't NOT inform you about other related facts you might find interesting because i do!

🌟the Prussian partition trivia under the cut because i have no self control🌟

– basically while the Prussian government weren't the biggest fans of the Poles, even in the early 1800s the German people were neutral or sympathizing with them, providing support and so on.

– in 1830-1831, during and after the November Uprising in the "Russian" part of Poland, the Germans (and other nations who were soon to follow with the Spring of Nations thing) were strongly cheering for Poland. After the uprising fell, lots of Polish people had to escape the country to avoid persecution. On their way to Paris the refugees were welcomed by the German people like heroes, with flowers, dramatic poems and more material means of support.

– by "dramatic poems" i mean the Polenlieder or Polenschwärmerei – a whole poetry genre dedicated to praise Poland and the November Uprising. They're little known today, but I've read a couple dozens (wikipedia says there's around a thousand of poems like this) and they're absolutely wonderful and absolutely dramatic.

– the one with the final line going:

When this night ends finally and sun rises anew,

Sons of Poland, remember, the Germans were with you.

oh fuck.

i love and i'll always love baby!Lud and Feliks interactions (ask me about my headcanons)

– ughhf why am i rambling so much, another thing is that after the unification of Germany and implementing standarized rights, independent courts and the parliament, it turned out to be Difficult to bully the Polish people because no German would dare to go against the law! Therefore we know a number of funny situations when the Poles would exploit every loophole in the German law and the Prussian authorities trying to get them anyway (implementing new anti-polish laws lol at some point)

– just google Drzymała i'm not gonna tell this story

– i live in the post-prussian-partition Poland and we still remember the saying that goes "there are still courts in Berlin" – because you could always sue the Prussian official that was bothering you and the judgment would be fair.

– not so long ago i've read a great paper about the Prussian attempts to ban the song Boże, coś Polskę, which was at the time aggressively used by people protesting in the Russian partition. When the officials told the archbishop of Poznań to ban it, he politely disagreed and there was this long exchange of letters with the archbishop going "the song is not in the slightest revolutionary, it's just about loving the land where you live :)" "the text is literally about liberating Poland from tyranny" "fair. as a compromise we can stop singing that one line :)".

– It did end up in the court. The court told them it wasn't bannable. The Prussians tried a court appeal. They managed only after the chad archbishop died, only for a few years.

sorry for infodumping on you ohmygod. it's not personal i promise. here's a scene:

Gil: Feliks stop drawing dead black eagles and do something useful or you're not getting din–

baby!Lud: You can't do that.

Gil: I can't do what.

baby!Lud: Drawing isn't forbidden, and you said one should always follow the rules. You can't punish him.

Gil: <- now he has to find an argument that will convince the kid. Or give up 🚹

Learning about the Polish situation after the partitions is so funny because you learn that after one of the Uprisings when everything from language to culture got banned in the Prussian part of the Annexation, (it got banned everywhere but let's ignore that for a moment) some Germans started to get interested in that because "why is it banned"?

And I just imagine the situation where poor Gilbert is just sitting in his study or just some office space doing paperwork maybe, and teenager Ludwig just comes in and is like:

Ludwig/Germany "I wanna learn Polish"

Gilbert/Prussia "You what now?"

It's the greatest revenge of Feliks.

[sora-of-uranus]

All of those “team cap comes back and just live off Tony’s wealth without care for him until finally someone shuts them up” has the exact same vibe as all the suitors just eating Odysseus out of home during his 20 years away from home. Especially since Odysseus comes home and kills them all. I've read a couple fics were Tony either kills or exiles them (somehow idk the logistics of that ever truly happening in the mcu)

[cruelestpigeon]

can we just restart the mcu cause all the characters i cared about either died, got horrible story arcs or a secret third option happened

[hollybell51]

here me out. Adam Warlock and sex pollen.

It's ok - one

Navigation

Part two

Adam Warlock x AFAB!Reader

Marvel Cinematic Universe, Guardians of the Galaxy vol. 3 (outside canon)

Word count: 4.6K

Summary: foreign flora has an unexpected effect on your human physiology.

Content: sex pollen and associated DUBCON, fuck-or-die, smut, maybe very slight perviness (but I don't think it's creepy or really triggering), Adam being down bad, SMUT. Gratuitous smut. Non-explicit masturbation, handjobs (kinda), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Adam's a virgin, reader isn't, bit on angst, unresolved, there will be part 2. Maybe some out of character-ness, but it's hard cause he only had like 10 minutes screen time so what I've written is based on my own interpretation and what I've read since I watched the movie

Notes: I hear you anon! I actually haven't done sex pollen before, though I always found it kinda fun, so this was new to me. I actually wrote a part 2 which I'll post with this, and that's much of the same xx. Also sorry I haven't done anything in ages, I've been super under the weather and busy so I haven't really had time lmao. Anyways, have fun with this!

“Hey, did you get through those notes?” Your voice echoed in the stillness of the forest, seeming to bounce off the lush petals of the giant flowers towering overhead. The local flora was all supersized, bigger than anything Adam had ever seen, and filtered the harsh light of the planet’s nearest star in sickly sweet hues of pinks, greens, yellows and even blue. 

“Breathable atmosphere, mostly docile wildlife. Predators are nocturnal.”

“Ok, just… How much longer are we gonna be out here?” 

Adam turned, letting the machete you’d armed him with – “bush bashing. Gotta learn those life skills, huh?” – hang by his side. You were panting, face flushed and beaded with sweat as you planted your hands on your hips and frowned at him. Even like this, speckled with bright yellow and orange pollen and clearly uncomfortable, Adam couldn’t ignore the odd swooping sensation in his gut. It was like someone was constantly pulling a rug from under his feet. 

He checked the time displayed on the tablet. “Two hours. Maybe less. Are you ok?” 

You groaned, but nodded and walked the few paces to stand beside him. “Goddamn flower dumped its load all over me. You sure this shit is breathable?” 

The atmosphere. Right, you were joking about the humidity. “If you don’t mind a bit of a steam,” he tried, smiling at the short bark of laughter the remark conjured. 

You tapped his machete-holding hand, jerking your head towards the wall of fleshy greenery. “Nice. Let’s just get this over with.” 

