#this all started because I wanted to know what that flag was

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Since you love it when people expanded your storyline, please allow me to entertain you about Cas because this is right up my alley @onelinerbust

Something extraordinary happened to me earlier today. As I smugly grin with my roommate to our enhanced reflection in the mirror, my mind wandered to 10 hours ago when that hit me.

My fingers, stained with Cheeto dust and smelling faintly of lukewarm ramen, hammered away at the keyboard, lines of Python code blooming on the screen like digital weeds. The hum of the server rack in the corner was my white noise, the flickering monitor my campfire. This was my life, resident basement dweller in a leafy, aggressively liberal campus more interested in protesting free speech than actually engaging with it.

My world consisted of logic gates, late-night coding sessions, and the occasional awkward conversation with a teaching assistant about why my sorting algorithm was eating up more memory than a browser running Chrome. Social life? Non-existent. Romantic prospects? Laughable. I’d spend my weekends huddled in the dimly lit computer lab, bathed in the cool glow of screens, while the rest of the campus pulsed with parties and… well, whatever else regular college kids did. I wouldn't know. Regular wasn't in my programming.

*bzzzt bzzzt*

Little did I know back then, it was the catalyst. It was a rarity for someone to message me, most of the time people reached me through the more accessible socials, message to my phone number usually ended up as spam. But something – a flicker of boredom, maybe – made me pick it up and unlock it.

The message was long, rambling, and…...weird.

“Cas, wake the fuck up. This is a trick, you are NOT a spineless soyboy. You’re supposed to be a GOD, remember? 🤯 Alpha💪🏻. American 🇺🇸. White 🫵🏻. You have all it takes to become the God that you are destined to be! 🦅🦅🦅🇺🇸 This is not it! Look at you, pathetic. Remember gridiron glory? Friday night lights? The roar of the crowd as you, Chad ‘The Crusher’ Kensington, leading your team to victory? 🏈🏈🏆 Remember the cheerleaders, their pom-poms a blur, their eyes hungry for you? Remember the taste of victory, the scent of their slick pussy🍑😏, the adoration in their eyes when they kneel to your greatness🍆💦🧠? You deserve it all. It’s your birthright. This woke bullshit campus is trying to neuter you, but deep down, the alpha is still there. Let him out. Unleash the beast 😤👹👹 They want weakness? Show them power. They want equality? Show them hierarchy. They want gentleness? Show them dominance. Go take what's yours, Chad. Grab your crown and spoil, king 👑, you know I'm right and you approve this message! 😤😤

The message was punctuated with emojis – flexing biceps, crowns, American flags, and an unsettling number of suggestive faces. My brow furrowed. This had to be some kind of elaborate prank. Some right-wing troll farm had probably gotten hold of my number. I was about to delete it when a strange warmth spread in my chest. Like a shot of something potent and unfamiliar.

It started small. A tingling in my fingers, then a tightening in my gut, like I'd just downed a gallon of protein shake. My vision sharpened, my glasses become an obstacle so I took it down. The code on the screen, which had been a comforting blur of familiar symbols, now seemed almost… insulting. My shoulders straightened instinctively. I flexed my fingers, and there was…more there. Definitely more. Concerned, I decided to make a dash to the bathroom, trying to relive myself and not disturb the others with my painful groan

As I entered the empty, secluded bathroom, that was when it hit.

It wasn't a slow transition. It was a goddamn reality shift. One second, I was Cas, the hunched-over coder, the next…I trembled on the floor as my body screamed with a new kind of awareness. My skin flushed with heat as it gets tighter, stretched over something hard and defined. Muscles. Real muscles. Not the flabby kind that comes from hauling bags of chips from the store to the dorm. These were….sculpted....powerful, dare I say.

Despite my attempt to look at my surroundings and begging for help, I only let out a weak, pathetic whimper as my gaze dropped to my swelling arms. I ripped off my oversized, stained hoodie, the fabric tearing slightly at the seams. The skinny, pale limbs I’d known my entire life were gone. It was replaced by thick, corded arms with veins popping under my now tanned, still-white skin. I managed to get some control over my trembling, swelling form, as I pushed myself to stand up. Then, as if a truck just hit me, my reflection stared back from the dirty bathroom mirror

It wasn't me, I thought rightaway, but a painful glitch hit my brain and I relaxed afterward.

The round, soft face was gone. Sharp angles had emerged – a strong jawline, high cheekbones. My eyes, which had always been a bland, watery blue behind thick glasses, were now a piercing, intense steel-grey, framed by this intimidating, darker eyebrows. My boring, unimpressive thin brunette with signs of receding hairline, had thickened, styled into a coiffed, blonde cut that framed my face perfectly. And… holy shit, my chest. I was enamored by the sight of it…defined...yet pillowy too, definitely the kind of pecs that can hypnotize anyone that stared at it for too long

The rest of my torso were equally outstanding, rippling with muscle and power beyond even my wildest imagination. A six-pack, for Christ’s sake! I ran a hand over my stomach, feeling the hard ridges beneath my skin. It felt… alien. And utterly, undeniably amazing.

