#all opinions my own and not a mandate

[downbadf0rficppl]

exposure therapy

Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: Bucky tends to avoid crowded spaces. He's afraid of something - either being recognised or being trapped or something else. He doesn't know. When you offer to help him get out of his comfort zone. He can't resist.

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: Creepy weirdo men (not Bucky), therapy, smut

Repost

You dipped into the subway, dodging in between passengers - it was rush hour and the subway was disturbingly crowded. You scrambled onto the platform, praying that your train was slightly delayed so you could get on in time. It wasn't.

You stood on the platform as more and more peopled filtered, the noise building to a cacophony of miserable voices. You took a step back, trying to back away from the edge, when a man shoved you through the crowd. You stumbled forward.

A gloved hand wraps around your arm, pulling you back towards the middle of the platform and into a warm chest. You start to pull away, not keen to be leaning into a stranger. A familiar cologne hit you. You’d bought him that cologne. You looked up to see a welcome face.

Bucky.

A vicious scowl was etched into his face, his arm now firmly around your waist. You smile up at him, and he catches your smile, returning it with a soft one of his own. You reach to hold onto his hand as the train pulls up to the platform. You both step on, grabbing onto the bar and jolting as the train gets going.

Bucky leans down to your ear, “You okay, doll?”

His hot breaths elicit shivers all down your spine. You nod at him, unable to push any words out and he looks at your peculiarly. He’s never known you to be lost for words.

You met Bucky once he started his court-mandated therapy sessions. You were the receptionist at the clinic, and you knew Dr Raynor’s reputation for being thorough – although it was your personal opinion that maybe, sometimes, she could take it easy on some of her patients. Bucky was one of them.

You’d gathered a lot from the months that he had been going to therapy. The major thing was that therapy was the reason he was usually in such a poor mood. If he walked in in a bad mood, his mood when he left was positively foul. He didn’t like how Dr Raynor pried – even if that was, in fact, part of the point of his therapy.

You’d gathered that he was quite a lonely man. In fact, when he first started coming to therapy, the fact you smiled at him surprised him. He’d warmed up to it over it, and nowadays, when he came to the office, he greeted you before you greeted him.

You started finding jokes to tell, or little interesting facts – anything to make him smile. You offered sweets to the kids, words of warmth to the adults, and jokes to Bucky. It all worked out. He laughed at your jokes, in the same way the kids enjoyed their sweets and the adults appreciated to the adults.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky looked forward to seeing you. He was surprised by your smile – but only how beautiful it was. He’d never seen pure sunshine until he saw your face break into a smile. In fact, the sun could go dark, but he knew that the world would only adapt to revolve around you. He knew that his already did.

On his birthday, you were the only person who gave him a present – a rather expensive cologne that you had splurged on. You wanted him to feel special. Turns out you didn’t need to go to those lengths. You were one of very few people who even knew it was his birthday.

Bucky made a point of buying you flowers from time to time after that – and you made a point of hiding them from Raynor. You didn’t want your budding friendship to be another thing she digs deep into. He also wore the cologne every time you saw him, which made you smile. At least he liked the gift.

He got off at your stop with you, even though you insisted he didn’t need to. Something about, ‘it’s on my way,’ and ‘I’d feel better if I knew you got home safe, doll.’ You smiled as he walked next to you, hands tucked into his pockets, leading the way to your apartment. You walked in a comfortable silence, the noise of Brooklyn blaring all around you

“How was it?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Hmm?”

“The subway. How was it?” You knew that Bucky generally got quite claustrophobic. He’d avoided the subway for the first few months of living in Brooklyn and, even now, only took it when he absolutely needed to.

He looked at you, his eyes full of amused frustration, “Could be worse.” He lowered his voice, hoping you wouldn’t hear him, “Was better ‘cause it was with you.”

You smiled, “Call it exposure therapy.”

“Exposure therapy? What’s that?”

“It’s where you face your fears by confronting them head on.” He looked at you, still confused, “You know how you’re scared of enclosed spaces?” He nodded his head, “Well, exposure therapy would put you in an enclosed space – like the subway – to confront your fear.”

Bucky nodded his head, mulling over your words in his head. It doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

You came to your apartment lobby, Bucky following you inside. You told him that this is where you left him, and that you’d see him next week, same place, same time.

You were heading toward your apartment when he stopped you, “You know the exposure therapy thing you mentioned?”

You turned back around, “Yeah?”

“Is that a real thing?”

You nodded your head. Bucky swallowed nervously, not sure how to ask the question. You read his mind, “You wanna give it a go?”

He nodded. You grabbed his hand gently, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

“You should probably talk to the professional about how to actually go about it,” you chuckled at how his face darkened at the mention of Raynor, “but I’d love to help you out. Whatever you need.”

Bucky watched you as you disappeared into the stairwell, smiling all the way.

Just like you said, Bucky brought the idea of exposure therapy up with Dr Raynor in his next session. Surprisingly, she was almost immediately on board. She figured that it would be a good way for Bucky to get out of his comfort zone and confront some of his more irrational fears.

He immediately told you. You squealed – a sound that definitely shocked Bucky – grabbing his phone from his hand and adding your number as a contact.

He changed your contact to 'Doll' – not that it was necessary seeing that the only people that ever texted or called were Sam and Raynor. Guess you were another person to add the extremely exclusive club.

The next morning you dragged him to a coffee shop. Not just any coffee shop. The local Starbucks. You drag him in during the rush hour, holding his hand as he grumbles in the line.

"Did we really have to start this extreme?" He says, gazing behind and in front of him. You squeeze his hand, reassuringly.

"You'll be fine. Know what you want?"

You shuffled forward as another person moved out of the line.

The Starbucks worker sighed as you and Bucky walked up to the front of the line. You smiled at Bucky as he gripped your hand, unassuredly.

"Hi - um - can I - uh - get - uh... -" Bucky stumbled over his words. You ran your fingers over his knuckles soothingly, "cold brew - the smallest size."

The worker nodded his head, "that'll be...-" You drowned out his words as you stared up at Bucky's face. His face was still contorted in a grimace, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes. You gave yourself a mental high five.

Bucky paid for his drink and waited as you ordered an iced caramel macchiato with oat milk. Bucky wasn't sure he knew what any of that meant but he looked in awe as you complimented the cashier and made him blush. You had that kind of effect on people.

You grabbed your drinks and went to sit in Central Park, the sun streaming through the trees as you found a bench. You rested your arm next to his, keeping the contact between the two of you minimal.

"You like it?" You asked, staring him in the face. He took a sip and pulled a face.

"Too bitter." He said, sticking his tongue in disgust. You laughed. He celebrated internally, desperate to hear that sound directed toward him again.

"Really?" I thought you would have liked it. You know, given the dark and brooding look you've got going on." You deadpanned. He shoved you gently and you laughed again.

"Try mine," you said, handing over your drink and grabbing his. Yours was much nicer than his, sweeter and more milk too. He smiled in response and took another sip, "Keep it. I like cold brew." He tried to change your mind and hand you back your drink, but you were adamant.

"Let's play a game."

He looked at you, questioningly.

"20 questions."

He turned to face you.

"Rules are: one person asks a question both answer it...-"

"That's not how '20 questions' usually works."

"Well, that's how it works now. Also rapid-fire: you have to say the first thing that comes to mind."

"Ok, shoot." He leaned back, resting on his arm, occasionally taking sips from the macchiato.

"Favourite colour?" You went first, starting simple.

"Yellow," He said, not really thinking. His face blushed when his mind caught up to him though. You noted that for later.

"Mine's blue, like the sea." You responded, staring intently into his eyes. Bucky's eyes were blue, just like the sea on a stormy day. Easy to get lost in. Easy to get found in. Those eyes told you where home was. "Your turn."

"Ok, umm- favourite hobby?"

"Umm, I like painting. Helps me relax. Used to paint a lot as a kid, probably need to do it more often." Bucky stared at your lips as you talked, mesmerised by the way they move. "What about you, Buck?

"Me? Oh, I like reading."

"Oh yeah? What kind of books?"

"The Hobbit. Was my favourite back in the day. Read it with Steve all the time." He became quiet at the mention of his best friend, and you reached out to rest a hand on his.

"You wanna know my other favourite hobby?" Bucky nodded, meeting your eyes, "Helping my favourite super soldier get out of his comfort zone." Bucky's eyes lit up at that.

You stood up, offering Bucky your hand. He grabbed, faking back pain as he stood up. "Where to next, doll?"

"We're going grocery shopping." The groan that left him made you laugh out loud.

You walked into the Target near the compound. Neither of you actually lived in the compound, but this Target was bigger than any of the Targets in the city. You figured the bigger the Target, the more likely it was that Bucky would get out of his comfort zone.

He grabbed your hand and squeezes it tightly. You smiled up at him as you pulled out a trolley. Bucky grabbed it from you, hands tightening around the bar. You linked your arm with his.

"Ready?"

"No."

You smirked, patting his arm, "You'll be fine."

You perused through the aisles, occasionally handing Bucky an item. If you were too short to grab something, he'd reach up over your head and grab it for you. You flushed at that - the feeling of being caged between Bucky made you feel safe. Like nothing could ever touch you.

You walked ahead of Bucky, leaning on your tiptoes to grab some eggs from the shelf. You grab the carton, placing it in the trolley. He looks at you lovingly, your cheeks blushing under his gaze.

"Excuse me, could you move?" An old man shoves past the both of you. Bucky's gaze immediately hardens. The old man continues to grumble under his breath.

He moves to say something, but you grab his hand, shaking your head. Bucky pulls you into his chest, leaning to press his lips to your forehead. Butterflies erupt in your stomach as surprise washes over you. Clearly, his actions caught up to him as he froze up, muscles tightening under your hands. He tried to pull away but you keep your face nuzzled in his chest, arms wrapping tighter around him. You smiled as he relaxed into your hug.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Should we get going, doll? More things to buy."

You nodded but kept your hand in his. He smiled as you leaned into him. This was nice. He could get used to this.

You finished shopping, scanning your things through in the self-service. You didn't have that many items, but Bucky refused to let you pay, whipping out the card that Stark gave him, with the excuse that he didn't use it enough - especially, given the amount of money that Stark had put on it.

You were giddy. Your shopping trip was a success - Bucky now knew that supermarkets weren't even half as scary as he thought. In fact, he even smiled at a worker on his way out.

Bucky helped you load the two shopping bags onto his bike, before strapping the helmet onto your head. You could get used to this.

After that day, you guys went out regularly. You tried restaurants and diners (Bucky preferred diners because it was less fancy and he felt more at home - "haven't changed much from the 40s", he'd said), you tried the gym (or rather, you dragged him to the gym with you on a random Tuesday morning when you had a spin cycle class - it wasn't that bad but Bucky stuck to training at the compound), you even took him to the cinema when they were showing a 'Lord of the Rings' rerun (Bucky almost kissed you when he heard the plan, but restrained himself - there was no way he was scaring you away now).

Therapy with Dr. Raynor became more bearable because it was just another excuse to see you. He'd put more effort into how he looked - combing his hair, keeping his beard trimmed how he knew you liked it.

Raynor picked up on it.

"I see your exposure therapy experiment is going well. What kinds of things have you been up to?"

Bucky stared out the window.

"James?"

He looked Raynor in the eye, before glancing at you through the window in the door. It was barely a shape, due to the frosted treatment on the window, but he knew it was you. He always knew.

"Shopping. She took me to the mall yesterday."

"That's a big step." Raynor said, noting that down with her pen, "How was it?"

"Wasn't that bad. We went into a shop she likes, then she asked me to pick a shop." Bucky looked down at his hands.

You had taken him into Sephora, promising him you only needed to get one thing. You run out of your favourite mascara and just needed to grab a tube. Bucky didn't know what mascara was, nor did he particularly care, but he followed you into the store nevertheless. You picked up the mascara you were looking for but kept milling around, looking to see if anything caught your fancy.

Bucky's hand found yours with relative familiarity, and you pulled him around as you explored. A man from across the shop gave him a sympathetic look.

You left Bucky for a moment to pick up a couple of face masks when the man from across the store made his way over. He patted Bucky on the shoulder amicably.

"Feel for you brother," he chuckled, moving past him. Bucky was confused.

You lined up behind him, mascara, face masks, and some liquid blush that you'd been meaning to get for a while in hand. You paid for the items, wishing the cashiers a good day. When you walked out, you asked Bucky where he wanted to go. It wasn't until you got to the clothes shop that he realised what the man meant.

He'd thought you guys were dating. The thought alone made Bucky want to smile. He gripped your hand tighter and didn't go for the rest of the trip.

Bucky looked up at Raynor and continued, "Then we got food and I dropped her home. Same as usual."

Raynor nodded, "Did it help?"

He shrugged, "I probably wouldn't go again. The mall isn't my kinda place."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Too many teenagers."

Raynor smirked at that, "Any plans for this weekend?"

"Sam's taking me to a bar. Says we need a post-mission stress reliever."

Raynor nodded, "That'll be good for you, James. Enjoy it."

She stood up to open the door and Bucky followed closely behind. He left, wishing Raynor a good evening, before walking up to you with a smile.

"What can I do for my favourite super soldier today?" You asked, placing the sign-in/sign-out sheet in front of him.

"Maybe consider spending your Friday night at a bar with me?" He asked, nervousness hidden behind his confident facade. This was the first time he'd ever asked you on something resembling a date.

You saw through his front, "Is this just because you don't want Sam to spend the entire night trying to set you up with someone?"

"Maybe?"

You laughed.

"Is that a yes?"

"Sure, Buck. I'll go to the bar with you. Pick me up at 7? I'll send you the address."

When you opened the door to your apartment, Bucky's jaw dropped. He thought he'd died and gone to heaven and you were the angel waiting to ring him in.

You smiled at his awestruck expression, patting his cheek before grabbing your hand and leading him to the stairwell he had just walked up. He followed you like a puppy.

He fastened the helmet tightly on your head, before speeding down the road, going as fast as you like it. You rest your head on his back, arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

You waltzed into the bar together, Sam's status as the new Captain America making it easy to skip the queue. You grabbed drinks - a cosmopolitan for you and an old fashioned for him. You teased him for his choice but Bucky just smiled.

You looked around for Sam, but he was nowhere to be found "Probably caught up doing Captain America stuff," you tell Bucky, whose eyebrows had been furrowed almost since you arrived.

You drag Bucky to the dance floor after two drinks, and you stay there for half the night, waiting for Sam to show up. You dance and dance and dance, teaching Bucky some new moves that wouldn't have been legal the last time that Bucky came out dancing with a girl. Bucky's phone buzzed in his pocket.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Sam's calling, I'll be back in a second." You smile up at him, continuing to dance once he'd left.

Not minutes had passed, when you feel a presence behind you. Thinking it was Bucky, you turn around to smile at him, only to come face to face with a greasy smile. He placed his hands on your ass, and you shoved him away, walking towards the bartender.

"Come on, sweetcheeks. Let us have some fun." You walked through the crowd faster, not looking back. He was still following you.

Bucky. He was outside, he could help you.

You made a beeline for the exit, hoping that the creep was far enough behind you, you could get away unseen. You weren't so lucky. He grabbed your hand and pushed you up against the door, arm pressing against your breasts. The door gave way as you pushed against the release latch, causing you to both go stumbling outside.

Bucky was right outside the door, trying to call Sam back, when you came flying through the door. He instantly pocketed his phone, striding towards you as you backed away from your pursuer.

You bumped into his chest, immediately pulling away to face him. You relaxed when you saw it was Bucky, grabbing his shirt and moving behind him.

"You can't hide from me, you little slut." Bucky saw red.

He grabbed the guy by his shirt and pushed him up against the wall, flesh hand coming up to slap his face. "Don't ever call my girl anything again, you hear me?"

You preened at 'my girl', hoping that it was true, that you were truly and honestly his girl.

Bucky let the man go as a bouncer came around the side of the building. He nodded towards Bucky, who explained that "he tried to grab my girl, chased her out the building."

There it was again. 'My girl.'

The bouncer grabbed the man by the scuff of his neck and threw him out onto the curb. Bucky turned to face you, hands stroking the side of his face. He looked intently into your eyes, searching for a hint of pain or fear. There was nothing. All he could see was love, radiating from your gaze and warming him from top to toe.

You grabbed his face and pulled him down, your lips pressing onto his. He melted into the kiss, eyes closing as he took over, tongue slipping between your lips as you gasped. A small whimper escaped you.

"Doll, you're driving me crazy."

"Take me home, Barnes."

He practically raced from the bar to his bedroom, carrying you up every flight of stairs. He gently rested you on the bed, ripping his shirt and jacket off in eagerness. He crawled on top of you as you reach to attach your lips to his. The kiss is long, messier than before, teeth and tongue fighting for dominance. You pulled away for air, resting your forehead against his.

