#it is all just a vehicle for noms

[nonbitenary]

still thinkin about the vampire pred scenario I'm poking at writing..... uh.... lazy vampire pred and human (? or maybe some other creature?) partner

the human usually tricks and lures other unwitting humans in for their vampire partner to drain, human is kind of a sadistic prick but is very tender with their partner. n likes making the vampire all happy and warm and full and affectionate

idk. I do have a soft spot for all the horror and fear and spiciness that goes into vampires feeding and the traditional draining-victims-of-blood scenarios of course but can dip into something more vore-ish, soft and/or hard

the partner devising a method of catching and shrinking human victims (what? how? is that realistic? no the whole scenario is a vehicle for gratuitous vore, leave me alone lmao), realising that if draining a victim of blood and life force gives the vampire so much pleasure and nourishment, then being able to swallow and make use of multiple Whole People might be even better

the vampire can just stuff himself full of prey and digest them for all their life force in one hit. much, much more satisfying and rewarding meal. and the human partner gets off on seeing the little victims struggle and plead as the vampire just lazily gulps them down and likes to rub the vampire's belly and listen to the screams

n you already know I'm a sucker for sharp fangs on a pred too of course

lots of good soft vore n fearplay potential, with an indifferent casual/happy pred and a cruel uncaring..... observer....? but also because it's vampires there's some VERY delicious potential for hard vore stuff too with like

the vampire enjoying the sensation of swallowing live prey and feeling his stomach squeeze and churn around them, all those struggles and kicks just massaging him and relaxing him, but REALLY struggling at times not to just bite down on them and crunch them up between his teeth because he's so excited by their blood and he wants to taste it and enjoy that too

can be a mix of all the good stuff tbh

the partner dangling shrunken, desperate humans over the vampire's open mouth, dropping them straight into his gullet and letting him gulp them down whole..... the vampire shoving handfuls of tiny humans into his salivating maw and just crushing them between his teeth and moaning at the delicious flavour..... the vampire maybe even biting his human partner for a drink to wash down the rest of his prey

also vampire hypnotism?? I always love the idea of a giant vampire pred just hypnotising a bunch of people to just feed themselves to him or feed each other to him. peak laziness. easiest job in the world. just opening wide and letting his food wander straight into his mouth. mmm

yeah the story is just an excuse for all my favourite stuff rolled into one, very dumb and self-indulgent. fangs! soft vore! hard vore! blood drinking! bite kink! and the lovely juxtaposition of the shrunken human victims in absolute terror as they're toyed with and gobbled up vs the two partners just being so snuggly and affectionate and cheery with each other and having such a nice time

(also I imagine the human partner just sneaking one of the tiny humans to swallow themself right at the end just to see what all the fuss is about, and finding the sensation of fluttering panicked movement in their belly so peculiar fjdksljd. the vampire just being like "hey that was mine :(". and the vampire and the human curling up together all snuggly and warm to sleep and digest together. vampire purring and full and relaxed and the human continually poking at their stomach because they're so amused by the feeling of live prey)

anyway who is the target audience for this?? maybe just me?? am I going to write it anyway?? maybe?? maybe........

[zvdvdlvr]

Good Night

💤 Synopsis. Aaron knows you can’t sleep, so he offers his home to you. Just to help you sleep. Not to fall even deeper in love with you or anything- psh!

💤 Warnings. Not too descriptive vomit scene. Nightmares from previous case (nom descriptive). Crude language. Idiots in love. Possible OOC!Hotch. Not edited.

“Hey boss,” you greeted, sleepily letting the pen fall out of your hands and onto the table.

“Y/n. You need to sleep,” Hotch murmured sternly from across the table. “We’ve all noticed it. I know these last few cases were rough…” he went on keeping a low voice as to not wake the rest of the team. “But you need to take care of yourself.”

You shrugged pitifully. Truthfully, sleep avoided you like you and sleep were two positive magnets. It was getting harder to sleep now anyway. After a particularly rough patch in your life, you lost two little girls and a boy on a case. Now, you see them in your sleep as they beg for you to save them as they fade away to nothing in your consciousness. Emily tried to help, since you normally roomed with her on cases, but there wasn’t much you could do when the monsteres where in your head.

“I’ll try, Hotch. I just- I always feel… like I don’t… I don’t know.” You struggled for words, rubbing your eyes. “I feel trapped in my mind when I sleep. And- and I can’t get out: can’t fight it, can’t change it, can’t fix it.”

Hotch nodded. Your eyes were so so heavy and he knew you were trying your hardest to keep your composure. Hotch admired that. “Do you want to try something?”

You tolted your head at Aaron’s proposition. His tone changed to a high pitch, clearly apprehensive about the idead himself. “Sure.”

“Jack gets nightmares too,” Aaron started slowly, making sure you heard and processed every word. “After Hayley. I make sure when he wakes up that we go out to the kitchen and get a snack. Then he comes back to my room and stays with me under a weighted blanket I have. It- It helps me with my own sleep problems.”

Your lip twitched. “You’re trying to get me in your bed, aren’t you Agent Hotchner?”

Even though he heaved a massive sigh, Hotch smiled and shook his head. There you are. “If it gets you some quality sleep? Yes.”

“Well,” you murmured, leaning your head back on the seat. “I guess I’d be rude to decline.”

“Luckily for you we have about ten minutes till we land,” Aaron noted. He stood up and his knees popped. You chuckled and smiled up at him.

“Am… Do you want me drive separate?” You asked, bring Hotch’s attention back onto you.

His eyes took you in. Stretched out as far as you could on the cramped plane seat, frizzy baby hairs surrounded your tilted face- lit by the dim light like a halo- as you peered up at him with dark eyes and gleaming smile. “No need. Just make sure you have your go-bag. I can drop you off at home tomorrow morning and then take you to work. If you want,” he offered as coolly as he could, despite his racing heart.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.”

Packing away your stuff and reports you needed to do the next morning, you felt warmth creeping up your neck and onto your cheeks.

You almost fell asleep on the ride to Aaron’s home. It wasn’t your fault the vehicle smelled like Hotch so good and the were heated! Not to mentions how soft the material was… When was leather this comfortable!?

“Y/n,” Aaron murmured, nudging you with a knuckle. You blinked awake and looked around, owlishly-wide eyes taking in everything.

“Sorry-“

Aaron chuckled. When did he have such a nice laugh? Jeez. “You’re here to get some sleep, hon- y/n. You don’t need to apologize for dozing off.”

Were you actually hallucinating or did Aaron Benjamin Hotchner almost call you ‘honey’? You felt your insides as well as your outsides warm, but Aaron turned away fast so you didn’t know if he was blushing too. “Yeah. I- yeah, of course,” you mumbled, opening the door and stepping out.

Aaron opened the door and led you inside. His home, unsurprisingly, smelled exactly like him and you felt like melting to a puddle on the floor. Here, in his house, you looked around.

Evidence of life was everywhere.

Jack’s toys were in a mildly organized pile in the corner, along with a few of his cartoon carachters on a blanket onthe couch. Aaron toed his shoes off and you mimicked his actions. You ventured further into his house, running your hand on the marble counter.

“I’ll get the bed ready for you. I don’t have my spare fixed up, so I apologize for any messes,” Aaron finally said, breaking off your staring contest with the picture magnets on his fridge.

“Hm? Oh, no Hotch I can sleep on the couch. I think just being here will help.”

Aaron had none of your protests, padding down the hall and turning on the light. “I have my weighted blanket here,” he explained. “There should be a nightlight…” he trailed off and spun around. “There.” He pointed at a plug-in nightlight of Captain America’s shield. “Do you… need clothes?” Aaron asked.

You nodded without even knowing if you had P.J.s. “Please, Hotch,” you said, a shy smile on your face. You really hoped Aaron wouldn’t mind giving up some of his clothes.

“Aaron. Call me Aaron when we aren’t at work.” His statement sounded more like a question- his voice got a little higher at the end. “Do you sleep in shorts or sweatpants?”

You shrugged. “Shorts are fine.”

Aaron hoped you didn’t see his flush as he handed you the only clean pair of black shorts he had, along with a ‘Relay for Life’ shirt.

Fingertips grazed your own as Aaron handed you the clothing. “Thank you. Aaron. But I seriously don’t want to take your bed. I’m going to be fine on the couch, so-“

“Y/n, do not make me order you,” Aaron joked sternly, wagging a finger at you.

Even as you stifled a laugh, Aaron made his way to the door. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me. The bathroom is over there,” Aaron pointed to a door. “I… Don’t be afraid to wake me up, y/n. I’m here for you.”

You sighed and nodded, knowing that Aaron was going to win any argument against you. “Okay. Well, thank you again. I can make breakfast tomorrow to pay you back. Or just pay you. Whatever works,” you shrugged awkwardly.

“Completely unnecessary. I pay you. And you can pay me back by getting some good sleep so you can preform at your highest ability on the field,” Aaron explained. “Good night y/n. Sleep well.” The look in his eyes added the ‘I’m down the hall if you need me’ more than his words ever did.

