#sharon forester

[authorsharonforester]

Sticking To A Writing Routine

​Welcome. Today, I will show you how hard it is to stay on track with writing and the ways to overcome it. Here at home, I will currently express that I haven't written in a long time. 

The trouble with that is that I really want to, and despite that, I am not writing. I have a hard time sticking to writing a little bit every day because I am worried about how I will finish my work and the work it takes to do my writing and then edit it.

People have different reasons why they procrastinate writing. For all of us, it doesn't mean we enjoy writing. We are just afraid of failure in some way. For example, for me it is the process of editing and how much work it is going to take. My brain tells me that I will never finish the editing process because it takes so much time. I want to do things that will take very little time.

The story I am working on is about an alien that joins his people's plans on wanting to invade planet Earth, but the alien doesn't want to partake in this mission, and meanwhile on Earth, a girl and her friend are desperate to meet a live alien. This is a novel that took me three years to write when I was a little girl. I have written the entire thing on paper and now I need to type it on the computer.

It is important to keep yourself accountable for getting the work done. I am on camera because I want to show you that it is possible to come and stay on track in the writing process if you really let yourself do this. There are different ways to hold you accountable. You just gotta pick the types that work for you because everyone is different.

-Make a schedule and stick to it -Make a goal and stick to it -Make a checklist and work on it for a duration of time -Make a sign in, sign out sheet -Set a goal for the day -Get someone else to keep you accountable -Dedicate a day for your tasks

What works for every single person is different, so it is important you find what works for you, whether it is something from this list or something you come up with on your own. What works for me is this (when I am disciplined): Setting a goal and using a day to accomplish it. ​ Let me tell you how I found this. I was roaming through YouTube one day when I found an interview with Stephen King on there. I clicked on it because the title said he was talking about how he was making books so fast. He went into the conversation to mention that he sets the goal of writing SIX PAGES a day and then having the entire day to accomplish this. He also mentions that when he is being overcome with obstacles in writing, then he will use that time to take breaks, and what he does in those breaks is either eat a meal, shop at the door for things he needs or do a chore. He uses his breaks to do something he needs to get some practice in his personal life instead of being distracted by the phone and TV, which is really important to getting anything done. It is like being at school at home. Sometimes it makes it easier to think of it as an assignment he needs to get done. All these little things work as a motivator for him while he is working. Then he will start over the next day until he reaches his day(s) off.

This was inspiring to me because everyone else always came up with ideas that didn't work for me, such as the list above. For me, working under a time limit didn't work because I didn't know what to expect to come in randomly in my life. Others are able to work under pressure… It all depends on who you are and that you pick what works for you. As long as you pick something that is realistic to you, then you are on your way.

The last thing that you need to remember is that you need to start with small goals and just write! before you set yourself up with bigger goals and worry about editing, or else you will never get anything done because you are overwhelming yourself. We will overthink everything and then end up messing up our own stories.

[lifewithoxox]

[fornpt1]

[zmediaoutlet]

this land is your land

for @wincestwednesdays - americana

"Relax," Sam says, and Dean says back immediately "You relax," but that doesn't work because Sam, damn him, is so relaxed Dean's surprised he's still walking upright and not a puddle of dissolved bones, somewhere a few miles back on the sun-baked road. Where the car's sitting, steaming, the engine ticking as it cools, alone--

"You know what's wrong?" Sam says, and Dean gives him a look, and Sam says, "You know how to fix it?" and Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam says, "So what are you gonna do about it between here and that co-op in town?" and Dean says, "You know, this is how you talked when you didn't have a soul," and Sam laughs kinda soft, hitching his backpack higher.

Hot, humid, but not horrible. The fields growing up with something green. Maybe future wheat. Dean's not a farmer. The kind of summer day where you want to lay in thick grass and drink about twelve ice-cold beers and eat watermelon, or burgers off the grill, or a rainbow snowcone just dripping with every color, like remember, that time --

"Fairfield County Fair," Sam says, grinning. He drags his hair back from his forehead. Their jackets tied around their waists and Sam's sleeves rolled up to his elbows; if it gets much hotter out here he might strip that layer too and then, hey, free show. "Yeah. That was good. Other than the ghost."

"Ghost was easy," Dean says, "as was Miss Mindy the concessions girl. You remember, right? All that funnel cake?"