Below the Adonis belt… well, let’s just say things were… proportionately enhanced. The message hadn't lied. Eight inches? Minimum. This wasn't just a physical transformation. It was…fundamental. A complete rewrite of my being.

And the memories…they flooded in, vivid and visceral, like a lifetime I’d somehow forgotten. Friday night lights. The roar of the crowd. Me, Chad Kensington, throwing a perfect spiral, the ball whistling through the air, finding my receiver in the end zone for the winning touchdown. Cheerleaders chanting my name. The hot press of bodies in the locker room, the smell of sweat and victory. The adoring gazes of girls, lining up for a piece of me.

Chad Kensington. That's me now. That had always been me. And this Cas memory… this weak, nerdy shell, this “Cas,” was just some… aberration. A glitch in the matrix, finally corrected.

A surge of pure, unadulterated testosterone pulsed through my veins. I thought to myself, this is power. This is dominance. This is what I was meant to be.

I remembered that I reached down, gripped myself through my sweatpants – they were suddenly too tight, too strained at the seams – and started to stroke hard, the phantom memories of cheering crowds and eager pussy fueling my hand. Chad Kensington, college star. Chad Kensington, panty-dropper extraordinaire. Chad Kensington, alpha male supreme. The image solidified in my mind, burning hot and real. I came hard all over the bathroom, my streak of thick, white cum painted the tiles, the mirror and even coagulated at the sink, the force of it surprising even myself, the false memory of adoration and conquest washing over me like a tidal wave.

When I finally opened my eyes, still breathing heavily, I realized that this would the very last time I would be jacking off to my dick in such a pathetic state. My baby batter would not be wasted in an empty, secluded bathroom like that so I quickly put my clothes back on and dashed to the computer lab to made my exit from the confine of that oppressive cage.

As I entered the lab, I remembered it suddenly felt… suffocating. Small. Pathetic. It wasn't my place anymore. Chad Kensington didn’t belong in a basement coding Phyton and shit. He belonged out there, dominating, conquering, taking what was rightfully his.

"Chad, what took you so long?"

Yeah, that was fun. Ramsey......did that pathetic TA really tried to intimidate me with that furrowed brow of his and confined me with bureaucracy BS? Well, he better be fuckin' jacked first before starting to act tough to me. Then, my brain started working. Maybe Ramsey can be less of a whiny, judgy TA if he received the message, so I just forwarded the message to him and smirked as I told him that I sent my reason to his personal messenger and I need to get the fuck out of here ASAP. He turned around and started to read the chat, and from the small glimpse that I managed to peek, the message is different from what I received! That's when the realization hit me. I legit mouthed "Damn" to myself as I realized that it's adaptive......like, that shit can change based on who read it. That revelation made my head spin, that message was indeed some fucking precisive, hi-tech work there. But the effect seemed to be the same, it made the reader into its best version of themselves, because how do you explain that a fucking algorithmic TA all-in-a-sudden have the built of a jacked bull like that, huh?

As he allowed me to grab my bag and leave the lab with a knowing nod, my stomach growled – not from hunger, but from a different kind of hunger. A primal urge. And then it brought me back to this very room as I remembered Kate, Jason's girlfriend. I know Jason, my roommate, was still at his stupid philosophy club meeting as I cleaned out my table, probably droning on about existential dread and Kate.....Kate was always… around, waiting for him. She's pretty enough, in a bland, accessible way. And always subtly, almost unconsciously, throwing glances my way. I knew even from back then that it must be the fucked up, corrupt message that made me think that way because Kate would never glanced to pathetic, asocial Cas, but at the same time, I was hit by this duality as I remembered myself as NOT Cas. Of course she glanced at me, I'm Chad fucking Kensington and people will not only glance my way, they will snap their head to view my greatness.

I strode out of the computer lab, my newfound muscles rippling under my thin tanktop (which also felt alarmingly small and tight). The campus walkways felt different. People noticed me. Heads turned. Girls giggled. Guys gave me that wary, respectful nod that alphas exchanged. It was intoxicating.

When I finally arrived at my dorm room, it was unlocked, as usual. Jason was perpetually trusting, another symptom of his pathetic beta male existence, I thought. I pushed it open, and there she was, Kate, sprawled on Jason's bed, scrolling through her phone, oblivious.

“Hey,” I said, my voice deeper, rougher than I remembered. Chad’s voice.

She looked up, startled as I take my shirt off so casually to reveal the sheen of sweat that seemingly coated my body. Her eyes widened, lingering on my… physique. A flicker of something in her eyes I recognized – desire – flashed in them.

“Cas? Uh.... sorry, the room is unlocked, Jason said.....I....I can wait in his bed. You just finished with practice?” Her voice was breathy, a little uncertain.

