#that wig is load bearing. probably

[afterthefeast]

the serendipity of. only the movie so less of my beautiful autistic lesbian. but. so much freedom for big finish. so charley

[littlewalken]

Aug 19

The ballerina Barbie did make it to her destination and I totally get the busy with real life and not being online thing. We thought there'd be a possibility that by now we'd be super busy but that's been pushed back to at least October, perhaps later with the hurricane.

Now, we should be okay. This last winter was pretty stormy and all we got was more ear wigs in the wall. Told you that was load bearing paint. Yeah yeah, next time we're in the 2021 situation again we'll try not to take the only place that would get us out of a hotel and storage units, fuck you.

Actually this is where living so close to the train and freeway comes in handy because the drainage around here is pretty good compared to the last place which was damn close to the mountains. Like 'yup, definitely a coyote' close.

Like my puptatoes could have been half coyote for all we knew until we saw their real daddy close. But Tater looked just like him and Finn had his wrinkle face, and Blarney and Guinness had his jowls.

We also have a generator for the fridge.

I think I'm done trying to make bread for a little while as I think over the science. I definitely made a bread Satan, if He is risen it's a bread Jesus, but it was edible. The one batch of yeast might not be the best or something. Glad I bought packets and not a jar.

Still it was nice to be able to use the kitchen to bread science finally. At the last house it was impossible and here it didn't cross my mind much until recently. It's one of those things that I'll probably get out of my system for awhile.

[death-rebirth-senshi]

Instantly. Instantly a huge fan of Jean.

[headspace-hotel]

Making this its own post because it really needs to be said:

Worldbuilding is not able to be freely mixed and matched with different plots and characters. YA books are often advertised like "A Cool Type of Story......In SPACE!" or "Some Neat Characters...in a Steampunk Alternate Version of 1809!" or "Basically The Hunger Games...with DRAGONS!" This type of pitch is not necessarily bad but over time its frequent use does create the impression that worldbuilding, character, and plot can be reshuffled and recombined in any way you want. That's not really how it works.

To explain what I mean by the above statement, try to imagine a story that's "The Lord of the Rings...but in the world of the Chronicles of Narnia." Do you see how it doesn't work? "Worldbuilding" and "setting" are not the same. The worldbuilding of LOTR is very deeply involved with the themes, characters, tone, plot, and even more abstract, Doylian things like "how the author's philosophy and beliefs affect his writing." If a story is set in space, but it could be set in a steampunk alternate version of 1809 in a pinch, the worldbuilding probably isn't very good, because apparently none of it is load-bearing.

I think this is a big reason why worldbuilding in YA books has gotten to be so fucking bad—books are blurbed and advertised as exotic re-shuffled combinations of character, plot and setting, which is good for selling books as products, but bad for, uhh...books.

A recent YA book pitch might be something like "A pair of lesbian pirates fight to survive...on a futuristic planet!" or "An art thief is hired to steal a priceless object...in a steampunk version of revolutionary-era France!"

This is good for creating books that SOUND interesting, but that's only because we, as readers, are used to the interplay between plot, character and setting...being actually explored.

In practice, any one of these books will consist of flat characters plunked into a formulaic plot in a world loosely decorated with "holo-screens," Futuristic Nutri-Meal blocks, and "transpo-cars," or fancy wigs, evening gowns, and dirigibles, whatever "aesthetic" the setting calls for.

Whether the characters are eating Dainties Served On a Platter By A Domestic Servant or Futuristic Nutri-Meal Blocks can be swapped out at your whim, just like whether they arm themselves with a sleek miniature photon holo-pistol or a derringer, or whether they ride in a coach drawn by four white horses or a transpo-pod, or whether they treat minor injuries with futuristic medi-gel or Monsieur Gigglewater's Most Excellent Ointment.

The unfortunate fact is, robust worldbuilding cannot be conjured from just vividness and detail, nor is it good based on its novelty alone.

A good book set on a futuristic planet is good in part because the story being told there could not be told the same in a steampunk version of France. There is something about this futuristic planet that makes this story inevitable, that raises the questions that lead us to this story. Fundamentally, good worldbuilding is about asking the questions that imply or require stories.

How is life different on an alien planet? How do people live and love differently? What would this be like? What would this mean?

How does a planet ruled by greedy corporate tech overlords lead to the story of a pirate? How does a pirate's story delve insightfully into the guts of this world in a way that anyone else's story wouldn't? What can a pirate show us about a world that an assassin, a wizard, or a priestess can't? Why is she a pirate? Why did this world make it necessary that she become one? What are the laws that designate her a pirate and punish her as one? What has driven her to place herself outside them? What is this society to which she is a perpetual outsider like? What does it mean to be an outsider here? What does it mean to break or obey the law? What is property? Who decides? Is she motivated by wealth or by independence or by something else? What has taught her how to value these things? What are the stakes, what does she risk? What does that imply about the systems that hold power in this world?

Just as you can't tell the story of LOTR in the world of Narnia without completely overhauling everything that story is, so it is with any story where the world is deeply related to the story being told and the ideas being explored.

A book about an assassin set in a sci-fi world of robots and androids should not be interchangeable with a book about an assassin set in a world of elitist wizard academia. The story of an assassin hired for killing androids with legal personhood is a fundamentally different story than that of an assassin hired to kill rich powerful wizards on the Wizard Board of Trustees at Wizard University. If you can interchange them, your worldbuilding is bad.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Back when Superdad was still technically a villain and he starting to hang out with Clark for their usual lunches.

Clark: So how did you end working as an evil scientist?

Superdad: First off, it's mad scientist. Second, it kind of started back when I was a kid. I was super smart, everyone started to take notice, including my parents. They constantly tried to take advantage of my genius.

Clark: So they had high expectations and exploited your gift. I'm sorry you had to go through that.

Superdad: Oh don't worry, they tried but I never made it easy. I was always doing my own thing and screwed their little meal ticket plan. Eventually they gave up and let me do what I wanted.

Clark: So what happened after that?

Superdad: I went to high school got into loads of trouble, legally I can't set foot on my first school's property without military supervision. Then I met my mentor, he was definitely everything I wanted in a mentor. I mean, the dude was legally an ocelot, so of course it was gonna be great.

Clark: An ocelot? I'll take your word for it.

Superdad: He taught everything I know about being a mad scientist. I even got to meet his nemesis, sat in his lab while he got beat up like a med-student watching a doctor.

Clark: So how did you end up working for Luthor?

Superdad: I got bored and needed the money so I decided to show an invention at a science expo to catch his attention. Now I'm selling some of my old ideas and patents to the company. Don't worry, it's nothing too dangerous, you can probably handle some soda can robots and a blimp in the shape of a duck. Although I do have to warn you about the furbies with lasers, I was going through an odd phase with that one.

Things Superdad has done as a villain:

Apprenticed to Dr. Doofenschmirtz (and an ocelot, apparently), created an army of sentient gummy bears, discovered the identity of multiple heroes, kidnapped Clark for semi-romantic dinners, created a ray that would turn most of the Kryptonite located on Earth into Kryptonium, an ionized form that still disrupts solar energy storage of Kryptonian cells but is no longer lethal, passive-aggressively left wig designs on Luthor's desk, among others.

[slater-later]

Clarence x Reader Flirt at the Bar

Audience: General

Warnings: None, flirting

Notes: At Y/N, insert your own name, pronouns, and preferred complimentary words. That way, Clarence uses what you like!

Read below the cuff!

For: @da3m0ns-exe

The two of you had met at an Irish pub a few blocks down the street. Dimly lit under the cheap green ‘chandeliers’, at least, they were trying to be, hanging over a narrow line of booths. A green shamrock sign buzzing in the corner window, listing O’ Conners next to the four leafed sign buzzing beside it.

It was a fine dump, gritty and warm and thick with cigarette smoke. A few old geezers sat at the bar, buzzing back large thick dark beers as they chatted in Greek. It was Detroit after all, and everyone was welcome. The D brought everyone together. And if you had a few bucks to spare, it would make your night worth while. The jukebox buzzed in the corner, firmly set from the 70’s and stacked high with classic 45’s. A quarter would get you two songs, and it would flip through the rest. Buzzing Marvin Gaye’s Through the Grape Vine through the open speakers. There were a few TV’s in the corner of the bar, one showing a Tigers baseball game and the other the racetrack. A chestnut filly bending over the corner and splitting from the pack. Her jockey lit a firecracker from out under her behind as he rode her to the front, cracking his crop as they crossed the finish line. Taking home 50k- something a brod in the corner was upset by. Throwing her hands up as she watched, swearing! Because she had bet the bar that #5 would win. California Folly, the chestnut mare, bit her for the win, and she slapped up her cash to the house. Her buddy chuckled to himself at her anger. The bartender greedily took her cash, smirking, as he slipped it into the cash register. He changed the chalk boards odds for the next race. A commercial flashed across the screen.

It was a bettin’ bar, and it was a Friday night. That meant, the race tracks were on. They even caught the signal from the tracks out West. Meaning people could get drunk and lose their money all night long. At least, far enough into the night to be firmly fucked by 10, and either pissed from losing their money or giddy because they made a decent buck. Either way, it meant the crowd pounded back drinks. The bar took home a load whether it was packed full or filled with crickets. 

Clarence was seated up at the bar, his army jacket slipped off and hanging on his chair. He slowly leafed through his comic, head buried deep in his book. He slowly drank, the rum and coke sitting at the edge of his lips, relaxed and quiet after a long day at work. 

He had closed up shop and came in for dinner, a burger and fries, and read the newest edition of Deadpool in his freetime. He actually had a small stack of them next to them. He had cashed his check and sorted the freshly delivered boxes before he locked up. Making a mental note to pay the old man in the morning- he would stuff the bills in the register tomorrow morning.

The new stuff sold fast, and that was exactly why he needed to make his pick before it hit the shelves. He had to be strategic! Take advantage of the perks of running the store!

You slid into the stool a few spots down, gesturing over to the bartender as he made his way over. He was built, wearing a plain black shirt that hung over his body. A gold chain that hung from his neck. He looked kind and quiet, gentle. He had worked there for several years.

“Whatcha’ having?”

  “Pabst,” You nodded, popping out your wallet.

“Pint or pitcher?”

“Pint.”

“Alright, but they’re $7 until 11.” He collected your cash and made his way up the bar, pouring your drink.

Clarence’s nose was in the comic, one hand holding the bridge of it while the other slowly set down the beer. Reaching out for a fry and mindlessly dabbing it into ketchup before it crawled to his mouth. Slowly inching closer. 

His long and shabby fry broke off, falling into his lap and getting on his jeans. You couldn’t help but to laugh. “You okay over there bud?” The bartender handed you your beer, curling in the glass as you took a sip. The foam made a fine mustache on your upper lip.