"I think I puked it all over the tilt-a-whirl," Sam says, dry, and Dean grins back at him so Sam rolls his eyes, but -- he remembers, and that's what matters to Dean now. When he's got this brother, stitched back together, remembering the snowcone and the tilt-a-whirl and also what it means, that they're walking side by side through this yellow afternoon, sweating their balls off.

A barn, past the next field of maybe-wheat. White-painted metal that's peeling bad as they get closer, but it's got a heavy fall of shadow in the driven-over silty dust and abandoned crates that don't collapse when Dean plants his ass on one, so it's good enough for now. "Could go for a snowcone," he says, and Sam snorts somewhere past his closed eyes and there's a thunk of his bag hitting the dirt and then scuffing away, through the silt, and Dean watches the world golden through closed lids and imagines. Sam sweating, long, his body moving sure through the shadow and then -- through the barn door, sliding on squeaky rollers -- and then into somewhere Dean can barely hear him except whatever he imagines might echo through the wall, but it's okay because he'll come back. He's promised that, now. Dean turns his head against the side of the barn anyway, his ear against the warm metal, in case there's some echo. Long night and a long day and a long night ahead and maybe it's lame but he's old now, or feels it, and he's tired. He'll take even an echo.

In the barn: dusty John Deeres, and tools Sam doesn't bother to describe, and a case of too-warm water of dubious age in cheap plastic bottles. "Thief," Dean says, but just to say it, and Sam shrugs and says, "Trespassing, too," but he cracks a bottle and hands it to Dean and Dean dumps it over his head, just to get off some of the sweat and dust. Long walk. Sam says dude and Dean says, "Bite me," but when he slicks his hand back over his head Sam ends up smiling at him, after all, and hands him another bottle to actually drink, and then -- bends at the waist and dumps water over the back of his own head, slicking his hair to black in the shade, dripping down and turning the dust to mud. Stripped down to his t-shirt after all and the water sopping the grey to dark. "See, I'm a genius," Dean says, and Sam scratches through his hair and groans like he does on other midnights and says, "Don't get ahead of yourself," but when he sits down next to Dean his hair's curling wet against his neck and he looks as relaxed as Dean's seen him in -- god, how long? Years anyway. Like Dean would see him sometimes in dreams, during that year that's pressed too close up against his back teeth, and he'd wake up on those mornings with his heart full in his chest and with a good mood, almost, that lasted until he opened his eyes and remembered what bed he was in and the mood pierced like a water balloon that hadn't popped right. Draining out slow until he was left pointless and limp.

Sun finally heading toward setting. Over the fields the air's golden, thick in that way of summer. Sky exactly the shade of a cherry '67 Mustang. Acapulco Blue. Sam's bootheels stretch out to full-length in the silt, past the mud-mess he made, and there's his legs long in denim. Dust on the hems. Dean leans forward, elbows on his knees, taking in one of those long deep breaths that when he blows it out feels like he's expelling air from decades ago. Lungs one hundred percent empty.

Big hand on the back of his neck. He closes his eyes. Sam strokes up over his head where the hair's gone spiky-wet and then smooths it back down, his thumb braced up behind Dean's ear. Heavy and hot.

"Gonna make it back to town tonight?" Sam asks. Like he doesn't know the distance just the same as Dean. Dean shrugs. Sam hums and squeezes Dean's neck, and then Dean opens his eyes and looks from where his head's held down like this to see Sam's heel draw up through the dust, and for his knee to press against Dean's, and then his hand dragging down Dean's back and then back up under his shirt, hot on damp skin, a big square heavy thing. Landing somewhere up between his shoulderblades. Dean wants it on his dick and on the side of his face thumbing his mouth and also just exactly where it is. Sam touching him. Over that last year, what he missed more than anything else. For Sam to touch him and for it to mean what it was supposed to, when Sam touched him.

"We've probably got the worst case of swamp ass this side of the Mississippi," Dean says.

"You remember that time in Tupelo?" Sam says, and of course Dean does. Of course, every single time, like some dorky glittery journal in his heart, he remembers -- Sam's face over his in Tupelo spattered with mud-and-blood and laughing at how disgusting it was, and doing it anyway; Sam's breath desperate at the back of his neck in Portland, both Maine and Oregon; Sam's fingers lacing with his in Colorado Springs, and Sam pressed chest-to-chest with him in Pittsburgh, and Sam's mouth blurring strange in the drunken dark in too many places to name. Dean remembers.