He kissed you again, excitement pouring off of him, before moving to kiss down your jaw and in between your breasts. He eased your top off, leaving you in your bra, and kissed down your belly button to the top of your trousers. He asked for your consent with your eyes, hooking his fingers in your waistband. You nodded vigorously. He pulled your trousers down, discarding them against the floor. You took off your own bra, throwing it into the pile of your clothes. His eyes were fixed on your breasts for a few moments before he turned back to your cunt.

He buried his face in your clothed cunt, his hyper-sensitive smell craving the scent of your arousal. He teased you with his metal finger, rubbing circles around your clit. You arched up against him, whines slipping out of your mouth.

Those sounds made the blood rush straight to his cock.

He swiftly pulls your panties away, throwing them nearby your trousers. He buried his face between your thighs, nosing at your clit as he licked stripes up and down your lips. You whined, begging for more stimulation, and Bucky happily obliged. He moved to licking and sucking your swollen clit, the ministrations making you shiver and shake as you call his name, moaning loud enough for his neighbours to hear. Your thighs clenched around his head, trapping his face in your cunt. He watched as your squirmed, eyes trained on your pleasure-ridden face. He grabbed your thighs, massaging them under his hands, liking the feel of the flesh of your ass in his hand. He felt more possessive of you than ever. This was his.

His fingers moved to work their way into your pussy, it clenching tightly at the intrusion and overload of pleasure. He moved his fingers in and out slowly, picking up the pace of his tongue on your clit. You arched your back again. He smacked your thigh, wanting to gauge your reaction - you moaned loudly and your cunt clenched around his fingers. He growled out how fucking good you taste and how good you are for him. Your cunt clenched again at his praise.

"Oh, you like that? You like being my good little girl?" You moaned in response, "Oh sweetheart, I could eat you out for hours. Look at how pretty you are shaking and shivering for me."

His fingers sped up inside you, pounding into you. You came with a loud moan of his name and a shudder, collapsing against the bed in exhaustion.

The flush on your face and your fucked out expression made Bucky's cock impossibly harder.

He grabbed a condom from the nightstand, and pulled off his trousers and his boxers, discarding them somewhere. His dick was hard against his abs, tip red and leaking. He rolled the condom down his dick.

He pulled you down to the edge of the bed, flipping you over. "Ready for round 2?"

You nod enthusiastically.

"That's my good little girl."

He slid into you easily, giving you a minute to adjust to the stretch. He started off slow, but quickly lost control, yanking your hips up to meet his relentless thrusts. The super-soldier stamina mixed with the way you made him feel, made him all the more driven to push you over the edge again. The sound of your pussy when he drove back into you made him groan, your tits bouncing at the force of his thrusts. He reached forward to play with them, flicking and pulling the nubs as he pounded into you. You moaned, your face buried into a pillow as he pulled your hips back against his.

Bucky lifted your back up to his chest, rubbing at your clit with his metal hand, the flesh one remaining on your tits. You pulled it up, curling the fingers around your throat.

"Oh, you're a dirty girl." He squeezed a little, loving how your pussy clenched at the oxygen deprivation. You came seconds later, shaking as he kept fucking you through your orgasm, telling you how you’re gonna give him another one.

He spilled his own load into the condom moments later, pulling out and pulling you into his chest, both of your hearts beating impossibly fast.

He helped you clean up, wiping your body with a wet cloth after disposing of the used condom, helping you into a pair of his boxers, and giving you a t-shirt to cover everything else.

"Not that you need to. I appreciate having some eye candy to look at," he said cockily, holding the shirt over your head, just out of your reach

You looked up at him, hands covering your naked tits, "Where's this cocky energy when we're out in shops, huh? Would've made exposure therapy so much easier."

He dumped the t-shirt on your head and shoved you lightly as you burst into laughter, pulling on the t-shirt before throwing your arms around his neck.

"S'only for you. All for you." He said, carrying you back into bed and wrapping his arms around you, "Always for you."

"Love you, Buck."

"Love you too, Doll."

fin.

buy me a coffee

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bukcy barnes #bucky x female reader #winter soldier #bucky imagine #bucky smut #no y/n

[v5ttelfilms]

sweet dream was over ☽ mick schumacher

gossf1poutlet news of mick schumacher and y/n leclerc previously being in a relationship trends as the number one topic across social media, following an unfortunate leak from their private accounts. both the schumacher and leclerc's have expressed their opinion on this matter, via a strongly worded 'love letter' from legal counsels that represented their respective families. on a statement that was recently released, both parties have similarly urged everyone to refrain from making unnecessary assumptions and encouraged the public to rally against the spread of misinformation and baseless accounts of the pair's alleged relationship. their representatives also promises to pursue legal actions against the culprit.

username the whiplash i got from seeing this all over my tl still makes my muscles spasm😩

username extremely amazed at how they managed to keep it a secret for so long

username yes!!! no one expected little leclerc to REALLY pick one off of her dizzying number of suitors /gen

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username they probably got together during 2019 or 2020

username seems that way, funny if you account the arthur and mick prema timeline aswell

username got together late 2019 or early 2020 and probably broke up late 2021 or early 2022, but that's only my intelligent guess 🤷‍♀️

username around the same time mick was having haas problems too? fcking brutal

username did the article say to not make unnecessary assumptions or did it not??!🙄

username this news has devastated me more than my own breakup... and that mothertrucker cheated on me with my bff. brb hurling and crying into the void.

username they were so perfect 🥺

username forever enchanted, my treasure. FOREVER enchanted MY treasure. FOREVER ENCHANTED MY TREASURE!!

username are u okay, do u need intervention?

username send all the help you could give my way tysm🥰

username rocking back and forth while hugging my knees to my chest type of thing

username pretending they never broke up for my sanity

username probably the reason she never had the guts to attend a grand prix

username she was getting educated and winning pageants, but yeah?

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username 💀💀

username tell me who was the champion year by year?

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username so mick HAS game, but i never thought i'd learn it this way😞

username throwing up and shaking trembling and hurling and screaming crying

username love is NOT real

username it's literally the way mick coined the jewel/gem nickname for y/n before the rest of the world started calling her monégasque's pearl 🥺😭

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username girl—

2021, Switzerland

"y/n? what are you doing down here?" corinna asks you, mildly taken aback to see you down at the kitchen just around midnight.

you look up from blankly staring at the keys of your laptop, evidently surprised to see the older woman standing just a few steps away from you. you didn't hear her footsteps or anything.

"just..." you trail off, grappling for an appropriate response as to why you were sitting in the dark, barely awake, in the middle of the night. "files," you lie, unconvincingly.

corinna hums, and you knew she was barely convinced by your pathetic excuse, but she had too much tact to call you out on your lie. she wasn't blind, or oblivious as the kids these days would say; though she was considerably older, she still understood the worries and anxieties of the young heart.

"it's very late, schatz." she chides gently, touching your shoulder. "you shouldn't be working this late, it's bad for you." her tone was heavily laden with a motherly lilt.

"stunts my growth," you utter softly, smiling at her. corinna chuckles, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheeks. "and you can't be miss universe if you're short."

"you trust me too much." you remark teasingly.

"you ought to take over the world, darling." corinna laughs softly. "now, are you up for some warm milk and some- what do you children call it? tea sharing?"

"close, you're well versed with today's lingo. should i tell uncle michael that he should be worried?"

"he should always be worried." she says seriously, which made you tip your head back to laugh. she smiles at you, fondness clear as a day. "that's how you keep them on their toes. never make them feel comfortable."

spending the break with mick and his family in their summer home in switzerland has been a tradition of sorts. and alongside your fairy tale like romance with the youngest of the schumacher's, you had also become incredibly close with the rest of his family.

corinna grabs two glasses and neatly places them on the counter, she opens the fridge to get the carton of milk and pours a generous amount to each glass. she swiftly pops it in the microwave, before turning and giving her sole attention to you.

"i'm happy to see you laugh again, schatz. suits you better."

"that's very accusatory. i have been laughing, and smiling all week." you insist, light heartedly.

"maybe so, but not as pretty and geniune as now." she replies, "is there anything wrong? is it mick?" her tone was heavy with concern, looking both distressed and dreading your confirmation. it could have been her son that was the cause of the shift in your demeanor.

you look down at your lap, feeling the tears prick at your eyes upon her overwhelming bout of concern she plainly wears on her face. it reminds you so much of your own mother, and of which, corinna has easily become a substitute for when maman wasn't around.

"it's nothing." you clear your throat, "he's wonderful. he always is." you tried to smile in fake cheer.

"that's good." she smiles softly, "i was just about to say, that he loves you. he tells me everyday, he tells his father; he tells everyone willing to listen how much he could not fathom how you ever came to be in his life," she narrates earnestly, emotion heavy on her voice, "and he'll spend every waking moment of it to do right by you. to make you proud."

you closed your eyes, trying to will the tears at bay. "he tells me everyday too," your voice shook with emotion, throat welling up with tears. "and i know he means it. i do. but he— he never stops feeling like he constantly has to prove something, or be someone, or win everything." you weren't able to stop the tears, even as your eyes were closed. you finally open your eyes to see corinna's teary ones aswell, "and i— if i am the cause of it, i don't... i no longer feel worthy of his love."

you physically, felt all weight of pretense leave your body; finally being able to put to words the emotions, and complex thoughts you've bottled up, in fear of speaking it into existence. your shoulders sank, your defenses crumbling, as you broke down into inconsolable tears, weeping at your hands.

you felt arms wrap around you, weading through the shame and guilt you felt at your admission. you'd expected corinna's blame, but you never counted on her consolation. she held you. sympathetic and kind, and gracious; and understanding.

"it will be okay, schatzi." she says in the strands of your hair, "it will be. i promise you."

#f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 smau #f1 social media au #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x female reader #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher x y/n #mick schumacher x female reader #mick schumacher fic #f1 angst #f1

[d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n]

Exposure therapy.

Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky tends to avoid crowded spaces. He's afraid of something - either being recognised or being trapped or something else. He doesn't know. When you offer to help him get out of his comfort zone. He can't resist.

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: Creepy weirdo men (not Bucky), therapy, smut

AN: I'm sorry I make it seem like the Reader hates Raynor, it just kinda happened. Happy Wednesday y'all!!!!

You dipped into the subway, dodging in between passengers - it was rush hour and the subway was disturbingly crowded. You scrambled onto the platform, praying that your train was slightly delayed so you could get on in time. It wasn't.

You stood on the platform as more and more peopled filtered, the noise building to a cacophony of miserable voices. You took a step back, trying to back away from the edge, when a man shoved you through the crowd. You stumbled forward.

A gloved hand wraps around your arm, pulling you back towards the middle of the platform and into a warm chest. You start to pull away, not keen to be leaning into a stranger. A familiar cologne hit you. You’d bought him that cologne. You looked up to see a welcome face.

Bucky.

A vicious scowl was etched into his face, his arm now firmly around your waist. You smile up at him, and he catches your smile, returning it with a soft one of his own. You reach to hold onto his hand as the train pulls up to the platform. You both step on, grabbing onto the bar and jolting as the train gets going.

Bucky leans down to your ear, “You okay, doll?”

His hot breaths elicit shivers all down your spine. You nod at him, unable to push any words out and he looks at your peculiarly. He’s never known you to be lost for words.

You met Bucky once he started his court-mandated therapy sessions. You were the receptionist at the clinic, and you knew Dr Raynor’s reputation for being thorough – although it was your personal opinion that maybe, sometimes, she could take it easy on some of her patients. Bucky was one of them.

You’d gathered a lot from the months that he had been going to therapy. The major thing was that therapy was the reason he was usually in such a poor mood. If he walked in in a bad mood, his mood when he left was positively foul. He didn’t like how Dr Raynor pried – even if that was, in fact, part of the point of his therapy.

You’d gathered that he was quite a lonely man. In fact, when he first started coming to therapy, the fact you smiled at him surprised him. He’d warmed up to it over it, and nowadays, when he came to the office, he greeted you before you greeted him.

You started finding jokes to tell, or little interesting facts – anything to make him smile. You offered sweets to the kids, words of warmth to the adults, and jokes to Bucky. It all worked out. He laughed at your jokes, in the same way the kids enjoyed their sweets and the adults appreciated to the adults.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky looked forward to seeing you. He was surprised by your smile – but only how beautiful it was. He’d never seen pure sunshine until he saw your face break into a smile. In fact, the sun could go dark, but he knew that the world would only adapt to revolve around you. He knew that his already did.

On his birthday, you were the only person who gave him a present – a rather expensive cologne that you had splurged on. You wanted him to feel special. Turns out you didn’t need to go to those lengths. You were one of very few people who even knew it was his birthday.

Bucky made a point of buying you flowers from time to time after that – and you made a point of hiding them from Raynor. You didn’t want your budding friendship to be another thing she digs deep into. He also wore the cologne every time you saw him, which made you smile. At least he liked the gift.

He got off at your stop with you, even though you insisted he didn’t need to. Something about, ‘it’s on my way,’ and ‘I’d feel better if I knew you got home safe, doll.’ You smiled as he walked next to you, hands tucked into his pockets, leading the way to your apartment. You walked in a comfortable silence, the noise of Brooklyn blaring all around you

“How was it?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Hmm?”

“The subway. How was it?” You knew that Bucky generally got quite claustrophobic. He’d avoided the subway for the first few months of living in Brooklyn and, even now, only took it when he absolutely needed to.

He looked at you, his eyes full of amused frustration, “Could be worse.” He lowered his voice, hoping you wouldn’t hear him, “Was better ‘cause it was with you.”

You smiled, “Call it exposure therapy.”

“Exposure therapy? What’s that?”

“It’s where you face your fears by confronting them head on.” He looked at you, still confused, “You know how you’re scared of enclosed spaces?” He nodded his head, “Well, exposure therapy would put you in an enclosed space – like the subway – to confront your fear.”

Bucky nodded his head, mulling over your words in his head. It doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

You came to your apartment lobby, Bucky following you inside. You told him that this is where you left him, and that you’d see him next week, same place, same time.

You were heading toward your apartment when he stopped you, “You know the exposure therapy thing you mentioned?”

You turned back around, “Yeah?”

“Is that a real thing?”

You nodded your head. Bucky swallowed nervously, not sure how to ask the question. You read his mind, “You wanna give it a go?”

He nodded. You grabbed his hand gently, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

“You should probably talk to the professional about how to actually go about it,” you chuckled at how his face darkened at the mention of Raynor, “but I’d love to help you out. Whatever you need.”

Bucky watched you as you disappeared into the stairwell, smiling all the way.

Just like you said, Bucky brought the idea of exposure therapy up with Dr Raynor in his next session. Surprisingly, she was almost immediately on board. She figured that it would be a good way for Bucky to get out of his comfort zone and confront some of his more irrational fears.

He immediately told you. You squealed – a sound that definitely shocked Bucky – grabbing his phone from his hand and adding your number as a contact.

He changed your contact to 'Doll' – not that it was necessary seeing that the only people that ever texted or called were Sam and Raynor. Guess you were another person to add the extremely exclusive club.

The next morning you dragged him to a coffee shop. Not just any coffee shop. The local Starbucks. You drag him in during the rush hour, holding his hand as he grumbles in the line.

"Did we really have to start this extreme?" He says, gazing behind and in front of him. You squeeze his hand, reassuringly.

"You'll be fine. Know what you want?"

You shuffled forward as another person moved out of the line.

The Starbucks worker sighed as you and Bucky walked up to the front of the line. You smiled at Bucky as he gripped your hand, unassuredly.

"Hi - um - can I - uh - get - uh... -" Bucky stumbled over his words. You ran your fingers over his knuckles soothingly, "cold brew - the smallest size."

The worker nodded his head, "that'll be...-" You drowned out his words as you stared up at Bucky's face. His face was still contorted in a grimace, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes. You gave yourself a mental high five.

Bucky paid for his drink and waited as you ordered an iced caramel macchiato with oat milk. Bucky wasn't sure he knew what any of that meant but he looked in awe as you complimented the cashier and made him blush. You had that kind of effect on people.

You grabbed your drinks and went to sit in Central Park, the sun streaming through the trees as you found a bench. You rested your arm next to his, keeping the contact between the two of you minimal.

"You like it?" You asked, staring him in the face. He took a sip and pulled a face.

"Too bitter." He said, sticking his tongue in disgust. You laughed. He celebrated internally, desperate to hear that sound directed toward him again.

"Really?" I thought you would have liked it. You know, given the dark and brooding look you've got going on." You deadpanned. He shoved you gently and you laughed again.

"Try mine," you said, handing over your drink and grabbing his. Yours was much nicer than his, sweeter and more milk too. He smiled in response and took another sip, "Keep it. I like cold brew." He tried to change your mind and hand you back your drink, but you were adamant.