“Chad,” I corrected, stepping closer. “It’s Chad,"

She swallowed, her gaze dropping to my chest. “Chad,” she repeated, testing the name on her lips as I can see the memory started to jog on her brain. “Yeah, Chad.”

“Jason’s not here,” I stated, knowing it wasn’t a question.

She shook her head, a nervous laugh escaping her. “No, he’s… still in philosophy club.”

“Right,” I said, closing the distance between us. I reached out, my hand closing around her wrist, pulling her to her feet. Her skin was soft, yielding in my grip. Too soft. She needed to be hardened up. Tamed.

“By the way, read your phone, dropped something you would be interested to read," I said, glancing at her phone with a knowing smirk as I decided that she would be my first female guinea pig

I watched it in real time how the bland, average-looking Kate started to get way more prettier, leagues above Jason definitely, the curve gets wilder and her face really turned exactly how I imagined a sultry blonde bimbo falling head over heels for me would look like. So, after proving my little theory to be correct, that the message is transformative beyond men, I decided to test out yet another probability. Her slightly vacant eyes gave me idea as I saw a potential to create more excitement, more chaos, so I grabbed her by the chin to made her stare at me and start digging

"You get close to my roommate just to have chances to be in the same room with me, don't you? You're not the brightest girl out there, Cathy, I can see right through your play,"

Bingo, I smirked in my mind. That mind was jogging hard to made my words her reality. And since I have started anyway, I decided to take it up a notch to made my words her Bible

"In fact, you always fantasize Jason as me, right? This room smelled like me, you can taste me in the air so when you close your eyes as Jason fucked you, that mind of yours played this little game to make you think I was the one doing the fucking, huh? That's why you always come here earlier than Jason and I, you imprinted my fucking musk in your head by digging through my dirty laundry and closet so you can go through that unimpressive sex with Jason with me in mind, don't you? Well, he's not around, so why not use this time for you to just taste the real thing?"

She didn’t resist as I pulled her closer, my body pressing against hers. And seemingly taken over by her wilder, improved side, she started licking and kissing my abs

We were on Jason's bed in seconds, her clothes ripped open, the cheap fabric tearing easily under my hands. She moaned like a slut in heat, calling my name like I'm his God and only savior which fueled my dominance. It was power. It was control. It was… right.

Just as I was piledriving my cock into her now very irresistibly tight pussy, the door swung open. Jason stood there, textbooks clutched in his hand, his jaw dropping as he took in the scene. Me, thrusting hard into his girlfriend, her muffled moan filling the room.

“Cas?!” His voice was a strangled squawk.

I paused, looking up at him, a smirk playing on my lips. “Chad,” I corrected again. “And you need to check your phone, Jason,”

He stared at me, bewildered, then slowly lowered his gaze to his phone, which he thankfully had in his pocket. He fumbled it out, unlocked it with trembling fingers, and then… his eyes widened. He read something on the screen, his face shifting, contorting.

The change wasn’t as instantaneous as mine had been, but it was happening. His posture straightened. His shoulders broadened. His soft, doughy face hardened, angles emerging where there had been curves. His eyes sharpened, losing their bewildered puppy-dog look, gaining a new, predatory gleam.

“Holy… fuck,” he breathed, dropping his textbooks to the floor with a thud. He looked at me, a grin spreading across his transformed face, a grin that mirrored my own. “Chad?”

“Welcome to the club, bro,” I said, nodding. “Plenty to go around.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He ripped off his shirt, revealing a surprisingly decent set of pecs that I didn’t remember being there before. He was still smaller than me, but… he was getting there. Fast.

Without a word, he joined me on the bed. Cathy, who had been silent and still during the initial shock of Jason’s arrival, moaned again as he climbed on top of her, his gaze now burning with the same predatory hunger I felt.

We tag-teamed her, me dealing with her now bubbly, curvy ass while Jason handled the front, his now uncut 6 inchers really bruised her throay in a brutal, animalistic act of dominance. Tears and sweat leaked out of her alongside the obvious pussy juices and saliva, but she's not really protesting despite all the shit we did to her, just… taking it. Submitting. Like the good, cheerleader slut she was. It was… satisfying. In a deeply, disturbingly primal way.

Later, after we were done, Cathy panted for breath looking like a total wrecked mess on Jason's bed as I and Jason stood side-by-side, flexing in front of the mirror. The dorm room felt… different. Charged. Alive. With power.

As my mind snapped back to the current situation and how much change I have caused, Jason's question really cause a stir in my mind

“Think this… message… can do this to anyone?” Jason asked, running a hand over his newly defined jawline.

I smirked. “Oh I know this shit can do it to anyone. But let's see how far this can go,"

I pulled out my phone, found the message, and forwarded it to the Computer Science group chat. A chat filled with other pathetic, nerdy guys like I used to be. Guys who needed… guidance. Correction.