It must have been three hours later when you woke up, clawing violently at your chest and forhead. You pushed the weighted blanket off of you and lurched forward, heading for the bathroom.

You keeled over and threw up stomach acid and whatever snacks you’d eaten previously. Tears ran down your face as you leaned your flaming forhead against the clammy skin of your forearm. Your stomach heaved and you whimpered, leaning forward and prepaed for another wave of vomit.

“Y/n?”

“‘M sorry, Aaron. G-go back to bed,” you ordered hoarsely.

Aaron padded forward and collected your hair, pulling it out of your face. “Do you think you got it all out yet?” He asked, tracing your clammy, tear-covered face as your eyes fluttered closed.

“I think so, but I don’ wanna move.”

Aaron cooed sympathetically at your pained whines. “Alright, honey.”

“I’m so sorry, Aaron,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about a thing, y/n,” Aaron said. You were leaning further and further into Aaron’s chest, searching for comfort. Despite the slight sheen of cold sweat on your forhead, Aaron barely withheld himself from pressing a feathery soft kiss to your temple and hoping you understood what it meant.

“Do you think you can get up now? Brush your teeth?” Aaron asked, your arms curling into your stomach. You opened your glazed eyes and nodded.

Aaron helped you stand up and tied your hair back with the black hair tie on your wrist. You flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet.

Leaning on the door, Aaron thought you looked as beautiful as ever even after throwing up minutes before. You looked so normal- domestic, even- as you rubbed sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand. You looked so right in Aaron’s bathroom- Aaron’s home as you brushed your teeth and washed your hands and returned as close to Aaron as possible.

“Will you stay with me? I- I get it if you don’t want-“

“Of course.” Aaron worried if he answered too quickly, but you just gave him an exhausted smile and flipped off the bathroom light off.

He would probably walk off a cliff if you told him too, Aaron thought, following you back to his bedroom. His clothes even looked better in you. His boxers made your butt look like a goddamned snack.

You climbed into Aaron’s bed as if it was natural and opened the comforter so Aaron could too. A satisfied sigh escaped your lips as you pulled the weighted blanket up to your shoulders.

“Aaron?” You asked, snuggling up as close to his arm as you could without actually touching him.

“Y/n?”

“Can you- if it sounds dumb or stupid you, uh, obviously din’t have too- cuddle with me? Like, wrap your arms over my stomach? I- the pressure helps me relax…”

You trailed off, shrugging even though Aaron probably couldn’t see the movement in the dark.

”C’mere,” Aaron said, opening his arms. He felt his face grow warm as you took no time in slotting yourself perfectly into his arms. “This alright?”

As you requested, his ridiculously muscular arms were loosely squeezing your to him by your stomach. His mouth was up close to the shell of your ear, and Aaron swore he could see a shudder run down your spine after whispering.

“Yes. You- it’s perfect. Thank you.”

Aaron huffed a laugh. “You’re welcome, y/n. Sleep well.”

“I will. You too, Aaron.”

As you fell asleep, Aaron burried his nose into your neck and savored the moment.

[adhd-coyote]

@whiskygoldwings you wanted to be tagged for oc infodumping? Well, I've finished organizing my 212th ocs, but there's a lot of 'em, so I'll just do the one's I have picrews for at the moment!

Tooka

He/Him

Naive but clever

A huge cuddlebug

Favorite type of candy is sour gummies

Secretly a little shit

Lives up to his name in curiosity

Pesky

Gender? What's that? Can he eat it? Mostly uses he/him pronouns out of convenience, but fine with anything

Gold and red wing tattoos stretching across his shoulders, with matching paint on the back of his armor. Plus a tramp stamp reading "Os'ika" (little shit in Mando'a) that he was "forced" to get after losing a bet

Excellent pilot

A mischievous little vent gremlin

Looks like vod'ika, but has ori'vod(/older cousin) energy

Most talented and creative prankster in his battalion, if not the whole GAR

Voted most likely to start a mutiny for fun

Rain

He/They

Medic

Rainstorm themed sleeve tattoo on his left arm

Quiet, gentle, a very soft voice

Honest but not blunt

The kind of medic that talks you through everything he’s doing and praises you when he’s done

They usually send him to deal with the shinies, especially right after their first battle

Chomps

He/Him

“Bite me” tattooed on the back of his left shoulder

Would bite a droid

Fangs painted on his helmet

“Nom nom, motherfucker”

His armor (mainly his vambraces, gauntlets, and pauldrons) is covered in teeth marks

Vent

They/Them

The 212th's other vent gremlin

Messes with Shinies by giggling in the vents and then scurrying away without a word

Likes puzzles, riddles, and the like

Always knows all of the gossip, and can be bribed if you know what to offer

Squirrel

He/They

Mechanic

Hyperactive

Somehow both a math gay and a driving gay

He go zoom, both in and out of a vehicle.

Kneecaps

He/Him

Always goes for the knees in a fight

You’d think this would make him predictable to fight, but nope. He just gets more creative with going for the knees.

Sunny exterior, but absolutely ruthless underneath

Drake

He/Him

Sniper

Right eye is a prosthetic

Snarky, levelheaded, and cynical

Absolutely feral on the battlefield

Acts like he doesn’t care but will not hesitate to verbally (or even physically) tear you apart if you are mean to/hurt one of his vode

Laugh is more like a cackle

Sharp grin and an even sharper scowl

Very observant; an amazing strategist

This is only about half of my 212th ocs; y'all will get to see the rest once I've either made picrews or drawn them <3

[telomeke]

MOONLIGHT CHICKEN – ASSISTANT DIRECTOR AU KORNPROM'S CAMEO (BUT IT'S ACTUALLY A CALLOUT TO MY SCHOOL PRESIDENT)

When Assistant Director Au appeared in Moonlight Chicken as a bubble tea vendor at Ep.5 [2/4] 2.05, it got me wondering whether it was simply the cast and crew having a bit of fun (as with a number of the vendor cameos in Bad Buddy), or whether there was any greater significance (as with GMMTV producers/directors and their cameos in other series before – see this link here).

After all, Au Kornprom Niyomsil is not the director of Moonlight Chicken. But the cameo, while brief and unannounced, reads like a purposeful flourish – Director Aof saved Assistant Director Au's appearance for just a few seconds in the very last half-minute of the scene, so as to maximize the impact of this Aha! moment. This lends the cameo some weight, and I think there is meaning behind it too.

It’s especially significant that the one buying the bubble tea (chaa nom khai mook, or ชานมไข่มุก) is Fourth, in character as teenager Li Ming. And what Li Ming says to Jim at Ep.5 [2/4] 1.57 ("It's not for you") is significant too.

The connection that Fourth and Assistant Director Au have is that the latter is Fourth's director in My School President, which not coincidentally also broadcast its finale the same week as Assistant Director Au's cameo in Moonlight Chicken.

Now MSP is a feelgood vehicle clearly directed at a younger crowd. It's been crafted for maximum teenybopper appeal (does anyone still use this term though? 🤷‍♂️), with photogenic leads, lots of earcandy songs, cutesy sound effects, gigil/geram-inducing props (that chinchilla hoodie! 😍), uncomplicated storytelling and loads of sweet, affirming moments. All formulaic elements that management and marketing must be beaming at, that are likely to up MSP's money-making popularity in the teen segment and bring in cash from associated sidelines as well (young teens being the most willing to fork out cash for collateral merchandise, or so the current wisdom goes).

I'm not intending to suggest that teens are incapable of appreciating darker, heavier fare, mind you. But I do think the studios are keenest on less demanding, inoffensive output that they can then spin out into all sorts of income streams (music and merchandise being the most obvious, but also concerts and fanmeets as well). This would be logical for any commercial enterprise (which is what they are, after all) but if any among their stable of writers and directors are approaching their work with social consciousness too, well, there are bound to be clashes when pressure mounts to go in a lighter direction.

So to me, MSP is a bit of a rainbow-colored unicorn, a rare confluence of both these drivers (commercial orientation and social conscience, albeit applied with a gentler touch). Underneath its sugary BL theatrics are also positive messages aimed at bolstering the self-esteem and awareness of LGBTQ+ youth still coming to grips with the realities of their identities in cishet-dominated society. That its primary audience is not made up of adults may align nicely with management directives on the commercial front, but it also allows for its underlying message to be targeted as well.

When Li Ming says (a little too smugly) "It's not for you", with MSP's director then handing him the boba, the message is that it's the younger crowd that's being prioritized (not in Moonlight Chicken, ironically, but in My School President).

MSP is especially for teenagers just starting to find their own way in life, not so much older adults who've already figured out (at least partly) who they are and how they fit into society (although everyone is quite welcome to watch along; one message of BL is surely "no gatekeeping" as long as you carry no ill-intent 🥰).

So this is the message of Assistant Director Au's cameo, I think – just as his bubble tea vendor persona is providing teens Li Ming and Heart with a sweet, tasty treat that they will enjoy, as director of MSP (and possibly future projects in the same vein) he's doing much the same thing by delivering a carefully-crafted confection designed to be especially palatable for a younger audience.

