#needs editing but there are some lines I like

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 9

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 8 | Series Masterlist | Part 10

Chapter Summary: Bucky takes you home, but will he keep his hands to himself?

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.7k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, tension, dirty talk, unease, possessiveness, inner turmoil, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and thank you for your patience! Hope you lovelies continue to enjoy. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You thought you heard the men wish you well once more when Bucky led you out of the office. You weren’t completely sure since you tried to block everything out, but attempting to disassociate wouldn’t exactly do you any good. The night wasn’t over yet and you had to stay sharp. You didn’t know what Bucky had planned for when he got you home. Were you prepared at all?

Not in the least.

You half expected to walk back through the front of the club to leave, but Ray directed you to a door near the back once he gave Bucky a nod. The car was waiting in the alley and you took a moment to glance up at the sky. You could only make out one star and you wished in that moment you could grow wings and fly away. But when did wishing upon a star do you any good?

“Let’s get you back to your place,” Bucky said, helping you into the car.

You had to give him credit for trying to keep up his end of the bargain by getting you home on time. Your body refused to relax though once he sat beside you and took your hand. Was he trying to get you accustomed to his touch? Make you crave him? It bothered you that in spite of your determination he drew you in to a certain degree. But you wouldn’t let him take you to bed tonight. You weren’t ready to cross that inevitable line.

Maybe, just maybe, if your performance in bed disappointed him, he’d get bored and walk away. The thought almost made you laugh. That wasn’t happening. If anything, he’d probably love teaching you how to be his perfect lover.

“I think tonight went well,” Bucky smiled.

“Which part exactly?” You mumbled, pulling your hand away. The part where he forced you to go, how his men all but admitted they knew Bucky stalked you, or how they beat the hell out of a man?

“Just the night in general. I knew everyone would love you, but I really think Thor wants to be your big brother now,” Bucky replied. You wanted it so badly to be endearing, but Thor was dangerous. He mentioned a father-in-law. How exactly did he find his wife? And bringing up the flower donations to the hospital. Bucky seemed upset. Why? “Which he’ll have to fight Steve for.”

“Fighting. You guys seem to excel in that arena,” you said, remembering how they all took turns beating up John. “But I guess Steve does have a bit of that ‘big brother’ vibe, helping you take total control of my life and whatnot.”

“Not total control. I’m still letting you work, but maybe I can buy the shop.” He chuckled at your thunderous expression. The light threat had you seeing red. “I probably shouldn't joke about that, should I?”

“Letting me work? Like it’s your decision? And don’t you dare buy the shop.” You pushed at him to keep from slapping him when he chuckled again. Not with enough force to get him far away from you, but you needed some sort of space in the vehicle. He also needed a good hit over the head. “You’re a bully, do you know that? So are your friends.”

His laughter died off quickly when he reached out and gently took your hand again, prying your fingers away from your palm. You didn’t notice it stung from your nails until he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You think we’re bullies?” He asked against your skin.

“Yes. Besides nearly beating that jerk to death, you do realize that you use force and threats to dominate and intimidate. That’s a form of bullying, Bucky,” you said. Was he deliberately being obtuse or was he lost in his delusion that this was all normal?

“I wouldn’t say we’re bullies. I call it protecting and keeping what’s mine,” he said. There was no shame on his end.

“Right. Because I’m a possession and not a person,” you said, your face scrunching up as you tried not to cry. You needed rest. If part of Bucky’s plan was to wear you down by overwhelming you, mission accomplished. “I’m so tired. I just want to go to bed.”

“You’re a person, not a possession, Kotyonok. And not just a person, a good person who gives so much of herself to others. And probably one of the only people who rightfully calls me out on my shit.” His response drew you up short. “Outside of my friends, no one else does that.”

“Maybe because they’re afraid of you and what you can do,” you said after a moment. Fear could make anyone say what they thought people wanted to hear. “Either that or they want your approval,” you added, which you could also understand to a point. People wanted a sense of belonging, especially with those who had influence and power.

“Maybe they are afraid,” he agreed, brushing his lips against your palm again with a sigh. “What is it about me that scares you most?”

“I’m not really sure exactly,” you admitted. There was so much about the situation that terrified you. What he was capable of. How he inserted himself into various aspects of your life and so quickly. How far he was willing to go to keep you. “But I think it’s your conviction. That you’re so sure that I’m your other half and no one can convince you otherwise, not even me.”

You could scream until your lungs gave out that you didn’t belong with him and you knew in your heart he’d argue until his last breath that you did. He was steadfast in that belief that you were soulmates. That conviction was so strong that what you really feared was that he would somehow convince you that he was right: that you belonged together.

Those steel blue eyes of his met yours and mesmerized you for a heartbeat before you looked away. “Love is scary. It’s natural to be afraid of it.” His lips brushed your ear, making you shiver. “But giving someone the most fragile parts of yourself is one of the bravest things a person can do.”

There was truth in his words, but it felt like he moved another chess piece into place. He was trying to disarm you and you couldn’t let him. “Who painted that black dahlia in your office?” You asked suddenly, feeling him move back enough that you could turn your head toward him. “And why display that flower?” You didn’t believe for a second that he chose it for aesthetic purposes.

“Beautiful, isn't it? Steve painted it,” he replied with an odd mixture of affection and bitterness. “It’s for my parents.”

“Steve is a gifted artist.” You hoped your voice stayed even enough that Bucky wouldn’t get jealous of you complimenting another man’s talent. “I don't know if the symbolism of flowers mean anything to you, but the black dahlia-”

“Betrayal. Sadness. Darkness,” he ticked off, his voice cold enough that another shiver moved through your body. “It was the last flower my dad ever got my mom and it serves as a reminder.”

You swallowed as warning bells sounded in your mind to tread carefully. “And what's that?”

He moved close, your eyes shutting as his hand wrapped around the nape of your neck. “That I'll never do to you what he did to her.”

There was suppressed rage within him. Sorrow. It rolled off him in waves strong enough that they could drown you. He said earlier that his dad got what he deserved. What had he done to his mom?

“You’re in pain,” you whispered. He was hurting and you logically shouldn’t care. So why did you want to know the cause of that hurt? “You have to tell me why.”

It wasn’t for you to use to your advantage. You weren’t sure if you could manipulate someone else. If you knew what happened though, it would at least give you more answers to who Bucky was and why he was the way he was. It could help you gain some sort of understanding.

“I’m not in pain when I’m with you,” he whispered, bringing your hand on his chest. Was he relying on you to chase away whatever haunted him? “Later. I’ve overwhelmed you enough for one evening.”

You let out a breath. You swore he was doing this on purpose, giving you just enough information that you’d wait around until he gave you more. “I can’t argue with you there,” you said, his heart racing under your touch. “Just answer one thing for me, please.”

“What’s that?”

“Marc from the bookstore,” you began, the man’s kind face shimmering in your mind. “Did anything happen to him?”

“I’d question another man being on your mind, but I know you’re just concerned about his well-being.” An easy smile crossed Bucky’s face as you bit your tongue. You could think about anyone you wanted to. “I can’t speak for him right this second, but he was perfectly fine when you and I left. He was just having a chat with one of my associates.”