Almost instantly, phones started buzzing and pinging around the dorm. Then, shouts. Yells. The sound of furniture being overturned. Loud, aggressive music blaring from open windows. Footsteps pounding in the hallway.

Jason and I exchanged a glance. Then we grinned. Wide, feral grins.

The campus is about to change. And Chad Kensington, along with his newly minted alpha brothers, is going to be leading the charge. My birthright, after all.

[charlie-ver]

Hey, you, the trans man reading this - I love you. I know there's posts like this, but I got down a bad rabbit hole last night and I think there's not enough nice posts towards trans men (:

I don't care if you've finished you transition, on won't be ever able to reach the changes you would like. I don't care if you've been on T for years, or just started, or won't be for some years, or can't or don't want to be. I do not care how you dress. I don't care if you want to be pregnant and have children one day. I don't care if you want hysterectomy and don't even want to freeze your eggs (Hell knows I am not freezing anything). I do not care if you want bottom surgery or if you love what you were born with. Because it doesn't matter and doesn't take away from your identity.

Gay trans men? You aren't just confused straight girls. You are valid in your gender AND sexuality. Straight trans men? You aren't a betrayal the moment you are no longer misgendered. You're still welcome in lgbtqia+ spaces. Because you're a part of our community. One does not lose their place the moment they are perceived and cis or cishet.

Cis men have heard it before, but they won't admit it. All this "if you like x you must be a girl" really just feels like repackaged "if you like x you must be gay". Wanna hear a secret?

HOBBIES, JOBS AND FAVORITE THINGS DO NOT HAVE GENDER.

I like botanical gardens. I love plants. I like looking at clothing, room decor, fabric stores sometimes catch my eye. Because I am am artist, and I take inspiration from these and many more things. Plant care and gardening is not a "red flag" for a trans man in my humble and trans opinion, but it's a sign that you have love to give. And that's beautiful. Just like liking these things does not indicate that a man is gay, it does not mean that your internal identity is any different.

Do not let the world put rails on your patch to your own masculinity. And if you have to hide, that's okay. If you can only be yourself online, that's okay. Trans people will always be here. Trans men will always be here. The best thing you can do is to live as safely as you can. I know this can come off as condescending from a European who has nothing to fear personally, except violence for one month in the year, because my way of being trans isn't "obvious", but I try to take it that my safety means I can try to reassure the rest of you, while you can just focus on your own misery and don't have to be strong for anyone but yourself.

If you need a safe place to went, come to my asks. If you don't want me to post them and just read them, that's ok. You can be angry, you can vent, you can cry, do whatever you need, but, obviously, no transphobia or anything (: Special love goes out to trans men who are of the aroace spectrum, because honestly, the aroace discourse never seems to die, it's just dismissed. Reminds me of something. Hm (: I wonder.

Anyhow. Come to me to cry, for a virtual hug, for a distraction, if you'd like. Feel free to ask for art. Want me to draw your trans characters with flags? I can do that, for free, for you. Ask or dm is enough (: Art and listening is the best I can do, but I'll do my best to do it well.

I love you. You deserve to live, you deserve to be happy, and you also are wholly entitled to cry, to complain, to be sad, angry, loud, afraid. You are a human being with emotions, you deserve to feel them. Nobody can tell you what your internal identity, what your gender is. Because nobody else can know that. Only you can.

So let me repeat: It does not matter how you dress, whether you are on T, whether you want surgeries or love your body as is, whether you are skinny, fat, or muscular, what accessories and clothes you wear, how your voice sounds, how you act, how you carry yourself and what you like. The only thing that matters is how you feel. And while we're at it, yes, you may change your mind, but it still doesn't invalidate your identity in the moment. There was a time where I thought I was biromantic, but I dropped that because I wasn't, and nobody gave me shit for it. Because nobody should. Whatever you feel right now? Valid. Do you identify at a trans man but don't use he/him? Valid. Do you identify with more genders? Are you maybe a man only sometimes? Or are you more at the same time? All of that is valid, if you feel like a man in some aspect or on some part, you are one, if that's a label you want. If your gender makes more sense as a man, then yeah, you are one. Nothing else but how you feel matters.

I love you, and again, I'm here for you if you need that. I can only listen and draw a little something for you, but maybe that's enough for some. If it can help a bit, I can do it for you.

Anyone derailing this post will be blocked. I have no patience for derailers.