Adam simply nodded. The falling feeling had been replaced by something warm and sticky, the simple touch and your laugh flowing like syrup to sit low inside him. It had been like this for a while now, since he’d started really talking to you, spending time with you, noticing things about you. Like your hair, now dusted with fiery plant spores and stuck to your forehead, and how it caught the lights of Knowhere just right when you sat down beside him to eat. Or the little wrinkles around your eyes and mouth when you smiled – really smiled. The High Evolutionary had disliked wrinkles and other physical signs of ageing, viewed them as imperfect and a blight on existence. Adam could have stared at yours all day. 

“Can I see that?” 

Again, Adam stopped and turned. You were craning at the tablet, your hand absently running around the collar of your suit. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Just… It’s really hot. Do you feel that?” 

Adam shrugged. Temperature wasn’t a huge concern to him, but you looked truly uncomfortable now. “Humidity can often make it feel hotter than it is.” 

“I know, but…” You grimaced, pulling your collar down further and wriggling your shoulders. “I feel really hot. Worse than before.” 

Adam frowned. He knew humans were often sensitive to their environment, much more so than was practical, but you seemed more affected than you should be. There were places on Earth hotter than the current reading, you’d told him that, so why were you–?

The comm on his wrist buzzed, Rocket’s voice crackling across the emergency frequency. “Warlock? You copy?” 

“Yeah,” Adam replied, still watching you. You were taking a semi-restrained drink from your flask, no doubt aware that it had to last the whole trek and back. 

“Is (Y/N) with you?” 

“Yeah, why?” As he watched, you held the back of your hand up to your forehead, then your cheek, then your neck. The suit still seemed to be bothering you. 

“Are you on the ground?” 

“Yes.” 

“You need to get out of there.” 

Adam didn’t think he was imagining the urgency in the raccoon’s voice, distorted as it was over the distance. He was in an entirely different corner of the galaxy, after all. “Why? What’s wrong?” 

A pause, then, “The flowers, they’re… uh, they’re kinda…” 

“They are very powerful aphrodisiacs!” Ah, Kraglin, just as worried-sounding as Rocket. “They can be harmful to humans!” 

Your other hand had joined the first on your face, but it didn’t seem to be doing a lot. You’d managed to get the zipper on your suit down, the neck pulled down to expose your shoulders and collar bones, the skin there just as flushed as your face. 

“What?” 

Rocket groaned, but Kraglin either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Aphrodisiacs,” he repeated. “If she breathes the pollen her body temperature will rise until she develops a fever, and if she doesn’t have sex she could die.” 

His entire (relatively short) life, Adam’s mother – and pretty much everyone else – had been more than generous in pointing out that he was lacking, that he was slower than he should be, that he was not up to the same speed as they were. It was because he’d left the cocoon early, he knew that, but he’d never really felt that much slower. Maybe a little, but he’d always understood where he’d gone wrong and why. This was totally different. For the first time, Adam felt like he was lagging behind. 

“What?” he asked again. “What do you mean if she doesn’t have sex she’ll die?” 

“Makes ya horny, genius. Means what exactly that. Fuck or die.” Rocket took over, clearing his throat. “I’m reading off the notes, bit further down. It’s small, so you might have missed it. It says it works normal for most species, but humans are more fragile so…” 

Yes, that made sense. Adam couldn’t remember that in what he’d read, but he’d also been distracted by your legs slung across his and the little wrinkle that had appeared between your brows as you’d carefully packed your bag, sliding everything perfectly into place. He’d wanted to just reach across and run his thumb over the line, smooth it away forever. 

Now, that same bag thudded as it hit the ground and you frantically fanned yourself, eyes closed. There was no telling if you’d heard the conversation, but Adam didn’t want to waste time finding out. 

“Ok, I’ll, uh, get her back to the ship.” 

“She ok?” 

He paused for a moment, then settled on, “yeah, she’ll be fine.” 

“You got this, golden boy.” The radio crackled and fell silent, and that was that. What a great help. 

“(Y/N)?” he ventured, picking up your pack. “Did you get all that?” 

You nodded, wriggling to get the zipper further undone. Your back was beaded with sweat, and in any other circumstance, maybe Adam would have let himself dwell more on the soft contours of your spine, the roll of your shoulder blades, the harsh line of your bra strap in contrast to your smooth skin. 

“I’m really… It’s so hot, holy shit. Why’s it gotta be so hot?” 

“I think that’s the fever bit. Come on, we should get back.” 

You drew a sharp breath when his hand met your back, your whole body tensing. 

Adam withdrew at light speed. “Sorry, I didn’t–” 

“No,” you cut him off, “no, it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

“Ok.” 

It couldn’t have been more than half an hour since you’d set out, but it felt like a long time to get back. You were slower, for one, stumbling and muttering apologies whenever you became disorientated – which was often – and wriggling like your clothes were full of insects. Your breath came heavy, your skin becoming more and more flushed as you drew closer to the ship, and you looked so uncomfortable it made something twist inside Adam. 

“I heard it,” you panted, stepping clumsily over a root. “What Kraglin said.” 

“Oh,” was all Adam could think of. 

“You don’t— You shouldn’t— You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

“Hey, no, it’s ok. You’ll be ok.” 

“I’m– fuck, Adam.” 

“You’ll be ok, (Y/N). We can sort this out.” 

“I don’t wanna force you to do anything–” 

How cruel could the Universe be? Adam wondered as he patted your shoulder – then regretted it when you stumbled. You were the first person he’d really wanted anything with, the first person he’d thought about and imagined and, dare he say it, fantasised about, and now you were worried you were going to somehow hurt him or make him do something he didn’t want to. It was sweet, bitterly so, and ironic enough to feel like a punch in the stomach. If anyone should be worried, it should be him. After all, how were you ever going to look at him the same way after this? How was he going to look at himself the same way?

“I’m so…” You broke off as you emerged into the clearing where the ship was parked, a sob – relief or something else, Adam couldn’t tell – torn from you. 

Your legs were shaking now, your skin so hot Adam could feel it through the material of your suit. He helped you quickly aboard, avoiding your eyes as you peeled the suit from your shoulders and pushed yourself against the cool wall. The pollen still lay over your hair and clothes, insultingly cheerful and innocent. 