You exhaled, thankful Marc wasn't hurt. “What kind of chat?” You asked. He was a nice guy, though he did seem to know a bit about Bucky. What exactly was he involved in?

“He just got a warning to be careful about what he does or doesn’t say to his customers.” You tensed before he kissed your forehead. Did he know about the conversation you two had? “And I don’t think the two of you should be alone with each other in the bookstore going forward.”

Just when Bucky had you feeling some sort of sympathy for him moments ago he shocked you right out of it. “Another decision that isn’t yours to make,” you stated, the car coming to a stop. “And you really don’t have to walk me up. I think we’ve had enough of each other’s company tonight.”

“I said I’m tucking you into bed and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” The smile he gave you was nothing short of cocky when he added, “And you owe me a photo. I’m going to get it.”

He was a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let that go. “Why don’t you just take a photo of me giving you the finger?” You suggested as he helped you out of the car.

“Only if you do it with a smile. I’ll even set it as the background on my phone,” he winked. Your reluctance and defiance of him didn’t phase him in the slightest. “And if you give me the finger, I’ll take it as an invitation that you want to fuck me.”

“Let’s go, please.”

You said nothing else as you went into the building, your anxiety mounting by the second. The slow rise of the elevator didn’t help, Bucky’s hip pressed against yours like he couldn’t stand to have space between you. You figure he’d shove you against the wall and claim your mouth, but he didn’t make a move. It impressed you that he behaved until you got to your floor. It didn’t stop your hand from shaking when you got your keys out.

“Still don’t want to say good night now?”

“I don’t want to say good night at all,” he answered, following you into the apartment and turning on the light. The welcoming feeling you expected when you got home wasn't there. There was a chill in the usual warmth.

“Well, you’ll have to sooner or later,” you said, swallowing when you faced Bucky. He shut the door and watched intently as you set your keys and bag down. You were quiet as you stared back, tension thick as you tried to predict what he was going to do. Once again, he managed to hold all the power in your home.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” He asked, heat and hunger in his stare as he slowly advanced.

Your throat went dry as you stepped back. “You have.”

“So beautiful and so good.” You made another move to retreat when he stepped forward, his manner confident and compelling as he reached out and prevented you from moving back further. “It’s driving me crazy not having you yet.”

“Please, you don’t…” you trailed off when he sank to his knees, unexpected heat flowing from your core. He guided one of your hands to his shoulder to brace yourself, his eyes soft as he helped remove one of your shoes. You found it difficult to breathe as he removed the other, his hand brushing your ankle with infinite tenderness. Like it was an honor to touch and be on his knees for you.

“I know the first time I taste you I’ll never want to stop. I’ll have to wake up every day between your thighs. Fall asleep that way, too.” His hand slid up your calf and his eyes darkened when your other hand found its way to his thick locks. Wetness gathered between your legs when his touch moved to your thigh. “Your pussy is hungry for me, isn’t it? My fingers, my tongue, my cock. I’ll feed her well.”

His voice was like velvet. Seductive. Aching. “Bucky…” Your breath rushed out swiftly when he kissed your mound through your clothes, tormenting you with arousal you didn’t ask for. It frightened you.

“I can smell you,” he murmured, nosing along where his lips had been before he sat back. “Smell so fucking good.”

Moving your shoes out of the way, he rose to his full height again as you willed your legs not to shake. You weren’t used to anyone looking at you, let alone speak to you, the way he did. Stark desire. Possessiveness. His form of love. Your heart pounded and you refused to answer him or glance down. If you looked at the front of his pants…

He took your hand and pulled you in the direction of the bedroom. Your heart pounded with mounting speed, your heels digging into the floor. “You still haven't kissed me,” you blurted out, hoping it would prevent him from taking you to bed. Or would he take that as an invitation to kiss your lips?

“No, I haven't.” You tried to keep some distance between you as he went to your bed, his hand moving along the blanket. You couldn't breathe. “It scares you how much your body wants mine, doesn’t it?”

“Is that what you think?” You asked, forcing air back into your lungs. It did scare you. It also scared you that you didn’t push him away or scream when he dropped to his knees to remove your shoes. Where was your fighting instinct?

“It is what I think.” The ease in which he moved away from the bed to your dresser to find your pajamas frightened you, too. Like he belonged in your room. You thought back to the night he broke in and left your gift on your bed. How much time did he take to look around? “Like love, giving your body to someone can be scary. You have to trust that you won't get hurt when you’re physically vulnerable.”

“You swore you wouldn't hurt me,” you reminded him.

“And I won't. But you know what else I think?” His magnetic gaze stayed on you as he brought a nightgown over. “That no guy has ever really taken care of you and you’re apprehensive to let me try.”

If you were apprehensive, it was because he was a walking red flag. “What makes you…” Your words stopped when he grasped the bottom of your shirt and pulled it up. Your arms instinctively went up before you realized what you were doing. Removing your shirt, you didn’t get a chance to cover your breasts before he slipped the nightgown on you.

“Your past boyfriends never did anything for you. Emotionally, physically,” he stated, sliding his hands under the nightgown to your hips. Grasping the hem of your pants, he pushed them down as far as he could. “I’ll bet they didn’t even buy you flowers and used the excuse that they didn’t because you’re a florist.”

The words were tiny cuts on old wounds, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction. “And you will?”

“I will. I’ll give you the life and love you deserve, making you forget any other man out there existed before me.” His eyes raked over you as you stepped out of your pants, your panties still soaked. “But I’m not gonna fuck you.”

Exhaling slowly, relief flooded you. Though you couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t trying to take what he wanted. “You won’t?”

“Not tonight.” He shook his head even as his fingers moved along your waist. “Like I said, I’ve overwhelmed you enough. Sleeping with you might really put you over the edge.”

“Thanks.” He desired you, but continued to hold it at bay for your sake. How long would that last? “I appreciate that.”

“And we both know the moment I take you to bed, you’ll be begging for more.” His voice dropped as he toyed with the soft fabric. “And as much as I want to stay in bed with you all night and morning and give us what we both crave, I still need to get things in place at the penthouse and you need rest. You understand.”

You tried not to smile and failed. He acted as if he was doing you a favor. Cocky bastard. “I guess we’ll just have to suffer until then.” Sarcasm continued to be a good way to deflect.

He exhaled at your light teasing, his body still a bit tense. Being close to you and not having you was probably driving him mad. “Maybe we'll have to have another private call and finish what we started. Give us both some relief.” He turned you toward the door and gave you a light swat on your ass. “Go wash your face and brush your teeth before I change my mind.”

You made it to the bathroom in record time, not having to be told twice. You didn’t want to risk staying there in case he lost his resolve. Looking in the mirror as you went through the rest of your nighttime routine, you expected to look more exhausted from the whirlwind of the day. You somehow looked wide awake. Was the experience giving you thicker skin? Or did his desire for you somehow give you a bit of a twisted spark? You’d still be billing him for your future therapy bills either way.

A couple of deep breaths and you made your way back to your bedroom. You paused when you saw Bucky holding a framed photo of you and your friends, longing in his eyes when he lifted his gaze. “You look so happy,” he murmured, carefully setting the frame down on the nightstand before he pulled the blankets back for you. “Can you do me one favor and I’ll go?”