Sam lifts his hand, stretching Dean's shirt, and Dean feels the air gust up against his sweaty back before he follows it, unbending slowly, and then Sam's whole arm's shoved awkward up against his spine, his fingers and thumb bracketing Dean's neck, and when Dean tips his head back Sam's there to catch him.

"Gonna miss the show tonight," Dean says, slit-eyed. Salt in his eyelashes.

The county such-and-such. Volunteer firefighters put on the show, one of the witnesses told them. Not a big display but big enough to please the kids and the folk who hadn't got too cynical for it. He was kind of looking forward to catching it, just because. When was the last time they'd had a July 4th that wasn't some kind of miserable?

"Maybe," Sam says. His eyes on Dean's mouth. Which is so like the soulless version Dean's heels dig into the ground, some weird no instinct making him want to stand -- but then Sam's eyes flick up to meet Dean's, and he grins lopsided and dorky like Sam always used to, when he was okay enough to grin, and relief washes through Dean like stepping under a waterfall. "Could celebrate right here, though. Right?"

"You think that line actually works on anyone?" Dean says, chest blooming hot, and Sam says, "Guess we'll see," in a way that's frankly smug, and Dean rolls his eyes but he also swivels on his stolen crate-seat and presses his mouth against Sam's and gets salt-sweat and stale bottled water and also the good spit-flavor of his tongue, and so maybe Sam deserves the smug.

Birds calling in the trees by the barn, squawky-loud like they're making commentary. Sam's thigh hard and hot alongside his. At first Sam presses against him too hard and Dean grunts, and then Sam lays his other hand soft against Dean's cheek and kisses him sweet, instead, and then grips Dean's neck and kisses him just -- right, Goldilocks finding the right level of comfort. Dean lays his hand on Sam's chest and feels his heart go right out of himself, like a roman candle.

[girlprayers222]

[johnschneiderblog]

Traveling light

It occurs to me that I never followed up on my adventure in cubism - my attempt to squeeze 18 days worth of clothing/electronics/toiletries, etc., into carry-on luggage, for our recent U.K. trip.

I'm here to tell you it can be done. And my skepticism about the packing cubes Sharon brought home - "How can more be less?" - was unfounded. Not only do they compress your clothing into smaller bundles, they help keep it organized throughout your trip.

One word of advice: If you're going to bring hiking boots, spring for a pair of modern light-weight, low-profile hikers. It's amazing how much valuable space is displaced by a pair of old-school male clodhoppers.

[terracegallery]

Soft Tranquil Landscape

I am a Florida Native, where it’s flat and warm. However, I have friends and relatives who live in the North where they get hills and valleys. I enjoy seeing their pictures and I feel inspired. Nature is so beautiful everywhere if you take the time to look! This piece is a perfect peaceful scene with green hills, trees and a glowing sun. A great addition to any home or office space. A a taste of…

[mmwm]

INDEPENDENCE DAYS #30

[thewomanwhowatchedchristmas]

Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey (2020)

I want to open this review with a disclaimer. I think that this film is absolutely necessary for the representation it gives to people of color. I will not discuss race further than that because I am white, so I don’t have anything to add to that larger conversation here.

The framing of this story is a popular trope of Grandmother (Phylicia Rashad) is telling a story to her grandchildren. I don’t think the framing is necessary here, so I’m not sure why it’s included. But this is also a film that is not intrinsically about Christmas, it just takes place during Christmas. So, maybe that was to make it more Christmas-like?

I do understand why the story starts where it does- with everybody considerably younger. Jeronicus Jangle (Justin Cornwell) and his wife Joanne (Sharon Rose) run a toy shop or boutique or something. What the shop sells is not clear, but they are all his inventions. His apprentice Gustafson (Miles Barrow) and his daughter Jessica (Diaana Babnicova) are also there, both trying to invent things with him. Jeronicus finally invents his “greatest creation,” a sentient matador doll named Don Juan Diego (Ricky Martin). Don Juan doesn’t want to be mass produced though, so he convinces Gustafson to steal him and all the plans, and they start their own toy company. I think it’s toys anyway. Jeronicus is devastated and loses his spark of invention, and when Joanne tragically dies, he sinks into a deep depression, pushing Jessica away.