"Let's play a game."

He looked at you, questioningly.

"20 questions."

He turned to face you.

"Rules are: one person asks a question both answer it...-"

"That's not how '20 questions' usually works."

"Well, that's how it works now. Also rapid-fire: you have to say the first thing that comes to mind."

"Ok, shoot." He leaned back, resting on his arm, occasionally taking sips from the macchiato.

"Favourite colour?" You went first, starting simple.

"Yellow," He said, not really thinking. His face blushed when his mind caught up to him though. You noted that for later.

"Mine's blue, like the sea." You responded, staring intently into his eyes. Bucky's eyes were blue, just like the sea on a stormy day. Easy to get lost in. Easy to get found in. Those eyes told you where home was. "Your turn."

"Ok, umm- favourite hobby?"

"Umm, I like painting. Helps me relax. Used to paint a lot as a kid, probably need to do it more often." Bucky stared at your lips as you talked, mesmerised by the way they move. "What about you, Buck?

"Me? Oh, I like reading."

"Oh yeah? What kind of books?"

"The Hobbit. Was my favourite back in the day. Read it with Steve all the time." He became quiet at the mention of his best friend, and you reached out to rest a hand on his.

"You wanna know my other favourite hobby?" Bucky nodded, meeting your eyes, "Helping my favourite super soldier get out of his comfort zone." Bucky's eyes lit up at that.

You stood up, offering Bucky your hand. He grabbed, faking back pain as he stood up. "Where to next, doll?"

"We're going grocery shopping." The groan that left him made you laugh out loud.

You walked into the Target near the compound. Neither of you actually lived in the compound, but this Target was bigger than any of the Targets in the city. You figured the bigger the Target, the more likely it was that Bucky would get out of his comfort zone.

He grabbed your hand and squeezes it tightly. You smiled up at him as you pulled out a trolley. Bucky grabbed it from you, hands tightening around the bar. You linked your arm with his.

"Ready?"

"No."

You smirked, patting his arm, "You'll be fine."

You perused through the aisles, occasionally handing Bucky an item. If you were too short to grab something, he'd reach up over your head and grab it for you. You flushed at that - the feeling of being caged between Bucky made you feel safe. Like nothing could ever touch you.

You walked ahead of Bucky, leaning on your tiptoes to grab some eggs from the shelf. You grab the carton, placing it in the trolley. He looks at you lovingly, your cheeks blushing under his gaze.

"Excuse me, could you move?" An old man shoves past the both of you. Bucky's gaze immediately hardens. The old man continues to grumble under his breath.

He moves to say something, but you grab his hand, shaking your head. Bucky pulls you into his chest, leaning to press his lips to your forehead. Butterflies erupt in your stomach as surprise washes over you. Clearly, his actions caught up to him as he froze up, muscles tightening under your hands. He tried to pull away but you keep your face nuzzled in his chest, arms wrapping tighter around him. You smiled as he relaxed into your hug.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Should we get going, doll? More things to buy."

You nodded but kept your hand in his. He smiled as you leaned into him. This was nice. He could get used to this.

You finished shopping, scanning your things through in the self-service. You didn't have that many items, but Bucky refused to let you pay, whipping out the card that Stark gave him, with the excuse that he didn't use it enough - especially, given the amount of money that Stark had put on it.

You were giddy. Your shopping trip was a success - Bucky now knew that supermarkets weren't even half as scary as he thought. In fact, he even smiled at a worker on his way out.

Bucky helped you load the two shopping bags onto his bike, before strapping the helmet onto your head. You could get used to this.

After that day, you guys went out regularly. You tried restaurants and diners (Bucky preferred diners because it was less fancy and he felt more at home - "haven't changed much from the 40s", he'd said), you tried the gym (or rather, you dragged him to the gym with you on a random Tuesday morning when you had a spin cycle class - it wasn't that bad but Bucky stuck to training at the compound), you even took him to the cinema when they were showing a 'Lord of the Rings' rerun (Bucky almost kissed you when he heard the plan, but restrained himself - there was no way he was scaring you away now).

Therapy with Dr. Raynor became more bearable because it was just another excuse to see you. He'd put more effort into how he looked - combing his hair, keeping his beard trimmed how he knew you liked it.

Raynor picked up on it.

"I see your exposure therapy experiment is going well. What kinds of things have you been up to?"

Bucky stared out the window.

"James?"

He looked Raynor in the eye, before glancing at you through the window in the door. It was barely a shape, due to the frosted treatment on the window, but he knew it was you. He always knew.

"Shopping. She took me to the mall yesterday."

"That's a big step." Raynor said, noting that down with her pen, "How was it?"

"Wasn't that bad. We went into a shop she likes, then she asked me to pick a shop." Bucky looked down at his hands.

You had taken him into Sephora, promising him you only needed to get one thing. You run out of your favourite mascara and just needed to grab a tube. Bucky didn't know what mascara was, nor did he particularly care, but he followed you into the store nevertheless. You picked up the mascara you were looking for but kept milling around, looking to see if anything caught your fancy.

Bucky's hand found yours with relative familiarity, and you pulled him around as you explored. A man from across the shop gave him a sympathetic look.

You left Bucky for a moment to pick up a couple of face masks when the man from across the store made his way over. He patted Bucky on the shoulder amicably.

"Feel for you brother," he chuckled, moving past him. Bucky was confused.

You lined up behind him, mascara, face masks, and some liquid blush that you'd been meaning to get for a while in hand. You paid for the items, wishing the cashiers a good day. When you walked out, you asked Bucky where he wanted to go. It wasn't until you got to the clothes shop that he realised what the man meant.

He'd thought you guys were dating. The thought alone made Bucky want to smile. He gripped your hand tighter and didn't go for the rest of the trip.

Bucky looked up at Raynor and continued, "Then we got food and I dropped her home. Same as usual."

Raynor nodded, "Did it help?"

He shrugged, "I probably wouldn't go again. The mall isn't my kinda place."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Too many teenagers."

Raynor smirked at that, "Any plans for this weekend?"

"Sam's taking me to a bar. Says we need a post-mission stress reliever."

Raynor nodded, "That'll be good for you, James. Enjoy it."

She stood up to open the door and Bucky followed closely behind. He left, wishing Raynor a good evening, before walking up to you with a smile.

"What can I do for my favourite super soldier today?" You asked, placing the sign-in/sign-out sheet in front of him.

"Maybe consider spending your Friday night at a bar with me?" He asked, nervousness hidden behind his confident facade. This was the first time he'd ever asked you on something resembling a date.

You saw through his front, "Is this just because you don't want Sam to spend the entire night trying to set you up with someone?"

"Maybe?"

You laughed.

"Is that a yes?"

"Sure, Buck. I'll go to the bar with you. Pick me up at 7? I'll send you the address."

When you opened the door to your apartment, Bucky's jaw dropped. He thought he'd died and gone to heaven and you were the angel waiting to ring him in.

You smiled at his awestruck expression, patting his cheek before grabbing your hand and leading him to the stairwell he had just walked up. He followed you like a puppy.

He fastened the helmet tightly on your head, before speeding down the road, going as fast as you like it. You rest your head on his back, arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

You waltzed into the bar together, Sam's status as the new Captain America making it easy to skip the queue. You grabbed drinks - a cosmopolitan for you and an old fashioned for him. You teased him for his choice but Bucky just smiled.

You looked around for Sam, but he was nowhere to be found "Probably caught up doing Captain America stuff," you tell Bucky, whose eyebrows had been furrowed almost since you arrived.

You drag Bucky to the dance floor after two drinks, and you stay there for half the night, waiting for Sam to show up. You dance and dance and dance, teaching Bucky some new moves that wouldn't have been legal the last time that Bucky came out dancing with a girl. Bucky's phone buzzed in his pocket.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Sam's calling, I'll be back in a second." You smile up at him, continuing to dance once he'd left.

Not minutes had passed, when you feel a presence behind you. Thinking it was Bucky, you turn around to smile at him, only to come face to face with a greasy smile. He placed his hands on your ass, and you shoved him away, walking towards the bartender.

"Come on, sweetcheeks. Let us have some fun." You walked through the crowd faster, not looking back. He was still following you.

Bucky. He was outside, he could help you.

You made a beeline for the exit, hoping that the creep was far enough behind you, you could get away unseen. You weren't so lucky. He grabbed your hand and pushed you up against the door, arm pressing against your breasts. The door gave way as you pushed against the release latch, causing you to both go stumbling outside.

Bucky was right outside the door, trying to call Sam back, when you came flying through the door. He instantly pocketed his phone, striding towards you as you backed away from your pursuer.

You bumped into his chest, immediately pulling away to face him. You relaxed when you saw it was Bucky, grabbing his shirt and moving behind him.

"You can't hide from me, you little slut." Bucky saw red.

He grabbed the guy by his shirt and pushed him up against the wall, flesh hand coming up to slap his face. "Don't ever call my girl anything again, you hear me?"

You preened at 'my girl', hoping that it was true, that you were truly and honestly his girl.

Bucky let the man go as a bouncer came around the side of the building. He nodded towards Bucky, who explained that "he tried to grab my girl, chased her out the building."

There it was again. 'My girl.'

The bouncer grabbed the man by the scuff of his neck and threw him out onto the curb. Bucky turned to face you, hands stroking the side of his face. He looked intently into your eyes, searching for a hint of pain or fear. There was nothing. All he could see was love, radiating from your gaze and warming him from top to toe.

You grabbed his face and pulled him down, your lips pressing onto his. He melted into the kiss, eyes closing as he took over, tongue slipping between your lips as you gasped. A small whimper escaped you.

"Doll, you're driving me crazy."

"Take me home, Barnes."

He practically raced from the bar to his bedroom, carrying you up every flight of stairs. He gently rested you on the bed, ripping his shirt and jacket off in eagerness. He crawled on top of you as you reach to attach your lips to his. The kiss is long, messier than before, teeth and tongue fighting for dominance. You pulled away for air, resting your forehead against his.

He kissed you again, excitement pouring off of him, before moving to kiss down your jaw and in between your breasts. He eased your top off, leaving you in your bra, and kissed down your belly button to the top of your trousers. He asked for your consent with your eyes, hooking his fingers in your waistband. You nodded vigorously. He pulled your trousers down, discarding them against the floor. You took off your own bra, throwing it into the pile of your clothes. His eyes were fixed on your breasts for a few moments before he turned back to your cunt.

He buried his face in your clothed cunt, his hyper-sensitive smell craving the scent of your arousal. He teased you with his metal finger, rubbing circles around your clit. You arched up against him, whines slipping out of your mouth.

Those sounds made the blood rush straight to his cock.

He swiftly pulls your panties away, throwing them nearby your trousers. He buried his face between your thighs, nosing at your clit as he licked stripes up and down your lips. You whined, begging for more stimulation, and Bucky happily obliged. He moved to licking and sucking your swollen clit, the ministrations making you shiver and shake as you call his name, moaning loud enough for his neighbours to hear. Your thighs clenched around his head, trapping his face in your cunt. He watched as your squirmed, eyes trained on your pleasure-ridden face. He grabbed your thighs, massaging them under his hands, liking the feel of the flesh of your ass in his hand. He felt more possessive of you than ever. This was his.

His fingers moved to work their way into your pussy, it clenching tightly at the intrusion and overload of pleasure. He moved his fingers in and out slowly, picking up the pace of his tongue on your clit. You arched your back again. He smacked your thigh, wanting to gauge your reaction - you moaned loudly and your cunt clenched around his fingers. He growled out how fucking good you taste and how good you are for him. Your cunt clenched again at his praise.

"Oh, you like that? You like being my good little girl?" You moaned in response, "Oh sweetheart, I could eat you out for hours. Look at how pretty you are shaking and shivering for me."

His fingers sped up inside you, pounding into you. You came with a loud moan of his name and a shudder, collapsing against the bed in exhaustion.

The flush on your face and your fucked out expression made Bucky's cock impossibly harder.

He grabbed a condom from the nightstand, and pulled off his trousers and his boxers, discarding them somewhere. His dick was hard against his abs, tip red and leaking. He rolled the condom down his dick.

He pulled you down to the edge of the bed, flipping you over. "Ready for round 2?"

You nod enthusiastically.

"That's my good little girl."

He slid into you easily, giving you a minute to adjust to the stretch. He started off slow, but quickly lost control, yanking your hips up to meet his relentless thrusts. The super-soldier stamina mixed with the way you made him feel, made him all the more driven to push you over the edge again. The sound of your pussy when he drove back into you made him groan, your tits bouncing at the force of his thrusts. He reached forward to play with them, flicking and pulling the nubs as he pounded into you. You moaned, your face buried into a pillow as he pulled your hips back against his.

Bucky lifted your back up to his chest, rubbing at your clit with his metal hand, the flesh one remaining on your tits. You pulled it up, curling the fingers around your throat.

"Oh, you're a dirty girl." He squeezed a little, loving how your pussy clenched at the oxygen deprivation. You came seconds later, shaking as he kept fucking you through your orgasm, telling you how you’re gonna give him another one.

He spilled his own load into the condom moments later, pulling out and pulling you into his chest, both of your hearts beating impossibly fast.

He helped you clean up, wiping your body with a wet cloth after disposing of the used condom, helping you into a pair of his boxers, and giving you a t-shirt to cover everything else.

"Not that you need to. I appreciate having some eye candy to look at," he said cockily, holding the shirt over your head, just out of your reach

You looked up at him, hands covering your naked tits, "Where's this cocky energy when we're out in shops, huh? Would've made exposure therapy so much easier."

He dumped the t-shirt on your head and shoved you lightly as you burst into laughter, pulling on the t-shirt before throwing your arms around his neck.

"S'only for you. All for you." He said, carrying you back into bed and wrapping his arms around you, "Always for you."

"Love you, Buck."

"Love you too, Doll."

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bukcy barnes #bucky x female reader #winter soldier #bucky imagine #bucky smut #no y/n

[roe-and-memory]

every time someone says cars 3 is the worst cars movie another angel punches me in the stomach and pulls my hair.

this is probably just my intense special interest in the origins of nascar, but that movie feels like such a nice send-off for the main “trilogy”, and yes people can have their own opinions but i NEED to talk about how much this movie means to me

first of all, a major misconception is that lightning quit racing - he DIDNT! this is proven by both the end of the movie (where he says hes obviously going to keep racing) and cars on the road where, in the final episode, cruz and lightning wish each other “goodbye” and say they’ll see each other on the racetrack. he was only cruz’s crew chief for that one season, presumably healing from the trauma of the crash (because lets be real his ass did not mentally recover from that in FOUR MONTHS) and also waiting for a permanent crew chief to take his place.

second.. the sheer amount of detail put into that movie is INSANE. the racing center being shaped like grandstands at a track? fireball beach being both a direct reference to the daytona beach race course and also “fireball roberts”, a 1950s racer (he was actually the reason that firesuits were mandated in the sport), we meet a bunch of 1950s racers as well and just augh.. so good. also, the detail of thomasville being in north carolina is brilliant - N.C is the “racing state”, and thomasville speedway is based off of north wilkesboro, a track that was opened in 1949, and last used in 1996 (aside from the series of races in 2010), and it fell into disrepair. (fun fact, north wilkesboro is reopening in 2024 for the nascar all star race!! they fixed my bbg)

third. cars three brings so much more lore than the first movie did. yes, we knew doc raced in the 50s when the sport was getting its start, but in cars 3? they brought in characters based off of real 1950s racers (doc is based off of herb thomas, smokey is smokey yunick, lou is louise smith, junior is junior johnson, river is wendell scott, and leroy hemming is tim flock) (another reference in the movie is “jocko flockos party supplies” as macks disguise - jocko flocko was tim flocks pet monkey that was the FIRST and only co-driver in the history of the sport. he won a race with his monkey in the car with him :) )

as i was saying, the lore we learn is insane. we learn that lou and river had to fight for their place in the sport, which is similar to what both louise smith and wendell scott experienced in the 50s, they show us accurately how racing worked back then too - they didnt have fancy pits, they had a fence and a pit member with a sign that would tell them to come in the next lap for service. all of these cars are gen 1 nascar, which means that they were strictly stock - they had much more intense pit sessions than any of the other “built for racing” generations have ever needed. i recall watching a race wherein smokey yunick had to change the radiator of one of his racers vehicles mid-race due to a crash.

this isnt everything, but seriously for an animated movie about talking cars, they discuss grief and hardships and handle them so well its insane. i know cruz isnt everyones cup of tea, but (in reference to the flip scene at the end of the movie) watching cruz get shoved into the sport must’ve been insane for lou to watch. she saw herself in that girl. it wasnt some movie about lightning giving up, it was him sharing the torch with another kid who lost their way just like he had.

also i dont cry at movies but i literally bawl my fucking eyes out at the letters scene every time. its PATHETIC (its not im literally tearing up just thinking about it)

#cars 2006 #cars fandom #lightning mcqueen #cars 3 (2017) #pixar cars #doc hudson #louise nash #i seriously love cars 3 so much man #and the animation.. augh…. ITS SO GOOD #this was so much longer than i thought it’d be oops 😭

[ziseviolet]

Do you think Hanfu should have a standard style? I mean, we can wear everything but there is this style which representes Hanfu, I think 齐胸襦裙 could be the best style to represent the standard because it cheap, good quality in general and comfortable! What do you think? Or it is better 袄裙？

Hi! Thanks for the question, and sorry for taking ages to reply! (image via)

No, I personally don't think hanfu should have an all-encompassing standard style. Rather than somehow mandating a standard style for everyone, I think it's better to let individual groups, organizations, and institutions set their own standard style if they wish.