“Jesus!” He bit, pissed. He had just gotten to a good spot- he fucking didn’t want to stop! “I don’t know man.” He shook his head, nabbing a handful of napkins out of the dispenser and cleaning his lap. 

He finally looked up as you set down your glass. Catching the side of your face- “I ain’t pulin’ your chain, but ya got somethin’ on your face,” He grabbed another handful, passing it over. “A lil’ on here,'' He rubbed his upper lip, brushing his faint five o’ clock shadow.

You grabbed a napkin from him, quickly wiping it away before you got too embarrassed. Shit happens. “Thanks,” You muttered with a smile, softly laughing. Folding it afterwards and placing it under your glass. 

He nodded, reaching for his comic again. 

You were in a good mood and company always made it better. You had the urge to chat, he was attractive, after all. “So, whatcha readin’?”

He looked over, eyebrows raised. “It’s uh, Deadpool. Issue #7,” He put his thumb on the page and flopped it over to the front. Reaching out his arm to show you the cover. “It’ll hit the shelves tomorrow.”

“How’d you get your hands on that?”

“Oh,” He flashed a guilty smile. Caught. “I work at the comic book store down the street, this is next week's issue,” The cover showed Deadpool stepping forward, gun in hand, his red and black latex suite dressed with a heavy white jeweled overcoat and flashing plants. He was wearing the iconic Evil Presley suit, black wig and sunglasses and all. Finger-pointing at a very unpleasant Cable, probably cursing Wade for being alive. Or was it that he can’t die?

“It’s the new Deadpool and Cable issue. It’s a new series they’re doing, do you wanna look?” He offered it and you happily accepted. Taking your time as you flipped through the pages, reading the inside insert. The introduction.

He rattled on, “It’s not as good as some of his other series but then I saw the front cover. I wanted to grab it before we ran out. I’m a big Elvis fan,” He smiled softly. Watching you read.

“Oh?” You peered up, raising an eyebrow. A hook- Elvis wasn’t exactly your man, but it didn’t deter you. “Is he your favorite?”

He beamed as he sipped his glass, nodding as the glass left his lips, setting it down on the wet napkin. “Favorite? It doesn’t begin to describe how much I love that man,” He could rattle on for forever. Even blab again about how much he wanted to fuck Elvis. But, usually, that wasn’t the most widely loved small talk conversation? He was better off tabling that conversation for a later time. Unless he wanted to blow his chance when flirting with a hot person. A man needed to get lucky sometimes, alright? Sheesh, he didn’t think some bisexuality was a bad thing. Isn’t that, a, you know? A sexual fantasy for some folks?

He drilled a finger into the side of his temple, elbow up on the bar as he watched you. How your feet shifted in your sift as you curled up closer to him, leaning in, tenderly turning the page of a secretly, newly loved comic. Mashing up the two things that made him bounce up and down with pure excitement. He was delighted.

“I’m a huge fan, I’ve always been since I was a kid. My dad used to listen to him while I was growing up, and I’ve had the itch ever since. He changed rock n’ roll forever, for the better,” He would watch old tapes of his dancing and performing on stage, having become familiar and comforting to his body. It was something he could return to, regardless of how he felt, and know he felt comfort in.

That, and watching him dance up on stage was light lightening. A friend and a lover.

“What’s your favorite song?” You smirked, flipping a page. You were more interested in his eyes than the panel. Wondering if he had caught on. 

He slid from his seat to the one next to you, dragging his beer along with him. The bartender snapped up his long forgotten dinner. Wiping down the table. “Do you mind?” He gestured to the seat, checking in.

“No,” You shook your head smiling, your delight so easy to read. “Not at all,” You swore you could feel your heart skip a beat. Your body felt fresh, warmed by the flash of heat spreading through your cheeks. You hoped another drink of your beer would help, at least to calm the giddy building up inside of you.

You would cut yourself off at two beers. At the rate of your drinking, you’d been in the hole after three. Too drunk to drive and by the soft patter of the rain outside, you didn’t want to be stuck in the rain. Trying to wave down a cab as it poured, head buzzed and tired, ready to flop down in your bed and forced to make it back. Getting fucked up was fun, but getting home could be a challenge.

  The thought already sounded miserable. You’d much rather be here, with the jukebox, under the warm hum of the bear and its speakers. It switched over to You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine by Lou Rawls. 

“Good,” He smiled with a surprising amount of soft charm. Voice low as his pinky mused with his lip, eyes slow as they took in your body. 

He had to look away. 

FUCK! It wasn’t polite to do that shit, he was either going to get a drink thrown in his face again or something!

He kept his eyes up at the bar, tongue flashing across his teeth as he chuckled to his mind. He could be so fucking stupid! This Y/N was going to beat him. 

He fisted for his cigs in his flannel pocket, offering you one.

Okay, this guy was an idiot, but a cute one.

“Thanks,” You took a cig and slipped it between the side of your lips. Grabbing  your lighter in your coat pocket, prepared as a common smoker should. You lit both of your cigarettes.

“So, you didn’t answer my question,” You shot, releasing a draw downward. 

He snapped it out of his mouth, square in hand as he shook his head awake. “Shit, what was it again?” He laughed, he was losing his head around you. You sucked all the smarts out of his brain.

You elbowed him lightly, amused. “What’s your favorite Elvis song?”

He paused for a moment, getting his mind in gear. Quickly shuffling the different songs on his head- “Hound Dog, and then Blue Suede Shoes, and All Shook Up,” It was the fast, catchy beats of Elvis’s drawl that got him. The electricity that he exuded, that made him want to dance and grab the hand of a friend, a stranger, even an old person! 

It made him want to boogie to the music.

You snickered, he hit right on the money. Damn, this guy had taste. Of the few you knew well, those were it. “Where does Jailhouse Rock rank?”

“8th,” He said clear as day, pointent. It was clearly not his favorite, but a hot contender. He had, in fact, listened to every single god damn song Elvis had published. Including the Hawaiian soundtrack album, which was a partial wash. He thought Elvis was at best when he was shaking it for a crowd, not trying to play at movie making. Yet, it hadn’t stopped him from consuming them all. “I paused not because I didn’t have a top three, but because…” Shit, he got himself in a hole? Wasn’t he playing the ‘cool guy’ really well?

“Because?” You flicked into the ashtray, bringing your arm in for a draw. Raising your eyebrows at him as you drew, feeling the air.

“Because I was thinking about you,” He slipped both elbows on the bar, facing forward towards the line of liquor and head turned towards you. Smirk painted on his lips, shameless in his expression, “You’re very Y/N.” He smiled, eyes stilling on you as they peered into yours eyes, then passed down your shoulder. “And I don’t normally get to talk to a Y/N like you.” Usually, they either weren’t interested in talking about comics and Elvis. So, what was there to talk about? Stupid small talk they he didn’t know much about? It was much harder, trying to find a Y/N with similar interests.

Your face felt warm again. You finished off the rest of your drink. Quenching your fuzzy head with the sharp inhale of nicotine, trying to peel the flush off of your cheeks. You couldn’t hide it- his soft pink lips looked beautiful when they moved. Especially when they were saying such sweet words.

You slicked a hand across your face, hiding the bite of your red cheeks, “How about we get a booth in the corner? And you tell me a bit more about yourself?” It seemed like a good idea. And it would give you a moment, to collect yourself, before continuing your chat.

You raised a hand to the bartender. He turned and you held up two fingers. A pint for you each. 

“Hmph!” His spiky eyebrows peaked up, elated. “Sounds good to me!” He snickered, collecting his stack of comics and waiting for the drinks to come. You two stepped to the back to back of the bar, sliding in next to each other at the dark spot in the room. A place, where neither of you would be bothered. Holed up, until the bar closes, chatting about sweet nothing while you got to know each other. Maybe get, caught in the rain together, under his umbrella. Before turning in, to his apartment. 

It was, in fact, closer than your apartment.

[babbushka]

My Lady

Cameron Bissel x Reader 

2.5k ; NSFW lmao what even is this

You’re waiting by the sidelines, when the show is over. You’ve been watching him all evening, watching his performance. For whatever reason, they let him stay for the whole duration of the dinner, and you were grateful.

Grateful because that means you got to watch him move, got to watch him fight, got to watch those big arms of his flex as he wielded a sword that you knew had some weight to it, you knew. He looked so good, and it was bittersweet, because you had been sent to collect him, had been sent to bring him to the proverbial executioner.

He nearly collides into you, when the show is over. He’s impossibly tall and broad, and the wig he wears is slightly tangled just from all the activity. You’ve seen him without it of course, you’ve seen everyone out of costume before, and he’s just as sexy without it. But there’s something about the way his tunic is soaked through with sweat, about the way his chest heaves from the adrenaline of the performance, about the way he shakes the hair out of his face, that has you biting the inside of your cheek.

“Sir Cameron,” You say, still in character, everyone always having to remain in character, “Lord Steve wants to see you.”

You’ve got your hand braced on his chest to keep him from rushing away, and you can feel it through his tunic, how fast his heart is beating.

“Fuck, I’m probably going to be fired, huh?” He sighs, scratches the back of his neck.

He went too far, he knows he did. He was so caught up in his method acting class, so caught up in the thrill of being an actor, that he went too far. He’d have to go find Gregory and that other nice knight whose name he can’t remember, and apologize as soon as he was done packing up his bags.

“Yeah, probably.” You say sympathetically, your hand still on his chest. “You should follow me, I’ll take you to his office.” You nod your head in the direction of the hallway, and Cameron follows.

The dichotomy between seeing people in poorly designed medieval clothing, and the corporate environment never fails to amuse you, you think as the lavish medieval decoration fades away into white walled hallways with metal doors.

“You know,” You say, just to have something to say, to have some way to break the uncomfortable silence that had formed between the two of you, “I really enjoyed your performance tonight.”

“You did?” Cameron asks, surprised, his eyebrows raised.

“Mhm,” You smile over your shoulder at him, only able to keep your eyes on him for a moment, before your own thoughts derailed. “I thought you were a noble knight, avenging the death of your wife and son.”

Cameron slows to a stop, and in turn so do you, and you can see the gears turning in his head when he picks up what you’re putting down, when he realizes that you want to indulge him in his acting, in his fantasy that he’s made up to supplement the character in the show.

He didn’t mean to cause the whole thing to be a disaster, not really. He had just gotten so into it, had just wanted to make it better than it was. You knew that. You respected that.

“’Tis all I wanted, now they may rest peacefully.” Cameron says solemnly. No longer is he rage-filled, after having killed the King and Princess, now he is soft spoken, and looks at you with even softer eyes.

It’s just the two of you in the hallway, so you dare to take a step closer, you dare to let your fingers toy with the end of his braid, as you lick your lips entirely too suggestively.

“Has it been long?” You look up at him through your lashes, your hands bracing themselves on his chest as you press your body against his, “Since you’ve felt a woman’s touch, I mean.”

