#not sure what the point of putting this in the tags is because people who follow me probably already know i don't mean that

[jinkoh]

pressure points

yunho x fem!reader

summary: your physical therapy is getting very physical

tags: physiotherapist!yunho, smut (mdni), reader is painfully horny (especially for yunho's hands), tension, kissing, teasing, fingering; feat. woosan as your bffs

wc: 3.2k

a/n: started writing this back when i went to physiotherapy--but i swear it's only partially inspired by real occurrences, my therapist was very professional

masterlist

Usually, your weekly meet ups with your best friends—or girls’ night as Wooyoung liked to call it, even when you were the only one who technically qualified—were your sanctuary, your safe space, your chance to decompress after a stressful week at work. But usually your non-existent sex life wasn’t the topic of the night, nor were you interrogated over your relationship to your new physiotherapist. You were quickly starting to regret ever mentioning him or his big hands or cheeky smile or— 

“I know I'm barely one to talk,” Wooyoung said, clearly amused over the whole situation and not at all willing to change topic, “but you’re like pathetically horny.”

“No, listen,” you started, pointing at him with the pretzel stick you’d been nibbling on. “Yunho just has—”

“Yunho?” Wooyoung snorted, “You’re on first name basis with your physiotherapist?”

“Don’t make it weird, that’s just their policy and it makes it more comfortable too.”

“Mhm, right. Except you’re maybe getting a little too comfortable.”

Before you could retort, San let himself plop onto the empty chair at your table. “What did I miss?” He asked casually while scanning the drinks menu (as if he didn’t already know his order).

“Nothing much,” Wooyoung replied, “I'm getting a promotion and y/n wants to fuck her physiotherapist.”

“Woo!”

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, “What, it’s true.”

“It’s not! He just—it’s not my fault that he touched my hips like that!”

“Y/n, honey, he was showing you an exercise.”

“Well, yeah, but his hands are just kinda sexy and—” you trailed off when you saw San pulling a face. “What?”

San shook his head with a sigh, “Girl, you want to fuck him so bad.”

Maybe your friends had a point, because despite your tiring work day and the way your joints were aching with exhaustion, you found yourself feeling giddy for your next appointment with Yunho. The only thing putting a damper on your mood was that after today you only had one more session left, when really you wished you could keep going forever. 

The clinic was rather quiet and the lights in the back were already off—you always had the last time slot of the day and you rarely met other patrons when you came in. Today was no different, the only people you could spot were Yunho and one of his colleagues.

“Hey,” Yunho greeted you with a soft smile, briefly looking up before focusing back on where he seemed to be typing something into the computer behind the counter, “On time as always.”

“Of course,” you replied with a smile, feeling your cheeks heat up for literally no reason at all. 

“Very commendable,” he grinned and then his eyes darted up to you once more, almost as if he was accessing you, “You can already get into room 2, I’m with you in a second,” he nodded towards a door before turning to his colleague, “Mingi, can you look this over for me?”

“Sure, no problem,” the other man replied, hovering over the screen of the computer too. Your gaze lingered on the scene a second longer, taking in how Yunho adjusted the glasses sitting on his nose, but when he looked up, meeting your gaze in a question, you quickly hurried into the room he’d pointed at. It was a smaller one than usual; the mirror, yoga mats and other equipment you were used to replaced by a massage table that you awkwardly sat down on while you waited. It only took another one or two minutes for Yunho to appear in the doorframe.

“You were looking kind of tired, so I thought it’s a good idea to do something more relaxing today,” he said as he walked in, closing the door behind him. He had your files in his hand, scribbling something down before leaving the clipboard on the little shelf in the corner, “But remember you still have to do the exercises at home though. And no slouching.”

“Aye, Sir,” you replied with a playful salute that got frozen mid-air when he met your gaze with a smile and a cheeky “Good girl.” Good. Girl. How the fuck were you supposed to survive this?

“Alright,” he continued, all professional, as if he hadn’t just hit you out of left field with his comment, “we’ll loosen up your muscles a bit, in the neck and upper back area, since that’s where you’re having the most trouble. Please lay down on your stomach with your head on this side,” he briefly tapped the head rest, “and it’d be good if you removed your top so I have access to your back—I can go out for a second if you prefer.”

You knew there were no hidden motives there, after all he was a professional and this was his job. But the thought of undressing in front of the guy you’d been having somewhat inappropriate thoughts of was still making your heart race.

“Uhm, no, it’s okay,” you stuttered, turning your upper body away from him as you slipped out of your shirt, holding the fabric close to your chest. “B—my bra too?”

“No, it’s okay, we can just—” he reached out and you felt his fingers gently brush your skin as he pushed the straps of your bra down your shoulders, “move them out of the way like this.” His touch left goosebumps in its wake and maybe it was your wishful thinking, but you thought his fingers lingered a second longer than necessary. Then he pulled away though, clearing his throat and stepping aside so you had enough space to lie down. He took a seat on a little rolling chair at the top of the table and you could see his legs through the hole of the headrest.

His hands felt warm and soft as he smoothed them over your upper back a few times before he started rubbing out the sore spots in your neck. You felt the way the tension was seeping out of you, making you feel relaxed and at ease. At least until he spoke up again with his sweet honey voice.

“It’s okay if it hurts a little, but if you’re in so much pain that you want to scream, do tell me. We don’t want that.” He let his hands move to your left shoulder blade, finding one of your pressure points, “For it to hurt that badly, I mean. I don’t mind if you scream.” He chuckled and you huffed out a laugh as well while your cheeks were heating up for nth time that day. It was a good thing he couldn’t see your face right now. “Uh, yeah, I’ll let you know," you replied but all you could think about was him making you scream. Your silly brain couldn't help but wonder if he liked a vocal partner. 

Yunho seemed blissfully unaware of your inner tumult, rubbing out the knots in your back completely unbothered. “This still okay?” He asked as he moved to another point and you felt yourself gasp a little at the initial pain. It wasn’t exactly a bad pain though. Something about the light sting was almost pleasurable.

“Still okay,” you assured and he hummed in affirmation as his fingers kept moving. He was skilled and precise in his ministrations, and you knew he had to be, with this being his literal job, but the thought that perhaps his fingers were skillful in other places too wouldn’t leave your mind for the rest of the massage. 

It was over too quickly for your liking, ended by him gently moving the straps of your bra back up your shoulders. “Alright,” he said, scooting away from the table to give you some space, “That’s it for today.”

“Thanks, I really needed that,” you mumbled as you sat up, just to immediately regret your words. You sounded like a pathetic, touch starved horndog. 

