#(read: unemployed)

[tokkimins]

been looking thru the roy observation logs

[camibispace]

I was considering how different the public opinion is from the fandom's view of which songs Paul and John wrote about each other What we might consider classics are still widely seen as just normal songs or songs about Linda/Yoko

For example I would say the ones I'm 100% convinced are about each other are:

the confirmed ones: Here today, Too many people, How Do You Sleep, Dear Friend

from the Beatles: If I fell, Two of Us, Oh!Darling, those few lines in Get Back about JoJo

from John: Jealous guy, I Know (I Know), (Just Like) Starting Over, Now and Then

from Paul: Best friend - live in Antwerp, This One, The Song We Were Singing, Early days

I have doubts/it's complicated/open interpetation/there's more to that/it bonds them but it's not about each other:

Here, There and Everywhere

Come and Get It

The Long and Winding Road

You've Got To Hide Your Love Away

Let Me Roll It

My Life

Nobody Knows

Tug of War

Something That Didn't Happen

The Lovers That Never Were

Anyway

Real love

Dear Boy

Hey Jude

Coming Up

Silly Love Songs

Arrow Through Me

Young Boy

New

Little Lamb Dragonfly

Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)

I'm Losing You

I Want To Hold Your Hand

All My Loving

The Pound Is Sinking

Feel free to suggest more or argue on some, I'm curious what other people have incorporated into their belief system about these two lol

[helga-grinduil]

Wait... VERSO DIED WHEN HE WAS 26. ALICIA CANNOT POSSIBLY BE 16 YEARS OLD OUTSIDE THE CANVAS... If she was 10 years younger than him, she would've been a toddler in the flashback of Aline teaching all 3 of them to Paint.

WAS ALICIA IN HER EARLY TWENTIES THIS ENTIRE FUCKING TIME???????????

[kirkwallguy]

why was he kind of right here

[babyboywilson]

might have a multi-chapter fic idea for my first hilson fic. friends with benefits hilson with them hooking up in wilson’s office or sneaky places in the hospital or at house’s apartment. and both of them is pining for more, falling for each other hard and fast, but neither thinks the other wants more than just a quick fuck. and there’s blatant flirting and fluff and kisses and touches mixed into the smut with both house and wilson trying to get the other to fall in love with him without them realizing they’re both already in love with each other and want more than just sex

[sevikasuggestion]

not quite pro

2nd person, 4k words somehow. 21+ and i loveee the block button

contains a not quite APA certified piercing that doubles as foreplay, some bloodshed, miiiild blood play, some praise, some low-key mocking, sevika playing mildly subby temporarily, reader with a vag, fingering, me getting real long winded idk how this got be so damn long but yayyyyy sevikaaaaaaa

you’re kind of a piercer with a massive crush on zaun’s finest. sevika lets you break her into a tattoo shop after hours for a couple of firsts.

“What if I get nervous,” she almost hums, a lovely timbre, deep and clear. Sevika’s creamy skin glows under you where you stand, burnished under bright oil lamp light, and her eyes make unerring contact with yours as she fights to keep the smirk off of her face.

That’s the only fight you can see Sevika losing, in a just world.

‘Nervous,’ sure. She’s so much unflinching challenge wrapped tight in leather crop top, and you snicker out loud at the absurdity. Imagine this tank of a woman feining shy or demure, batting those short dark lashes or pouting sweetly to get her way, instead of simply putting the world where she wants it.

‘Nervous.’ Maybe she’s making fun of you, but you’re sure you aren’t actually, like, trembling with want– you’d actually say you’re playing it exceedingly cool right now, in the muted quiet of this tattoo shop, out "late" enough that it may just be "early," prepping her for a piercing you can’t believe you talked her into.

“Do you need something to hold on to, sweetheart?” Not even your hands shake, and even though you almost whisper it, you are so fucking brave. You haven't kissed, just walked the streets together and chatted, ghosting touches and lingering looks, with no care for getting caught.

You keep playing along, an excuse to stroke your free hand, sans latex glove, through the lock of hair tickling her cheekbone. The gesture is entirely selfish, but it soothes you as much as you hope it does her. “Something to bite down on?”

Sevika leans her head’s full weight into your palm, like a puppy, and she must hear how your breath hitches in your throat at the sight. Her smile is a little devious, and her voice dips a little lower, settles deep into your gut as your heart climbs to your throat. But when you start again to sanitize the septum of her nose with the alcohol wipe in your other, gloved, hand, Sevika goes very still for you, like you asked earlier, stoic against the tickle. Still, except to ask, “so what if I do?”