Furthermore, as I explained in my post on how I feel about the inconsistency of the hanfu revival movement, even if there was a standard style, it would be very difficult to enforce.

If I had to choose a standard style, I'd probably go with the 交领襦裙/jiaoling (cross-collar) ruqun (image via):

I'd choose jiaoling ruqun because it's:

the most representative style of hanfu imo

commonly depicted in media (well-known)

relatively comfortable & easy to wear

unisex

As for the two options you suggested - 齐胸襦裙/qixiong (chest-high) ruqun & 袄裙/aoqun - while qixiong ruqun is iconic as the representative women's hanfu style of the Tang dynasty, it's not as convenient to wear compared to the other two styles (image via):

Compared to qixiong ruqun, aoqun is probably the better choice when considering convenience & comfort. It's also the representative women's hanfu style of the Ming dynasty, and thus more recent compared to other styles (image via):

With that said, I stick by my opinion that a representative standard style is not necessary for the hanfu revival.

Hope this helps!

#hanfu #jiaoling #qixiong #ruqun #aoqun #hanfu movement #ask #reply #reference #>100 #chinese fashion #chinese clothing #china

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 3, Unbidden - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, alcohol consumption, minor discussions of sex, drunk!Bucky, minor violence, FloRida's Low (that song slaps, okay?), minor anti-Winter Soldier sentiment, an unnecessary Ted Bundy reference just because. As always, let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 4.1k

Previously On...: You and Bucky had a heart-to-heart after you came back from your mission with Steve, and Bucky asked a very interesting question about the nature of your relationship with the Star Spangled Man.

A/N: I just finished writing Chapter 9 ahead of schedule, so here is Chapter 3 a little bit earlier than I planned on posting it! Consider it in honor of Sergeant Barnes' 107th Birthday! This is my favorite chapter; I had so much fun writing it, this part in particular (even though it took me a million tries before I got it to where I wanted it). Sam is finally given some page time, and I adore him, so I hope I've captured his essence sufficiently. I sort of love writing drunk!Bucky. Part three is where things are going to take an interesting turn for Bucky and Pocket so I'm looking forward to posting that soon!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)  @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @jmeelee @cazellen

Slapping your American Express Black Card onto the polished mahogany bar, you made sure the bartender was giving you his full attention. "Everything my group orders tonight goes on my tab, got it?" you told him. "If Tony Stark tries to pay for a single thing, tell him it's already covered and if he has a problem with it, he can take it up with me." The bartender nodded, taking your card and depositing it with the other open tabs behind the bar. It was going to be a very lucrative night for the bar.

You'd all come to Gino's, a downtown dive of place you all loved, to celebrate Bucky's clearance for missions. As a part of his presidential pardon for the Winter Soldier's crimes (completely unnecessary, in your opinion, because Bucky hadn’t been the one to commit them), he had been required to undertake 12 months of court-mandated therapy, and now that he had ten months under his belt, his therapist had signed her approval for Bucky to engage in real Avenger work, provided he was accompanied by another member of the team at all times for supervision. He'd be leaving tomorrow for a classified location with Steve and Sam; they'd be gone for about a week, so you'd wanted to commemorate the event and leave him with some positive memories before he left.

You rejoined your group in the far back, where you'd commandeered the largest corner booth and the surrounding tables. "Tonight's on me," you declared as you approached, "so drink up and eat well." Your friends cheered their thanks; Thor even banged his giant fist against the table in appreciation. You did a mock curtsey before coming to stand behind Bucky where he sat, draping your arms around his neck and shoulders and bringing your head down alongside his.

"Having a good time?" you asked him.

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, leaning back into your touch. "With you by my side? Always," he replied, his voice laced with affection. "But you didn't have to do this, doll. Pay for everything, I mean. We could have all gotten our own."

Letting go of his shoulders, you moved around to sit next to him. "Bullshit. My best friend is going on his first Avengers mission, this is the least I can do."

"Listen, man," said Sam Wilson, also known as The Falcon and, if you were being completely honest, one of your favorite teammates after Bucky, "I know things might have been different when you were younger, but in the 21st Century, when a lady offers to buy you drinks, the polite thing to do is just say 'thank you' and get hammered."

Bucky laughed and chugged down the beer he'd been previously nursing and took the bourbon you'd brought over for him from the bar. "Thank you, Pocket. Though, I don't think I'll be getting... hammered on anything here."

"You're most welcome, Buck," you said, patting his cheek, the stubble tickling at your palm. "But if you are looking to get hammered, I believe our resident God of Thunder has brought a little something extra you could sip on in between beers." You nodded your head toward Thor, who sat a few seats down, pouring a splash of Asgardian something from a flask into Steve's tumbler.

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "Is that so? Maybe I'll take him up on that." The super soldier got up and, squeezing your hand, made his way over to Thor, who gladly poured a generous splash of spirits into Bucky's glass of bourbon.

You watched him for a moment as he sat and drank with Steve and Thor, a warm feeling building in your chest at the sight of him looking and doing so well. He'd made so much progress since he first arrived at the Tower and you were unbelievably proud of him.

"You've been good for him, Pocket," Sam offered with a raise of his glass. "But I gotta know, when are you two gonna stop tip-toeing around each other and make things official?"

You let out an agonized groan. "Not you, too, Sam. Why don't you and Natty get together and write some fanfic about it? That's about as close to reality as it'll get."

"What are Wilson and I collaborating to write smutty fanfiction about?" Natasha asked as she sat down in Bucky's vacated seat, passing you a shot glass.

"Za nashu druzhbu!" You toasted in unison before downing the sweet liquid. To our friendship!

"A Redheaded Slut shot? How very Natasha," you teased.

"Don't try to change the subject," Sam interjected. "Romanoff: (Y/L/N) and Barnes. They go together like Netflix and chill or what?"

Natasha's eyes lit up. "Absolutely! Oh my God; I'm so glad you see it, too. They're just screaming 'Let's fuck already,' right?!"

"I don't know that they haven't started already," Sam said, obviously pleased to finally have someone to talk about this with. "I've never seen Metalhead as content as when he's with Pocket. Figure she's gotta be doing something to keep a smile on his face, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows, setting Natasha off into a barking laugh.

"Jesus Christ, Sam!" you sputtered. "I'm sitting right fucking here!"

Sam gave you a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Baby Girl. 'M just calling it like I see it. And with you and Barnes, I see it."

"She's going to stick to the story that nothing's going on between them," Nat began.

"Because there is nothing going on between us," you interrupted.

"But I think we all know something is brewing between those two," she continued, as if you hadn't said a thing. "I mean, do you really think they're just sleeping in the same bed every night?"

"Hold up, hold up." Sam raised his hand to stop Nat. "You're telling me those two share a bed? How long has this been going on and why am I just hearing about it now?"

"Oh my god," you said, putting your head in your hands and wishing the floor would open up and suck you into a hell dimension. It had to be better than sitting here listening to the two of them talk as if weren't in the room.

"You didn't know?!" Nat's expression was incredulous. "Essentially since the moment Barnes moved into the Tower. They alternate whose bed they sleep in, but it's literally every. single. night."

"That's it," you murmured, though you were sure they weren't paying you any attention, "I am never telling you another thing, ever, Natalia." They weren't embarrassing you, per se. You felt no shame about your closeness with Bucky. It was more that you hated that they were making assumptions about him. You could take ones made about you; you'd been doing that your entire life, but Bucky was different. He was... fragile wasn't the right word, but it came close. You wanted to protect him from everything negative, including your friends gossiping about his alleged sex life.

"Guys, please," you said, loud enough to catch their attention. "I know that, whatever I say, it's not going to convince you that I'm telling you the truth, but I don't want Bucky to hear it, okay? You're just going to make him uncomfortable and he'll retreat into himself, close up. So, save it for when you're by yourselves, alright?"

The sincerity in your words caused Sam and Nat's gazes to soften as they looked at you. You hoped that, despite their ribbing, they understood that your concern for your shared friend was genuine, and that, of the three of you sitting at the table, you knew Bucky best.

"Alright," said Sam, "I'll drop it. For now. But know I've got my eye on you, Pocket." He gave you a shrewd look. "Don't think you can keep your secret from Ole Sammy forever."

You shook your head, annoyingly amused.

The evening moved on pleasantly: conversation and alcohol flowed, and you felt yourself loosening up as the shots you'd drank with Natasha worked their way through your system until you were sporting a pleasant buzz. Bucky eventually came back to join you at your table, eyes glassy and with a giant, dopey grin plastered across his face.

"How's that Asgardian liquor treating you, Buckaroo?" you asked him with a grin of your own, knowing full well he was sauced.

"'s real good, Pocket," he slurred, propping his head on his fist and gazing at you with a dreamy expression. "'s nice and tingly, like the sun is shining on my insides."

"I'm happy for you, Buck," you said with a laugh, shooting an amused glance over Bucky's head to Nat, who responded with a smirk of her own. "That's real good."

He put his arms around you and pulled you into him, almost tugging you off of your chair in the process. "No! You're real good. Sho good to me, all warm and fuzzy and pretty. Just wanna keep touchin' you, you know? 'Cause you make me think of happy things." He paused to nuzzle his face into your hair. "You're m'favorite person."

"You're my favorite person, too, Buck," you said, stifling a giggle, amused by this new soft, silly side of him.

"Me?" he squeaked--actually squeaked. You nodded and then let out a surprised squeal as he pulled you into his lap, holding you almost tight enough to be uncomfortable, his metal arm clinging you to his chest. But then he pulled his head back to look you in the eye, his face suddenly serious.

He slurred, leaning in closer. You could smell the sweet scent of the Asgardian liquor on his breath. "Don'tcha dare tell Stevie, though, doll" he hiccupped, "'cause he'd be real put out if he found out I was your fav'rite."

"Well, then we won't tell him," you assured him, casting a bewildered glance to Nat. She subtly shook her head, as if to say she was just as confused as you as to why Steve would care if Bucky was your favorite person.

Bucky nodded solemnly. "Good. Don't want 'im feelin' bad, but 'm not sorry. 'S not my fault, either. He had ages and he didn't do nuthin'. That's on 'im. Not on me, not on you. On 'im." He began petting your hair in long strokes, seemingly distracted by the feel of it and losing his original train of thought. "Mmmm, you're so pretty. M'pretty little Pocket."

"Why, thank you, my handsome soldier," you replied, tapping him playfully on the nose while wondering what the hell he had been going on about concerning Steve. You hoped he wasn't so drunk that he didn't remember this conversation in the morning, because you were going to press the shit out of him for details.

Oh, but then... the next song from the jukebox caught your attention, and you looked up as the opening bars of Flo Rida's Low filled the air.

"Oh no," moaned Nat with a trace of laughter. "You're gonna dance, aren't you?"

A broad grin broke across your face. You loved dancing to anything, but this song was your kryptonite. "I can't help it," you told her, "it calls me, I come. Let's go!" You stood up, taking Bucky's hand and trying to pull him along with you, but the super soldier just shook his head and refused to move. Apparently he wasn't that drunk. "Fine. Sam, Nat, dance with me."

"I'm coming, Baby Girl," Sam said, taking Nat's hand and dragging her to meet you.

As soon as you had the space, you began to move, the music pulsing through your veins, syncing perfectly with your heartbeat. You swayed your hips in time with the infectious rhythm, your body moving effortlessly to the beat.

You felt Sam come up behind you, placing his hands on your hips as he began to dance with you, bass thumping in your chests. You and Sam had danced together countless times before; he was one of the only ones in the Tower who enjoyed dancing as much as you did, so the two of you had had plenty of practice moving together. Your movements may have been completely innocent, but they gave the appearance of something much more intimate-- it was just the nature of the dance. You could feel the heat of Sam's body pressed against your back, the way his hands gripped your hips protectively. It was all in good fun, a playful dance between friends, until you felt Sam's hands fly from your waist as you were about to get low.

You spun around, finding Bucky standing where Sam had been just a few seconds before, Sam now several feet away, anger wearing heavy on his face.

"What the hell, man?" Sam barked at Bucky. "What'd you shove me for?"

Bucky, his face flushed and eyes narrowed with a combination of intoxication and something dark, took a step towards Sam. "Didn't shove ya, Wilson," he slurred, his words blending together. "Ya just...got in the way."

"Got in the way? Man, we were just dancing. How was I in your way?"

Bucky's jaw clenched, his metal arm flexing by his side. The atmosphere shifted, thick with tension, as if the air in the room had suddenly turned molasses-slow.

"Okay, boys." You stepped between them, hands down and palms open, trying to create as much distance between the two as possible. The last thing you wanted was a drunken argument devolving into some kind of brawl. "It's getting late, and we've all had a good amount to drink." You gave Sam a pointed glance. "Bucky, will you take me home to the Tower? I'm pretty tired and I think I'm ready to call it a night."

Sam nodded in understanding-- it would be a hell of a lot easier to get Bucky home in his current state if he thought he was escorting you, instead of the other way around.

"Yeah, 'course, Pocket," Bucky said, his eyes softening as he looked at you. You were able to call out your goodnights to the rest of the team and, leaving instructions with Nat to close out your tab at the end of the night, began making your way to the door. Bucky stumbled a bit, his balance compromised by the alcohol in his system. You wrapped an arm around him, steadying him as you both made your way outside.

Outside the bar, the cool night air was a welcome relief from the noisy atmosphere inside. Bucky leaned heavily against you, his arm draped around your shoulders for support.

"Fuck, Barnes. You're heavy," you groaned under his weight.

"Fuck me, Pocket," he slurred, head tilting to the side. There was that look in his eyes again. The same one you'd seen the day he'd gotten his new arm. You couldn't identify it, but it made the hair on your arms stand up straight.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I said." You could feel his warmth seeping through your clothes, his presence comforting even in his intoxicated state.

"You good to stand on your own for a second, soldier?" you asked him. "I need to hail us a cab."

Bucky nodded and you carefully eased yourself out from under his arm, scanning the street for a taxi. The bustling city night was alive with lights and sounds, creating a tapestry of urban energy that seemed to match the frequency of the electricity that ran through your brain.

God, did you love this city.

As you raised your hand to flag down a cab, you couldn't help but steal glances at Bucky, his hair in disarray, falling into his eyes and his lips slightly parted as he breathed in the cool night air. Even drunk and disheveled, he still looked so handsome. There was a softness to him in the moment that made him look younger, and for a second, you could imagine that beautiful, carefree young man who had been drafted to cross the sea to fight someone else's war, and had paid for it with even more than his life.

A taxi screeched to a stop in front of you, interrupting your reverie. You hurriedly opened the door and helped Bucky inside, sliding in beside him. The cab driver gave you both a curious glance before pulling away from the curb. Once you gave him the address to Avengers Tower, that look got more and more frequent as he kept checking his rear view mirror.

"Hey, eyes on the road, buddy," you snapped at him, probably putting more aggression into your voice than you had intended, but the way the cab driver was looking at the two of you made you uneasy.

The ride back to the Tower was quiet, the low hum of the taxi's engine serving as a backdrop to the thoughts swirling in your mind. Bucky slumped against you, his head resting on your shoulder as he dozed off. You gently ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the softness of it against your skin. The city lights blurred past outside the window, casting a hazy glow over both of you.

"Listen," the cabbie eventually began in his thick New Jersey accent, "sweetheart, ya seem like a nice girl, but I don't think ya know what you're dealin' with, here. That man right there's the Winter Soldier. He's a murderer, a nasty one. The kind that likes to take a sweet thing like you and do horrible things."

You rolled your eyes. If they were going to keep telling stories about the Winter Soldier, the least they could do was get the details right instead of making him sound like Ted Fucking Bundy.

"This nasty murderer is my best friend," you said, each word clipped and infused with the anger you felt on Bucky's behalf. "So, maybe you should stick with getting us to our destination instead of trying to lecture me on something you know absolutely nothing about."