An indeterminate number of years later, Jessica (Anika Noni Rose) has a 10 year old daughter named Journey (Madalen Mills) who is obsessed with the idea of her grandfather and tricks Jessica into sending Journey to meet him by herself. Sending children long distances to see family you haven’t seen for years is another trope I find very strange. Like it’s convenient for the plot, but how often do people really do this? Journey finds Jeronicus (Forest Whitaker) grouchy and running his pawn shop. A local boy Edison (Kieron Dyer) helps him around the shop, and my personal favorite, Ms. Johnston (Lisa Divina Phillip), the mail lady, shamelessly hits on him as much as possible. Jeronicus is convinced that he has lost the magic of invention, but Journey is determined to help him find it again.

Meanwhile, Don Juan is bullying Gustafson (Keegan-Michael Key) because he has run out of things to produce from the plans they stole years ago. Gustafson tries to use his own invention, but it doesn’t work. Don Juan tells him that Jeronicus has to have something hidden, so Gustafson sneaks around to find something good. Introducing Buddy 3000 (Tobias Poppe)! An interactive robot that only works if you believe he is will! Gustafson steals it, but his buyers don’t believe in him, so the robot won’t work. Journey and Edison steal it back, but Gustafson won’t go down without a fight.

This is a musical, and I was very impressed with the score and the dance numbers in this film. They were the best part of the whole movie (except that the lip syncing in the first song broke my suspension of disbelief for a bit). I also really loved the costuming and hair for this story- the bright colors and unique styles really added to the complexity of the story. Overall, I give it 3.5 stars.

[bi-ss]

~ Ties that bind ~

Bucky x reader- arranged marriage.

Warnings - non, I don't think..

(This is a little bit of part 1, so I made write more I may not, we'll see. I'm also going to give the reader and her parents a positive relationship. idk I think it suits the best

You always knew you were to be married off. Your mother was always transparent with you about that. She always told you that you may not like the man or woman, but love was always hard to find anyway. So one day, when you were 16, you typed up an agreement and gave it to your father about if you were married off, what you wanted, you do have your mother's stubbornness after all.

*knock knock*

"Come in," hearing your father grumble, you push the dark wooden doors which you are a lot heavier than your dad and his men made it seem. You stand in the doorway for a second before your dad gets up from behind his desk. He slowly walked round, motioning for you to come in and close the door. He pulled a comfy seat out a bit before sitting on his desk. You sat out looking up at him, handing him the typed papers in your hands. He looked at the title and gave it back to you.

"Read it to me, Ladybug." You smiled at the nickname he used and has used since you were a baby. "I see your mother as prepared you for this, and I see you listened for once," he joked, knowing you never liked working or school for that matter.

"I don't want to be a housewife, can't think of anything worse," you scoffed at your remark while your dad just laughed, still smiling down at you. "But I would prefer if you read it then get back to me as I told mother I'd help her cook.. it's burrito night!" He slowly nodded at you. Reading aloud wasn't something you liked doing. Taking the papers stapled together, you got up and started walking towards the doors, dreading the embarrassment of trying to open them again, but you didn't have to. Your dad was right behind you, holding it for you like you didn't just use all the strength to pry it just a little.

That's how you life's always been, your mother, a housewife. Your mother was the most beautiful and mature woman to probably ever exist, her long vibrant curly ginger hair, her pale soft skin loaded with freckle, her forest green eyes complemented everything about her even those rosy cheeks and lips. She adored your father as much or even more as he adored her. They do say opposites attract, fitting for your parents as your father, the breadwinner. Your father was a handsome and smart man, with dark chocolate hair which your mother loved putting into pigtails, his skin is covered with tattoos front to back, up and down, his toned and tan skin barely visible, his one good eye a smokie light grey colour, is other eye was sew shut while being littered with scars. Your dad has become more careful and gentle when your mother is pregnant. It wasn't hard to see that his men liked this change to, according to your mother. An example is when the twins joined, Wanda and Pietro maximoff joined, and they were put through uni with help from the family in case they wanted an out, making sure they had a choice. They stayed by the family's side.