Then again, a delicate Sevika doesn’t seem so far-fetched, now that you’re looking down at her. She’s humoring you more than you had expected she would, and you wonder if you’ve just gotten very lucky. Even so, every word has felt like a dare, one you desperately want to live up to. You had had to work up the courage to approach in the first place, after a few aborted attempts, but you got it done. Fine, you think. Since she bets you won’t.

Avoiding her eyes, you glide clean fingers down her warm jaw, relaxed and pliable in your hand. You almost massage her neck but run ahead, over her shoulder, down to cup the fraction of bicep you can actually get your hand around– does this count as feeling her up? because it should, the way your stomach is flipping– ‘til you’re all the way to her hand, a loose fist resting on her own knee. She doesn't move, except to dart her eyes up and down your body, no attempts at subtlety. You wonder if you've really talked her into anything she wasn't plotting herself.

Its endlessly exciting, touching her. It could go nowhere, and if all you can say is you got your hands on her, drew only a little bit of blood, you’ll chalk it up as sweet victory. Her prosthesis grips the arm of her chair a little– you hear it creak– when you guide her hand to the low swell of your hip and up your back. She needs no further urging, gripping you almost for support, and she’s sitting up straighter, and looking right up at you, chin tilted to show more of her face to the light.

“Hold on, then. As tight as you need.”

You could have called her to heel in so many words and it wouldn’t’ve felt half as perfect, but you do have to ruin it.

“You have to sit back,” you order, smiling ruefully as you widen the gap between you, pressing feather-light against her collarbone. She moves with no effort at all, easily cowed just by your voice, and the wash of warmth at how easy it is reaches your toes and back up to your stomach. Maybe she likes you telling her what to do, trusting you in your realm, a little novelty. You’re sure she sees the effort it takes to keep your head with her this close, maybe this obedience is a reward.

Sevika looks up through lashes now, almost contrite for having moved without permission, lowering her chin. You want to fall into her arms, but you have a job to do. “You don’t have to be nervous, but you will tear up a little. That’s normal.”

“S’ not likely, sweetheart.”

“It’s almost mandatory, actually. It's a face piercing, this close to your eyes, a tear or two is like, reflex. I know you’re plenty tough. We’ll keep it a secret, promise.”

This crush is weeks old, and in passing on the street, or at the bars, you haven’t ever heard her so soft with anyone, even when she’s flirting. She’s not quite voicing challenge, or denying you’re in charge, even though her expressive brow twitches at each order you’ve given since you led her into this studio. You’re clearly having fun, telling her what to do while your piercing needles are in reach waiting for use, and she’s content letting you talk her through it.

As you distract yourself for a moment of boldness, counting the sparkles in her slate eyes, she seems pleased to be here, sat with her strong legs spread wide open, calm and still, her knees loosely caging your legs where you stand facing her. You’re done wiping her down, and she takes a big breath as you pick up the straight needle in the gloved hand and piece of cork in the other, and start to line up. “Another big breath in for me. By the time you breathe out, it'll basically be done. You ready?”

Her grin is brief and treacherous.

“Do your worst.”

At the bar earlier, when you’d finally plucked up the courage to say something after a few weekends of staring at the back of her head, she had seemed pleased to see you. Maybe your attempts at walking up to her hadn’t gone unnoticed after all. She had complimented your piercings after trading hellos, and you had seized the opportunity, leapt at it, actually, almost knocking over your drink to offer her one matching the shiny silver hoop through your septum. She hadn't blinked when you clarified that you weren't a piercer for work, not quite a pro. More of an enthusiast. She’d seemed more skeptical at your suggestion of placement, and had brought up how badly that could turn for her in a fight.

You had made a play at her ego, insisting that you had never seen anyone get close enough to her pretty face for that to be a real risk.

“So, you have been keeping tabs, then?”

Now, in a shop you do not have keys to, the muscle of her thighs pressing against the outsides of yours, you breathe in with her, and she keeps her eyes on yours. The press of the needle, the pop of separating skin, and she doesn't flinch once.

“You’re doing so good for me, okay? Keep breathing.”

