#xposted from dw

[geneeste]

Interview request!

Hey y'all! It's been a minute. XD I'm working on podcast called Fandom Old, a fun, conversational podcast about fandom from the perspective of folks who’ve been here a while (or from folks who feel like old fannish souls). We’ll rant, trade wisdom, and reminisce about times gone by. It’ll also be at least a bit about capturing oral histories; I’m especially interested in uncovering and recording the fandom experiences of fans in any historically fannish spaces, especially ones I didn’t experience personally because of my age, identity, or chosen fandoms. Fans (and fandom) are endlessly interesting to me, and I’d like to capture and share the parts that might have been forgotten, overlooked, or ignored. Because I’m also a huge history nerd, there may occasionally be documentary-style episodes in which I and fellow hosts/guests take a deep dive on a particular event or topic in fandom history. I'm working on an episode that's one of those documentary-style ones, centering around LiveJournal's sale to SUP Media and its history since. If you're a former LiveJournal employee, I'd love to talk to you! For this episode, I’m especially interested in talking to folks who worked at LJ around the time it was licensed to SUP Media (~2006), when it was sold (~2007/8), and when LJ laid off it’s U.S. team (~2009). If you’re a blogger who was personally impacted by the sale to SUP, I’d love to talk to you as well, but only if you feel you can safely do so. I recognize that might be a tricky proposition right now, and your well-being is more important than a podcast. If you're interested in being interviewed, please let me know! You can comment here or DM me on Twitter or Tumblr (geneeste at both). Lastly, I’m not in any hurry! I’m a one-person team, so the podcast is coming together very slowly. It’ll be a while before the episode is ready to go, I’m just wanting to get the word out. Thanks y’all! comments x-posted to The Falcon's Pen | comment there

[theemperorsfeather]

While I haven't made any updates there in a long time, I haven't deleted my account, either, so I recently got a little "anniversary" email from Livejournal, marking 20 years there.

[titleleaf]

"Did you know I do that now? I kill men now. Men who hurt girls.""I'm not condoning that. I don't play video games," Uncle Patrick says. "Me neither. I'm going to go play cards with PJ now. Bye, Uncle Pat."PJ has his dad's eyes and his mom's deep-seated psychological damage and he should be thanking his lucky stars that it's not the other way around.

"Did you know I do that now? I kill men now. Men who hurt girls.""I'm not condoning that. I don't play video games," Uncle Patrick says, dredging up some disgust from deep below the layer of permanent narcotic calm he's braced with. There's something in his eyes, not lust, not hunger, but fathomless darkness with nothing at the bottom of it."Me neither. I'm going to go play cards with PJ now. Bye, Uncle Pat."PJ has his dad's eyes and his mom's deep-seated psychological damage and he should be thanking his lucky stars that it's not the other way around.

(”Their Smiles, Their Empty Hands” @ AO3) The saga of Patrick Jr. is a journey I have traveled with fellow AmPsych enthusiast and minor character devotee Cygnes/ @manzanas-amargas​  -- my interest in the character of Patrick Sr. stems to a large degree from the musical, where his family relationships are amusingly complicated, but PJ owes his existence to the American Psycho 2000 emails where his father has much to say about his appealing qualities. Literally anyone with Patrick Bateman for their father would be miserable, though, and Jean is only really a counterpoint to Patrick's worst qualities by comparison with him.Also from the 2000 emails, relevant to Hayley's base of operations:I do feel, however, that the boundaries of sexual behavior have been significantly expanded by the Internet in an inverse proportion to the anonymity that it provides. The joke, of course, is that Internet sex is not sex at all, only typing.I wanted to play with the everpresent potential that Patrick Bateman is full of shit -- and the thought of him ageing into wildly unlikeable fatherhood more out of touch with what the hip young psychopaths are doing these days was really funny to me. While his interior monologue is pretty harsh, it's also pretty confused, and Hayley doesn't see him as remotely threatening -- maybe they have some of the same component parts or cultural heritage regarding violence, but she doesn't have any reason to view him with respect or fear as fundamentally different in kind from other men who hurt women. Even if he doesn't like, chainsaw women, he's still a brutal misogynist, and Hayley has never had any reason to see that as glamorous.Hayley is a little shit, obviously, but she absolutely understands the game of telling people shocking things flatly, knowing they won't be quite sure what to do next. A bunch of stuff Hayley is up to in this fic is based on what I was doing in 2006-2009, which is wildly self-indulgent but who could possibly care?Also it's fun to write banal boring WASPy family scenes for awful people -- the material culture and pop culture of Hard Candy is every bit as dated to an era now as that of American Psycho without the purposeful element of pastiche, but doped up assholes playing cards is eternal.

(This meme is now xposted to my DW if anyone from Twitter wants a more longform response there!) 

[kawuli]

Top 5 Hunger Games head canons?

okay there’s 3 worldbuilding ones and 2 character ones and lol this got long

1. District 9: Grain

That’s L I T E R A L L Y all we know about it, and that much only from the movies iirc. which is a little confusing because District 11 is “agriculture” and so uh. grain production isn’t agriculture now? what?

So basically I decided D11 is HORTICULTURE: fruit and vegetables, tree crops, anything that takes a lot of hand labor. That seems to match with what we get in the books/movies, although I think the movies have cotton there? But whatever, when it comes to worldbuilding and logistics I ignore most of what the movies do, because they are terrible at worldbuilding. The books bother me less because they’re close-POV and not really TRYING to make a coherent world? But the movies try just enough to annoy me.

A N Y W A Y

The (very limited) fanon I’ve seen about D9 assumes everything is low-tech, some even have draft animals and plows.

But the way I figure, farmers are ornery independent pains in the ass for totalitarian governments, so you actually want as few of them as possible. My D9 history starts with having a bunch of scattered towns called Depots, and each Depot was responsible for cultivating a shit ton of land, with really high level mechanization.

And then during the Dark Days the Depots were like FUCK YOU and stopped shipping out grain and they could still feed themselves so seriously, fuck you.

At which point they re-organized, so the Depots have like one or two families who keep an eye on things and do mid-season operations like pesticide spraying or whatever, and then there’s ~8 person crews who travel up and down the District for planting and harvesting.

Nobody gets to see each other much during the growing season, and in the winter the crews stay in closely monitored barracks and are charged unreasonable amounts of money for food and lodging.

I sometimes describe it as an agrarian cyberpunk dystopia, because I like the sound of that.

(there’s fic of this that (unusually for my HGs fic) has no major trigger warnings)

2. The Map

I am a sucker for maps, so I made one that’s actually georeferenced and stuff. The blue line is North America with a 50m sea level rise. The red lines are railroad lines, based on existing rail lines, and the black dots are towns. The Lionsgate movie map is just wrong, okay, I will accept many other headcanons for map things, but theirs is just incorrect. This one is based roughly on current ecosystems and industries, if you want a really fucking long explanation I can provide one.