And just as bubble tea is known for containing its addictive pearls, teen-oriented BLs like MSP (created by Director Au's hand) will also contain something more substantial for you to chew on within (noting that the word khaimook or pearl also carries the connotation of precious value).

To older folk who might not quite appreciate the offering for what it is (like when Jim says "I don't want it" at Ep.5 [2/4] 1.53) – well, a teen show is not really intended for you anyway (which is the meaning behind Li Ming's retort – he's not just being sassy, although that does have significance for Moonlight Chicken's plot too 😊). Jim's of course welcome to consume it if he wants or likes. But I think his tastes swing toward the more meaty and savory anyway; this is Moonlight Chicken after all. 💖

PS

At the time of writing this, I still hadn't watched Episodes 5 and 6 in full. But this scene was giffed and commented on so much I had to at least watch this bit. I was waiting for Director Aof to put in a cameo too, so this is what I wrote at first:

I think there's a strong chance it will happen. But what will it mean though? 🤷‍♂️

Well, we now know that it actually happened too, within the same episode! Thanks to @hughungrybear for pointing this out – see this link here. 🥰

I'll save Director Aof's cameo for another post though. I have thoughts about it – something rings ominous about how it was presented, and I'm not sure yet if we should wait for more to be revealed. 🤔

[thestylesindependent]

It’s more than just Harry, it’s an ensemble.

Amazon Studios is moving forward with an awards push for director Michael Grandage’s romantic drama “My Policeman,” despite mixed reviews out of the Toronto Film Festival, where it received an ensemble tribute. Variety has learned exclusively that Amazon will be submitting the entire cast, which includes music superstar Harry Styles and Emmy nominee Emma Corrin, all in the supporting categories for Oscar consideration.

Going between younger and older versions of the three main characters over a 40-year span, the British drama tells the story of Tom (Styles and Linus Roache), Marion (Corrin and Gina McKee) and Patrick (David Dawson and Rupert Everett) and how events from their past affect their future when reunited.

While awards strategists tend to commit “category fraud,” the act of submitting a lead performance in supporting categories for an easier pathway to a nom or win, this is not the case for “My Policeman.” Just like Barry Jenkins’ “Moonlight” (2016), the film features lead characters, not lead actors.

The pathway for noms will rely on support from the international demographics of the Academy, in particular the British voting block. BAFTA recognition will be essential to keep the discussion alive.

Singers-turned-actors have had an inconsistent road to the Academy Awards. While there are success stories such as Cher (“Moonstruck”) and Jennifer Hudson (“Dreamgirls”), Academy voters sometimes tend to make actors prove themselves before recognizing them for their achievements. As Tom, a closeted gay police officer, Styles conveys the internalizing conflict effectively, and if he decides to campaign and make a play for his first Oscar nomination, it will have to begin with Amazon choosing to submit him for supporting actor attention — which is not category fraud.

Corrin is an outstanding actor, showcasing the pain and torment of a woman feeling betrayed by her lover. With another role this year in Netflix’s “Lady Chatterley’s Lover,” this becomes Corrin’s best vehicle for recognition after breaking out with an Emmy nom for “The Crown.”

Adapted from the book by Bethan Roberts, the film is written by Ron Nyswaner, a former Oscar nominee for “Philadelphia” (1993). As one of the contenders for Amazon, alongside the international submission “Argentina, 1985” and “Nanny,” the film could find traction for production design (from “The Imitation Game” Oscar nominee Maria Djurkovic), costumes (from Emmy winner Annie Symons) and original score (from “Gravity” Oscar winner Steven Price).

[puckish-rogue]

looks up at him impishly , long eyelashes batting , as if to veil her mischievousness under neath a thickly layered veneer of adorableness . her mouth slowly opens , anticipating a firm palm pushing against her forehead any moment now to shoo away the little fox ━━ when this doesn't happen , ahri takes it as permission to chomp . dainty fangs nuzzle against arm before she bites down quickly , warm tongue flicking against him just a little . ( she can't help but taste! ) . nom nom nom .

The look on his face screams of a man who has long since resigned to the fact that the woman he was living with seemed to have an insatiable appetite for his flesh. It's something that the Boss simultaneously understands, and is confused by. Of course, Ahri's desires to feast upon her victims wasn't exactly hard of a concept to grasp. That's just her nature. But why the sudden fixation? He had been assured by the mischievous fox that she in no way had any intention in gobbling him up and savoring whatever leftovers remain. Yet time and time again did Ahri approach him with those hungry eyes, practically salivating at the mere thought of sinking her teeth into his skin and reaching the bone.

Maybe this was just her fucked up way of expressing her affection? Nah, that's just wishful thinking on his part.

Enough time had passed since her initial attempt that it had practically become routine for Ahri to try and try again. Admittedly, there were times where the Boss felt somewhat compelled to let her go at it; see just how far she got before it turned into a life or death situation. Curiosity was played a big factor in that. Yet even he couldn't deny the small bit of him that desired something intimate, as strange as it may be.

So, I mean, fuck it. Why not?

For a man who has had his body put through the absolute wringer—getting harmed by all manner of weaponry, vehicles, and human being alike—he can't help but wince just the tiniest bit once she chomps down into his bicep. It wouldn't take long before he finds himself adjusting to the newfound sensation, shivering as Ahri decides to take it one step further and give in to whatever her desires may be.

It's a very confusing moment for the poor bastard. Is this wrong? Does he like it? Would he want more? Can't tell just now. He's far too busy trying to his the look on his face—the red becoming more and more evident. " Is this good..? " he asks, unsure of what exactly she might get out of this, let alone him.

" So.. how long do ya usually do this for? I mean, you don't have to hurry or anything. I'm just... " all he can do is let out a little groan of frustration. Though what kind is the question we should all be asking.

@girlfox

[hldailyupdate]

It’s more than just Harry, it’s an ensemble.

Amazon Studios is moving forward with an awards push for director Michael Grandage’s romantic drama “My Policeman,” despite mixed reviews out of the Toronto Film Festival, where it received an ensemble tribute. Variety has learned exclusively that Amazon will be submitting the entire cast, which includes music superstar Harry Styles and Emmy nominee Emma Corrin, all in the supporting categories for Oscar consideration.

Going between younger and older versions of the three main characters over a 40-year span, the British drama tells the story of Tom (Styles and Linus Roache), Marion (Corrin and Gina McKee) and Patrick (David Dawson and Rupert Everett) and how events from their past affect their future when reunited.

While awards strategists tend to commit “category fraud,” the act of submitting a lead performance in supporting categories for an easier pathway to a nom or win, this is not the case for “My Policeman.” Just like Barry Jenkins’ “Moonlight” (2016), the film features lead characters, not lead actors.

The pathway for noms will rely on support from the international demographics of the Academy, in particular the British voting block. BAFTA recognition will be essential to keep the discussion alive.

Singers-turned-actors have had an inconsistent road to the Academy Awards. While there are success stories such as Cher (“Moonstruck”) and Jennifer Hudson (“Dreamgirls”), Academy voters sometimes tend to make actors prove themselves before recognizing them for their achievements. As Tom, a closeted gay police officer, Styles conveys the internalizing conflict effectively, and if he decides to campaign and make a play for his first Oscar nomination, it will have to begin with Amazon choosing to submit him for supporting actor attention — which is not category fraud.

Corrin is an outstanding actor, showcasing the pain and torment of a woman feeling betrayed by her lover. With another role this year in Netflix’s “Lady Chatterley’s Lover,” this becomes Corrin’s best vehicle for recognition after breaking out with an Emmy nom for “The Crown.”

Adapted from the book by Bethan Roberts, the film is written by Ron Nyswaner, a former Oscar nominee for “Philadelphia” (1993). As one of the contenders for Amazon, alongside the international submission “Argentina, 1985” and “Nanny,” the film could find traction for production design (from “The Imitation Game” Oscar nominee Maria Djurkovic), costumes (from Emmy winner Annie Symons) and original score (from “Gravity” Oscar winner Steven Price).

“My Policeman” opens in theaters on Oct. 21 and will be released on Prime Video on Nov. 4.

-My Policeman Oscar nominations via Variety. (29 September 2022)

[celestialmango]

Mob au where reader is a mer/siren who has spent most of their life in captivity and eventually ends up in an "oddities shop", "freak show" or some kind of exotic animal thing idk, something like that

Large and in charge mob bosses Sun and Moon visit the place where reader is being kept

Reader has lived in horrible conditions all the years they've been held captive and as such are very very pitiful looking, horribly skinny, with a gaunt face and tattered sickly rotting fins.

Sun, ever the bleeding heart, wants to help reader but the owner won't let him by reader and Sun and Moon didn't come in a vehicle large enough to steal reader so they have to leave.

They come back weeks later, kill the owner (maybe by fatal noms maybe not), call the cops for neglected, abused and illegal animals and book it with reader

It takes a while but the boys do get reader healthy and gain readers trust and affection and the drops gain a scary "guard dog"/evidence disposal/sibling

Would have been a better idea to just give the boys the siren if the owner didn't want sleep with the fishes.