“I was happy. It was a fun day.” You slipped into bed when he gave you space to do so, but his body was still close to yours. Firm. Hard. He really could pin you down and do what he wanted if he wished. “What’s the favor?”

He tucked the blanket around you, his hair falling into his face. You almost reached up to brush it back, but refrained. Who knew what your touch would do? “Look at me like you love me. Please.”

You stiffened as you stared up at his face, your heart simultaneously racing and breaking for him. Love was something that provided a sense of connection, fulfillment. It was a way to show you that you weren’t alone in the world. You wanted to believe you were worthy of love, that you could build a life with someone. Bucky believed he was that someone.

Why?

You weren’t sure if it was his yearning gaze or if you were ready for the night to end, but your expression softened as you imagined meeting him in another life. Going on fun dates, talking about books, making each other laugh as you cooked together, snuggling under a blanket as you talked about your future. You found yourself smiling at the images that went through your mind. What could’ve been. What could be if he lessened his hold a bit on you.

He audibly exhaled when he snapped a photo on his phone, making you blink. “Thank you. Now I can look at this whenever I’m not near you and need to feel your love.”

Words escaped you, the invisible collar around your throat getting tighter. You could only nod and wonder how you kept throwing fuel on the fire of his want for you. Which one of you would burn first?

“Get some sleep. Dream sweet dreams.” You felt featherlight kisses on each eyelid when you shut them. “You know, I’ll sleep a lot easier once you’re in my bed.”

“If you get me into your bed,” you mumbled, refusing to look at him.

“Stubborn kitten.” He chuckled and gave each eyelid one more kiss. Why were his lips so soft? “Maybe I’ll stop by the shop tomorrow so I can take you to lunch. You can tell Addison all about it.”

“Maybe.” You yawned and snuggled more into your pillows. “Good night, Bucky.”

A finger moved along your cheek before it stopped abruptly. “Good night, Kotyonok.”

Bucky still hadn't kissed your mouth.

You didn’t open your eyes as he left, but you didn’t fall asleep right away either. Your body was too wound up. Too many questions went through your mind. Like what happened with his parents and how exactly he’d move you out of your place.

The man was a step ahead in everything. You’d be in his penthouse before the month was over. He’d get his way, but maybe it didn't have to be his way completely. He could give you an area in the place for you and you alone. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. After all, he did say he’d make it up to you by dragging you out tonight.

And if he cared the way he said he did, he could give you that one small thing.

Is our poor Kotyonok starting to accept the inevitable? Will Bucky stop by the shop? And how much longer until he really takes you to bed?Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[lunaritex]

CHASING REDEMPTION. . .ᐟ — kinich.

—✩ content: modern+spiderman au, established relationship, reader is gender-neutral, both reader and kinich are in college, reader knows kinich’s true identity, angst with comfort, character death.

—✩ author's note: ever since i saw this one edit of peter parker jumping down to save gwen… i knew what i had to do, except there is a small twist at the end. @kazuhaiku

Kinich swore he had planned the entire process in his mind. Everything was in place and all he needed was to be mentally and physically prepared to tell you the truth. But no matter how many plans he came up with, he did not take into account how a sudden robbery happened, resulting in him having to leap into action. He did not take into account how the robbery was not what it seems, with the robbers more than prepared to stand their grounds. They were armed with dangerous weapons that one could only obtain through illegal means. 

One thing led to another and he ended up arriving hours later than the agreed time. Kinich arrived at the agreed venue for your date and he was not surprised to spot no sign of you. He pointedly ignored the pitiful look the staff threw his way when he left in a hurry. Not wanting to waste anymore time, he used his spiderwebs to zip across the sky, turning a blind eye to how some people stopped to glance at him. 

It took him exactly five minutes to arrive at the balcony of your apartment. He nimbly landed on his feet, peering through the windows as his eyes furiously scanned your room. He swore his heart shattered when he saw a lump laying on the bed, covered with a blanket from head to toe. 

Knock knock. Knock knock. 

You raised your head when you heard someone knocking on your window, revealing your swollen eyes and tearstained face. You frowned when you realized it was your boyfriend. A part of you wants to leave him outside but you knew he was too stubborn for his own good. Surrendering, you unreluctantly crawled out of bed and moved to the window stand, unlocking the lock and slid it open. Shivers ran down your spine when the freezing wind grazed your skin. 

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be busy saving the city or something?” You asked, the sarcasm dripping in your tone made Kinich winced. 

Normally, you would have felt remorse at how you snapped at him but you have had enough. Clenching and unclenching your fists, you looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Look, I’m not in the mood to talk to you right now. You can come back another time-”

“No, I know you’re mad at me and I want to talk about it now,” he interrupted.

And that was the final straw. 

“It’s always all about you, you, you! When have you ever thought about me!? I bet the thought of me sitting in a cafe or restaurant, waiting for my boyfriend for hours, only for him to never turn up has never crossed your mind! Do you know how downright humiliating it is for me to leave and how I have to tolerate the sympathy glances thrown my way, as I walk out of the place? I know you’re doing a good deed by saving the city but sometimes, I wish you could set aside some time for me.” 

Your voice cracked like a whip, startling Kinich into silence. The fire in your eyes was undeniable, a mix of betrayal and exasperation. He tried to respond but you didn’t let him. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this. It feels like you don’t even care about me anymore and this relationship is starting to feel one-sided,” your voice grew a notch softer, exhaustion evident in your voice; as if you had already given up trying to fight for something that was no longer there anymore. 

“If you’re not going to say anything, then I think it’s best to end this. Goodbye Kinich and I wish you the best of luck,” you forced a teary-eyed smile at him, sliding the door closed and pulling the curtains, not wanting to see him a second longer. 

Kinich on the other hand, was rendered speechless. He wanted to talk to you again but since it was clear you had cut the line, he had no choice but to respect your decision. After sparing your window one more glance, he zips away into the dark sky. 

~

The next three weeks passed slowly. Both of you were busy preparing for your final exams of the semester. No matter how hard you try to focus on your studies, you just cannot seem to stop thinking about Kinich. Random thoughts like ‘is he doing fine?’, ‘has he eaten?’ and sometimes ‘I hope he’s not hurt again…’. You have not consulted your group of friends about your relationship but judging from how he was not constantly by your side, they already knew what happened. 

Currently, you are heading home after spending hours cramped in the campus library. You were too exhausted to be mindful of your surroundings. You had no idea that you were being followed, until it was too late. 

“Mphmf-!?” 

Your startled shout was instantly muffled when a gloved hand covered your mouth. Your sight turned blurry after you accidentally inhaled something. The last thing you heard was a man saying something along the lines of using you as bait for Spiderman, before everything turned black. 

When you regained consciousness, it took all of your willpower to not scream at how you were dangerously dangling in the air. The only thing supporting you was the rope tightly tied around your waist. Your wrists were tied and held behind your back. You didn’t dare try to move about, not wanting the rope to snap into half. You looked around, squinting your eyes as you tried to make sense of where you were through the darkness. 

All you could see was long and rectangular-shaped steel bars and you knew you were on a construction site. The pockets of your jeans were empty, meaning your kidnappers must have taken your phone after you were knocked out. There was nothing much you could do, except to play the role of a waiting duck. You sighed, lowering your head to look down at the ground and for a split moment, the thought of death flew through your mind. 