3. District 6: Transportation

This is another one that just…the book and movie descriptions of what industries happen where just…no, that doesn’t work, sorry. So in my D6 they build and maintain trains and hovercraft, and the train crews work out of D6. There’s also automotive factories, and general steel manufacturing (so for structural steel, plumbing fixtures, what have you). There are iron mines up in what’s now the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and coal comes in from D12 to big smelters.

Because I started writing D6 fic while I was in Mali, and because Detroit area has a huge Muslim population, I decided there’s still some Islamic influences, plus West African ones because I can.

There’s lots of D6 fic on my AO3 too but for one, it’s A Lot, and for another it’s kind of Here Be Dragons but this is a good place to start (my OC Rokia from D6′s Games) and it’s... probably not any worse than the books?

(See also this entire tag for worldbuilding stuff: LJ for comments / DW xposts )

4. I have A Lot of Johanna Mason Feelings, but most of my headcanons for her are SUPER DEPRESSING especially in canon...

In the canon divergence reality I prefer to live in where not all the Victors are killed, she reluctantly moves to D4 because Finnick kept bugging her until she agreed (as she’d say... she actually likes the idea but “I’m going to D4 because I want to” is not really something she can deal with so she’ll blame him).

It’s Bad for a good long while but eventually she makes actual friends, and I have some very self-indulgent almost-fluff somewhere where she meets a guy who doesn’t know she’s a Victor (at first, she tells him later and he’s like “oh, okay”) and they have a relationship punctuated by Johanna’s completely panicking over the idea of actually caring about/relying on/trusting??????? someone??????????? but they work it out eventually.

5. Finnick is kind of an asshole and that’s why I like him. Also, he and Annie have sex extremely rarely and that’s fine with both of them. Annie and Mags are his People, he’s really not at all sure why they like him/put up with him, but they do? (Annie is like “you dumbass, of course I like you, you bring me cookies and give excellent hugs and put up with my shit, now SIT DOWN, you’ve been running around nonstop for like a week”) So of course when he (thinks he’s) lost both of them forever he shuts down, what the hell is he supposed to do?

Also canon can suck it, he and Annie and their munchkin have a little house on the beach and he is absolutely in awe that this is his life now. Even if some weeks he and Annie are just functional enough to keep the kid fed and clothed and occupied, with some help from their families... it’s still a miracle

[cacchieressa]

Last night, instead of writing, I spent a good portion of my evening tracking down two of my very favorite Regency romances, including what I think is the first one I ever read: A Convenient Bride by Betty Henrichs, which I only found because I remembered that distinctive green band across the top of the cover, since I couldn't remember the author's name (she doesn't seem to have written a whole lot else that I'd have read) and kept trying to google "a marriage of convenience" and "a convenient marriage" both of which bring up way too many books that weren't what I was looking for. However, once I found The Spinster and the Rake by Anne Stuart (available now on kindle from a different publisher or possibly self-published?), I was on the right track, because it was from the same series/publisher, and then it was just a matter of finding a list of all the Candlelight Regencies and recognizing the cover/blurb. *g* So I ordered a used paperback copy for $3.50 since that one is not available as an ebook, and hopefully the suck fairy hasn't visited either too much. I know that I tended to shy away from the more rapey types of romances - probably Vidal in Devil's Cub is the worst hero in my favorites, but it's been a while so we'll see, I guess. So I was telling @thatgirlnevershutsup about this and she was saying that she'd read a lot of contemporary romance but not much in the way of Regencies, and I was like, Regencies are almost the only type of (published) romance I read! And she asked me for recs, and I typed this up this morning off the top of my head, so I figured I'd share it here as well. Obligatory disclaimer: these are obviously books I've read and enjoyed, though some not for years so they could be terrible/rapey etc. and I just don't remember it. Georgette Heyer: Heyer is the progenitor of the genre as we know it today, so I definitely recommend checking her out to see how we got to where we are today (I mean, obviously Jane Austen is a huge influence, but she was more concerned about satirizing the society she lived in, rather than the madcap romance/happily ever after business that is genre romance). Some of her books are hilarious in addition to being romantic. There's no sex here (and sometimes even the romance is hard to detect) but they are all enjoyable, with some caveats about classism, sexism, and antisemitism. These Old Shades Devil's Cub – this is my very favorite, even though its hero (and its classism) has not aged well at all The Grand Sophy – this is also great but beware the antisemitism The Talisman Ring Cotillion Black Sheep Carla Kelly: Kelly's books are less concerned with fantasies about dukes and more concerned with damaged people falling in love and learning to be there for each other Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand – this one is my favorite of hers, but all the ones I've listed here are great reads imo Miss Grimsley's Oxford Career Miss Billings Treads the Boards Marian's Christmas Wish With This Ring Mrs. McVinnie's London Season The Wedding Journey Miss Whittier Makes a List One Good Turn Anita Mills: Scandal Bound – another all-time favorite – as with Devil's Cub, we have a runaway road trip that doesn't go quite the way either the hero or the heroine planned. Jo Beverly: Jo Beverly has written a metric fuckton of romance novels, and I've read and loved a lot of them, but these are the two that came to mind when I thought of her name, though I haven't read either in forever... Deidre & Don Juan Emily & the Dark Angel Mary Balogh: Again, you can't swing a cat in a bookstore without hitting a Mary Balogh romance, and some work more than others – these are just the most recent of hers that I've read and enjoyed. She can be very melodramatic and hit-or-miss for me, but a lot of people love her books. This series is more modern than traditional regency, iirc: The Bedwyns series Tessa Dare: These are more modern regencies – the sex is on the page and often premarital – and while some of the books work for me more than others, I've been enjoying both series a lot. Spindle Cove series Castles Ever After series Julia Quinn: Again, more modern, more sex, this series marries off a whole family of siblings, one book at a time. The Bridgertons series and its spinoff series, The Smythe-Smith quartet (I've only read the first two so far, but they've been fun) Loretta Chase: Chase has also written a ton of romances, so this is just scratching the surface, but I enjoyed both series a lot. The Dressmakers series The Carsington Brothers series I thought that was a good list to start with. Feel free to add your own recs!

(xpost from dw)

[deathtouch]

💛 femfeb day 28 | my femfeb masterpost 🧡 xposted → ao3 | dw | pf.io 💖 Emily/Tracer | 1.5k | Gen 🧡 Alternate Universe, Modern Setting, Photographer AU, Photography, Basketball, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, Flirting 💛 Amélie and Lena notice someone taking pictures of them while they play basketball in the park.