The cabbie fell silent, his eyes darting nervously between the road ahead and the rearview mirror. You could tell that he was regretting his decision to say anything, realizing that he had struck a nerve. Or, you thought with an amused chuckle, afraid that you were just as nasty as the Winter Soldier. But you couldn't blame him entirely. The reputation of the Winter Soldier was notorious, and it was only natural for people to be cautious. You just wished they knew the name Bucky Barnes, and the actual man, himself, just as well.

You sighed and shifted your gaze to Bucky, still unconscious against your shoulder. It wasn't fair, you thought, how people judged him solely based on his past. Yes, there were dark chapters in his history, but he had fought tooth and nail to regain control over his life. He had redeemed himself in countless ways even before he had officially joined the Avengers.

As the taxi approached Avengers Tower, you leaned over and gently shook Bucky awake. His eyes fluttered open, confusion etched in his features for a brief moment before recognition set in.

"We're home, Buck," you whispered softly, trying to soothe away any lingering unease from your brief conversation with the cab driver. "Let's get you upstairs." You threw a handful of bills in the cabbie's direction, not even bothering to wait for him to give you your change; you just wanted out of his cab and away from his prejudice.

Bucky nodded, rubbing sleep from his eyes. With your help, he stumbled out of the taxi and leaned on you for support as you made your way into the building.

"'m sorry 'bout that, doll," he drawled as you passed the security desk, sending a quick wave to the night guard.

"Sorry for what, Buck?" you asked him. He was silent as you made your way to the elevator bay, waiting until you had pressed the button to summon the elevator car.

"'bout the cabbie." He avoided looking at you while you waited, and it was like a punch to your gut-- he'd heard everything that ignorant man had said. The elevator doors dinged open and you helped usher him inside.

You took a deep breath as you pressed the button for your floor, the retinal scanner making quick work to prove your identity and verify your security clearance. "Buck," you exhaled, "you have nothing to apologize for. That man was an asshole and an idiot."

Bucky leaned back against the elevator wall, his head thumping against the cool metal. "But he was right. I am a nasty murderer."

You could scream. You could strangle that cabbie with your bare hands. Bucky had been doing so well, had been having such a good night, and one person's careless remark had ruined all of it.

"Barnes," you said, turning to face him. "Look at me. Do you think I'm stupid?"

His eyes grew wide at the insinuation, even in his drunk state, he was with it enough to be taken aback by your question. "'bsolutely not, doll. You're the smartest person I know. Smarter than Stark, even, 'cause you can admit when your wrong." The compliment left you trying to hide a smile.

"Okay. Do you trust my judgment?"

"With my life," he breathed. The elevator opened to your floor, and you helped Bucky out into the hall and down the corridor toward his room. The soft glow of the hallway lights illuminated his features, casting a warm, intimate aura around the two of you.

"So, if I'm not stupid and you trust my judgment, trust me when I tell you are not what that man says you are. You are a good man who had too many horrible things happen to him. And despite all those horrible things, you are still the kindest, funniest, most gentle man that I know."

As you reached his door, Bucky turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. "Thank you, Pocket. Thank you for taking care of me, and for being my friend," he murmured, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and emotion.

A small smile played on your lips. "Always, Buck," you replied softly. "Now let's get you inside."

With a gentle push, you opened the door to his room and guided him over to his bed. Bucky collapsed onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, his body sinking into the softness beneath him. Once you'd pulled off his boots, you knelt down beside him, tucking the blanket around his shoulders.

As you straightened up, Bucky reached out and grabbed your hand, his grip surprisingly strong despite his intoxicated state. His gaze locked with yours, a mix of vulnerability and longing flickering in his eyes.

"I don't want you to leave," he whispered, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.

"I'm just going to hop over to my room to change into pajamas," you assured him. "I'll be right back. Promise." You smoothed his hair, trying to tame it from where it stood up in all directions.

"'kay," he said through a yawn, "but don't take too long. I got somethin' I need to tell ya. 's important."

"Okay," you told him, planting a kiss on his head. "I'll be just a minute." You hurried across the hall to your own room, changing into your pajamas and brushing your teeth in record time.

Re-entering Bucky's room, you were extremely curious as to what he'd wanted to say to you. "Alright, Buckaroo, I'm back. What did you--"

You smiled to yourself. Bucky was fast asleep, light snores emanating from him as he lay sprawled across the bed. You couldn't help but find him adorable in his slumber, especially with his hair sticking up in all directions.

With a soft sigh, you walked over to the side of the bed and gently sat down, watching Bucky's peaceful face. It was moments like these that reminded you of how much he had been through, how much pain and loss he had experienced. Despite his tough exterior, there was a vulnerability about him that tugged at your heartstrings.

You leaned in closer, unable to resist the urge to brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. Your fingers lingered on his skin for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the warmth radiating from him. The desire to protect and comfort him overwhelmed you, making your heart ache with affection, and something else that you couldn't quite identify.

Pulling down the covers, you climbed into bed next to him, snuggling up to his body for warmth. He grunted and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. It wasn't long before you drifted off into a slumber of your own.

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[fallout-lou-begas]

Not sure if you’ve been asked this before, but what are your favorite/essential mods for new vegas? I’ve only ever played it unmodded so I’m curious

Good question! I definitely have answered this before, but that was so many years ago. It's only now that I've taken the opportunity to overhaul and modernize my own mod set-up that I've been figuring out the answer to this question myself. But I can definitely talk you through the most important parts of my new load order.

First, however, every single person modding this game in this day and age absolutely needs to start with the Viva New Vegas modding guide, and follow every step to the letter. The recommendations are air-tight and the instructions are written and presented as if you, the reader, have never even seen so much as a computer before. It's amazing. The "Base" of VNV contains nothing but bugfixes, lightweight unofficial patches, performance optimizations, and other under-the-hood stuff designed to remedy FNV's infamous stability issues while maintaining a completely "vanilla" feel. This makes it absolutely necessary, in my opinion, even for people who don't actually want to play with any (other) mods. Especially crucial to this guide is its mandate to use Mod Organizer 2; if you're using Nexus Mod Manager, Vortex, or Fallout Mod Manager any time since Biden got elected, you are shooting yourself in the foot plain and simple. The best endorsement that I can give of Mod Organizer 2 is that it mods you game completely virtually, meaning that if you fuck your mods up beyond repair, you can just go to your actual FNV launcher in your root folder and boot up the vanilla game like nothing ever happened.

And the "Extended" section of Viva New Vegas consists of more modding tools, quality of life tweaks, content restorations, and a curated list of strongly recommended gameplay modifications that nevertheless all come down to your personal preference (though deviating from their provided list may make you use your brain a little bit when choosing the right compatibility patches, and so on).

This isn't going to cover every single thing that I play with, but here's everything that I would think to suggest to anybody who asked. With that said, here's Fallout "Lou" Begas's Mod Recommendations, 2024 Edition:

Viva New Vegas Extended: Lou's Preferences

VNV Extended recommends several gameplay modifications that come down to personal preference. I installed just about all of them, with a few exceptions (I don't care at all for B42 Optics, for example). Here's some specific details:

Just Assorted Mods has a hell of a lot of features but I actually enable are breath-holding, the vanilla sprint, and the loot menu (though I flip-flop often on using JAM's Bullet Time in place of V.A.T.S.). If you install VNV and boot up the game and wonder "what is all this fucking shit on my HUD," it's probably some of Just Assorted Mods's components. Just disable the ones you don't want in the in-game Mod Configuration Menu, which you will also have available if you followed the instructions for VNV Base.

Vigor is a modernized fork of JSawyer, the mod that was originally created by FNV's own director after the game's release that tweaked a lot of under-the-hood game settings and statistical balance to his personal preferences. JSawyer Ultimate Edition a more faithful modernization of the original JSawyer whereas Vigor is "a more lightweight alternative" that dials back some of the more drastic features of JSUE. Your choice of these, or none of them, is purely personal preference, and my preference is for Vigor. Any form of JSawyer is strongly recommended if you play in Hardcore Mode.

Simple Vigor Config is used in conjuncton with Vigor and is an intuitive and easy way to overwrite Vigor's gamesetting changes with your own preference. I use the config to adjust carry weight to a much more punishing (25 + 5*STR) formula that incentivizes the use of backpacks, mindful inventory management, and companion inventory space; and to increase the starvation, thirst, and sleep Hardcore Mode rates to 10, 5, and 14 respectively.

Desert Natural Weathers is the weather mod to end all weather mods, in my view, and it includes configuration for customizing the darkness and visibility of nighttime. This effectively obsoletes former dinosaurs like Darker Nights Ultimate Edition. Refer to the post that I made on DNUE's Nexus page here for a copy of my settings to darken those dang nights with DNW.

In AIStewie's Tweaks's nvse_stewie_tweaks.ini file, I set bCustomSpecialPoints = 1 and iNumPointsToAllocate = 35. This slightly reduced starting stat spread forces you to make tradeoffs in your character creation, because it starts with a perfect middle 5 in every stat. Every addition above average will require a subtraction below average. The "Essentials" INI included with VNV Base is all that most players will ever need, so this is my one specific personal tweak that'll keep you from scrolling through every single option in the whole damn thing (though I also recommend enabling the tweaks that hide all of your skill check tags in dialogue for more immersive and less gamified roleplaying in conversation: set bNoSkillTags, bRemoveFailedSuccessText, bRemoveRedOutline, and iRemoveTags to all = 1. )

Lou's Personally Valuable or Sentimental Tweaks and Fixes

Better Pause Menu Screen (Simple Blur). I play with an ultrawide resolution and the vanilla pause menu filter doesn't actually extend past 1920x1080. So this is really vital, lol.

Vanilla Animations Weapon Scale Fix. This mod will fix a common issue with custom weapons and animation mods where your weapon will become invisible because its scale has gotten stuck at 0.

Companion Carry Weight Fix. All companions in the game have an invisible attribute called "companion suite" that, among other things, halves their carrying capacity based on their actual stats. If you play with a super low carry weight formula like I do, you can see how this is a problem. Here's the solution.

Miscellaneous Tweaks Collection includes a few files that I get great use out of: No DLC Recipes Early (great unless you integrate DLC crafting ingredients into your base game somehow) and Vendors Have Throwables (why the fuck are throwing weapons so hard to find in vanilla!). There are others that I use as well but I recommend these two the most generally.

Lucky 38 Suite Upgrade Terminal Tweak is a very cute little mod that removes the ugly wall-mounted terminal and makes you purchase your suite upgrades from the actual computer on the desk in the master bedroom instead.

I Fought the Law - Simple NCR Start finally gives you a good reason to check out NCRCF if you're not siding with the Powder Gangers.

Hire Cass Early was my "dream mod" for the longest time, and thanks to some help, it's finally a reality. Simply pick up the letter that this mod adds to the Mojave Express office in Primm and you can recruit Cass right away (through the usual persuasive requirements) without ever stepping off the road from Goodsprings to the Mojave Outpost. Part of my ongoing "make @ikroah real" project.

Harder Strip Access. Getting into Vegas to finally confront Benny should feel like a tremendous accomplishment. This mod makes it so. Better pony up the caps or call in one hell of a favor, kid! With any kind of tougher economy mods, especially, this mod makes it wonderfully Herculean to just buy your way onto the Strip.

Balance Tweaks

Pseudo-Realistic Carry Weight - No Weightless Item Overhaul and Realistic Bottle Cap Weight. The former is actually an optional file; the main file just implements the the carry weight formula that I was coincidentally already using. The latter just forces you to think strategically about how much money you're walking around with. Can you tell that I love inventory management? Note that if you give bottlecaps weight, you should definitely let yourself drop them when necessary by editing Stewie's Tweaks (bShowCurrencyInContainers = 1).

Carry Weight Affects Speed, Med-Tek Trauma Kit (Lou's Version), and More Conditions to Fast Travel. The first appearance of my own mods on this list! These three mods in conjunction tie your encumbrance and your overall health to your mobility far more strictly. I love the balancing act of packing enough supplies for an excursion while leaving enough room for loot that I can still fast travel with, and the choice to get greedy with more loot than I can comfortably carry and just hope to not run into danger on my slow walk back toward a merchant. My tweaks to the classic Med-Tek Trauma Kit mod apply this level of emergent gameplay and resource management to your limb health, though it makes the game much more difficult unless your character specializes in Medicine. I haven't tried it myself, but Simple Healing System is fully configurable, modern mod that I've had my eyes on and that might be better for most general playstyles, and it might even be compatible in conjunction with my Med-Tek mod for extra intensity!

Better Charisma (Charisma Affects Dialogue Skill Checks) and/or Charisma Affects Reputation. I've always been very frustrated with how much of a meaningless dump stat Charisma is, and the phenomenon of the 1 CHA 100 Speech player character in general. These two mods, which you can use just one of or both together, give Charisma much more meaningful and palpable functionality.

Terrifying Presence (Lou's Version), speaking of Charisma, changes the requirement for this perk from Level 6 and 70 Speech to Level 2 and 6 CHA, making it much more accessible to more types of intimidating characters. This same mod includes alternate options to take it as a trait instead, with the drawback(s) of either tanking your Speech and Barter and/or increasing your addiction chance. See also: Less Snarky Terrifying Presence.

New Vegas Karma Rebalance is a great under-the-hood mod that makes FNV's nearly vestigial karma system less nonsensical without removing it or its effects on the player entirely. Thanks to this and Mass Ownership Tweaks, which is already included in VNV Extended's recommendation of Essential Vanilla Enhancements Merged, Cass won't hate your guts just for stealing a few things from Caesar's Legion at Cottonwood Cove, especially not after you've already killed them all.

Damage Multiplier solves the sluggish damage sponge problem that plagues Bethesda engine combat by simply multiplying all damage dealt globally, both by and to the player, by a factor of your choosing. I use 2.5x, which is usually enough to kill any level-appropriate human being with a single shot to the head. 2x should be the minimum. Combine with Combat Enhancer NVSE and NPCs Use Ammo for overall faster but much more ferocious and intense combat engagements.

Visuals and Animations

Third Person Camera Overhaul. Though I'm still getting used to its extremely specific configuration settings, this is vital for a third-person enjoyer like myself. It obsoletes any and all "dynamic camera" or "shoulder swap" mods of the past. Once you figure out how it works and what you like, you're set for life.

Realistic Movement and Dramatic Inertia. Although a little goofy, it has never felt better for me to physically move around in the game than it has before. I like the weight and get-up-and-go that this mod has for me as a player, but it's especially significant in firefights and other combat situations where, now, your targets can't dodge bullets by shifting direction instantly or stopping and turning on perfect dimes. For a single, less heavyweight alternative, try 360 Movement and Diagonal Movement together instead. Each pair of these mods is incompatible with the other pair, however.

B42 Loot, B42 Interact, and B42 Inject. I recommend a lot of the B42 family of animation overhauls in general (except B42 Optics, lol) because I just love seeing my character actually do the things they're doing. For B42 Loot, I use the included config file to disable the "force pull" effect, and for B42 Interact, there exists compatibility patches between it and its more third-person oriented counterpart Animated Ingestibles, but I'd only look into that if you know what you're doing (though, I do).

Character Kit Remake is a mod that I was turned onto recently. For a long time I have scoffed at character appearance overhauls out of nostalgia for those classic gamebryo engine potato-faces and what I thought was, to be blunt, the tasteless ineptitude of the actual overhauling. But I do really like this one, even if the showcase of screenshots do a really bad job of selling it. It looks a lot better in motion and in game, I promise. i think that these people are just not good digital photographers.

Height Randomizer. It's funny how much you can get attached to a minor character when they are, for whatever reason, especially tall or short. This lightweight mod just adds some height variance to all NPCs in the game that don't already have a non-normal 1.00 height setting in vanilla.

The Strip Groove. Dance on command. Endorsed.

Items, Economy, Crafting, Survival, Repair, Etc.

Gloves Galore (Lou's Version), Power Armor Gloves, Combat Armor Gloves, and White Glove Society Wear Gloves. Anyone who has followed me long enough on here should know that I have strong, totally normal feelings about gloves.

Armed to the Teeth Redux and literally any backpack mod. I've used this duffel bag forever, for example. I love these ones because I personally love when you can physically, literally see the things that a character is supposed to be carrying.

Flashlight NVSE. Another piece of Agnes Sands's arsenal, this is the one "old" mod that I can't quit. Even if it is a little janky, I've yet to find a better directional flashlight mod. Only install this is you think you can handle wrestling with it a little, and make sure your "Exterior" flashlight settings are all on the lowest quality regardless of computer specs (or else it causes flickering). It's a must-have for darker nights, too.

Famine is the last "loot scarcity" mod you'll ever need. Combine it with Harder, Barter, Faster, Stronger from the VNV Extended recommendations list for a really tough time affording even basic necessities without tailoring your build for mercantile success... which is just how I like it.