“Mhm,” he hummed and you couldn’t read his expression as he took a note in your files, “I could see that.”

“So, what if I do want to fuck him?”

Wooyoung let out a giggle, “Finally admitting to it, huh?”

“Just go for it,” San advised, “It’s gonna be your last appointment anyway.” 

That was a reminder you really didn’t want to hear, so you quickly shoved the thought aside in favor of more pressing questions.. “But what’s that supposed to mean? How would I even go for it?”

“Well, do it the way you normally would,” Wooyoung said matter of factly, “You know how to flirt, right?”

“I—I don’t. Not like that. I never really tried to get into anyone’s pants before,” you admitted.

San raised an eyebrow, “So you just had people coming at you without even trying? What a flexer.”

“Don’t tease me, Sannie, you know it’s not like that. It’s just that there’s usually dating involved. I’ve never slept with anyone I wasn’t at least casually dating.”

“Date him then,” San simply replied but Wooyoung shook his head. “Way too time consuming. She wants a quick fix, not a slow-burn romance. Take this as a learning opportunity, y/nnie.”

“Well, then teach me! What do I do?”

“Oh? Teach me?” San said with a smirk, “That’s kinda hot.”

“I gotta agree, but we’re getting off topic here.” Wooyoung fished a pretzel stick out of the glass on the table and took a bite of it before he continued, “So, the important thing is to show him you’re interested. But don’t make it romantic, you don't want a coffee invite."

"Actually I wouldn't mind a coffee—"

"Yeah, and you can have your coffee—after taking care of how fucking pent-up you are." He let the rest of his pretzel stick disappear into his mouth, still chewing as he continued, "He’s your physiotherapist, there’s gotta be plenty of chances for him to get his hands on you. Just subtly let him know you really like it.”

“Yeah,” San agreed, before coming back to his initial advice: “Just go for it.”

For your last appointment he sent you to room number 4, the one with the mirror and the yoga mats and other equipment that you knew all too well. After last week's session you found yourself filled with disappointment. For a moment you stood in the doorway, until Yunho came over, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Not going in?”

San’s words were ringing in your head: Just go for it. Wooyoung’s advice on subtlety must have gotten lost on you though, but who was Wooyoung to give that advice anyway?

“Uhm, I was thinking—you know I’m feeling kind of tired today…” You trailed off, your eyes darting over to room number 2, where the ajar door revealed the massage table.

He met your words with a chuckle. “Are you saying you want a massage for our last appointment? Did you like it that much?”

“It just seemed to really help with my sore spots…”

“Hmm,” he hummed, his arms crossed in front of his body thoughtfully, “I do think we should go through the exercises I taught you at least once—to make sure you remember them correctly and can do them at home. Don’t want you coming back here in another three weeks.”

“You don’t want me to come back?”

Yunho’s eyes widened for a moment there before he let out a chuckle, “Not if it means you’re in pain again.”

“Didn’t you say it’s okay if it hurts a little?”

He shook his head in disbelief, “I feel like I’m not getting anywhere here, so let’s make a compromise—first a quick run down of the exercises and then for the remaining time you can get on the table for me, hm?”

Get on the table for me. You tried not to think anything of the words he’d chosen, tried not to let your brain warp them until they held a different meaning altogether, but it was hopeless. The worst part was, that you couldn’t help feeling like he was doing this on purpose, reveling in the way your gaze turned feverish and your cheeks flushed red with heat.

The quick run down was almost agonizing. He did keep his promise to make it short, but every time he stepped into your personal space to fix your posture, you felt your skin tingling with anticipation and need. When you finally, finally went over to room 2, you were more than ready to skip the massage and go for other activities instead. You pulled yourself together though, and did not jump him the moment he closed the door. Instead, you took off your shirt and laid down on the table like last time. Yunho sat at the head end once more, working his magic on your neck and shoulders. When he moved his hands a little further down your back, they briefly got caught on your bra.

“Sorry about that,” he said, his voice calm and smooth.

You bit your lower lip. This seemed like a pretty good chance, didn’t it?

“You can take it off, if you want to. I don’t mind.”

He halted for a moment, and maybe if you could see his face you’d be able to read his expression, but with your eyes facing the floor you were stuck wondering what he was thinking.

“Are you sure?” Yunho asked after a moment and there was something in his voice that made it feel like his question wasn’t just about the massage.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

It only took a second for him to unhook your bra, the fabric falling to the side of your body. His fingers seemed to trace the place where it’d sat, maybe following the light imprints it’d left behind. 

“You have pretty skin,” he said eventually, his voice just a whisper.

“Yeah?” Your heart was racing in your chest with nerves and anticipation of what could possibly happen.

“Yeah,” his index finger gently wandered over your spine, “It feels nice to touch.”

“It feels nice when you touch me, too.”

He hesitated for a moment and the brief silence was killing you. “I could do it more,” he finally said.

“I’d like that.”

“Turn around for me?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you immediately turned to lay on your back, losing your bra along the way. The moment you were facing up, he leaned down, crashing his lips into yours. The angle was kind of awkward with the way you were technically upside down from his point of view, but neither of you seemed to really care as you devoured each other in a kiss you’d been anticipating for weeks.

When he eventually pulled away, both of you breathless, there was a cheeky glint in his eyes. “Isn’t this kind of like spiderman?” he asked and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I didn’t know my hot physiotherapist was a nerd.”

“So, I’m hot?”

You rolled your eyes before your hand reached out to pull him close again, “Aren’t we kinda past that?”

“Right,” he grinned into your lips, “I guess so.”

He kissed you again before he pulled away to get up from his chair, the angle too awkward to really touch, and he was dying to get his hands all over you. You sat up on the table, letting your legs dangle off one side, and he swiftly moved to stand between them, caging you in with his hands  on either side of your hips. 

“We’re the only ones here, right?” you asked, just to make sure.

“Yeah,” he pecked the corner of your mouth before kissing his way to your jaw and then down to your collar bone, “Mingi left a while ago and the cleaning staff only comes in the morning.”

“Good,” you leaned back and tilted your neck to give him more access, reveling in the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin. 

His hands moved to your body, one of them keeping you steady as the other tugged at the hem of your jeans. “Can we take this off?”

You nodded a little too quickly, your hands immediately flying to the button to help him undo it. 

“So eager,” he commented with that smug smile of his before he helped you drag the pants off your legs, leaving you in nothing but your panties. He let his thumb lightly rub over the thin and embarrassingly wet fabric, smile growing wider as you let out a little whimper. “Why do I feel like you haven’t been focusing on treatment at all and were instead thinking of—” he flicked his thumb over your clothed clit, “something else?”