"There's a woman watching us," Amélie said, with her hands braced meaningfully on her hips. Lena dribbled the ball a little. It was old and made a sharp sounds as she bounced it against the concrete. She glanced around, expecting it to be obvious. She didn't see anyone outright staring at them, but that didn't mean Amélie was wrong. In fact, she was usually right about most things. Lena circled around her, still dribbling the basketball. "Where?" "Coffee shop." Amélie checked her, trying to get control of the ball. Lena kept her at an arm’s length, playing defense. Sure enough, through the weaving of the metal fence Lena spotted the coffee shop and there indeed was a stranger sitting out front watching them over the plastic lid of her coffee cup. People watching wasn't the weirdest thing. Lena and Amélie were in a public park, playing a very rowdy game of basketball after all. It was weird that she was sitting outside considering how cold it was though. Lena was working up a sweat playing, but she was still chilly. Whoever this watchful stranger was had to be cold underneath her scarf and coat. Why not sit inside and gawk like the rest customers at the coffee shop did? Distracted by the stranger, Amélie got ahold of the ball and chased it down to the other end to score a shot. Lena darted frantically after her to block. It was mid-February, and freezing, and no one wanted to be out in this weather which meant Lena and Amélie had free range to roam the court and use both hoops. It was a better work out for the both of them this way. Amélie made the basket and the metal chains that made up the net jangled loudly in the cold. Lena bent over, bracing her hands on her knees for a second. Her breath turned the air in front of her face white. She didn't stand still for long, just enough to catch her breath. To keep the cold from getting to her she ran after the ball. "I think she saw me," Lena said, keeping her voice low. "The lady looking at us? I think she saw me looking at her." When Lena looked back over Amélie's shoulder the stranger was up from the bench, heaving a leather bag over her shoulder. Her coffee cup was in one hand and she was waiting to cross the street, making like she was going to come closer. "Yup." Lena dodged Amélie's advances, trying to get around her to make it back to the other basketball hoop. "She's definitely walking over here." They got another good minute or so of play in before their mystery admirer entered through the opening in the chain link fence. She walked right onto the court like she wasn't interrupting their game in the slightest. Lena and Amélie made eyes at each other and resolved to just keep on playing, and they would have, but then the woman called out to them. "Excuse me!" Amélie sighed loud enough for the woman to hear. Lena snatched the ball to stop it bouncing, tucking it under her arm. They both turned and gave the stranger appraising looks "Excuse me, I'm sorry. I'm Emily. I'm a photographer. Would you..." She shifted the strap on her shoulder, showing off her leather bag. "...would you mind if I took a few pictures of you while playing?" Oh. Well that was only slightly weird. Lena shrugged and looked at Amélie who shrugged back. She realized then how ridiculous the two of them had to look. Lena was drawn up in gym shorts, a t-shirt with the sleeves hacked off, and her favorite pair of bright orange sneakers. Amélie was covered head to toe in black, Underarmor hugging tight to her body. They were definitely opposites here, and it was obvious. Lena wondered briefly if that made for good pictures, but then she realized she didn't really know about that kind of stuff. "Sure," Lena told Emily. "Whatever you want." Emily smiled then, and she had a really dorky sort of smile. Lena thought it was kind of cute for a split second before pushing that thought right out of her head. "Thank you!" Emily said, pulling around her bag. She lifted up the flap and took out... some part of a camera or something. She started walking backwards, digging more pieces out. "I'll stay out of your way! Just pretend I'm not here." So, they did. Lena saw out of the corner of her eye that Emily had set her coffee down and put together a camera out of parts. It had a strap that hung around her neck and she cradled the camera into her hands, holding the viewfinder up to her eye. Lena and Amélie continued their game like there wasn't someone constantly snapping pictures over their shoulders. Sure, there was the traffic of cars going passed and a few people walking by, but it was mostly quiet. The sound of breathing, their feed thudding, and Emily's camera going off were the most prominent sounds. Amélie was kind of kicking Lena’s ass, but that was okay because she did in most things. Lena did get an awesome slam dunk where she launched himself off the pavement and hung off the basketball hoop for minute, drawing up her legs and howling like a mad man. Amélie had smirked at her, and Emily's camera went clicking like crazy. After another twenty minutes or so Lena and Amélie tired themselves out. Well. Lena was tired. Amélie never even looked so much as winded and Lena envied her. They were winding down, arguing good naturedly about the score when Emily approached them for a second time. "That was great." She smiled. "Can I get both your names?" She took out a pen from her bag and scribbled on the back of a card. ‘Lena Oxton’ and ‘Amélie’. Just Amélie. Emily didn't press for a last name and that was good because Amélie probably wouldn't have given her one. "Can I see the pictures you took?" Lena asked hopefully, thinking of her slam dunk. Emily nodded, stuffing the card with their names on it back into a pocket. "Oh sure, sure." She turned her camera back on and stood shoulder to shoulder with Lena to page through them. Lena supposed she didn't blame her for not handing over her expensive equipment in a neighborhood like this. The photos were awesome. They had been taken in black and white and Amélie looked like a cat, all feline and feminine and slinky in her black skintight outfit. Lena looked more aggressive and athletic than what she pegged herself to be. There were a few ridiculous shots of her with her tongue hanging out that made her want to groan, but Emily smiled the biggest at those. There were at least ten shots of her hanging from the basketball hoop. The midmorning sun had back lit the photo, so the backboard and the net of chains and Lena's body were all black. Lena didn't know much about photography, but the photos looked good to her and that's what she told Emily. Amélie had wandered off to grab the ball and guzzle down water. She was half way across the court and Emily and Lena were basically by themselves. "I love your physique," Emily told her, which Lena felt a little embarrassed about for some reason, but she smiled anyway. "Thank you?" Emily laughed, and fished around in her pockets. "Here, take my card. The photos might be up on my website before the end of the week. There's a number on there, if you want you can contact me. I'm always looking for more models." "Oh," Lena laughed and took the card to be polite. "I'm not a model." "You don't have to be," Emily told her. She clapped Lena on the shoulder and took her leave after that. She said thanks again and called good bye to Amélie who barely registered her with more than a nod. Lena watched her piece apart her camera to tuck back into her bag, and even pick up the coffee cup she had left on the ground as she walked off. "Wants me to model for her," Lena laughed, repeating the words dramatically for Amélie to hear. She showed off the business card for her to see. “Looks like she wanted a little more from you than that,” Amélie replied, raising up her eyebrow suggestively. Lena laughed again, harder this time. “Pfft, you’re kidding right?” Amélie definitely wasn’t kidding… Already flushed from the exercise of shooting hoops, a new rush of blood filled her face. She was totally blushing. She glanced around trying to get one last fleeting look at Emily, to see her face again, to gauge if all of this could be true somehow. “You really think she likes me?” Lena asked, going to grab her warm-up jacket out of her bag. “Yes, you idiot. She obviously likes you.” Huh. How about that. Lena smiled to herself. She had never modeled before but hey, there was a first time for everything. She was definitely going to have to give Emily a call.

i’m taking femslash february suggestions year round send requests or prompts ➝ here follow me on twitter ➝ here thanks for reading ✩°｡⋆

[tunditur-unda]