He sighed. “We should get rid of that.” 

“Huh?” 

“The suit. It’s got pollen all over it.” 

“Oh, right.” You said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, peeling the material from your body without a second thought. Well. Adam hadn’t expected that. Trying not to watch as you sunk down to the floor, he shoved the offending clothing into the disposal to be dealt with later. 

“You should probably take a shower. There’s pollen in your hair and… on you.” 

You nodded, legs pressed firmly together, arms spread over the cool surface at your back. “Yeah, sure, I… Can you… Fuck, Adam, I’m sorry I—” 

“It’s ok, (Y/N), don’t worry.” It felt like a ridiculous thing to say, but seemed to help a little. “What do you need me to do?” 

“I need…” You trailed off in a low whimper, your legs shaking now. You didn’t even seem to notice you were in nothing but your underwear. “I…” 

Again, that twisting feeling. “Do you want me to come with you?” 

“Yes.” The word fell from your lips with a relieved sigh, your head tipping back. 

So Adam went with you, helping you into the tiny decontamination spray shower, trying to avoid touching you as much as possible – not for lack of trying on your part. You seemed to gravitate towards him, pressing your body into his hands wherever they lay, leaning hard against him. Your breath was still laboured, your face still pink, but it seemed less painful now that you had direction and were free of the suit. You’d stopped wriggling, anyway. 

You sighed as you sank down to the floor, your fingers vice-like around Adam’s. His free hand found the taps easily, turning on a cool jet and directing it to the pollen in your hair. It flowed down your neck and shoulders, an orange river spiralling into the drain. 

“I’m sorry,” you said for what must have been the millionth time, your own free hand pressed between your legs, tension radiating from every line of your body. “I’m so sorry, Adam.” 

“Hey, no, don’t be. It’s going to be ok.” He crouched, ignoring the water as he reached across to lay a hand on your forehead. You practically whined at the contact, your fingers tangling even harder with his, skin hot despite the cold water. 

“(Y/N)?” he said softly. 

“Hm? 

“Rocket, uh… Rocket said the pollen’s an aphrodisiac.” 

“Yeah, I – fuck – I know. Trust me.” 

“He said it works, um, strongly on humans.” Adam paused, heart pounding. Why did it have to be you, of all people? And why him? “If you don’t,” he continued, “you know… The fever might get high enough to kill you.”

“Oh fuck, come on!” Water sprayed where your foot slapped the shower floor, your voice echoing. 

Adam had never felt worse about anything. “I’m sorry, I should have checked the notes first, I didn’t even consider–” 

You didn’t seem to care. “So now I’m gonna overheat and die?” 

“Unless you have sex. With someone.”

Your head thudded on the wall, a sob flopping wetly from your throat. “Fuck this. Does it have to be with someone? Will it work if I just… do it myself?” 

“Uh, actually, I don’t know. Maybe.” He paused, unsure, then, “Do you want to try?” 

“Yeah, yeah I—” You took a shuddering breath, blinking through the water dripping over your face. “Yeah.” 

Adam nodded, standing. “I’ll… I’ll be around. If you need anything.” 

“Thanks.” It was barely a whisper, so wretched it made his heart hurt. You released his hand, and he turned quickly to leave you alone, your relieved moan following him out the door. Adam didn’t like this, not at all. You weren’t quiet, though he supposed that wasn’t your fault, and he hated, really hated the heat your moans and gasped curses sparked in him. It was wrong, so wrong, and he should not be here. But he couldn’t leave you. 

“Fuck, fuck oh my God–” you cried eventually, a wet thud echoing through the wall. “Oh my– fuck fucking fuck!” 

Adam listened carefully, unsure whether or not he should…

“Adam?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t…” You broke off in a sob, genuine fear lacing your voice. “Fuck.” 

“(Y/N)?” He stepped back into the shower, pausing only for a moment to take in the mess that was you. Your hand was still between your legs, thighs spread wide, panties crumpled in a wet bundle in the corner and your bra pulled halfway down your torso. In any other situation, it would have been the hottest thing Adam had ever seen. 

“I can’t… It didn’t work, I’m still so hot, why am I so goddamn hot?” 

Adam cursed as he crouched beside you, taking your free hand only a little gingerly. He cursed fate and circumstance, himself for not reading the notes properly, Rocket and Kraglin for not miraculously having a cure, and you for still looking so fucking beautiful while you were quite literally dying. He swore that if – when – he and you got out of this, he was going to burn that whole jungle. 

“We’ll fix this,” he assured you, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. 

You sighed at the contact, shifting closer. 

He frowned. “Is that…?” 

“Feels better when you touch me,” you murmured. 

That was going to haunt his dreams, he just knew it. This whole ordeal was going to haunt him, and probably not in the way it should have. He already knew he’d be seeing your shoulders silky with the water, your back slicked with sweat and the smooth curve of your thigh for months, let alone everything else. Wrong wrong wrong wrong, he reminded himself. 

“Do you…” He stopped. It was absurd. It was wrong. It was not something he’d ever live down. 

Your eyes were open, overly bright and dark with want, searching his face like he held all the answers. You were still so flushed, hair plastered to your forehead and dark with the water, lips parted and so, so pink. 

“Do you want to have sex with me?” 

“Yes.” The syllable was torn from you, ragged and desperate, followed quickly by another sob. You shook your head. “I don’t want to pressure you, don’t wanna make you do something you don’t want to.” 

He could have laughed. How were you still so focussed on that of all things? It brought that syrupy feeling back, only now it was darker, hotter, and tinged with guilt. 

“It’s ok,” he said softly. “(Y/N), it’s ok. Don’t worry.” He carefully moved his hand to your face, pushing the wet hair off your forehead. 

You leaned into it as you had before, your eyes closed. “Then yeah, I… Fuck, Adam, I want you so bad. You have no idea how much I want you.” 

It wasn’t you. Not really. He did his best to ignore the spread of the tingling warmth, his own want, as he helped you to your feet and did his best to dry you – again, as gently as he could. You just let him, casting your bra away when he paused at it, still struggling to stand and trying your best to get as close to him as you could.

