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disabledunitypunk · 3 days

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So, I know this blog has been a lot less active as of late, at least from my part (mod Stars).

I'm gonna be honest; I've been incredibly sick. A combination of some kind of issue with gluten/wheat (may be celiac, or nonceliac gluten intolerance, or wheat allergy) with IBD, MCAS, lactose intolerance and sensory issues, had caught me in such a cycle of degranulation, anaphylaxis, intestinal issues, brain fog, chronic fatigue, and POTS and chronic pain flareups, that I was nonfunctional.

On top of that, anxiety over my partners SSI application (recently medically approved by the administrative law judge, that's a win! still waiting on nonmedical approval but it should hopefully just be a rubber stamp process at this point - knock on wood) has really screwed with my levels of executive dysfunction.

And trauma around medical neglect and abuse, plus being so sick, plus executive dysfunction, had led me to temporarily avoid seeking treatment at all. When I say that the very idea of trying to trick yet another doctor's ego into believing they came up with the idea to test me for the conditions I'm already reasonably certain I have, all while making sure I don't seem too smart, too unintelligent, too articulate, too reliant on google, too self-aware, use too many medical terms, and so on... I've not had the ability to advocate for myself anymore.

Luckily, a friend of mine that's all hellfire agreed to help advocate for me at some of my appointments going forward, so I'm going to be finding a new primary care doc and going forward (possibly seeing my old one a few more times if necessary, just to get re-referrals and maybe get a referral to a non-Medicaid allergist that actually knows what MCAS is) with pursuing diagnoses and treatment again.

Until then, however, I'm pretty much limited to about three foods - plain white or wild rice, "zoup" (a zucchini broth with chunks of carrots, daikon, celery, and wild rice), and raisins. I can drink water and cranberry juice. Between my sensory issues and that tiny list, I've been consistently significantly hungry for a week. I'm struggling to sleep and can't get more than four hours of restless sleep in a night the past few nights. I'm menstruating for the first time in five years for G-d knows why. I feel better and less reactive, especially after an ER visit for some IM decadron, but I am constantly exhausted.

Why do I bring all this up?

This is my daily life. I have near zero quality of life because of the ableism of doctors and failures of the medical system. I'm barely keeping myself alive every day, really only with the help of a lot of caretaking from my partner. I haven't been able to get to my doctor to get approved for that friend willing to advocate for me to be paid for basic caretaking duties by Medicaid. I went out on Saturday for the first time in over a month, and I'll be recovering from that for the next week and a half.

There is not a single minute of my life that isn't profoundly affected by my disabilities. Stress causes a cascading reaction through my MCAS, POTS, ME/CFS. Understimulation causes intense stress and even pain. Listening to music while doing nothing, watching videos, and similar "low energy" activities drain so much energy that they trigger my chronic fatigue, and sometimes cause a lesser reverse cascading reaction.

I can't take an ADHD med to help with the symptoms more disabling than the ones threatening literal anaphylaxis and organ failure because I can't get them compounded without an official MCAS diagnosis, and I'd also need a beta blocker compounded as well (which are are often mast cell triggers) for my POTS because the only ADHD meds that work on me are amphetamines.

I can't take vitamin D or B12 despite being incredibly critically low for the same reasons. I've barely found some OTC benadryl and aleve that I halfway tolerate. I might have a UTI and if I do I'm gonna have to convince doctors 20 years behind the medical literature that IM antibiotics are considered safe and effective and are a safer alternative to oral meds for me, if still risking a minor reaction.

On good days, I can make it between the bed and couch a couple times a day, and between the couch and the toilet. On bad days, I have a chamber pot setup in the bedroom because I can't afford diapers. I'm sure my vitamin D deficiency is not helped by never leaving an apartment that barely gets some sunlight two hours a day because it's in the shadow of the other side of the building.

I used to, on bad days, spend most of the day doing mindless tasks or on slightly less bad days, puzzle games, on my phone. Now, I'm lucky if I can do even that much most days. I AM too sick to play video games. 🥲 I can nap, I can sit with my eyes open, I can listen to music until it's too exhausting anymore.

I'm tired, and every day surviving is just a monumental effort. Again, the ableism of doctors and... actually, they're not failures if they're intentional; the abusive medical system, have not left a single minute of my life untouched.

Multiple times, when talking about online discourse, I've been accused of "wanting to be more disabled than I am", "being physically abled", being "crazy", "delusional", "on something", etc, etc, etc. All for daring to say that ideas like body-mind duality, exclusionism within disabled communities, and similar, are deeply harmful and affect far more than insular online discourse.

Doctors love to shove off chronically ill people into "psych cases". Have anxiety, autism, PTSD, schizophrenia, DID, depression, etc, etc on your chart? Yeah, you're never getting that physical diagnosis. This is what perpetuating and encouraging ideas like "all disabilities are physical OR mental", "people with abc type of disability have privilege over people with xyz type of disability", and so on, DOES.

Sanism is used to perpetuate ableism. Ableism is used to perpetuate sanism. Quite frankly, I'm not sure that neurotypical physically disabled people, non-mad neurodivergent physically disabled people, and physically abled neurodivergent/mad (all as self-identified categories) get just how deeply compounded ableism is when you exist at the intersection of physically disabled and neurodivergent (especially if mentally ill or mad). Or perhaps, the disconnect exists along a line of "profoundly disabled" vs "can access abled hegemony to a significant extent". Perhaps it's both. There is likely elements of how visible a disability is, how much its able to be masked, the type/level/spread of support needs, and so on. There's definitely elements of other marginalization; race, ethnicity, fatness, queerness, and so on.

And then there's the subcategories. Cognitively disabled. Traumatized. Chronically ill. Visually impaired/blind. Deaf/hard of hearing. Intellectual disability. Mobility disabilities. Fluctuating vs static disabilities, support needs, masking, and so on.

Sometimes I wonder, would the people who think I'm just an abled faker who doesn't belong for not being able to seperate my neurodivergence from my physical disabilities, my neurological organs from my body, my inabilities from my inabilities, would they find I'm the same as them when they spend a day in my life? Would they find it worse? Would they find it unbearable in a completely different way from their own struggles? Would they maybe even find that while it's not quite as hard as their own struggles in some cases, that it's still wildly hard and the two are far closer to each other on the scale than they think? Would they understand that we are both in the midst of an active, eugenicist genocide, and that we're 50-49 bullet holes staring down the barrel of a loaded gun that is held by our oppressors?

Even now, I'm thinking about how this post might be inaccessible. Is it readable for screen readers? Will the length be too much for way too many people? Is it understandable for people with intelligence and cognitive disabilities? How do I fix those things if it's not. What am I missing? What am I missing? What am I missing?

I'm exhausted, I'm scared, and I'm barely holding on. I'm safe, mental health wise, to be clear, I'm just convinced that the only reason that I'm not in significant danger from my physical chronic illnesses right now is because I've always had a body that was stubborn as all hell and twice as resilient. I'm not dying, not because the illnesses aren't trying, but because my body will endure far beyond normal limits.

I've experienced slow acting anaphylactic reactions without anaphylactic shock about once a month for 1-2 years now, usually only going in after several days and nights of severe symptoms. Like I've mentioned, several of my vitamin levels are so low as to make organ failure a constant threat. None of my illnesses are "terminal" per se, but that doesn't mean they can't be deadly. And more to the point, it doesn't mean they can't destroy me, that they haven't utterly destroyed my quality of life, without killing me.

I mean, I started this blog as an attempt at fostering solidarity. We CANNOT be quibbling over who really "belongs" in various disability spaces, who gets to reclaim what words or whatever, when so many of us are dealing with this shit.

For the area with the lowest cost of living in the country, SSI should be 5 times what it is now. For the highest, up to 20 times. People on disability benefits lose some or all of their payments, insurance, and so on, if they get married, even to another person on benefits. I've never met a disabled person without more doctor horror stories than diagnoses, and we all know diagnoses like to come in clusters. We are being abused, neglected, and killed.

I cannot stress how much, not that this intracommunity discourse "doesn't matter", but that it does at a deeply harmful level. It's just perpetuation of the abuse we face at a lateral level. We're mimicking the government and doctors and general abled society and getting into petty but deeply dangerous inane arguments that are just us carrying out the only way we've been taught to treat disabled people.

Being a disabled activist and advocate means questioning everything you know about ableism. It means prioritizing first and foremost disabled people. And honestly, speaking as someone whose platform here is dedicated to that, that's really fucking hard. It means believing people about their experiences with disability and oppression in a world that teaches us that the vast majority of disabled people are lying privileged fakers.

It means not believing that people know more about what people with a disability they DON'T have face because of their own disabilities. A little confusing, but essentially someone with disability A without disability B who faces oppression X, can't say that someone with disability B DOESN'T face oppression X, just because they face it. It means not calling the very real harm someone has experienced "misdirected", or making their suffering about you or your subcommunity, just because you've experienced the same or similar harm.

It means unlearning reactivity as a group of extremely traumatized people. It means learning to meet people where they're at, and assume "can't" rather than "won't". It means accepting that sometimes not only will someone's disabilities cause conflicting access needs with your own, but that sometimes people's disabilities can actively cause them to do harm, and that they still deserve rights, community, and support if they do. It also means recognizing that the harm that a disability may cause someone to do is going to look VASTLY different than abled expectations of "harmful" disabilities. It means, even and especially when this happens, recentering the perspective not around how the disability affects other people, but around how it affects the person with the disability.

It's all of this and so much more. It's a lot of effort from people with not a lot to give. It's fighting an upstairs battle with no ramp, so to speak.

And I guess I just... I'm at a loss on how to keep that up. Is just focusing on getting myself well enough to participate again, putting my own mask on first, enough? When there is not a single moment of my life untouched by the extremely deep and extremely systemic harm of ableism, is it enough to try and access the care continually gatekept from me at an individual level? Can I even do so, against such intensive pressure?

How do I live this life, and also go on untangles the narratives of "disabling neurodivergence isn't really a real disability and neurodivergent people face almost no real ableism" and "physical conditions are obvious and so get all the care and face no real ableism". How do I fight the concurrent violences of hypervisibility and erasure within the community that only serve to strengthen abled people bludgeoning us with them?

How do I focus on things like organizing, community building, activism, advocacy, dismantling the system, dismantling our reliance on it, and so much more, when I can't even get out of bed?

All I can do is write about it, right now. Sometimes I feel like that's all I've ever been able to do. Everyone I've ever known has acted like some day my "pen" will be a tool of liberation, but I'm at a loss for how. I'm just some horribly sick mad cripple on a dying microblogging platform on the internet. I don't know - not if I'm enough, but if anything ever can be.

And I don't mean to sound hopeless. I know that change can happen. I know that it is, in tiny and sometimes larger ways, every day.

This is kind of a self-centered post, in the most neutral way. This is just my perspective. This is about me, and how I'm so very disabled, and how people assume I'm not (and how wild that is, considering), and how ableism affects me so deeply, and how I don't know how to face it or fight it...

I can only hope that maybe my word resonating with people means something. That maybe, as much as we never want each other to experience what we have to, that it's also a comfort to know we don't experience it alone. That maybe this will serve as a reminder that it's okay to be scared, to feel lost, even hopeless, to struggle; to not know how to fight or where to turn. That maybe this will reach someone who CAN do something, and maybe it'll reach the people who need to NOT do anything other than take care of themselves, and that maybe it will help both of them.

Maybe that's too grandiose, I don't know. I hardly know what my point is here, other than: this is me, crippled and crazy as all hell. This is the violence I face. This is why I started this blog, because we need to stop hearing "you're a lying abled privileged faker trying to take advantage of and take resources from real disabled people who really need it" from abled people, and saying it word for word to each other. Because what abled people mean by "real disabled people" is just a theoretical disabled person. A perfect victim. They don't mean any real disabled person, especially not those who can advocate for themselves. They mean they think every single one of us doesn't need or deserve accommodations, treatment, respect, humanity, or even life.

That's the point, really. We're all we've got. We've gotta fight for each other, not fight each other. And G-d, I know how hypocritical that sounds coming from my ragey, rabid ass. I just... that's all I know to focus on right now. Not necessarily all coming together and holding hands and singing a song about unity, but just... not being ableist to each other. Tolerating each other even if we can't stand each other. Presenting a united, unbroken front to ableist society, and pushing until they don't have any power over us anymore. Doing the work of activism, which is often neither easy nor feel-good.