“I couldn’t help it,” you whimpered, “not my fault your hands are—like that.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” you whimpered once more when his long fingers started to run over your folds, pushing aside your panties to touch you directly, “sexy.”

“They are sexy? Like, when I fix your posture? Or give you a massage?,” he asked, leaving more bites and kisses on your neck, “Or when I do this?” He slipped one of his fingers into you without warning, making you gasp in surprise.

“Yeah,” you pressed out, your mind starting to lose focus as he was moving inside of you, “it’s sexy.”

“That’s good to hear,” he whispered into your skin before adding a second digit and curling them inside of you. You arched off the table at the sensation of it, your body instinctively trying to get away from the intense feeling, but his other hand on your hip kept you in place. He gradually increased his pace, his fingers mercilessly abusing the sensitive spots inside of you and you were already feeling like you were losing your mind. When he moved his thumb back to your clit, applying just the right kind of pressure, you snapped almost immediately, your high washing over you in a sudden and intense wave. Yunho wasn’t letting up quite yet though, still working his skillful hands and prolonging your orgasm until the over sensitivity made you whine. When he finally pulled away, he looked at his fingers for a moment, admiring your glistening juices on them before he licked them clean one by one.

“That was nice,” he said with a smile, as if you had just done him a service and not the other way round. Still, you agreed with a hazy nod. 

He pulled your panties back into place before leaning in for a kiss. “How about I take you out for a coffee sometime?”

“So, uh, what if I don’t want to just fuck him?”

“Weren’t we over this?” Wooyoung took a sip of his beer, before your words really registered, “Wait, are you saying you have feelings for him?!”

“I—I don’t know, he’s just—” you dropped your face onto the table with a sigh, “he’s just so charming.”

"See?" San said with a triumphant grin, "So much for a quick fix."

“Well, then I hope you at least got his number.”

Now a smile spread on your lips, too, “I even got that coffee invite.”

masterlist | pls consider reblogging if you enjoyed this~

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Look, Don't Touch 1

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, stalking, breaking and entering, possible blood and violence, and femcel energy. Tags are not exhaustive and more may be added as the series progresses.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get bored of watching and that makes you careless. (dark!reader)

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Note: Well, well, well, if it isn't another bad decision.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like snakes love Woody’s boots. Take care. 💖

The spectrum of city lights gleam through the window casting a soft glow over the lofty condo. Spacious and pristine, everything in exactly its place, even the shadows seem to assemble in orderly fashion along the pale wall. A fine contrast to your chaotic existence on the peripheral.  

You sit, staring down the treacherous drop. A single pane between you and the end. Your phone dims as it rests against the thumb grip, wires still woven from the port into the palm sized box. You can find anything on the dark web if you go deep enough. 

The alarm was easy enough to override with the device, you still feel a sliver of adrenaline. How your heart beats thunderously as you watch the screen race through columns of numbers. You expect a blaring siren, instead the door clicks and a low beep grants your entry. 

It's nothing bad. Not really. You’re tired of watching, of waiting, for what? You're not sure. It’s not as if you want him to notice you, you do your best to make sure he doesn't. Maybe one day when you're ready. Whatever that means. 

You shut the lights off once you get the photos, each room from every angle. So you have a reference to make sure everything's where it belongs when you go. Unlike you. 

You don’t belong here. Or anywhere. So you have no issue crossing those lines, because no matter where you step, you’re out of place. 

If anyone knew, they might think you've done this before. You’ve dreamed of it. Maybe, a bit too often. 

It's the online boards that make you so thorough, checking things you never even considered. Of course, those neckbeards are looking to scare some skinny blonde they don't have a chance with. You don't want to scare Steve, you just want to know him, if even from a distance. 

You always just watch. Is that so bad? You don't get in his way, you don't try anything, you just follow. 

Well, it's about time you came inside. You don't get much of a view from the outside. The reflection of the other buildings tend to make the distance further. A whole year and you don't know why you’ve waited so long. It’s not like he’ll know. 

You stand up and unplug your phone, turning on the flashlight as you point it ahead if you. You stop to admire the pictures framed and hung of him and his comrades, both old and new, dead and alive. You continue down the hall, back to the bedroom and peer around. 

You spread out on the bed. You can smell him, his sweat and the soap he uses. You know from his receipts. From skulking around behind him at the grocery stores you can’t afford to shop at.  

You close your eyes and imagine he's there with you. Watching you too. The two of you, peaceful, comfortable, like you've never been with anyone in your life. An indolent complicity. 

It’s lies. You know that’s not how it goes. If he knew about you, he’d be just as repulsed as any other guy. And you’re not the type for the sappy shit. You don’t want love, you just want a thrill. 

You put the phone down, the light glowing on the other side of your eyelids as it shines on the ceiling. You feel along your dark jeans and slide your fingers under your fly. You sigh as you feel yourself getting wet.  

You flick your clit and moan. You say his name and do it again, a steady motion as you wish he was there, hand down your pants as he fucks you with his fingers, reading a book as if he isn't rock hard over it. It must be extraordinary to have someone else touching you. It’s getting boring, just you. 

You cum quickly, surprised as usually you need your toys. More reliable than any man, you scoff and free your hands from the denim. 

You sit up slowly and wipe your cum on his pillow. Maybe he'll smell it, will he know what it is? Would he like it? 

You get up and stretch. You take your phone and check the time. You should go. He'll be home soon, you know he met his pal for drinks at seven. Funny, you were under the impression beer didn't affect enhanced beings. 

You go back to the living room and pack up. You plug in the cipher once more and head for the door. You re-arm the alarm and carry on down the hall. 

You stop at the elevator and wait. It opens and you suppress your surprise. Well, you’re not that shocked as his timing is always precise. Not to mention, he lives here. Steve Rogers hesitates before he gets off the elevator, blanching as he sees you.  

“Sorry,” he smiles at you. 

It’s not a real smile. It’s just his surprise. It’s courtesy. Steve fucking Rogers is high and above you. 

“It’s fine,” you say snidely as you stare at him dully. 

He only thinks to get off when his companion, Bucky Barnes, does first. You wait for them to pass you, the second man meeting your eyes as he passes. You see a spark of curiosity in his eye but it quickly dies. You’re not that interesting, especially at first glance. You rely on that. 

You step onto the elevator, nearly caught in the doors as you do. You turn to watch them walk down the hallway. They have no idea, you're just another faceless New Yorker. 

📷

It's weird, you think. Anyone else would be jealous to see the scene. They would crumple at the burning envy in their gut but you feel something much more intense. You're fucking horny. 