Reader sounds very lucky that Sun wanted to help them and sounds like Moon was just a long for the ride at the start of it. What a ride it must have been.

[nancydrewwouldnever]

I’m wondering how it will affect his box office returns // I could be wrong but I think that the most affected will be Ghosted. Pain Hustlers has Emily blunt as main actress so probably the promotion will be especially about her and Red One will be good cause people enjoy to watch The Rock movies

💯

Ghosted is really the upcoming movie out there on the edge.

All the talk around Pain Hustlers already paints it as an actress vehicle; many A list actresses were angling for that role. It looks set-up to be an Emily Blunt Oscar nom vehicle. Red One will, yes, be about Dwayne, but also the whole Christmas/Family fun angle. He's not really carrying that.

So, we come back to Ghosted. It's his first solo lead movie since Gifted in 2017. He's also a producer. There's a reason he was doing so much promo while filming; he knows he needs to start drumming up interest as soon as possible. And now we have the layer of worry added by Ana's big films being panned. Things look shaky. Now, could it be good? Absolutely, given a good original script and good directing. We'll have to wait and see.

I already stated I think part of the PR now may be to pivot his image to something more "romantic" for the run-up to Ghosted. It's easier to sell an actor in a relationship (or even recently out of one) as a romantic lead than it is to sell a bachelor who only talks about his dog. I know we all love that dog, but that's just a truth.

[theartistknownaslymond]

Whumptober 2022 day 29

Still hanging on, still determined to finish the list!!

Sleep Deprivation | Defiance | “Better me than you.”

As per @stripedroseandsketchpads​ These all feel intensely Francis but idk how exactly 

They do and they are. I’m not sure this fic actually hits any of them directly, but I have confirmed with @erinaceina​ that these prompts are all bang on for the vibes of this particular scene. It’s Checkmate, Francis thinks Sybilla and Richard have drowned - then he thinks just Richard has. Sybilla just wants to know why he won’t come home.

It’s a bit of a direct scene re-write - the dialogue follows fairly closely to Dorothy. But I tried to give it as much of my own twist as possible. Not much in the way of CW, but Francis is tired and has been drinking, there’s reference to the ferry disaster, he thinks he’s lost his closest family and he’s got a pretty awkward relationship with them rn. Francis also has a bit of suicidal longing in the background, and some dissociation going on. Big emotional whump, rather than physical - that’s the intention, anyway.

 ---

The sky was still dark when Archie pulled up at the cordon. The world seemed upside down, lit from below by the flashing blue lights of emergency vehicles, by the torches held by gendarmes over rain-smudged passenger lists, by the brake lights of the cars of relatives parked higgledy-piggledy around as they tried to learn what had happened to their loved ones.

Archie tried to hand him an umbrella but Francis was already out of the door, not moving quickly, but with a steady, intractable purpose. He seemed to watch himself open the car door as though from the other side of a piece of foggy glass - like his life was continuing within a terrarium and he was standing, sleep-starved and numb, on the outside. Not even the heavy rain that began to soak his t-shirt seemed to really reach him as he strode towards the nearest gendarme.

He was recognised - the man's look of harassed concern flickered, and he smiled at the rock star Lymond, like this celebrity appearance had been just the relief he needed from his miserable work. No doubt he was familiar with Lymond's recent charitable exercises, and he suggested, "You're here to help with the handing out of the blankets, Monsieur?" He gestured towards a van with its back doors open, where a group of volunteers were marshalling blankets, umbrellas, warm drinks and food for anyone who didn't need to be bundled away to hospital immediately.

"Ah, non," Francis hesitated, hoping to recognise any of the huddled figures standing under huge golf umbrellas and sipping from steaming polystyrene cups. "J'ai...j'ai eu du famille à bord de lui. Je...je ne sais pas..."

He was surprised at how calm his voice sounded - like a recording, almost disinterested. But the gendarme blanched.

"Euh, mon dieu." The hand holding the pen above the clipboard flinched, as thought his reflex was to make the sign of the cross. He wiped futilely at the rain on his brow and straightened his shoulders in a belated aspect of professionalism. "Nom et prénom?"

Francis spoke the names of his mother and brother with robotic clarity, and watched the young officer grimace as he tried to peel apart the sheets of paper he held. They were turning to papier-mâché before their eyes, tearing in sad wadges of ink and wood pulp as the gendarme's wet fingers fumbled with them.

He tried to shake them apart and succeeded only in tearing the bottom clean off a number of sheets. He muttered a curse and poked at the part of the list he'd uncovered, and then looked up at Francis with round, excited eyes.

"Madame Semple? Elle vive!"

He could not find Richard's name, but Sybilla - Sybilla was alive. Francis swayed under the pressure of the rain and gasped. He felt like he'd taken a blow to the chest, or like a fault had opened down his sternum and the news of Sybilla's survival was pulling him apart in one direction as the absence of Richard wrenched him open in another. He managed, breathlessly, to thank the man and then turned to find Archie.

After stumbling through the the rain aimlessly for what seemed like an unforgivably long time, Francis finally discovered his friend - he was handing out blankets and hot chocolate, and he didn't hesitate to force a cup of the latter into Francis' freezing hands.

"She's at the hospital..." was all he could mumble in return, his lips numb, his stomach clenching rebelliously at the thought of sustenance of any kind.

Archie guided him back to the car. He leaned over and pulled Francis' seat belt across his chest, even as Francis sat there clutching the scalding hot cup of chocolate and rainwater, his blond curls dripping into it with each shiver of his body. Archie drove them safely but with efficiency to the hospital building and trusted Francis to make his own way from the drop-off point while he parked up.

No other friend would have shown such faith in him then, and Francis was relieved to be able to avoid the negotiations another might have insisted upon. He dropped the untouched cup of chocolate into a bin and walked to the desk.

The receptionist stared at him as though he'd crawled from the Channel himself, but she apologised and said that Mme. Semple had been discharged and had gone to her hotel.

There were only so many options, but Francis' first guess was correct. He knew her tastes and her budget, he knew something of her memories for the career she'd had, and Archie helped him make it to her room when dawn was still yet to break.

He'd supposed that she would be resting, but the concierge was adamant that she had just called for coffee to be brought up to her and that she would welcome a visit from her dear son.

Her only son, Francis thought, standing outside the door to her suite. Her only child. Eloise had dissipated into a winter's night and now Richard had been snatched by the storm. And no matter how he'd tried, how near he'd come and how many maelstroms he'd been drawn into, Francis was still here. Still standing outside his mother's door knowing that while she wouldn't be disappointed to see him she really ought to have been.

She opened the door shortly after his knock and he was surprised to see her dressed and put together. The clothes were as immaculate as ever: black cashmere skirt and black silk blouse; black court heels and black scarf tied in a pussy-bow at her throat; sapphires and mother-of-pearl and the scent of home and safety.

She did not say anything, and she did not smile. Her skin was nearly as pale as her pristine white hair and her blue eyes looked faded in contrast with her black eyeliner. The last time they had met, Francis had refused to say a word to her, and now she exercised her prerogative to do the same, keeping her lips tight and her expression unreadable.

"I'm sorry, you didn't need to see me," Francis said, and the control he'd had over his voice earlier was gone. He observed this with the same detachment as he'd done before, but the barrier between life and the observation of it had grown weak, and he felt on the precipice of falling in.

"Nonsense," Sybilla beckoned him inside with a muted gesture.

He didn't seek a hug so neither did she. He stared savagely at the floor as he passed her and ran a hand through his sodden hair. He looked at the little coffee tray on the low table by the window and wondered at the hotel's callousness in sending up a set for two. He felt himself shudder, felt his limbs weaken - it was as if he was being drawn back into his own self despite every attempt to resist it.

Finally, he had to look at her again, feeling his eyes wide and his breathing heavy. "I'm so sorry. Richard - he didn't...?"

Sybilla's back was to him as she eased the door closed. She turned, tossing the white waves of hair over her shoulder, and she sniffed back some emotion and rubbed at her pink nose with a tissue. "Where did you hear it?"

Francis told her about the gendarme. There was a slight gap in the drawn curtains and he stared through it at the corpse-grey light of day-break. "I'm here to help with anything you need. Were you travelling with any of his staff?"

"Sit down, Francis. Look, take some coffee. For heaven's sake - a towel," Sybilla stepped into the ensuite and emerged with a folded, fluffy bath sheet.

He looked at the chair she offered but did not take it - he was soaked through, so he accepted the towel instead and merely hugged it to his chest beneath folded arms.

Sybilla took her seat and poured the coffee out. "He had two advisors with him. Jonty and Mac. There's been no news of either. I've called their families."

She looked up at him, the sugar-tongs poised over his cup. "How many is it, these days?"

Francis shook his head. "None. Black will do. Do you want me to arrange transport for their bodies when they're found? I...I had the experience last year, with Diccon. I'll do the same for Richard."

Her hand quivered, and a cube of sugar dropped into the cup anyway. "Yes...yes, quite so..."

"Does Mariotta know?"