That's what I'm trying to do here, at least. I try to get a little better at it every day. I try to listen a little more. I try to keep up hope when my body and mind are crashing down around me.

I don't have a mic-drop conclusion to add to this, so just: I'm opening the floor. Anyone who has anything to add, feel free to do so. What you have to say is valuable.

#ableism #sanism #unitypunk #cripplepunk #madpunk #neuropunk

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solangelo · 3 months

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I was wondering, do you have any recomendations on some long fics? Like, not just one chapter? Sorry if you had already posted something abou that. Anyway, thanks!!! (Really like your blog <<3333)

Absolutely!! I pretty much only read on Ao3 anymore so all of my recommendations are going to be there, but if others want to tack on their own recommendations in the comments they're always welcome to do so :)

A few things,

I tried to put content warnings on the bodies of work as I see fit, but some of these I read over a year ago and haven't looked at since so I apologize if I've missed something!

Additionally speaking, I've marked anything in which contains characters having sex with a red heart emoji ❤️ as it should be viewable on light and dark mode, across multiple forms of devices (ios vs android, etc) and should be readable to screen readers as well; As per previous notes on this blogs, any explicit depictions of characters having sex will also have them being explicitly over 18. Now without further ado-

I'm a huge fan of rabbit_soup's "Healing Takes Two" series, it's 13 pieces in total some of them are oneshots and others are multichapter but they all fit together making it a large body of text. The plot extends from Nico's three days in the infirmary to the early stages of their relationship and still seems to be ongoing with the author taking on rewriting some of their older pieces.

arum scarce by GalwayGirlo [16/20] AU ❤️:

Nico wakes up paralyzed following a motorcycle accident. Maybe Will Solace can help him get some feeling back?

(cw: suicidal ideation, a suicide attempt, adult having a relationship with a minor, "mafia stuff")

When I Get Home to You by 2nd2ndalto [10/10] Canon Compliant, Time Travel ❤️:

Will’s brow furrows."N - Nico?"

It’s impossible, this boy can’t be Nico, but the name falls from his lips without real conscious thought. Nico is 38 years old and probably sitting at home in their living room, hopefully having figured out how to fix the clogged dishwasher line, which is what he’d been planning on doing when Will left early this morning.

(cw: conversations about suicidal ideation and related topics, and young nico is involved so canon compliant trauma of his comes up as well)

talk your talk and go viral (i just need this love spiral) by wrongcaitlyn [34/34] and a part 2 currently at [2/?] chapters, Celebrity AU ft. Trans Nico:

“Keep telling yourself that,” Will says quietly, because even though the door is closed, speaking any louder would seem wrong. “You’re too harsh on yourself. If you wrote songs or something, you’d easily get on the Billboard Hot 100. Dad would help you. I would, too.”

“Promote it to your seven followers?”

“Yes!”

Nico laughs, and then Will is joining him, and they’re closer than before, but it’s nothing unusual. It’s been this way since before stupid feelings and stupid crushes, and Nico would be damned if he let it change just because of that.

(cw: alcoholism, childhood abuse and neglect, character death, car accidents, transphobia/homophobia/generalized queerphobia, gender dysphoria, suicidal ideation and related topics)

peach tea by ghosttotheparty [5/5] AU ft. Latino Will:

Will brushes his thumb over the side of Nico’s hand gently. His skin is soft. Nico’s fingers tighten on Will’s. It kind of feels like neither of them wants to move. Will doesn’t mind.

He sits up after a moment, but Nico doesn’t let go of his fingers, so he lifts the arm that’s awkward between them and sets it behind Nico, leaning back to rest on it. Nico just looks at the tapestry.

or; Will falls in love with the new kid.

(cw: mental health struggles, ptsd, anxiety/panic attacks, depression, grief, and character death)

What Could've Been Lights by athaleablaire [18/18], AU - I can’t remember if they have sex in this, rating is teen and up and all characters are over 18 but enter at your own risk:

In Will's eyes, he really has it all. A job as a surgeon at an amazing hospital, great friends-- what more could he ask for? Everything is going great until a man walks into his emergency room half-dead. In the mission to save his life, Will gets a little more than he bargained for.

(cw: injury and recovery, accusations of substance use)

a shadow in the rising sun by demigodbeautiies [9/13], AU Royalty, Arranged Marriage:

This is a story about the Ghost King.

Will Solace (crown prince in the Seventh Kingdom, politically useless as it may be) does not particularly want to be married to a thing of nightmares. He doesn't really have a choice, though. When does he ever? He allows his father to push him led into this politically advantageous, beauracratically necessary arrangement without too many complaints, and resigns himself to the fact he will be marrying a tyrant out of the tall tales his mother used to tell him when he was a boy.

Except then he meets his husband - a boy, and one younger than he is at that! - and realises that he has absolutely no idea what to expect. All he can hope for is that no one tries to kill him.

(cw: character death, character injury?)

NICO Centric:

Lethe by Eridans [8/8] Canon Compliant with a part 2 at [16/16]:

He's ten and ninety simultaneously, his mother was murdered and his sister is a stranger. He's got a deck of cards that he holds onto like a lifeline and an Italian-English dictionary that's old as hell and crumbling, but it's not as old as he is, and that makes him laugh.

The River Lethe was supposed to take away their memories, but Nico remembers his past, his days at home, the times he spent with his sister and mother at parades Mussolini hosted, where Maria sang the national anthem. The river tried to take away everything Nico cherished, and it could have been pure desperation or grief that made him remember his past.

Nico didn't know.

(cw: I started reading this fic over 8 years ago and haven't read it since it's last update 3 years ago, expect canon compliant events and themes to occur but otherwise proceed at your own risk, exercising caution and compassion for yourself where necessary <3)

WILL Centric:

Solace by solisaureus [11/11], Canon Compliant:

solace (n.) comfort or consolation in a time of distress or sadness.

solis (n.) the Latin word for "sun."

(cw: author includes their own content warnings at the start of each chapter!)

sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes by whimsicalMedley [13/26] Canon Compliant ft. Trans Will Solace:

Contrary to his general disposition, William Andrew Solace was born in the middle of an October hurricane.

Or, Growing up is hard. It’s even harder when you’re the son of the sun god.

(cw: author includes their own content warnings at the start of each chapter!)

Hopefully this is a good place to get you started, nonnie!

#fic rec #anon #asks #mod: hya

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kindlyanni · 2 months

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Hey! Uh! Sorry if this is weird at all but! I'm like... 95% sure that I named myself after Dylan when I started to answer all the questions I was asking myself about my gender, which for me was back in high school (im in my 20s now), when I found this blog??? Of some sort??? That linked to a bunch of LGBT webcomics and... I found Transfusions through that - its been a while since I've read it, but I just went back and got fully caught up and (again! I do apologize if this is overwhelming at all but!!!) Came to the realization that Dylan's name and gender felt more comfortable then what I was. As well, the gorgeous way you draw emotions and experiences, the facial expressions and the... vibe??? For lack of a better term??? It gave me some courage id been missing to pick up a pen and draw a little again, after neglecting it for years. So, thank you for listening to my silly rambles in your inbox, and thank you for helping a silly teenager come to terms with their identity through such a well written and well loved character ♡ also snarky vampires, v important! Whenever you read this, I hope you have or had a wonderful day ~

Awuuuuu oh Anon thank you for such a lovely message! 💜 I’m so glad to hear my comic is a source of inspiration for you! Thank you so much!

Have a lovely day as well!

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sarahowritesostucky · 4 months

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Re-uploading my library with only the fluffier🌺 pieces, because fiction⛔reality, but nobody told the 🧌🧌 that

If you used to follow me at sarah-writes-stucky, this is the reboot of that blog, so please give a follow and a re-blog! I miss y'all!

📖"Wet Dream" - Rated E

(gorgeous manip in the banner made by the amazingly talented @kocuria)

Pairing: Bucky x Steve

Tags: Dom/sub au, dom Bucky, sub Steve, post-serum Steve, age gap (20's/40's) , cock cages, Orgasm delay/denial, m! rec. oral, submissive release, teasing, domestic, light humiliation, tiny!dick Steve, size kink, dumbification, subspace, biological D/s

Summary: Bucky's teased him for twelve days, and Steve's taken it beautifully, going down easier each night that he's denied and tucked away into his cage. It's no wonder he's started having wet dreams, humping the bedding without any self-control.

Bucky is drawn from sleep by a cadence of soft, breathy sounds. At first, he doesn’t realize what it is that’s woken him. He’s too busy yawning and shuddering through a big stretch, eyelids fluttering from the assault of sunlight streaming in through his east-facing bedroom windows. It isn’t until he’s lying there, rubbing the phantom ache from his left shoulder and reconsidering the purchase of blackout curtains like he does every morning, that he hears it:

A soft, pleasured little “oghn,” from Steve’s side of the bed.

Bucky’s eyes shoot open and he turns his head with an incredulous expression, thinking that Steve’s over there touching himself. But he isn’t awake, and Bucky feels his cock stir as he realizes that Steve isn’t touching himself.

Steve’s never been the type to brat in obvious ways—emphasis on “obvious,” because he does have his ways. And those behaviors usually get worse the more stressed out over something he is. These past few weeks have been busy and fast-paced. Steve’s work keeps loading new patients onto his already overfull plate, and Bucky’s got his three (soon to be four) businesses to run. That means a lot of time spent apart. But Bucky’s not neglectful. He’s been domming Steve in one of the only ways he has available to him when they get less than a single waking hour to spend together each day, for day after day after day: Denial.

Steve had accepted another tease and tuck last night with nothing more than a whimper and a sniffled, ‘yessir’, that’d made Bucky’s dick attempt a second coming, even after he’d already fucked a load between Steve’s tightly-clamped and oiled thighs.

No, Bucky thinks, watching his boy in the morning’s mote-specked sunshine. Steve isn’t touching himself; he’s dreaming.

He’s on his front, face turned towards Bucky on the pillow, pretty lashes fanned out against his cheeks while he dreams. He’s breathing open mouthed and moaning quietly, a concentrated little pinch lodged firmly between his eyebrows. It looks like he’s struggling to find completion even in his dreams.

“Mmm … nnn, unngh, mmm—”

Bucky chuckles. “Poor baby,” he murmurs, turning on his empty side to watch.

He’s always had a bit of a thing for touching his subs when they’re unable to resist, and sleep is no different than a bunch of well-tied jute, in that regard. In a lot of ways it’s even better, even more of a surrender. You can’t safeword when you’re unconscious, after all. It’s something you have to consent to while knowing full well how vulnerable you’ll be. How helpless. The sheer intimacy inherent in that level of trust is breathtakingly seductive to someone like Bucky.

Bucky wore an old Army tee shirt and some boxers to bed last night, but as a matter of protocol, Steve always sleeps naked. Bucky reaches over and trails a single finger down the muscled slope of his back, warm and firm, all the way down to his absolute peach of an ass. Not squeezing it is almost painful, but Bucky refrains anyway, not wanting the moment to end quite yet.

“My little blanket hog,” he whispers fondly. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Steve’s been humping the mattress, the blankets and sheets pulled over and bunched under his hips from a night’s worth of fitful sleeping. He’s squirming and moaning out the cutest, most helpless little noises, making Bucky want to eat him right up.

He turns away, because he’s gonna need arms for this.

He moves carefully to avoid waking Steve, reaching over the side of the bed to grab his prosthesis off the floor. It hums in recognition when he holds it up at the anchor site, snapping into place and all the plates giving a synchronized shiver as the system recalibrates.

He scoots over and puts his face right by Steve’s so that he can watch him wake, retracing with his flesh hand: down the slope of his back, across his sacrum, and between his cheeks. He traces over his hole and further down, to stroke fingertips absently against the plump stretch of his taint. Even that part of him is a little swollen, which makes Bucky’s heart squeeze and his dick ache at how much he knows his boy has taken from him in the past few days.

Willingly taken, Jesus. The thought of it just about does Bucky in.

He circles his fingers, using only the barest amount of pressure. Steve makes another quiet sound in his sleep, the touch obviously finding its way into whatever dream he’s having. Bucky smiles and reaches further between his legs to cup the velvety skin of his sac. His balls are warm and full, and Bucky tuts in sympathy. He lies next to him and kisses at his slack mouth while he wakes up. When Steve’s eyes finally flutter open, he looks lost for a moment.

Bucky hums. “Hey, Sugar. Looked like you were having some real sweet dreams, there.”