You’re worried for a minute that he’ll push you away, that you’ve crossed a line, over-stepped a boundary. But then he’s gripping your arm tightly with one of his bear-paws for hands, and he’s leading you around the corner and down a different hall, one that doesn’t lead anywhere near the regional manager’s office.

Instead, when he opens a door it’s to an empty supply closet, and you nearly squeal from excitement because yes, yes, he wants you too. He allows you to enter first, and when he follows behind you he closes the door, shutting out the light with it, and locks it from the inside to ensure no one disturbs you.

“My dear Lady.” He whispers, cupping your cheeks in both his hands, a gesture too tender for it being the last time you’ll see him, “You don’t mean…?”

“Brave Sir Knight, what would you say if I offered your last memory of this place to be filled with pleasure?” You cut right to the chase, figuring if this be the last time you spend with him, you want to spend it coming all over one another.

“I would say,” His breath comes in a shudder, “Get on your knees.”

You fall easily, wasting no time. You know people will be looking for him soon, they’ll come looking, so you have to make this quick. It’s not ideal, but you’re already on your knees and you’re already undoing the laces of his leather trousers.

“Oh shit.” You whisper when you pull out his cock, when it’s hard and already leaking at the tip, leaking just for you. You can’t see it, not in the dark of the closet, but you can feel it – and it feels huge.

“Sorry, I know it’s big I – ” He breaks character, suddenly shy, suddenly self-conscious. If you had more time you’d kiss him, but as it is, you only stroke the length of his dick, your mouth watering as your brain tries to figure out how the hell to do about doing this.

“Don’t apologize, I just don’t think I’ll be able to fit it all in my mouth.” You say, an apology in your own way. Even though it’s dark you can see the impression of him shaking his head, the beads that secure the end of his braids rattling where they clink together.

“That’s okay, (Y/N), it’s okay, do what you can, what you want.” He’s sweet, too sweet to you as he cards his fingers through your hair, and your chest warms at the evidence that he knows your name. You wonder if he’s been watching you just as long as you’ve been watching him.

Without any further hesitation, you guide the head of his cock to your tongue, lick up the salty pre-come that’s started to leak out of him. Almost immediately the hand in your hair tightens, almost immediately he takes a step forward, wanting to shove himself down your throat. It’s an involuntary movement of his hips, one that he apologizes for with a caress of your face from his free hand, and you smile, nuzzle your face into the palm, even as you lick a thick stripe up the shaft.

“Jesus,” He lets out low and long, curses as you swirl your tongue over the head of his cock, as you begin to suck on it, guiding him down down down your throat. “(Y/N), fuck.”

His dick is long, but the bigger issue is that it’s girthy, your fingertips barely meet when your hands wrap around him. You relax your throat and depress your tongue as flat as it’ll go, as you encourage his hips to sink his cock into the tight wet heat of your mouth.

“You’re so good, so good,” He groans, filling you with pride, “So beautiful.”

That comment makes you flush, because how does he know what you look like, there in the dark?

There’s not much space in the supply closet, but you don’t need much space, not when you’re trying to get as close to Cameron as possible. He helps, helps by fucking his cock into your throat, helps by thrusting his hips down into you, against your tongue, mindful of your teeth. He moans as he does it, has to bite down on the inside of his cheek, on the sleeve of his tunic, to not be so loud as he moans groans begs for you to suck his dick.

And you do, you hollow out your cheeks and suck hard, again and again until he’s panting, until he’s trembling all over, the character completely forgotten.

“You – You should stop, I’m going…oh fuck, I’m going to come.” He warns.

You only hum around him, you don’t let up the pace, not one bit. You pull him out of your throat so that the head of his cock rests on your tongue, and you accept the load he blows all over your face, swallow down the come that’s surprisingly sweet, surprisingly not so salty and bitter like you had expected.

“Get up here,” He whispers, somehow still strong enough to hoist you up onto your feet, knees protesting from kneeling for so long, “Let me take care of you.”

His hands are already roaming, already sliding around your body, hiking up the skirts of your own costume.

“You don’t have to.” You say, breathy, even though you do nothing to stop him, even though you encourage him.

“I want to, (Y/N),” He whispers, pausing to get close to you, to try and look at you in the dark. His nose bumps against yours, and suddenly his hands are back cupping your cheeks, and his breath is somehow minty on your lips. “I really want to. Can I kiss you?”

“Please, please do.” You surrender yourself to him, offering yourself up to him.

His lips are plush and soft when they meet yours, his shoulders are broad and strong when your arms wind around them. He sighs into your mouth like a parched man taking his first drink, drinks down your moans as one of his hands drifts away from your face and shoves into the waistband of your skirt, dips beneath your panties.

You’re so wet for him, have always been so wet for him. It’s almost embarrassing how badly you’ve wanted him, ever since you started working there only a few months ago. It would be embarrassing anyway, if it weren’t so clear that he wanted you back.

His fingers were much like your tongue in that they wasted little time sliding through your soaked folds, his blunt nails digging into your walls, fingers curled as he stroked your pussy from the inside out. His big thumb swirls little circles on your clit, and you almost fall backwards at the blinding pleasure of it all.

“Cameron!” You’re startled, your grip on his shoulders the only thing keeping you from crashing into the shelves of the supply closet.

“Tell me what you like.” He kisses you, kisses your cheek, fingers slowly pumping in and out of you.

“Faster, please.” You ask, needing to get off soon, needing to come, otherwise you’d demand him to fuck you with that big cock of his right then and there. He nods, kisses your cheek, licks at the corner of your mouth while his thumb speeds up, leaving you panting, “Yes just like that – yes.”

“Shh, shh, you have to be quiet,” He kisses you, so sweet that he’s concerned for you, “They’ll hear and then you’ll get in trouble too.”

“I don’t give a shit, I’m quitting.” You admit, huff out a laugh and a moan and a sigh and a gasp as his fingers shove themselves up further into you. “I hate it here – god your hands are huge.”

You can’t tell if he’s got two, or three, or his whole fucking fist up in your pussy, but you never want it to stop, never.

“Everything about me is big, I’m afraid.” He’s shy again, strangely shy for a man who was just angrily spitting on the floor an hour ago.

“I love it, I want it.” You moan, wishing that you were naked, wishing he could pinch at your tits, your stiff nipples, something, anything, “I wish you could fuck me.”

“When I fuck you,” Cameron says, and you clench hard around his hand at the promise of when, not if, “It’s going to be in the softest, biggest bed you’ve ever slept in. Nothing less is worthy to support your back while I blow it out.”

“C—Cameron!” You gasp, coming, coming coming coming on his hand, right as his fingers find your gspot and make the whole supply closet go bright white.

You’re both dizzy from the whole thing, when it’s over. It’s hot and humid in the closet, your hands slipping on the leather of his tunic, his hands slipping on the steamed-up walls. You’re both exhausted, both covered in sweat, but neither of you want to let the other go.

Your orgasm fades beautifully, into a slow pleasant ache between your legs. Your thighs are a mess of come, enough that it’ll probably chafe if you don’t wipe yourself down with something first – a thought which Cameron interrupts by tearing off a piece of paper-towel from a roll he happened to find on one of the shelves.

He wipes himself up and puts his cock away, and then you can feel his hands on your skin, gentle and careful to not hurt you.

“We really have to go to Steve’s office now, huh?” He asks quietly as he cleans you up with a fresh paper-towel that he rips from the roll.

He’s sad now. Before he had only been in love with you from afar, had only been obsessed with you in the privacy of his own head. Now though, now it was real, and you felt something for him too, and you’d probably never see one another again.

“Yeah.” You reply softly, before cupping his cheek in one of your hands, letting him nuzzle there just as you had done, two overly affectionate people finding themselves in the strangest of circumstances. “Promise me something?”

“Of course.” Cameron says right away, and even in the dark, you can see his eyes are bright with hope.

“Come find me after the show tomorrow, take me out to dinner.” You instruct, your arms tightening around his shoulders once again, your lips only millimeters away from his own. “Maybe to a movie, I don’t care. Just take me somewhere I can see you, somewhere I can kiss you out in the open.”

And he opens the door then, making sure you’re cleaned and dressed properly, because he wants to see the look on your face, wants to watch the moment he tells you, wants to witness the exact instant you begin to smile, when he holds you close and kisses you once more and says,

“Anything for my lady.”

[kinnoth]

AVENGERS INFINITY WAR MEGATHREAD

-really doubt i'm gonna be able to finish this movie so we'll just see where i get to

- we already know how i feel about loki and thor, we don't need to revisit this

- ok but if i were going to revisit this, i mean come on, who wants to talk about "hela draws her power from asgard, same as you" cos i wanna talk about that

like what if that's the reason thor, god of thunder, king to a civilisation of warriors, was unable to fend off like, 4 dudes and a big purple dinosaur? the royal family of asgard draws its power from asgard, and without it, they are weak, they are mortal. maybe that's why heimdall is unable to just, you know, bifrost everybody off the fucking ship the minute it comes under attack. maybe that's why loki can't fucking conjure up a swarm of fucking microscopic knives to fillet the invaders from the inside out. MAYBE THAT'S WHY LOKI TRIES TO KILL THANOS WITH A FUCKING DAGGER. BECAUSE TAKE AWAY HIS POWER, TAKE AWAY HIS GODHOOD, WHAT DOES HE HAVE LEFT OTHER THAN HIS WILE, HIS TRICKS AND HIS BROTHER

WHAT IF IN SAVING THE UNIVERSE AND DESTROYING ASGARD, THEY'VE LOST EVERYTHING INCLUDING WHAT MAKES THEM GODS

somebody talk about this

- etc etc what if the reason loki is unable to attack the purple dinosaur with magic is because when he tackled thor earlier, he used whatever magic he had left to spare in order to heal him

checks out cos thor goes from flat on his face to swinging his fists in the space of like 30 seconds and the only thing to happen to him in between is said bit about loki tackling him

- why does heimdall save hulk? i mean, i could understand it if he were trying to aim the bifrost at thor and somebody somehow knocked off his aim and he accidentally saves hulk, but like, we've established that heimdall's loyalty is to the royal seat of asgard upon whom sits thor's mighty ass. thor who, in this scene, has just been incapacitated by a metal eggshell(?) and is at the mercy of their assailants. given heimdall's priorities, it is baffling to the point of inconceivability that he would preferentially save fucking HULK over his own king.

- if this next scene isn't the guardians of the galaxy coming across thor clutching loki's dead fucking body floating through space then i don't know why any of us are even here

- "he sent loki! the attack on new york was thanos!" makes no sense? like, if loki's scepter had the mind stone in it, which we established it did in the last movie when we broke it open to retrieve vision, then.....why didn't thanos just....take the mind stone in the first place? cos rock collecting is and has always been his goal?

what, do you think that just because you assert a thing makes us forget all the shit that happened before?