“Look who’s awake? Are you getting anxious that Spiderman isn’t here yet?” A sinister voice pierced through the silence. 

You raised your head to see two armed and masked men approaching you, coming to a stop at the edge. One man has a muscular build while the other man was as thin as a branch. Not wanting them to know they have the upperhand, you merely remained silent and looked at them with a bored expression. 

“I won’t rely on him that much if I were you. I doubt he knows that you guys are waiting for him,” you replied. 

The muscular man laughed. “Hah! Nice try, kid. But we’ve managed to drop him a nice little text using your phone, telling him to meet us here at nine sharp. And if he doesn’t, then I guess you can say bye to that boyfriend of yours.” 

Your blood ran cold at his words. 

“I’m here now, let them go.” 

A familiar voice interrupted your brief conversation. The two men turned around and there he was; Spiderman in his glory. You knew Kinich was seething with rage, judging from how his fists were clenched tightly the moment he was informed that you were held hostage. The men smirked in triumph as they slowly approached him, leaving you there to observe the scene unfold by itself. 

“About time you show up. It’s time for revenge for what you did to my face,” the muscular man said, pointing at his masked face with his thumb as he pulled out a gun. You gulped when you saw how dangerous they looked. 

“I don’t remember doing such a thing to you, but perhaps it might be a good thing for you,” your ex(?) replied, and you would have snickered if not for your current situation. 

“How dare you! I should have killed you when I had the chance!” He roared, enraged and started running full speed at Kinich, with his fellow partner-in-crime hot on his heels. 

From your vantage point, you watched with bated breath, heart racing as Kinich faced off against the two heavily-armed men. The tension crackled in the air, thick and electric. Kinich moved with a mix of agility and determination, dodging a flurry of blows while keeping his focus sharp. You could see the muscles in his jaw tighten as he assessed the situation, calculating his next move.

Each clash of steel rang out, echoing in the stillness around them. The men were imposing, their weapons gleaming menacingly in the light, but Kinich stood his ground, a fierce intensity in his eyes. With every punch and counter, you felt your own pulse quicken. You could only watch, willing him to outsmart his opponents and to emerge from the intense battle unscathed. Just when the fight was about to hit the climax and the two men were on the verge of being defeated, the skinny man turned to you. 

You watched in pure horror as he raised his weapon, aiming at the rope and fired. Whatever happened next was in slow motion. Your vision made an abrupt turn to the right, as gravity took over your body and pulled you down. The high-pitched scream you let out was not enough to describe the pure fear pumping through your veins. You made eye contact with Kinich and you could imagine the look of disbelief mixed with horror behind the mask. 

“Kinich!”

You screamed his name at the top of your lungs as your body began its descent to the hard concrete ground at lightning speed. Kinich forced himself to move, dodging the poor attempts of the men trying to stop him. Just for good measure, he shot a few webs aimed at their limbs to prevent them from moving. He jumped off the edge without hesitation, reaching out his hand as he tried to grab you. 

“Hold on, I’m coming!” He shouted, pure desperation heard in his voice. 

With a swift, fluid motion, he shot his web toward you, the silken strands glistening in the air before they wrapped securely around your stomach. Before you could even react, he yanked you towards him, the world spinning as you felt the force of his pull. Just as you landed against him, he swung into the air, the rush of wind whipping past you. Your heart raced as he propelled you both over the danger, each swing taking you away from the chaos below.

He landed gracefully in a safe area, setting you down gently. Your breath caught in your throat as you met his gaze—eyes fierce yet filled with concern. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, urgency in his voice, the adrenaline still coursing through him. You nodded, shaken but alive, gratitude swelling within you.

Your entire body was trembling like a fallen leaf. Kinich gently placed you on the ground, still holding you as your legs gave way. You remained still, the adrenaline and fear of experiencing close death still pumping through your veins as he removed the web from your frame, wincing at how some were still stuck on your clothes. None of you said a word after that, unsure of what to say to break the silence. 

“I-”

He wanted to speak, but you threw yourself at him, hugging him with a vice-like grip as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. Kinich fumbled about due to your combined weight but he managed to catch himself before he could hit his head against the ground. He removed the gloves and pulled the mask off, placing them on the side as he returned the embrace. Your sniffles and sobs were the only thing occupying the silence and Kinich knew you were beyond terrified of what you had just gone through. 

“Hey, it’s fine now. You’re safe, don’t worry, I got you,” he murmured, speaking in a soft and gentle tone as he reassures you. He ran his hand through your hair; an action he knows you love by heart. 

“I was so scared… I thought I was going to die…” You whimpered through your tears as you moved away from him, resting your hands on his shoulders. 

“Kinich, I’m sorry for snapping at you. That wasn’t nice of me, especially when you are doing something good which is saving the city and people,” you apologized, but he shook his head. 

“You don’t have to apologize. You weren’t in the wrong, in fact, it should be me. I shouldn’t have neglected you to the point where you felt like the relationship had become one-sided. I promise you that from now on, I will give you more of my time,” he gave you a small smile, reaching out to wipe away the stray teardrop on your cheek. 

“But, I don’t want to get in the way of your duty,” you protested. 

He merely shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure the police can handle the troubles themselves for a day or more.” 

You chuckled and his features softened when he heard your laugh. You flinched when he suddenly carried you bridal-style in his arms after he stuffed his gloves and mask into his pocket. 

“Now that we’re done here, it’s time to go home, shall we?” He asked, looking down at you with a loving smile. 

“Indeed, we shall, Spiderman.”

[sirfrogsworth]

Grampa's Antique Fan (2015 vs 2024 Edit)

As a young man, after coming home from the Second World War, my grampa got a job as an electrician for Emerson Electric. He didn't work on the actual electrical products. He just maintained the electrical systems that power the tools to make electrical components.

It was a "I heard you need electricity for your electricity" type deals.

The company was founded in 1890 in nearby Ferguson, Missouri by John Wesley Emerson. He was a Union commander in the Civil War and a lawyer and then a judge and then an author and then a historian... so he was clearly qualified to run one of the first electronics companies. (This is currently referred to as the "Law of Elon".)

Emerson (the company, not the dude) specialized in electric motors and was the first to stick their motors in a fan and sell them.

As you can see by the 4 protective fan guard loopies, these were very safe for kids to be around.

I mean, the biggest thing you could shove in there is a baby arm, which is the least important part of a baby. No baby heads were chopped off—which was the bar for consumer safety during that era.

Fans are rated by the volume of air they can push over a period of time and your average box fan can push about 1400 cubic feet per minute or "CFM". When this Emerson (the fan, not the dude) was produced they actually used "CCH" or cubic cubits per hour. Emerson (the dude) loved using odd standards of measurement much to the chagrin of his engineers.

Due to the small surface area, weak angle of attack, and heavy metal blades, this electronic beast could only push a baker's dozen cubic cubits per baker's hour—which was a confusing metric of time because people were very superstitious and they refused to put the 13 on the baker's clocks. They just left a mysterious blank void after the 12 and apparently several people had existential crises during the baker's hour. Some were institutionalized for a rare condition called Time Delirium.