(xpost from dw)

so I posted awhile back about gender presentation, and how I was discovering that the Standard-Issue Soft-Butch Uniform (loose jeans, fitted t-shirt, flannel, and boots-or-converse) is where I'm most comfortable sartorially, and I've pondered a number of times how I really viscerally dislike treading into high-femme territory, and how uncomfortable I am in dresses and heels. For awhile, I was wondering if maybe it's not specifically dresses and heels that I'm uncomfortable with, but formal-wear in general - yes, I clean up nice, but goddamn I am a serious hippy and have neither the wardrobe nor particularly the inclination to Get Fancy, most of the time. I don't know that I'd be any more comfortable in a well-tailored suit than I am in a dress. (though um. women in suits??? *fans self*) but also, I really love the things I wear at the renfaire, and at SCA events - long dresses with fitted torsos and full skirts, overlapping layers of varying degrees of floof, things that show off my shape and things that twirl - and I wasn't quite sure how to square that with this idea of not liking dresses, or of not liking a really femme presentation. and in trying to make it all fit I realized - I have a handful of dresses that I sometimes would wear to work, that are knee-length or higher, that feel Wrong; I have a couple twirly contradance skirts that I've made, that hit just below the knee, that are equal odds as to whether I feel Delightfully Twirly or Too Girly in. all of my wonderfully full twirly rennie and SCA dresses are long, ankle-length or longer. Turns out - it's not skirts that I can't handle. it's SHORT skirts. For whatever reason, skirts that hit at or above the knee make me feel infantilized - they make me feel like an awkward scruffy teenager playing at being an adult. and given that I have a hard enough time feeling like a grown-up as it is, it makes perfect sense that I would be Really Really Uncomfortable with that. Short skirts make me feel gangly and awkward and classless and childish. Skirts that are mid-calf, or ankle-length, feel elegant, feel decadent, feel grounded and clear-headed and like myself. (in long skirts - if I can be barefoot, I feel like a hippy hedgewitch, in control of my garden and my destiny. if I can wear my docs or my chucks, I feel like a punk princess, off to kick the ass of the patriarchy and its ideas of proper femininity. still not sure about heels, but it's a whole lot better than heels with anything shorter, so maybe I'll work on that and aim to embody a queenly presence, taller than you and more dignified.) I think I might test this by wearing some of the Very Femme heels that I own, but with jeans, or with classy dress pants, and see if they feel any less awkward, any more like myself. Find longer skirts that fit within my general workplace aesthetic, and see where that goes. Wear more Moresca in my everyday. ...and also see what works with flannels, because it's fall in New England and I am a queer woman, and good goddamn do I look good in flannels.

[crankydevon]

. (xposted from DW) A few nights ago, I had a sudden thought of that guy Matt Murdock, Daredevil from the TV show. The blind lawyer who has super-senses for fighting crime. (when he's not in the courtroom, I guess.) I've never seen the show, so everything I know comes from tumblr. I never thought he was especially hot but neither not-hot.

But all of a sudden, I'm thinking about his MOUTH. Like, he has a great mouth. lips. grin. smirk. etc.

And I thought about how great it would be if he (the character, not the actor) went down on me.

This led to 2 evenings of writing self-insert porn in my head while waiting to fall asleep. It was well-written, if you like that kind of thing. I won't be putting it on AO3 because I have standards ffs, but I used some great phrases, and I described parts of it MINUTELY and EXACTINGLY.

Of course, his great hearing (and listening skills) and sense of touch made him a perfect lover. He's not going to stop part-way through to ask how it's going. He can TELL how it's going. He can adjust his game along the way based on observation, all for my benefit. And because it's my fantasy, he really gets off on it. :D

9/10 would bang again. He actually gets 10/10 but loses 1 point for reminding me of Ben Affleck.

[go-our-own-ways]

I posted 5,873 times in 2021

245 posts created (4%)

5628 posts reblogged (96%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 23.0 posts.

I added 2,449 tags in 2021

#art by op - 1278 posts

#words to remember - 743 posts

#the grind 28 - 123 posts

#the grind 27 - 104 posts

#aki's playlist - 42 posts

#xpost - 36 posts

#dw xpost - 36 posts

#fic by op - 34 posts

#tl by op - 29 posts

#for later - 24 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#but i couldn't stand the thought of makong myself watch an absolute evil wreak havoc in fiction given how sick and tired of it i am irl ;_;

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Cute & playful Jude moments (:

Jude (CV Yashiro Taku) - from Seijo no Maryoku wa Bannou desu

16 notes • Posted 2021-05-08 22:58:45 GMT

#4

Scarred Souls Shine like Stars

SSSS.Dynazenon phone wallpaper 1080 x 2220 (1/?)

20 notes • Posted 2021-06-24 17:23:38 GMT

#3

Battle Go!!!!!!

SSSS.Dynazenon phone wallpapers 1080 x 2220 (3/?)

29 notes • Posted 2021-06-25 23:04:32 GMT

#2

See the full post

32 notes • Posted 2021-06-25 07:04:42 GMT

#1

See the full post

38 notes • Posted 2021-06-29 06:21:43 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[geneeste]

oh hey

It's been a while. Posting now because I've been missing LJ and ye olde SG1 fandom. Just because, here are some fics that I've read and enjoyed recently: The Cottage AU series by @ziparumpazoo​, starting with My Scars Healed. SG1, Really great Sam/Jack relationship study, with a side helping of Daniel and Jacob and little bit of action. In doorways and dreams, I run to you by @nellie-oleson SG1, Sam/Jack, beautiful and kinda heartbreaking but also really weirdly sweet. There's a nice team flavor, too. the consolations of philosophy by @ivorykeys09. Arrow, Oliver/Felicity, AU. I can never resist Secretly Married!Fic. Never. The Catherine Langford Knows Everything series by @nellie-oleson​, starting with The Dating Game. SG1, Sam/Jack, Civilian!Sam AU. I really like Nellie's Jack voice, and I am huge sucker for Civilian!Sam AUs (as you will discover as you read the rest of these recs). Under Cold Blue Stars by @nellie-oleson​. SG1, Sam/Jack, Continuum timeline AU. YOU GUYS. It's very good. Prepare yourself. Measure Twice, Cut Once by @nellie-oleson​​. SG1, Sam/Jack, Handyman!Jack AU. This is the fic that started this most recent S/J spiral, btw. Hideaways by @thesaltyavocado Arrow, Oliver/Felicity. Because of course. And also nostalgia. Too Busy Being Yours To Fall by andymcnope. Arrow, Oliver/Felicity. I LOVE the "we'll just get it out of our systems!" trope. It never works! There are feelings and shenanigans!

Every Plan is a Tiny Prayer to Father Time by @theshipsfirstmate​. Arrow, Oliver/Felicity, post 4x09. UGH. So many awesome and painful POVs done so well in this fic, but especially Oliver and Donna at the end. If only we'd gotten this in the show. If only.

Lost & Found by @wagamiller. Arrow, Oliver/Felicity. I don't know how I got stuck on 4x09 fic, but here we are. So good.

Let Your Demons Run by mrspollifax. SG1, Sam/Jack, post-Entity fic. This is very much porn with plot and MY HEART, IT BREAKS.

The Convergence series by @annerbhp, starting with the fic of the same name. SG1, Sam/Jack, Pre-series to beginning of series AU. I just want to lay down and roll in this fic. Is that weird?