Your perch on the roof of the building a block from Steve's is bitter and blustery. You have the scope set up, cell phone in the holder, to align the lens. The red dot flashes to show that it's recording. 

You adjust the angle and zoom in on the screen. The set-up is simple enough once it's set up, if the app isn't a bit tedious. You take another drink from your thermos and huddle beneath your hoodie. 

You wish you could hear it. The slapping of flesh, the groans in his constricted throat, even the woman's airy breaths as she grips the back of the couch, teeth bared as Steve ruts from behind. America's golden boy getting his kicks from some bimbo he met down at the bar. Again. 

You want to be in her place. Or even just a bit closer. If it was you, it’d be a lot less predictable. He’ll finish, slap her ass, and send her off.  

You yawn as he grabs onto her shoulders, pulling her back gruffly as he rams into her hard. The aggression is what surprises. Steve Rogers is all smiles and sweet words for the cameras he knows are there, but behind closed doors, he’s brutal. The woman’s face contorts as the pain wracks her body.  

She doesn’t stop, lets him use her. Just like you would. If you even had a chance in hell, you’d lick his cum off the shield. Fuck, if he wasn’t obsessed with those barbie dolls, he might actually try something new. 

You don't hate her, don't feel an ounce of anger. She's doing you a favour, putting on a show just for you. An image you’ll never forget, that you’ll cherish on lonely nights. 

You shiver as heat nestles in your core. Your hand falls to your jeans, lingering just beneath your heavy parka. It’s too cold to do that now. You retract your arm and sigh. When you get home you’ll have to rewatch it with your favourite toy. 

Before your mind wanders too far, there’s a metal click and the loud clang of the bar across the other side of the door. Shit. You quickly grab your phone and collapse the tripod. You take down the lens and shove it all into the duffel, twisting the lid of your thermos tight and tossing it in before scooping up the unzipped bag. 

Footsteps scuff across the concrete roof as you scurry behind one of the wide chimneys and lean against the cinder block. You hold your breath as a man calls out, “hello?” he paces around, “someone out here?” 

Fuck! You put your head back. You won’t be coming back here again. It took you weeks to find the place and get the right angle, a good distance to keep from alerting Steve but not too far either. 

A flashlight casts a yellow light back and forth but doesn’t come close to you as you stay still. The man grunts and grumbles as his soles pad away and the door slams heavily. You wonder what gave you away. You disarmed the alarm on the door before you came up and no one passed you on the stairs. 

Maybe just a regular sweep by the building. You shrug and check the bag before zipping it up. You wait ten more minutes before going to the door and picking the lock. You assure yourself as you descend, you got more than enough to tide you over at least a couple weeks. 

📷

The cafe is busy enough to compound your insignificance. You’re hard to notice on a good day. A hoodie, jeans, just another body in the overcrowded city. You sit with a bottle of water and cookie you won’t eat, pretending to read as others are more obvious in their observation. 

Steve Rogers sits by the window, as if he wants to be seen, chatting over a steaming mug with the stalwart Bucky Barnes. Their conversation seems to frustrate the latter as several patrons interrupt them, asking for a picture or autograph to accompany their lattes and creamy frappucinos. As Steve acquiesces, Bucky leans back and crosses his arms, scowling as he refuses to engage. 

You grin. You kind of get the dude. You hate people, hate the city and the pedants looking for their fifteen minutes or living the delusion that their New York adventure is destined for greatness. You glance back at the page but your eyes don’t focus on the words. 

It’s why you can’t be with Steve. Why you don’t want to be. You just want to watch. You don’t like being noticed. Hate the idea of being watched. You’re not a part of the show, you like being just another faceless figure in the audience. 

Your eyes flick back up. Steve is back to leaning over his cup, an Americano, how fitting. His large hand punctuates whatever point he’s making as you admire the vein in his neck, just above his collar. 

You’re startled as Bucky rests his chin in his hand and you meet his gaze. You don’t react and hide behind the book again. Maybe a bit too obvious. 

You pretend to read for a few minutes then reach for your phone, checking the time. You should leave first. You close the book without marking the page and take your water and cookie and put it in your bag, the patched messenger showing its years. 

It rests against your hip as you stroll out, ignoring the super soldiers until you’re outside. You peek back as you pass the window and Bucky squints at you. What the fuck is his problem? You tuck your head down and continue down the sidewalk. You’ll have to be careful about him. 

📷

You close your journal and tuck it under your mattress. The bed takes up much of your bachelor apartment. You don’t mind the lack of space, it’s just you. It’s preferable to your previous roommates who assured you cohabitation is little more than a form of torture. 

You climb off the twin mattress and stretch as you go to the corner which constitutes your kitchen; a microwave above a compact stove, a fridge that looks straight out of the 60s, and a foot long countertop under a single cupboard. Not much but you often forget to eat as your mind overshadows any physical needs. 

You tear open a package of ramen and add water, shoving it in the nuke as you turn to lean against the counter. Your tall dresser holds most of your possessions, clothes, the pictures, your equipment, and a few toys. Nothing special, just like you. 

The microwave beeps and you put the bowl on the counter. You grab your phone and return, eating at the kitchenette as you slouch to keep from dribbling. You scroll through your phone, several alerts for Steve Rogers in the news. 

‘Cap’s UN Mission: Can he restore America’s repute on the international stage?’ You browse the article and a smile slowly forms as you forget your food and stand, lifting the phone as you search for more.  

The media really is dangerous, you muse. There are exact dates for the conference and Cap’s appearances. That means his place will be empty. It means you’ll be living it up, at least for a few days. 

📷

It’s been more than a month since your first visit to Steve’s apartment. Nothing’s changed and you feel a little less restless there. You know he won’t be back anytime soon so there’s no rush to do much more than bask in the remnants of his presence. 

You can still smell him on the bed sheets and his dirty clothes are still in the hamper. You sort through them, feeling them, sniffing a few shirts. You push the basket back into the corner and search the drawers of his nightstand. Lube, some porn magazines, relics really, and some random odds and ends.  

You go out to the front room and lay on the couch, flicking on the television. The Smithsonian channel. Predictable. You leave it there and watch the hour-long program on clockmaking. Riveting. 

You don’t pay much attention as you stare at the ceiling and think about him. It was that couch where he fucked her. On her knees, clinging to the back as he let loose his strength, not a care for her. You haven’t seen her since. She must’ve expected something different; maybe to be doted on. Pathetic. 

Your hand wanders along the edge of the cushion. Your fingertips brush fabric in the crease of the cushions and you sit up as you pull out the lacy thong. You hold it up and stand, looking down as you hang them against your jeans as if you were wearing them. For him. 