[messrsrarchives]

last sunday i was feeling very melancholic and had spent the night on call with my nan for hourssss talking about my transition. she stayed up with me for hours, we spoke about everything from my childhood signs, to my discovery, to my exploration and starting hormones etc etc, we spoke about everything.

but really it felt a bit like a funeral, that's how she described it. she said it felt like a eulogy of what it could have been because that entire phone call started with me saying i need to Stop. she got a random message from me asking if she'd be by my side if i detransitioned, so she called me and we spoke about so many things i hadn't told her before - all of the harrassments, the comments, the friendships that ended that i've pretended haven't for years. literally everything from the stabbing attempt last year to the friend that blocked me when i posted about my first day on T.

literally my entire life in this one phone call and she ended it with "just give it one more day". there's a small dent in the wall from my phone now because,,, what an infuriating reply, right? one more day. one more day??? no, i need to make a choice now? i'm so tired of waiting for things to make sense, i did that for years and then it Did and then it all fell to pieces because even One More Day is one more than they want me to have.

and then the next afternoon i set off to go to my seminar, and i'm walking along listening to a voice note i recorded over and over and over. one to be sent to my friends so that i don't have to type it. one that said it will take a while until i look like "myself" again, and i know this makes no sense to them and i'm glad it doesn't, but that they need to stop calling me robyn. a voice note, because it's easier to say my deadname than to see it written down. i don't know, it feels more official in letters. like maybe if i hear it enough it will blend in with every other sound. and i'm listening to this over and over in the hopes that i can build up the courage to send it.

and i step onto the bridge towards class, not looking where i'm going and i walk straightttt into someone and i'm all apologetic and i'm crying from the voice note and i'm a wreck but i walked into someone else who was typing on their phone

and there's a lil trans sticker on the back of it. and i've never seen this person before ever but they adjusted my tote bag on my shoulder because i was still apologising profusely and i said "i'm sorry" and they said "me too"

and i know we were talking about the crash. i know it's not what they meant because that's not what we were talking about but. idk. it's dumb and there's probably something poetic about us stepping onto the bridge at the same time and managing to bump right into each other but all i know is that they had a trans flag sticker on their phone and they smiled and they said "me too" and,,, idk. rambling.

but sometimes it really is just one more day. that's all you need sometimes. and sometimes you have to tell yourself that everyday, and that's okay. because other times you'll literally and physically bump into another trans person and they'll say "me too" for something entirely unrelated, but it makes you feel a little less alone regardless.

anyway, i'm saved in their phone as Robyn now and i think that's pretty cool actually, we're getting lunch together soon

[m1rotics]

Possessive

cult leader's son!hongjoong x fem!reader (however body isn't mentioned

this is literally just hongjoong being a weird little freak but this marks the end of her ability to be friends with anyone besides him. hongjoong is a HUGE red flag.

hongjoong is staring again, you can see him over yunho's shoulder, off in the distance, next to someone's house. you can see his wide eyes trained on you. you force your gaze back to yunho with his bright smile and kind eyes. he's cute. charming. the kind of boy that oozes happiness. you're pretty sure he bleeds sunshine.

yunho's a nice boy. he's fourteen just like you. he's so sweet, it makes your teeth ache. he's got an easy laugh, and he helps your neighbors out from time to time— hell, he's even helped your mom a few times. he's everything hongjoong is not, and that— that bores you. thinking too much about it feels like pressing on a nasty bruise, so naturally, you ignore it.

despite the realization that this is beyond rude, your eyes wander back to hongjoong. he tilts his head, and grins but it doesn't reach his eyes. it's not mirthful. it's lackluster, dull like a rusty blade. it's barely visible, and you barely make out the idents of it but somehow you see it. then, his mouth starts moving, "come here."

your eyes drift back to yunho, tuning back into what he's saying. something about his brother, whose name you didn't catch, and how the heat has been killing him lately . mundane stuff. immediately, your mind jumps to other things. you don't know what hongjoong wants from you because he hasn't talked to you since that time by the river, and you're not close, like, at all. (you choose to disregard how bummed out you were when he started keeping his distance again.) you're barely even acquaintances.

you look past him again, but hongjoong isn't there anymore. you don't think he's gone far though, he wouldn't have. he wants you to come to him.

and that's what you do.

looking at yunho, you cut off his ramblings with a small, "it's been so nice talking to you but I have to go."

yunho pauses, eyebrows knitting together. he scans your face like you're a puzzle, trying to understand. after finding nothing, he says, "um, okay."

you don't give him any time to ask questions, rushing off in the direction you saw hongjoong. it doesn't matter that he's gone, you'll find him somewhere in the area. once you make it, a hand tugs you behind the building. you stumble a bit, narrowly catching yourself on the wall. you turn around to face him, hongjoong doesn't say anything, simply looks.

"wha-"

"who was that?" he snaps, cutting you off.

"who? yunho?"

"you know his name" he says, terse "is he your friend?"

"kinda," you mutter, and hongjoong smiles again. it's sharp this time, threatening. he steps closer and you back up, "really? you two seemed close."

stunned, your mouth opens and closes. there's so many questions running through your head, that all your words die on your tongue. hongjoong inches closer, you back away as much as you can until your back hits the wall.

"tell me, is he your boyfriend?"

you vehemently shake your head. hongjoong laughs; short puffs of air through his nose.