"I've spoken to her, yes," Sybilla disguised the tremor in her voice beneath the clink of tea-spoon on china.

Francis squeezed the folded towel tight to his body and stared down into the whirling black coffee. "I need to finish the album. I have obligations here. But afterwards - if it's necessary - if there's use for me - "

Sybilla watched him carefully without prompting him to continue. She placed the sugared coffee on the side of the table nearer the empty chair, and then began to prepare her own.

"Honestly - you would tell me, if I could be of use?"

She glanced up again and then tasted her drink. She pulled a face and added a drop more cream. "Honestly? It isn't my place. Mariotta must decide what she can manage and what she cannot."

He felt the towel in his arms growing damp as it absorbed some of the rainwater from his t-shirt, but still he just stood by her table, staring down at the coffee set like it was an elaborate chess-board, laid out mid-game. "Well, I owe her family a debt."

His mother's expression was hidden again as she bent over her coffee. She didn't raise her face this time, but studied the same pieces he did on the table in front of her. "If you put it to her like that, of course she will summon you - likely to care for me, as anything else. Then what will you do?"

Francis at last blinked. He placed the folded towel on top of the empty seat and perched himself on it, leaning forwards with his long fingers laced, his elbows on his knees, the leather cuffs he wore on each wrist growing stiff and uncomfortable from the damp. "Honestly? I don't know. It depends what condition I find the place in. It depends what care I find is needed. But I had hoped to return to the USSR."

Sybilla met his eyes and hers narrowed. She tilted her head a little and studied him curiously before asking, with less tact that was customary, "Is this about that new record agent? You're going back for Ms Çalışkan?"

Francis pursed his lips and his brows pinched together. He took a sip of thick, dark coffee and ground his teeth at the taste. On top of stale wine and hours-old stomach acid it was bitter and vile, even with the unasked-for sugar. "I'd go back whether or not my agent was based there," he answered.

Sybilla turned a knowing look on him. "Now, I may not deserve your trust, but I should still like to know: she remains your agent?"

Francis smiled mirthlessly. "Yes. I find it so much simpler to keep all the essentials in one place."

Sybilla's expression did not alter at his tone. "But you would go back to that...dour, repressive country, whether or not she was there?"

"I would."

She sat back, her elegant hands draped over each arm of the chair, her rings catching a weak ray of sunlight that had mistakenly found its way past both clouds and curtains. "What if I were no longer in Scotland? Would you come home then?"

Francis blinked and shook his head. "It would make no difference," he answered. Small, perplexed divots had appeared between his brows and by the corner of his lips.

"So you will return to Russia unless Mariotta asks otherwise? Even if I died or joined the retirees on the Costa del Sol?"

His eyes narrowed as hers had done, and he worked his jaw, well aware of how she had led him through all the hoops she'd set out. "You don't imagine I wish you dead, or exiled among the living dead and those in hiding from Interpol? Scotland is your home. I have lived there barely half of my life."

"You think I have nothing to hide from Interpol?" Sybilla twitched a brow and took a sip of coffee. "In any case, I might have died today, whether it was wished for or not. And even then, you really would have resisted going back? Does the Soviet cause really mean more to you?"

"No," he said easily and honestly.

She almost hid her smile behind her cup, but then she had to place it down as gratified tears spilled over her lower lashes. She dabbed at them with her tissue, satisfied at this achievement - like when, as a child, he had asked some simple question (why?) that threatened a complex answer, and Gavin had driven him away, telling him to find out for himself if he cared so much, and he had returned, hours later, dust from the family encyclopedias on his fingers and more detail in his research than even Sybilla had expected of him.

"Drink your coffee, Francis," she said decisively.

He picked up two more sugar cubes and dropped them into it, then filled the vessel with cream. It disguised the bitterness so that he was able to keep it down on his roiling stomach, and he twitched the curtain open with a pair of fingers so that he could see the anaemic winter sun splitting the storm clouds like kintsugi in the body of a broken pot.

The weather had not fully cleared - rain spat at the window-panes in sporadic bursts, the telephone wires outside wailed and moaned in the wind, and even the comfortable architecture of the hotel had its draughts. The door dividing Sybilla's suite from the next room juddered and the lock rattled in its cradle.

"All this work you're doing - you don't imagine it can be done as effectively there, as it could be with the freedoms you have at St Marys?" Sybilla watched him staring outside, taking in the lines of care at his eyes and brow, the scrawny, sinewey look of his neck and cheeks, and the bruises borne of sleeplessness below his eyes. "If you cannot be my neighbour then I will leave. I have the gîte. I can go directly there."

He turned to her, his expression so strange that she might almost think he was offended by the suggestion. "I'd have the Edinburgh ladies' art society turn up with torches and pitchforks," he said in a voice that seemed quite unlike his own. "I'd be condemned as the Duke of Sutherland."

Sybilla's tone was severe as she batted his objections aside with a hand. "The Edinburgh ladies can holiday in the Camargue and discover the art beyond their own doorsteps. No one can stop me from moving if I choose."

Francis cradled his cup between his two hands and made the smallest of gestures to contradict her. "I meant it," he said quietly. "There are other reasons I won't go. Whether you're two hours away or two days away, it makes little difference."

He saw the fierceness of her intellect latch on to that one small change in his phrasing: little difference. Not none. Her fingers tightened on her own mug and she sat forwards a little on her chair, her gaze dogged. "So tell me, Francis. What other reasons? What can possibly stand between you and coming home?"

A voice from behind, accompanied by the draught of a door opening, said in a granite-firm tone: "My right hook will stand between him and setting foot anywhere north of Watford! And your grandson and I will certainly stand between you and some demented exile to the gîte." Richard stood in the doorway to the adjoining suite in shirt sleeves and unknotted black tie, his cuff-links loose and his face red. "Apologies, brother - had I spent another minute in the shower you might have been made sole inheritor to the family estate."

Sybilla was on her feet, her cheeks ashen and her eyes bright. "Good lord, Richard!"

Francis felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the skin of his arms prickle and his chest grow warm. He turned but didn't stand, and stared at the brother who had disowned him last summer, after one defection too many.

He wasn't green-cheeked and swathed in kelp; not bloated and gnawed on by fishes; he bore no injury and no sign of pain. He was as vital and robust as he'd always been: the steady hands offering a boost up to the big tree - or to the biscuit jar on the high shelf - the athlete whose weekend activities were cheered on through the muddiest seasons of the year, the school prefect and debating champion whose speeches Francis had listened to in awe as he paced his room in practice. The beloved performer of the songs the adults wanted to hear: steady, soothing piano and inconspicuous ballads on the guitar.

He was alive and he was standing a few paces from Francis, giving off a smell of sage and citrus from the hotel shower gel, his hands curled into fists and his jaw locked in fury.

Francis turned back, slowly, to his mother and played her exclamation over again in his mind.

Anger. Her voice had been raised in anger.

She was angry, as angry as Richard was - she wasn't surprised for a moment to see him there, on his feet, fresh and ready for anything.

There had been two cups.

He'd not seen Richard's name on the list because the list had fallen apart in the gendarme's hands.

Francis looked up at his mother and understood then the trick she had played.

---

Note: Duke of Sutherland, responsible for a big tranche of the Highland clearances. Not popular in vast parts of Scotland.

[moxiemaemaple]

Dear diary~ 001

My motel room is cheap, money tight. While in prison my funds were seized and all the savings I had made taken and the court to fight for them is one I'll never win against. Its all over and I just have to let it go. As I had once taught, toss it off the edge and let it fall cause its all low me now, doesn't affect my future anymore.

Everything I left behind, rich with history I am but so is every human. No ones path in life is straight as a protractor line. This new city I've landed in nothing like where I am from. The new environment will take some time to getting use to. Voices sometimes familiar in pass but these are all new faces. I fear I'll be swallowed up again.

My history has left me with a lot of trust issues. Letting people close use to be easy. Take enough blows while you are down and that reach out doesn't happen so easily anymore. I keep trying to tell myself that not every one in this world is out to wrong me in the end, stabbing, rip, gut me alive. However my pattern of landing in the grasp of some truly wicked people has just left me unsure…of my own judgment of people. I'm over being hurt, over running, over it all.

Is there peace here for me?

I don't even have a vehicle, back to my old ways to sticking out a thumb. This time I have no destination. Don't bother pulling over to offer a ride, I'm on the road to nowhere visible yet.

I found myself in the heart of this city, Legion square. It feels like places I've been but none like this. The park is beautiful, large trees shading out the monolithic buildings around as you pace the foot paths. I can see myself taking many photos here. Speaking of photography, its a passion of mine I think I'll forever keep now that I've picked it up. People think I'm vain with amount of shots of myself I have saved on hard drives. Their opinion cause in truth there is something calming about the process of editing photos, coming to love myself even when I don't look how I envision in the moment.

I will say I know I got a good sense of fashion! I know my angles…people might not double tab my shit on the twatter but fuck whatever the web thinks. Its for me!!!