She’s only bleeding a little–you narrate every step, as is your professional protocol, very clinical and detached. Not breathy, almost panting with nerves as you swab away the smear of red, of course not; not resisting the moan at the back of your throat, laser focused on how her grip had belatedly tightened on your hips after you pierced her. You aren’t sweating a little as you chase the ring through, fasten the spike end, tell her again how good she’s doing. It’s quick and successful, and the relief of not having fucked up the face of the most dangerous person you’ve ever known pulls a sigh from you that fluffs her hair as you let it out. Her eye is watering, by the way, but you don't mention it, turning to her to wipe it away with a fresh bit of gauze.

“Keep your damn hands to yourself!” She halts her hand in its path straight to the new hole in her face, faces her palm to you in appeasement.

“I’m serious, Sevika, don’t touch. I’ve done my part, if you get an infection and your shit falls off I’m not liable.”

“Don’t touch, I got it. This what you’re always like with a weapon in your hand?”

“Sometimes, the job is to protect clients from themselves.”

“Job? Alright. Hands off, heard you.”

She’s keeping her hands occupied elsewhere, gliding them up and down your thighs, watching your chest rise and fall and little faster with each dip behind your knees. You feel like you're melting, like, it's a wonder you’re still upright with jelly femurs and a spine the autumn breeze could fold.

She’s moving up a little higher and down lower with each stroke now that you’ve cleaned her and up and shed the glove, eyes admiring your own piercings again, more exposed now with your hair pulled back.

“Your earrings are beautiful. I don’t know how you deal with so many. That can’t be it though, right?”

“Are you trying to catch up?”

You just sound excited, ready for more of her to look forward to. Would she really let you bring her back here and do this again? Lightning strikes twice all the time.

She lowers her lashes, leans back in the chair and slouches until almost eye-level with your exposed midriff, licking her lips.

She cants her hips further forward than ever, her pretty swoosh of wavey, soft-looking happy trail peeking over the cargos playing you a siren call, a posture you could see perfectly in place on some great throne, or at the head of a high end poker table-- somewhere you only get a seat if you can seize it. Gods, she's beautiful.

You’ve wanted to lick hearts into her bush for weeks, but now is absolutely not the time to tell her you’re batshit for her.

Now’s the time for Sevika to reiterate her grip on your hip with one hand, letting the cool metal of her other glide to your soft belly button, unpierced. You let her see you shiver, see your mouth fall open on another shakey breath. She looks back to your eyes instead of suggestively staring elsewhere.

“Are you holding out on me?”

Two options, and one slow, calming breath: whip off your shirt and flash her your nipple piercings, or play it cool? Be fucking cool.

“How about I’ll show you another one of mine for every one you let me give you?

“And I was right,” you sing, teasing. It’s your hand on her jaw now, guiding her very gently to look into the mirror to her left. “We’re a cute match.”

“That’s a shit deal if I’ve ever heard one. You’re way ahead.” Sevika smiles at herself with both corners of her mouth, brow soft and upturned, genuinely pleased to see your work done. You’ve started her with a gauge much larger than normal, closer to the thick hoop in your own nose. To your eyes, a dainty 14-gauge ring wouldn’t quite suit her, and she seems to agree.

“You love it.” At work, you’re nothing if not confident; this isn’t a question. Suddenly, she’s standing, and leaning into you, intent to answer without words. “Wait, no! Don’t–”

Sevika’s surprised, about to apologize, but then realizes what you mean. You both realize it at the same time, this has been a mutual act of self sabotage. You’re about a fingertips length apart and breathing each other’s air, but you’ve put your hands to her shoulders, blocking her advance, again. The urge, the want, rushes through you hot as brushfire, another spark to the grass every time you move against her full bust. As badly as you both want to, and goddamn do you want to, you really can’t jump her with a new nose ring.

“For at least a few days.”

The piercing, of course. She rolls her eyes and groans, slumps against you and rests her forehead on your shoulder, your heart soars at all this contact. She wants it as bad as you do, you think, as she sinks slowly back into her chair, never letting go your hips. She’s–do you dare think it?-- dejected, but pulls you back to start and then closer, hands curling possesive and hot on the backs of your thighs, kneading them almost apart.

“It's a– huh– a fresh wound…you have to promise to treat it like one. No mashing faces,” you prescribe while she spikes your heart rate with a few insistent touches. Sevika snorts and starts kneading you where she holds you, “or getting punched in the mouth. Don’t fuck up my hard work.” You think you kind of sounded stern there, at the end.