Now, 6 years later, you're sitting in your fathers office it hasn't changed a bit, you can't say the same about them, he was sitting on the worn-out leather chair with your mother behind him, their hair turning grey and with smile line proudly on display. You sitting at the side of the desk, not next to your dad and not next to Mrs and Mr Barnes, with their irritated son, James Barnes. The meeting was already off to a bad start when his girlfriend Sharon demanding to attend, but met with your dad saying he didn't have business with her and if that's know they did things, he'll call it off. You listened in on the conversation when your dad wasn't there, and to sum it up, Mr Barnes threatened, saying he'll disown his son and give it all to Rebecca. She's now at the bottom of the stairs being watched secretly by maids, workers, and guards. The elderly guest were very shocked at the fact they didn't even know you were there when they were giving the to toddler a reality check, which made both your parents proud and all 4 laugh about it. Before the definition of cantankerous, egocentric, and many more adjectives, you couldn't ever walk in.

. . . . .To be continued. . . .

[authorsharonforester]

What I Day Dream About When I Write

I daydream about bringing all of my family members to the red carpet to see a movie version of one of my books. I daydream of going to the bookstore and seeing my books on the shelves. Not just any shelf, but their very own shelves. I daydream about people coming up to me, telling me that my work has made a difference in their life, which is what a person would hope it would do.

I had countless times of driving an hour back and forth from towns where my characters show up really big over the horizon and they are talking to me, telling me to not forget them and to finish writing their story. 

When I am actively writing, I think about the scenes my characters are going through vividly. It feels beautiful until it stops and I am back to reality with the computer in front of my face. It gives me a weird feeling of sadness and accomplishment at the same time. I know it is because I wrote a few things, but also because I wish the imaginary world was real.

We can all relate to the feelings of failure we get when things don't go the way we want. We also sit down with a lot of thoughts that have to do with being confused, not knowing how we are going to make our dreams come true, how we should make them true, or overall, what we are even going to do. I write a story that touches upon this exact kind of nonsense. I made it to show the world that we all go through similar feelings. If you find yourself talking to people, in person or online, you'll find out that they think of a lot of the same things the same as you do. And even though you know it, you still don't want to think that everyone goes through the same thing or they simply don't understand, but the fact is that they do. 

I would reveal to you what the story is about and what it is called, but the fact is that one of the common things people have probably talked about is that they are afraid everyone is going to steal their stuff. I am not sure how true that I, but people online say that it doesn't happen as often as people think, but what do they know? They are Internet people. As far as we know, they could be lying. We don't know if sure if they have experience in that area. Then again, that sort of thing could happen to anyone too.

[lifewithoxox]

[buckets-and-trees]

Fandom: MCU Title: The Pool Party Op Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader, Sharon Carter Word Count: 1.2k 

Summary: Post TFATWS. The Power Broker hasn't made any major plays, but finding out who they are is still a priority. Bucky has been working on and off with Sharon to track them down as there are potential leads. This mission has them attending a luxury pool party in The Maldives.

Content Warnings: sexual situations (kissing, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration), strong language Logistical Notes: Filling my twelfth square for Bucky Barnes Bingo @buckybarnesbingo - Y5 "Pool Party" - and Hot Bucky Summer Week 8 - "How did you meet?" undercover mission, high stakes op.

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“You’re sure that–“

“Yes, I’m sure, Bucky,” Sharon cut him off over the comms. “I’ve told you a hundred times. Everyone here lives in the grey area and after everything you were technically responsible for leading with the Thunderbolts team, the status of you as the reformed and squeaky-clean good boy is not a widely held belief anymore.”

“I know you managed to get me on the Power Broker’s guest list, but I still think this is too easy,” Bucky murmured loud enough for Sharon to hear.

“Tell me when you haven’t been able to trust me.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“And if things go sideways and you have to go full Winter Soldier mode on someone, all the better for convincing them you’re back in the Big Bad Business.”

“It just feels weird to know I’ll be strutting around with the arm on full display.”

“So that’s the real problem. It’s a pool party. People will look at your arm, but then your abs are going to steal the show.”

Bucky could feel the immediate flush of heat rushing up his neck, over his ears, and cheeks.

“I’ll get you in. The plan will work. Just be ready to improvise – I only told you half the plan because I knew you would argue with me over the rest of it. I’m going radio silent now so you can’t bitch at me and because that was already part of the plan anyway. Make good choices, Buck. I’ll check in with you in twenty and see you at the extraction point in forty-five.”

Bucky closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a few deep breaths. This was, in fact, not the first time Sharon had gone rogue on a mission, but he did trust the track record they had together. He would never tell her a part of him reveled in the challenge that went with working blind or having to improvise. She didn’t need that kind of encouragement.

