#what a MESS

[secretlovelygarden]

Someone from Hulu needs to tell these people to STFU. The more they talk, the more I’m convinced I won’t rewatch the show in the foreseeable future, not even the first 2 seasons. I have zero desire to support these people in any shape or form.

The interviews are just as messy as the writing. They really threw cohesion out the window, even in the communication with the audience.

Even some of their personal triggers and insecurities are coming to the surface.

The mess of the messaging convinces me this season was nothing more than a collection of things each one of them wanted to see onscreen and that were glued together as best they could. It was nothing more than a wishlist translated onscreen when it should have been a season crafted by expert writers looking to honor the source material.

[iztea]

awkward helicopter ride back home

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What a Mess 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn't all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You punch the code into the keypad. The instructions are in the app, under the corresponding address. It took you sometime to find the building, then a little longer to figure out how to work the elevator. As it stopped on the right floor, the grated door struck you with a glimmer of panic. 

Unlocked, you roll the door back to reveal the condo on the other side. Wow. It’s quite the place. Spacious. High ceilings, polished dark floors, tall counters. Well, everything is ‘big’ compared to you. The world is gargantuan in a way that makes you feel like a spec of dust. 

You set down your kit and roll in your vacuum. It’s a haul and a half and you felt a bit silly dragging it all up the front steps of the building. You always feel a bit ridiculous. Like you don’t belong. Even in a city so big that you’re invisible. 

You tap your earbud twice to turn the music up. You always keep one in to ward off the overstimulation of the New York chaos. It helps you through the hours of cleaning. 

You check the notes in the app. It’s a long list. The work isn’t new, just the place. They chose to give some of your old clients to newer cleaners and you took on the more particular ones. Zuli said it’s because you know how to get in and out without any hint that you were ever there. 

You start your cautious work. The client has included some very direct instructions. What you can and can’t touch. Alright, easy enough. You’re good with that. Details help. 

You get to the spiral staircase that leads up to loft bedroom. The instructions say to dust the railings and sweep the steps. It doesn’t really look like they need it but it can’t hurt. You’re paid to do the job. 

You start with the railings. Going top to bottom as you drag a microfibre cloth down the twisting ascent. You go back to the highest step with the broom, the task made awkward as the broom handle pokes through ceiling that would be the floor of the room above. It’s an interesting set up. 

As you bring the bristles across the metal step, a shadow shifts over you. The windows are tall enough to let the sky in. You ignore it until a voice startles you from above. “Got an extra cloth?” 

Your foot slips as a hand grabs the other end of the broom. You cling to the stick as another hand reaches to catch your arm. You squeak and look up at the man as he bends through the hatch door and keeps you from falling further. 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” you whittle out of your tight throat. 

“Careful,” he steadies you on the step until you get your balance. He lets go and steps back, standing above you as he looks down through the open hatch. “So, a cloth?” 

You tap your earbud to pause the music. You nod and give a wide blink. You turn and scurry down the spiral steps, dizzy by the bottom. You search your kit and take both the roll of paper towels and a microfibre cloth. You go back to him and offer both. 

You bat your lashes as you peer up at him. You know him. Well, you recognise him. The hair, the beard, the bright blue eyes. It's Bucky Barnes. What really gives him away are the metal fingers twiddling by his jeans. He bends to take the paper towel. 

“Thanks,” he rasps and walks away without another word. 

You don’t move for a moment. Then you set back to your work. You’re not there to ogle the famed super soldier. You have your list of tasks. You remember the underlined point on the list. Do not enter the loft.  

You make a slow descent down with the broom and gather the small cluster of dust in the pan. You dump it and begin on the lower floor. You get about halfway around the front room of the open-concept condo before the silence smacks you across the face. 

You hit play on your earbud. That’s better. You finish up with the sweep and start with the mop. You’re sure to use the gentle, unscented, all natural cleaner as specified in the app. You suppose a place this nice requires extra care. 

You bob as you clean, the rhythm of the music soothing your nerves. You can’t help by keep replaying your near disaster in your head. Imagine if you’d fallen down those stairs. That would have been painful and just as torturously humiliating. 

As you finish up, packing up your kit and tie up the trash bag to take out, you sense something behind you. You turn as you wait for the elevator to rise up and blanch at Bucky as he stands at the foot of the metal stairs. How hadn’t you heard him? 

He looks at you then around the apartment. You squirm, too tongue tied to speak. Better off that you don’t. Was that on the list? You can’t remember. 