- i.....am actually with tony stark. why don't they just destroy the stones they have so that thanos can't get to them? oh, you made a promise? well promises change and circumstances change! you tell him tony! you tell that stupid fucker --

oh my god i'm gonna be ill

- i think the only person whose ego can match tony stark's is probably a neurosurgeon so 👍 i guess

-i love how we immediately went back to the "so dark can't see shit" aesthetic after ragnorak because ensuring that one's audience can SEE what is HAPPENING IN YOUR MOVIE is apparently for radical directors like taika waititi

- cannot believe that tony stark staring at captain america's phone number is being played with the same emotional intensity as thor losing his soulmate entire people

- honestly how many times is the mcu gonna invoke 9/11 imagery til someone calls them out for being terrorists

- lmao i know i said this before but peter's spidey senses tingling AFTER the giant alien anus has already started sucking up new york and it is right outside his window is fucking hilarious. that's just called using your eyeballs peter

- "friday notify first responders about the giant alien anus sucking up new york" lol like the first thing somebody did when the alien anus showed up wasn't to fucking call 911 GREAT IDEA TONY

- still can't believe that they let failed neurosurgeon dr strange do more magic than god of tricks and sorcery loki lol

- i know i rag on dr strange a lot about the fact that he's a neurosurgeon it's just that he sucks.

as a neurosurgeon eyy.

- i hate that peter parker has to be here!!!!! leave him alone!!!!!

- tony stark should not be allowed within 100 feet of children or minorities

- it is very weird to me that steve "brooklyn" rogers has an area code from georgia

- since when was hela a half-sister? ODIN'S DAUGHTER AND THOR'S BLOODED SIBLINGS OR BUST YOU FUCKING COWARDS

- i am very disappointed that thor is going to go get another weapon after we spent the whole last movie talking about how he is not the god of hammers

- i just need thor to have much more PTSD than he has right now. fucking hulk has ptsd. maybe they're saving the ptsd for later. one can only hope.

- i am glad that they are letting him be cleverer though

- THEY ARE LETTING VISION DATE A TEENAGER WHY

GOD. FUCKING GROSS.

- wait when did vision turn into a white man again? did i miss that movie?

- i am disappointed that vision the computer techno robot apparently has a penis. like what a stupid limitation to give your computer techno robot, gender. 🙄

- i think that the mass destruction of infrastructure and architecture in the MCU is because of the pg13 no blood limitation that disney has set? like there's no way to show destruction to the body, so one may only show the exponential destruction to one's surroundings. like imagine how much more dramatic intensity you could wring out of a regular fight scene would be if people were allowed to bleed?

- cannot believe that a computer techno robot and a witch are having a punch up with the bad guys. of all people to fight with something not their fists, it's these two

- wanda has no enhanced strength or durability? she's a regular teenager who's a bit witchy. the first time she got thrown through a glass door should have shattered her vertebrae. again i don't understand why we insist that everybody must have the same powers and capabilities when it's clear they don't. think about how much more interesting it would be if some avengers were more fragile than others and had to be given accommodations as such

- IT IS INCONCEIVABLE TO ME THAT FUCKING BLACK WIDOW (regular human), CAPTAIN AMERICA (enhanced human), AND FALCON (regular human with wings) CAN DEFEAT THE CHILDREN OF THANOS WHEN THOR COULDN'T UNLESS THOR (god of fucking thunder carved of steel and stone) WAS NERFED

- still don't understand how we'll lend aliens afro features but not afro hair, like, seriously? you're gonna dream up green aliens with gills who look like black people but imagining them with black hair is a step too far?

- the gap of commentary in this liveblog is simply because i do not care at all for the galaxy defenders

- "earth just lost her best defender" who? who does captain america consider earth's best defender? it's not thor; he doesn't know thor's presumed dead. it's not tony; he doesn't know tony's on an alien anus. who else has died so far?

- love how exhausted bucky looks. have always loved how exhausted bucky looks. love bucky.

- i forgot that tony was with peter parker. god i hate that.

- "i'm peter btw"

"dr strange"

"oh you're using the made up names then. i'm spider man"

ok that was cute, but peter's cute, we knew that already

- i want to fling both strange and stark into space and i'm having a hard time deciding which one to push first

- "you went to bed hungry, scraping for scraps" oohhhh thanos is just anti-poor people, he would literally rather poor people be dead than struggle, i get it nowww

this is on brand for mcu

- oh my god thanos gets 2/6 stones by torturing siblings in front of other siblings, seriously? you couldn't come up with 6 different ways to find his stupid rocks you had to reuse one twice?

- which one of thor's friends was stabbed through the heart....? fandral??

- "if i don't get my vengeance what more could i lose" more like what else is there eh? what else is there for a king of no people but their vengeance?

- CANNOT BELIEVE THEY GAVE HIM BACK AN EYEBALL JESUS CHRIST IF YOU DIDN'T LIKE THOR RAGNORAK JUST SAY SO YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO FUCKING

VEHICLE FOR AUTHORITARIANISM, NOTHING IS ALLOWED TO CHANGE, FUCK YOUR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT I GOT MINE

FUCK

- i do enjoy that thor is now science fiction rather than fantasy, i don't think anybody knew what to do with fantasy cos fantasy is again, ultimately about conservatism and the status quo. so i do like that we're embracing the new and boundless for whatever that's worth.

- marvel is a cesspool of toxic masculinity. at no point are characters allowed to actually feel anything because weakness is uncool i guess and therefore unmanful. like thor lost ALL OF HIS PEOPLE. fucking ALL of them. he watched his brother die in order to save him. he is not allowed a single fucking response of mourning. i don't care if he's pushing it back because revenge or whatever, this is the sort of grief that rules you, which will bring all your load bearing structures down to heel, and they let him do nothing; he does not even rage. perfect control. smooth witticisms. why. why aren't we allowed to see his sadness?

- yo i can't believe red skull is a scifi villain now lol space nazis for real

- OH MY GOD THEY WASHED BUCKY'S WIG AND IT LOOKS SO BAD

- michael b jordan was right btw wakanda is complicit in africa's exploitation

- i do LIKE black panther i guess in the way you technically like that cousin you met once when you were like 9 and never saw again?

i like how we have here in wakanda the sears tower (chicago), the batman building (nashville), and the gherkin (london)

- ok but like, presumably not a death cult super technologically advanced wakandans who are deffo made of human flesh and human blood still arm their people with spears

i mean unless wakanda is also a death cult

why is this chicks entire fucking face cgi'd she looks like a fucking cut scene video game character

- oh ok they have LASER spears, ok

so then why did they give bucky a fucking gun

- what is bucky supposed to be able to contribute here exactly, like fucking, again, he's spycraft isn't he? he's a one man, dead of night, operation go loud and then immediately silent kinda operation. why do they have him on the front lines of a fucking lock-step formation battle??

- "it will be the noblest ending in history" WHAT, FIRST COUNTRY TO EVER BE OVERUN BY ALIEN JACKALS??

- stormbreaker is just leviathan axe, somebody's said this already right

- omfg i'm so glad they're finally acknowledging that thor is OP as fuck and does not belong amongst the fucking squabbles of earth

-"titan was like most planets, too many mouths to feed not enough to go around, so i proposed a plan, dispassionate to rich and poor alike" JUST SAY YOU HATE POOR PEOPLE MCU. YOU CANNOT HAVE RICH AND POOR, YOU CANNOT HAVE DISPARITY, YOU CANNOT HAVE SOME WITH TOO MUCH AND OTHERS WITH NOT ENOUGH AND CALL IT EXTINCTION. THAT IS NOT A QUESTION OF OVERTAXED RESOURCES THAT IS A QUESTION OF RESOURCE FUCKING MANAGEMENT. IT IS AN ARTIFICIAL CRISIS IF THERE EXISTS ENOUGH TO GO AROUND BUT SOME PEOPLE ARE JUST HOARDING IT THAT'S WHEN YOU KILL THOSE PEOPLE AND TAKE THEIR SHARE. KILLING HALF THE PEOPLE IS THE KIND OF FUCKING SOLUTION TO INEQUALITY THAT RICH PEOPLE COME UP WITH

GOD. ITS LIKE NONE OF YOU EVER READ

-you've got the big fucking boss in an ambush AND YOU ATTACK HIM WITH A MAGIC SWORD STEVEN STRANGE?????

THIS FRANCHISE HAS NO IDEA HOW TO UTILISE MAGIC USERS FUCKING HELL

- when will somebody please utilise ironman like the one man artillery he fucking is WHY IS HE FIGHTING WITH HIS STUPID FISTS HE IS LITERALLY ONE CONTINUOUS CARPET BOMB JUST USE HIM THAT WAY

cut of his arm CUT OFF HIS ARM YOU BLOODLESS SPINELESS USELESS FUCKING CUNTS . this is a manufactured crisis, KIND OF LIKE THE ONES THANOS LIKES I GUESS LOL

- dr strange could have very easily prevented or stopped quill from punching thanos but he didn't cos i guess even the movie forgets steven strange exists sometimes

- i like that the shield around wakanda has the same weakness as a poorly constructed chicken coop -- you always build into the ground a couple feet to stop the diggers man, come on, what is this, your first energy shield?

- oh disgusting, a girl boss moment. whatever you're all fascists.

- nobody adores martial might like fascists do fucking change my mind

- " avengers: not one person in this fucking cast is able to stomach ANY AMOUNT of personal sacrifice" more like

- "why did you give away the time stone?" "we are in the endgame" THAT'S NOT AN ANSWER THAT'S A FUCKING MOVIE TEASER FUCK YOU

- why didn't strange just trap thanos in a timeloop again? we've already established that is a perfectly acceptable way to deal with planetary annihilation. IS IT POSSIBLY BECAUSE NOBODY ON THIS WRITING STAFF KNOWS HOW TO DEAL WITH MAGIC

- THOR OP BLIZZARD PLS NERF

-CAPTAIN MARVEL SERIOUSLY THAT'S WHO YOU'RE GONNA SEND YOUR LAST PAGE TO JESUS FUCKING DISGUSTING

[notbang]

R/N - #11

halloween prompt meme | read on ao3

It takes him a second to recognise her beneath the wig, but he should have guessed, really. Who else would rent a costume that takes up approximately one third of the office space with its multiple layers of petticoats?

He waits until Paula peels away from her side in the direction of the bathroom, his nostrils flaring at the probably health-code-violating screen of dry ice he has to push through in order to reach where she’s leaning against a column, eyes glued to her period-anachronous phone.

“Figures you’d be involved in this productivity suck somehow,” he says as he sidles up to her, hands stuffed in his pockets in a way he likes to think exudes nonchalance.

Rebecca regards him, unimpressed, over the top of the screen. He’s not sure if it’s the light reflecting from her phone, or her makeup, or both, but she’s even paler than usual; glowing alabaster amongst the dimly lit cubicles.  