“Safe, huh? I will… do my best to respect your hard work.” She says it smirking, and you look away, suddenly shy now that the job is done. Then you hear your name from her lips, very frankly, so you let her catch your eye again.

“How’s it feel? Sore?” you ask.

She says your name again through a small smile, wincing a little.

“You were gentle, thank you. Really. I’ve had this in mind for… years, maybe, just couldn’t...well. Couldn't be bothered. Got busy. So, thank you. It feels…” she considers her reflection again as you take in her profile and commit every slope and sharp corner of her jaw, her nose, her brow, to warm-washed memory.

“Feels like me. Feels right. I owe you at least a favor.”

“Oh, I’m– uh– just happy I could–! Uh. Thank you for letting me be your first, hah.”

“Mhm, my first.” She sounds delighted at that. “That’s a big deal, isn’t it? I should thank you properly.”

She places a wginger kiss on your stomach, and from here you see her brow crease a bit. “You can't do that,” you breathe, helpless. Lying. “What did I just tell you?”

“‘No face mashing’,” she answers. She hisses in a breath, wincing again with another kiss, different angle, trying to mitigate the damage she’s probably doing. Clearly she’s knocked her now-sensitive nose again, but she doesn’t seem to care.

“I can be gentle too, sweetheart.” She keeps using your own words against you. This has been her plan, the reason for all this patience. She’s been collecting little weapons against you, waiting for you to clock out and come back to yourself for maximum effect.

“You're hurting yourself.”

“I can take it. Are you waiting for me to beg?” She raises one brow higher than the other, daring you to shut her down, but you’re already moving to straddle her, so done being in charge for the night.

“‘No sucker punches,' you said. I’m just following your rules, doll.”

The shock of cold against your back where she holds you up is such stark contrast to all the heat between you, and she’s finally, finally making her way between your thighs where she’s got you spread wide. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, and you gasp at the intrusion when she traces the slope of you through the thin panties under your hiked-up skirt.

You want to stop talking and communicate exclusively through whines and gasps, but you reach one last time for humility. What you’ve done is not that impressive, and all the glory you’d find at her fingertips would not be an even exchange the way she’s implying.

“Sevika-a-a, please. I swear you don’t– hm– owe me anything. This, huh, isn’tevenmyequipment, oh.” You’re fighting to get it all out in one breath, the shitty little people-pleaser in you getting its last useless word in before you wrap an arm loosely ‘round her perfect shoulders and give up the game entirely, give in to pleasure.

“You’re holding your breath.” You just squeak in answer, shoulders rising.

“You have to breathe for me, baby, you’re doing so good.” She laughs, and you grunt a little louder, and take a breath in– she’s not inside, not quite, just tracing a sopping wet circle around your entrance, just about brushing the underside of your clit with palm-heel. It’s a real onslaught, but one of frustration, two warring clusters nerves competing for heat, and all you can want is more, more, more.

“You want me to stop.”

Desperation seizes your throat– what a hateful thought, “no, god, no, Sevika, please.”

“‘No,’ what, doll?” says the evil woman.

“Do not stop, please, feels so good, Sev, could you–” and your boldness trips and stops short, you're frustrated out loud, not sure how to phrase it. You didn’t think this far, couldn’t’ve dreamt this far, and aren’t sure what would sound good to her-- you just know you need pressure. She lets her fingers circle your clit properly, lets you rub yourself against her in earnest, a delicious press pulling your hips forward and back almost involuntarily.

She’s a well of patience, this lady. Probably because watching you fumble is plenty entertainment, but she doesn’t stop either. You realize your hips have been moving along with her strokes the whole time, short rhythmic circles, a little faster than how she’s not just teasing, and you feel your face growing hotter. You can hear your own needy gasps getting higher, louder, and the sound of it turns you on even more. You wonder if she can feel the heart beat in your cunt where she's treating you so rudely.

“Could I…?” she prompts you to finish. Her chin knocks into your torso as she speaks, and from here you're not surprised to see a little blood trailing out of her nose. The sight of it heats you at your core, you want to lick her clean, but can’t risk scaring her off just yet.

“Just, could you–” and you run out of words again, instead reaching between you to flatten her palm against you. Now your cunt is covered by her, cradling you like a jock, like a shield, and she’s dripping wet with you. Your clit is buzzing against her calloused palm, hole clenching around nothing as you hump delicately above her.