Rusted Wheel by @annerbhp. SG1, Sam/Jack, works as a standalone but is part of an unfinished series. There are post-Abyss fics, and then there's this. Like. Holy shit.

String Theory by @annerbhp. SG1, Sam/Jack, Civilian!Sam AU. This fic. THIS FIC. I just. I can't.

x-posted to The Falcon's Pen | comment there

[geneeste]

Genie’s SG1 Rewatch: The First Commandment

Season 1, Episode 6. A not so terrible ep, just a slow one with all the talking. So much talking.

PREVIEW:

10:16 PM Oh boy, The First Commandment In which Maniacal Daddy Matthews and Sam had a thing

10:18 PM DUDE WHY ARE YOU STILL ON THE PLANET Maniacal Dad isn’t playing around!

10:20 PM Hey, did ya’ll know that Ra really dug Vancouver? That’s why every planet looks like it Terraforming

( For a dude Hansen’s age to still be a Captain, that doesn’t speak well to his performance as an officer )

comments x-posted to The Falcon's Pen | comment there

[geneeste]

Sigh

Given that I’m struggling to schedule and remember appointments, to do basic self-care activities, and basically do anything that isn’t watch comfort movies and/or read comfort fic, I’m pretty sure I’m in the middle of a depressive episode. Please bear with me. x-posted to The Falcon's Pen | comment there

[geneeste]

Genie’s SG1 Rewatch: Thor’s Hammer

Season 1, Episode 10. Okay, first, I briefly (heh) attempted to watch Brief Candle, but y’all. It’s even worse than Emancipation, which is really not easy. So here were are. I didn’t have a ton to say about this episode because, while it’s very enjoyable, it’s a more quiet kind of enjoyable.

PREVIEW:

6:44 PM And it was written by Katharyn Powers! So of course I like (Incidentally, she was one of only two women writers during THE WHOLE SERIES, not counting Jacqueline Samuda who was only credited for Metamorphosis. They wrote 15 episodes between them, out of over 200.) (But I digress.)

( Ooh Thor’s Hammer )

comments x-posted to The Falcon's Pen | comment there

[deathtouch]

💛 femfeb day 1 | my femfeb masterpost 🧡 xposted → ao3 | dw | pf.io  💖 ashe/symmetra | 2k | explicit 🧡 pwp, strap-on, rich sex, money, multiple positions 💛 ashe and symmetra fuck on a pile of money

The trouble was getting the actual money; the physical paper bills. Ashe had well over a million dollars. After all her thieving, robbing, and looting a million was a drop in the bucket of everything she’d earned. It was just that it was tied up in assets, stored in several different offshore accounts, hidden in trusts and shell companies. She didn’t bother with that side of the business. Her interests were in high stakes heists, not accounting. She paid other people to launder her cash and hide her stolen earnings from the law. She never thought twice about her bank accounts or credit cards... not until Satya made a special request. (“A million dollars,” she whispered, voice low and sultry. Her lips pressed to Ashe’s ear, their bodies curled in close to one another, skin touching skin. “I want you to fuck me on a bed of a million dollars.” How could Ashe say no?) She knew she couldn’t just go to the bank and withdraw a million bucks. Most banks didn’t keep that kind of money on the premises. It was too much of a risk with people like Ashe in the world; people who wouldn’t think twice about storming in, shooting up the place, and filling bags full of banded bills. No, she had to accumulate it slowly over time. Fifty thousand here, two hundred thousand there. She made demands of rival gangs, testing the strength of their alliances by asking for cold hard cash in return for favors. She fenced expensive items, constantly withdrew from ATMs, robbed inconsequential little stores and gas stations. Everything she could to collect enough cash. It was probably dumb and dangerous to keep the money in her safe. If someone caught wind of what she was up to, she was liable for a home invasion. Somehow that made it more fun, dancing on the razors edge. Recklessness has always appealed to her, and this was no different. When she finally had enough cash, she made an event of it. She took Satya out to dinner, dressed up all nice just to please her, bought expensive wine for the table. She took Satya out to the club, showed her off to all the patrons, let them all see the beautiful woman Ashe called hers. They tore through the dusty back roads of New Mexico on Ashe’s bike, engine thunderously loud. She sped too fast, took turns to sharp, forced Satya to cling tight against her back. Their hearts were pounding by the time they were home, the both of them fired up and ready. They didn’t even make it in the front door before they started kissing, grabbing at one another. Ashe fumbled her keys, yelled for Bob to come help before diving back in and kissing Satya again. The big omnic came to open the door for them and then smartly made himself scarce as Satya crushed Ashe up against the wall inside. “Wait, baby,” Ashe breathed between kisses. She nodded towards the stairs. “My bedroom.” Satya’s dark lipstick wasn’t even smudged despite the night of drinking and dancing, and now their kissing in the dark. She stared hard at Ashe, golden eyes glinting with lust. “I want you now,” Satya said to her, bossy as always. She grabbed at Ashe’s shirt collar, dragging her in. Ashe kissed her again and again, intending to pull away after each one, but she got so caught up in the taste of her lips and the way their bodies felt molded against one another. She eventually found the strength to pull back. Satya pressed kisses to her jaw, her neck, anywhere she could find pale white flesh. “I have a surprise for you,” Ashe told her, getting the words out because if she didn’t say it now, they might not make it upstairs. “A surprise?” Satya asked, eyebrow quirking up. She liked surprises. Ashe winked one dark red eye at her and nodded towards the stairs again. This time they actually managed to climb them up to the second floor. They hurried through the hall and into the master bedroom. Everything was all set up and ready inside. Ashe let Satya walk in first, closed the distance between their bodies, and then hugged her tight from behind as she turned on the light switch. The mattress was hidden under a sea of stacked bills. A million dollars laid out in ten thousand-dollar stacks, neat little rows of them. Satya gasped and stilled momentarily to admire the perfect symmetry of the lines and the way it all fit on the queen bed without any uneven excess. She arched back and reached for Ashe behind her. “You thought I forgot?” Ashe smirked, nuzzling into Satya’s dark hair, kissing the back of her neck. It had taken a while to get all the money, after all. “It’s all real, it’s all there, it’s all for you.” Satya turned to face her, fisting her shirt collar again, dragging her in for more heated kisses. They were just as desperate as ever, frantic and lust-filled. “Fuck me,” she demanded. She wasn’t a girl who begged or pleaded. She was beautiful, and dangerous, and she got what she wanted. Ashe loved that about her. She loved having the world at her fingertips, if only to offer it to Satya. Satya undressed, unwrapping her orange and gold sari and stripping off her petticoat underneath. She knew how beautiful she was, how perfect her body was, how stunning she looked naked. Ashe had seen it before, a thousand times, but she was still struck dumb as the sight of Satya in the nude before her. Wearing only a gold bracelet and necklace, she walked over towards the bed. She dragged a finger over the stacks of cash, relishing in the opulence of it all. When she mounted the mattress the stacks shifted, some fell off the side, the perfection of it all went awry but it didn’t matter. Satya made a throne of it anyway. She leaned back on one hand, dug her heels into the money and spread her legs. “Fuck,” Ashe whispered under her breath, wondering how she had managed to find a girl as incredible as this. She was already half undressed herself, and she hurried to shed the rest of her clothes. She made quick work of retrieving the strap-on and putting it on. When it was good and secure, obscene silicone cock jutting out from between her legs, she went to join Satya on the bed. Satya was already touching herself, fingers steadily working her clit. She had a hungry look in her eyes, like she wanted to devour Ashe whole. Ashe watched her pleasure herself, relished in the tantalizing sight of it. She considered stepping away to grab lube, but the wet glistening of Satya’s fingers and the juicy glimmer on the stack of cash beneath her pussy told Ashe otherwise. She was good and wet already. She mounted the bed and more stacks of money fell to the bedroom floor. She dove in to kiss Satya’s lips, chasing the taste of her spit. She reached between their bodies to grab for the faux cock between her legs. She lined it up just right, slid the tip up and down to get it slick, and eased it inside. Satya clutched at her with one hand, still leaning back on the other. Her fingers wrapped around Ashe’s neck, painted nails digging into her skin. Ashe groaned, in love with the pain. She started fucking Satya in earnest. Ashe knew just the way Satya liked it. It wasn’t about speed, it was a steady rhythm that mattered. Fucking hard and deep at a good, even pace. The consistency of it, the slide in and out, the thudding of a hard cock deep inside… it set Satya moaning. Passionate noises tore from her throat, punched out with each thrust. She threw her head back, rolled her hips to meet Ashe’s in perfect time, chasing even more pleasure. Ashe kissed her throat, licked the salty sweat from her skin. They made the bed frame shake, stacks falling to the floor with each thrust. The paper under her knees wasn’t particularly comfortable, and it was probably even less comfortable for Satya who was sitting on it, but it wasn’t about comfort. It was about getting fucked on a pile of one million dollars. After working up a sweat, they switched positions. Ashe pushed Satya on her back. She laid her body out over the bills, a fucked-out beauty in a sea of pale green paper. Her dark hair splayed over the stacks of cash, as messy as the rows of money were now. She hooked her heels into the small of Ashe’s back and they went at it like that, Ashe fucking her hard into the bed of cash. Satya arched up into it, moaned, panted heavily. With both hands free she grabbed for Ashe’s back, scratched down her shoulder blades with her nails. Ashe hissed with pleasure, fucking her harder, dripping sweat from the steady work of pounding into her. Ashe could only keep it going for so long, though. Eventually she got winded, exhausted from the non-stop sex. Her rhythm slowed and she paused to catch her breath. Satya panted underneath her. She looked debauched and sinful so fucking beautiful. Ashe kissed her, bit her bottom lip, breathed hot and heavy into her mouth. “You wanna ride me?” She asked. Satya groaned with pleasure at the thought, nodding eagerly. They switched places. Ashe laid back on the millions. It was as uncomfortable as she thought it would be. The corners of stacks dug into her skin and stuck to her where she was sweaty. Satya mounted her readily. She sank down on the cock, moaning gently. The time for punishing sex had passed, both of them too worn down for anything strenuous here and now. Languid and sultry Satya rolled her hips, gently rocking back and forth. Ashe reached out for her, grasped at her waist, slid her palms up her ribs, softly caressed the full swell of her breasts. She was a sight to behold, glorious in her rough-fucked beauty. When Satya wanted to come, she reached down and took care of it herself. She rubbed her clit with her back arched, head tipped back, a constant stream of deep moans rising from her throat. Her beautiful body trembled as she orgasmed, voice rising to a cut off squeak. Ashe could feel her own pussy pulsing, thudding with pleasure at the image before her. Then it was all over, Satya was done. Exhausted and spent, she climbed off of Ashe and collapsed down on the money beside her. She grimaced at the feel of stiff paper. Ashe hadn’t come but that was okay. Satya was satisfied and that was all that mattered. She turned over, dislodging the stacked of bills beneath her. She cuddled up to Satya, pulling their bodies together. Ashe pressed her face to the soft curve of Satya’s neck. She smelled like sweat and sex and money and it was so goddamn perfect. The only trouble now, was what she was going to do with this money. All these physical bills. It wasn’t like she could just drop it all off at the bank, sticky with their juices. Ashe smirked, nuzzled further into Satya’s damp hair. It was a problem for the morning.