Vaguely, Adam wondered how the hell this would actually work. He hadn’t had a lot of experience with much of anything before he met you and the other Guardians, let alone sex, and he had no idea if you had either. He somehow doubted you were in the same position as he was – you were gorgeous, after all, and so friendly it was a wonder he hadn’t ended up head over heels for you sooner. 

He really wished this wasn’t happening. He wished you really did want him, that he’d worked up the guts to ask Quill about Gamora and how that had gone before he’d taken off, then told you about his feelings properly. If he’d gotten that far, he was sure you’d have shown him how it went with the same patience and care you’d shown him everything, and he’d have liked to have taken his time. He’d have liked to kiss you, touch your pretty hands and hold you close, feel you all over and let you take the lead, tell you about the things he thought about you and everything you did to him. 

But it was happening, and you were probably not going to want to talk to him after it had run its course. At least you’d be alive.

You’d stumbled to a bed – one of the standard fold-out ones – beside him, and now he sat you down on its edge. You hadn’t released your hold, pulling him down with you, hands flying straight to the fastening of his own damn suit. 

“Is this ok?” you breathed, practically vibrating with anticipation. Your hands were flitting everywhere; his hair, his neck, along his jaw, his face, his own hands. You were very clearly trying very hard to make yourself slow down, wait, and Adam’s heart melted. 

“Yeah,” he said, “it’s all ok. You do what you need to.” 

A sigh of relief, a soft “thank you,” and then you were clambering into his lap and peeling his clothes off like it was nothing, your lips hot and hard against his. Adam hadn’t kissed anyone before, but he’d seen enough movies – most of them with you – to know that this wasn’t how it usually went. There was little technique or rhythm, more your tongue licking into his mouth, teeth occasionally knocking against his, so forceful he wondered if it was hurting you. 

You’d completely stripped him remarkably fast, and now your hands explored his shoulders and arms, trailing goosebumps down his chest and stomach. You fit perfectly over him, and he allowed himself to run his own hands up your back, down again, over your hips, finally settling in the curve of your waist. How often had he wondered what it would be like to hold you there? 

You moaned, the heat at your centre slick and wet against his own rapidly hardening dick. And now you were moving, too, grinding against him like your life depended on it and why had nobody told Adam it could feel like this? 

You’d broken the kiss, your lips swollen and even redder than they’d been before, your hands now in his hair, fingers tugging ever so gently. Adam had to stifle his own little sound of pleasure, bending his head to kiss at your neck and those collar bones he could look at forever. You gasped a “yes” when his tongue darted out to taste the skin, the faint tang of sweat mingling with the sweetness of the water that had dripped there from your still-damp hair. 

Your fingers tightened in his own hair, the delicious pull sending more heat straight down. You directed his head in that direction, too, arching your back until his mouth found the soft mound of your breast and he licked, then on a whim, sucked. 

“Oh, yes, Adam–” you panted, your movements becoming even more frantic. 

“Hm?” 

“Oh, that’s– that’s so good.” 

Did you know what you were doing to him? Adam supposed you didn’t, sucking again at a different spot, licking it, placing a kiss there, moving on. Rinse and repeat. 

Then your hands disappeared from his hair – that was a shame, but this wasn’t about him – and the next moment your fingers were wrapped around his cock and you were stroking it better than he ever had, your palm a million times softer than his, sliding easily with your own slick. 

“Can I?” you were asking. “Please, Adam, can I?” 

You could do whatever you wanted, Adam didn’t care. If he’d thought about it, he’d have realised that he actually liked the idea of you having your way with him, using him for your own pleasure, taking what you needed from him. But he didn’t think about it, he was too caught up in the smell and taste of your skin, the little sounds you were making, the wonderful movement of your hand. 

“Yes,” he breathed, “yes, go ahead, (Y/N). Please, just– just go ahead.” 

You were moving, rising on those wonderful thighs and your hand was moving too, something hot and slick rubbing over the head of his dick and then holy shit Adam’s mind went blank. If he’d thought you felt hot before, it was nothing compared to this. He groaned in unison with you as you sank down, taking him fully and gripping his shoulders, your breath fanning his face. You fit perfectly around him, squeezing spongy and smooth, and nothing could have prepared him for it. 

You braced yourself on his shoulders, rising off him – for a second he wondered if that was it, if you were pulling away – before you sank back down. You did it again, then again, and again and again until the only sounds in the room were your breaths mingling with his, your unrestrained little moans and his own half-stifled ones, the slap of your skin on his. 

Adam held you close, hands still anchored to your waist, transfixed by the silken heat of you and the brush of your chest against his, the bounce of your breasts and solidity of your body on top of his. 

“Feels so fucking good,” you panted. “No idea, so fucking – shit – good–”

“(Y/N),” he choked, unable to form a single coherent thought. 

“You’re so good, Adam oh my God.” 

Something was building in his stomach, he could feel it. The warm syrupiness was gone, something hotter and harder and so tight coiling in its place, growing with each moan and sigh and whispered curse from you. It was so much, almost too much, and half of his brain wanted you to stop right there. But the other half, the half that created those late-night daydreams, real dreams, half-formed ideas and scenes in his mind… That half wanted you to go harder, slam your hips down faster and say it again, tell him he felt good, he was doing well. 

“Making me feel so fucking good,” you murmured, as if you’d read his mind. “You’re so… ah, fuck, Adam, I’m so close–” 

Close to what? he wondered vaguely, but the praise was spinning that coil faster, faster, tighter and faster until– 

“Adam, oh, Adam—!” 

It snapped, electric and white hot and rolling up his spine like a damn shockwave. He could hear you crying his name, your movements slowing and your body spasming around his. He’d cum before, of course he had, but never like this. That had been small and so quick he hadn’t even realised what was happening until he was spilling into his hand or the bedsheets, confined to his dick, never spreading through his whole body and never with that glorious buildup. This was something else entirely. 

After what felt like an age, Adam’s mind returned to his body. You were shaking, collapsed against his chest, your arms wrapped around his shoulders and his around your waist, your face pressed into his hair, his own nestled in the junction of your neck and shoulder. You fit so perfectly against him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice husky even to his own ears. 

You didn’t lift your head, but he felt you nod. 

“Are you sure? You’re shaking.” 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I’m fine. I feel better, actually. How about you?” 