And he trusted her, which was more than he could say for most of the people he got assigned to work with or who assigned him to missions these days.

Bucky was always wary of putting operatives who were basically civilians into the field during missions, but he understood that sometimes the objective required it to ensure they achieved their objective.

Sharon had told him that much – that he would be working with a desk agent and providing cover for the mission in addition to actual security and extraction if it came to it. She said she would be talking to his assignment when he arrived, they would make eye contact, and then Sharon would move out so Bucky could move in.

They still didn’t have credible leads on the identity of the Power Broker, but merely being at the party, Sharon was going to mingle and grab facial scans for as many people as she could with the photo-contacts she’d been issued while Bucky assisted with the other key objective.

The Power Broker’s communications were behind an impenetrable wall that the team at the CIA had been unable to hack for over a year, so when they got a tip the Power Broker was hosting a glamorous end of season pool party at their luxury vacation home – or in this case, summer fortress. The play was to bring one of the CIA’s top hackers to a party Sharon was tapping into some of her old Madripoor experience to get them on the list for, and access and bleed whatever information they could from inside the system.

That hacker was you.

He sighed when he saw it was going to be a standard meet-cute play, sneak into the house to find someplace more private, and clearly that place would be the home office. He excused himself from the present company he’d been an idle party to conversation with and moved to the steps out of the pool, grabbed a towel from the rack, and wrapped it around his waist, then grabbed two drinks off a tray one of the servers was circulating around the crowd and approached you.

The plan was good. He didn’t like it at first, but he was sold on it now.

His lips on your neck, his right hand cupping your mound and his left hand palming the delightful weight of your breast in his left hand, grinding his hips against your ass, this plan was perfect.

The soft, broken whimpers escaping your mouth were satisfying, indulging a hunger he didn’t know he’d been suppressing until it was finally unleashed in this moment. Now he didn’t want to stop.

It seemed like you didn’t want him to stop either. 

The person who had come to check on the room and “caught” them was long gone, wouldn’t be coming back any time soon, and if they did they seemed too mortified to do more than check for noises and maybe knock on the door, but Bucky could tell they wouldn’t open the door again, so… he could stop, but there seemed no reason not to carry on.

He pressed hot kisses along the column of your throat from the base up to just below your ear, then paused to ask, “This okay?”

“Yes, yes,” you managed.

“You want–“

“More,” you moaned, putting your left hand over his to encourage him to continue his ministrations there, and clutched at his bicep with the other.

He didn’t need more encouragement than that. Bucky sunk two fingers into your slick cunt, and you rocked up against him. He smiled and licked the shell of your ear.

“Bucky…”

Your tone seemed almost hesitant, so he slowed for a moment. “What is it?”

“I mean more, Bucky,” you said.

“Fuck,” he groaned as you pushed back roughly against his hard cock. “You can have it, doll.”

Your hands reached back to tug his swim trunks down. He took over, pushing them down his thighs, and you hooked your own fingers into your swim bottoms to drag them down, and you leaned forward, resting your forearms against the desk, presenting your pretty pussy for him.

Fuck.

Okay.

He lined up the head of his cock with your slit, then pushed in and gripped your hips. The first full thrust he took slowly, sinking in balls deep. You were such a shy thing, and half of the fun once he’d discovered that had been flustering you, standing too close – because he needed to in order to keep the cover intact, the intentional but not strictly necessary touches, and now to have you decidedly not shy any longer as he pumped in and out of you.

He could do more missions like this.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[siancore]

One World, One People

Samtember Day 5 - Canon Divergence

@samsseptember

Everything after Sam's feet touched the asphalt was a blur. Sharon being hit. Karli’s young life being taken from her. The sounds of sirens and the crowds that had gathered. The flashing lights and the people rushing toward him looking for answers.

Who had made him Captain America? Was the threat over? Gratitude for saving the hostages. For doing his part for dealing with so-called terrorists. He paid no mind to the people looking for answers; he needed some answers of his own.  

“Are you still going forward with resetting the borders?” asked Sam; his voice came out tired and sad.  

All he heard was that the ‘terrorists’ only set their efforts back marginally. Soon, the haze lifted, and righteous indignation replaced it.  

“You have to stop calling them terrorists,” said Sam.  