Legion park has a couple of places I already have ideas for cosplays and other photoshoot ideas. With all the new clothing shops I also can't wait to build back up my wardrobe, get inspired…feel alive again. My time in prison stripped me of some of my humanity. I can't believe that is a method of punishment we use…how does that reform anyone? It left me isolated, and I never intend to go back if I can help it.

Prison is no place for me. I might be a weed junkie who noms on shrooms here and there though I don't consider myself some criminal slinging drugs like I was prosecuted and slammed for. In the past now. I wonder what sort of strands of weed are floating in the area…

[pop-pop-pop-popculture]

I'm just realizing from the golden globes nominees "bones and all" all season, after doing all their promos and countless of red carpet walks, is barely scraping by nominations? There's a few I saw but this isn't really an awards vehicle. What do you think of the exclusion of this film from awards consideration?

Also Avatar getting a nom... James Cameron is back.

I haven’t seen it or heard of it... . I’m sorry! As for James being nominated, I’m not surprised (I mean that in a good way).

[nomnomphenom]

You never know how fast traffic stops when flying money is involved

[milliedazzledust]

Somewhere Only We Know (Bucky Barnes imagine)

Request: @the-craziestone story about Bucky x Reader, where Bucky is really obsessed with Reader - But not in a creepy way, more like he's really really in love with her and he can only see her, like she's his world Anon: can you do something with reader gifting Bucky Barnes the 3 Lord of the Rings books? They were published after WWII, and reader knows he liked The Hobbit so she thinks it's something he'd like

Words: 2943

A/N: this is pure fluff with no warning, also I changed a tiny bit the second request to fit the story - enjoy ;)

He couldn’t explain the sadness he constantly felt every time he was walking through the streets of the city he used to know by heart. A stranger in a strange land was the best way to describe him. More than seventy years had passed, and he hadn’t witnessed any changes. While he had been a puppet deprived of freewill and controlled with the sole purpose of killing, he had missed the birth of a whole new world. Now, as he strode around the streets, he could easily remember each of their names, but none of them were familiar. His mind remained in the 1940’s and in the middle of the noises, surrounded by the sound of first responders vehicles, the children running around and cars piling up on the road, he was a stranger in his own home. It was an unsettling feeling, a pining melancholy that reminded him in every step he made that his Brooklyn didn’t exist anymore. 

He was furious in a way, but mostly confused. Haunted by memories he had gotten back a second ago, and they didn’t fit this new reality. He wasn’t even nostalgic, but the loneliness was getting heavier every day. He could still picture the park he used to take his sister, the alley where Steve had gotten beaten up one day, the bakery his mother used to go to every morning. Treasure of souvenirs he would keep forever. And although the park, the alley and the streets names were still here, he was left alone walking down Brooklyn. 

“Hey, Y/N!” He heard a voice shouting. “Where do I put those ?” 

His head mechanically turned to a young boy carrying a heavy box of what looked like antics. Without thinking he crossed the road and when his eyes laid on the small shop, he gasped. There it was, one small piece of his past still here. It was an old bookstore he used to go to with his sister. The man, a friend, an immigrant from France with a thick accent, would let them stay for hours. Bucky loved reading to Rebecca. They would sit inside and she’d insist to hear The Hobbit. François, the man owning the store, would make coffee and stay with them, relating the stories he had heard around the world, telling them all about the France he had known. It was all still here. ‘Au Nom de la Rose’ was still here. 

He didn’t hesitate a second and rushed inside the place, an honest smile on his face. His eyes roamed over the room and he took a deep breath. It was just like he remembered, a place filled with murmurs and whispers floating above his head and through the roof, indistinct conversations between friends, huge windows bringing in a powerful light at this hour of the day, plants in almost every corner. Even the atmosphere was the same, this powerful smell of imagination coming from the laying books on the shelves, begging to be read, mixing with a distinct smell coming from the dust. The small couch and the old table he used to sit by with his sister were also there. The wooden pieces had many rough and sharp edges but looked just as smooth and clean as he remembered. Finally, his eyes landed on a woman there. He watched her rearranging a bouquet of daffodils, breathing in the perfume of the vibrant flowers as she tended to them meticulously. 

For some reason, he couldn’t look away. She felt familiar, like he had known her all his life, yet he had never seen her before. When she turned around he took an instinctive step toward her. She noticed, raised her head and that was the moment their eyes met. His breath caught in his throat when she smiled at him. He stood, frozen on the spot, staring at her. He couldn’t comprehend that instant connection. There was an inexplicable sense of excitement yet weird feeling that they had known each other forever, that they were meeting each other again after a long journey. He was transfixed, almost stuck by the confusing mixture of emotions but oddly comforted by them - all at the same time. 

“Can I help you ?” She asked him.

He surprised himself thinking there was something eerily calming about her voice, that he could listen to her for hours.

“Do I know you ?” He quickly wondered out loud, mentally facepalming himself for his lack of tact. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking that question ?”

“Why ?”

“You’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes” She grinned.

“I’m … I’m sorry” He apologized profusely. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“Look weird ?” 

He could swear his heart skipped a beat when he heard her laugh.

“This place is beautiful”

“Thank you” 

“How long have you been working here ?”

“Forever” She smirked. “The store belongs to my family. Passed on from generation to generation” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“You’re related to François Y/L/N ?” He questioned.

She tilted her head, crossing her arms.

“Now I’m intrigued” She told him. “How do you know about my grandfather ?” 

“We’ve met,” He answered without thinking. He rapidly realized his mistake when she narrowed her eyes in utter curiosity. “I … I didn’t mean … I mean … It was … It was a long time ago”

He gulped, hoping she wouldn’t push it. She looked him up and down, assessing him. 

“What’s your name, weirdo ?” She inquired, giving him a skeptical glance.

“Bucky. M’am” 

She smirked.

“Let me guess, a soldier ?” 

“How … ?” 

“You all have the same manners, and the same eyes”

“What do you mean ?”

She was now standing in front of him, staring at his face with the most adorable smile he had ever seen.

“You carry the same sadness and the horror you’ve seen” She replied honestly. “My father was a lot like that too” 

Her answer had the effect of a punch in the gut he hadn’t been expecting. He felt naked under her gaze, a stranger with the power to see through his soul.

“I’m Y/N” She introduced herself, raising her hand to shake his.

It was rare for him to smile truthfully but the unexpected bliss slowly growing made his lips twitch before he could even acknowledge it.

“Hi, Y/N” He greeted her.

She chuckled, amused. 

“Hi, Bucky” She murmured. 

After that encounter, he made a point of coming back as much as he could. He stayed for hours sitting on the couch, reading the same book over and over again. They shared quick words but he didn’t dare to start up a conversation, too afraid he would say something he shouldn’t, something that would scare her away. He was content like this. There was no Winter Soldier, no war, no fight, no one else than Bucky. Being next to this girl was in itself a medication for him. It made no sense but she was so bright and radiant. Like a magnet, he was sucked into an invisible gravitational pull toward her.

By the second week of him coming into the store, she started to notice the small marks of attention. He would come so silently she wouldn’t hear a thing, bringing a fresh cup of coffee he would lay on her counter when she wasn’t looking, replacing the daffodils before they could fade, carrying the heavy boxes filled with new books. When she wasn’t working, she would grab something to read and sit next to him. They would exchange a smile but wouldn’t talk. The proximity was enough. Their presence was louder than any word. A quiet routine they were slowly creating. 

By the fourth month, nothing had changed and that day was no different. Rain was pouring outside and the store was empty, except for Y/N and Bucky. Just as usual, he was reading in a corner while she was working. New stacks of books had arrived and she was methodically putting them on the shelves. Standing on a ladder, on the tip of her toes, she was so focused on the task she had failed to notice the soldier walking up to her. 

“Do you need any help ?” He offered. 

Surprised to hear his voice so close to her, she lost her balance and slipped. She yelped as her ankle hit one side of the ladder and automatically closed her eyes, anticipating the fall. She tried to brace herself but before her body could touch the ground she felt something cold holding her waist. Suddenly, instead of laying on the floor, she was against his hard chest, in a protective embrace. She recognized his arms around her and shivered at the odd coldness. He  felt it immediately and was quick to put some distance between them, making sure his metal arm was no more on her body and only his human hand was steadying her. 

“Are you alright ?” He questioned. She pursed her lips, trying not to show that she was hurt when she heard how worried he sounded. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine”

He looked skeptic but didn’t say anything about it.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” He apologetically told her.

He took the books scattered on the ground, putting them away, and helped her walk to the couch.

“You know, if the goal was to literally make me fall for you, I’d say you did a pretty good job there” She flirted, making him chuckle. 

He sat on the table in front of her and grabbed her calve, gently laying her leg on his thigh to assess the damage. From the corner of his eyes, he could see her blushing. It made him insanely happy to know he wasn’t the only one affected by their closeness. They tried not to look at one another, too embarrassed by the situation. This was the closest they had ever been and the touch on his skin on hers was more than enough to make her heart ready to jump out of her chest. When he clasped her injured ankle, she cried and instinctively pushed him back. 

“Fine, huh ?” He repeated her own words with a smirk.