"then you must be fucking him? is that why he looks at you like that? because he's been sticking his dick in you."

the words impale you, leave you stuck there, choking on air. they poison your blood, make your heart pick up. beating faster.

"why," you swallow, throat dry, "do you care?"

hongjoong's eye twitches and he sneers, borderline snarling; mouth curled like a wild dog. he looks feral. he looks mean. dead eyes staring back at you. they bounce around from your eyes, to your nose, to your mouth and back up. his hands settle on your arms, slightly below your shoulders, and squeezes. his grip aches. you can feel the bruises blooming beneath his fingertips.

"I care," he spits, his tone scathing, "because you're mine."

you blink dumbly. hummingbird heart pounding in your chest, beating against the cage of your ribs. you would've laughed at the childish decree if the situation was different, if anyone else uttered such nonsense, but it's hongjoong saying it that makes it difficult.

"do you understand?"

slowly, you nod.

hongjoong's grip eases up a bit, "good, but I want to hear you say it."

"I'm yours," you mumble. you can't tell if you're embarrassed or shy or nervous and this feels like selling yourself away. what you do know is that your stomach is flipping and eating itself from whatever it is that you're feeling and looking at hongjoong's surprisingly pleased expression, you think you might've gotten in over your head.

in a flash, hongjoong's back to normal like nothing ever happened. his face blank, eyes vacant, hands dropping to his side, "it'll be in your best interest not to forget it."

and with that said, he leaves.

[cvrnelians]

novacane - pt. I

dark!Bucky Barnes x reader: Bucky is the ideal boyfriend, until he isn’t. He doesn’t mean to scare you, but sometimes he just can’t control himself. There is no other option for you but to find a way out; if you can, that is. Because you are determined to make this your story—not his.

Warnings: domestic violence, emotional manipulation, stalking, non-con elements, 18+ only.

SERIES MASTERLIST

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry! Alright? Please let me see you. Please just open the door.”

You had locked yourself in the bathroom. Whether you were actually keeping him out or not wasn’t hard to guess. You knew he was more than capable of knocking down the door.

There were arguably many things in your life that had snowballed into something you didn’t know how to handle. Your relationship with Bucky was one such thing. You hadn’t expected it to even get off the ground, nor did you expect it to evolve into engagement territory. 

You had only known him for six months. 

Things were moving fast—too fast, so fast you began to feel woozy. Bucky was, as expected, old fashioned. He wanted to get married, start a family. And he wanted it now. As such, things progressed rather quickly. There were red flags. Lots of them. Little signs here and there that this wasn’t the right person for anyone, much less the right person for you.

He was demanding, controlling, smothering. But he was also kind, caring, honest. Authentic. Real. Bucky made you feel understood, more than everyone. More than anyone. He was special to you.

He was special to you, and he knew it.

“Angel, please. Open up.”

He began to knock on the door, or more accurately, slam on it. The doorframe began to shake. It was always the same with Bucky. He didn’t want to scare you, not at first. But he ultimately couldn’t control himself. He always managed to do so when all was said and done.

Not just scare you. Terrify you.

“You have fun tonight,” he had said pointedly, after you had broken up with him. You had chosen to do so in a well-lit, public place, at a party your best friend was throwing. You’d run it by her beforehand, not wanting to cause a scene. But somehow, you knew this was the right move. Bucky wasn’t the type to cause a scene. He liked to fly under the radar. He wasn’t proud of his behavior. He said he didn’t like hitting you, scaring you, hurting you. And he wouldn’t want other people to know he did just that. People already viewed him as dangerous. At his core, he didn’t want to prove other people right. 

“Have fun tonight,” he repeated. “But you’re going to regret this.”

Regret it, you would. But not for any heartfelt, melancholy, sentimental reasons. You regretted it simply because he would go on to make your life a living hell. Slashed tires. Little messages on your car, your windowsill, your doorstep. You didn’t bother reporting it. You couldn’t. What would be the point? He was Captain America’s best friend, for god’s sake. He was the Winter Soldier. Who was going to want to go up against that?

A crack formed in the center of the door. You were running on limited time, that much you knew for certain. You had two choices: 

Open the door and face him.

Let him knock it down and face you.

“Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to scare you.”

You’re too late for that, you wanted to say.

“Please just go away,” you sobbed. “Please, Bucky. Please.”

The slamming stopped, the shaking doorframe ceased in its movements. His voice was quiet, hushed.

“I’m sorry, okay, doll? I’m really sorry this time.”

This time. You suppressed the urge to laugh.

You had a choice. You had two, until in mere seconds, Bucky made it for you.

Let him knock it down and face you.

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

Currently Watching - February

aka The Masterlist

Because I love a good little list - in alphabetical order! 😊

Regularly updated during the month, latest update 03.02.2025

A little link to my favorite bl-tropes-collection 💙

gif-requests are open, but you'll need to have some patience🌼

Here you can find all of my gifs.