Her answering laugh is entirely mocking. “I see your invite failed to get lost in the mail. Kudos on the costume, though—rich white dude is about the most repulsive thing I can think of.”

He gives a pointed once-over to her dress—a complex concoction of white frills and lace—and feels his lips curl back in a smirk. “Almost as terrifying as the prospect of eternal matrimony,” he agrees. “Once again, my deepest condolences, by the way.”

Any chance she has at supplying some kind of rejoinder in retort is squashed by the approach of a waiter—exactly how much money had Darryl spent on this thing, anyway?—with a round mop of black hair that looks like it escaped from a disco in the mid 70s, brandishing a tray boasting an array of dips and elaborately carved carrot sticks.

Rebecca frowns, apparently already somehow acquainted with the server. “Marty?”

“Rebecca B! This is where you work? How about that! Sweet digs. Sweet digs indeed.” The disco flunkey’s eyes light up when they roam across to Nathaniel. “And aren’t you two a fright for sore eyes? A perfectly spooky bride and groom! Yeah, that gaudy ring really finishes the look. That’s gotta be from that pawn shop over on East Cameron—they sell the weirdest old junk there. Something borrowed, something boo, am I right?”

The blossoming red blush breaks out across Rebecca’s chest like bright, blotchy watercolour beneath her skin.

“It’s not—we’re not…” she begins, face scrunching. “This is not—he’s not even wearing a costume!”

Nathaniel, amused enough at her discomfort that his disdain for the entire scenario is secondary, catches the eye of the source of her distress over her shoulder, shaking his head minutely to confirm the absurdity of the assumption.

He can’t help himself, though—his palm finds the small of her back of its own accord. Rebecca’s eyes, if possible, bug even wider as he tugs her towards him. “It never feels like a costume when it’s as real as what we have, though, does it, Muffin?”

Marty lets out a low, appreciative whistle. “Right on—I hear you, buddy. Hope you two enjoy the… patê,” he adds, indicating the tray of dips before disappearing with a playful shimmy.

Barking out a polite laugh at the eye roll-inducing pun, Nathaniel shepherds a still spluttering Rebecca into the break room—currently empty, ostensibly in favour of the makeshift dance floor forming over by the elevator—before promptly dropping his hand away from her back as if badly burned.

“Muffin?!” she seethes as as she whirls to face him, giving him an incredulous shove before batting haphazardly at his chest with her tiny, ineffectual fists.

“It only seemed apropos,” he drawls, lazily, “given how many of them you eat.”

“You…” she growls, then shakes herself, her train of thought seemingly lost to her irritation. “Why are you even here? I thought you couldn’t be within a ten mile radius of candy without your teeth literally falling out.”

“Ha ha,” he says with exaggerated sarcasm. “As distasteful as this entire embarrassing excuse of party is, it is a company event. It’d be unseemly of me not to at least make an appearance.”

“Couldn’t resist ruining everyone’s fun, more like it. God, it’s like everything is some kind of masturbatory performance with you, isn’t it?”

Her ample bosom, amplified by the cut of her gown and in considerable clear and present danger of spilling over and out entirely, rises and falls with the uneven rhythm of her steadily mounting frustration.

Not that he’s looking, or anything. Just that it’s making some kind of point of filling up his field of vision.

“Please,” he sneers, looking down the ridge of his nose and being careful to focus on her splotchy face rather than directly below it as he gestures out towards the bullpen. “Are you telling me you didn’t choose that costume as some sort of dry run for your impending nuptials to the flip flop? I bet you’ve been parading around in that dress all evening, flashing that ring at anyone that so much as glances in your direction. Congratulations, by the way—purple is his colour. Really makes that pawn shop gemstone pop when it’s curled around your fiancé’s spandex covered bicep.”

“There was a slight miscommunication on which Phantom he was dressing up as, okay,” Rebecca snaps. “And I’m not bothered by it, because it’s a charming anecdote that I’m going to tell all the Jewish-Filipino babies we’re going to have every year on Halloween.”

He forces out a sardonic laugh. “Well, have fun with that. Remind me again—why is this a Halloween party?”

“It’s Halloween in September,” she says, incomprehensibly defensive, the no duh implicit in her voice. She crosses her arms, and it does nothing to coax her heaving cleavage back into its confines. “It’s like Christmas in July, except for Halloween. Darryl’s a big fan of mixing things up, unlike you—we get it, dude! You like burgundy ties!”

Just as a riposte is forming on the tip of his tongue, Jim—an eyesore in bright red pleather if one ever existed—barrels through the break room with a drunk and disorderly, vampire-fang-bearing Tim hot on his heels, forcing Nathaniel to sidestep abruptly out of their path. The issue with that is, he fails to notice until he hears the resulting sharp intake of breath, is that it has him pressing Rebecca into the corner of the bench in front of the tinsel-adorned coffee maker.

The smart thing to do would be to step away. The dangerous thing—the stupidest decision possible, really—would be to stand his ground. To loom and crowd her further.

God, it’s like the idiocy of this place is seeping into him via osmosis.

Rebecca gulps, untamed breasts brushing distractingly against his sternum, and casts a frenzied glance out into the party proper, making sure no one is watching them through the slats.

A little light headed but ultimately spurred on by her fluster, Nathaniel straightens his spine and dips his head, voice tipping low to tease. “It still makes sense, you know. The costume choice. After all, your life is basically a soap opera. And nobody can blame you for wanting to hide that—” He nods towards the photocopier, where Josh is otherwise occupied with his attempts to get a Jenga game going with several desks’ worth of highlighters. “—away behind a mask.”

“Yeah, well,” she sputters, “it’s lucky that he got the costume wrong. Because his left is actually his best angle. Yeah. So you’d be missing out, otherwise. And you’re, like, so incredibly wrong. I don’t want to hide his face. I love that face. It’s my favourite face.” He doesn’t miss the way her gaze flits down to his lips, and his tongue darts out to wet it on autopilot. “I wanna rub my face all over his face, all the time.”

He leans in further, and he can’t be imagining it—the way her breath falters, and her eyelids start to flutter as his breath fans out across her face with deliberation. “Uh-huh.”

Interesting, he thinks, filing away the visible pluck of the cords in her neck as she swallows, as if in slow motion, to revisit later.

As if compelled by some inexplicable urge and drunk off finally, finally feeling like he has the upper hand, he tilts minutely, mouth moving towards grazing the shell of her ear. “I know it’ll be tempting, when you’re lying in bed tonight, trying to get the image of your mediocre choice of a life partner squeezed into a morph suit the colour of Barney dinosaur out of your head. But do me a favour, Rebecca, hmm? Try not to—” He pauses dramatically for effect. “—think of me.”

He can tell by the way her eyes widen with surprise for a split second only to scrunch in confusion that she’s caught the reference. Finally, he thinks as his pulse thrums through him with intense satisfaction: a use for having to spend hours inside a stuffy theatre box with an aunt that always smelled too strongly of peppermint oil.

A moment later and Rebecca’s spring-loaded, shoving him aside to make her escape. Just before she melts back into the throng of partygoers, though, she turns, left hand curling around the edge of the wooden partition, ring glinting red beneath the disco lights; the only time all night she’s managed not making it look embarrassingly staged.

“In your dreams,” she tells him, deadly serious, then hikes up her voluminous skirts and stomps off in flurry of frilly white lace and bouncing black-brown synthetic curls.

[fromacatastrophe]

Fic Writer Meme

I was tagged by @slyjinks! Tagging @deacons-wig.

1. Name

J, or whatever handle I happen to be using on the platform we're talking on. It's more of a placeholder than a name, but ... eh. Persistence of identity is a bit of an issue for me and all the names I've ever tried have chafed like hell. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

2. Fandoms

For the past few years, it's been primarily Fallout. I was briefly and deeply into HLVRAI last year, but found the fan community to be toxic enough to eventually spoil my enjoyment of the series as well as my desire to create fan works for it. Otherwise... I keep coming back to Star Trek, Tron, MASH, and Knight Rider.

3. Most popular one-shot

N/A. I am incapable of coming up with a concise idea. One of these days I should try it as an exercise.

4. Most popular multi-chapter

By virtue of being my only published multi-chapter fic (at least, the only one still online...) -- The World They'd Have You Build.

5. Actual worst part of writing

Depicting things that the POV character doesn't actually notice or fully understand. I'm currently resenting my choice to go with first person narration on TWTHYB because Vera is unperceptive about some things that I would really like the reader to pay attention to. There's a way to thread that needle, but I'm struggling. Hence the delays and my recent whining.

6. How you choose your titles

With difficulty.

In the case of TWTHYB -- I pulled it directly from what I think is one of Deacon's more poignant lines in the game, one that I'll recycle into load-bearing conversation eventually. But I started off with a working title out of a song :P

7. Do you outline?

I started with an unholy bastard of a spreadsheet charting out everything I wanted to cover and when various things were going to pop up... but on actually writing, I found myself cutting certain scenes and subplots, adding in others, and moving bits around. One of these days I'm going to have to redo the outline before it's completely obsolete.

8. Ideas I probably won't get around to but wouldn't it be nice?

Yori, Lora, and what happened to them in the years between Tron and Tron Legacy. I don't believe for a minute that Lora didn't know what Flynn was doing with her laser in his mancave-lab, and I hate the idea of Yori simply being abandoned to time. The fix-it involves multiple forms of piracy! But it's a project just as big as my current one, and I'm a slow writer.

9. Callouts @ me

I don't think so? I doubt I attract enough attention for haters.

10. Best writing traits I won't know if it's effective foreshadowing until (if?) people yell at me for the payoff, but I'm trying to set the stage for some real fun realizations down the road. :)

11. Spicy Tangential Opinion I am aggressively disinterested in Kellogg and wish I could justify finding a way into the Institute without him and his stupid brain. Confronting him at Fort Hagen, reliving his memories, having him speak through Nick ... it's not a part of the story that landed with me, at all.

[chillyravenart]

You mentioned you might do a post on the outfits you hated the most? Not to pole the bear too much but I would love to hear your opinion! I love talking costumes on the show.

Ok I hope you’re ready, because I was largely very unimpressed with a lot of the outfits on the show- several of these are truly terrible, and several are just too repetitive and boring, make of that what you will. Whilst I’m glad we didn’t get typical medieval reenactment attire (and skimpy hose lmao) and I am appreciative of the unique twist they tried to give the clothing on GoT, a lot of it was very lacklustre and boring and should have stayed as curtains or sofa fabric.

A wise man once said, “Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab.” Unfortunately we got a LOT of drab.

 Again this is just my personal opinion, if anyone liked any of these outfits, I’m glad you could find some joy from all the misery. Its going to be a long post so I’ve added a ‘read more’ break, but I doubt it will work because Tumblr likes torturing us. Right, off we trot!