She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“It’s not a big deal, Bucky” She reassured him. “I’ve got to get back to work”

“You’re not moving from this couch” He ordered.

“Is that an order, soldier ?” She ironically threw at him, crossing her arms in annoyance.

“You bet it is”

She watched him, intrigued, as he stood up and piled up some books on the table to put her ankle to rest on it. 

“No moving around, got it ?” He made sure she would follow his advice.

“Aye, aye, Captain”

He chuckled 

“Technically speaking, I’m not a Captain” He confessed as he continued what she had been doing earlier and started putting the books carefully on the right shelves. 

“Would you have preferred Sergeant ?” She replied, bitting her lips, unsure this was the wrong moment to admit she knew who he was.

He instantly stopped what he was doing and slowly turned around to stare at her.

“What did you say ?” He asked, more scared than ever.

Up until that moment, he had avoided telling her who he was. Becoming part of the Avengers meant his identity wasn’t a secret anymore, and although he had done a terrific job staying hidden among the mass of people, it wouldn’t have taken more than a little push to find who he really was. He stood in front of her, frozen, not having a clue how to react.

“Sergeant Barnes, isn’t it ?” She sounded nervous, almost frightened to say his name out loud.

“I… “ He tried to say anything, but as the rain kept pouring outside, slowly turning into a thunderstorm, he blankly stared back.

“Would you have told me ?” She whispered.

“Eventually”

She humorlessly snorted. 

“We’ve known each other for more than three months, Bucky. I see you practically every day. Be honest, eventually would’ve never come” 

“It’s not like that” He tried to explain.

“I’m not mad, don’t worry” She sadly smiled. “I just wish… I guess I wish you could’ve trust me” 

He rubbed his jaw in frustration and made a step toward her. Without breaking his gaze, he slowly took the glove off, revealing his metal hand. Still, he didn’t look at her, too afraid of her reaction. The cold metal had never felt so hot against his skin, a burning reminder of the stranger he had become.

“I didn’t want you to be scared,” He admitted in a broken voice. 

“Of you ?” She was surprised. “Why would I be ?”

“I’m not a good man, Y/N”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that ?” 

“You don’t understand…”

“The red box under the counter” She interrupted him. “Can you take it for me ? And turn the sign of the shop, we’re closed.”

He gave her a puzzled look, but did as she said anyway. He locked the front door and took the box she asked for before walking to her and putting it directly in her hands.

“Sit” She instructed him.

He didn’t dare to stay near her and chose to stay on an opposite chair.

“I found this a little after you and I met” She told him, motioning to the box. “It was in the basement, hidden under old junks my parents had kept over the years”

He let her speak, not understanding where this was going or why she was telling him about that. She slowly opened the mystery box and took a small envelope out of it. It looked old, so old the paper had turned into a deep shade of yellow.

“My grandfather wrote this” She confessed. “In 1957. It’s addressed to Bucky and Rebecca Barnes. I believe it belongs to you” 

She handed him the letter that he took with shaky hands.

“How did you… ?” He started to ask.

“It was a long shot,” She explained. “The first time you were here, you said my grandfather's name like it meant something to you. Like you really knew him. When I found the box, and the envelope, I didn’t make the connection with you right away. But your name was all I needed to start my research. My parents kept pretty much everything so it didn’t took me too long to find an old photo with you and him, back in the 1930′s” 

He wasn’t moving at all when she showed him a picture François had taken of them right before he was enlisted. 

“I wanted to wait for the right time to tell you, I guess. I mean, you have enough ghosts as it is”

“Still not scared ?” He inquired in a humorless chuckle.

“Not one bit” She didn’t hesitate to reply.

She softly smiled and motioned for him to come closer. When he sat next to her, she moved the box from her lap to his. 

“We were friends, François and I” He recalled, his eyes glued on the letter. “He was married to Eloise. This bookstore was their treasure. He kept repeating that I shouldn’t go to war when I could stay hidden under the pages of books that would take me around the world without risking my life”

She took his metal palm between her fingers when she heard his voice breaking. He almost tried to remove it but she tightly entwined their hands together.

“Maybe he was right” He muttered under his breath.

“Or maybe you and I were meant to meet almost a century later” She shrugged.

He snorted before turning around the envelope to open it. Y/N gently laid her head against his shoulder and let him read in silence. She didn’t move when she felt his body shaking with tears but only held his hand harder.

“They’re originals, from 1954 I think. He kept them for you” She told him as he slowly took what was in the red box. A set of three old books. “Why Lord of the Rings, though ?” 

He laughed,sniffing, before brushing the tears off his face and staring down at the woman. At that very moment, he felt like the journey was done. His soul had stopped the search it had been on for a time that felt like forever. Like a century. 

“My sister and I, we used to come here often,” He said in a melancholic grin. Sorrow was finally starting to be replace by something much better, happiness. “We would sit on this very couch and she would make me read the Hobbit. She used to love that story so much.”

“How many times has she make you read it ?” The woman smirked.

“Enough to remember every single word” He exaggerated, making her giggle. “When I told François I was leaving, he said he would send me books to help me travel away from the war, even just for a moment. I guess he kept them, hoping I would come back. Even after I was declared dead” 

“Maybe deep down he knew you weren’t”

“And he planned this whole meeting with his granddaughter ?” He ironically added.

“Oh no, that was beyond him. That was fate, Barnes”

“I was meant to find you” He agreed, a deep feeling of love and utter contentment forming in his heart. He bent his head down and let all he needed to say be spoken through the kiss they shared. 

“Will you read it to me ?” She playfully requested.

Overflowed with joy, he smirked and kissed her forehead before opening the old book on his lap. There it was, the only choice he needed to make. The only home he had yearn to create. Her. 

[xbadgerbearx]

bird

word count: 1.6k

Can’t Sleep: [4] … [6]

Not too long later, Gaius Grieves revealed himself. Your little trio watched as Robert discreetly put a gun to his back and started talking. You weren't close enough to decipher what he said. Once he started moving your team got the cue to follow. However, everyone stopped in their tracks once soldiers were spotted.

"I thought Milton was supposed to be our lookout," you muttered as the soldiers started speaking Spanish to the patrons in the club.

As the soldiers got more aggressive in their search for Americans, Robert turned to Cleo.

"All right," Robert motioned to Grieves. "Take him out through the back, all right? Find my coordinates in the pad and meet me in half an hour," he ordered while handing Abner a gun.

"What?"

"Hey, did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, but-"

"Go."

Cleo hesitated before grabbing Grieves.

"Let's go."

As you were leading your small group to the back entrance, you heard Robert yell out, "Hey, calm down! There's no need to disturb everyone's night."

You could faintly hear Flag speak up as you found a door marked Solo Empleados.

"This way."

Unfortunately the door you opened was the dressing room for the dancers. You heard Abner say, "Oh, God," before a stumbling sound and a gun being handled. You briefly looked back to see Abner holding Grieves at gun pointing and ordering him to "Move it!"

Damn. That was a little hot.

Pushing your way through the dancers and out the door, you let out a small gasp at the soldier standing in front of you. Cleo, ever the quick thinker, used her device to have a rat crawl down his throat.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side."

You eventually made your way outside in an alley. Milton jogged over once he caught sight of you four.

"Your equipment manipulates animal behavior, clever," Grieves spoke out. "I'm working on something similar with humans."

"Be quiet, please."

"You are perceivably panicked. I'm guessing that you are not the alphas of this battalion."

"Do you want a dozen angry rodents crawling up your ass?" Cleo snapped.

"My answer might not be what you expect."

"Disgusting," you commented as Abner ushered Grieves to move.

You quickly made your way into the van. Milton took the driver's seat, Abner sat in the middle across from Grieves who still had a gun pointed at him, and you and Cleo took a seat in the back by Nanaue.

"Hello, friends!"

"Hi, yes, hello to you too, Nanaue," you said before pointing at Grieves. "Nom nom this man if I give the word."

"Okay!"

Cleo rummaged through DuBois bag before handing you the coordinate pad he spoke of earlier. Was that a picture of his daughter you saw? You couldn't get a good look since Cleo zipped up the bag. Coordinates in hand, you made your way back up the front to give Milton directions.

"Oh ho ho, what's this?" Grieves smuggly declared. You were too busy paying attention to the road to hear him.

"What's what?"

"I saw that little look you gave to your teammate."

"There was no look," Abner denied.

"Ah, but there was. How are you going to pretend you weren't just looking at their ass as they passed? You seem to have a school boy crush."

"Abner has a crush?" Cleo entered the conversation.

"No!"

Grieves laughed before answering Cleo. "You seem to have forgotten that I study people for a living, and I am very good at my job."

"Pet pet and Polky?" Nanaue piped up from the back.

"No! No Pet pet and Polky," Abner said with exasperation. However, upon looking at you and seeing how captivating you looked under the flashing lights of the street lamps, he followed it up with defeated, "Okay, maybe Pet pet and Polky."

"Dios mío!" Cleo exclaimed before she was hurriedly shushed. They both looked over to see if you heard.

"Okay, now take a right onto this street."

You did not.

"I'm happy for you, Abner."