You scoff and bunch them up, tossing them behind the couch. Yeah right. You’re not some leggy blonde, you’re just you. You’d look stupid in something like that. 

Men always looked past you, through you. It’s why you didn’t bother. High school was a farce; shoved into lockers or chased out of school dances. And college, just an extension of the crushing social norms and ridiculous expectations.  

You kissed one guy in your sophomore year but he was worse off than you. You never saw him again after he came in pants just from having your tongue on his. Why would you want some dweeb like that? You’d rather settle for being alone than some freak. 

You sigh as you cross your arms and flop back on the couch. You think too much. This is supposed to be fun, so why does it make you feel so… alone? 

Reality splinters as your heart lurches. Shit. You hear a key in the lock and the sharp turn of the mechanism. Shit! You stand and panic as the door opens, too stunned to react as you trip over the leg of the chair as you try to hide too late. You hit your knees and look up at the figure in the entryway. 

“What the fuck?” the deep voice cuts through you. “Who the fuck are you?” 

Bucky comes into the room and stops short. He tilts his head as you stand, putting your palms out defensively, “look, I was just leav–” 

He’s barreling towards you and you stumble back frantically. He grabs the front of your hoodie and takes you off your feet as he shakes you, like a rat in the gutter. You grasp his thick wrists as you gape at him, speechless. 

“I know you,” he says as recognition wrinkles in his forehead, “I knew you were up to something.” 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say. 

“Me? I’m watering the plants,” he spits, “what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Please, I swear, I wasn’t going to do anything–” 

“Shut up!” he snaps and shoves you into the leather chair, looming over you as he clenches the front of your sweater. 

“Let me go and I’ll never come back,” you beg and round your eyes and make your voice higher, just like you’ve seen other women do. You always looked younger than your age. “Please–” 

He scoffs and shakes his head, “I said, shut up.” 

His tone keeps any further plea muted. He glares at you, nostrils flaring as his thoughts swirl in his deep blue irises. He unfurls his fingers and draws his hands away rigidly as he stands straight. 

“Don’t fucking move,” he warns as he combs his fingers through his hair. He watches you for a moment before he looks around and grumbles under his breath, “don’t have the fucking time for this.” 

[simpjaes]

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏❤︎ SIMPJAES WRITING TIPS ͏❤︎

hello! I realize how often I get asked to provide tips for new writers and here I am making a full post for it so that way I can always have something to refer people to! So, here's my personal tips with writing. they might not work for everyone, but these are all things I do or have done when starting out.

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏❤︎ ACCESSIBILITY.

• something I always do, and literally beg other people to do: please put works over 1k under a read more bar. not just for the ease of scrolling for others, but because when you don't you end up forcing anyone and everyone to scroll your work. this is not being mindful as there are minors who may run across your fics and you should not be allowing it to be that available for them to witness. better yet, force them to scroll through it. • see the gradient text titling this post? this is cute, it's fun, pretty to look at, but keep in mind not everyone uses light mode like i do, they may not be able to see the darker parts of my text because of this. same goes the other way around. maintain visibility if you're trying to make your fics legible. not everyone has the best eyesight either, keep that in mind when making your posts and trying to make them pretty. • tag. your. fics. properly. in. the. content. section. of. your. work. do not censor your trigger words, be blatant and honest about what you are posting so that people do not find themselves shocked or upset if you happen to write darker fics. • also tag your fics properly within the tag area of your post. do not tag every member on your post if they aren't in the fic. it will more often than not annoy people rather than get them to read your work. additionally: i wouldn't tag hard hours under the smut tags unless it's actually relating to smut or is long enough to be considered a drabble. Otherwise, tag it under the hard hours tag for your fandom, not the common fic tags. • no, you don't need a banner or "cover" for your fic though I will say that it helps tremendously to include a visual alongside it. many gif makers here do not want their work involved with smut though, so be sure to make your own banners or gifs and do not use someone else's images without their permission.

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏❤︎ IDEAS & OUTLINING

• How do you come up with new ideas? typically, for me at least, ideas come naturally or when I get some sort of inspiration and build off of it. Many times, inspiration comes from a lyric or a scene in a movie. Other times, it can come from something as cringy as a dream, or a funny conversation with friends. You can even base your fics off of your real life, just be careful with that if you're sharing them publicly, as with anything personal, it's not always fun to share with everyone. • how do you start to flesh out an idea? I have different methods but my first tip is to keep your notes app open on your phone and write down literally any and every idea possible. whether it's for a new fic idea, or one you're already working on. Often times just a few words is enough to remember your state of mind at the time and inspire you all over again when you get to it. fleshing it out is different. my primary way of doing this goes in this exact order: ➤͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏write a few paragraphs that would sum up the entire fic in a document. from start to finish, summarize it however you need to. it does NOT need to be perfect.➤͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏give it a title and a make a banner. ➤͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏i always write the fic synopsis at this point, it helps me stay on track and stick to the plot. if I go off track anyway, I just change the synopsis lmfao. ➤͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏take your previous paragraph of ideas and one sentence at a time, start outlining each portion.

ex paragraph: jake is always alone, and it's driving him mad. so mad that he seeks the company of a familiar face that would never, ever, expect to see him again. Strangely enough, your curiosity upon your ex best friend's ex boyfriend contacting you drives you to places you never thought you'd go (his house.)

➤͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏now ask yourself questions: why is jake alone? why is he going mad? what makes him seek company? why does he choose you? how does he contact you? what happens after he contacts you? what is the point of view? how do you as the reader feel when he contacts you? where does this lead?

all of that is the very start of an outline. from there you can start fleshing out scenes vs. filler in as much or as little detail as you like.

example of outline: ① ➤͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏scene of jake alone in his room wallowing in his thoughts. angst angst angst filler. talk about his dynamic with his ex girlfriend and why he's so lonely at this point. move forward to his relationship with reader and explain why she's on his mind too. ② ➤͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ jake texting you, blah blah blah, you give him the run around but he seems really desperate. not for like...sex or anything, he genuinely just seems lonely. you're curious despite, you know, being well aware that if your ex bestie found out, she'd beat the fuck out of you. cute flirting for like a few weeks via text. ③ ➤͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏three weeks pass, you and jake are kinda flirty via text but it always ends abruptly. he's....very sad, like a lost puppy. you might sort of have some sort of crush. explain reader's point of view, her dynamic with jake before vs. now. she ends up texting him after he dips on his previous flirting again, being blatant and forward with him about it. "why do you keep flirting then acting like im weird when i flirt back?" etc etc etc, you get the point. I'm not seriously going to sit here and flesh out an entire outline i made up just now and don't intend to ever write, sorry KJFHDSKJ

• Do i need an outline? hell no you don't. sometimes it's better to just take your initial idea and run with it. my best advice here is to do a first draft. free write, as in: write without fixing anything, go wherever your mind takes you, then when you're done for the day just leave it be and come back with fresh eyes. if you like where it's going, keep going. if you don't, boom, second draft.