It's good, so good, and still not enough of her. Sevika mouths at your tits over your shirt, leaving tiny blood droplets behind, and paying them no mind, and you remember refusing her permission to investigate your piercings further. She has to feel them though, has to know you’ll be laying this bloody shirt over your face when you fuck yourself and pinch, thinking of her mouth on the same spots through fabric.

“Keep breathing, sweetheart, you’ve got to keep breathing for me.” You are struggling to, and maybe she's mocking you, but all the fight you have is another desperate, sobbing, “please, please.”

“You ready?”

“Stars, Sevika,” you beg again. And she’s off, past the gate in one stride. She breaches and fills you full with two sopping wet fingers, the sweet burn of her stretching you has you flexing every muscle, yowling her name again in a long drag.

"Feels good, huh?"

"Stings," you huff, and she laughs, close-mouthed.

"Likewise."

Then, there’s the cold grip of her whirring metal arm across your waist, it's almost too much, it’s like an ice plunge, it’s like ringing crystal. The hand you aren’t supporting yourself with wraps around her leather wrist cuff between your legs, squeezing and using her. Sevika leans back a bit to watch your face contort and crumble as she fucks into you.

The wave builds quickly, you wonder if you should tell her you’re about to cum, her hums of encouragement too sweet against the vulgar squelch of you, dripping wet, she says, did me so right, baby, so how’s it feel? You can feel the chilling air hitting your thighs where she’s spreading your mess about, you feel filthy, exalted.

“That’s it, sweetheart, chase it,” and she coos it, cheery, like she’s telling you to go fetch, as she plunges in and out, hounding you, brows furrowed in focus on you, her grin devious. Her thighs clench below yours, keeping you stable, and yours flex in turn as you do as she says, chasing down your orgasm like mad. You’re on tippy toes in your seat, curling and arching your feet against the floor, and her long powerful fingers pull you along, racing you to your finish line.

You’re well past caring about safe protocol – you’re thinking only of having a taste of her when you lean down and lick her, lap sloppily into her mouth, tasting blood.

Something to bite down on.

She purrs deep and rusty, her long groan of pleasure and approval buzzing in your ear and down your spine, and she sucks your tongue to soothe before clipping your lip the way you just did her, harder than comfort. It just heightens the rush of blood in your ears, and her rhymth in your cunt is picking up to match your hips bucking against her.

Just before the wave crashes, when you know she can feel your walls stuttering around her, you pull her face away from yours and to your neck, pleading for her again with just her name, “Sevika, Sevika,” high and needful, and she hears you, she’s got you, bites down in answer as she plunges in and out of you through the orgasm ripping through your every nerve. You cum with her grunting in syncopation with your unsteady gasps, clamping your every limb around her, gasping and seizing, and she cradles you through it, suckling on the new bruise on your neck, tonguing the tooth marks she’s left behind.

As you come down, your seat shifting closer to her torso now that her hands don’t need the room, she winds her arms behind you in a hug, and you collapse a little against her chest, tired from all the tension you've been holding all this time.

Sevika leans back and lets you, chin on your shoulder. You're catching your breath as she takes another look at herself in the mirror, trail of blood drying down her lip and on the new ring in her nose. She's trying to recall the last time someone got close enough to do so much damage, and she's drawing a blank.

[fujofailure]

can i say something on my blog is this a safe place

[crow-caller]

At board game night playing mysterium with strangers someones like "we gotta get into ____'s mind.... what's your job?" And i awkwardly am like. ' Haha its like, weird, i review books online, like, youtube.' Cannot state how embarrassing that feels but I also don't want to lie and I do LIKE my job and all that. But it will never not feel mortifying. We're trying to solve my tragic ghostly murder and the guy to my left has my yt up like 'you have decent views!'. What do I say to that. What i did say is 'haha yep' and then i could feel i was blushing for the next 15 minutes

But they DID win, bc I'm great at mysterium ghosting

[ceofcatgirls]

//suggestive

Going to finally make a post about this bc its been haunting my mind for a good month or two at this point--

This is a brief-ish post about guns being used as a metaphor for masculinity, power, and potential stand-in for phallus imagery in the dollars trilogy. I'll also be speaking about these things from a general stand point too, but I'll try to focus on how and where they interconnect.

I doubt most ppl will read all of this but I have brainworms so I need to put this out somewhere .