“Mmmh?” Steve shivers and sticks his ass back for more as he registers the hand between his legs. “M’yeah.” He sighs. “I was.” He starts moving his hips again, thrusting into the bunched sheets with more coordination and intent. “Nnn, fuck.”

Bucky pinches his inner thigh. “None of that, now. Only what I give you.”

Steve groans miserably, but after a second’s hesitation he does obey, rolling over to avoid the temptation of humping the bed any further.

Bucky slides one hand up to paw at the swell of his chest—massive, muscled, hairless—and nuzzles into his neck, inhaling the scent of Steve that’s so present after a night’s sleep. God, he loves it. “What were you dreaming about?” he asks between kisses to his neck. He hears Steve hum, feels one of his hands appear on his forearm to play along the dusting of hair there. Steve mumbles something unintelligible and lazy, probably having already let his eyes slip closed again. “Ah ah,” Bucky purrs. “Tell me.” It’s light, playful, laced with a hint of his Command to get Steve flustered.

“Mmm. Um …” Steve shudders as Bucky captures a nipple and rolls it between his fingers. “Buck, oh. Y-you.”

“Me?” Bucky chuckles. “What about me, huh?”

“Oh, I … unh, I dunno.”

He nips Steve’s neck, fingers pulse-pinching his nipple to the cadence of his words: “Uh-uh, Sleepy-head. Tell-me.”

“Mmm, was fuckin’ you,” Steve says, lazy smile playing at the edges of his mouth like he’s still dreaming it. “Only … you had a pussy?” He frowns and then giggles. “I dunno. Makes no sense. Like when you dream your dog as a cat, you know? And like, in the dream it’s a cat, but dream-you still knows it’s your dog?”

Bucky snorts. “I don’t know which is worse: the thought of you secretly being a cat person, or you secretly being straight.”

“Buck, you’re a cat pers—”

“Watch your mouth, boy,” he says, in his best Dom growl, eliciting another giggle from Steve.

“But you’ve got Alpine—"

“She’s a roommate, you little smartass.”

“Still uses a litterbox,” Steve grumbles.

Bucky ignores that and goes back to mouthing at his neck. “Anyway, now that I know how you really feel about pussies … and pussies—” Steve whines and smacks at his forearm, and Bucky grins against his skin. “Settle down, you. I’m just teasin’. Tell me more.”

“Mmn.” Steve pouts. “No.”

“‘No’?” Bucky says it warningly, letting his voice dip down into that dark and viscous register where it carries the extra weight needed to make Steve shiver pleasantly. He kisses the shell of his ear. “Want to try that again, sweetheart?”

“Nnn. I don’ remember anything else. Jus’ felt good.”

“And you were fucking me. And I had a pussy.” He lets his nail dig in at Steve’s nipple, grinning when it elicits another shiver. “Only pussy I see around here is between your legs, honey. Right behind that little thing you call a penis.”

“S’a dream,” Steve complains, blushing prettily at the jab to his cock (Bucky knows what his boy likes). “Doesn’t have’ta make sense.”

“Hm, you’re right. It sure doesn’t. But dreams can be telling sometimes.” Bucky stretches out alongside Steve’s big body, one foot hooked over his shin to keep his legs spread apart. “Look down and watch,” he murmurs. He waits until Steve has obeyed before he starts to slide his flesh hand down over that drool-worthy chest, those hardened abs, that flat belly framed by those thick obliques. All the way down to the place where silicon meets skin.

Steve’s still wearing the sweet mint green he went to bed in, though he’s got a whole slew of colors to choose from. A lot of internet shopping had happened, back when Bucky first became Steve’s keyholder. He’d found a site that would custom make any cage, any type, sized to fit; and then had a field day picking out all the pretty, soft pastel colors that the company offered. Just the fitting and the shopping and the trying-on had been exercises in the sort of delicate humiliation that Bucky knows Steve thrives on.

They’re not twenty-four-seven people, but when they do cage, they use rubber—some soft enough to give a good fondle through, others so sturdy that Bucky knows there’s no way Steve could ever dream about rubbing one out while locked. The custom fit is important, too. Most metal varieties of cock cages tend to be sized for more … endowed men, and Steve—to Bucky’s eternal delight—requires no such accommodation.

He closes his hand over Steve’s cock. “Whose is this?” he asks sweetly. “Mm?”

“Y-yours,” Steve breathes, licking his lips and staring down at Bucky’s hand. “Oh, ss’yours.”

“That’s right. And why did we decide that, hm? Can you remember that for me, big guy?”

It takes Steve several tries before he manages to stutter out a breathy, “I–I–I touch it. I t-touch it too much.”

Bucky hums in approval. “And I give you your pretty cages to help you with that, don’t I?”

“Yessir.”

“Help keep this sweet prick from getting too excited. Cause that’s when it starts getting big ideas, getting confused about what it’s for.”

Again, Steve nods distractedly, all of his attention down at the place where Bucky’s cradling his junk. “Th-thank you, Sir,” he whispers unprompted, grateful to Bucky, even after night after night of teasing and denial.

Bucky’s lips curl and his heart pretty much melts. Fuck, does he ever love this kid. “You’re welcome, baby. But then, are you supposed to be stimulating yourself in your cage?”

Steve sniffles and shakes his head. “Mm mn.”

Bucky tuts sympathetically. “It’s my fault. I thought you could handle the softer cage for bedtime. But that just lets you feel too good when you start squirming around in your sleep, huh? And once you get going, it’s real hard for you to stop.” Between Steve’s legs, he gives his handful a jostle. “S’okay. You know I don’t blame you for any of that. This big, dumb body’s got a lot of urges, that’s all.” He pecks a kiss to Steve’s ear and whispers, “You were humping the bed so much, puppy.” He snickers when this gets a mortified whine out of Steve. He tries to close his legs, but Bucky’s foot hooked over his shin prevents it. “Ah ah. Shhh. No need for that, pup. It was real pretty, I promise. I love watching you have wet dreams.” When he says the words ‘wet dreams’, he presses against the soft tip of the cage, dipping inside the hole with the edge of his thumb.

Steve’s breath hitches as it touches his slit. “Oh …”

“Mm. And it was a wet dream, wasn’t it?” Bucky draws his thumb away, a glistening thread of precum connecting it to the cage. “Lookit you. You’re leaking, honey.”

“Bucky.”

He lets go, sliding his hand up to rub over Steve’s pubic bone, just above where he knows he really wants it. His hips jump and shudder, a sad noise escaping him at the loss of the touch on his caged dick. “So,” Bucky says, amused. “You’re dreaming about fucking your Sir’s pussy. That’s an interesting one, especially since we both know you haven’t wormed that bitty clitty into a pussy in so long. Are you sure it even remembers how?”

“Oh.” Steve’s obvious embarrassment makes him beautiful. The pink flush that began on his face is now creeping steadily down his neck. Soon it’ll be to his shoulders, then his chest, and Bucky loves when Steve gives him a full-tit blush.

He trails his fingers lazily over the space between Steve’s belly button and his cock, watching the way all the fine muscles in his lower belly quiver as he tries to hold still. Inside the cage, his cock gives a noticeable twitch. “You’re real worked up this morning, huh?”

“S-sir,” Steve agrees, nodding, wetting his lips and glancing at Bucky’s face hopefully. “Please. Please.”

Bucky chuckles. He loves to see Steve so frustrated, and deep down, Steve loves to feel that way. It’s one of the best ways to help him go down. He’s on his way now. The lack of language is one hint, but if Bucky needed another, it’s right there on his face. One good look in his eyes, and Bucky knows they’re getting close. All that blue, thinned down to nothing but slivers, pupils eating up his irises as his brain prepares for the dump. He just needs more of a push.

Bucky turns further into him, giving him a bit more of his weight, more of his leg slotted between his thighs. Steve tries to hump him, but Bucky pulls back each time until Steve whimpers and the behavior stops. “Shhh,” he soothes, dipping down to kiss him. He’s soft but insistent, inviting himself inside and taking his own sweet time about it, really relishing the feel of their mouths slotted together, the press and play of their lips. And Steve’s like a goddamn stick of butter: melts at body temp, spreads like a dream.

“I wanna take you down, sweetheart,” Bucky tells him quietly. “That sound good to you?” Steve gives a dumb little ‘uh huh’ of a moan, nodding eagerly. Bucky smiles and nips his lip. “Hey now, I might keep you there for a while, maybe all afternoon.” He’s not asking so much as informing, but he knows that Steve is capable of speaking up for himself when needed—even when he’s on the precipice of losing his few remaining brain cells like he’s about to do right now.

Today is Steve’s first day off in almost fourteen, and even though Bucky has opinions on that, he’s still gonna grab some iota of consent, because he doesn’t want to hear his sub bitching about a wasted Sunday six hours down the line. “Not gonna make you do anything but feel,” he promises softly, brushing their lips together. “Alright sweetheart? Does that sound like fun?”

Steve exhales shakily, nodding. “Yes Sir.”

“Ooh, ‘Sir’. Somebody’s tryin’ to start the day out in my good graces.”

“Mmyeah.”

Bucky chuckles and goes back to kissing his neck and playing with his nipples. He pinches and rolls them, one and then the other, until they’re drawn into tight, sensitive peaks. “Do you need to cum, Stevie?” He hears Steve’s heavy swallow pass through his throat and feels him nodding his head.

“Uh huh.”

“Hmm. Yeah, you must be aching by now. This big ol’ body of yours. It just needs to cum all the time, doesn’t it?”

Steve whimpers and nods again, sighing out a shaky little ‘yeah’ that Bucky absolutely loves.

He loves everything about Steve, of course, but there’s just something so special about how he gets when he’s been denied for a while. He gets so desperate for it, so helpless in his need for physical release. Ultra-focused and yet dumbed down by it at the very same time. There’s nothing in the world like a six. Someone who actually needs what Bucky has to give. At this point, he’s quite sure that Steve’s ruined him for anyone else in the future.

That doesn’t exactly matter though, because—unbeknownst to Steve—Bucky’s got about sixty thousand dollars worth of forever hiding in the back of his watch drawer, just waiting for the right time.

He hovers over Steve and gives him a kiss, slow and coaxing, licking at the seam of his lips to get into the heat of him. Steve lets him in, of course, and Bucky curls his fingers into the give of his waist in an approving squeeze. He pulls back and looks down. Steve’s dazed, blue eyes blink upwards, his lips still parted, a flush high up on his cheeks. He looks made of sunlight, so precious. Bucky smiles softly. “Alright, Angel. How many days has it been?”

“... Since?” Steve keys into his tone of voice and perks up. He starts to look hopeful, and when Bucky waggles his eyebrows at him, he exhales in a rush, a smile breaking out over his face. “Twelve,” he says. “Fuck, thank you. Twelve!”

Bucky snickers and rolls over to grab the key from its spot on the bedside table. When he comes back, he sits between Steve’s spread legs and pulls him down in the bed, until his thighs are draped over Bucky’s knees and his ass is all but in his lap. He unlocks the cage and removes it gently, setting the pieces aside. Steve’s dick is already reacting, soft but thickened, the head fattening up underneath the foreskin.

Bucky pushes it up against his belly, thumb dipping down to trace along the seam of his heavy balls. “Look at these puppies,” he murmurs. “So full. Are they full, baby?”

The muscles in Steve’s thighs keep flexing as he fights not to squirm. “Y-yeah.”

“Mmm.” Bucky holds one testicle between his fingers and rolls it, massaging gently and teasing, “More balls than cock on you—ain’t that just perfectly fitting for a stubborn little hothead like you?”

“Buck,”

“Tell me how they feel,” he purrs, his Command laced through the words just enough to help Steve sink a little more.

“Th-they feel … heavy,” Steve whispers. “Hot n’ … n’ tight.”

“I’ll bet. Twelve whole days since you’ve busted a nut.” Steve whimpers and Bucky tickles the plump stretch of skin behind his balls. “And how long since I really wrang out your prostate good and proper?”

“Oh. Uh, um …” his throat bobs and his eyes slip shut as Bucky pets him. “Uhm … m-maybe three?”

“Three weeks.” Bucky whistles lowly and cups his taint. “No wonder you look swollen back here, boy.”

He can’t deny that he isn’t a complete letch of an old man, because he loves to see Steve blush (or in this case, blush harder) at being called “boy”—as if Bucky’s a full fledged man and Steve is only halfway there. It’s a stretch, but there are things that’ve been further from the truth.