“What else would you have us call them?”  

“Your peacekeeping troops, carrying weapons, are forcing millions of people into settlements around the world, right? What d’you think those people are gonna call you?”  

No one answered, so Sam continued speaking to the two senators.  

“These labels: Terrorist; refugee; thug. They’re often used to get around the question: Why?”  

“Those settlements that happened five years ago,” one of the senators spoke up. “Do you think it is fair for governments to have to support them?”  

“Yes,” said Sam, firm and strong and resolute.  

“And the people who reappeared, only to find someone else living in their family home, they just end up homeless?”  

Sam sighed as the senator continued.  

“Look I get it, but you have no idea how complicated this situation is,” he said before walking away.  

“You know what?” Sam questioned, causing the other man to stop. “You’re right. And that’s a good thing.”  

He turned to face Sam as the police held journalists back.  

“We finally have a common struggle now. Think about that. For once, all the people who’ve been begging, and I mean literally begging for you to feel how hard any given day is – now you know.”  

Bucky’s heart swelled at Sam’s words. All of Sam’s compassion, empathy, and love for his fellow man poured out of him then.  

“How did it feel to be helpless? If you could remember what it felt like to be helpless, and face a force so powerful it could erase half the planet, you would know that you’re about to have the exact same impact. This isn’t about easy decisions, Senator.”  

“You just don’t understand,” the senator replied, almost stuttering.  

Sam scoffed and said, “I’m a gay Black man carrying the stars and stripes. What don’t I understand about making tough decisions? About decisions being made about me and my life. Every time I pick this thing up, I know there are millions of people out there who are gonna hate me for it. Even now, here, I feel it: The stares. The judgment. And there’s nothin’ I can do to change it. Yet, I’m still here. No super serum. No blond hair or blue eyes. The only power I have is that I believe we can do better. We can’t demand that people step up if we don’t meet them halfway. You control the banks. Shit, you can move borders. You can knock down a forest with an email; you can feed a million people with a phone call. But the question is: Who’s in the room with you when you’re makin’ those decisions, hmm? Is it the people you’re gonna impact? Or is it just more people like you?”  

The rest of the evening went by in a flash. Sam helped with clean-up while Bucky made sure Sharon got the care that she needed. The media was buzzing with reports of what had transpired. A terrorist attack. A new Cap. Sam Wilson coming out to the world. Sam Wilson supporting terrorists. Gossip around whether or not Captain America and the former Winter Soldier were more than just partners. It was a lot.  

By the time Sam was ready to lay his head down, it was late, or early, depending on how one looked at it. Rhodey had already contacted him and wanted to meet. Sam had told him he would speak to him later in the day. Sarah was concerned for her brother’s welfare, and he assured her he was fine. Sam’s phone buzzed one more time. It was Bucky.  

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice laced with equal parts worry and exhaustion. 

“Sitting on the roof of a building,” said Sam, sounding just as tired as Bucky. “Is Sharon okay?” 

“She’s fine. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What do you need?” asked Bucky.  

“A shower and a bed wouldn’t be so bad,” Sam replied with a little laugh.  

“I’m comin’ to get you,” said Bucky. “You can come back to my place.” 

“Buck, you don’t need to offer your space. I can get a hotel.” 

“Don’t fight me on this, Sam,” said a resolute Bucky. “You’re comin’ with me for a shower and to get some sleep. Away from all the cameras and questions. Come with me. Where it’s quiet and safe. Let me take care of you. I wanna take care of you.” 

“Okay,” said Sam with a smile. “Okay.” 

[flesheatingmoth]

i think about stick of truth style way too much to be healthy. i could also not be arsed to color this entire thing

some explanations under the cut

i've always found the idea of human stan to be quite boring, especially since it's not actually mentioned in the game at all. from what i know, at least. i've played it a few times but it never presented him as a human. idk where that idea came from. i guess his description said he was raised by elves, but i dont think that necessarily means he's human

my very elaborate and unnecessary backstory for him is that sharon is an elf and sheila's right hand maiden. she managed to fall in love with randy, a human farmer and bard, when seeing him singing at a tavern. she ran away from her duties as the queen's right hand to live with randy on his farm, and had two children, shelley and stan. unfortunately, the village that they lived near weren't fond of human-elf relationships and burned down the farm, chasing them out of town. shelley ended up getting cursed to be the she orge that she is in the game, and sharon, as a last ditch effort, gave stan over to sheila and asked her to protect him. sheila still felt affection for sharon as her old best friend, so she agreed and raised stan to be a knight. he and kyle grew up alongside each other and stan became kyle's personal knight