Thankfully Emerson Electric was able to provide the electroshock therapy devices that cured several patients. This was achieved by erasing the memory of the traumatic time delirium events along with a few other unimportant details like what they did last Tuesday and their mother's name and one engineering degree that the guy wasn't even using.

My dad actually got the fan working and let me tell you... that bad boy could really work up a gentle breeze...

...if you stood behind it and blew.

And that fine American-made electric fan motor was just as quiet as a leaf blower on Saturday morning.

Over the last century, Emerson was bought and sold and bought and sold.

And bought and sold and bought and sold.

Was that 7?

Eh, close enough. We'll call it a baker's 7.

They changed their product line countless times over their 130+ years of existence. After fans they pivoted and made electric meat grinders. To this day, no one know what inspired that decision.

Currently, they make radar avionics and are majority-owned by the private equity firm, Blackstone. Which is a totally non-evil sounding name they chose for their company-eating empire. Please ignore that the CEO was one of Trump's policy strategists. This is a non-evil company with a non-evil name run by non-evil people, okay?

Despite Emerson Electric having to settle a baker's gross of lawsuits involving a few lightly scalp'd babies, they maintain a Fortune 500 status and are still headquartered in Ferguson.

They occupy one of the most boring ass buildings ever constructed.

Just rectangles all the way down.

That architect told every angle to get rect.

Of course, I forgot all of this cool history and sold this fan in the estate auction. I suppose it is a good thing I got a nice photograph to help assuage my current feelings of guilt. I mean, it is not baby scalping, time delirium guilt—but I would feel better if I knew my gramp-gramp's fan was in a good home with 0 babies.

[outrunningthedark]

I dont think he needs to come out defending Lou - Lou can handle himself he’s a grown man and has taken ( I think at least) the best course of action (stay silent until the season starts back up again). However I do have a lot of mutuals who are queer men who feel little hurt by the lack of acknowledgement for this queer relationship. Like getting excited that your favourite show has a relationship that you feel represented (just like with Michael and David) only to have silence from the social media team and the actors (well we clearly know why Lou is currently silent -when he was active he did talk Beautifully about them) can be hurtful. I don’t know if this makes any sense at all. But I did find it a bit odd ( and this is not me assuming malicious intent - I like to give the benefit of the doubt) some of the patterns I’ve seen. At the end of the day everyone is free to do whatever they want - while at the same time fans can feel how they want to feel. I understand both perspectives.

I don’t know if any of this makes sense -it got away from me as I was writing 😂

I know what you're saying, and I agree. I think people are (I assume unintentionally) lumping calling out bad behavior and acknowledging the canon relationship together as the same course of action, but...it's not. (I mean, from what I saw of the reaction to my post there was a lot of hand-waving for why Oliver's "doing the right thing" because fandom is out of control.) I don't think Oliver needs to "defend" Lou or even Tommy as a character. (He didn't defend any of the women on the show until they were gone so why start now, honestly.) But there IS a way to take a stand without even saying anything, isn't there? Post a story. Post a pic. Share a fan edit. Captions not needed. The content would speak for itself. He's not staying silent because he hates the story line - sorry Buddies! - because he definitely knew that if the GA reaction went well BuckTommy was going to continue past those four episodes. He's staying silent because he lets these people behind a screen get in his head and make him feel like he has to walk on eggshells while "interacting with fandom". And listen, we all get it! He's gotta do what he's gotta do to protect his mental health! But you can acknowledge his feelings without dismissing the feelings of the queer fans who are only seeing a guy essentially do a 180 because public pressure is too high. How is he "representing" anybody if he doesn't even celebrate the story he's telling? [There's a quick-fix to all of this, btw. Get a fucking social media manager to do the posting so he doesn't have to see any of this shit with his own eyes if it's gonna drag him down that much.]

[flowercrowngods]

The Last Day.

Steve doesn’t remember what drove him here — he doesn’t remember a lot of things lately, not that he’s mentioned that to anyone. They don’t really question these things anymore. Fucky vision, nightmares without sleeping, or things that just get lost in the everyday grind of remembering to do normal things like eat or drink or where the fuck he put his glasses.

So, he doesn’t remember what drove him here, if he was supposed to get something or if he just needed to get out of the gym, needed to breathe some air that’s not filled with anxiety and grief and the pressure of survivor’s guilt and why and how and when around every corner, behind every door, underneath every donated item and in every bite of stale peanut butter sandwiches.

The library was never a place of comfort for him, and he honestly never really cared about it one war or another. If pressed for it, he couldn’t name five books in all of these shelves. He never really looked.

But now, in the semi-darkness, the empty shelves are somehow daunting. All useful books were taken, children’s books donated to all the families that stayed, all science books stolen by people who were sure they could fix this, could get behind this, could build generators and water refineries and all that shit.

Somehow, the negative space in these shelves draws him in, and he takes a deep breath. A breath that Dustin would like, probably. It smells like books. It smells old. It smells like, somehow, somewhere, there might still be a constant in this world. Something that will remain. Like maybe there will always be a library that smells of old books. No matter how often the world will end.

It’s a strange thought. But comforting. He trails the shelves, not really looking at the books, walking too fast still to make out the titles in the dim light, but he refuses to stop. He refuses to stand. To linger.

The next two rows are completely empty, and it makes him shiver. Robin probably has a name for the feeling. Maybe melancholy. Or maybe he’s just haunted. Susceptible to absence.

Or maybe they’re the same feeling.

Blindly, he reaches for a book, because his hands begin to tingle and he really needs something to do before his lungs catch up and his brain finds out that he’s somehow almost about to panic, or to relapse, or to drop to the floor if his legs don’t regain feeling soon.

He keeps walking, the book in hand. It’s a slim edition, bound in leather, and it feels really old. Looks like it, too.

Michael Bruce

He carefully flips it open, the old paper crackling with the movement, and he wonders briefly if this is the part of the library that’s usually watched like a hawk, the part where you’re not allowed to touch the books without supervision and certainly not without reason. Maybe. Maybe this Michael Bruce hasn’t seen a real face in a long time.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to find out that they’re mostly poems—and of course they are, old books are almost always filled with poems.

He opens the book at a random page, still needing to settle his hands, his heart, his mind. The title makes his heart drop. “The Last Day.”, it’s called; still his eyes glide over the lines, intrigued.

Twas on an autumn's eve, serene and calm. I walked, attendant on the funeral Of an old swain : around, the village crowd Loquacious chatted, till we reach'd the place Where, shrouded up, the sons of other years Lie silent in the grave. The sexton there Had digg'd the bed of death, the narrow house, For all that live, appointed. To the dust We gave the dead. Then moralizing, home The swains return'd, to drown in copious bowls The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.

Okay. Sure. So, maybe this Michael Bruce dude is not the best company when the world is sort of ending. But somehow Steve can’t stop reading, and for the first time he kind of doesn’t want to stop reading a poem. This one’s different anyway. This one just… it gets him.

Images of Barb flood his mind. Eddie. Chrissy. Max. Everyone who was lost, everyone who has an empty coffin in their grave and an NDA penned to their name.

To the dust We gave the dead.

The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to go back out there. Head to the gym and fold clothes and check the missing posters and make phone calls to find out, to make sure, to keep in touch. The labours of the day. The thoughts of death.