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏❤︎ WRITING PROCESS

• don't be hard on yourself. no one is looking at your fic but you right now. try any and all ideas, shift scenes around, change whatever you want. it doesn't matter if it's not what you promised. you are the writer. • you may notice that i rarely proof read my works, you can search for a beta/editor if you'd like. just make sure they know the time frame you'd like for your fic to be posted and set some boundaries so they don't end up insulting your work. for instance, in the past, i only allow editors to fix typos, sentence flow, and grammatical errors. i do not ever allow them to comment on plot changes, character changes, etc. • don't want an editor but also don't want your fic to be full of typos? the best I can offer is: every time you finish writing for the day/night and pick up on another day...re-read everything you previously wrote. not only does this help get you into the right mindset, you can catch typos and errors along the way. • not every fic needs research, sorry. If you're writing a smut fic and you intend to focus on smut, just let people know you may have incorrect information regarding whatever. for instance: i like religion kink because i hate religion. because I hate religion, i do not do research on it and use the knowledge i know and what i grew up with. I make that loud and clear to everyone. It's kind of bitchy and lazy though, not gonna lie. but again, if it's smut, people are there for the porn anyway, and not the ins and out of the career one of your characters has.

• TALK TO YOURSELF. Speak the dialogue out loud, yes, even the dirty talk. This is the best way to determine if something sounds awkward.

• this is more of a me thing but, avoid using "y/n" in dialogue. more often than not, this is where it gets very very cringe. In reality, you do not need "y/n" as an indicator that your name is being said or called. You can change that part from dialogue to "He/she/they call(s) your name." or "You hear your name in a broken voice as you swiftly turn, only to find no one there."

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏❤︎ MOTIVATION

• Motivation is hard and not every method works for me. Meaning, it probably won't work for everyone else either. What I do is: i write fics in my head before going to sleep. I listen to songs that remind me of the fic. I re-read feedback from previous fics. If you've not written one yet, the best move here is to discuss it with a trusted friend.

• do not allow numbers, notes, likes, anonymous messages, or any form of "popularity" force you to write something you're not in the mood to write. sometimes we just need a break, and it's okay to break promises. people want fics you loved writing, not the ones you suffered for to get through.

• IGNORE ENTITLEMENT. This will kill your motivation more than anything else imo, and it will fucking destroy your confidence.

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏❤︎ HATE ON TUMBLR DOT COM

• first and foremost, block and ignore any and every hateful or entitled anonymous (or not) person in your inbox. I'm not joking, if you respond to them, you will have your friends defending you but at the end of the day, it does nothing but generate negativity and pity. I answer my hate from time to time too, but at the end of the day, it's more like a slap in the face to the hateful anons when you ignore them and continue to be happy. do not let them feel like they have power over your emotions or mood, even if they do. do NOT let them dictate what you want to write and do not be a people pleaser. you are doing enough already by making attempts to write. you don't owe anyone anything.

• relating to the last point, eventually you just grow numb to it. the bigger your blog grows, the more people will hate you for one reason or another. stay kind, try not to let it make you a miserable bitch like I was at one point. focus on the plethora of love you can and will receive.

• don't resent or send anons to other writers either. so what if their fic did more numbers? so what if they didn't follow you? so what? so what? being a writer on this site has a lot of down sides to it, and the writing community + all the shit that comes with it can really be exhausting. My best advice to you is to remember that this is tumblr. nothing more, nothing less. it's not the end of the world if someone dislikes you, and it's not the end of someone else's world if you dislike them. feeding into that energy ruins the entire environment for everyone.

That's all I have for now! Feel free to ask anything else, i'll do my best to answer and add it here! I am open to giving advice on designing and editing your banners btw, i'm not some bitch ass gatekeeper. i will go into more depth with all of this too, such as "how do i write a good synopsis?", "how do you know when your fic is finished?", or "how do i start the fic in a way that's interesting?" etc etc etc

[queeringdiedreiausrufezeichen]

I would like to talk about some of your tags @lichtecht . I hope you don’t mind.

#cause yes we do need girl detective stories and yes we do need „girls doing boys stuff and boys doing girls stuff" #(as binary as that's worded, i'd say we just need kids of all genders doing stuff outside of the binary ideas of gender) #but the thing is. that's not happening in d3a. #d3a is not „girls doing boys stuff" it's „girls doing girls stuff" and very overtly so !!!

So this part. Generally I agree. D3A is “girls doing girls stuff”. When I read the comment from spezialgelagerte-rokokokokotte for the first time I interpreted it to be about the whole talking point about “girl version of D3F” and not specifically about wether or not D3A is “girls doing boys stuff”. A lot of the times when people bring up the argument “girl version of D3F” against D3A they haven’t even engage with it before.

#(obvsly d3f has been around longer but i also feel like da is considered a strictly girls thing while d3f is enjoyed by people of all gend #rs)

This is actually something I’ve been thinking of discussing for a while now. Maybe eventually I’ll have the post finished.

Disclaimer: There will be some generalisations obviously not relatable for everyone and just based on personal observations.

The reason that “D3F is enjoyed by people of all genders” is actually more because it has cult status rather than because it’s the intended audience. Also a lot of the times things marketed for boys are things girls are allowed to enjoy to a certain extent. The same thing actually applies to things marketed towards girls. The lines are just very different and ! highly ! depended on the surroundings. With D3F being enjoyed by all genders it’s the “we are all adults enjoying children’s audio dramas because they are cult classics” rather than the “D3F is intentionally made for all genders”. It is sadly not. Not anymore than D3A in my opinion. Like I mentioned in an earlier reblog. The gendered elements are present in D3F just like they are in D3A.

Now if we are talking about little kids enjoying D3F. There is absolutely a “tomboyish” cliche attached to it, if you like D3F and are a girl. Children and young teens which both stories are aimed at absolutely have a “ew that’s boy stuff, why do you like it if you are a girl” and the reverse.

So sure “D3F is considered to be for everyone”. But is that actually because it is? Or because there is a tendency to grow out of the “boy stuff vs. girl stuff” attitude. Is “D3A a strictly girls thing” or is there a tendency to punish boys who are this close to “femininity”?

(I think it goes without saying, that both D3F and D3A should be enjoyable for all genders.)