1. I have to mention this one first because I fucking hated it so much lmao. Basic, dull, blue on blue, awful heavy cape for the climate, plain boring sick of it haha I won’t linger, I have a lot to get through.

2. I’m going to bunch these all together because these dresses were all awful. When I was in Year 8 we had a Design & Textiles class and I remember sewing something equally misshapen and sack-like. long story short, it ended up in the bin. What the fuck was that neckline, lord it turned my stomach. (This ghastly neckline will make several reappearances, rest assured).

3. Same goes for Catelyn, her dresses were drab and dire (no pun intended) and the neckline made me want to kill myself. She just looked like a frumpy old school teacher, not the wife of the Warden of the North. ( I did like the fur detail on the sleeves of the first dress, however the main body of the dress itself is very dull)

4. Shit dresses seemed to be a trend for the Tully sisters, and my God, Lysa’s were no better. I expected better from the Arryn seamstresses. What is it with the heavy collars and same fucking drapey arms???

5. Really wasn’t a fan of Arya’s “on the run” outfit, it looked moldy and vile and I know she’s meant to be an impoverished urchin but I’d rather it was a plain tunic/jerkin combo that this rotten mess. And that fucking awful neckline again.

6. Ok so Margaery had some overall nice outfits, but what was this fucking catastrophe? Was Olenna Tyrell away from home the day they commissioned this tragedy? She looked like a lampshade- or as @naomimakesart put it a ‘soda-can’.

7. This deserved a separate post because after leaving the South to head up North, Sansa clearly couldn’t find a decent dress designer, and I don’t blame her. It’s the North remember? Her wedding dress was a cross between an anaemic peanut and a marshmallow, the neckline, the sleeves- vomitous! And her Winterfell dress was no better. The Boltons probably had shit tailors.

8. Look I know Jon was in the middle of a war but that’s no excuse to wear a ratty old surcoat nicked off a decaying corpse. No excuse. You are the Warden of the North Jonathan! 

9. Let’s do Dany again. I’ve said time and time again that if anyone deserved to be dressed in silken grandeur with embellishments and veils and jewels and intricate bodices, then it was Daenerys fucking Targaryen, but instead we got this plain, curtain-like shroud. Why is the material so heavy and thick AND UNADORNED???? Boring boring boring, yawn, next.

10. Did they seriously lack for creativity when it came to Dany? Why were all her outfits cut from the same cloth/template? Why did she have massive shoulder pads like an 80s businesswoman? Why did they dress her in the drab habit of a nun???? Why can I upholster my sofa in that same fucking fabric, are DFS in breach of copyright here????? So boring, so homogeneous, so fucking disappointing. Not to mention the pukesome hemline and dreary shade of charcoal- where was the pitch black and vivid scarlet combo I dreamt of???? Oh but it had red detailing- bitch where???? Can’t see a thing without a magnifying glass!

11. I’m not done, you all asked for this haha. It pains me to dredge up this memory, especially when I’ve spent every moment since season 7 aired trying to expunge it from my mind. What. In. The. Name. Of. Fuck. Was. This. Shit? I’m not even going to talk about the casting choices or the wig, I won’t, you can’t make me, but why in Aegon’s name was he wearing an old potato sack and she a Forever 21 2017 summer collection dress the colour of snot? Someone explain this to me right this minute. And what is that wrapped all around it? Did someone make that from papier-mâché??? HEINOUS.

12. The Sand Snakes. Oh the Sand Snakes. Poor girls. Done so so so dirty it makes a wartime latrine look sanitary. What the fuck were they wearing? Where were the elaborate outfits Oberyn’s daughters dressed in (bar Obara ok)???? What is this mess????

13. Erm so I know Euron was a bit of a joke but I didn’t expect him to dress like a washed-up Alice Cooper fanboy. Then again none of the Greyjoys had decent outfits and travelling all around the world surely didn’t improve Euron’s dress sense either. Next!

14. Now I know people loved Dany’s fur coat, however I was not one of those people. Fine, I was willing to endure it the first time, notwithstanding the fact that she was swamped in it yet again and it’s a good thing Em is adorable and gorgeous otherwise she would have looked like an albino hamster, but why in heaven’s name was the design recycled so often and so unvaried? Furry stripes and shoulder pads folks! Oh adding red to the stripes was a great touch was it? Groundbreaking! It all looks the same, in fact the striped leather coat looked like the fur one after it had been scalded and plucked. Yes I said what I said.

15. I don’t usually rant but lately, I’ve felt the need to get things off my chest. And so I have to add this monstrosity. The hair looks like someone coiled an old hemp rope and pinned it to her head, and the dress, good god the dress is so fucking ugly???? Easily the worst thing Cersei’s ever worn, good thing her gowns improved in the later seasons because holy shit this dress was as grim as the execution itself.

16. Last but not least, this leather coat was ugly and I hated it. So glad we never saw it again after season 1. I’ll add here that the men were all given the same jerkin/surcoat combo with pants and boots and it became very boring after a while. No variance, no style. The only ones with swag were Joff and Oberyn, and dare I say it even Littlefinger’s coats were better than the recycled swill we got with the others.

And that concludes this shitshow. I know we’ve been slating D&D’s writing and the shit plot and awful direction the show took but the costumes were always so underwhelming for me. I expected colour and variety and texture from a fantasy/pseudo-medieval setting, not my grandma’s curtains. And the black emo phase was just laughable, but clearly it reflected the deep sense of mourning and tragedy that befitted the end of this memorable show. Sigh. Thank you for bearing with me. I’ve left LOADS of outfits out FYI but you get the gist haha.

[prairiesongserial]

6.3

Friday couldn’t sleep, but she wasn’t about to give Val the satisfaction of being right. And even if she couldn’t sleep, she was at least going to lay down and get whatever rest she could. She lay in the makeshift tent, listening to Val shift this way or that on the other side of the tarp. He kept changing how he was holding the rifle.

Friday forced herself to keep her eyes closed, no matter how urgently her body was telling her to be vigilant. But she couldn’t close her ears to the ambient sounds of the woods. The snapping twigs, the soft pad of fox feet, the almost imperceptible breathing of all hidden creatures, from mice to muties. She searched every sound for malice - but for more than that. For that human voice that had come out of the dark.

She rolled over, groaning as exhaustion crept over her. It would have been nice if she could have let herself put her faith in Val. Maybe she would have gotten a little sleep tonight.

“I want to,” said Val’s voice, right next to her. Startling her awake. She had dozed off after all.

And then, a scream.

Friday’s heart pounded. Half awake, she couldn’t tell what was what - was Val screaming? But the scream was in the distance. Not Val screaming. Why was he talking to the muties? Why was he so stupid? Or was it a real person after all?

Head heavy with too little sleep, Friday started to get dressed, buttoning her shirt over her underthings. She pulled her pants back on, kicking her legs frustratedly when she couldn’t get them on fast enough.

Next to her, there was movement. Footsteps. Running.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

“Val?” she said, quietly. “Val.”

No answer.

Friday swore to herself in whispers as she buttoned her pants and yanked on her boots. She needed...what did she need? She strapped her knife to her waist and rummaged in the dark for the pistol. Where was it? Friday felt around inside the nearest pack until her hand collided with a trigger guard. Got it.

Friday threw herself out of the tent, realizing as she did that she had fallen asleep in her wig, now askew on her head. She rolled her eyes. Just one more thing to be annoyed about later.

“Val,” she hissed. No response. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, trying to see through the darkness.

Val was gone. She had to go look for him. He was walking right into a mutie trap. But, God damn it, where?

Friday spun, slowly, scanning the trees. Without a light, there was no way she was going to figure out which way Val had gone. And she wasn’t stupid enough to bring a light with her into a mutie nest. She breathed deeply, trying to think. Okay. She could make circles around the camp, getting wider and wider, whispering for Val. She would be able to keep her bearings every time she crossed the road.

Hand tightened around the pistol, Friday entered the woods.

The underbrush was thick with the kind of thorns that didn’t hurt, exactly, but pulled at Friday’s pant legs like pawing hands, slowing her down. She knew the resistance dragging at her legs was only thorns, but every snag conjured images of the mutie from before. Skulking close to the ground, using the brush for cover. It wasn’t much of a leap to imagine a hand reaching out for her ankle in the darkness.

Friday could hear the trap, up ahead, the crying mutie that had lured Val out.

“Please, help me,” the mutie sobbed distantly.

Friday swallowed, squeezing her eyes closed for a second before continuing on. She had barely taken three steps before she heard a gentle scratching, to her left. Inches away. She whipped her head around to trace the sound.

There was nothing there. It had probably been a squirrel scrambling up the nearest tree.

Friday’s grip tightened on her pistol. And then she froze. She ran both hands frantically up and down the length of the gun, a cold wave of panic slowly rolling over her.

“No, no, no,” she whispered to herself. She felt every groove twice - three times. But it wasn’t her pistol. It was the flare gun. It was loaded with one flare. Enough to take down one mutie, maybe.  But not before it drew every mutie in the woods to the flash of light.

Friday realized she hadn’t heard the crying mutie in a while. In fact, the woods were dead silent. All she could hear was her own uneven breathing.

Slowly, Friday turned her head.

Ten of them, scattered through the trees, stood stock still. So still Friday might not have noticed them right away if not for the way the moonlight reflected off their eyes. The muties had formed an arc around her, surrounding her. Waiting for her to move.

Friday’s head swam. She felt sluggish - just raising her hand to the knife on her waist was like fighting through molasses. Her body wasn’t doing what it was told, not nearly fast enough.

The muties were done waiting. They closed in.

Friday finally wrestled her knife out of its sheath as one mutie, seeing the gun in her left hand, grabbed her wrist and yanked it behind her.

Friday screamed and slashed at its face. It let go.

Friday ran. She ran right into another one, knocking both her and the mutie over into the underbrush. The brambles grabbed her arms, clawing at her. Friday was hyperventilating now, only breathing enough to scream on the exhale. She stabbed at the shape low to the ground beside her as she scrambled back to her feet.

Friday tore through the trees, hearing the pound of a dozen footfalls behind her. Or the pound of her heart. It all blended together. Branches cut her face, and she fought back sobs as she ran. She was tough. She was back alley, ravenous, cutpurse, guess-which-cup-the-coin-is-under tough. She had never been this afraid in her life.

A hand in the dark grabbed her by the wig, yanking her to a standstill. Friday screamed and twisted, slashing back at the air. She couldn’t get free. Her knife wasn’t connecting. She realized, suddenly, that it wasn’t a mutie that had her by the hair. A branch. She had gotten tangled.

Friday swore. She held the flare gun awkwardly in her mouth, unwilling to put away her knife for long enough to get free of her wig. She fought the bobby pins keeping her wig in place one-handed, trembling so bad she could barely get a grip on them. She kept checking behind her. They were close. They had been close before, but now she only had a second before they closed in. Less than a second.