"You seem to have forgotten you are on a mission. This isn't some little girl's slumber party."

Cleo slapped Grieves over the back of the head as Abner seemed to remember that he had a gun in his hand.

"Be quiet."

"Is- is that them?"

The team all looked at you as they looked out the window. Following your gaze, it landed on an upside down armored vehicle in a ditch.

"Of course it is, who else would be dumb enough," you sighed.

Milton slowly approached the area and parked the van. As soon as it stopped you jumped out to see if they were still there. Turns out you didn't have to wait long; the back door unlocked to reveal your three teammates scuffed but otherwise unharmed.

You wouldn't admit it but you felt relieved.

"All right," Robert grunted. "Let's go to Jotunheim."

"Nope. There's somethin' we gotta take care of first."

"What?"

Rick sighed out, "As much as it pains me to say, we gotta get Harley Quinn."

"Harley who?"

"Quinn. She was on Team 1 with me. Now that I know where she is, we gotta go get her."

"Fuck no."

"Come on, man." They made their way back into the van after you. "She's a valuable asset."

"I said no."

"Don't make me get Waller into this."

Robert thought for a moment. "Fuck, fine, alright. We'll go get 'er."

Everyone eventually got seated. This time you actually sat in a seat since you weren't planning on taking an impromptu nap—although that did sound nice. Flag filled Milton out on the details and directed him on where to go as you all got cozy. Robert and Chris were going at it again, Cleo was asleep, Nanaue was trying to get you to sit in his lap, and Abner was watching in amusement.

"No."

"Yes."

"I said no."

"Pet pet?"

"No, Nanaue."

Nanaue put on his best pout, "Please?"

You should not have turned around to look at him. Sighing, you stood up and made your way over to him.

"Hahaha!" He sounded like a giddy kid in a candy store. He gently picked you up and placed you on his lap. Immediately he started petting you again and hummed. Your legs were cramped and you felt like you were about to fall off his lap. Without saying anything, you sprawled your legs across Abner's lap. He just looked at you with a smile before adjusting himself to accommodate you. Resting his arms over your legs, he continued looking out the window.

"How fascinating."

"Hmm?" You looked at Grieves.

"You don't happen to also control animal behavior, do you?"

"Why would I tell you that?"

"Fair."

You heard a loud sigh from Chris. "Is this going to become a regular occurance?"

"What, you jealous? I'm calling it now, if we have another night during this mission I'm using him as my cuddle buddy."

"Whatever."

Although you said you wouldn't, you were almost asleep before Robert made the call for everyone to gear up. While everyone was rushing to get their gear on, you just yawned and leaned over to handcuff Grieves to a seat before making yourself at home on Nanaue again. You weren't exactly trained to fight with weapons, although you did grab a nearby combat knife to carry.

"You gotta be kiddin' me. You're gonna risk the entire mission for a mental defective dressed as a court jester."

"This is coming from a guy that wears a toilet seat on his head."

"We don't leave our own behind," Rick reminded.

"You're okay with this?"

"No, but I've been around Flag when he's got a rag in his mouth. Best not to tug it."

"Motherfucker!"

Just as everyone seemed almost ready, you hopped off Nanaue and gently nudged Cleo.

"Come on, gotta wake up."

"All right, let's go."

Everyone—besides Grieves—exited the vehicle before Flag announced his plan.

"All right, we'll enter through the third floor, go to the inner staircase, and then down to the cellar where they usually keep their detainees. Hopefully, Harley's still alive."

Still butthurt about what Robert said, Chris stubbornly muttered, "It's not a toilet seat, it's a beacon of freedom!"

Everyone got into position; Peacemaker somehow scaled a building to get a vantage point, Abner was down the street looking for traffic, Rick and Robert were beside one of the walls ready to climb to the third floor, you turned into a bird (much to the amazement of your team) so you could quickly enter the window Robert would open, and Nanaue—who forgot you turned into a bird—stared at you.

"Ratatouille, what do you got?"

"Third floor hallway's clear. Abner?"

"There doesn't seem to be any incoming traffic."

"Bird."

"Nanaue, that's Mimic you meathead- and stay off the comm!"

"Colonel, I got a clean shot on the only one in the office. Just give the word."

"Fire on three, two..."

"What're you guys doing?"

Rick looked at Harley, then DuBois, then back to Harley. "I... you- we're here to save you."

"You were gonna... save me?" Harley visibly looked touched.

"It was a really good plan, too."

"Well I can go back inside and you can still do it."

"That's patronizing," Bloodsport commented.

You saw Harley drag a big stick thing over to Flag and hug him.

"Uh, what's with the javelin?"

"I'm waiting for God to tell me."

"Jesus Christ..."

"Yeah, or Him. Or any of them, really."

You and Nanaue watched as Harley and Bloodsport had an awkward introduction.

"Never mind everyone, Harley is secure."

"What?"

"Meet me in the van so we can leave as quickly as possible."

Sighing, you morphed back into your original form. Nanaue made an audible gasp as he saw you sitting on the railing.

"Pet pet?

"Yes, Nanaue, it's me, Pet pet."

King Shark laughed as he started petting you immediately. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you swatted his hand away and motioned for him to follow you.

[anemoarchonhoe]

(A/N: No. While I was writing this, I already ate them all.)

WARNING: Long brainrot. Literally 1.8 pages on a Google Doc

Ready for adventure!

God!Reader as Captain Toad(ette)!

NOTE: They don’t have to literally be Captain Toad(ette), but what if they were similar?

I have multiple ideas that would be better for Impostor AU. However, I’ll only be writing for Soft AU, lest this brainrot be five pages long. Trust me, I’m on a Google Doc as we speak.

Anyways, because a massive part if not all of Teyvat’s essence is within reader, they’ll have a sense of what reader is like. Teyvat’s spirit will start to transport “enemies” from the Treasure Tracker game, although they wouldn’t be enemies anymore now that they’re a part of Teyvat. It also incorporates puzzles and contraptions similar to the original game design.

Reader is all about adventures and logical thinking, hence why they’re unsurprisingly a lot more monotonous once the “enemies” aren’t a threat anymore. Teyvat panics at the lack of life from it’s creator, and does it’s best to begrudgingly rectify the situation. Reader’s headlight now acts as a forcefield for the “enemies,” who are now encouraged to basically whack, stomp, and/or nom nom on the reader with all their efforts. Of course, it’ll never be a real safety threat thanks to the reader's free shield, and everyone wins! …Well everyone except for the future acolytes that will be horrified at the “betrayal” of Teyvat.

Speaking of, said acolytes are already hysterical before they meet God!Reader. The golden stars were a former source of comfort; something to reassure the masses of their beloved creator’s presence. Not anymore, though. The stars have been reduced to a lifeless, transparent gray. Every last one of them. Strangely enough, as soon as one vanishes, another appears with the same divine light as the previous. They must protect these sacred artifacts at all costs, so why is Teyvat battling them tooth and nail against securing the new ones? Do they have no respect for the creator!?

Well, intelligent people would know that the reader just reclaimed them all. No need to worry. In fact, it should cause celebration and rejoice all around the world! God!Reader has descended, after all!

Never fear, everyone. The following events are sure to contain lavish balls and expensive parades once they find God!Reader. Who… stubbornly refuses to ride a carriage the way Teyvat vigorously defended the remaining stars? Huh? What’s Teyvat doing-

Oh.

Without warning, the sturdy roots of ancient trees begin to intertwine with each other, twisting and spinning together down the streets of (insert nation). A small cart lined with a patch of tree leaves materializes at the end, which is thankfully short enough for the reader to step into because they still can’t jump. While the acolytes are gaping at this violation and miracle of nature’s physics, the reader’s lower half is being drowned with countless amounts of white turnips. One unforeseen force of anemo later and the cart is being paraded (pun intended) down the tracks.

Citizens scramble to light the fireworks, flowers are being gently tossed near the reader's unconventional vehicle, and the “enemies” from before are happily offering themselves POW blocks for the reader to explode. Jean is high on migraines and Klee is having a field day.

The most hilarious part of God!Reader’s entrance is when they softly fling turnips towards the poorer inhabitants of the nation. Zhongli received twenty.

…

Hey, don’t forget the Toad Brigade! They’re screeching their lungs off in the background, cruising on tiny carts of their own.

Because of God!Reader’s interaction with the Toad Brigade, they (and by extension the people of Teyvat) have now associated hair colors with certain traits. Remember the blue toad who always provided the reader with goodies and collectibles? Well, the reader is a whole lot more appreciative of tasks completed by blue haired people. What about the green toad who’s doomed to study maps for all eternity? The reader is instinctively motivated to concentrate on their own work, occasionally clapping for the green haired folk when they demonstrate their skills. As for the yellow toad… let’s just say that they’ve become the impromptu definition of divine melatonin.

All is well! Until a giant bird swoops by and snatches the reader straight from their hands…

Me reading the last part:

I literally can't add anything more to this. It's perfect on its own!!

...That, and I'm unfamiliar with the game. ;w; I did watch a video to familiarize myself with it a little and I like it!! The game is so cute.