“Aand,” he angles his fingers in. “What about release?”

A little wrinkle of concentration appears between Steve’s eyebrows as he tries to generate useful thought in his brain. It’s adorable. “I … I don’t kno—oh!”

“Don’t know?” Bucky simpers. He’s curled his fingers in behind Steve’s balls, pressing to get at that vulnerable spot that can sometimes trigger his releases. It won’t right now. He hasn't sunk enough for it yet. “Don’t lie to your Dom, Sweetiepie. You’re really tryin’ to tell me you don’t remember the last time you went all soft n’ useless for me? The last time you went ass up n’ wet all over yourself?” He hushes Steve’s embarrassed keen, leaning over to give him a quick kiss. “That’s okay, Stevie. I remember. I remember all of ‘em.”

Release isn’t something Bucky’d encountered in a partner before Steve. Not every sub has them, and it’s not something they can control. A rush of spasms and body fluids, dump of brain chemicals twice as strong as those brought on by typical subdrop. Such a deep response only really happens for sixes—Maybe some fives, if they’re with the right dom. It is … intensely private; something people tend to either fetishize, or else weirdly disdain.

Steve’s always been embarrassed of his, but that’s something Bucky’s been working to break him of. There is nothing more arousing, more primal, more flattering, than having a sub’s body signal submission in that way. Bucky had shot up to the freakin’ stratosphere of domspace the first time it’d happened, unused to the stimulus. He’d been useless for a bit, and it was just lucky that they’d been in a club at the time. The DM had stepped in and taken care of Steve until Bucky was capable again.

“It’s been just about five weeks since you gave me one,” he says, anticipating the distressed whimper that comes out of Steve. He rubs over his lower belly soothingly. “I know, I know. S’been too long, huh big guy? All that pressure building up. You know what the doctor said.”

“Buck,”

“But you’re always at work, Sweetheart. Hell, I feel like I haven’t seen you in days. I barely have.”

“M’right here, jerk.”

Bucky pinches his inner thigh, but there’s little heat to it, just the familiar griping of their relationship. He’s been on Steve for months to find a less demanding job. Steve doesn’t get paid enough and the people at his work take advantage of his good nature. (Bucky had figured out, very early on in their contract, that Steve was one of those subs who pushed themselves too hard in their professional endeavors, and then needed to have the resultant stress dommed out of them.)

Bucky grumps, “You don’t listen to your Sir when he tells you to set boundaries, to clock out on time, to come home.” He plays idly with Steve’s cock and balls as he scolds him, pinching lightly here and there. “How am I s’posed to take care of you proper?”

“Mmn … n-not my fault,” Steve slurs. His eyes are closed and the curl of his mouth looks none too chastised. “S’still work. Somebody’s gotta help the patients, n’ I still gotta—”

Bucky flicks his balls. “It’s still bratting. Don’t think I don’t see right through you, Rogers. Like you don’t have twenty coworkers who could pick up that slack if you refused to.Excuses.”

Steve’s insistence on doing the right thing has always been his own little way of shirking authority, of misbehaving until it gets him what he really needs: someone to step up and put him in his place. Bucky has—exasperatedly but enthusiastically—been filling that role for the past eighteen months. He knows Steve’s needs like he knows his own, and he knows his body almost better than his own.

That’s why he’s let him out of the cage and why he’s all but got Steve’s ass in his lap right now. It’s not so much that Steve needs an orgasm, but that he needs to be dropped good and thorough, a milking, maybe even a full release, if Bucky can manage to work one out of him. Steve’s body doesn’t like to give those up, and it’s less predictable.

“I miss you, honey,” Bucky coos at him. Other than some shallow bossing around at bedtime, he hasn’t had any opportunity to care for his boy these past few weeks (and seriously: fuck the underfunded and stretched thin structure of the V.A.). “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says quietly, squeezing Steve’s inner thigh muscles deeply. “You listening?”

“Yes Sir,” Steve whispers.

“I’m gonna touch you, play with you a bit. Make you feel good.”

“Cum?” Steve asks hopefully, and Bucky snickers.

“Edge,” he says, giving Steve another pinch when he wiggles and whines. “Hush, now. I told you: I want to play with you for a while. I’m gonna get you so worked up, baby.”

“Hurts,” Steve whimpers, moping over it. “Bucky.”

“Shh.” Bucky tickles his sac. “Yeah, it’ll ache, but I’ll drop you so good that you won’t even be in your body to feel it, after a while.” Though there’s a great deal of intersection, the things that bring the best sexual climaxes aren’t always the same as the things that bring the best sexual submissions. Bucky watches as a pleased shiver runs through Steve’s body at the promise of a good drop. They both know which of the two is more important for someone like Steve. On the bed in front of him, Steve visibly starts to relax a little more. Bucky smiles and massages his thighs. “Mmhm, that’s it. It’s been hard for you lately, hasn’t it?”

“Mmm. Buck. Yeah. … Been so—mmm—so stressed.”

Bucky coos and rubs up along either side of his pelvis, digging his thumbs in at the crease of his groin. “You gonna try and go down easy for me this time?”

“Please,” Steve whimpers sadly. “Buck, I do. I’m … I want to.”

“Shh sh sh. I know, honey. I know you do. And you know you’re my good boy. Always.”

It’s often hard for Steve to get past the barrier of his natural stubbornness, to let himself go soft enough to shed that shallow, false dominance he wears around like a shield. It’s people like Steve that Bucky designed his clubs for: high level doms and subs who aren’t partnered and want to get their kicks met somewhere safe, sexy, and affordable.

Steve was assessed high needs in middle school, and while general designation is socially common knowledge after puberty, one’s level within that designation is not. One through six, or switch. Your doctor knows, your parents know, you tell your boyfriend or girlfriend, maybe a few close platonic friends—more people, if you’re typical. But people who are high needs don’t tend to go around bragging about it. Bucky knows firsthand the awkwardness of having to explain to someone new that you fall on the far end of the spectrum, just like he knows that he’s one of only a few people with whom Steve has ever entrusted his status as a six.

Bucky pets his skin and feeds him quiet rumbles and purrs, compliments and directions, calling him beautiful and giving him easily obtainable goals, most of them simple orders to hold still in one way or another. “Keep your eyes closed,” he murmurs. “Just focus on me touching you. Isn’t that nice? Yeah Sweetheart, I know, I know.”

Steve is a gorgeous human being who tends to turn heads wherever he goes. He’s young (27) and beautiful, and if Bucky weren’t so confident in his own masculinity at his advancing age (41), he might actually be in danger of developing a complex. Because Steve is the one whom most people notice first when the two of them walk into a room together. His size draws the eye and his features keep the interest, with his Botticelli face and the type of body that few people are willing to work hard enough for. He really does look cut from marble, muscular and strong and textbook attractive. Steve’s is a beauty that pretty much smacks you in the face. And the absolute sweetest part of it all, is that he really doesn’t seem to be aware of it. A big, sweet, dumb blond.

Now how was Bucky ever supposed to not eat a boy like that up?

And then there’s the pièce de résistance: the fact that between his legs, Steve is small. Not tragically so, but compared to the rest of him it’s a striking difference. He’s got this surprisingly little dick nestled between his beefy thighs, hooded and delicate, propped against the generous pillow of his balls. Whenever Bucky sees his gorgeous juxtaposition of a body all laid out on a bed like this, he can’t help but feel like the man was made just for him.

Especially that sweet little cock.

He groans under his breath as he touches it, letting his fingertips drag over the soft skin. “Spread those legs a little wider for me, doll.”

Steve complies, hips flexing and scooching his butt down the bed another inch.

Under Bucky’s scrutiny and his glancing touches, Steve’s little dick twitches and jerks with interest. “Heere it comes,” Bucky murmurs, taking it between his fingers and stroking at the tip, working the little wrinkle of foreskin where it still covers the head. He dips his thumb inside and swirls it around, circling the tip of the glans. It’s all slick and gliding from the precum he’s already giving up, and Bucky rumbles, pleased. “Well lookit that. You always wet up so easy for me, dontcha baby?”

“Fuhh-ck,” Steve slurs. “Buckee.”

He’s been going down easier with each day that Bucky continues to deny him, the surrender of giving up his sexual pleasure turning him into the kind of soft and pliant sub that Bucky’s always known he could be. It just takes a little extra coaxing for Steve, a little extra time, his big body and stubborn brain fighting the process harder (and needing it more) than most people Bucky’s dated in the past. Being with Steve has, without doubt, made Bucky a better dom.

Steve’s prick slowly thickens in Bucky’s hand, even though Bucky’s barely touching him. “Well look at you, big guy,” he purrs. “Fattening up real nice for me, aren’t you?”

Steve whines and squirms in pleasure, and Bucky teases him a little more with his words and his hands, telling him how pretty his little dick is, how cute. Bucky loves humiliating Steve over his size—both his “big dumb body” and his “pretty little prick.” Of course, it’s always that special brand of sweet and tender humiliation that they have between them, anything rougher than that being outside of Steve’s limits. Bucky’s boy is so sensitive, needs to be handled so gently. Gently, but firmly. And even with all the teasing, Bucky’s always gone to great lengths to make sure Steve knows what an absolute dream he is.

“Thought I told you to close your eyes,” he chides, when he looks up and sees Steve peeking at him. Steve makes a cute little squeak of a sound and his eyes slip shut, and Bucky smiles. “Thatta boy.” He starts to stroke him off lightly, only using his two fingers and thumb to work the foreskin in a gentle motion. Steve inhales deeply and his cock fills out the rest of the way. “There you go,” Bucky murmurs. Completely hard like this, Steve’s a little more than half Bucky’s size. “So pretty, honey.”

Underneath his boxers, Bucky’s own dick is chubbed up and eager for more, but he ignores it. He’s got plans for himself later. Smoothing his metal hand over Steve’s belly, he jerks him off slowly but steadily, until the foreskin is drawn down and the shiny pink head of him peeks through on each stroke, precum getting on Bucky’s fingers and making everything nice and wet. “Tell me when you’re close,” he whispers, and a few minutes later Steve’s whispering back,

“Close—oh,”

“Shhh.” Bucky lets go of his dick and rubs his inner thighs to get him to calm down, watching the bob of his Adam’s apple and the shine of those lips that he’s licked and bitten pink. His blond hair is all rumpled from sleep and his skin is golden in the stream of morning sunlight coming through the bedroom windows. He’s so incredibly, painfully beautiful; looks like a flipping Greek god, an Adonic youth, a spoil of war. Steve arouses in Bucky every instinct he’s ever had to take and dominate and own. Sometimes he really wonders what an old asshole like him did to earn such a perfect boy.

“Love you, Stevie,” he murmurs, going back to stroking him. “Being so good. Remember, you just tell me when. That’s your only job right now. That’s all you have to do. Don’t gotta think or worry about aanything else.” Steve seems to melt into the bedcovers at hearing this, which is, of course, the entire point. Bucky knows exactly how to talk to his boy to bring him down into the absolute best headspace. “Good,” he praises lowly. “So good for your Dom, sweetheart. So sweet to let me play with this little cock however I want.”

The second peak comes quickly, and even Steve seems surprised by it when he manages to choke out a quiet little “... close,” after only a few seconds.

He lasts a little bit longer on the third. Bucky keeps his grip very light and gets a few full minutes of stroking in before Steve’s breathing picks up and he gasps out another “close!”

Bucky lets go, humming his approval for Steve to hear and rubbing the crest of his groin on either side, all over his waxed-smooth pubic mound and the place where his thighs meet his body. “Suuch a good boy.” He watches Steve recover, face pinked after the difficulty of that third edge, the swell of his chest rising and falling as he regains his breath.

And fuck, those tits. They’re big and beefy, heaving and flushed and just barely starting to shine from perspiration. Bucky can’t keep himself from touching, leaning forward to grope each thick pec, and then pinch and pluck at his nipples. He’s so swollen and puffy there, looks like he just came from benching two-fifty at the gym. Bucky lets his nails drag down the right side as he pulls back. “You’re doing beautifully,” he praises, even though they’ve barely started the edging. It isn’t uncommon for Bucky to bring Steve close and back him off from orgasm dozens of times in one session. He doesn’t plan to keep this going too much longer, though. He just wants to get him to cry a little before they get up to start their day.