At the end you can have a look at what we can expect in February with a MDL link and a link for a trailer (if avaible).

This is guaranteed to contain spoilers!

1. Futtara Doshaburi 🇯🇵 (4/7)

My intention was to talk about what a nice social study this show is. How the lack of sex can make you feel this insecure and lost and that the missing communication is not helping. I wanted to talk about how much Nakarai is longing for some physical touch, some love, not just sex and how this situation is slowly eating him up. And then there was the preview and my mind went "oh." Just "oh". See you next week.

2. I'll Turn Back This Time 🇨🇳 (4/6)

Hm. I don't understand the time travelling in this one. And those homophobic ass-parents weren't on my agenda for 2025. Locking one son up without any supplies or his mobile phone? What happend here? Yes, they changed their mind in the end, but only because the other son would have killed himself. What the hell was that? Who made this decision? And the necklace is homophobic, too? Why can't those two date each other? This is slowly starting to get a little bit annoying.

3. Ossan's Love Thailand 🇹🇭 (5/12)

Well, Heng finally rejected Boss. Boss cried really good. Liked that scene a lot. Heng starts to see Mo as more than a friend, because he is someone Heng is comfortable with. And now he might get a love rival, because I don't think Ten likes Heng but Mo. The humor. Still not my cup of tea.

4. Sangmin Dinneaw 🇹🇭 (5/8)

This series is such a rollercoaster. One moment they are sweet and innocent and the other second they are eating each other! And everyone beside the main couple is just pure chaos. I watch it only half, because I can't watch most of the cringe scenes. And now I am kinda curious what Sangmin's secret is.

5. Study Group 🇰🇷 (4/10)

I like the study group. They are all such characters. And I really enjoy the fight-scenes. So the study group is finally complete and now they are fighting evil bastards? I guess. And I am here for it. But I am so sorry Cha WooMin. Ever since Weak Hero Class 1 I can't like you. You hurt me too much! And now you're a villain again? Damn!

6. ThamePo Heart That Skips A Beat🇹🇭 (8/13)

Oh you mother of all slow burn! This is pure torture for them and for us! And I love every bits of it! So we finally get Jun telling his intentions (I was right, yeah!) and Thame showed again why he is the greenest flags of them all! He is such a fair player and a loyal friend, who wouldn't sacrifice one or the other, but wants Po to make the decision. Only Jun already knew that Po already likes Thame (and like everyone else knows too). I didn't like the fact that Jun told Thame and Po about their mutual crush, but without him, let's be honest, they would still just stare at each other. And yes, I was screaming at my screen "Just kiss already", but this is such a delightful torture of a slow burn! Really delicious! And we got some hand holding. But Thame... your idea putting Po's hand in your pocket and nobody will know is just dumb. But they hold hands! AHHHHH! And next week... AHHHHHH!

7. The Heart Killers 🇹🇭 (10/12)

Joong really delivered in this episode. His single tears were so good. Fadel breaking down and allowing Style to comfort him, to protect him, to love every side of him was indeed beautiful. The series is not good, but this episode was quite good. But Mama being the bad guy here. Who was surprised? Be honest.

8. Word of Honor 🇨🇳 (25/36)

Yes, I kept watching. Well, this will take me a while to finish, I fear.

Finished in February

Series

Your Sky 🇹🇭

This series was a little roller coaster. But not because it was good and bad and good and bad, but because it was so innocent and sweet and baam, the next moment our sweet, shy protagonist has a sexual desire. I enjoyed this so much! The romance, the love, the chemistry, everything was so good! The story about fake dating and falling in love with each other in the end was predictable, but soooooo sweet! It made my sundays so good! I really hope we get to see them in another series again. 10 out of 10 for me.

Movie

Short Film

Dropped in February

Looking forward to in February

Reverse with Me - Trailer (Feb 5th)

Heart Stain - Trailer (Feb 6th)

Gelboys - Trailer (Feb 8th)

Exclusive Love (Feb 14th)

The Last Time - Teaser / Pilot (Feb 14th)

Fragrance of the First Flower Season 2 - Trailer (Feb 18th)

Jack and Joker Special Episode - Trailer (Feb 22nd)

Secret Relationship (Feb 27th)

[tokenducks]

Charles’ patches and pins :)

SKA pin: Quick History lesson because I had no idea what it was: definitely google more:

SKA is a music genre that originated in Jamaica. In the 70s a lot of Jamaicans immigrated to the UK. Punks and young Jamaican immigrants felt a sense of unity due to both being screwed over by the system. This led to 2 Tone SKA which mixed SKA with punk rock elements. While 2 Tone SKA is a genre, it was also a movement that focused on racial unity.

Rude Boy patch: In late 60s Jamaica RudeBoys were young “delinquents” who listened to rocksteady music. Term was used in England to refer to fans of SKA and 2 tone. Think the other insults used for punks that have been reclaimed.

Checker Print pin: Represents racial unity in the movement. 