“Looks good,” he says. 

His eyes meet yours and you flinch. His irises are a blue so bold and deep that they threaten to swallow you up like the sea. And the way he stands. His posture. He’s intimidating without trying. Or maybe you are a bit of a wuss. 

You press on your earbud, once more silencing the music. You wait for him to say something else. He doesn’t. He goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge.  

You hesitate and face the elevator again. Tension roils at your back as you hear the glass tingle followed by the hiss of a cap popping free. You push your shoulders up and lift your kit, hanging on tightly to the hose of the vacuum. 

He must deal with enough leers, he surely doesn’t need that from a cleaner. The elevator doors open and you step inside. You roll the vacuum into the corner and go to close the gate.  

Bucky appears at the threshold as he pulls it across himself. The whole time, his gaze doesn’t leave you. He hits the keypad on his side and the lock clicks before the outer doors roll across and block him from sight. You stay there, frozen, even as the elevator jolts into motion. 

Did you overstep? Miss a check on the list? You hope you didn’t mess this up already. You really hate starting all over again. You prefer to know what to expect than to have to keep guessing. 

[sol-rust]

leorio standing, leorio running... everything abandoned/unfinished

[gunsatthaphan]

"I don't want any more misery."

[midnottart]

FFVII • Vincent and Baby Sephiroth

[mistressemmedi]

Thinking today would be a normal start of the race week

[anoonzee]

So the infamous reviewbomber has made her X account public again and issued a non-apology, basically blaming all her racist bad choices on-- (checks notes)--mental illness and substance abuse.

And then the responses flood in.

The "aged like milk" tweets.

(REALLY????)

I went "OH DAMN" at this one:

Frankly, this post would go on for miles if I went and screencapped all the receipts and call-outs.

The weak-ass excuse of an apology can be found here. Interestingly, Cait disabled replies to it after she got rightfully roasted.

BUT---in case she deletes it (click to embiggen):

And my guess is, Del Rey (the publisher) may be trying to recoup lost money on this, because... (sigh)

Bethany said it better than I could.

[mgu-h]

Lando Review 50/? • Dec 2021 • Abu Dhabi GP

[toruandmidori]

[pickedmyp0ison]

i will always love community for not keeping britta as just the hot, quippy female love interest with little personality beyond that- my girl is an absolute trainwreck and it's amazing let women have the freedom to be sheer dumpster fires of human beings britta i love u

[undying-love]

Paul and John overexplaining their relationship:

Q: What about your relationship with John? Paul: I don't know really. Normally I would phone him or go out to Weybridge and visit him. I was that kind of person. But now I don't go out at all and I don't bother looking for it any more. I would rather be in bed than at the clubs. He hasn't called me and I haven't called him but it doesn't mean anything. We haven't had an argument. John is very busy at the moment. I don't like to be busy. I don't feel the need to. Neither of us really want to talk to each other at the moment. If we run into each other at Apple or we are making a record, I would see him but otherwise I really don't call him. That is the way it has always been. In fact, the truth of the matter is we just haven't called each other up lately. I don't really think about it. I will see him when I see him. And I love him just the same. (Rolling Stone, 1970)

-------------------

Q: Is there any animosity [between you and Paul]?

JOHN: Why should there be? I don’t have animosity for him. I don’t even think about him unless somebody brings him up. Or if some song comes out or something happens, you know, they’re in the newspaper. I don’t know why everyone doesn’t just leave him alone—I haven’t really seen him in ten years. I can talk about him forever because I know all about him, but you see, there’s nothing much to say. (Newsweek, 1980)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What a Mess 4

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn’t all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Bucky coughs. You hear him through the wall. Your earbuds are still in your pocket. The smell of coffee pervades the apartment. 

The door opens as you unload the dishwasher. He emerges with a cloud of steam from the shower, along with the smell of his soap. His hair is damp and messy, his beard shining with moisture as his eyelids slit. 

"Doll," he stops on the other side of the counter as you keep your attention on the dishes. You are aware that he was only a towel around his waist, that realisation making the plate clack loudly as you put it away. "Can ya close the curtains for me?" 

"Sure," you agree and leave the dishwasher open.  

He lumbers to the couch and sits. You glimpse him as you tug on the cords to draw the curtains. You quickly hide around the corner as you return to the kitchen. 