Shaking hands flip the pages, two at once, because he doesn’t want to live the last day; doesn’t want to hear about it. He needs to know how it ends, needs to make sure, needs to find out, just—

A pause ensued. The fainting sun grew pale, And seem'd to struggle through a sky of blood : While dim eclipse impaird his beam : the earth Shook to her deepest centre : Ocean rag'd, And dash'd his billows on the frighted shore. All was confusion. Heartless, helpless, wild.

Suddenly, what little light was left to stream through the windows disappears, stealing the words from beneath his eyes, and before he can look up and breathe, the door to the library bursts open, revealing a panicked Robin.

“Steve?”

“Robbie?”

“You… You better come see this.”

He hears it in her voice. The resignation. Oceans raging as the fainting sun grows pale. Confusion. Helpless, heartless, wild.

He closes Michael Bruce and runs toward her on numb legs, not ready to find out about the new apocalypse he’s gonna find outside the library. And seeing black skies through the windows and pale faces behind them, reflecting against the growing darkness, he wonders if he shouldn’t have skipped through the last day. The Last Day.

Terror in every look, and pale affright Sat in each eye ; amazed at the past, And for the future trembling.

Steve, too, is trembling. And Robin’s hand in his is shaking just as much.

Poetical works of Michael Bruce : with life and writings. William Stephen ed. 1895.

[sugar-crash]

🏎️Turbo (Wreck-It Ralph) x (gn) Reader🏁

(Confession Edition!)

(Heyyy!! This will be the Pre-RoadBlasters section, I will make a second one for Post-RoadBlasters aka King Candy.)

- Turbo… Where do we start with him?? Oh yeah, he’s obnoxiously overzealous and thinks he has the arcade’s popularity at the palm of his hand when his game was just sooo popular with gamers.

- Which…. True yeah he does for those 5 years, and in between those five years, I don’t think he had a problem with getting what he wanted or at least that’s what he thought.

- I think if he were to ever get feelings for someone besides his lust for being the center of attention, it would frustrate him to no end… Like what do you mean some other game character has gotten his attention so intimately??

- Every win would be noticeably dampened when you weren’t there at the sidelines, and if you had a game of your own meant every day… It aggravates him to no end!

- He’s quick to blame you rather than himself, it can’t possibly be from him— YOU must be doing something, or at least you must know how he feels.

- If you guys are friends already (which… Jesus Christ good on you for being able to withstand his gloating to a degree he deems you as one of his friends) he tries to distance himself from you… The keyword is tries.

- But he’s hook line and sinker at that point and can’t help but go to you and sit next to you, pouting and not explaining himself to you whatsoever.

- I believe after maybe a year or two of this nonsense you or he finally has enough of this and make an uncoordinated move to do something with this feeling towards each other—

- Yelling and flushed faces are involved in the process, mostly on Turbo’s part, and eventually ends with him frantically fleeing the scene after the beans were spilled.

- Tensions are high before and after the obvious is revealed, we do not know much about the twin racers from Turbo Time but we can ascertain that Turbo almost constantly annoyed them by being… Himself.

- When he gets upset everyone gets upset. He makes sure of that.

- They’re constantly sick of his shit. And they don’t need another reason to add to that almost endless list, so, naturally— They forcibly get him to face you again after secretly yet not so secretly moping to himself.

- Bit by bit progress is made… With the racer fighting every second before eventually admitting defeat.

- Though this self-perceived defeat is met with a reward, you, or well rejection if you get fed up enough.

- I think it takes a while for him to admit his feelings verbally once more, far too stubborn for that but it’d take a real brickhead like Ralph (nothing against him, I love that dummy dearly) to not realize there was something there.

- It takes a whole lot of vulnerability and reassurance for Turbo to do it, and when he does he’s quick to say you guys were a thing afterward when you agree (credits to you).

- When it comes to romance, he has his… Moments. Smug that out of everyone else you chose him— “A real winner at life” as he likes to put it.

- To say he’s possessive would be a half-truth, while yeah he does get that twinge of jealousy whenever he sees someone with you, but he knows that your his— Why meddle with your life when he already has such a hold on it?

- Throughout the movie, we see that he has a kind of silent manipulation aspect, which I like to think formulated itself when he went into hiding after the whole RoadBlasters, however you see it earlier on in his Turbo Time days— Though he’s far more impulsive.

- He’s more reckless, unwilling to see that he has things to lose, like his game, his life, and you. He realizes that when it is far too late.

(Tvyl lultplz aohu myplukz

Dpss ol lcly ohcl h tlhuz av hu luk?)

[nostalgia-tblr]

okay but no this is is bothering me now

I hold this wild fandom position that the little rant in Thor 1: No Subtitle, Just Thor where Loki goes on about how Odin hates him and must have a sinister plan in mind should not be taken as the literal truth because it's the paranoid fears of someone shaken and scared, but this does not seem to convince anyone else for some reason.

However! There is one line in it that's definitely, demonstrably wrong, isn't there? The bit about "you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard", because JUST IN CASE any of us have forgotten what happens later in the film:

This is not like when he pretended to be Odin between films, this tells me that there is no legal impediment to Loki being king of Asgard. And you might say "well, duh" but saying that means accepting that A Frost Giant On The Throne Of Asgard was always a real possibility. By raising the foundling as his own legitimate biological son Odin has placed him second in the line of succession after Thor, made no move to exclude this new son, and the lack of any younger siblings suggests no real concern over the fact that Loki is not just the spare he is the only spare.

Odin could simply have admitted that this new prince was adopted (without necessarily saying from where), or claimed he was his own but illegitimate, or some other explanation I can't be bothered to think up right now. The point is, this was not an inevitable flaw in whatever shit plan Odin may or may not have had, it's an intended or at least accepted outcome.

And no, Thor can't just be safely immortal, because then Odin's immortal and Thor isn't needed in the first place.

"Oh but Frigga -" DELETED scene, doesn't count... BUT if it did then Frigga is willing to place a Frost Giant on etc etc even if it's only as a regent and she isn't worried about Odin reacting negatively to that decision when he gets out of his convenient coma.

What I'm getting at, of course, is that at least one part of 'Loki Odinson Reacts To Adoption News (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!)' was clearly bollocks, yet people still quote it as fact and as well as the rest of it which might also be - to use a clever literary term - bollocks.

edit: i used the same screencap again which is Bad but look the meme says the same as this post but in less words:

[jpitha]

The Long Way

This is an edit of an old one of mine.

"No" Cellmenian's voice rose in pitch. She was trying to hold back the rising tide of panic. "No." Her fur bristled and stood out straight, making her look fluffy. Without knowing why she did it, humans might call it cute. It was not.

The blast had only happened about an hour ago. They were en route from Sol to Parvati, a ferry flight of the Starjumper City of Troy, when three of the four reactors had oversped and exploded. If that wasn't bad enough, they were just about to engage their wormhole generator and link over when it happened. The explosion had caused an overload of power to flow to the wormhole generator, and they mis-linked. THe wormhole generator was sheared in half, with the other half somewhere else in space. Deep in interstellar space, Troy was able to triangulate their location from known pulsars, but that was a small comfort when they calculated how long it would take to cruise to where they could be rescued.