He starts stroking again, still using those same, easy touches; gentle and gliding. When Steve utters his next, “close,” Bucky stops stroking but doesn’t remove his hand, letting Steve’s cock rest, wet and throbbing, inside the loose curl of his fist. He tuts and fondles him while they wait. “Ooh, honey. I could feel that one.” He gently traces the vein on the underside, up to the frenulum and his drawn down foreskin. He eases it back up over the head, and even hard like this, it almost covers him. Bucky thumbs over it, smearing the next blurt of precum around. “So pretty,” he murmurs.

“Please, Sir.” Steve’s voice sticks a little bit in his mouth, like he needs a drink of water, and he licks his lips before he says again, “Please, lemme cum.”

Bucky hums as if he’s actually considering it (he isn’t). “Maybe,” he purrs. He lets go of his cock and strokes his balls instead, one hand holding the full weight of his sac while the other feathers light touches over the delicate skin. Steve’s got big, tight balls that always look plump and pulled up close to his body, but especially so when he’s been deprived of an orgasm for a few days. And right now, they’re coming up on twelve days. “Just think,” Bucky murmurs, “think of all the cum that’s backed up in here right now. Cause you cum a lot, Stevie, don’t you?”

Steve whimpers and gives a sad little nod.

Bucky grins and makes a mocking sound of pity. “Yeah, poor baby. They must be sore, huh? So full, so hot and tight. Are they, Honey? All hot n’ tight?”

“Please, yes, please.”

“Just aching to get some release.” He circles lazily around the shape of his balls underneath the skin, one side and then the other. “And you want to cum so bad. I don’t blame you.” He titters and lets go of his sac, because that’s a major erogenous zone for Steve, and Bucky knows he can’t handle having his dick stroked and his balls played with at the same time without going off. “It’s not healthy,” he teases, mock sympathy in his voice as he starts gently stroking him off again. “A boy your age not not gettin’ a good nut out on the regular. If not a couple times a day, then at least once every other day.” Steve whimpers and Bucky grins evilly and pretends to forget. “How many days has it been, again?”

“Twuh–twelve, ssir,”

Bucky sucks his teeth sympathetically. “Oh, that’s right. Twelve. Hmm.” Abruptly, he starts to jerk him off a little harder than he has been doing, giving him more pressure, rubbing at the underside of the head on each upstroke. Steve’s breathing hitches and he tenses up like he thinks this is going to be it: he’s finally going to get to come.

Bucky slows back down to almost nothing, grip loose once again, and Steve makes a sound like a dying cat. Bucky, who lives for getting sounds like that out of Steve, all but purrs in pleasure, feeling high. “I want you to know,” he says, slowly and delicately, making the words into hushed, sweet and deadly things, “that I’m not gonna let you cum this morning.”

He soaks up the devastated little shudder that travels throughout Steve’s body as he processes that, the way his brow gets a disbelieving little pinch in it and then smoothes out with dawning realization that Bucky means what he says. The fight his body wages with his mind to accept it. “Nngh,” he whimpers pitifully. “Puh–please.”

“No, baby.”

“Please, please. Please …” He’s not really begging, is the thing. He tosses his head and fists the sheets, repeating the ‘please’ several times over, helpless and mournful. It’s his way of surrendering to it, his way of accepting what his dominant wants for him, what his dominant is doing to him. The second that Steve accepts that he’s feeling so good and that he’s not going to be given the relief he wants, that Bucky is going to be the one to decide, is the second he really, visibly tips into subspace. “Ohhgn …”

Bucky’s cock throbs angrily as he watches it happen. One second Steve is tense, and the next second he’s just … not. Goosebumps pop up all along his arms and legs, his body going unnaturally still for a few seconds, before it shivers loose into a pile of molten Steve on the bed. Bucky leans forward to cup his cheek, smiling when Steve presses his face into it. “That’s a good boy,” he murmurs fondly. “Juust like that.”

Steve sobs—just once, just a tiny hitch in his breath—and tears well up at the corners of his eyes. One of them breaks and rolls down and hits Bucky’s metal finger, and that’s about the exact moment when Bucky hits domspace.

People say you shouldn’t compare domspace to doing drugs, but Bucky’s done some drugs, and he knows it is exactly like being high. The best high you ever had, but sexual, and focused. Bucky feels charged and euphoric, completely zeroed into his sub and his reactions. He thumbs away Steve’s tears and gets his flesh hand back on his dick, feeling elated. “Okay sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Tell me when you’re ready for another.”

Steve whimpers, and they get back to it.

Steve is a useless mess by the time ten rolls around, and after number fifteen Bucky starts to worry that Steve won’t remember to verbalize when he’s close. Not because he’s trying to disobey, but because he’s just so far under. Wanting to end things on a good note, Bucky stops edging him after they narrowly avert crisis at sixteen, Steve’s face red and covered in tears, his body shaking while he cries. Bucky lies out on top of him and kisses him all over his face and neck and shoulders until he’s calmed down some.

Steve is still in his head, very dumb and pliant and happy, even once his cock goes soft. Bucky, buzzing with his own high, proceeds to take care of his boy in all the other ways that also matter. He feeds Steve water and a piece of chocolate straight from his tongue, puts him in the shower and washes him. He bends him over the bed and lubes him up and plugs him with the big, squishy day plug.

He has Steve lie on his back with his head out over the edge of the mattress and softly feeds him his cock. "Take it ... there you go ... jus' like that, oh ... good boy." Steve's gag reflex, normally just as stubborn as the rest of him, always goes dormant when he's down; his mind turning into soft, sticky molasses, and his body following suit. He goes lax and soft, easily accepting Bucky's thick cockhead past his parted lips, over his tongue and soft palate. His throat even feels relaxed when Bucky presses all the way in, his balls smushing against Steve's face and his hand gently massaging the front of his neck. "Takin' me so good, doll," Bucky praises, and he softly fucks his face in measured thrusts until he feels his orgasm coalesce at the base of his spine, down into his balls, pulling up into his core, electric and hot. "Oh yeah," he groans quietly, sighing as he comes down his boy's throat. Steve takes it like a champ, and Bucky pulls out and holds his jaw shut, petting him soothingly. “Shhh. Swallow it now, baby. Lemme see that throat working.”

Steve does. Bucky collapses onto the bed next to him and lies there, toying with Steve’s tight and full balls until he feels himself come back down a bit from domspace. “How you doing, babe?” he says from down by Steve’s shins.

“Mmm.”

“Still down?”

“Hhhn.”

Bucky chuckles and pats the top of Steve’s thigh. “Okay big guy. Okay.” He heaves himself up to go and find some sweats to throw on. They've got a nice, long, relaxing day ahead of them, and he's really looking forward to it.

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in my Kofi🍵 cup. It's a big part of what allows me to take time to write. Thanks!

#stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #D/s #dom/sub #my fics #d/s au #d/s relationship #dom bucky barnes #sub steve rogers #shrunkyclunks #fanfiction #stucky fanfiction #mcu #marvel #steve rogers #bucky barnes

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pineapple-coffee · 4 months

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Unfit To Lead: Thoughts On Growing Up, Queer History, And Feeling Unprepared

A short essay, written by Elliott (@pineapple-coffee, aka me)

(As context, I am a bisexual, genderqueer/gender questioning individual. I use they/she pronouns.)

In every community, there are elders. These elders pave the pathway for the generations that come after them—creating literature, sharing stories verbally, and educating the new generations on history and culture. Elders are essential beings in all communities, and their presence cannot be understated. Without those who came before us, history is lost, and the new generations, who will one day teach others, will have nothing to go on.

So what do you do if your elders died in the AIDS epidemic of the 80s? What do you do when queer history is often so underrepresented, so rarely accessible without proper guidance? Where do you go from there?

That's not to imply that there aren't elders. I know a man online named Ian—early 20s, not quite "old"—who taught me about queer cowboy culture, both of the Old West and of the modern day. Through video essays and documentaries, I learned about the true lives of notable figures, such as Oscar Wilde and Eleanor Roosevelt, instead of their more sanitized media portrayals. Thanks to queer artists and educators on social media, I proudly display a sticker of a green carnation on my laptop, still using it as a queer signaling device even over 120 years after Wilde's death. But most of the elders that I've looked up to online have two things in common: they're younger—typically between 21 and 40—and I know them only online. Rarely in my life have I physically met a queer person over the age of fifty. Only one person immediately comes to mind.

This came to a panicky culmination a few weeks ago when I realized, "Oh, damn. I'm nearly old enough to be considered a 'queer elder.'"

This thought freaked me out. I'm a young adult. I have so much to learn. I don't have a lot of elders to teach me. I've only ever been to one Pride festival in my life. Yet, to the youngest pre-teens out there who are just coming into their identities, I might be perceived as someone older and wiser.

Let me be abundantly clear: queer rage is the most powerful emotion that I have ever experienced. My queer elders did not "fail" me or anyone else—the government did. It was the government who let my queer siblings die slowly, whilst they did nothing but spit in the faces of the queer community and take the chance to spread their visceral hatred. Every day, I am filled with rage that generations of queer people have been ripped away due to the neglect of the government. I mourn the artists, musicians, partners, siblings, and activists who passed away. Every single AIDS victim deserves to tell their stories.

In my melancholy, I turned to the Internet. And through the Internet blogs, decades-old archives, and unsanitized history books, I found community.

I am thankful. I am grateful to those who archive gay and trans magazines, newsletters, zines, and adult magazines. I am grateful to those who survived, who share their stories about queer culture in memoirs and blog posts. I am grateful to those who keep history documented and make detailed accounts of each subculture and pivotal moment. I am thankful for those who create queer and trans sex education, relationship advice blogs, and provide information for trans people who want to physically transition. I am grateful to the AIDS Memorial for keeping memories alive. I am thankful for queer lawyers who debunk the nitty gritty details of anti-queer and anti-trans legislation so that everyone can understand the letter of the law.

I’ve learned about the culture of gay and lesbian bars. I learned about the Hanky Code, Hays Code, and Flower Codes. I learned about pre-Internet queer dating, the ways that people lived, and the subcultures that exist within queer communities. I learned about the brave trans women of color who gave us our rights through protests and riots. I learned, and I learned, and I learned. And at some point during my learning, I found myself with tears streaming down my face.

Never before had I learned the other side of history. The sides that include the radical activism via art and music, subcultures full of passionate people who yearn to share their craft, and the history that wasn’t touched by the mainstream.

I may feel unprepared to lead future generations, but the communities I have found have filled me with nothing short of euphoria. I feel proud to say that I’m queer, that I’m a fag, that I will be the elder one day. I display my Keith Haring merchandise with glee, sing Freddie Mercury’s songs at the top of my lungs, and abide by the motto that a day without lesbians really is a day without sunshine.

And in the times of uncertainty, perhaps community is the drive we all need. Whether you’re young, old, or somewhere in between, the queer community is always there to rally behind you.

Maybe being the next generation to lead others won’t be so scary after all.

#here’s something a little different for yall lol #essay #my writing #terfs don’t even think about getting near this one #queer community #queer #lgbtq #lgbtqia #elliott’s ramblings #queer writers #bisexual #transgender #genderqueer

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thescribblings · 19 days

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LONG POST AHEAD! All words and it's just about my lil au!

I've just gone through my tumblr blog and realised that i haven't actually posted about my theory (and au canon) about why nardo's ninpo was "broken" when he popped up in the present, so now I'm gonna infodump as much as i can remember about it!

How should i put this..

So, is his ninpo broken? No, but it is definitely damaged. I'll explain that in a sec, but first: what did he do to fuck himself up so bad?

He completely neglected his health, skipped meals, gave his rationed water to others, and completely ignored his need for rest and sleep. He didn't think this was a problem, especially when he started feeling less and less hungry, despite not eating properly. Less thirsty, even though he still wasn't drinking nearly enough. And less tired, despite staying up for days, at times.

Now, he didn't really notice this shift, and neither did anyone else with the uh, apocalypse going on. But what actually caused it?

His ninpo, of course! His ninpo started sustaining him, literally keeping him alive. It's kinda like his body switched to survival mode and just preserved itself with his little built-in life source!

Why is this so bad? Because it has severe consequences. One of the side effects of this is that during the decade where his body was forced to sustain itself, it got so used to him not eating, drinking and sleeping that when he got back to the present he couldn't eat proper food for weeks, and it took months before he could eat foods like pizza.

Hell, he couldn't eat a peach without throwing it back up 20 minutes later after being in recovery for two weeks, a peach.

But as i mentioned earlier, his ninpo dulled his hunger. So it even made him nauseous anytime he tried to eat more than once a day when he had access to food again, and it took a lot of trial and error to find the right routine for his recovery.