Cheaper Repair Costs. The vanilla formula for determining the cost of weapon and armor repairs at merchants is, in a word, fucked, where it literally costs twice the weapon's base value to repair it from broken. This mod lets you adjust that proportion so that you won't be better off literally selling and buying another gun in every single case. I play with a rate of 67% (which means that paying a merchant to repair a completely broken weapon from 0% health to 100% health will cost 67% of the weapon's base value).

Alternative Repairing does too much cool, practical shit to the base repairing system to even get into here. To keep it short, it intuitively incentivizes actually scrounging for all kinds of formerly useless junk that you can now scrap for spare parts. Check it out.

Water Overhaul. Ever play with a Universal Water Bottling mod and find things suddenly far too easy? Water Overhaul combines all the convenience and sense-making of bottling water anywhere with the much-needed tradeoff of truly purified water being much rarer. All that convenient H2O is now just radioactive enough to keep Goodsprings Source from singlehandedly breaking the survival economy of the game (not to mention the literal economy).

Cowboy Coffee and Coffee Grounds, my own mod that adds brewable coffee to the wasteland. While mostly just created because it's cute, it's really nice to have a reliable and palpable source of sleep deprivation relief when playing in Hardcore Mode.

Gun Oil From Animal Fat, another mod of mine that provides a cheaper, craftable, and less demanding but less effective repair option to complement Weapon Repair Kits. I patched this one recently to fix some old issues, and it's great for incentivizing emergent gameplay (since you need to hunt for meat, and cook the meat for fat, and combine the fat with loot to make the gun oil).

Sound

Less Constant Music and Passive Combat Music Tweaked do exactly what they say on the tin and are perfect for people who like to get immersed in the natural sound of their environment, especially if you're a chronically stealthy player like me and you've trained yourself to constantly listen for enemy footsteps. I do recommend keeping Less Constant Music disabled when you first start a game, though, because until I can figure out how to add an exception to it myself, it will remove the background music from character creation at Doc Mitchell's house more often than not, and I really like that music.

SPEAKING of Doc Mitchell's music, Try Not To Get Killed Anymore is one of the first mods I ever made and it has never left my load order. It simply replaces the musical sting that plays when you die with an emphatic, tolling bell and the refrain from Doc Mitchell's theme, plus an optional version that includes his ghostly voice telling you to try not to get killed anymore. Two of my other personal sound replacers are the Mysterious Stranger Level-up Theme, Simple Snap Sound Effects for Quest Updates, and Mechanical Camera VATS.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #mods

[carlyraejepsans]

> Inspect the library. Maybe the books here have useful information.

You've already gone through most of the books in the castle. If there's anything you might have missed, it has to be here. Besides, when will you ever get a second chance at this?

You inspect the library. With a figertip, you draw a sharp line through its grey mantle. The dust on the shelves is thick enough for skiing. The only sign of cleaning being a small dimple through its surface, presumably from someone performing the same kind of assessment you just did, but enough time ago that their own clean line had raced to catch up with the median dust level.

There is no way for you to proceed with your investigations without leaving traces here. You just hope that the kind of occupant that doesn't pay notice to this level of dust wouldn't notice if it suddenly went away, either.

You start pulling books out of the shelves. They're... logs, it seems. Both in the sense that they're heavy as bricks, as in the sense that they're registers. Law changes, regulations, Royal mandates. The years, too, keep varying wildly: 1898, 1967, 2018.

"That can't be right," you mumble to yourself, "That's half a millennia ago. How are they still in these conditions?"

Halfway through a shorthand discussion on "Magical energy distribution in the farther regions", you find what appears to be a rough map of the entire underground world. Seems like the cave does expand westward, just like the King mentioned.

You hesitate—then carefully tear the page out of the book and shove it in your bag. Could be useful.

You pull out another book. You stare at the cover. Your eyes are beginning to sting after straining so hard to read at firelight, but you're pretty sure you read the title right.

"Practical Techniques In Home Cooking". Author name illegible. It feels well loved, even as you hold it. The spine is cracked where it isn't downright ripped, and a few loose pages threaten to escape and rustle to the floor as you carefully open it.

The inside of the book is as consumed with use as its outside. Thousands of hand annotations in firm, neat pencil writing frame what, to the book's credit, indeed seem to be cooking techniques for home use. Occasionally, the author proposes a recipe. It's in these pages that the amateur co-author's corrections thicken, webbing through the original text like a spider, correcting proportions and specifying cooking times.

The co-author seems to have very strong opinions about "the dangers of non-magical fires in the kitchen".

Despite your situation, you can't put the book down. This isn't useful, per se, but it is... different. Different from anything you've seen so far, from the moment you stumbled into this cave. It feels genuine, domestic. It feels, well...

Human. Something in your heart stirs.

To your surprise, a series of crayon drawings render the next recipe almost unreadable. They're goofy, colorful, and rudimentary in the way that only young children's art can be. You smile as you turn another page. And that's when you see it. Tucked neatly into the book.

It's a photograph. A thumb half covers the lenses, but the rest is clear. Two figures smile toothily at the camera, covered in cocoa powder and flour: one is a monster, small and white furred like powdered sugar, and it points at the photographer, maybe warning them about the camera.

The other is human.

You stop breathing. You squint at the photograph, looking closer for control panels or screws, or antennae—anything that would tell you the person in the picture is actually some kind of monster—but find nothing. It's just... a kid. Perhaps a few years younger than you, all puffy cheeks and scraggly hair, their index finger dipped in chocolate batter. Their smile is missing a tooth.

You turn the photograph over. In the back, you once again recognize the neat handwriting of the co-author: "My little helpers, 2019"

You exhale, somewhat unsteadily, as something glows brighter in your chest.

Other humans. There were other humans in the underground. And maybe, if other humans came here, other humans made it out, too. Maybe—you let yourself hope—maybe there is a way out.

You look down at the photograph once again, just to marvel at your discovery.

"How did you even get here," you whisper, tracing the borders with a finger.

A chill runs down your spine.

"pretty sure that's my line, buddy."

You drop the book and turn, clutching your bag. Its broken-off pages spill onto the floor like an avalanche.

The skeleton leans his back against the door, smiling placidly at you. He's in his shirtsleeves, the sleeves themselves rolled up to the elbow, and he seems to have changed his dress pants for a pair of loose gym shorts. He tips a mug at you.

You didn't hear him unlock the door. You didn't hear anything.

Staring at the pinpricks of light in his eyesockets, you realize this is the first time you've seen him without sunglasses.

You also realize he's wearing pink slippers.

"heya," he says.

-->

#undertale #mywriting #sans #there he is. the man the myth the legend

[thickenmyblood]

I love HIUH and think about it often. Today I was thinking about Laurent and his experience with his own court-mandated therapy along with some of your recent tumblr comments.

Did he want to start therapy back when he did? I assume that if it was court-mandated it was a condition of him getting custody of Nicaise. Did he want to go on medication or did he resist? What would cause Paschal to recommend it? Damen mentioned early on in the story some fighting between Laurent and Nicaise when he first started living with them, so maybe that was it and it was worse than Damen and his rose-tinted glasses remembers.

I always assumed Laurent would be very pro-therapy (for Nicaise's well being and when he learned that Damen went too) but does he think the same thing for himself -- especially since you noted that this Laurent is very self-hating and was basically ok with being a target of Damen's unintended toxic masculinity. He also seemed to take the brunt of Agnes' well-meaning advise to him about him separating his life from Nicaise's and that ended up with Damen mad at him for not noticing what was happening.

It's all so interesting and I'd love to hear more if you can/want to share. Thank you!

hi!!!!!!!! i love these questions.

Did he want to start therapy back when he did? I assume that if it was court-mandated it was a condition of him getting custody of Nicaise.

no, he didn't want to do it, but at the same time I think of laurent as a very rational person, and so it would be hard for him to objectively say "I'm fine and don't need any kind of help" when he lost his entire family and was emotionally and sexually abused for years. it's my headcanon that he went into it thinking "I'll attend the required 20-something sessions and then I'm done", but he ended up liking paschal and also realizing he really needed the outlet (let's face it, he was NOT going to be talking to damen about any of that)

Did he want to go on medication or did he resist? What would cause Paschal to recommend it? Damen mentioned early on in the story some fighting between Laurent and Nicaise when he first started living with them, so maybe that was it and it was worse than Damen and his rose-tinted glasses remembers.

there are a few mentions in the story about how negatively laurent thinks and feels about his mother. it's implied she also struggled with mental health issues and ended up needing some kind of treatment (meds, inpatient, etc.), which laurent doesn't seem very supportive of. it's my personal opinion that laurent doesn't want to end up like her, doesn't want to relate to her in that way, and he's already at a disadvantage because he was institutionalized as a teen. so . . . yes, I think he REALLY resisted going on meds.

as to why paschal recommended it . . . we don't see this in canon because the story ends in KR and that's it for them, basically, but I imagine that once things have settled, laurent abandons his hypervigilant state and in the new calm that follows is forced to deal with all the emotional things he did not have the time, space, comfort to do deal with before. which means actually FEELING your feelings. which means . . . going a bit insane. i did a lot of trimming when it comes to the flashbacks, but there was one I sort of regret taking out because it showed laurent right before going on meds. he's in and out all the time, in public and when he's alone, and damen doesn't really notice how bad it is until they're having a conversation that borders on suicidal ideation.

“Disappear,” Damen said. “Like a vacation?” Laurent stopped scrubbing his hands. “No.” “The school year doesn’t end for another three months.” “The school year?” Damen frowned then, because— “Unless you don’t want to take Nicaise?” “Nicaise,” Laurent said, like he was hearing the name for the first time. He went back to scrubbing.

it's also mentioned in the fic that laurent has trouble sleeping. so, it's a nice combo of years of pent-up shame and self-hatred, anxiety and stress over the new responsibility of raising a kid, guilt over what happened to said kid, a baseline of depression, issues with your partner because you don't know how to be vulnerable and he's a bit too oblivious sometimes . . . yeah. laurent and nicaise's arguments def pushed laurent over the edge, too, because back then nicaise was still pretty much team uncle, which in turn brought up a lot of trauma for laurent since they're mirror characters in the fic.

i loved this ask!!! thank you for reading the story and reaching out!! i hope this reply was worth your time.

#hiuh #anon #tw mental health #tw suicidal thoughts #laurent in hiuh is my spirit animal #i mean any laurent is bc i love him #but honestly i think i love damen more???? idk man there's just something about a guy not being able to do yoga that just gets me #captive prince

[wholesomefluffdaddy]

Wednesday's new court mandated therapist is having her keep a journal of her thoughts and feelings. Wednesday finds this to be a complete waste of time and decides instead to use it to record her observations of her unusual roommate Enid Sinclair. Wednesday POV.

——————————————

Entry 8

Current Moon Phase: Waning Crescent 🌘

I decided it was time to broach the subject of being packmates with Enid but fate evidently had other plans. My plan was to wait for Enid to wake, accompany her (as per usual) down to the cafeteria, and discuss the topic over breakfast. However, upon waking I discovered that Enid wasn't present. Instead I found a note tied around the neck of a stuffed animal. The stuffed animal, a small wolf to be exact, had been tucked into my bed next to me. The message informed me that the werewolf was attending one of the numerous extracurricular activities she is involved in. She would be gone for most of the morning but promised to return before noon with a 'special treat' for me.

I was admittedly forlorn at her absence. My daily routine typically includes watching over Enid until she awakens - purely for academic reasons of course, as much can be learned from observing a sleeping werewolf. In my time observing her slumber I have noticed her 'wolf out' or shift unintentional in minor ways; growing claws, lengthening fangs, increased body hair, slight extensions of limbs, etc. I can only assume these are akin to talking or walking in one's sleep. Enid is oftentimes growling while she shifts, I assume in response to any dreams or nightmares she may be experiencing. The sound sends the most marvelous shivers down my spine, not to mention how prepossessing she looks during her slumber.

With my plans dashed I decided upon my next course of action. Enid's note indicated she would be bringing me a treat (likely sustenance of some sort) and I wished to return the favor. I considered hunting down another spider but unfortunately I appear to have decimated the entire population that once lived in our dorm. Somewhat disappointed, I contemplated an adequate alternative as I headed down to the cafeteria.

Unsurprisingly I was ambushed by the troublesome bloodsucker Tanaka while I attempted to enjoy my breakfast in solitude. She asked as to Enid's whereabouts, quipping that we must have had a spat if I was off 'sulking' on my own. I corrected her vexatious assumptions by stating Enid was attending to one of her countless extracurriculars and she was, in fact, not upset with me as she would be bringing me a gift upon her return. The vampire appeared to be lost in thought after my answer (However, that would be operating under the erroneous presupposition that the irritating leech was capable of thought). She then asked if I had anything in mind that I wanted to give Enid in return.

I considered her question before erroneously assuming it would be inconsequential to inform her. I shared my thoughts about catching another spider for her. Unfortunately, the two sirens, Portokalos and Barklay, happened to be passing by as they heard my proposal. They joined my table without invitation and began questioning me at once. The vampire quickly explained my current quandary. I did not care for their responses 'of fucking course.' I do not understand their frequent use of the expletive as a superfluous word but I digress. Their looks of incredulity made me question my would-be bestowal. Was a spider really such a common gift? Their expressions appeared to indicate such.

Against my better judgment I invited their recommendations on gifts for Enid. Portokalos suggested a stuffed animal, Tanaka an illicit substance, and Barclay a handmade gift. Of all the terrible propositions, Barclay's seemed the most acceptable. I voiced this opinion. Barclay added the stipulation that 'if you have to go with something weird, go with kooky rather than spooky.' While I did not ask for any further input they began discussing the matter amongst themselves as to what I should make for Enid. I found it most irksome and made to leave but they joined me, continuing their conversation. As I wandered the halls they proceeded to pester me with their dreadful ideas.

I decided to head for the library, in that if they insisted on following me they would at least have to quiet down. It was only somewhat successful. A proposal was made that I should write Enid a poem. The idea was tempting, until they began to squabble about the type of poem it should be; haiku, limerick, or free verse. I personally had a preference towards a sonnet but I felt that a haiku would be adequate.

Moonlight, blonde, pink, blue,

Your howls disrupt my slumber,

Simple, joyous wolf

Apparently my haiku was the cause of much merriment among my unwanted companions. I did not care for their criticisms. As I prepared to leave I was joined by evermore undesired company; the siren Kent Portokalos and a certain dimwitted and detestably wretched gorgon. The bothersome mosquito informed them of my predicament. Apparently Nevermore students love nothing more than to stick their noses into the business of others.

In an attempt to escape the mass of meddlesome busybodies I headed for the hives. The swarms of bees unfortunately did not dissuade them from following. Eugene appeared startled and most perplexed at the invading crowd. I made to inform him of my plight but once again the bloodsucker felt the need to expose my personal matters. Eugene seemed both surprised and not at my dilemma. He was most generous in offering a jar of recently harvested honey. The jury behind me evidently could not come to a consensus as to whether this gift was suitable. Ignoring their persistent and unsolicited advice I pocketed the honey and continued on my ever maddening quest.

It was not long before a mob soon amassed and began tormenting me with a barrage of never ending suggestions. Evidently I have been woefully unaware how invested the students of the academy were with my trivial pursuit of appeasing Enid with a simple offering. I was left with no option but to make a hasty retreat back to my dorm room.

Once I returned I began to pace as I tried to come up with a suitable gift to bestow upon my werewolf. I rewrote my poem but I felt that it alone wasn't enough. I considered expressing my gratitude through a painting. However, I lacked the necessary materials and was not keen on leaving the quiet sanctuary of my dorm. I noticed Enid's crafting supplies out of the corner of my eye. An idea came to mind as I glanced between it and the stuffed animal still sitting in my bed. While I lack the knowledge of knitting and crocheting, I at least know the basics when it comes to sewing (Albeit from stitching up superficial wounds but I believed the same principles would apply).

With a clear vision in mind I set to work. However, it soon became clear that while there was indeed an overlap when it came to stitching, it did not make up for my lack of stuffed animal design skills. I have never constructed such a soft sculpture before and the task was more difficult than anticipated. Panic soon gripped me as I glanced between my unfinished work and the time. I had but an hour left before her return. I tried my best to ignore it and press on.

Without my awareness, many hours had soon passed and all I had to show for it was a crudely made amorphous dragon. Thoroughly disappointed in myself I checked the time once again. I was alarmed to see how late it had gotten. I was even more so worried that Enid had not returned. Her note had clearly stated that she would return prior to noon. It was well past noon and yet she was still absent. I spun around in my chair as I heard the door to our dorm open. The relief I felt was immeasurable as the boisterous werewolf blithely bounced in.

I scrambled to my feet and hurriedly gathered the fruits of my labor. She glided over without a care in the world and informed me that her activities had run longer than expected and she was most apologetic for being late. She placed what smelled like a latte with four shots of espresso onto my desk.