"I'm sorry Celle, It's the only way." Kat said, shrugging. "We're too far from the warp gates; we lost most of the reactors in the blast. Hibernation is the only way to get back. It won't take that long. Maybe a decade."

The humans had explored space for a long time before they found other sapients in the galaxy. Long enough to try out just about every different kind of way they could think of to shrink the distance between stars. Most other sapients think the humans insane for the different ways they made "canned mammal" and flung it into the abyss.

They assumed it was some human thing; a desire to leave their planet by any means necessary. They thought the humans were trying to escape. They were right, but not for the reason they thought. It wasn't escape the humans sought, but exploration. The need to see what was out there with their own eyes. The need to go somewhere new.

Among the more gossiping sapients were whispers that there were still human generation ships, soaring in the interstellar darkness between stars. Ships where whole cities of people grow up, live, love, and die just to be caretakers of their hibernating colonists. Being born, living, loving, creating the next generation, and dying not even knowing that their compatriots back home can now warp between stars in days and (for the truly in a hurry) punch holes in spacetime and link between planets with a wormhole. When asked, the human authorities get quiet and make noises that make it clear that this line of conversation is done.

Only the humans make wormholes, the other sapients shudder at the insanity of it, yet, will still use their systems when they need to be somewhere right away.

"Cellmenian?" It was City of Troy, the ship. "I do not have the printable mass to repair the wormhole generator, and even if I did, the reactor's destruction severely limited my power producing ability. I can thrust towards Parvati, but at this distance, it will be... a while before we get there. I am sorry."

"No!" Cellmenian was screaming now. "You can't consign me to spend however many years it takes for us to get to a place where we can be rescued when I...when I..." She broke down, sobbing. "When I have my family to get home to." She slid down to the deck, sitting rather than passing out, tears streaming from her large eyes. "This was supposed to be a one month trip!" She cried "One month!" Kat couldn't help but notice that the K'laxi cried just like humans did. She didn't mention it though, Celle was going through enough.

Kat sat down next to her friend and said nothing. After a while, she put her arm around the smaller sapient. "I'm sorry Celle." She whispered. "If I could wave a hand and fix it, I would."

They sat in silence together, the gravity of their situation pinning them to the floor.

"What about everyone else?" Celle asked.

"Unfortunately, many of them were caught in the blast." Troy said. "You, Kat, and a few others are all that is left. They are all preparing to enter hibernation as well."

"And you're just okay with this?" Celle's ears and tail were flicking in irritation. "Most of the crew is dead, and you're all being entirely too calm about it."

"Well, for one thing, we've had training." Kat said, gently. "We understand that even though we've been a spacefaring species for a long time, accidents still happen. Any trip we take could be our last, or could take so long that everyone we know is gone by the time we return." Kat sighed. "And for another thing, if we stop, we'll die too, Celle. We will mourn them when we're safe. For now though, we have to put it aside for our own survival."

"A beacon!" Celle stood suddenly, unsteady on her feet. "Why don't we link a beacon to Parvati for help?"

"Our supply of beacons was destroyed in the blast." Troy said. There was a touch of sadness in their voice. "I am making a note to recommend that emergency beacons be placed in other areas of the ship for future revisions."

"So that's it then." Celle said, sitting back down, her eyes welling with tears again. "I spend decades in a box, and when I awake, everyone I know is old or dead."

Kat said nothing, she just sat with Celle.

"Okay." Celle said, with a sniff. "If we're going to go into hibernation, I want to do it now. I want the shortest possible time conscious before I see my... family...again." as she blinked, more tears ran down her cheek.

"Well Troy?" Kat addressed the ship. "Are the hibernation berths printed?"

"Almost, Kat." the ship replied. "Luckily, I had some data from Contact about K'laxi needs in hibernation. You can both hibernate safely for the boost home. You'll climb into the cabinet, close the door, and before you realize what happened, the door will open, and you'll be at Parvati."

"Let's go then. No time like the present."

[corkinavoid]

Fiance to a Star News

I have given up on trying to force myself to keep working on it. But, hold on, it doesn't mean I'm abandoning it.

I'm looking for a beta/editor/co-author, I'm really not sure what to call it. Let me explain this a bit.

[Update: help found! Thank you!]

I've written that fic in its entirety almost six months ago, in my native language. Then, when I decided to post it, I ran it all through Google Translate. Which is great at translating things word for word in their literal meaning, but not great for sentence structure, idioms, and some minor grammar mishaps. So, since I've posted the first chapter, I've been tideously going through every sentence and either correcting or rewriting it while keeping the meaning.

I am now in the middle of chapter four, and I'm officially so done with it that I'm starting to think about just deleting it all. Which would be a great waste since I do still love that fic.

So I'm looking for someone to help me out here.

More explanations and stuff under the cut.

Let me first show you what I mean by helping me out:

Example of what the text is now:

Tim is silent for a while. The prospects are clearly not rosy, and he, to be honest, doesn’t really understand what to do next. Until now, all he had thought about was how to get out of here, so now that that possibility was gone, he just...

While it is understandable enough, it is not exactly good sentence-structure and grammar wise. Also, it's as plain as white bread.

Example of what the text should (to my best abilities) look like:

Tim pauses, taken aback. The situation does not look very promising, and, if he is being honest, he has no idea of what to do now. Until this moment, all he had thought about was how to get out of the woods. But now that it was not happening and the last chances of escape have all slipped through his fingers, he just...

You see what I mean?

It's extra confusing for myself since when I see the unedited text, my brain automatically reads it in another language and making myself switch manually is draining as fuck, and I'm at my limit.

There's also the issue of some names that translated wrong/did not translate properly/translated as a wrong word. For example, the head of the Academy would be called Headmaster in English, but it translated to Director, or the fact Google Translate keeps translating Sam's pronouns to he/him for some unknown reason, and many more little details.

So I desperately need help.

Perks: co-authoring, access to all the chapters, naturally, as well as all the random notes, pieces of lore that I have, but that have not made it into the fic, any question regarding the fic answered, random thoughts, permission to rewrite literally anything how you see fit (while keeping the general line of plot). Is it co-authoring or adoption at this point? I have no idea, really, but whatever you prefer.

If you're interested, just message me for any other details <3

P.S. Please understand that there are 10 (maybe 9.5) chapters to be edited. And also that I will be giving you a sort of test piece of text to try it out. If, at any point later, you decide it's not your cup of tea anymore, that's totally fine, I'll understand. I just really, really want to post this fic, but I don't want to throw the plain unedited version there.

Thanks in advance!

[angelosearch]

A quick little meditation I wrote on why it is so painful to update my resume. I may delete this later because I might turn it into a larger personal essay piece.

It is 10:35 am and I am sitting in front of my laptop’s brutally large screen, fixating on the thin line the blinks on the document in front of me.

The document is my résumé, circa December 2021.

That was two years. That was one hospital stay, three intensive outpatient programs, and a two month stay in residential care ago. That was two jobs ago. The person reflected in this document represents an ideal self that I no longer aspire to embody: A girl, reeling from the reckoning of her CPTSD, hanging on the vestiges of a career that constantly reminded her of her flaws and insignificance.