Adam just nodded, unwilling to move. He could feel himself softening inside you, but didn’t want to lose the warmth and the feeling that he was yours, that he was fully with you. But… “Do you want me to stay?” 

No response, then a deep sigh. “Yes,” you whispered. 

Adam ignored the butterflies and the spark of hope that conjured, opting instead for practicality. He could feel the rapidly cooling sweat on his own back, the coldness of your damp hair, the mess of spend around the place where your body swallowed his. 

“I’m going to clean you up,” he said softly, “then I’ll come back. Alright?” 

“Ok.” 

Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted you off himself and set you down further back on the bed. You whined at the loss of contact, curling in on yourself and shivering. But you weren’t so hot anymore, the flush had been replaced by what he could only describe as a glow and the overly bright look had vanished from your eyes. You really did look better. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Adam rose and turned away, making for the cabinet where the medpacks and other supplies were kept. You wanted him to stay. You’d told him he felt good. You’d held him afterwards, let him hold you, and had made no move to make him leave. If anything, you’d looked disappointed when he’d broken the contact. But still, you weren’t yourself. 

He paused, a horrible thought crossing his mind. Was he going to end up like Quill? Hopelessly chasing a woman who didn’t feel the same way about him? He hoped not, he’d seen how miserable the man was. But you weren’t hard the way Gamora was -- as much as Adam knew her, anyway, which wasn't much. You were soft and open, and you did care about him, he was sure of it. At least you had. 

Shaking his head, Adam returned to the room with a damp cloth in hand. 

“(Y/N)?” he asked softly, pausing at the door. No answer. 

You were where he’d left you, he saw as he stepped around it, still curled up on your side. Your eyes were closed, the rise and fall of your ribs deep and even. Asleep. The surge of tenderness surprised him, strong enough that he was sure he’d been swamped by an actual wave. You really were beautiful, even damp and naked, lips swollen and hair mussed. 

He was careful not to wake you as he brushed the hair off your face, wiped away the worst of the mess, and then pulled a blanket over you. He wondered briefly if he should stay with you, slide down beside you and wrap his arms around your waist, warm you with his body heat and be there to tell you it was all alright when you woke up. 

You shifted, heaving a deep breath and adjusting your position minutely, and that decided it. Adam couldn’t disturb you, as much as he wanted to, and there was still your suit and discarded underwear, not to mention the original task. On an impulse, he bent and placed a soft kiss on your forehead before turning, scooping his own clothes off the floor and making for the shower. 

[sere-ness-ima]

hello! careful for your fingers!

here you go @council-of-beetroot the "where do you place your Poland" chart alligment.

brain_where.png is the every fully stereotypical Poland aka “Poles are dumb” and zero personality besides his stereotypes

LIEEEEET is the shy social baby who has only one friend and is highly emotional (same)

Cocky sassy sparkly sussy femboy is the fabolous but also legit “mean girls” Poland

Oh shit he bites is the resistance warrior who is annoyingly never giving up and will bite your ankles like a rabid dog but we still love him

canon poland also can be good potrayal Poland bcs canon poland is more closer the dumb baby of recently. Like very VERY close. Hima stopped diving deeper into his character recently so idk

but anywayyyy here's the small chart based on the Russia's alligment chart!

[thighzp]

Firstprince and 🍦kids party please (cause I’m still obsessing over the two of them as dads)

A girl after my own heart!! Another one for the FPGDCU (firstprince girldad cinematic universe)

***

“Alex… you didn’t.”

“Hen, I most certainly did,” Alex smiled coyly as they led Ellie and her gaggle of 5 year old friends out into the front yard.

“An entire ice cream truck? For a bunch of 5 year olds? The last thing they need is that much sugar!” Henry tried to protest, but the girls were already sprinting toward the vehicle parked at their curb.

“Daddy daddy, look what papi did!” Ellie yelled excitedly from the side of the truck.

“I see that love, that is so generous of your papi! What do you say?” Henry ushered their little one toward Alex.

Ellie looked up at Alex sweetly, her twinkling brown eyes a mirror image of his own. “Thank you papi, this is the best birthday ever!”

Alex scooped up their daughter and peppered her face with quick kisses. “Of course baby girl, anything for my favorite princess,” he winked at her as he gently flicked the plastic tiara that sat over her curls.

“Now girls,” Alex continued, addressing the entire party that only reached about knee-height. “One ice cream each, okay?” He glanced sideways at Henry, then back at the girls conspiratorially. Cupping one hand on the side of his mouth that faced Henry, he loudly whispered, “and you can each get one more to take home but shhh, don’t tell Mr. Henry.”

Henry rolled his eyes fondly at his husband. Alex whispered something in Ellie’s ear only for her to hear, before he put her down. Soon, Henry found a flurry of pink and ruffles and glitter bounding toward him. Without a second thought, he reached down and collected Ellie in his arms.

“What is it, little love?” Henry asked.

Ellie cupped her palm next to her mouth, imitating Alex’s previous move. “Thank you for my ice cream party, daddy. I love you,” she kissed his cheek.

“Oh you are most welcome my princess. Your daddy and I love you so much,” Henry placed her back on the grass to join her friends at the ice cream truck.

Alex rejoined Henry’s side.

“I call foul play, pitting our child’s cuteness against me,” Henry huffed.

“Works every time,” Alex smiled.

***

Okay wait this was so cute I just let myself get lost in the girldad-ness I love them so much!!!

Request a ficlet!

[sere-ness-ima]

11 years into hetalia and every day in my head i pretend i'm two historians having a heated argument over interpretations of my muse's actions in the late 1830s they have plenty of source texts about, each written in a different tone, and they both spit on previous literature that naively believed what my muse told them happened (my muse is a dirty liar)

[nekoannie-chan]

Week 35 Reblog Masterlist

Welcome to Week 35 2024 or Week 241, as always, fics will be listed in the order I read them.

I hope you enjoy it!

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

♥ You can check my reading guidelines here.

♥ You can check my masterlist here.

♥ You can check my main reblog masterlist 2024 here.

♥ You can check my August reblog masterlist 2024 here.

♥ You can check Week 34 2024 here.