I think a lot of these points can be said about Westerns in general, btw. Not just Leone movies. However I'll focus on the dollar trilogy because this is already too long and needs to have a focus.

Now, I'm sure masculinity will need no defining, but I'll briefly show what definition of phallic imagery I use;

(Yes I'll eventually tie all this to the homoeroticism present in the movies, with a slight feminist bent to this analysis)

(I want you to keep in mind throughout this post that guns are metaphoric stand ins for dicks lol, just so i dont have to keep repeating that all the time)

I think this definition is quite good as it incorporates the concept of power into itself, which imo is a must-have when discussing masculinity in artwork.

As expected, there is an undeniable connection between phallic imagery and masculinity, which is also tied to power. A lot of masculinity throughout human history has relied upon genitals (even if not completely) to assert itself, which in turn, would affect the power relations men and women have, but also between men themselves. After all, the patriarchy is dependent on gender, with the male gender having the upper hand. This would mean, within a patriarchal society, men with more masculinity have more power, so we can see how sexuality is so tied to the patriarchy also, and how men will inevitably compete.

I'll start with perhaps one of the most obvious examples of this from the trilogy; which also conveniently has phallic imagery, or phallic metaphors.

Specifically, I'll start with the first proper interaction Colonel Mortimer and Manco have in For a Few Dollars More

(I'll link the clip just in case)

I'll state the obvious first; this is obviously a competition to define who would have the most power (and thus upper hand) in their relationship. That's why neither character backs down, and why there is a tense animosity between the two. Of course its also more complicated than that; Manco, the youngest of the two, is obviously taking this more seriously and is the more antagonistic. Mortimer seems to just be entertaining him at times, whilst also trying to show that his years of experience can give him the upper hand. Its a perfect scene presenting power, age, experience, who the characters are, and how their relationship will be forward from this.

And of course, as any western, guns are used for this.

Perhaps it's the perfect genre for what Sergio Leone wanted to present. Guns are the perfect metaphor for a phallus; they display power, they display masculinity, and they even have the shape! They can define life or death, much like how male sexuality, and therefore a phallus, can define a man's position in the patriarchy.

The shootout ends in a draw, as both Mortimer and Manco are skilled with their guns. Their stand-off for power and dominance led to a standstill and an equilibrium between the two. This will then define their relationship, as they form a equal partnership.

(And of course, perhaps Mortimer was being kind to Manco and held back a bit. He did the same in the end of the movie, by letting him take all the rewards. To Mortimer, there is more to gunslinging than an attempt to assert masculinity. And the fact that he holds back in his competition with Manco presents a level of respect he has for him, which adds on to the already existing homoeroticism of two men using guns to assert their dominance onto each other. I'd even argue that's what makes the homoeroticism purposeful, in this movie's case.)

There are other examples of guns bring used to impose masculinity throughout For a Few Dollars More. That is the crux of every final duel after all. But Mortimer and El Indio don't have significant homoerotic undertones so I won't get into it.

My other favourite example of this occurance in the dollars trilogy, is in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

It's a quick, small moment in a wider, longer scene. However I like how it gets across its message in a simple way.

It's the end of the scene where Angel Eyes forces a partnership onto Blondie.

I think it's important to mention how this is how Sergio Leone chose to end a scene where Angel Eyes and Blondie form a partnership. Its basically telling the viewer that Blondie consents to working with Angel Eyes. On a surface level, Blondie is sliding the gun to its holster to show that he's making peace with Angel Eyes. However, further introspection on the subtext also reveals other things.

For starters. The slow sliding in and the zoom in on the gun, with it becoming the centre point of the scene, easily becomes homoerotic (I don't think I need to explain how sexually suggestive it looks), but with it being seen as a sign of peace, it can also be seen as a sign of not only consent, but also submissiveness. Blondie here is admitting that he's under the thumb of Angel Eyes, and he can't do anything about it, not even with a gun. He can't challenge his power, nor his masculinity. The phallic imagery here only adds on to all of these points, for reasons mentioned previously.

Moving on from specific scenes, I'll mention something present throughout the movie that the definition I used above also mentions; cigars can also been stand-ins for phallic imagery, and masculinity.

Do I really have to mention how The Man With No Name is literally always having a cigar in his mouth ??? Its a very obvious oral fixation, one that Sergio Leone uses to his advantage.