The point I’m trying to make is: D3F is actually not more or less inclusive to its audience. They have a heavy “for boys” marketing that works on the children it is supposed to work on and the parents trying to buy something for their children. And D3A has the same heavy “for girls” marketing.

(I don’t want to go off on a tangent so I put it here: Certain things that are “masculine” being allowed for girls to enjoy are actually highly dependent on the context. And the same applies to “feminine” things being allowed for boys to enjoy.)

#i disagree with the part that separate girls and boys things existing is NOT inherently bad #yes it's a symptom of a larger culture of sexism but that doesn't mean it's not bad like what

I wrote like multiple different ways to explain my thoughts. I can’t tell which one is the most cohesive so I’ll just let them all be there and hopefully, it will make a bit of sense.

-

I think there has been a misunderstanding of what I’m trying to say with: ‘But that doesn’t mean gendered things and making “girls and boys” version of things is inherently bad, because it’s so much more nuanced than that’

Might have been my wording or something else.

When I said that I was thinking of “group of girls” and “group of boys” rather than, gendered “girls version” and gendered “boys version”. Like a boy version because it’s a group of boys and a girls version because it’s a group of girls. Not because they adhere to gendered stereotypes.

When I said boy and girl version I didn’t mean “boys version only for boys”. Or “girls version only for girls”.

-

I think I was a bit lost in the utopian “gender roles aren’t tools of oppression ingrained in the patriarchy and you can just have fun”, when I said that. I am still very much of the opinion that it is more nuanced than just the “having a boy and girl version is bad” as a sole statement. It’s a “having a boys and girls version is a problem, because…”. Again. It’s a symptom, not the core.

Girls and boys version here meaning: specific gendered marketing, behaviour, storylines etc.

It’s not good in the same way that “dolls are for girls” and “trucks are for boys” is not good. Not because there is something wrong with girls liking dolls or boys enjoying playing with trucks. Not because the thing itself is bad is what I’m trying to say. The “forbidding of other genders to enjoy it” with the statement. The act itself is neutral. A girl liking dolls, removed from social pressure is neutral. A boy liking playing with trucks, removed from social pressure is neutral.

I hope I brought across what I mean. I am not saying there isn’t a problem with it. But it’s situated at a different place.

My main point is actually that it’s more complicated, because the statement is to simplistic. I don’t think the statement can be made like this, because there is so much more behind it, which prevents me from such a simplified statement. Hence why I wrote: “because it’s so much more nuanced than that”.

(I also will say that I don’t like the word “bad” in general. And don’t find it a useful descriptor in the discussion. I originally brought it up in my wording, but I actually don’t like it looking back.)

I also want to clarify the statement:

There is a lot of analysis that I don’t/can’t get into right now and in a reblog of this post, because I want to do proper analysis that I don’t have the energy for right now, but that is definitely something I’ve been meaning to discuss on this blog. Sooner or later. So I hope this is enough.

I need people to be normal about “Die drei Ausrufezeichen“. And what I mean by that is I need people to stop comparing them to “Die drei Fragezeichen” in order to dunk on them. I need people to not make mean comments when they see content of it. I need people to stop complaining about it existing as a piece of media. No one is forcing you to engage with it. No one is forcing you to read, listen or watch it. Okay?

Can you dislike it and critique it? Sure what ever. But please just don’t engage with it if all you are gonna do is talk about how annoying, awful or useless it is. (<- and if you so desperately want to do that. At least do it with style. Aka pull up all the specific instances that bother you and make you think it’s annoying/awful/useless. And if all you can come up with “girl version of Justus, Peter and Bob”… I don’t think you have a good starting point.)

Is there lots of important criticisms to be made about the content and the existence of the series in the first place and also necessity of it existing? Yes! For sure!

But some random person complaining about “no one wants this annoying/boring copy” in the comment sections of promotion for the show isn’t going to bring that type of discussion. And I’m so tired of seeing it. Like please stop. Lots of these people are full on adults and I’m just like so annoyed and tired that nearly every time I go into the comment section of a post promoting the show there is at least one comment saying something along the lines of: “This is bad. Why would anyone want this?” (Only times I don’t see that in promotional posts if it’s the post is by someone of the crew who worked on the show and the likelihood of the post to reach a broader audience is nearly 0 unless you are actively searching for it.)

[anistarrose]

feel like my headcanons for gender-nonconformity amongst Tres Horny Boys often fall just a little to the left of usual fanon — by which I mean, I see Taako as androgynous more so than feminine, and see Magnus as the one who's feminine, but in ways that he mix-and-matches with masculine elements too. and of course, the distinction between any of these things is a social construct, and is probably best thought of as revolving around individual intent — but that's how I like to conceptualize them conceptualizing it, you know?

this is probably better explained by example. to me, the typical Taako outfit is going to be something like those long flowy pants that are indistinguishable from a skirt at a distance, but with occasional real skirts in the rotation too (just to keep them guessing). while the average Magnus outfit involves multiple earrings (the dangliest ones that wouldn't be a hazard in a fight), pink nail polish, and a pair of cargo shorts. pure chaos that only he could make work. then in the meantime, Merle has never in his life even seriously contemplated gender presentation at all — if he puts flowers in his beard, that's 'cause it brings him closer to Pan and he happens to think these colors look nice! no reflection given and no reflection needed on any cultural concepts of masculinity, and whether or not he aligns with them.

[sacchiri]

Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.

Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen

A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death

[hotvintagepoll]

Oh no I missed coffee night!!!!

I wanted to ask you about Hitchcock 😔 If you're willing to answer, which movies of his do you think are overrated and which do you think are actually good? He's my most watched director (because film school) but I only genuinely like a few of his films and always disagreed with my classmates about which ones were the best

I feel like I'm holding up a Daffy Duck style sign that says "shoot me" because Hitchcock is so well thought of by cinephiles versus me, the basic horny mod who watches movies with hot people in them. With that said, I remember Rope, Dial M for Murder, North by Northwest, and To Catch a Thief all left me a bit flat, because I felt like he was prioritizing pushing technical limits or creating extravagant images over deeper characters and relationships. I love a good technical limit-pushing, but it needs to serve the story! And sometimes I feel like he has an idea he wants to try or an image he wants to show and puts so much focus on developing it that characters' reality and interest kind of falls by the wayside—they become pawns navigating his situations, instead of interesting characters in their own right.

To be fair, this is more a characteristic of his later work than his early work—The Lady Vanishes is one of my favorite movies, and I remember Notorious and Spellbound both being enjoyable when I watched them a few years ago. Again, basic film watcher here. Don't show this post to the Criterion collection.