For some unknown reason my mind became blank. I unceremoniously shoved my gifts for Enid into her arms and blurted 'for you' - except I couldn't seem to recall the words in English. Enid was blinking slowly in obvious confusion as she tried to process my unusual behavior. She echoed back my words 'para ti?' I tried once again. 'Lo hice para ti.' I had said and pointed. Enid looked down at my poor attempt at a thoughtful gesture. For a painfully long moment there was silence. She looked at each item in turn, the poem, the jar of honey, and the lumpy dragon.

When I saw tears begin to form in her eyes I felt wretched. My pittance of a gift had obviously offended her greatly, or so it seemed at the moment. Before I could apologize I felt Enid's lips press against my cheek…

I had many thoughts and yet no thoughts at all. Enid pulled back and thanked me for the 'wonderful gifts.' I had no words yet I seemed to have mumbled something, I believe in Italian this time. My grasp of the English language was eluding me for some unknown reason. I returned to my bed, in the hope that sleep would return me to my senses. To expedite my slumber I buried myself under the weight of numerous blankets.

Dear Diary,

You will not believe what happened today! I think Willa tried to ask me out? 😳 When I got back from my yearbook committee meeting she gave me a bunch of stuff and said something in another language. (I think it was Spanish?) Anyway, she gave me like this little jar of honey, a beautiful poem, and the cutest derpy dragon I've ever seen (I think she made it herself 😲) I've taped in the poem she wrote.

Golden fur a glow,

Moonlit nights, a wolf's embrace,

Blonde, wild, untamed grace

Oh. My. God! It was so romantic! It was so sweet and I thought I was going to cry! 😭 Willa looked so adorably nervous too! And then I, um, kissed her on the cheek 😖 I don't know what I was thinking! Am I moving too fast? I think I must be because after the kiss Willa mumbled something, ran back to her bed and hid under the covers the rest of the day. Diary what should I do?

#ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #enid sinclair #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #wednesday x enid #wenclair #wednesday is oblivious #wednesday is soft for enid #wholesomefluffdaddy

[transmutationisms]

do you think vaccines should be mandatory? my view has always been that public health would outweigh personal choice in this instance but i also see the bodily autonomy argument, though ultimately i think it’s flawed and weird to compare, say, abortions with vaccines. i was wondering if you had an opinion or any resources on this topic?

this is one of those questions where i think the framing conceals a lot of unspoken premises and social/political assumptions. what do we even mean by a vaccine mandate in the first place? the truth is that in many contexts, vaccines are already mandatory—the trick is that these mandates are generally designed and first enforced by employers, schools, and private business establishments, rather than coming through direct state intervention. incidentally, most censorship works similarly, despite it also being positioned discursively as a matter of direct state intervention. the truth is that you are far more likely to run into problems if you, say, have an employer who requires vaccination—which makes your paycheck (that is, your ability to continue living) dependent on a medical intervention—than you are to face some kind of right-winger fear fantasy of a shadowy government agent showing up to your doorstep with a syringe. these things happen by economic coercion far more than through direct state command.

with that in mind, to me the issue that 'vaccine mandates' point to isn't so much an idealist conflict between 'safety' and 'liberty' or however nyt is framing it these days—rather, it's the fact that employers have the structural position to impose their will on employees, who often must comply or face, literally, starvation. i am willing to say this is a bad social structure despite the fact that in the case of vaccines i obviously agree that the particular intervention in question is a good thing, and is something that anyone who is medically eligible should be getting. in order to make vaccines mandatory, you need an enforcement mechanism—the one we currently primarily rely on is economic coercion in the form of threatening loss of livelihood (again, this also applies to most censorship cases). while i, again, strenuously think that people who can get vaccinated should do so, in order to make such a thing compulsory you have to confront the issue of what power structures make the compulsion possible and actionable. prisons? relying on the political whims and economic threats of employers? too often, a 'mandatory vaccine' is presented as though it could be ethically debated in the abstract, without reference to these conditions!

anyway, i'm not going to pretend that i can solve vaccine hesitancy in the next 90 seconds in a tumblr post, but off the top of my head here are some factors i think are major contributors to this issue:

ableism (eg, andrew wakefield preying on the fact that many parents would rather risk their children catching preventable dangerous diseases than let them be supposedly exposed to a greater chance of becoming autistic)

public distrust of physicians and public health infrastructure, for reasons ranging from medical racism and eugenics to discomfiting and traumatic experiences with the inherently (in this system) power-imbalanced relationship between medical professionals and patients

the massive gap between expert and lay knowledge on medical topics, enforced by mechanisms like paywalls and benefitting the prestige and pecuniary enrichment of physicians and public health experts (this provides fertile ground for grifters and liars to prey on people's confusion and difficulty verifying information)

possibilities for lies about vaccines to lead to financial enrichment, as in the case of social media grifts, heterodox and alternative medical practitioners, or eg andrew wakefield trying to sell his own vaccine after publishing his now-retracted paper on the supposed link between autism and the mmr vaccine

these are all bad things; they are also all actionable things. i do not think that it's some kind of transhistorical condition of humanity that we must choose between either passing each other dangerous diseases or designing coercive or punitive measures to force compliance with public health recommendations. i think all of these things are in fact very directly resultant of capitalism, the way it values bodies and health (biopolitics), and its politics of knowledge and expertise.

#public health

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Asians are all the same, right? The racism of a company cock gurgling moron

Like herpes and unlike the Dobbear, I am back baby.

At this point, deepest apology for my long absence. Personal issues over the last two years prevented me from writing anything and also destroyed for the longest time any desire to really continue the blog.

However, I don’t want to let things unfinished and seeing how the hypocricyofandrewdobson still manages to get some rise out of old Dobson related stuff, I wanted to just return, in order to properly contribute a bit more critical thinking in regard to his old comics.

And while I will not immediately return to my retrospective of SYAC, here is at least (for a start) my opinion on one comic of his, that in my opinion just proved hilarious and controversial in hindsight, and rather racist even back then.

I admit, I don’t know anymore what the title of the comic here is. All I know is, that it came out around 2018, shortly after the release of his “Black Panther” comic, another malignant piece of Dobtrash that has made the rounds online ever since. However, unlike the Black Panther comic, which became the center of a lot of discussion regarding Dobson’s racist assumptions about comic book fans while ironically trying to present himself as woke, this one was weirdly drifting off into obscurity. Which is kinda weird, cause in my opinion, it is way more racist and actually kinda insulting to the very craft Dobson supposedly “dedicated” his life to.

Let me explain.

First, over the course of three panels, Dobson comes essentially off like he is considering the medium of comics as inferior to the medium of movies. Making it look as if comics are unsuccessful because they cannot rail in the same amount of money than certain flics and calling them at best nothing more but a pitching ground for corporations to create new shallow mass product.

Now I am a bit of a realist and I know that, especially in the world of mainstream American superhero comics, this is kinda the case. Most comic book characters, stories and franchises are owned by multibillion dollar corporations, who either have a direct hand in the creation of the product (via corporate mandate for example) and/or use the likeness of the product to make profit in additional, more valuable revenues than the printed medium. Such as cartoons, merchandise and movies. One example I can think of, to show that it isn’t just an American issue: Yugioh. The card game wouldn’t have come to be if there hadn’t been a manga starring a little boy putting together an ancient Egyptian puzzle, but while the original manga ended way back in March of 2004, the card game makes millions globally still after 25 years and counting.

But that doesn’t change the fact, that comics as a medium still have value. Without the stories told within their pages, we wouldn’t have characters such as Captain America, Superman, the Mask, the Ninja Turtles and so on to begin with. Don’t get me even started on stories that aren’t falling into the American mainstream comic trend, but still succeeded in the printed comic medium partly because of genuine artistic and profound value such as Maus, Barefoot Gen, Watchmen, V for Vendetta, TinTin and a shitton of (other) stuff from Europe and Asia.

So when Dobson, who always acted like he is proud to be a cartoonist and that comics are a superior medium to others, suddenly reduces them to just being a “pitch ground for better stuff down the line” at best, I as a fan of the medium and just the art of creating stories in itself, get kinda pissed.

Additionally, the way how he compares movies to be better than comics, is severely flawed.

He brings up the fact, that “Captain America: Civil War” made over one billion dollars at the box office as an example, while pointing out the fact, that most single comic issues barely manage to sell 100.000 copies, while holding up a copypasted “Civil War” issue.

Already, Dobson essentially compares apples with bananas, while also giving both false and incomparable data, that also ignores many aspects to be considered.

For starters: He compares the earnings of both movies and comics with two different values. For movies, he goes by the monetary profit a superhero movie could possibly make, while for the comic issue, he goes by the total number of copies sold.

But here is the thing: Assuming the average selling price of a comic is at 4 dollars for a single 30 page issue, selling 100.000 copies would ring in like 400.000 dollars. And considering that producing one issue likely costs a company less than 20.000 dollars (obvious costs for mass production and distribution not withstanding) they can still make a decent profit this way from ONE issue alone. One issue. Not multiple issues of a long running, but sadly underperforming series. All of that by the way doesn’t even account for the fact, that most single issues at best tell only a quarter of a decent short story nowadays and ignores later “long term” factors, such as reprints of the issue, late term buying of the issue, tradepaperback sells of the issue, the longterm effect and cultural impact the issue may have on the actual series or plot continuity  (such as Amazing Spiderman 122, aka “The Night Gwen Stacy Died”). Don’t get me even started on the fact, that many of these issues get first sold in the US and only over the course of one year or longer may then additionally be sold in other parts of the world, therefore bringing in even more money for the publisher.

Example: The Duck comics by Don Rosa, which earn more than four times more in Europe, than they ever did in America, despite the guy being from California. Finally, a a little add addendum: that example Dobson gives indirectly via the “Civil War” issue? A quick google search revealed, that Civil War issue 1 sold over 300k copies in May of 2006 alone. Sure, not necessarily the best numbers ever for a single issue (as evident by the following list: https://bookriot.com/bestselling-comics-of-all-time/ )but still nothing to be ashamed of.

And yes, I know that we live currently in a time, where comic book sells have dropped significantly for a variety of reasons, one of them being an overall lack of decent stories. But as long as other stuff still manages to run freaking circles around American superheroes (*cough* One Piece *cough*) I wouldn’t say the medium itself is dead. Just a specific branch of it is suffering from a lack of quality and the customers are jumping ship.

A superhere movie meanwhile is a completely different beast. Ever since “The Avengers” came out in 2012, most superhero movies are 150-250 million dollar behemoths, that get overhyped by advertisement campaigns that are almost equally as expensive and try to trick the audience into believing, that they all are somehow the next big mindblowing thing on the big screen. Plus there hasn’t really been a superhero movie in the last 10+ years, that didn’t release simultaneously worldwide, instead of only coming out in the USA, and then a few months later, in other parts of the world.

So is it any wonder then, if a superhero movie that got advertised like the second coming of a saint, makes 1 billion, when there are already billions of potential customers worldwide all at once when the product launches?

That number btw becomes actually less impressive, once you start to think about how it came to be. Something our blue bear obviously didn’t.

See, on average every movie theater demands like what, 12-14 dollars per movie nowdays?

If we divide the box office of Civil war (1.152 billion btw) with 12 dollars, that makes on average 100 million people worldwide who watched the movie. A bit more than one or two percent of the worlds population. Not to forget, that of the box office success we have to substract such things as production cost of the movie, advertisement, the earnings of the theaters… so suddenly the movie may at best have had only earned one quarter of its box office for Disney as actual profit.

Not to forget, Dobson made that comic in 2018, when superhero movies on average did ring in so much money, because of the hype machine. But now we have 2023 and within the last five years (and especially 2023 itself) we have seen how superhero movies can also utterly fail to make money or even earn just enough to make back the production cost. Birds of Prey, Eternals, Ant Man 3, that Secret Invasion streaming show that still cost over 200 million… Do I need to get on?

Bottom line, Dobson’s indirect jab at comics as the less profitable revenue doesn’t hold that much water really in the real world, where once the hype dies down, comics may actually prove themselves as the more valuable longterm medium. Even if it may just be for the fact, that they end up staying longer relevant in the popcultural subconscious than the current movies, which tend to lose relevance with each new hastily produced and released installment in the franchise.

But where this comic really shines and shows Dobson’s ignorance on a cultural level, is in the last panel. When all off sudden it turns “racial” by claiming that Asian people, unlike “traditional” comic readers (aka white, in Dobbear s eyes therefore instantly racist people), would eat a Marvel character like Amadeus Cho up.

Question Dobson: Why do you assume, they would eat him up? You give no real argument based on anything the character does storywise, that the “target audience” may find admirable. So I can only think, that your reasoning is, because he is ever so slightly east asian coded.

Boy, do we have to unpack not just a can of worms, but a whole package of cans now.

First, the chosen language by saying “eat it up”. When being a writer, you should know that you need at times to choose your words wisely, because of the sheer implications they can carry. And the statement “eat it up” sounds way to close to a negative statement like “suck it up”. Making it come off as if Dobson considers Asian people to be mindless cattle that will consume the grub the House of Mouse will give them without question or any desire for actual quality to it.

Second, it recks of a certain mind set I hate within the American entertainment industry and some of its creators and consumers. That mind set being, that “non-traditional” American cultures supposedly don’t know better than Americans in what is okay for the sake of representation and entertainment or not. It’s a mindset that goes beyond the necessity of e.g. localizing a foreign product to the national market, by e.g. creating a sterilized, corporately mandated and rather unrealistic depiction of another culture within their product, that will fall apart as soon as the people who are supposed to be represented get a proper look at it and realize, how pandering and often times badly researched, if not outright offensive, it is.

Only recently did we see in the world of animation how that can backfire, when Disney released the trailer for “Primos” an upcoming animated show supposedly about a half Latina girl spending her summer vacation with her annoying cousins, people calling it based on the intro (and a leaked pilot) pandering towards a latino audience in a racist manner. And guess what: currently, Disney shelves it and tries to bury its existence like Dobson his old inflation art.

Dobson himself has actually indulged in that sort of shit kinda, back with his infamous Nintendo comic.

Essentially calling the “true”, Nintendo corporation approved depiction of his childhood Nintendo heroes disgraceful, for not falling in line with the late 80s depictions he saw in localized, made in America products such as the DiC cartoons. That and minor homophobia mixed with misogyny by calling Link “girly” for having longer blond hair since Ocarina of Time and blaming fangirls for it.

Third, and that is kinda related to my prior point, the reality of things is, that “Asians” actually did not eat up that sort of thing in the last couple of years. Sure, there is always that thing about a Chinese market. the big movie companies try to pander to and may succeed with some dumb action flics featuring big robots.

But the reality is, that not even people living in a dictatorship will eat up every trash you give to them, just because it comes from Hollywood or is supported by their glorious leadership. Disney tried to create two pandering messes of movies for Chinese people to watch, called Mulan (the live action adaptation) and that Shang Chi movie. And how did they do there? Oh right! The government did not even allow Shang Chi to be released and Mulan was released but supposedly didn’t do so well, considering (COVID not withstanding) it only made 70 million globally!

Don’t get me even started on every human right controversy in relation to the later, starting with filming in China near a concentration camp and ending with the main actress being essentially a Chinese propaganda puppet.

So, if those movies flopped, why would Chinese people for example flock for an Asian Hulk? A hulk that is not even Chinese but Korean.

See, this is another issue that fails with the example: The actual choice of character Dobson name dropped is actually kinda terrible.

For those unaware: Amadeus Cho is a supporting character in the Marvel comics, created in 2005 by American writer Greg Pak and artist Takeshi Miyazawa. The later, despite the name being very east Asian, sounding, actually being from Canada. Now both do have east Asian roots so to speak (Pak  e.g. is the son of an Korean-american man with a Caucasian woman), but they also have grown up within a society that taught them both western social values more so than we would see in east Asian countries. So with the creators already not necessarily having the most real life experience with the average mindset of a Korean citizen, can we really say that their actual creation helps “represent” those people of a foreign, non-american culture?

And that is not even covering stuff like the actual story of the character itself.

See, in the comics, Cho is supposed to be an American-Korean genius (wish fullfillment much, Greg?) and one of the smartest people in the Marvel Universe. His parents named him after Amadeus Mozart (a pretty white motherfucker as far as I remember) and he grew up under Methodist beliefs. So basically the “Korean heritage” of the character has already been thrown out of the window. Now I don’t expect the character to act stereotypical Korean, listen to K-pop, declare bulgogi to be his favorite dish or any of that shit. But when you want to sell me the character as being in some way or another connected to his ancestral culture, shouldn’t he engage at least in some “Korean coded” things?