i'm taking femslash february suggestions year round send requests or prompts ➝ here follow me on twitter ➝ here thanks for reading ✩°｡⋆

[cacchieressa]

On Friday (I think - a five-day weekend really messes with my sense of time), I mentioned that today is the EIGHTEENTH anniversary of the first time I posted a story to the internet (maybe at some point I will find it and put it up on AO3), and also that in those eighteen years, I managed to write and post a complete story at least once a month, every month. I thought I might have something wise, or if not wise, at least pithy to say but I have no real claim to wisdom and I'm all out of pith. Sometimes I think I should just let it end, and not get myself wound up over it, but I also feel like it is an accomplishment, because even after all these years, I still worry that the last story I finish will also be, you know, the last story I ever finish. So far that hasn't been the case, but you never can tell. I wrote a lot of poetry in my teens and early twenties, even got published in my college literary journal and did a poetry reading a friend of a friend's party once, but I never finished any original fiction, and I'd stopped trying back in my early teens, when everything I wrote was a not so thinly veiled Star Wars/LOTR mashup. (Now they're just not veiled at all. *g*) I was in fandom for more than two years, participating in discussion groups on usenet, before I decided to try my hand at writing fic. At that time my only exposure was a lot of badly written BtVS and XF fic on personal sites or the alt.creative groups on usenet. I never finished that first attempt at Angel fic - it was a gen ensemble casefile involving cursed coffee, iirc, and even then when I didn't know what I didn't know, I was bad at plot. It was Homicide fic, of all things, that opened my eyes to how good fanfic could be (it was also in HLotS where I read the first slash that made me understand why people would ship two dudes who were not even friends, let alone in a relationship - I didn't come out of that shipping those particular characters, but I sure thought it was hot), but at the time, I didn't feel qualified to write for that fandom. It took being bowled over by the first X-Men movie, took having Rogue and Wolverine sink claws (pun totally intended) into my shippy little heart to get me to really invest, and I wrote my shippy little heart out. I remember that first story went through, like, eight rounds of betaing/drafts, from four different people. Now for the majority of my stories, I finish, scan for typos (and somehow always miss a handful) and post. It's a different world in a lot of ways, online and off, and that's probably the least of it. I have no grand words to say about the state of fandom today. I find it's harder than ever to connect with other people - I think we've still got a small but going concern here on DW, even in namespace, and I do occasionally talk to people - sometimes even people I don't know! - on tumblr, but maybe we're all just waiting for a new platform or the next big fandom to find new ways to engage. Idk. What a long strange trip it's been. (xposted from dreamwidth)