Leone doesn't just use a cigar to make TMWNN look cool. The cigar, much like how a gun was used to represent Manco and Mortimer's, and Blondie's and Angel Eyes', relationships and partnerships, its also used to represent the relationship between Blondie and Tuco.

The scene where, imo, Blondie's and Tuco's relationship changes, is where Blondie offers Tuco a cigar after eavesdropping the conversation between Tuco and his brother.

And Tuco takes it, smokes it and grins!

Notably, Tuco's and Blondie's changing relationship is shown through a cigar rather than a gun, which is objectively significantly less violent, which sets them apart from the other relationships. There is also a closer contact between them, as in the other iterations of TMWNN never gave his gun to any ally of his, much less shared such a close contact as mouth-to-mouth.

The homoeroticism is rather obvious, and in this cade, it's present without power but still with phallic imagery.

(Another notable example was, if my memory serves correctly, in a Fistful of Dollars, Joe lights up a cigar for Ramone. But I won't mention that much since I could be confusing this for another movie, but if it did happen, it's also another scene packed with symbolism, and quite the opposite to Tuco's and Blondie's cigar scene).

Continuing to speak more generally, there are often focus and zoom ins on the guns in the movies. This peaks at the final Mexican standoff in GBU, where the guns are in their holsters and belts. Its natural that they'd be near their crotches too, but that only emphasises the masculinity, power and phallic imagery already present in the movie (as well as tension in the scene).

It comes with no surprise when Blondie chose Angel Eyes to shoot at. After all, Tuco and he had already made peace with each other. The only true masculine competition was between Angel Eyes and Blondie + Tuco.

There are also scenes where TMWNN shows off his skills with his gun; displaying his masculinity again through phallic imagery, so it's no wonder he went to become a figure of masculinity.

There is also the scene where Tuco acquires a new gun after being abandoned by Blondie. That represents what was mentioned previously; how men often fight for power. In this case Blondie takes away Tuco's power and masculinity by humiliating him in a desert. Tuco acquiring a new, polished and refined gun is his way of reclaiming his masculinity after Blondie emasculated him.

I won't speak much about A Fistful of Dollars, because the relationship between Joe and Ramone isn't as developed as the other relationships in the other movies. But it's also worth noting how a focal point in the final duel includes Joe's pistol and Ramone's supposedly stronger gun.

"When a man with a .45 meets a man with a rifle, you said the man with the pistol is a dead man. Let's see if that's true. Go ahead, load up and shoot."

In here, Joe reclaims his masculinity through a final duel. I wish the movie had been longer so I could connect potential homoeroticism to this scene like I did with the other examples, but I think it's a good scene, so I mentioned it nonetheless.

Sergio Leone movies are very much centred around men. That's generally how westerns work, too. But I think it's interesting, as it adds aligns with the analysis that men uphold the patriarchy between themselves, and this is even more true with Leone movies as they include little to no women (whereas many westerns have at least one or two), so most interactions are between men.

I'm not suggesting Sergio Leone intended all this. I do think the homoeroticism, phallic imagery and masculinity is purposeful. He was a Marxist, so perhaps the feminist angle to all this was also purposeful, but I don't think that's the case. Much like his contemporaries, Leone focused on class analysis when critiquing power structures (this mostly in his other movies), so the patriarchal angle was perhaps unintentional. I like to give the benefit of the doubt to artists when analysing their art, though, so I'm always happy to be proven wrong.

As I said. This is way too long and no one will probably read all of it. There are far more examples but I won't include every bc this is already a long asf post.

What the conclusion? I need to stop thinking about gay people!!!!!!!!!

A look into how my braincells look whenever I think about these homos a bit too much;

And this is how I felt writing this post:

And the thing is there's so much more I can say but I don't wanna make this too long esp since this is me ranting more than a proper analysis but jfc Leone always made sure to make his movies so damn gay it's actually insane

[hiimcanadia]

One very self indulgent thing that I've decided to do is allow myself to call myself a writer, and call the stories I post to Tumblr stories I have written. I've been hesitant to do that before bc I look around at all the amazing authors we have in this fandom who publish dozens of fics a year with word counts in the thousands and think "can I really compare my 300 word ideas and catalog of works that I might never publish to that?" But I realized recently that all "writer" means is someone who writes. It doesn't matter if the stories are long or have deep messages or ever even get published, it matters that you wrote them. And I'm always writing stories, even if they're short, simple, and tend to be kept to myself.