Now, it may have been sustaining him, but it was not doing more than the bare minimum, so he was, uh, severely underweight, to say the least.

But enough about that, his sleep. I've mentioned him basically not having a sleep schedule in previous posts, and here's why! He literally couldn't sleep due to his ninpo, he didn't feel tired until after long missions, and even then he couldn't sleep until he literally crashed, and went out like a light for the next day.

This let him handle a lot more work around the base, but it also made his insomnia absolute hell for him. Instead of your average insomnia, he, like i said, didn't feel tired whatsoever. And this didn't just magically go away when he was suddenly safe in the present. In fact, it still pops up in 'manic episodes' where he just.. stays up for a few days.

This is why he looks so chronically exhausted lmao, he's got some permanent eye bags for a reason

Little important info rq, in my au the brothers can boost each other! Physical contact is needed, so let's say donnie just used a lot of his ninpo energy creating a complex blueprint, and is now pretty drained. If leo reached out and pressed his finger on donnie's arm, he could actively send a flow of his own ninpo energy to replenish some of what donnie used up. In this scenario, after the boost, donnie's next few ninpo constructs would be Leo's electric blue instead of his pixelated purple! Until he's used up the boost leo gave him, that is. There is no limit as to how much they can boost each other, but they usually just use it as a pick me up during lengthy battles or in scenarios similar to the one i described here.

So, what does this whole situation mean for his portals and all that hamato stuff? Well, he couldn't talk to karai or communicate with his ancestors and fallen family members anymore whatsoever after his ninpo was drained for the first time, so he went about.. nine years without directly communicating with them before he had 'recovered' enough ninpo energy to speak with karai in the present (let's be real, he tried as soon as he had more than two grapes worth of energy stored up)

This impromptu (and secret) meeting with karai actually led to some rather plot heavy things happening as soon as he left the hamato minscape, but let's not talk about that yet.

What about his portals? So, he lost his ability to portal when he'd just turned thirty, and during those first 14 years of the apocalypse he gained experience and training, along with some rather impressive skills with his portals, and he greatly improved the size of his portals (this happened specifically when he lost raph) and the number of portals he can open at once, along with the precision of where and when they open and close.

He does regain his ability to portal when he's been given a boost by mikey, and he immediately tests it out by teleporting an apple around the kitchen in a showy manner. And i personally love the thought that his portals would mostly be mikey's fiery orange, with little swirls of electric blue throughout them when he does this

But! I've completely lost track of what i was typing, so let's get back on track.

One of the side effects is spazzy ninpo. long after he's recovered, if he uses up too much ninpo energy during a battle his ninpo will get spazzy for the next day or two, what this means is that it's basically switching between survival and rest every few minutes, making him crash over and over until his body and ninpo are both drained, and until his body remembers that it can just rest and replenish. A boost would help him recover faster, but usually, it's best to let his body figure it out on its own

Especially since nardo can be a bit of a workaholic at times, as you can probably tell if you've read this far. So if he's being forced to have a rest day or two by his fucked up ninpo after overusing it in battle.. i think he might need that rest.

Have nice day

Okay, so i can't remember what the exact reason for this post was, but hey, lore/infodump ig :]

Oh, and if he got cut off from his ninpo by the krang, he'd have died pretty early on in the apocalypse. Oh well, good thing that didn't happen, lmao

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starcrossedmoth · 10 months

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Everyone meet Spider Wolf! Some of my pals and I all had a lot of fun with the new Spider-Man movie and obviously that led us to make our own ocs for the Spiderverse.

Long background and potential movie spoilers under the cut!

For Wolf here, they were adopted by May Parker after running away from their own home due to neglect, among other things. Peter was their classmate and was the one who convinced May to take Wolf in after the neglect was discovered via a badly infected spider bite on Wolf's cheek. Even Wolf is unsure of when they were bitten, though the swelling and infection eventually got bad enough to scar their face. They didn't care, however, as they were more preoccupied with some of the other side effects of the bite. This included the ability to climb on just about any surface, heightened senses, a type of tracking ability, and tons of brute strength not often seen even in spiderfolk.

Now, this was cool and all, but it became frustrating for Wolf to handle their newfound powers alone. They broke down and told Peter about it all, and it was his idea to create the alter-ego known as Spider Wolf. He took to being Wolf's informant while they ran the streets, beating up bad guys and uncovering dark secrets. However, one day they were faced with a bad guy not even they could handle. It was Doc Oc, but not their Doc Oc. This one was powerful, terribly strong, and had more limbs than Spider Wolf could pin- though that last one was typical for theirs as well.

Just as all hope seemed lost, a portal right above Spider Wolf and Doc Oc opened up, and out popped Spider Noir, among a few others, using their own webs to tie Doc Oc up. Possibly due to Noir being the first one out of the portal- or much more likely the first to help Wolf up, they developed a bit of a crush on him. Soon afterwards, Wolf was allowed to join the Spider-Hub, and even made some new friends, including Spider Kanta (@kantaroth) and Spider-Blues (@blues-sues). Now, they help fight interdimensional baddies and still help their home dimension out.

Some other notes about Wolf:

They're 20 years old at the start of joining the Spider-Hub, but they'd already had their powers for 5 years by that point.

They have a deadname that got changed to Wolf when they were adopted, but they're prone to responding to any name or nickname given to them.

Their cat Frosting is based on a mew adopt I got from Phlurrii (who I won't be pinging for their sake, but still check out their blog by the same name!). I'm still debating if Frosting is the only pink cat around, and if not, then what the hell did they eat to turn them pink?

#spiderman #oc

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astral-athame · 1 month

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((Life for me has pretty much been: Wake up at 8am. Desperately try to get more sleep until 9 (usually I doze off for, like, 2 or 3 minutes at a time and that's it). Get ready for work. Leave between 9:30 and 9:45. Work from 10-1:30-ish (it's supposed to be until 1:15 but I'm never out of there on time). Get home around 1:45. Leave for work part 2 around 2:30. That goes from at least 3-7, usually closer to 7:20 when I finally leave (sometimes stay until 8 or 9). Get home between 7:30 and 7:45. Make a quick dinner, shower, etc. Around 8:30, watch Ba.tt.le.st.ar Gal.act.ica with a couple of friends (if things work out, this couple may eventually be more than just my friends, but we'll see how that goes ^^;) until about 10:30, then chat with them for a bit after that, usually until almost 11. Bedtime routine (wash face, brush teeth, etc etc). Then stare at drafts until midnight when I realize I need to get to bed because I know I'll be up earlier than I need to be. Then the weekends have consisted a lot of babysitting, running errands, and trying to finish unpacking here and there because it's been 4 months and finding time to unpack has been a pain in the ass with everything that's constantly going on. Also, I spent 3 hours on Saturday putting together a kitchen cabinet- thankfully we have extra screwdrivers because the phillip's-head screwdriver they included was such bad quality that it was messed up and unusable less than half an hour in because the metal of it was so soft -_-

ANYWAY- Work both shifts the rest of the week (except Friday, but only because I don't have to do the second shift, still have the first). Saturday we're going out for my dad's birthday (which was actually last week, but we couldn't make things work for going out last weekend like we'd wanted to). Saturday night is also game night, as usual. Then Sunday I *should* have some free time, but I also desperately need to get some cleaning done that's being semi-neglected throughout the week. So what I'm saying is Sundays are chore days.

If things go well, I should, soon, only be working the first shift in another week or two (with the second shift just being Fridays and when absolutely needed)? Right now both my sister and I are stuck doing the second shift every night (and have been since before mid-winter break last month) because the custodial staff is down two people (one girl broke her leg and has been out since October, I think? And the other has been on temporary (paid) probation since early February while they consider whether or not to fire him and go through all the legal jargon of all of that). But they should be coming to a decision about that soon, I would hope, which would mean that if he gets to come back, then we won't be working nights unless someone calls out. And if he doesn't come back, then they should be hiring someone to fill his place so we'll just have to wait until someone snags the job (hopefully, in that case, they'll offer it to my sister first because usually they try to offer it to substitutes and she really wants it, but we'll see). They're also slowly running out of budget for substitutes, so, that's something to consider, too.

ANYWAY- TL;DR: I've basically had no writing time / personal time and that's why I've not been around. Hopefully work stuff will calm down soon because leaving the house around 9:30am and not really getting to be home until usually after 7:30pm (sometimes 8:30pm or 9:30pm) has been exhausting ^^;

I'll try to be around on Sunday (probably focus on Rogue's blog because I've been writing the fic in my head at work most nights so I have a lot of muse for her AND her blog has been sorely neglected for at least a few months now WHICH MAKES ME SO MAD AT MYSELF). If I can even get one or two asks done, then I'll consider that an accomplishment at this point!

I'm so sorry about the long absence. I'm sorry to everyone for neglecting replies. I'm sorry to everyone I was writing with and haven't had the time / social and physical energy / emotional capacity to reach back out to in a while. That's on me. I dropped the ball on that. I've never been good at ooc communication anyway, tbh. I was really hoping things would be a little bit calmer after I moved, but instead they went in exactly the opposite direction and haven't really slowed down any since November. In fact, they've just gotten more hectic over the last few months ^^;

I adore you all so much and I really do hope that I can get back to writing soon. I've been missing it (and all of you) terribly.

Take care and I'll try to be around soon <3))

#ooc.#long post #((Sorry for the rambling. I've just been gone so long that I feel like you're all owed a proper explanation.))#((I miss being here. I need to stop giving all of my free time away to other people and give myself a couple days a week #that are to focus on myself and writing again.))

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fresiants · 1 year

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I found a character poll on twitter few weeks ago and I can't believe so many marauder fans were shocked that Severus is more popular than Barty and Rosier.

this is honestly so depressing, but i know i shouldn't be surprised, the other day i too found a twt poll that put remus/severus and remus/regulus against each other and remus/regulus won by SO MANY votes! i wanted to drink a whole bottle of hemlock. i couldn't believe it. that rich twink doesn't have a fucking personality he will Never be as nuanced as severus as a character, or as impactful!

"Hide Kreacher, I'll do anything" "Kreacher? After all this time?" "Always"

YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH I LAUGHED AT THIS, I CHOKED ON NOTHING 😭😭😭 i'm sure you're aware of people shipping regulus and james? before i stumbled again upon this abomination of a fandom, i was rather open minded to the idea of shipping anything as long as it's age appropriate, but i just don't have the patience for ships involved fabricated personalities where one of the parties involved's ENTIRE personality was snatched from My favorite character.

but its as you depict it! there IS a prejudiced and shallow component in the way people choose their faves, for the lack of personality and depth to not matter when the character is supposed to be "attractive". the whole "making snape to be ugly" always rubbed me the wrong way, for the poor and neglected kid to be bullied and antagonized, and everyone justifying it TO THIS DAY, favoring their rich, "supposedly conventionally attractive" main characters? from r*wling it shouldn't be surprising, but from everyone else to run away with it, justifying every ugly action from james or sirius, even lily? then they act as if they're any better than r*wling herself 🤡

i've been reluctantly into hp again for at least two or three months and every experience outside of the snape fanbase has been so exhausting. loving remus and find content of him that doesn't involve sirius or james or that doesn't misinterpret his character is also hard, i really can only trust snupin stans and absolutely nobody else 😔

I too found a twt poll that put remus/severus remus/regulus against each other and remus/regulus won by SO MANY votes!

Lol Idk if they did this out of spite but I found a huge ship poll with thousands of votes few months ago and remus/regulus was in bottom five. I guess they were upset that Snupin at least managed to be in top 20, while Snily and Snegulus were in top 10 lmao. Here's the link if you wanna check it out.

I'm sure you're aware of people shipping regulus and james

Ngl jegulus is just Wallmart jeverus with Walmart James. Idk how they got so popular in a short period of time. They have no interacting whatsoever in the canon lol.

favoring their rich, "supposedly conventionally attractive" main characters

Because they're shallow-minded and there's just no way to change their opinions. They are too deep in the fanfiction rabid hole they started treating it like canon. According to them, ugly people aren't allowed to make any mistakes. This is the type of discrimination we see in real life as well. I expect them to be better considering how they always turn their favs into gay feminist icons but well... I guess when they mention feminist, they mean ugly people exclusivity radical feminist.