[deathtouch]

💛 femfeb day 13 | my femfeb masterpost 🧡 xposted → ao3 | dw | pf.io 💖 Brigitte/Tracer | 3k | Explicit 🧡 BDSM, Silk, Blindfolds, Tied-up, Sex toys, Established relationship 💛 Ashe finds Widowmaker trespassing on her land and punishes her accordingly

For ease of access, equipment was stored in the hangar bay at Watchpoint Gibraltar. Disused stealth planes and dropships hung suspended from the ceiling. On the ground floor there were covered vehicles and large storage containers. Hana parked her mech in here after missions, Reinhardt and Fareeha unloaded their armor and stored it in one of the far corners. Other things like Angela's Valkyrie suit and caduceus staff ended up here too. There was even a designated section for weaponry. This made it easy to gear up when missions began. Everyone was already on their way out, they just needed to pick up their things and hop on a dropship. It was also convenient at the end of missions to have some place close by to unload. Additionally, it meant that anyone who wanted to do work on their armor, tech, or weapons usually ended up sitting around the hangar bay on a makeshift lab bench surrounded by a sprawl of tools. Brigitte spent almost all of her time in the hangar bay. If she wasn't working on her own armor, shield, and flail than she was working on Reinhardt's armor, shield, and hammer. Or helping her Dad here and there. Or jumping in to help the other team members with whatever they needed help with. She appreciated the glory of battle as much as the man she squired for, but Brigitte found that she appreciated this part of the job just as much, if not more. She liked assisting others on upkeep and improvements with their equipment, and she was particularly good it. There was a secret satisfaction that came with this behind-the-scenes work. Her efforts made missions run as smoothly and flawlessly as possible, and she was proud of that. Brigitte was sitting in the hangar bay when one of the dropships came in through the bay doors. Its wheels were down, and it was slowly being driven to its designated parking space. Most of the engines were off and cooling. Brigitte paid no mind and focused only on fixing the imperfections in Reinhardt's armor. That was until the dropship's door opened and a couple of her teammates came out. Defeat was rolling off of them in waves. She could sense it from across the room. She paused in her work to watch as Lena came down the ramp, still dressed in her Tracer gear with her chronal accelerator strapped to her chest. She was flickering in and out, a side effect of fatigue and exhaustion. Brigitte knew at once that she needed to wrap up what she was working on. The returning team would still need to go through debrief with Winston, which would take a while, but not more than an hour. She had enough time to clean up her tools, stow the armor, and head deeper into the base to Lena's room. The rooms that had been sequestered for sleeping weren't all that impressive. Most of them had beds and dressers, but some of them didn't even had that. She'd seen other people get creative and haul file cabinets or shelves into their rooms to use because that was better than nothing. Fortunately, Lena had a genuine dresser. Brigitte went to it and picked out clothes. A soft oversized shirt for sleeping in, comfortable boy shorts, and a pair of fuzzy socks. Those were for later, so she folded them neatly and left them on top of the dresser. She opened the second drawer to reveal an abundance of silk ties. Most of them were pale in color, champagne gold or silvery white. They shined in the single light of the room, smooth to the touch. She picked two out, two gold ones, and brought them over to the bed to lay them there. While she was waiting for the debrief to end and for Lena to arrive, Brigitte went down the hall to wash up. She cleaned her hands of any grease from her work and purposely pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail. She pinned the excess back with clips so it wouldn't get in the way. She returned to Lena's room just in time because not two minutes later Lena herself was walking in. She looked just as exhausted as she had in the hangar bay, though the flickering in and out of corporeal existence had stopped. She hesitated in the middle of the room, eyes glancing first towards the silk ties on the bed and then to Brigitte who was sitting beside them. "You want to?" Brigitte asked. Lena nodded her head. "Yeah," She whispered. "Please." That was all the permission either of them needed to begin. "Take your clothes off." Lena was still wearing most of her Tracer gear. Her guns were stowed with the other weapons, but she was decked out in everything else. She carefully removed the chronal accelerator, setting the harness in its usual spot by the door. She toed off her shoes, shed her brown bomber jacket, and peeled the jumpsuit underneath off. She left everything jumbled on the floor, and for now it was fine there. Her bra and underwear were last. They weren't a particularly cute pair, more functional than fancy. She seemed relieved to be rid of them, relishing the freedom nudity provided her. There were red marks on her skin where the seams and tight elastic of her clothes had dug into her. Brigitte beckoned her closer and Lena came willingly. They had done this enough times by now, they both knew the routine. It was almost like a ritual. It started with Brigitte handing the first tie over to Lena. She liked to take a moment and enjoy the smooth fabric, to wrap it around her knuckles and nuzzle into it with her cheek, to press the silk to her lips. When she was ready, she blindfolded herself, wrapping the pale gold tie around her eyes and knotting it behind her head. She knew how she liked it best and paused to adjust it, moving it so that it blocked out the most light. When that was done, she offered up her wrists. She was Brigitte's now. "Can I tie your hands behind you today?" Brigitte asked. It didn't really matter one way or the other. Lena had told her that she liked having her hands tied in front of her just as much as she liked having them tied behind her back. Brigitte found she looked equally beautiful either way. Lena nodded gently and turned to offer her bare back to Brigitte. She offered her wrists again, this time from behind, one neatly crossed over the other. Brigitte bound them together, secure but not too tight. She paused to run her fingers along Lena's pale, mole dotted skin. She traced the soft red lines where the straps of her accelerator had dug into her shoulders. "Stay quiet," Brigitte reminded her, as if that wasn't always the rule when Lena was blindfolded. She carefully guided Lena into bed, gently murmuring when she was close to the mattress, leading her with a hand on her shoulder, telling her how far to crawl until she reached the middle. "Good," She said gently. "Lay down there." Lena did so, readily. She curled up on her side like a cat in the sunlight. Brigitte went to join her. She sat up by the headboards, relaxing back against the pillows. With one hand she reached out to gently stroke Lena's hair. That was it. That was all they did. Brigitte knew that Lena needed slowing down sometimes. She needed an excuse to stop and do nothing. To rest, to relax, to be quiet and still. Especially after missions. It was easy today. There was no restless shifting, no attempt at talking, no twisting in the bindings of the silk ties. Sometimes Brigitte had to be firm, tell her to stop moving or to be quiet. Not today. Lena needed this. Brigitte continued to pet her hair, gentle with the short brown strands. It was just a little something to keep Lena grounded; a simple but genuine comfort. They stayed like that for a long time, Lena’s breathing steady and slow, Brigitte touching her hair... After a while Lena did end up turning over. Brigitte sensed that it wasn’t out of restlessness but because her arm had fallen asleep from laying her weight on it. She watched as Lena wiggled her fingers a little to get the blood flowing to her hand again, but after that she resumed her soft stillness. Eventually, when they were both very relaxed, Brigitte spoke up. She kept her voice low, not wanted to disturb the silence. "Okay?" She