Friday slipped free of her wig just as she felt breath on the back of her neck.

She wasn’t going to get away. She wasn’t going to make it. She had to use it.

Friday fired the flare gun into the chest of the mutie behind her, sending it staggering back. It howled as the flare smoldered against its skin, lighting the woods in a broad circle. The other muties were creeping along the periphery. Apparently when their prey was still, they preferred to surround it before closing in.

Friday turned to run, only to see the church looming out of the darkness, bright red in the flare light, blocking her way.

Friday sprinted the last few feet to the door and darted inside, slamming the door closed behind her. It was old, and half rotted. It wouldn’t hold them for long. Her eyes needed to readjust to the darkness after the brightness of the flare, but maybe there was something here she could use to barricade it.

She paused. No, she shouldn’t barricade it. She had set off the flare. If Val was still alive, somewhere in these woods, he was going to see that flare and know she was in trouble. And hopefully he would come to her.

Friday leaned back against the church door and listened to the chittering of the muties outside.

“Please,” said one mimicking voice, pretending to cry. “Help me.”

Maybe Friday was imagining things, but the voice, which used to be so generic, was sounding more and more like her. Almost like it was practicing. She tightened her grip on her knife and squeezed her eyes closed.

6.2 || 6.4

[mshelenahandbag]

2017 - Year of the Laura Dern

Laura Dern is having the best year of her career, or anyone else’s for that matter. 

I could just end this article here, but you know I have to tell you WHY. Laura Dern has, for me, been constantly impressive with her acting prowess from a young age. My first memory is seeing her as Dr. Ellie Sattler in Jurassic Park, and even back then, little didn’t-know-I-was-gay-yet me loved the cool female paleontologist. (Looking back she also had THE best lines (“we can discuss sexism in survival situations when I get back!”), most famous of them all being during Goldblum’s “Man creates dinosaurs” soliloquy – “Dinosaurs EAT man….woman inherits the Earth.”) She’s always played interesting characters, but, for me, has never really had her breakthrough with mainstream television and film.

Until this year where Laura Dern has excelled in four projects and netted her first Emmy victory!

Sure, she’s had her accolades with David Lynch’s Blue Velvet and Wild At Heart and her notable appearance as the woman Ellen DeGeneres came out to on Ellen. But never anything truly concrete to make a large cross-section of people go “wow.” She’s always, at least to me, been good for niche groups.  Her last Golden Globe win was for the HBO series Enlightened where she played self-destructive executive Amy Jellicoe, and she got an Oscar nomination for 2015’s Wild as Reese Witherspoon’s mother.

Wild director Jean-Marc Vallee is one of the main reasons we’re buzzing about Laura Dern’s 2017 renaissance. He definitely saw something in Dern, and her chemistry with Witherspoon, because the two would reunite and butt heads in HBO’s Big Little Lies – exhibit A in her best year. While everyone was obsessed with the performances Witherspoon, Nicole Kidman and Shailene Woodley gave as the main trio of Madeline, Celeste and Jane (as they rightly should because the series is just that flawless), my focus was on Laura Dern embodying Renata Klein, queen of the helicopter moms in Monterey.

Dern’s Renata had me shouting EMMY long before others jumped on the bandwagon. There’s a scene in the second episode where the birthday party for Amabella, Renata’s daughter, is derailed by Madeline - out for blood when Renata didn’t invite Ziggy, Jane’s son. So Madeline comes back and gets plenty of comped tickets for Disney on Ice so everyone cancels on the birthday party. Renata hits the ceiling, calmly, telling her friend Harper (who bears the unfortunate duty of informing Renata) “Ok. Thank you.”

Harper tries to mediate with “Let us all get along-”

But Renata comes back with the AMAZING over the top…well…this.

“I SAID THANK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!”

Whether ad-libbed on the spot or script, this moment of hilarity, for me, from Renata made her one of the best characters this year on any show. Showing perfectly poised Renata lose it time and time again, especially when threatening her husband (“I will take my hands and put them around your throat!”) or Madeline (“I’ll even get Snow White to sit on your husband’s face. Maybe Dumbo can take a squat on yours”) was a highlight week after week. The entire series was worth of every Emmy it garnered and survived a potential shutout from FX’s Feud: Bette and Joan but if anything, Laura Dern was the only one out of those nominated that truly deserved to win.

From here, Laura Dern turned from psycho mom to plain old psycho in Netflix’s Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt as Wendy Hebert – who’s set to marry Kimmy’s old pastor. It’s a brief guest starring role, but Dern adds so much in those 20 minutes and delivers a fully-formed character. Wendy starts off so innocent, but the more we spend time with her and Kimmy (Ellie Kemper), the more we realize how unstable she is. Plus she helps Kimmy to confront some real traumas the reverend has inflicted on her, and she also delivers one of my favorite lines in the three seasons of the show as she confides in Titus (Tituss Burgess): “If we only see each other one hour a week, he’ll never realize what a useless piece of crap I am and he’ll love me forever, and that’s what I deserve!” In short, Dern’s portrayal of a woman with absolutely zero self-worth is hysterical.

And from here, Laura Dern’s year hits its zenith with Twin Peaks as she plays long-heard-about-but-never-seen Diane: Agent Dale Cooper’s secretary to whom he has dictated all of his many tapes. Laura Dern’s work with David Lynch has always been fantastic: whether in Blue Velvet, Wild at Heart, Industrial Symphony No. 1, or Inland Empire – it’s clear that Lynch knows how to get the best results out of her craft. And that’s the reason why her work as Diane is probably a role we will be talking about for years to come.

We meet Diane Evans as a chain-smoking foul-mouthed goddess who was my favorite part of the mindfuck of this 18-part opus. I seriously loved every time Dern, in her platinum bob wig would take a drag off her cigarette and generally her conversations would consist of “Fuck you [insert name here].” She played so well off her director Lynch as FBI agent Gordon Cole and the late Miguel Ferrer as FBI agent Albert Rosenfeld. But one of my favorite moments came when newbie Tammy Preston (Chrysta Bell) tries to thank Diane for helping them, only to be met with this-

Diane: “What did you say your name was again?”

Tammy: “Tammy.”

Diane: “Fuck you, Tammy.”

I laughed way too hard at this, for way too long. Diane’s modus was basically this for a few episodes but about halfway through the series, her mood changed. We saw her visibly uncomfortable speaking with Mr. C, Cooper’s evil doppelganger BOB created. She revealed that Cooper (Mr. C) had come to see he years ago, but refused to elaborate. We later her she and Mr. C were in cahoots, via text. Was THAT why Diane was so crazy? Diane seemed to be cool when Gordon Cole offered her a slot on the infamous Blue Rose team – investigating supposed paranormal encounters.

“Let’s rock.” Diane said, her index and middle fingers down.

Here is where I said “Something’s up.” You could easily explain her wayward associations with Mr. C, but those two words were uttered by The Man From Another Place in the original series. It’s not just a nudge-wink happenstance, it’s a deliberate clue from Lynch that something is off with Diane. And that comes to fruition twice as the series comes to a close. In part 14, we learn that Dougie Jones’s fingerprints match Cooper’s, and Diane reveals that Janey-E, Dougie’s wife is Diane’s half-sister. No simple coincidence, again.

In part 16 when the actual Cooper emerges from a coma (long story….), Diane receives another text from Mr. C. She goes to meet with Cole, Albert and Tammy and finally reveals what happened the night Mr. C came to see her. He raped her – and it affected her. Dern’s face telling this story is so genuinely pained and she just nails this. Then Diane begins to act odd….really odd, even for this show. She convulses and says “I’m in the sheriff’s station. I’m in the sheriff’s station. I sent him those coordinates, because…I’m not me.” Diane eyes the gun in her purse, Albert’s on edge and Diane pulls hers out only to be shot by Albert and Tammy before being whisked away by some unseen force. Tammy remarks she’s seen a real tulpa (a manifestation) and we cut to the Red Room in the Black Lodge. Yep, Diane was “manufactured.” But what about her cryptic statement “I’m in the sheriff’s station”? Well as luck would have it, we wouldn’t have to wait long to find that out.

In the finale of the series, we learn that the eyeless Naido who helped Cooper out of the Lodge and who Andy rescued, was actually our Diane. A quick fight took care of Mr. C and once the genuine article Dale Cooper lays eyes on Naido, she becomes our Laura Dern again and they kiss.

Then it gets weird.

Cooper pulls a Back to the Future Part II seeing the events of Fire Walk With Me play out – only this time he stops Laura Palmer from being murdered. We cut to the Black Lodge and Cooper and Diane are both there. Then they’re driving on a highway for 430 miles, cross over an electrical grid and check into a motel to have sex.

This is Diane’s final scene of the series and I love how Dern hearkens back to what she told Cole and the FBI earlier about her rape. You still see the pain and confusion on Dern’s face, especially because we’re unsure if this is OUR Cooper, Mr. C or a hybrid of the two. It’s such a fitting end for her work on one of the best shows of 2017, and her exit opens a whole new mystery.

The next morning, Diane’s gone and a note from “Linda” to “Richard” is left for Cooper and leaves us wondering if in a world where Laura Palmer has been saved – has absolutely everything changed? Is Dale Cooper now Richard and is Diane Evans now Linda? (Way more to say on this for a Twin Peaks fan theory thesis later, especially with the role of Carrie Page.)

I didn’t even need to see Laura Dern in Star Wars Episode VIII-The Last Jedi in her role as Vice Admiral Amilyn Holdo to know it will be amazing. I knew that from the casting, from her stills with the late Carrie Fisher (something I’m eagerly looking forward to) and the gorgeous Annie Leibowitz photos in Vanity Fair revealing that gorgeous lilac hair. But upon seeing Rian Johnson’s masterpiece that has become the crown jewel for me and many other (but not all) STAR WARS fans, I got to see Dern cap her banner year off in the most fabulous and wonderful style.

When General Leia Organa is unconscious from a First Order attack on the Resistance, command falls to Holdo. Dern and Oscar Isaac’s Poe Dameron immediately clash, and it’s breathtaking to watch. Holdo wants to load unarmed transports to try and escape to nearby Crait – home of an abandoned Resistance base – and Poe so strongly disagrees with her that he mutinies and relieves her of command (only for himself to be relieved by General Organa stunning him). Holdo remains on ship while the remaining Resistance flee to Crait, and as the First Order begins firing on transport ships. Holdo decides to make a stand and engage the ship to lightspeed, directly at the First Order’s ships. Hyperspace jumps only work when a ship is totally free and clear to maneuver. So if a ship’s in the way, it’s not gonna be pretty.