Like I said, it feels very self indulgent to let myself do this. But idk, if you're seeing this and you're also someone who writes short simple stuff you don't always share, I think you're a writer. If you doodle in private notebooks or decorate your home with crafts you found on pinterest, I think you're an artist. If you occasionally dust off the instrument you played middle school for one afternoon, I think you're a musician. Come take pride in your hobbies with me, even if you don't always feel like you're doing much

[optimisticallyamountain]

Walked into the library went wild checking out books and dvds; walked out of the library and immediately went no buyer’s remorse then remembered I didn’t have to pay for them and walked home blissfully in the rain with my huge stack of books to read weeeee

[junowasmad1]

Random esports drawings I don’t think I’m gonna finish part 1

[stupidlittlespirit]

im rlly rlly sorry to ask but dyk if you'll ever continue/update "Doctor, Doctor (Give me the news)"?

PLEASE feel free to ignore this ask if you dont wanna answer!! i completely understand and in NO way am i trying to rush at all! the curiosity is just getting to me

again im sososo sorry to ask and feel free to ignore this!!

I should start charging you guys for these asks. I'd be able to quit sex work and be a good Woman like the other anon wants me to be /j

Listen: I am not abandoning Doctor Doctor. I am two thirds of the way through the final chapter and am drafting for the third fic. I have every intention of continuing it. Don't panic, it's not going to be lost to the abyss or anything like that.

I know that the gap in chapter release probably seems huge because I usually update once a week or so. Perhaps that's on me for setting the schedule standard so high and making you guys expect quick updates.

If I'm absolutely frank with you (and I tell you this not to make you feel bad but to be honest and open with you) things are very difficult for me in real life at the moment.

Beyond being burnt out with writing generally, I am suffering some family (and pet) grief and have talked about my turbulent relationship with them in general, which in turn makes this all very difficult. I have to visit home soon and that's not going to be fun.

I have ongoing health issues, and my mental health has tanked quite badly in the past few months. I've been coming off of anti-psychotics and that went wrong, which caused me a lot of other issues, and also my mental health is very fragile anyway so it's difficult at the best of times. I had a nervous breakdown a few weeks ago and am still delicate from it. I have BPD, which if you're familiar with it, is not very nice. I'm in very intense therapy for it and that takes a lot out of me each week. I'm very tired.

I'm also in a difficult relationship that is very likely going to end because I came out as asexual. I have been having to come to terms with my sexuality, the inevitable end of this relationship that I value, and deal with the fall out of it, with someone who is not always very nice to me.

Things are stressful and tiring and very overwhelming for me. I am still chipping away at the chapter, but it's just taking extra time to get done because I lack the energy I had at the start. But it's just an energy thing; the passion is still there!

Again, not telling you this to make you feel bad or tell you off, I just want to be honest with you so you know that I'm truly not giving up on the fic. I just have a lot on. I have waaaaaay too many ideas and love for Ford to just walk away from my fics and I really love talking with you guys about them all, so don't worry :) It's coming, I promise.

[cosmogyros]

When you've written so fucking many official letters in German by now that you can't restrain the bitter sarcasm from shining through, even in situations where you should probably try to sound more humble and professional:

Sehr geehrte Damen und Herren,

ich beziehe mich auf die versehentliche Einstellung meiner Leistungen, die mir in Ihrem Schreiben vom 05.02. kommuniziert wurde. In der Zwischenzeit habe ich dank meines Anrufs bei der Arbeitsagentur-Zentrale herausgefunden, wo der Fehler lag, und habe am 05.03. offiziell ein Widerspruch dagegen erhoben. Ich habe Ihnen die benötigte Dokumentation auch bereitgestellt (ein Scan meiner Daueraufenthaltserlaubnis, die noch bis Dezember 2027 gültig ist).

Ich würde jetzt sehr gerne wissen, ob ich bis Ende dieses Monats (bzw. der ersten Woche des Folgemonats) mit einer fortgesetzen Auszahlung der Leistungen wieder rechnen darf. Ich bitte um eine Information diesbezüglich und bedanke mich herzlich im Voraus.

Mit freundlichen Grüßen

[piro-piroooooo]

rkgk, betty and maid oc named raquel

[boycritter]

i’m probably bipolar but i have a math textbook i read for an hour a day so i don’t really care about that right now