And in that torrent of criticism and mistreatment, she felt at home. Her jobs became her family. If she could just be enough, then they would see her, then they would understand that she shouldn’t have to push herself to the brink of mania to earn their love. But even when they did try to claim she was talented, she twisted the words into lies and duties. This was the bare minimum. This is what she had to do. She was not worthy of real admiration.

Yet, she constantly kept trying to outrun one family to try to find one that would treat her differently, somehow without altering the contract of her contact. This document is a map of that attempt of escape, littered with sparkling phrases like “proficient in project management” and “developed effective marketing strategy.” Do any of these phrases truly fit what she has done? Is anything she has ever accomplished impressive in any way?

“Has anyone ever believed in you in your entire life?” One boss once asked her.

The question from the democratic ex-mayoral candidate turned marketing director caused her to spin out.

If they have, I’ve never recognized it—for all words in a language that you do not speak sound like gibberish the first time you hear them.

This man made her feel as though he believed in her, and she said as much on one autumn morning in the lobby of a hotel in Phoenix, Arizona where they had just pulled off a successful presentation as exhibitors at a conference.

But she required too much patience and too much medical leave when her illness reached its peak. He fired her on the phone while a messy medication transition left her unable to move for several days. He did so subtly that she had no idea she had lost her job, her purpose, until human resources called and explained how to return her computer.

That’s the last entry on the résumé.

I am changing this document to capture a version of myself who belongs in an Art Therapy graduate program. It reads like an obituary for a woman who knew nothing of setting boundaries or connecting with her inner child.

If she is not dead, I’d like to kill her.

But how can I shape this disparate smattering of “wear a lot of hats” skills into something that resembles the creativity, compassion, and emotional intelligence required of an Art Therapist?

Résumé and resume are such similar words in the English language that the modern spelling of the former word has dropped it’s accents to be more easily written online. To resume is to pick up after a pause—but I have always been told negative space in your work history is unacceptable.

But despite that, I am resuming. This isn’t even my first period of resume.

It’s funny how those gaps on your résumé are seen as something negative. I’ve learned more, and more valuable, things in the times between my jobs than I ever did in them. I cannot explain it in bullet points or with stop and end dates, but I do have experience with creativity and compassion and emotional intelligence. I’ve sat on a couch instead of an office chair and I’ve grabbed tissues instead of leaflets. I talked a woman, frightened and in chronic pain, through her first few days of residential care. I’ve been told my capacity for vulnerability makes space for others.

Can I list the applause I got from my peers as I left the treatment center as professional recognition?

No. We all must come to our places of work as unbroken things who swear their lives to the job. We get paid to lie about not just being there to be paid. The only true passion you must clock in for is the passion to stay alive.

I hope that the world of Art Therapy is different, but upfront I must pretend that I have an acceptable amount of trauma and valuable work experiences.  It’s makeup over a scar on my neck that looks like a hickey—an undeniable part of me too easily misunderstood to be revealed at the offset.

The true contents of what may make me good at my job may never be revealed to my colleagues, peers, or clients, and certainly will not be quantified on this document.

And so I move sections around on my resume like puzzle pieces and hope it matches the picture on the box.

[blaithnne]

Local big sister experiences emotions, more at 6

Been wanting to do one of these with Lauren for AGES, but I never got round to it. Then I saw the Lydia and Phinium expression sheets on @littledigits’ website and I felt inspiration like never before.

The funniest struggle I have with Lauren’s design right now is that she nose too big for she got damn face. Literally, Hilda characters noses take up a fairly small portion of their faces, and her’s took up WAY too much, leaving little room for her to make facial expressions. But I struggled to find a fix because when I made the nose smaller it just didn’t look like Lauren anymore, so I took this as an opportunity to work on that!

She still has a larger nose than most characters, starting higher up (like her grandad!) and ending lower down (but not quite as low as before). I also made her eyes a little smaller and with a shape similar to Lydia’s (though you can see in some of these I hadn’t quite landed on that yet and her eyes are a bit too big), which works both as a nod to her parentage and because I think it makes the nose look bigger. This still doesn’t leave as much room for the mouth as most other characters, but that’s okay — Lauren is a very private person who keeps her feelings close to her chest, I think it works for her to have subtler expressions, adds to how guarded she is! Oh and I also updated the shape of her hair slightly, just to make it a bit more style accurate.

These changes are pretty small on their own, but I think combined they work well to make Lauren feel a lot more…alive? Far less stiff, anyway. I think she also has a more unique facial structure now, instead of just “what if Johanna was 90% nose”. She’s still got a big old nose and I love it but now she can emote, yay!

This is really all just concept stuff, I’m hoping to get a new fullbody style-ref for Lauren out soon! Now that I’ve improved the main issues I had with her face in the last ref, now it’s onto the silhouette! I want her to read as more of a strong character (though it comes across decently in her current ref, I wanna push it more without being as exaggerated as Ahlberg, which is. A challenge for me lol), streamline her silhouette, and finally make her taller than Johanna like she’s always meant to have been <3 I made her shorter for so long because I thought it would help her read better as her daughter but you know what? That’s dumb actually, she’s tall.

ANYWAYS, thank you for listening in on the annual Lauren redesign, and to the artists behind the show for posting so much amazing inspiring show stopping concept work for free because it makes my autism worse /pos

[introspectivememories]

NICO: WE SHARED THE LIFT THIS MORNING! I WAS GOING TO THE POOL TRAMPOLINE WITH MY TWO DAUGHTERS AND HE WAS GOING TO THE RACETRACK. PINKHAM: VERY DIFFERENT LIVES YOU'RE CURRENTLY LEADING.

[maybe-i-will-fandom]

Does anyone know how they recorded Ryan reynold's lines in the Deadpool movies? Like. He is wearing what seems like a real mask most of the time. Is it actually all just CGI, so they can mic him normally? Do they have him record all his lines later and do a voice over like they do for fight scene grunts? Do they actually have some fancy way to mic him while he's in the suit like that and it ends up sounding as crisp as it does? If it is the last one I NEED to know how they do that.

I've been trying to find interviews about how it works but to no success. Anyone know how?

[milkbreadtoast]

I binged this webtoon today and yesterday and it's rly good i like it sm... "your wings and mine"

I didnt know what to expect going in(i keep my hopes low tbh) but I kept getting impressed w the writing... it's rly funny but also surprisingly emotional, it has me laughing out loud 1 moment and then crying the next and then laughing my ass off again... there's a lot of silliness but the serious moments don't feel out of place or cheesy at all bc they did such a good job of building the charas up to that point... and the genuine and heartfelt exchanges btwn the charas are simple but surprisingly feel fresh? like the writer was lowkey galaxy braining writing these kcdnfj And they actually did such a good job w the slow burn romance, it's so sweet and cute and fun to watch grow... 😭 i'm caught up now and im sad i need more

[trainingdummyrabbit]

rrarauhh these have been in my sketchbook for Literally Months; iwas gonna clean em up but if i donot post them as is they willnot be posted so ^_^ woe. funy realization designs be upon ye.

ecstasy, mimicry, and moonlight angies respectively; ft. roland cameo on the right. because Two Of Them :]

[kagooleo]

halfway done with finals, so I colored some kris doodles + experimenting with colors too