Loving Remus and finding content of him that doesn't involve Sirius or James or that doesn't misinterpret his character is also hard

I barely follow any Remus' blogs/content creator anymore because whenever i search for them, at least 60% of them contain Wolfstar, while the other 40% MIGHT contain Severus' bashing. I'd rather stick and wait for Snupin shippers to drop more Remus Lupin contents. Well.. I guess some Remadora fans are fine but there's just too many Snaters out there. I'd rather take care of my mental health and not get involved with these people.

#ask #severus snape

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theretirementstory · 2 months

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Bonjour et bienvenue on this cloudy, cool morning, it’s only 5c out there at the moment and we can expect a high of only 10c. However, I don’t care as I am going out for lunch to the restaurant by the lake.

4 years ago, to the day, I stood on the rooftop of the museum in Mahdia and took this photo. I had arrived on the 22nd for the start of a 10 day holiday in Tunisia, I felt it was a good idea to be reminded of the sun and sea.

I have decided to do the music section first this week for reasons which may become clearer as the blog progresses. The first song is dates from 1980 and is by the Average White Band, its, Let’s Go Round Again. AWB are probably better known for their hit “Pick up the Pieces. I hope you enjoy these songs. The second song also from the 80’s is “Its My Life” by Talk Talk from 1986.

My young friend Pauline celebrated her 27th birthday on Monday, she had a great day. On Sunday she had been to the beach in Barcelona enjoying some someshine. She had a cake with candles and made a wish that I would recover! What a wonderful wish 😊. She said for the first time she is loving her work, obviously working in Barcelona, where she benefits from the brighter days, has booster her morale. Not like when she lived in Dublin and the bright days were few and far between.

After an horrendous nightmare where I felt like being “The Pied Piper” and leading zillions of 🐀 🐀 🐀 to the banks of the River Aube, I decided to ask my neighbour to check out my composter. The verdict was “No rats in here Mrs” oh did that make me feel better and I went into the garden and cardboard mulched around the hellebores which made my day. I also found close to the hellebores and even in the grass signs, if not primulas, then cowslips. I plan on letting the grass grow in order for them to at least flower, as long as I don’t have long spells in hospital, I hope to not let the grass be “shorn to the ground” which is what my neighbour seems to do to his grass. It’s kind of him to mow my grass but not to have it covered in moss during the wet months.

Primulas have been messed up again in the potager by “the damned cat” and now it has found it’s way into the back garden to 💩 first of all in the grass and then into the raised bed to not “tiptoe through the tulips” (as the song goes) but to 💩 and scratch among the daffodils. Is there no end to this “Monster”.

I had hurt my back last Friday replanting the planter (think I have pulled a muscle). So plans to add more cardboard mulch to the borders are on hold. As I can’t even carry a quarter bag of compost!

The nurse came and took my bloods, I had felt rather faint (hungry) before she came so bless her she was going to get me some breakfast before she left. I just asked for a cup of milk, which she brought me, I thought that was very kind of her.

I did a lot of reading at the weekend which meant that my knitting has been neglected 😱. I did a little bit early in the week but my heart isn’t in it at the moment. I went into town on Tuesday to see Claudine and to give the photocopied pattern for the crocheted pendant and earrings to her. We are looking to make some smaller items to sell at a lower price so that people will buy them at the markets. I then walked into town to see if the jeweller would be able to look at the stone in my grandmothers engagement ring to confirm if it was real or not. When I arrived possibly about 14:50 he was out and would be another 20 minutes or so. I couldn’t hang around!

The toilet I had fitted when I first moved into this house in 2019, has for years had a temperamental flush. Occasionally it flushed and water continued running down the back of the bowl causing terrible rumbling noises in the pipes. I guessed it was due to limescale but how to solve it? I asked my new plumber the cause and he cleaned the flush but it was still doing it occasionally. Well he came and worked his magic this week I think he cleared a lot of the limescale out of the cistern, replaced the flush, which now does exactly as needed a half flush as well as a full flush and at the moment no gurgling pipes.

Oh my goodness, have I told you how wonderful my grandchildren are? I received three videos of them playing at home. They are happy to play separately but the youngest (my grandson) was playing with his ro-ro ferry near where my granddaughter was playing with her dolls, needing some help he asked so politely if she could help him, she stopped what she was doing to open one of the doors then when he wanted it closing again she did that too. It was so wonderful to see.

“The Photographer” was unable to take photos at Scarborough AFC on Tuesday as he was working a 1-9 shift. He had been to an hotel near to Skipton for a night which included a meal at the Michelin Star restaurant. It was a 7 course taster menu, it all looked really delicious.

“The Trainee Solicitor” and “The Ex-Graduate” had four nights away in a “lodge” in Wensleydale. It had beautiful views but on their last night they were so cold and rain was coming in through a skylight. They were also disappointed with the siting of the hot tub. They did manage a decent walk to Hardraw Falls before returning soaked through. They took a trip to Aysgarth Falls it’s an area of renowned movie locations and of course Wensleydale cheese is known from the Wallace and Gromit film series.

My appointment with the oncologist was on Friday and as I had perused my blood test results I knew that all was not well. However, telling myself I am no doctor, I waited to hear what he had to say. Yes, cancer is back! So there I am not struck dumb at all and my first question was “is there treatment available?” The reply was “yes” my next question “when do we start chemotherapy, next week?” Yes I go into hospital on Tuesday. That’s all I needed to know. Poor Monique when I messaged her…. She replied did I want her to ring me or call to see me the next day. I said for her to come and visit me the following day. Apparently she had cried, she rang her daughter and cried again. My friends are rallying again, hence the restaurant lunch today. Anie who is still suffering with shingles pain without the postules, made me laugh when she said the postules can’t get through her fat, she isn’t fat at all! She too provided moral support. Pauline hadn’t answered my message yet and I know she will be upset. However, I am here and obviously fit enough to go through more treatment. It has made me think that perhaps the nine years I had when I thought I was a cancer survivor, I was actually just living with cancer. Who cares, I have had some great times and if I have any say in the matter I will have a lot more to come!

Monique came yesterday and we had a really good chat (about two hours worth) 😳. She always amazes me, she has a lovely garden at home but she looked out at mine, at the hyacinths just starting to flower, the tulips, daffodils, iris and the hellebores and declared it a wonderful garden. She loves the potager full of violas whose seed blew on the wind and filled the potager with yellow and green brightness. Then she noticed the violas tulips and iris I had transplanted to there location near the composter and was full of admiration. I felt very proud. I think I had better check the seeds I have to plant this year as I really do want the garden to be a riot of colour!

I had my book delivery on Thursday, whew what a relief! I have plenty of reading material to take into hospital with me.

Now I really must leave my bed and start to get ready for my lunchtime rendezvous.

Oh I would just like to add a special “God morgen” to anyone reading this in Norway.

Until next time…..

#barsuraube #mahdia #photography #80’s music #friends #family #knitting #keeping positive #nature #trees #living your best life

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ecoamerica · 20 days

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Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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dweemeister · 3 months

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Programming note: 2024's "31 Days of Oscar" marathon

For newer followers, mostly...

At around the time of the Academy Awards every year, this blog launches into its annual 31 Days of Oscar marathon (tagged "31 Days of Oscar"), based on the marathon of the same name put on Turner Classic Movies (TCM) in the U.S. and Canada. The queue is largely inspired by the structure of that marathon.

31 Days of Oscar begins this Friday on Friday, February 9. It runs until late in the night after the 96th Academy Awards on Sunday, March 10.

The premise is simple. For 31 days, the only films that may appear on this blog must have either received an Academy Award nomination or were given an Honorary Oscar. That rule makes this the most exclusive time on this blog, but arguably its most accessible. For good and ill, the Academy Awards are a gateway into cinephilia (it was a secondary gateway for yours truly). They remain valuable because it gives us a glimpse of the tastes of those in Hollywood at a given time.

And it's the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences' (AMPAS) primary fundraiser - the Academy, on a daily basis, fosters younger filmmakers; maintains one of the largest film libraries in the world (not just Oscar nominees, but films of all types from across the globe), is one of the most important organizations in the world that embarks upon restoring damaged or neglected movies; and educates the public about cinema through various initiatives and the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures in Los Angeles.

This year, 31 Days of Oscar will be dedicated to a single category for each day. The schedule will look like this:

Friday, February 9: Costume Design

Saturday, February 10: Supporting Actress

Sunday, February 11: Supporting Actress

Monday, February 12: Production Design (formerly Art Direction)

Tuesday, February 13: Screenplay (Adapted and Original)

Wednesday, February 14: Screenplay (Adapted and Original)

Thursday, February 15: Director

Friday, February 16: Film Editing

Saturday, February 17: Supporting Actor

Sunday, February 18: Supporting Actor

Monday, February 19: Original Song

Tuesday, February 20: Original Score (including all past variants of this award)

Wednesday, February 21: Documentary Feature

Thursday, February 22: Cinematography

Friday, February 23: Makeup and Hairstyling (including films before the addition of Hairstyling to this award title)

Saturday, February 24: Lead Actress

Sunday, February 25: Lead Actress

Monday, February 26: Visual Effects

Tuesday, February 27: International Feature Film (formerly Foreign Language Film)

Wednesday, February 28: Sound (including all past variants of this award)

Thursday, February 29: All short categories (Animated, Documentary, and Live Action)

Friday, March 1: Animated Feature

Saturday, March 2: Lead Actor

Saturday, March 3: Lead Actor

Monday, March 4: Director

Tuesday, March 5 - Sunday, March 10: Best Picture (including the films nominated at the 1st Academy Awards for Best Unique and Artistic Picture)

Hope you enjoy! I am also not affiliated with TCM or the Academy in any way, shape, or form.

#programming note #Oscars #31 Days of Oscar

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unholy-bastard69 · 17 days

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this is a quick run down for the info on the OC this blog is about, Juno valentine!

please be advise none of this is canon to the real DC timeline and this OC is pretty much a Mary Sue character !

Basic info

Full legal name: Juno Orchid Valentine Age: 37 Gender: female Pronouns: she/ her Sexuality: Pansexual Height: 5’7 MBTI: ISTJ-T

Backstory/origin

Okay so let's start at the very beginning, Junos mother, Annabella valentine had a "strange" encounter with a mysterious man in the woods one day, because who wouldn't want to get down and dirty with a 7'3 guy with horns when your in loveless marriage to a preacher? Anyway she ended up getting pregnant and 9 months later out pops a little baby girl, Juno orchid valentine (yeah her mom was SOOO creative with her name guys (I say as if I didn't name her) )). Around 4 years later, Annabella is "mysteriously" drowned in the lake near the community church! Leaving poor little 4 year old juno in the care of her father, Issac Jr valentine. And let's just say… Issac isn't exactly the best father… or a decent one at that. Juno was mainly neglected in her childhood or was beaten if Issac deemed her indeed of a punishment, even if she had done no wrong. And no one believed little Juno, her daddy, the kind hearted preacher of the Arlen Georgia church! She didn't have many friends in her school years either, the kids at her school assumed that she was tattle tail and was stuck up all because she was the preacher's kid, but she didn't mind. She preferred being alone, all she needs is a good book to keep her company (NERD). A little later on in life, around 12, juno met this weird skinny kid at church camp one summer, a tall scraggly boy named Jonathan kenny-crane. They ended up creating a bond with one another over their shared trauma and love for reading. They would start hanging out in secret after that summer, exploring abandoned buildings and going to the library together. ANOTHER TIME SKIP WOW WEE!! At 17 Juno ran away from her home and father, leaving for gotham city. For a while Juno simply worked as a bodyguard,finding she had a strange amount of natural strength. But body guarding didn't pay that well, now did it? Juno was offered a job at the age of 20, kill a rival mafia boss for someone and receive 2 thousands dollar in cold hard cash. This kicked off her career as an assassin for hire. Juno slowly built a name for herself over 8 years in the mercenary community, she was surprisingly good at what she did, at least for an amateur. She ended up catching the attention of Slade Wilson, who offered to train her. She trained under him for a few years before going back to working as an assassin. By that time she was 32.

Personality

Juno comes off as cold, atthortative, and sometimes robotic for her general lack of emotion sometimes. She's closed off to most but seems to have a small group of “allies” she's close with. To the people she's close with, Juno seems a bit nicer and a little bit more comfortable showing emotions off. Despite this she can still be a bit distrustful of the people around her, even if she's close to them. She's worried constantly that the people she chose to let her walls down around will betray her. Juno bases a lot of her decisions on fact over emotion, she can be a bit brutally honest at times without realizing it. She also has a surprisingly good memory

Random tidbits??