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

More:

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

[seaweedstarshine]

Sometimes I think of Amy Pond, who grew up being called mad by those who wielded the word as a tool of exclusion and shame —

Amy Pond, who though forced into the hands of four psychiatrists, still clung to that which they called madness until those systems which elevate psychosocial conformity above humanity stripped it from her —

Amy Pond, whose imaginary friend reappeared for a single hour after twelve years and reignited that faith before disappearing for two more years —

Amy Pond, who spent those those two years under the same implicit threat ingrained in her through psychiatric violence, and thus began to believe the man who stopped the invasion was “just a madman with a box,” only for him to agree, and to also call her “mad, impossible Amy Pond,” reframing madness as non-negative for the first time in her life —

Amy Pond, who ignored the disembodied voice of her imaginary friend even as she ran away with him for real, who still lived each day with the traumatic internalization of deviancy dictated upon her by the psychiatric-industrial complex that shaped her from childhood —

Amy Pond, who wouldn't acknowledge the Doctor's voice, such that it took an Angel in her eye that was literally killing her to ensure she couldn't reality check herself —

Amy Pond, who stood before a room which muttered about “the psychiatrists we brought her to,” and though afraid, escaped their rigid parameters of acceptable existence.

[cosmicpines]

I'm not done listening to the Alex Hirsch interviews but god it just reminds me both of how much I miss this show and how much I appreciate the love and care that went into it. I love listening to him talk about the characters with a frankness and care that shows how much he values them being three dimensional beings.

[blackvahana]

i am really never going to understand why people post "shifting antis dni" in the astral projection tag. "here practice that constantly gets appropriated by us and used as a weird justification for a new set of beliefs that aren't really based in the same reality you work with, and that also gets completely misunderstood by our community because we don't care to understand what you do and just pretend we know it's what we do like christians saying other religions worship the christian god, have a post! Also dni if you don't like our practice that has nothing to do with the one whose tag we just shoved this into"

if you're not astral projecting don't put shit in the ap tag. if you don't even know the difference between AP and RS I dont think your opinion holds enough weight to counter the pushback against flooding a separate practice's tag with "if you dont like the practice I'm talking about in your tags dni"

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

people can use this site however they want but there's something almost- idk, sad? about how few people are actually using their blogs. you can turn themes on and have skeletons dancing in the background. you can make everything hot pink. your blog is your scrapbook and you can put whatever you want in there. tags are okay at organizing things so you can have just a whole archive of cool shit to look at later. i know people complain a lot about people liking stuff about reblogging for engagement, and on one hand i get that- it is WILD to see a drawing i spent hours on get only 12 reblogs and 60 likes. Absolute culture shock compared to my previous fandoms. but i don't think you should reblog anything to make artists happy. i think you should reblog things so you can find them again. i think you should queue things to appear on the dash at specific times on certain days. i think you should reblog things so when you're talking to your friends about xyz post you saw you can look in your blog's archive and find it again. i think you should reblog things so that your dash is filled with one really sleepy cat. with the loss of reblogs there's the loss of engagement, which Does hurt the community-focus that makes tumblr so appealing, but idk i just wish people were more excited about the incredible amount of customization that tumblr allows and took advantage of that more

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Theyre going to think I like canon and purely canon if I keep going on like this

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

While we're here, I just want to add an example of a good response to Harris' video.

In the first half of the video, Harris briefly mentions a creator called Lukeypoo (who now goes by Luke Stephens) who had plagiarised Harris' Bloodborne review, and his response at the time was to deny it, signal to his alt right buddies and insult Harris.

After the video came out, Luke Stephens made a post on his community page regarding it:

For those, who can't see the screenshots, it reads:

A video went up on YouTube last night that showed something I did 6 years ago in early 2017, of which I'm very ashamed. I've talked about it on stream plenty since then and try to be very open about it, but I know a lot of people haven't been watching me since 2017 or have not heard me discuss this before. I don't want to hide from my mistakes or deflect, so very plainly here's what happened:

I was just starting on YouTube and I ripped off a phenomenal video on Bloodborne. It was a fantastic video by hbomberguy and after finding it through a Reddit post I tried to take his 1.5 hour masterpiece and make my own suckier version at around 7 minutes. I copied the premise, jokes, structure, and then pretended like it was all just a coincidence that they were so similar. I was a 19 year old idiot who thought it didn't matter because "he's a bigger creator so it's fine" and "it's just the internet." When I was rightly called out for copying his video I dodged, lied, and even attacked and insulted the appearance of those holding me to account, including hbomberguy himself. I copied someone's video, in parts word-for-word, and I pretended like *I* was the victim and *they* were being unreasonable. Unbelievable. There is no question at all: I was in the wrong, fully.

Let me be very clear: I whole heartedly disown who I was back then and what I did. Politically, religiously, and even morally/ethically I was a person that I hate today. I was an extremist, a bully, a religious zealot, and above all, a prick. This event sparked a spiral in my personal life that I didn't document online, but that has led me to who I am today. Someone who tries very hard to respect my fellow creators, audience, and to uphold a high ethical standard for myself. I strive every day to be a better man for myself, my family and kids, and for the community around me. And that's why I'm writing this, because I don't think we should hide from our mistakes or pretend they didn't happen. I screwed up, big time, and I stole the hard work of an incredibly talented creator and for that I'm incredibly sorry. I was 19, hard headed, and above all arrogant and unwilling to acknowledge I had screwed up. It took a couple years after that before I could openly admit what I had actually done, and that it took that long is all the more shameful.

I don't expect a response or certainly forgiveness, but for what it's worth, I am truly sorry for everything, @hbomberguy

For the last 6 years I've been working my butt off to be someone I can be proud of being and I hope you all can see that the man I am today is not the shameful excuse of a person I was back then.

I've never watched a video or stream by Luke Stephens so I can't attest as to his content, but this is one of the best responses I've seen to any kind of accusation, and so I lean towards believing him to be a better man than he was six years.

I thinks it's important to highlight the good response/s to Harris' video, to remind ourselves that plagiarism is not such an immoral action that from which you can't redeem yourself (though in Somerton's case, I'm less sure of that) if you take accountability for your actions, and to remember that in most cases, we should give people space to grow and become better.

The swiftness and brutality of Hbomberguy’s complete evisceration of James Somerton’s career cannot be overstated.

[soupis4ever]

updated oc "family tree" because the last one sucked majorly and did not specify what the hell any of those creatures were. also now we have god lore. and a very long tag rant apparently

[theladygazingatemptiness]

me @ me: hoe don't kill this fish tryna be Mother Ocean