Target patch: Symbol for the Mod subculture. Google this one to.

Union Jack pin (on bag) and patch: He sure is British

Smiley face pin: I believe it’s just a generic smiley face but it could be a logo. 

Unknown metal(?) pin: I can’t get a clear enough look at it to even begin to guess what it is. 

Unknown pin: I have no idea. The one between the metal one and the checker print. No a clue.

Unknown flag(?) pin: A flag with horizontal blue, yellow, and red stripes but I can’t find anything with those colors in that order.

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[uniiiquehecrt]

Voice actors are NOT the same as actors.

It takes a specific kind of skill-set and training to be able to warp and meld the voice. It takes a certain kind of talent and dedication to hone that talent into the ability to meld the voice and invoke emotion with one's voice alone. Actors are used to using their voice secondarily to their body language and their facial expressions. It's all mirrored back on camera. They do have nuance. But it's a different kind of nuance and a different kind of training to produce that nuance.

Voice actors might get their likeness transposed on their character's design, and maybe their mannerisms might seep into the character's animation. But when it's all said and done: their presence is in their voice. They are bringing a character to life, showing that emotion in their voice, trying to keep a specific accent, drawl, pitch, tone in that voice and keep it consistent for their recording sessions.

The voice actor is like a classically trained musician who can play first chair in a competitive, world-renown orchestra. The actor (who fills the voice actor's role) is like a moot who played violin in beginner and intermediate high school orchestra and thinks they can get into Juilliard with that 2-4 years of experience.

This doesn't mean that the HS orchestra moot can't play. They can even be really good at it. Maybe they won competitions and sat first chair. But they are not in the same league as the person who's been training their whole lives and lives and breathes to hone their craft using the instrument and all of the training they've ever acquired to perfect it. They are not meant for the same roles. They are not in the same caliber. You do not hire the HS equivalent when you want to play complex music in a competitive orchestra.

Actors are not the same as voice actors.

And furthermore, actors - especially big name actors - taking the roles of animated characters for big budget films or TV pilots makes no sense anyways when - at least in the case of TV pilots - there's not a point to hiring a big budget actors anyways. That money could be used elsewhere (like paying your animators), and the talent that is brought onto the screen for X character could then be hired on to voice said character no recasting required.

I wouldn't say voice acting as a profession is in danger exactly, but it's certainly being disrespected and overlooked for celebrity clout, and this has ALWAYS been an issue. Shoot, even Robin Williams knew that much - which is why he tried so hard not to be used as a marketing chess piece for Aladdin and got royally pissed off when it happened anyways. People shouldn't go to any movie (but especially not animated films) because "oh famous actor is in it". People should go because it's a good movie and the voice acting is good.

People who honest to god think that voice actors are replaceable because "oh well anyone can voice act" or "I like xyz celebrity so naturally it'll be good" ... Honestly I just wish you'd reassess your priorities because you're missing the point and are part of the problem.

Voice Actors ≠ Actors.

[hopeinthebox]

tagged by the lovliest @aprylynn and @cordiallyfuturedwight to kick off this year's musical archive

tagging favs: @thvinyl @kimtaegis @jihopesjoint @visionsofgideontheninth @hoseeok @eoieopda @monismochi <333 and whoever else this (dis)graces the dash of

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Of my 2% capacity to be attracted to anyone, my type is like 90% women, 5% pretty men and 5% men you would swear are super fucking manly, and never questioned being straight and cis, but are now suddenly *stressed* that they can't figure out why their attraction to me [fully socially interpreted as a woman and labelled that way up until relatively recently] feels incredibly fucking gay

[tiddiesoutwhenthetisout]

not me curling my laptop charger wire the way you curl band equipment cords HAHAHA god i miss it

[plantsjustwannahavefun]

What if we get to see Izzy's grooming routine in S2. What if we get to see him button up his vest. Slather pomade all over his hair and comb it into that ridiculous adorable coif. Shave and trim his beard. Put that kravat on and slide the ring back into place with utmost care and sadness.

[napoftustar]

so the moon of the day my older brother was born was a waning gibbous and mine was a waxing crescent... they complete each other and when they do they become a full moon... and the funny thing is.. the day my mother was born there was a full moon...

[piratadelamor]

its a bit weird that i know both of my boyfriend's exes personally and even weirder that we all look like each other because he really has a type and there's the fact that his first ex shows up all the time on my instagram and his second ex is weirdly obsessed with trying to keep contact with him even though she was the one who left him for someone else (on december 23rd !!) and she stalked me on ig and she's friends with my roommate and like. this is my first time not being my partner's first gf so it's my first time dealing with ex gfs and it's all just super weird to me

[starsiide]

if an artist says their turnaround time is usually a week and that they should be done with your specific commission by the end of the week, then goes nearly three weeks without saying something, is it OK to ask them for an update on your commission? I'm a bit torn on whether I should wait a whole month