♥ You can check Week 36 2024 here.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

𝙺𝚎𝚢𝚜: 💛 ᵒʳᶤᵍᶤᶰᵃˡ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ

💜 ʰᵒʳʳᵒʳ

🖤 ᵈᵃʳᵏ

❤️ ˢᵐᵘᵗ

💚 ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

💙 ᵃᶰᵍˢᵗ

🧡 ᶜᵒᵐᵉᵈʸ

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

This is the list of the fics I read and recommend in Week 35 2024:

Dragonfly - Part 4 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @thezombieprostitute 💙❤️

Fic (Dark!Steve Rogers X Reader) by @biteofcherry 🖤

Dangerous Places: End (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @kaunis-sielu 💚

LEGACY ~ 6 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @just-dreaming-marvel 💚

DAY FOUR OF COUNTDOWN ‘TILL CHRISTMAS (Clint Barton X Reader) by @mjolnirswriststrap 💚

Patience (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @firefly-in-🖤ness 💙

Dirty Little Secret (Stucky X Reader) by @hellsenthero ❤️

Pretty As A Picture - Chapter 10 (Steve Rogers X Reader X Bucky Barnes) by @mrs-barnes-rogers-writes 💚

Foundations: Chapter 4 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @lokischambermaid 💙

A Second Chance with the Soldier (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @yourfavangstwriter 💙

I won’t let you go (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @irishhappiness 💙

Dirty Water (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @ronearoundblindly ❤️

Paint Me Midnight Blue Excerpt (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @talesofadragon 💚

Good graces: a cry baby story | chapter two (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @delicatebarness 💙

Recipe for Love- Chapter 3 (Steve Rogers X OFC) by @no-not-without-you-blog 💚

Golden girl (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @maxii031 💚

Fic (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @professorrw 💚

The Pull Of You - Part 6 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @mrs-barnes-rogers-writes 💙

Good graces: a cry baby story | chapter three (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @delicatebarness 💙

Imagine Steve Hating That You’re a Dare Devil (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @itsanerdlife 💙

12 minutes (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @1000night @nana1000night 💙

“I can go anywhere I want, just not home.” (Avengers X Reader) by @milf-cinematic-universe 💙

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events part 2 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @anika-ann 💚❤️

Five years of love (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @irishhappiness 💙

Steve vs. Soup (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @peteyprecious616 💚

Weatherman (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @roger-that-cap 💚

LITTLE STAR (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @amethystarachnid 💙

[sere-ness-ima]

alright let's go

there's at least a couple of houses. Taurys has his own lil castle in Lithuania he barricades himself in after a fight to pout, Feliks owns a giantass folwark in Ukraine he barely visits but gets a significant inflow of money from it, and the estate he spends the most time at is located somewhere between Warsaw and Lublin, either near IRL Łuków or a fictional, Łuków-alignedly named place for last name etymology reasons. We're burning this one down around 1655 but it's fine and a story for another time, they'll get another place

Ukraine lives with them... sometimes. Sometimes she doesn't. She's difficult to control and as much as Feliks would want to keep her close, keeping his own head close is more enticing.

Taurys kicks them out of the house whenever they start fighting because they chop up too much good furniture in the process

Belarus lives with them. Lithuania is her actual legal guardian, but Feliks had immediately pushed himself onto the fun rich uncle position. [For my setting] because of her visually young age she's treated accordingly, like a girl too young to marry or party, but left with a lot of liberty instead.

there's others visiting or living there temporarily. Poor Gilbert goes through a whole r/JustNoFamily adventure of getting married, having to still suffer Poland the Annoying Cousin In Charge, and eventually pretending to make up just go to no contact. I don't have enough braincells to make any 100% sure headcanons for Livonia because even looking at its table of contents on Wikipedia gives me a headache

when there's no war they live dream cottagecore househusbands lives exploiting peasants, keeping a cute chronicle, breeding horses and suspiciously staring at potatoes

unfortunately there's always some war

remember that one wonderful moment from With Fire and Sword where on Sunday the team splits up and Skrzetuski goes to a catholic church, Zaćwilichowski goes to an orthodox church, and Zagłoba goes to an inn to get wasted?

There's something so endearing to me about Poland and Lithuania taking to a catholic mass, Belarus and Ukraine going to an orthodox one, (possibly Prussia or Livonia leaving to a protestant church), and all of them meeting back at home for dinner.

FACE family is out, whatever the fuck Poland and Lithuania had going on with everyone living in their house during the commonwealth is in.

[d-adpool]

can't believe the hays code bastards at disney tried to frame me like i was still trying to get back with ness. i love that woman more than anything in the entire x-men cinematic universe and thats exactly why im happy for her in her new relationship with that german guy who likes hiking

of course i miss being with her. but at the end of the day i got her fucking killed and i dont intend to do it again. she needs someone who gives her the love and safety she deserves. and i need someone who can claw me to death with his bare hands

[arch-obsessed]

Inside the Barbie Dreamhouse, a Fuchsia Fantasy Inspired by Palm Springs

Barbie’s Dreamhouse is no place for the bashful. “There are no walls and no doors,” says Greta Gerwig via email. “Dreamhouses assume that you never have anything you wish was private—there is no place to hide.” That layered domestic metaphor has proved rich fodder for the filmmaker, whose live-action homage to the iconic Mattel doll hits theaters July 21.

To translate this panopticon play world to the screen, Gerwig enlisted production designer Sarah Greenwood and set decorator Katie Spencer, the London-based team behind such period realms as Pride & Prejudice and Anna Karenina. The two took inspiration from Palm Springs midcentury modernism, including Richard Neutra’s 1946 Kaufmann House and other icons photographed by Slim Aarons. “Everything about that era was spot-on,” says Greenwood, who strove “to make Barbie real through this unreal world.”

Neither she nor Spencer had ever owned a Barbie before, so they ordered a Dreamhouse off Amazon to study. “The scale was quite strange,” recalls Spencer, explaining how they adjusted its rooms’ quirky proportions to 23 percent smaller than human size for the set. Says Gerwig: “The ceiling is actually quite close to one’s head, and it only takes a few paces to cross the room. It has the odd effect of making the actors seem big in the space but small overall.”