He groans as you try not to clink the porcelain too loudly. You feel bad for him. You can tell just by looking at him how much he hurts. You've always had a bleeding heart. 

You roll the rack back into the dishwasher and close the door. You grab your phone and chew your lip. He would probably prefer to be left alone. Still, you can't see how trying to help is bad. 

You approach him as the results load on your phone. You hover behind him as you scroll. His breath startles you as he heaves. 

"Need something?" He asks without looking back. 

"Erm," you wince and shuffle around the couch. You hold out your phone. He narrows his eyes at the screen and scowls. "For your head?" 

He watches the video and shrugs. The gesture catches your attention for a split second. His right arm is just as thick as the metal one, muscle taut and bulging. His chest looks softer under a mat of dark hair and his stomach overhangs the towel just a little. 

"Too much work," he grumbles and his eyebrows twitch with the effort it takes to speak. He touches his forehead and growls.  

You lower the phone, "sorry." 

"...unless," he drops his hand and looks at you, agony sewn into his expression. "You could..." he looks at your hands. "Doll?" 

You glance down at your hands, clutching your phone tighter. You watch the video of the 'scalp massage', fingers kneading into thick strands. You bring the screen closer.  

"I can try," you say at last. 

Your gaze meets his again and he nods. He bends forward and hangs his head. He grips the cushions as his hair falls over his face.  

You rewind the video and set the phone beside him so you can see it. You rub your palms together anxiously. You raise them and hesitate above his head. 

"Will you let me know if it hurts?" You ask. 

He laughs then groans. "Sure, doll." 

You touch his hair lightly then weave through his locks until you meet his scalp. You press your fingertips in and swirl them like the video. He grumbles again and you stop.  

"Keep going," he rasps. 

He leans into your touch. You firmly knead his head as you stare at his wet hair. A few strands of silver thread through the dark tangle. Another droning noise rises from him. 

His breath deepens enough for you to hear it. You move your hands around his head as he leans into you, more and more. You hope he feels better even as your anxiety peaks with his snarls. 

Is this okay? You probably shouldn't have done this. Even if he is in pain. You could be fired for unprofessional behaviour.  

As you curl your fingertips against his scalp, he moans. You yelp as suddenly he reaches to clamp down on your wrists. He stills you but doesn't shove you away. 

"I'm sorry," you squeak as he lifts his head. 

He keeps hold of you as he looks at you. His face is tense, jaw squared, eyes foggy, a vein coursing in his forehead. His grips tightens dangerously as you whimper. He looks... feral. 

"I'm sorry," you apologise again. 

He growls. Like an animal. He stands as his thumbs run up and down the insides of your wrists. You gape at him in horror. You're in trouble. 

You say sorry again and again and again as he walks you backwards. He turns you around the couch and continues around to the foot of the spiral staircase. You wriggle and whine as you as good as dangle from his grasp.  

He jars you suddenly, pulling you against him. He lets you go as you crash against his stomach. You shakily press your palms to him but can't get away. 

You look up at him, "Bucky," you quaver, "I'm sorry if I hurt you." 

"No," he breathes and grabs you by the waist, "I'm sorry if I hurt you." 

Before you can process his words, he hauls you up and over his shoulder. He turns to the stairs and hooks his arm around you to keep you steady. His other hand slides up the railing as climbs the steps. 

You squeak and lightly brush his back, "Bucky?" 

He doesn't stop. The ascent makes you even dizzier as you hang over his shoulder. You don't understand what's happening. What is he doing? 

He angles you through the hatch and up into the loft. That's against the rules too. You're not supposed to be up there. 

"Please, I'm sorry..." 

He carries you across the room and bends to put you down. He sits you on the foot of the bed and you quiver as he stands straight. His hands go to the front of the towel, slack around his hips. You peer up at him. 

"What did I do?" You eke out. 

He puffs through his nose and pulls the towel free. He bends and cradles your head. His nose touches yours and he snarls. He urges you back until you're flat and you tremble at his mercy. 

"Something," he growls. 

[tastywormfood]

Is that my circus?... And those? Yep those are my monkeys!

[gunsatthaphan]

"it's been 8 years."

[mysteryampharos]

the longer time goes by the more i wish the gamefreak leak didn't happen. What do you mean the leaker doxxed over 2600 employees but drew the line at releasing more info about future games

getting to see concept art and beta pokemon is great but if that and typhlosion being the victim of a really unfunny joke is the tradeoff id rather have nothing at all