And it isn’t. Rian Johnson shows the devastation in a soundless scene that cements Holdo’s beautiful and poignant sacrifice. Dern’s time in the Star Wars universe may have been brief but Holdo is a character anyone should be proud to look up to: willing to step up when it matters and sacrifice everything for the needs of the many (…Wait that’s Star Trek…)

Laura Dern’s 2017 is something that won’t be duplicated any time soon, and it’s a career testament to one of Hollywood’s best actresses finally getting the recognition she has beyond deserved.

[satanicredhood-blog]

A Contact Us To Control Malnourishment Of 'Paris Thin' Models

Lavish, vivid flowers, minimalist. Exactly what are the fads for springtime summer shoes on? In the mind of lots of the Teatro alla Scala (La Scala Opera House) is an additional cathedral. The taste as well as choices alter at a warp speed therefore does the most recent fashion. Currently each consumer will certainly have the ability to finish their browse through at Klif Residence of Fashion in a comfortable as well as uncomplicated means. Real style never ever goes out of fashion as well as Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses are ageless items. One day I plan to be a fashion designer-im 12 i love to attract when i obtain an awesome piece of clothing in my mind i NEED TO put it theoretically- Thhankz !! World-class style houses as well as experts bring in new lines each season with wide range of patterns, styles, patterns, colours and also styles. Given, many will certainly state that they comply with style in order to look good as well as really feel excellent concerning themselves. Nonetheless, what individuals do not recognize is that fashion impacts even the person that asserts that she or he has no rate of interest in style whatsoever. Individuals with high and desired condition like movie and also pop stars or appreciated musicians are in some cases unsuspecting innovators when it involves exactly what's considered fashionable clothing and even consuming habits. The democratization of couture disallowed it to maintain its elitist nature and also therefore haute couture was starting to approve that style had to do with emulation. Bear in mind, style accessories could be an effective way to enliven any collection, specifically one that might use an effective updating. The vast bulk of overweight women think they can never be stylish due fatness. Given that the designs come in either open hat or monofilament along with shoelaces and caps you can entirely appreciate a Fashion Swirl Wigs worth. The development of youth styles from subcultures into the fashion market is an actual network or framework of brand-new type of financial and business institutions. Below are some essential functions in the style globe where you can take part in - from design, manufacturing, marketing, to many more. A woman's authority is not to be marked down when it comes to influencing the trajectory of where style is, and where it will certainly end up. Fat women have to remember they don't should develop style to look stylish as well as terrific; its perspective that does this. An increasing number of style as well as luxury brand names are generating brand movies as well as corporate movies to reveal on their sites, at occasions, fashion programs and also exhibition. The terms fashionista and fashion sufferer describe a person who slavishly follows existing fashions. Staying ahead on tech trends in the fashion globe could assist you monopolize the experience for your future profession in fashion if you have a propensity for style. Simmel explains style as a procedure by which the culture settles itself by rehabilitating just what disrupts it. The existence of fashion calls for that some members of society need to be perceived as inferior or exceptional. Colleges also need to make some rigorous regulations to avoid utilizing fashionable accessories within the school properties. As it were previously talked about, products are created for many selections individuals today, irrespective old team or sexuality For children as well as young people, style jewelry things are stylish often include points like dynamic components, and also appeal lockets or probably appeal locket. Buying online for metropolitan garments and also streetwear fashion is additionally coming to be preferred because it is hassle-free. He was originally born in the Dominican Republic and also he has actually operated in haute couture throughout the globe. As we can see, fashion and innovation could grow with each other as well as can also aid one out one another. Right here are an additional 5 fashion books I would recommend; all which have terrific testimonials as well as are loaded with skilled recommendations and beautiful drawing motivation. That is why trendy canine clothes, devices, jewelries, and also other products are fairly high need these days. Style history reveals that the 1980s womens fashion look was a tailored look. These hubs affects the global style patterns and also adds to the manufacturing and selling of style products in huge quantity. Ebay is an enormous public auction house and also sell the greatest range of items Aurum optics so discovering that excellent handbag for the perfect cost need to be very easy. On top of that, in this much globalized world, ethnic background is no more the only factor that affect the trend in vogue as it was decades earlier.

[wimzagt]

Cheap Towing- Things To Know

Check the tyre load size and speed ratings on your vehicle and towing equipment at the nearest tyre shop. For your own tyres, review the tyre load ranking and see whether you're up for the towing assignment.Have a look at towing company near Orting to get more info on this.

The Tyres of the Trailer

It seems trailer tyres can last pretty much indefinitely on the face of it. They just fly a tiny fraction of the miles the towing vehicle makes, after all. But in fact, irrespective of mileage, most trailer tyres can be changed after four to five years. About why? Both ozone in the environment and UV radiation exposure (read sunlight) will possibly trigger a trailer tyre that looks good and still retains environment to instantly collapse at highway speeds, appearing innocent. Weak tyres or blowouts include about half of all road-service requests for towing or trailering issues.

Another reason for alarm is inflation. Any tyres will lose a pound of air every week or more. And an under-inflated tyre will lead to fishtailing and/or a rapid heat build-up leading to a blowout. Any one will place you in a world of hurt easily. A fast inflation review pre-trip will help you escape these frequent mishaps.

When selecting new tyres for your trailer, one factor to remember is that wider tyres spin more slowly and produce less heat. Similarly, smaller tyres spin more rapidly, producing more heat and increasing the probability of failure. But it makes sense to pick the larger wheel / tyre size that the trailer maker recommends, all else being equivalent. Bear in mind that even higher-end ST rating tyres (Special Trailering), which have stiffer sidewalls to assist with cornering, are only rating at 65 mph only.

Tires through the Tow Vehicle

To find out the towing potential of your car, it is vital that you check your owner's manual. Bear in mind that to accommodate the defined tow weight, the original system tyres that came with your vehicle are classified. Of instance, that is, if they're in good condition — strong form. Towing puts a tyre under all manner of extra pressures. Your tyres should have sufficient tread depth to work comfortably (insert a fifth-you're good if the tread hits George's wig) and no serious scrapes, ranking, cracking or dry rot.

Your reliable tyre supplier will help you locate replacements that match up to the original equipment tyres when your car needs new tyres. Bear in mind that there is no need to jump from "P" (passenger) tier to "LT" (light truck) for towing, for example, to a more violent tyre level. You're good as long as the new tyres offer the same standard and size as the initial vehicle tyres. Switching to another type of tyres can not only cost more, but can weaken the characteristics of riding and handling.

Consult with A Pro

Towing is an operation that is very difficult and good tyres play a significant role in being able to conduct it safely. The better option for most of us is to visit one of the reliable nearby tyre dealers, which will have right at his or her fingertips all the tyre replacement and tyre towing power estimates. The best substitute tyre (often several) may be suggested, and will fulfil the project and budget requirements. Towing is not the time for your tyres to be inexpensive, but it doesn't have to be a reason for overspending, either.

[fuckyeahbelleandrumpelstiltskin]

ABC’s Once Upon a Time this Friday night not only checked in on the status of Rumplestiltskin and Belle’s happy beginning back in Storybrooke, it proceeded to chronicle the couple’s epic journey from there — leading right up to their very happy (if bittersweet) ending.

As they readied to celebrate son Gideon’s first birthday, Rumple gifted his wife with a scrapbook, which he said they will fill with mementos from her overdue travels. As they dug into that adventure, Rumple sought to cede the Dark One’s dagger once and for all, but it refused to be rid of him. Belle later translated a fairy prophecy which said that once the Dark One has found true love and arrived at the site of “the sun’s brightest set,” a path to his freedom would present itself.

Once Rumple and Belle found that mountaintop location, they decided to spend the years-long sunset making a home for themselves. And in the end, we and Rumple realized that what Belle purposely omitted from her translation is that it was her own “sunset,” her dying of old age, that would mark the start of Rumple’s next journey. Cue a tear-jerking montage, narrated by Belle, of the couple’s roller coaster-like romance, one throughout which they made her way back to each other “more than once” — and now, Belle with her last breaths trusts, “you’ll find your way back to me again.”

Former series regular Emilie de Ravin, who plays Belle, effused about her encore episode in this TVLine feature, but she also gives “a huge shout out to Mick Garris, who directed it. Lovely, lovely man, and he did such a beautiful job.”

Robert Carlyle meanwhile shared a statement in which he said, “Throughout the years, [Once creators] Adam [Horowitz] and Eddy [Kitsis] have provided me with some truly outstanding scripts and ‘Beauty’ is most definitely up there with the best of them. The emotional range this script demanded was exceptional and to have had the opportunity to work alongside director Mick Garris on this piece was a real pleasure.

“Through six seasons I’ve been blessed to have had the chance to work alongside the brilliant Emilie de Ravin,” Carlyle continued, “and being reunited with Emilie once more on this beautiful episode was such a joy. The entire ‘Rumbelle’ journey has been one of the most intense in my entire career and sharing that journey with Emilie has been an absolute delight.”

Reflecting on Belle’s death scene, de Ravin flagged the “more than once” nod to the couple’s travails, saying, “I love that she still has cute quirky sense of humor right up until the end. Her sarcasm never dies.”

Because Disney-PIXAR’s Up, which in part influenced the episode, is “one of my favorite movies,” de Ravin says, “I was kind of dying reading that script and then watching it with the music.” And while she raved about the cliffside home Rumbelle built (“Put that in Big Bear for me and I’m there!”), she had to question the division of labor as she and Carlyle did their scenes for the whimsical montage.

“I’m carrying this really heavy wooden bucket, which they filled up with probably four gallons of water. I’m carrying it and it looked real, it looked heavy. My arms were kind of sore after doing it a few times, but anyway… Bobby’s putting fake rocks in a wheelbarrow!” she shares with a hearty laugh. “Why do I get the heavy-ass bucket filled to the brim — you can’t even bloody see on-camera, how much water is in it! — and he’s loading little polystyrene rocks!”

Asked if she hopes to age as well as Belle, de Ravin (who says the dark gray wig was her favorite of the bunch) remarked of her various stages of graying, “I kept thinking, ‘So is this how it’s going to look [when I’m older]?’ It’s going to be interesting to have these pictures when I’m that age.”

Yet no amount of levity can take away from the fact that Belle passed away, leaving Rumple to seek out a dagger-less destiny — a journey that will eventually, years later, deposit him back in our realm, where he has just been awakened from his cursed persona as Seattle police detective Weaver. TVLine invited de Ravin to offer a message to those who have been there throughout Belle’s six-season saga.

“This show wouldn’t exist without our amazing fan base,” she started. “It’s such a beautiful, cool, exciting thing to be able to connect with them — whether it’s through social media or doing conventions. To hear people’s stories of ‘I met my best friend…,’ ‘I met my boyfriend…,’ ‘My children and I watch the show…,’ ‘It helped me through this….’ There are so many beautiful things that we are blessed to be able to hear about. To make people feel, to let people escape for an hour… or if they need a release to cry or laugh, or just a moment to sit down with their family and enjoy watching something… is special and so lovely. I love you, guys!”