asked, checking in. Lena hummed gently in the affirmative. "Yeah?" Brigitte gently brushed Lena's bangs from her face, admiring the way the silk blindfold looked. "Do you want to keep going like this? Or do you want me to make you come?" They didn't always end their quiet time with sex, but more often than not they did. There was something cathartic about a good orgasm after a rough day. A well-earned rush of pleasure and endorphins. Lena had certainly earned one, if she wanted one. Lena bit her bottom lip, the pink of it disappearing between her teeth. She angled her head towards Brigitte, going by sound since she couldn't see. "Make me come," She requested. "Please?" "Are you going to be good for me?" Brigitte asked, as if Lena was ever anything but. Lena tipped her head up and down. "Yes." "Are you going to stay quiet and still?" Again, she nodded. "Yes, please. I'll be good." Brigitte couldn't help the rush of pleasure she got from hearing those words. She liked having Lena like this, like putty in her hands. She was so sweet, so vulnerable. Brigitte wanted nothing more than to take good care of her and keep her safe. She sat up and then bent down low to press a tender kiss to Lena’s temple. “Alright. Stay there.” Brigitte was in charge of picking out toys, should she choose to use anything aside from her own fingers and tongue. They didn’t have much, Gibraltar being as bare bones as it was. Lena was already familiar and comfortable with the few toys they had, so there was no need to run anything by her. In fact, the surprise of what Brigitte might pick was part of the fun. In the second drawer down on the dresser, underneath the dozens of silk ties, there were a few carefully concealed cock shaped objects. Brigitte chose the single vibrator they had, a well-loved toy, simple in its modes and speeds but still very pleasurable. She grabbed the lube too, because it was fun to get wet, and she knew Lena would like that. When she returned to the bed Lena was still curled on her side in the center, hands pulled back behind her, eyes hidden behind a swath of silk. She looked so beautiful. The pale tones of her skin, the off white of the sheets, the champagne color of the silk all blended together to create a creamy tableau. Brigitte wished she could hold on to this image forever, look at it whenever she was feeling sad, cherish the sight of Lena so open and soft. She cleared her throat, careful not to startle. “On your stomach,” She ordered. Lena went, turning over easily. She lay a cheek against the sheets. Her hands didn’t look red, which was good, but her arms were probably sore by now. Brigitte would untie her and give her muscles a soft rub down when they were done. As she admired Lena in this position, she realized a pillow would be helpful. She retrieved one from the head of the bed and carefully directed Lena how and when to shift her weight so that she could stuff the pillow underneath her hips. “There,” Brigitte said happily. She smoothed a hand down the small of Lena’s back, over the swell of her ass, down the backs of her thighs. A red line that had run up the length of her leg, a seam from her skin-tight jumpsuit, was completely faded now. “Spread your legs.” Lena complied readily, opening herself up for Brigitte. “There you go. That’s my good girl.” She could see the way Lena balled her hands up in an effort not to react to the attention and praise. “Don’t move,” Brigitte reminded her. She was still standing beside the bed, and now she stuck her knee into the mattress so that she could lean over Lena’s body. She uncapped the lube and poured a small amount onto her fingers. She didn’t need much, it was slippery enough and Lena was already wet. She reached readily between Lena’s spread legs, fingers delving into the warm, wet folds of pink flesh there. Lena shivered, breath drawing short, but she stayed still. Brigitte liked this, she liked touching. She liked feeling the most intimate parts of Lena’s body with her fingers, teasing her where she was sensitive, pressing her fingers deep inside. She had spent hours doing it before, using just her hand to explore and induce pleasure. She was tempted to spend hours doing it now, but they had already been at this a while. Lena couldn’t stay tied up and blindfolded forever. She found Lena’s clit and massaged it, rubbing it in tight little circles. Lena swallowed a whine, fighting the urge to push back against Brigitte’s hand or twist up with pleasure. She was being so obedient, doing her best to please. Brigitte didn’t hesitate to reward her, switching her fingers out for the thrumming buzz of a vibrator. Lena went stiff all over, muscles tightening in response. Her hands were tight fists, silk ties digging into her wrists where she was straining against them. Brigitte didn’t tease here anywhere else, just circled the vibrator against her clit. Lena’s breathing went shallow, panting fast. “You can come whenever you’re ready.” Brigitte told her. It didn’t take much longer after that. A tell-tale noise escaped her throat, despite her best efforts to be silent, and she shuddered as the pleasure reached its climax. She let out a deep, shaky gasp, and afterwards began to catch her breath. Her body went limp and Brigitte knew to pull the vibrator away. “You did so good,” Brigitte boasted, impressed with just how still and silent she’d kept herself. It was no easy feat, something they had been working towards for a long time. There were nights when she so loved making Lena move; roll her hips, work for it if she wanted an orgasm, twist and jerk with excitement or surprise. There were also times when she loved hearing Lena make noise; moan and whimper and cry out. Both movement and sound had their place, but what they had just done here and now was something special. Something hard fought for and won. An accomplishment they could both revel in. The win Lena needed after her mission had gone awry. Brigitte quickly dried her fingers on her own shirt, it was a work shirt anyway it didn’t matter, and went to untie the silk bindings. Lena knew better than to move her arms too much too fast. She let her hands fall to her sides and waited for Brigitte to gently rub at her shoulders, to ease movement back into her limbs. They’d been tied behind her long enough that this was necessary and welcome. The pillow came away next, leaving Lena flat on the mattress. Last but not least was the blindfold, gently untied and pulled away. Lena’s eyes were closed, and she blinked them slowly in the light of the room. Lena took the silk tie that had been covering her eyes and wrapped it over her own knuckles. She brought it up to nuzzle against her cheek again, just like she had before putting it on earlier. She liked the feel of it, the soft smooth silk. There was something soothing about the way she rubbed it into her skin. “Okay?” Brigitte asked, checking in. Lena nodded. “Yeah.” “Want your pajamas?” She asked. Lena nodded again. Brigitte brought them over to her. She helped her change into them, guiding the oversized shirt over her head, helping her arms through the holes. Lena put the underwear on by herself, not bothering to get out of bed to do it. Brigitte slid the fluffy socks onto her feet. “Come cuddle,” Lena said after. With no reason to disagree, Brigitte joined her in bed again. This time they drew in close to one another, bodies pressed tight together. Brigitte was the big spoon to Lena’s little spoon. She stroked up and down her arm, nuzzled the back of her neck, breathed in the scent of her skin. There was something about this that reminded her of the work she did in the hangar bay; hammering out dents in suits of armor, fixing the mechanisms that made things work, restoring things to their finest condition. In a way, what she did for Lena was its own kind of upkeep. It was less impersonal than that, more human and intimate, but the similarities were there. She felt that same, familiar pride right here and now, the secret satisfaction of behind-the-scenes work. “Thank you,” Brigitte kissed her shoulder. “Thanks for letting me take care of you.”

i'm taking femslash february suggestions year round send requests or prompts ➝ here follow me on twitter ➝ here thanks for reading ✩°｡⋆