Juno is a meta human, she's half human and half demon. The demon part doesn't really appear physically but it does give her a good amount of abilities such as heightened agility and speed, super strength, superhuman healing factor, slowed/ stopped aging, extreme flexibility, and a little bit of heat manipulation (only to the level of using her thumb like a lighter or being able to boil water by holding it)

Junos has an extremely good shot, and has been trained well on how to hit a target. Her good aim isn't limited to only shooting either, she's an amazing ping pong player.

She bleaches her hair enough that if she wasn't a meta human she would have gone bald by now.

Cliche, I know but she has a soft spot for kids. She tries to go out of her way not to hurt kids when she's trying to get a job done, and has out right refused to take contracts that entailed killing a child.

#juno valentine #ooc post

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babyjakes · 2 years

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forever and a day | 20. captain's mess.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

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summary | a story in which america’s favorite captain gives a new life and family to a five-year-old girl who has suffered well beyond her years at the hands of hydra.

characters | dad!steve rogers, girl/willa rogers (original character)

warnings | AU similar enough to OU to include spoilers to many Marvel movies (Age of Ultron and beyond). action and fight scenes with violence and killing. mature themes related to and semi-graphic depictions of the aftermath of child abuse/neglect (emaciation, wounds, scarring, etc). mentions/descriptions of past CSA and CSM. medical abuse and experimentation. ptsd/trauma symptoms in a child (developmental discrepancies, de-humanized behavior, detachment, extreme fears). medical treatment of CSM and other aftermath of abuse.somewhat evil!Tony Stark (eventually).

[Clint]

When the elevator doors open up to the fiftieth floor, Peter is already pacing back and forth in the lounge, waiting for us. As he lifts his head at the sound of our arrival, his expression drops from hopeful to saddened as he sees Girl crumpled up in my arms. Sam and I step into the room, the doors sliding shut behind us. “Oh Girl…” Peter sighs, walking up to meet us. The child lifts her head weakly, whimpering at the sight of her friend.

“Can I set you down, kiddo?” I ask as I begin to lean towards the floor, but Girl quickly grabs onto my vest with one hand, so I stop. “No? That’s okay. I can keep holding ya. Here, should we get you on the couch?” Peter follows me as I make my way over to the large sofa, setting Girl down gently in my lap. The teen crouches down in front of us, appearing to be at a loss for words.

Sam trails in behind us, finding a seat on one of the armchairs beside us. For several moments, it’s silent. “Where’s Tony at?” Sam asks eventually, breaking the silence.

Peter stumbles for a minute, still preoccupied with looking at Girl. “He- downstairs. Thor and- and Bruce… taking care of- of Huber.”

“That crazy doctor guy?” Sam asks. Peter nods. “I heard he had a whole team with him. Is everyone on our side okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all good,” I let him know. The encounter was intense, but luckily, we were ready when they arrived. The last thing I heard before Nat and I left to check on Steve, Wanda, and Girl was that Huber was going to be transferred to a different confinement unit - one with much higher security.

“Man, I kinda thought Hydra might be finished after your last big raid in Korea. Guess I was wrong. Those bastards always have something new,” Sam shakes his head.

Just as he finishes, Peter reaches out his hand slowly, carefully placing it on top of Girl’s shoulder through the blanket. She shrinks back from his touch, and his lips curl into a frown. “Hey, Girl. It’s just me; it’s Peter. I-I’m here now. You’re safe. Can you come out from hiding?” The child raises her head slightly, her hair covering most of her face as she looks up warily. Peter gently tucks it behind her ear, revealing her rosy cheeks and teary eyes. “Hey, best friend,” the teen whispers, trying to give her a smile. “I missed you. Are you okay? Did you get hurt at all?”

“She’s okay,” I assure Peter. “She was well hidden from the agents; I don’t think they even saw her or knew where she was hiding.” Gazing down at the frightened girl, I run a hand of my own over her soft brown hair, causing her to duck away slightly. “Are you hungry, thirsty? Do you want a different blanket?” I ask. Girl quickly shakes her head, grabbing onto the one she’s already wrapped up in. “Okay, that’s okay,” I reassure her quickly, not wanting to upset her further. “You can stay in this one. Pretty soft, huh? I’m sure nobody’ll mind if you keep it.”

“Girl… c-can I- do you want me to hold you?” Peter asks quietly. With a tremor running through her breath, Girl shakes her head again. Heartbreak spreads across Peter’s face in an instant, but he only nods understandingly. “Where are the others?” he asks, turning his head to look up at me. “Are they okay?”

“They’re okay,” I tell him. “They’re doing a little clean-up at the safe-house. I’m sure they’ll be back soon.” At this, Girl begins to cry.

“P-please, no,” the poor kid begs, letting out her first words since her return. Shaking as weak hiccups wrack through her body, Girl looks up pleadingly at Peter and I. The teen’s eyes grow wide at her pleas, and he quickly shakes his head.

“Hey, no, it’s okay, Girl,” he tries, “it’s just Wanda and Nat and Steve-” but as soon as the captain’s name is said, Girl’s whole body lurches, stiffening up in terror, and her tears turn to sobs. “C'mon, Girl, Steve’s not scary,” Peter reminds her, but she’ll have none of it, shaking her head in distress.

“Please, Peter, p-please…” The boy’s face sinks as the little girl pleads to his name, clearly torn up at what’s happened to his friend.

“He’s your friend, too, remember? He takes care of you,” Peter tries to reason. “He would never do anything to hurt you. I promise, hey-” as he’s speaking Girl takes one arm and unveils it from the blanket, her hand curled up in a fist. Weakly, she begins punching it into the air, obviously trying to demonstrate what she saw, trying to prove why her mind has changed. “No, Girl, stop,” Peter begs, tears building in his own eyes as he reaches out and takes the little hand in both of his, looking up into the child’s eyes.

“Loud. Y-yelling. B-blood, blood ev'ywhere,” she whimpers. Glacing over, I see Sam’s watching the whole thing unfold, shaking his head in clear heartbreak.

Peter simply looks at Girl, unable to find anything that could comfort her or ease her fears. I sigh, wishing I knew how to help as well, but I know that this is something Cap is going to have to handle; there’s nothing we could say to fix this. At this point, that responsibility belongs to Steve alone.

“Kiddo, is there anything we can get you?” Sam speaks up from behind Peter. “Anything we can do to help you feel better?”

Girl’s voice is quiet, broken. “Alone, please,” she replies. “Let Girl b-be alone.”

[Steve]

The silence in the car on the drive back to the tower is thick, almost tangible. Sitting restlessly in the passenger seat, I glance down at my hands, my stomach twisting at the sight of them. I washed them for ten minutes in the safe-house’s bathroom sink, found a scrubber in one of the cabinets and went to town. In between my fingers, under my nails. Soap. Burning water. As much pressure as I could apply. But in the end, it still feels like they’re covered in blood.

“Steve,” Nat begins, not looking over at me from her spot in the driver’s seat. She keeps her eyes on the road, though they’re filled with pity. “I know youthink you messed up everything. But maybe you didn’t; maybe she was just upset from all the commotion. You can’t beat yourself up before you even-”

“She saw it,” I cut her off coldly. “Did you see the way she looked at me? Like I was some kind of monster? She watched me pound that guy’s face in. She heard his bones cracking. She saw the blood splatter up onto my face. It’s too late, Nat. I know it is.”

“You were only doing your job,” Wanda says quietly from the seat behind me. I shake my head. They just don’t get it.

“No. My job was to protect her. You neutralized the other two without making a scene. But I- I just got so angry. I looked into that man’s eyes and saw all of Hydra, saw the very that tortured Girl for years. And I- I lost it. I wanted to make him pay for what he did. I didn’t just want to kill him. I wanted to make him hurt. So I did. And she saw. I never wanted her to see me hurt anyone. I never wanted her to know that I was capable of things like that.” Neither of them respond for a moment, probably because I’m right; there’s nothing to say. I went too far. I got lost in the moment. And now, I’ve ruined everything I built up with Girl because of it.

“Then what are you going to do now?” Nat asks. In front of us on the road, more and more buildings begin to appear, and I realize that we’re entering the edge of the city.

“I don’t know,” I reply lamely. “I don’t know if there’s anything I can do.”

“No, you don’t get to say that,” Wanda shoots back, a hint of anger in her voice. “If what you’re saying is true, if you really messed everything up between you and her by losing your cool, then it’s your mess to clean up.” I sigh. The last thing I want is for Wanda to be upset with me; I already feel terrible as it is.

“I can’t think of a way to do that,” I try, but the girl in the back seat’s not having any of it.

“Then find one,” Wanda demands. I open my mouth to respond, but stop myself. Ultimately, I know she’s right. I broke this. It’s mine to fix. It’s not going to be easy, or pleasant, but I don’t have a choice. I committed to raising Girl, to claiming her as my own. There’s no giving up on something like that.

Before long, we’ve reached the tower. Nat pulls into the parking garage, and we all get out of the car, making our way towards the elevators.

“Hey,” Wanda adds, her voice much softer now as she reaches out and touches my hand as we walk side by side. “I believe in you, by the way.” I sigh, smiling weakly at her with a nod. “The more upset she is now, the more attached she was to you before. She may feel like she has to push you away, but she probably doesn’t want to. You’re so good to her, Steve.”

“Thank you, Wanda,” I say, taking her words to heart. All I can do is hope that she’s right; at least I can find a bit of comfort in the fact that she usually is.

The elevator ride up is completely quiet; no one says a word. Before long, the cab reaches floor fifty, and the doors slide open.

Walking in behind the two girls, I see that Peter, Clint, and Sam are all waiting for us in the lounge. Clint and Peter are sitting on the couch, while Sam is in an armchair nearby. They all look sullen, worn out. It didn’t seem like they were having any sort of discussion before we arrived.

“Hey fellas,” Nat greets. Sam gives her a wave. Clint nods at her, while Peter doesn’t say anything.

“Where’s Girl?” I ask, looking around the room to find her nowhere in sight.

“She wanted to be alone; I brought her to her room,” Clint replies. Wanda takes a seat beside Peter, rubbing his back gently and saying something to him too quiet for me to hear. Nat walks to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from a cabinet.

Setting my shield down on the coffee table, I stand before my friends.

“So you guys just call her ‘Girl?’” Sam asks hesitantly after a few moments of silence. I sigh.

“That’s what she’s always been called. It’s the only thing she responds to,” I reason. “She was an experiment back in Seoul, an asset. Hydra didn’t feel like giving her a name.”

“Yeah, I get that, but I don’t know why you guys couldn’t have given her a name when you rescued her,” Sam argues.

“We could have,” Nat interjects quickly. “We just… well, I guess we haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Haven’t gotten there yet?” the man questions incredulously. “Aw, come on guys. She’s a kid, a little kid. You don’t think it makes her feel like shit to be called 'Girl,’ like she’s some sort of- of animal?” I frown. Maybe he’s got a point.

“That’s something we’ll have to discuss,” I concede. “You’re right; she deserves to have a name like the rest of us.”

“F-for now, Cap, you should probably go see her,” Peter whimpers, finally looking up to meet my gaze. “Y-you really scared her back at the safe-house. I don’t know if you know this, but she kinda saw you kill that guy when you-”

“I know, Pete. I know,” I say gently, not wanting to make him finish his sentence. The boy nods, his shoulders slumping. “I’ll go see her. Are you guys all alright?” The group nods, and I offer a nod back. “Okay, then. I’m going to go see what I can do.”

Making my way down the long hallway, my feet drag slightly beneath me as I near the end. Girl’s door is closed, prompting me to knock.

Once, no response. Twice, still nothing.

“I’m coming in,” I call softly, my hand shakily twisting the doorknob, pushing the door open.

The room is empty. I step in, scanning the area. The child’s nowhere to be found, and as I search the space, my gaze falls on the bathroom door, which sits slightly ajar. The light is on.

Making my way over to the doorway, I push the door open, stepping inside. When I turn to look, what I’m met with stops my heart right in my chest.

Girl is propped up against the far wall on top of her blanket, her shirt lifted up over one shoulder. Shaking hands shove a wad of crimson tissue into her side. She’s surrounded by a pool of blood.

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#faad #faad: captain's mess #eun's writing #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers series #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #hurt/comfort #steve rogers x child!oc #dad!steve rogers #the avengers #avengers fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfiction #captain america #captain america fanfiction

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