human-elf relationships aren't illegal but they're very taboo with the tensions between larnion and kupa keep, so half elves are generally outcasted. stan is the first half elf to join the royal guard and lot of people want him off of it

stan is also a ranger in game and has sparky as his wolf companion, so i thought it would be fitting for him to have a disney princess moment and be friends with wolves lol. the wolves help patrol the forest surrounding the elven capital and report back to stan directly. he knows how to communicate with them

[theladyragnell]

Hi! Happy new year 😊 It just struck me you're a voracious reader with (I think) quite a few romance novels under your belt and a talent for writing romance yourself, so I come begging a favour for the beginning of the year: if I wanted to read the most fun and indulgent and giggle-inducing romance in 2024, what would you you recommend? I'm hoping for something not only well-written, but triumphantly and unapologetically in its genre, if that makes sense. Thank you so much for taking the time to read (let alone answer!) this ask!

Oh friend, I love reading romance novels, please, buckle in, let's have some fun! You seem to be looking for the flavor that I tend to refer to as romps, as opposed to the more serious and dramatic or erotica-flavored romances, so let me give you a bit of a selection of those.

Contemporaries: Jennifer Crusie is the absolute master of banter, for all her best works are pretty old at this point! Bet Me and Faking It have aged the best in my opinion. I read Alexandria Bellefleur's The Fiancee Farce last year, and if you've ever read and enjoyed a "whoops, we have to get married for this clause in my relative's will" fanfic this one's for you. The Neighbor Favor by Kristina Forest was one of my favorite romances from last year, though it's a bit less bantery than these others. Oh! Talia Hibbert! Her Brown sisters books are a thing of beauty and a joy forever (Ravenswood is also good, but a bit more serious in tone and we're going for romps here). Jasmine Guillory is also worth a try, lots of fun if maybe a little less banter-focused. Oh! And a shoutout for two action romcoms I read this year, Partners in Crime by Alisha Rai and To Have and to Heist by Sara Desai.

Historicals: Tessa Dare loves a bantery romance, give The Duchess Deal a try on for size! Last year I read The Perfect Crimes of Marian Hayes by Cat Sebastian, which was a joy, and I hear a lot of good about Sebastian's m/m books too, though I haven't been able to dive into them yet. Away from the romps, Mary Balogh is one of my all-time favorites (but start with her newer work, particularly the Survivors' Club series), I've been enjoying Christina Britton a lot lately, and Eva Ibbotson's books for older readers have my heart forever and always. (I feel like this section is reading less enthusiastic than the contemporaries, but it's just that I read so many historicals that it's hard to remember which book with Duke in the title stands out!) Oh! Ravishing the Heiress by Sherry Thomas somehow hits my loves perfectly, though again not a romp, I've got a rather graver taste in historicals. And Olivia Waite's sapphic historicals! The Lady's Guide to Celestial Mechanics is the first one. And everyone recommends Courtney Milan, but The Duke Who Didn't is a true joy.

Fantasy: Fantasy romance is my genre crossover of the 2020s! It's my two favorite escapist genres mixed together, and when it hits the sweet spot it REALLY does. And my friend, I am looking you in the eyes and I am telling you to read T. Kingfisher's paladin books, starting with Paladin's Grace, if you have any interest at all in fantasy as a genre. (Fair warning: Kingfisher also writes horror, and takes great pleasure at least once per fantasy book of reminding you of that.) And now that I've given you the gateways, I'm also going to recommend you The Devotion of Delflenor by R. Cooper (it's not bantery, but I keep telling people, if you fall into my very specific sweet spot of having been in E/R fandom in 2013-2014 and having loved the Tortall books in your youth you NEED to read this, and even one or the other means you should, the pining is exquisite), The Sorceress Transcendent by Casey Blair, Olivia Atwater's Regency Faerie Tales series, and Troubled Waters by Sharon Shinn.

... Okay, you asked for one book and I gave you SO many. That is because romance has so many tones and moods and subgenres, and only you know which one is going to put the biggest smile on your face! Hopefully I have given you enough information to make the choice that is best and happiest for you.