Erected at the Warner Bros. Studios lot outside London, Barbie’s cinematic home reinterprets Neutra’s work as a three-story fuchsia fantasy, with a slide that coils into a kidney-shaped pool. “I wanted to capture what was so ridiculously fun about the Dreamhouses,” says Gerwig, alluding to past incarnations like the bohemian 1970s model (outfitted with trompe l’oeil Tiffany lamps) and the 2000 Queen Anne Victorian manse, complete with Philippe Starck lounge chairs. “Why walk down stairs when you can slide into your pool? Why trudge up stairs when you take an elevator that matches your dress?” Her own references ranged from Pee-wee’s Big Adventure to Wayne Thiebaud’s paintings of pies to Gene Kelly’s tiny painter’s garret in An American in Paris.

For Barbie’s bedroom, the team paired a clamshell headboard upholstered in velvet with a sequined coverlet. Her closet, meanwhile, reveals coordinated outfits in toy-box vitrines. “It’s very definitely a house for a single woman,” says Greenwood, noting that when the first Dreamhouse (a cardboard foldout) was sold in 1962 it was rare for a woman to own her own home. Adds Spencer: “She is the ultimate feminist icon.”

In Barbie, as in previous films like Little Women and Lady Bird, Gerwig set out to realize a whole world. “We were literally creating the alternate universe of Barbie Land,” says the director, who aimed for “authentic artificiality” at every opportunity. As a case in point, she cites the use of a hand-painted backdrop rather than CGI to capture the sky and the San Jacinto Mountains. “Everything needed to be tactile, because toys are, above all, things you touch.”

Everything also needed to be pink. “Maintaining the ‘kid-ness’ was paramount,” Gerwig says. “I wanted the pinks to be very bright, and everything to be almost too much.” In other words, she continues, she didn’t want to “forget what made me love Barbie when I was a little girl.” Construction, Greenwood notes, caused an international run on the fluorescent shade of Rosco paint. “The world,” she laughs, “ran out of pink.”

[b-is-in-the-closet]

Low key want to write for MatPat egos again

If anyone has any ideas or characters feel free to give them to me,

The “MatPat Cinematic Universe” characters/egos I know are:

Mack

Crewmate!Mack (I call him Wynn)

Dictator!Mack (I call him Richard)

Mad

DarkPat

WarfPat

Matty Patty

Jonathan Harker

Caliban (fan made ego by @wouldntyou-liketoknow )

BendyPat

The Hermit

The Detective

Patty (fan made ego by @wouldntyou-liketoknow )

Ness

And there’s also a few that I kind of know of, but that’s about it

AntiMatter

Dr Matt

Actor Mat

Dominic (Damien?? But MatPat? I think?)

Professor Patrick

Matthais Patthias

Also, for Mack: I have like a bajillion AUs and variants. I can talk about them if people want!

[sere-ness-ima]

Mostly because I put my muse through hell and back and he needs his regen skills to even last until his next whump scene.

Their regeneration has rules and weaknesses to it but that totally deserves a separate post, anyway—

– Feliks' smile is uneven because of the scars on his right cheek that stop the muscles from contracting further.

– He can't bow all the way down because of the scars on his back. (Later spine injury didn't help it either.)

– He has tics when under extreme stress, a relict from his past when it was a big health problem for him (his whole nervous system is a smoothie)

I don't count temporary (even long term) disabilities here, because that's not what the original post was about right

The Hetalia fandom is like "they're literally immortal patron deities with supernatural healing abilities lol of course none of them are disabled! And if they become disabled they'll all eventually heal obviously!"

Meanwhile Odin has one eye, and Thor has chronic pain from shrapnel being lodged in his brain.

Meanwhile Tyr had his hand bitten off during Ragnarok, and it never grew back.

Meanwhile Hephaestus was born disfigured and kicked out of Olympus at birth.

If ancient civilizations portrayed some of their gods with disabilities, then we can do better now, guys. Come on.

[waitmyturtles]

THE MORNING AFTER: ONLY FRIENDS, EPISODE 7 ("YOU GOT TO KNOW WHEN TO HOLD 'EM / KNOW WHEN TO FOLD 'EM") EDITION

Whew, baby. Well, I found this episode particularly brutal.

I've been noodling this week on the following theme: the mundanity of toxicity. The everyday-ness of bad in people. I think this episode captured this well (cc @lurkingshan, @neuroticbookworm, and @bengiyo, who all got a little preview of this thinking).

But I caught some other themes in this episode, too, which I'll quickly hit and list:

2) The elements of life, and 3) Gambling.

As a devoted meta writer, writing about Only Friends is hard. Because: I want to think that there's a lot more to what I'm seeing. I am certainly missing cinematic references that Jojo and team are making (I haven't watched Queer As Folk, for instance). Mew's face popping out of the bathtub? That has me wondering if I'm missing a cinematic reference there.

But at the same time, I wonder if by just observing the Only Friends crew, that I'm picking up on enough. When I was in my twenties, living in New York City, going to college...I was still trying to figure people out. I was absolutely SURROUNDED by people, and I couldn't help but think, everyday -- what is it that makes these people tick?

And I found myself regularly shocked at how mean people were. Very often, I'd just be like -- what the actual fuck, why are you trying so hard to be a massive dick? And, who knows -- maybe people were thinking the same thing about me.

That was when I was young. I just -- I didn't know that much about people. Really, what I didn't know -- and what I really NEEDED to know, and what I learned about myself in that decade and the next -- was how to manage myself around anybody, so as to preserve myself from any unpredictable pain that might come from someone else. In other words... I needed to fucking grow up.

Part of that self-management was trying on identities. Could I fake being a stronger person? Sure, I definitely tried. I tried with clothes, with new slang, with trying new activities, with drinking. That's just normal for a lass in their twenties.

The Only Friends crew -- they are assholes. Many of them were trying on change a couple of weeks ago. Mew experienced a HUGE identity shift during this episode.

But what they all embody to me, in this moment in their lives, is a kind of everyday toxicity -- a self-absorbed perspective, so tunneled internally into each and every one of them, that none of them are realizing that the energy they put out is colliding and having effects on others.

Like -- it's kind of shocking and twisted to watch. But when I think about it, when I remember what it was like to be in a huge city and to be in college and post-college: there's a part of me that remembers being CONSTANTLY surprised that people were just massive jerks, everyday, and again, who knows -- I think people likely thought that I was a jerk, too, for thinking of myself and leading myself with my life.

People, most people, grow out of these stages, as they get older, get more experienced in their years, maybe get more political in their dealings with others. I can't condemn this group of university students fully, as I hold hope (I'm a mom, damn it) that they'll grow into more fully robust and empathic people. But they ain't there yet. I'm not sure my turning stones gives me more insight to them than in relating to my own experiences as a former twentysomething. It has me thinking, as someone who loves turning those stones in my beloved dramas.

That all being said. Those two other themes in this episode have me thinking -- the elements of life and gambling.

We saw Mew play with fire (fucking finally, my man). And we saw lots of water -- water in the pool, water in the tub with Sand and Ray.

Water puts out fire. Mew tries to fake-drown (lol) Boston in the pool. Later on, Mew lets Boston know that he (Mew) can take Boston down, but won't. Mew is trying to control the fires that he's lit, and the ones that have already been burning.

My question to Mew is: do you know how to do what you are doing, or what you want to do?

I don't quite think so, and I think that "Welcome to Las Vegas" shirt he was wearing at Boston's house indicated as much.

(Uh, first of all, chain life, Book! MORE, MORE!)

Mew has decided to become a gambler. Let's think of all the metaphors! Mew has decided to roll the dice and possibly move past the pass line. He's decided to play his odds. He even STACKED his odds -- going to a new gay bar, enticing Drake Gap, going back to Gap's place, stealing the sex tape from Gap's computer, threatening Gap with reporting him for a crime, going to BOSTON'S HOUSE, TALKING TO BOSTON'S DAD, showing Boston the copy of the sex tape, THREATENING BOSTON, MAKING BOSTON BEG, showing MORAL SUPERIORITY OVER BOSTON, throwing the flash drive at Boston, and walking away. Like, if that were a metaphor for actually playing craps, first of all, lol, the pit guy would check Mew's ID, get him a players' card, and encourage him to move to the high limits room, being like, WHAT is this motherfucker DOING, but we want him doing more of it, he'll make us more money -- once he starts fucking things up.

Mew's trying on a new identity. He already was on the road to it, getting that LASIK for Top. He's just continuing to move forward with it. He's going to play with nastiness, but still try to come out on Top.

Trying on new identities. It is so normal when you're young -- I did that. Trying on what fits for whatever reason you are feeling at that moment -- if you're rebounding, if you're healing, if you're bored. Mew is embarrassed, maybe even ashamed, maybe even regretful that his first relationship ended up as a failure.

And now he's figuring out how to recover -- by taking a gamble, and playing with the exact same mundane, everyday nastiness that he's seen in everyone around him.

P.S. Ephemerality and permanence? That fire burned the memory that Top tried to create with Mew (cc @twig-tea and @lurkingshan here). And, gambling? SO ephemeral. Buh-bye, money and pride. Ray switching back and forth between Mew and Sand? Ephemeral crushitude. (SAND. SMDH. I KNOW RAY'S DAD SAID SOMETHING TO YOU, BUT STILL, SMDH.) Nick turning on Boston. Boston begging Mew to hold back on the permanent impact of the sex tape on Boston's dad's career.

And the ephemerality of movement: the clothes in this episode said it all. Las Vegas, NYC, Stanford. These young folks can just... disappear if they want to. And they just might.

(G'DAY, EPHEMERALITY SQUAD! @ranchthoughts @slayerkitty @distant-screaming @twig-tea @neuroticbookworm @lurkingshan @clara-maybe-ontheroad @thatgirl4815 @chickenstrangers @wen-kexing-apologist)

[darksouls2-gendercoffin]

imo one of the more interesting things Elden Ring does is introduce the Dung-Eater in the opening cutscene with no context whatsoever, and then proceed to reveal what a fucking creep he is—and then proceed to reveal that he's even worse than you already thought he was.

in the opening cinematic he almost seems like he's being set up as some kind of martyr, the kind of character who's vilified by the Lands Between but actually found out something really important or had some really 'heretical' belief about accepting one of the Lands Between's various outgroups. people are throwing rocks at his body after he's been executed, which on top of the narrator flat-out calling him loathsome and saying he eats shit really conveys this idea of the worst pariah imaginable. I was fully expecting to find out he was the fall guy used to cover up some secret conspiracy or religious scandal, not... y'know, one of the worst people you'll meet in the whole game.

to clarify the reason I think he just flat-out fucking sucks, I need to talk about the reason reddit/twitter ER dudebros tend to treat him like a Did Nothing Wrong, Joker-style antihero: their tendency to misunderstand what he's doing with the Omen as subversive or misguidedly noble. I see a lot of people compare him to the villain Syndrome from The Incredibles, using some variation on Syndrome's "when everyone's super, no one will be" line to convey that the Dung-Eater's plan to curse everyone in the world to becoming Omen is going to end Omen-centric bigotry and hatred. they spin this fantasy where everyone will slowly give birth to and be reincarnated as Omen until their people are the only ones left, and then everybody will realize there's nobody to be prejudiced toward because they've all become what their culture and religion vilify.

look at the language the Dung-Eater uses, though. people's bodies are 'defiled' with Omen-ness, this status is a 'curse', one that he passes on to others. he doesn't see the Omen as an underprivileged social group who deserve equity or restorative justice, he sees this people group as a blight he can spread, and that's really fucking gross. he isn't even 'appropriating Omen culture' or anything because not once does he indicate that he sees the Omen as people, as anybody with any kind of worth. by all indications, he sees their existence as a curse in and of itself, someone being born an Omen the ultimate degradation and insult. knowing what we know now about the Hornsent, how they weren't a race of cursed monsters but instead a culture stuck in the same cycle of violence as the people of the Lands Between, I feel like the Dung-Eater's motives and ideals come off even more misguided and weird than ever before. he's not somebody who thinks that forcing the same lived experience onto everyone would cultivate universal empathy (which it wouldn't), he's like if a super edgy racist decided "I wanna magically curse everyone else in the world to be black, they'd HATE that because it's the worst thing anybody can possibly be".