I mean, the character of Anne Boonchuy in Amphibia is a Thai-American who acts more like a 13 year old girl that learns to be less selfish and impulsive over the course of the show and whose “heritage” isn’t thrown at us, the viewer, most of the time. In fact, Anne herself acknowledges that she e.g. can’t really speak thai, despite her own mother being fluent in it and a season 3 episode reveals, that Anne is “begrudgingly” a part of the L.A. thai community. And yet, in connection to the shows story and as part of Anne’s characterization, her heritage is acknowledged and plays a part of who she is. Even if it simply means she knows how to cook certain thai dishes, loves her parents and their customs, helps out in their restaurant, can speak a few words thai and knows the basics of Muay Thai, a form of martial arts (and fighting sport) from Thailand.

Amadeus doesn’t even have Korean parents anymore, because they were killed as part of his tragic hero backstory. Nor has he ever visited an Asian country. Oppps.

To build further up on it, Amadeus becomes for the longest time simply a major supporting character in the Marvel universe for the likes of Hulk and Hercules, two white coded characters. Sure, he plays a major role in the defeat of some cosmic horror level villains (such as Mikaboshi in the Chaos God storyline most people forgot even existed) but it takes a long time for him to become a “A-lister” so to speak.

In fact, according to Wikipedia, it wasn’t till after “Secret Wars” in 2016 (eleven years after the character was created), that Amadeus thanks to a chain of events eventually got his chance to Hulk out. And then they still had to kill Bruce Banner to make Amadeus “stand out” initially (don’t worry, Bruce came back. I mean, characters actually staying dead in comics, so that heroes can learn there are consequences? Preposterous) In fact, Amadeus hasn’t really proven himself as a decent “solo” act. Instead he became a member of the Champions (among Miles Morales, Mrs. Marvel, Vision’s daughter Viv. Nova and Cyclops), essentially creating yet another superhero team for teenaged vigilantes. Despite the fact, Cho himself should be by now in his mid 20s.

Now look, I do not want to shit talk the character. Partly because I haven’t read everything he was in myself and partly because in the few things I did see him in (both pre- and post Hulk) he was okay. He is a decent hero and person, who tries to do good, even if he screws up here and there. That is something I can admire in a character in general. But he is not a good “representation” of another culture, because his complexion and minor physical features aside, he is NOT embodying even minor values or traditions of that foreign culture. He is simply a Korean-American (or technically Canadian), who falls more on the American side of things.

So essentially, Dobson who virtue signaled on multiple occasions how bad it is when companies he didn’t like tried to speak on behalf of other cultures, would have no problem at all to ask for Asian people to swallow this obviously “Made in American” product. The “Made in America” line actually working both on a metaphorical and a storytelling level, cause trying to google what “east Asian coded” heroes in the Marvel Universe actually come from an Asian country instead of being simply born on American soil, is pretty damn small.

After 20 minutes I only found Shang Chi, as he was born in China, and that character was created as part of kung-fu exploitation in the 70s by white dudes.

Yaiks

However, none of that tops the next two points that really sell Dobson to me as an American centralistic racist. Or at least a twat who doesn’t understand how through bad wording he comes of as ignorant of other people’s cultures.

The way he generalizes Asian people in his statement, while also ignoring the actual accomplishments in the creation of entertainment in multiple Asian countries.

If you’ve read closely what I typed, you may have seen that I used the term Asian at times in tandem with the term “east Asian” to e.g. describe Amadeus Cho.

And that had a very deliberate reason. While I was not a fan of geography in school, even I know that Asia as a continent is not “nationally” as homogenous as let’s say Australia or North America. In fact, Asia is the biggest continent on the planet, hosts more than half of earth’s population and consists of at least 47 internationally acknowledged states.

States such as Turkey, Russia, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, China, Japan, Malaysia, Thailand, Vietnam, North- and South Korea, Egypt, Israel, Iraq, Iran and so on.

Now what all these states have in common, is that they have their own unique historical, social and “racial” culture and background. Heck, religiously speaking, Asia is the cradle of the world.

As such, Dobson stating that a “Korean coded” character such as Amadeus Cho (who is only Korean on the most surface level and would technically just be a legacy character of yet another white person) would be an immediate hulk smash hit with all these different people of different backgrounds…. Yeah, it sounds like condescending, colonization inspired shit, a smooth brain would come up with.

To Dobson “Asia”, at least based on that comic, is only defined as the “yellow skinned” people from the far east, who like rice, noodles, spicy food and give us anime, Godzilla, fireworks, buddhism and communism. It does not include anyone from the middle east or of more European ancestry. And if you are even remotely familiar about history, you would also know that Japanese, Koreans and Chinese all around do not e.g. like to be thrown into a pot with the others for a variety of reasons. Many of them political.

Or to sum it up even shorter: Dobson insinuated that a very shallow, “east Asian” coded American comic character would be an immediate hit with more than 47 different countries, ignoring that not all of them share the same background despite being part of the “same” landmass. And in doing so, he simultaneously generalized and denounced entire groups of people based on their racial and cultural background, which in as far as I am aware of, is considered racist.

But the “racism” is supposedly justified, because “representation” matters, it would be giving the middle finger to “traditional” comic fans and those nations and their culture are underrepresented globally.

Which is baloney.

Don’t get me wrong, I myself think that representation does matter. But the world does not necessarily rely on the good old US-Ayy only to give it to us.

Cause a lot of the Asian nations I brought up here? They have their own entertainment industry and stories, which again, get ignored by Dobson to make a dumb and false point.

I mean, manga is currently dominating the international comic market, all while Japan has also a booming animation industry and some of the most iconic heroes in modern popculture with the likes of Son Goku, Kamen Rider, Super Sentai etc.

China has a prominent -if propaganda driven- movie industry.

India has Bollywood and delivers some of the most ridiculous but awesome musical movies on the planet.

Russia had authors such as Tolstoy and movie directors, that redefined the “art” of filmmaking.

Korea had a few years ago one of the biggest streaming hits with Squid Game, while also earning an Oscar for a movie titled Dobs- I mean “Parasite”.

Egypt, Iran, Iraq, Turkey… even nations that have not entertainment living up to “western standards” still produce stuff in some way or form to entertain the masses and their people. Just google up the character Kara Murat aka the avenger of Anatolia.

And don’t get me even started on the sheer ton of mythology, stories and history each of their cultures have provided the world with. Journey to the West? Baba Yaga, the entirety of the Gilgamesh epos...

And yet, there is this indirect assumption by Dobson, that all of them would be so deprived of “heroes” in their media and folklore, they would letch on second hand shop Hulk? Fuck off, Dobbear. I know you like to suck corporate cock as long as you think they are woke and you have childhood nostalgia for them, but this is pathetic. Take Amadeus before A Rama Raju comes around and roundhouse kicks him back to Canada. Then get the taste of mouse smegma of your Disney cock gobbling lips.

#adobsonartwork #syac #hypocrisyofandrewdobson #amadeus cho #racisim #mcu #tom preston #andrew dobson #i am back #back again #guess who's back #Youtube

[lunar-years]

I could possibly have stomached James being back and forgiven apparently, if it wasn't for the casually dropped in statutory rape, what on earth?? The writers were probably trucking along with their "everyone deserves forgiveness" train, meanwhile anyone with a jot of common sense had air raid sirens screaming "DO NOT LET THAT MAN NEAR JAMIE". I'd have been angry with the forgiveness side anyway (we see no signs that James is trying to be a better person or even that hes not going to try and beat the shit out of his son again, for all we know thats a court mandated rehab), but I could have sort of understood it. Adding in that fun little fact made James go from terrible horrific abuser to just completely unforgiveable.

honestly i completely agree with you. I know this is a very divisive arc and there were people who genuinely loved where they took it because it resonated with them in some way, especially for some people who have been through similar experiences and appreciated the recognition that someone like James could successfully change. I really try to accept and understand fans who have that opinion and I want to be very clear that I both recognize addiction is a disease and think there is nothing inherently wrong with wanting to or actually forgiving your abuser. Each situation is different! People suffering from addiction can absolutely recover! Individuals need to do what is right for them in their real actual lives, etc.

That said, the parts I loathe about the Jamie & James arc, from my own personal opinion, are:

any sort of relationship Jamie and James may have moving forward post-canon is inherently a complex one, but the writers did not address the conclusion of the arc complexly. At all. Instead it was "oh everything conveniently worked out and here they are happy and together" wrapped up in a 10 second flash-forward which is just...no.

there is absolutely no evidence that James' violence stems directly from his addiction. there is nothing to say a sober James isn't every bit as abusive as a drunken James. There is no indication that Jamie isn't putting himself back into a situation that is downright unsafe, or that he isn't at risk of coming into harm and being deeply hurt all over again. there is nothing to say James hasn't tried rehab before, and relapsed.

James never apologizes or owns up to his actions onscreen.

Jamie's decision to forgive his dad comes at a time when he's in a very vulnerable place mentally, having just come off a canonical depressive episode. He consults no one about forgiving his father apart from Ted, who is quite literally the worst person on the show he could have consulted (no offense, Ted, it's just that the man is incapable of being objective when it comes to Jamie and the father&son of it all). The decision isn't being made in a healthy state of mind and Jamie hasn't rallied a support group around him before taking the leap. From what we see on screen, he seemingly doesn't tell anyone that he's going to visit his dad in rehab.

there's a way that all of this can make sense. I can make sense of why Ted, with his own heaping helping of daddy issues, would give Jamie the advice he does. I can see why Jamie (again, in a vulnerable place) would take it! why he decides the right thing to do is to reach out to his dad! I can see him going to visit. I can imagine that visit going well or going poorly, can see James' stint in rehab being mandated, or also him checking himself it. But at the end of the day, those scenarios are all imagined! none of that nuanced context is provided on the show. Rather, the presentation and messaging are hasty and in my person opinion, flat-out dangerous. They lead the casual viewer to read Ted's advice as good (it categorically isn't), and Jamie as Doing the Right and Responsible Thing, when it's a hell of a lot more complicated that that.

it is also weird and complicated to have Jamie take Ted's advice over his mum's, who in the same episode, mind you, told him James was never ever going to change. again, we can jump through hoops to make sense of it, but we shouldn't have to.

there's absolutely a pattern of abuse being weirdly minimized on ted lasso/victims forgiving their abusers and i think that's gross. you can't claim to be a comedy show that dares to tackle real, tough issues in one breath and then expect us to laugh off abuse (Jane/Beard) in the next. Sometimes it's like they change what kind of show they want to be scene by scene, lol.

as you point out, in my opinion it is completely batshit on the writer's part to have introduced "btw Jamie's dad, who we've previously established beats him and verbally abuses him, ALSO proxy raped him when he was 14!" in the same season in which you plan to have Jamie forgive said father (with next to no buildup or context) just a few episodes later. Like, yes, let's add even deeper layers to Jamie's tragic backstory before we wash it away in feel-good reunion tosh! just, ew. what on earth were they thinking.

So all in all, I think the arc could have been successful if the writers had known where they were going with it from the beginning of the season and given it the kind of care that sort of storyline demands. However they didn't do that, and the end message is incredibly harmful as a result.

#from strictly what we see on screen. i think there are for more signs that this ISN'T going to work out then there are for it going well #if the writers want us to believe it was a positive step for Jamie they should have. you know. actually written that with intent and care. #james tartt sr #jamie tartt #ted lasso #asks #tw abuse #tw rape mention #ted lasso critical

[catboybiologist]

Hi I'm a former high school science teacher and now a doctor. While teaching, I was officially advised to explain that current understanding of gender is that it is complex and that sex is not necessarily the same as gender. I also got told not to mention intersex people outside of explaining that they exist, because tbh 14 year olds need to understand the normal stuff first.

I can also confirm that during medical school I was officially taught that "we refer to patients as male or female because man and woman are complex terms that do not adequately describe our patient population". We also did not use the term intersex at all, we generally referred to either "sex variants" or (in newborns/paediatric patients) we would refer to "disorders of" or "differences of sexual development" (DSDs).

There's not a hard and fast difference between "disorder" of sexual development or "difference", but generally it got called a disorder if it mandated surgical correction (e.g. vaginal agenesis, cloacal exstrophy, severe hypospadias, urethral atresia etc). If you didn't have to operate to prevent irreparable harm, it usually got called a "difference". We try not to recommend operations that aren't biologically necessary, but parents are currently permitted to request them and generally it'll be approved - though if I were the surgeon (which I'm not) I would probably request a different person perform it because I am not comfortable with unnecessary genital surgeries on unconsenting children.

Medicine currently recognises that sex and gender are not synonymous, that correlation is not causation, and that intersex conditions come in a wide variety of forms and functions. We also do not have a clear idea of whether something like hypospadias or imperforate hymen even COUNT as intersex disorders, even if they're definitely DSDs, and it's not very important because "intersex" isn't really a medical term.

Thank you so much for this perspective! I'm really happy, honored, and excited that I got the opinion of a doctor on this stuff.

I do have a couple of poorly articulated, rambly thoughts here, which I hope don't come off as criticizing you, because I'm just trying to build off of what you're saying and possibly get your perspective.

"male" and "female" are still interesting terms to me, and still have some of the same pitfalls as "man" and "woman". This is purely my own opinion, I don't want to falsely represent how scientists and doctors use them, but I personally use them more frequently as adjectives for individual parts of a body. Mostly, I do this to refer to myself. Because... Am I currently male, or female? I have a typical male height, male genitalia, but female physiology, female fat distribution, female hormonal systems, etc. It's hard for people to think of biological sex as dynamic and changing, but if you want to accurately describe me, that's what I am currently.

And yeah, you can totally use male and female to refer to individuals who dominantly have those male or female traits overall. But you have to be ready to get nuanced about it- which is exactly what you're doing here, which I appreciate.

It's also somewhat useful when referring casually to hermaphroditic organisms, although by that point you're probably just using more specific terms. I digress. I'm rambling.

I have a barely-relevant tangent here that I'm gonna put under the cut. There's an interesting parallel here between another linguistic quirk of terminology in genetics.

When a gene varies by a single base pair (eg, one of the As, Ts, Cs, or Gs is something else, or has been deleted or added), it can change the function of the gene. Sometimes, this is called a mutation- which, yes it is. Mutation implies a deviation from the general population, a distinct molecular event that happened which now exists in the gene pool in small numbers.

The trouble lies with assuming what the "default" form of the gene is. When gene A is say, 50% G at a certain location, and 50% T at that spot, it's called a SNP- single nucleotide polymorphism (often pronounced as "snip").

But what's the cutoff? 80-20? 95-5? 99-1? More extreme? What about SNPs

This is purely a linguistic thing, and in scientific contexts, people know what you're talking about based on the context around the words you use.

SNP as a term has p much been around for as long as genetics as a field. Within the field, I don't think anyone cares much, except as a discussion topic to get undergrads interested. However, I do think it's important for scientific communication- mutation has a much different connotation in people's minds than SNP, a term they may have never heard or feel neutrally about. The same can be applied to sex- the way we talk about male/female traits is extremely relevant to public perception. It's very similar to the terminology you're talking about here. And I'm really glad that medicine acknowledges that!!

In general, I think that these linguistic debates can seem trivial to professionals- but it dramatically affects public perception. There's whole other rambles here about how scientists and doctors generally don't know how to talk to non-scientists and non-doctors, but that's a whole other thing.

#trans #biology

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Business Dealings

There were definite advantages to being the ‘unknown’ Tracy, Virgil decided.

And in his opinion, the very best of these was the extra freedom he had over his brothers.

Virgil smiled at the attractive and attentive waitress who delivered his – decidedly unhealthy – lunch to his private booth, then rolled his shoulders, grinning to himself.

His brothers might have public success, a public profile, and receive some … interesting fan mail, that certainly enlivened quiet days on Tracy Island; but the price they paid for this recognition was, well, recognition.

It had gotten to the point that Jeff had mandated personal security for the four of his sons who had existed in the public eye. Virgil, however …

There was no way a bodyguard would have let him into this neighbourhood, let alone this dive of a diner – that made the world’s best burger and fries, hands down. And the looming gorillas in suits that were Tracy Industries personal protection specialists definitely discouraged the kind of ‘friendly’ service the waitress was giving him.

A gaggle of teenagers came bouncing into the diner, drawing away the waitress. Virgil watched bemusedly as one of the boys started teasing her.

He drowned a laugh in his milkshake, as she bapped one on the head with her notebook, reminding Virgil of Scott dealing with Gordon in one of his troublemaking moods.

Virgil ate as the waitress settled the group, and took their orders.

Once they had been served their food, she checked back in with him, and promptly fetched his requested coffee.

Then she sat herself at the table with the teens. “So what was all the noise about when you came in?”

“We’re celebrating!” came the chorus.

“Celebrating what?”

“Johnny got his photos back!” crowed the obvious sibling.

“And what photos are those, then?”

“Well, you know how that busted old factory over in Industrial East blewed itsself up?”

“It was kinda hard to miss. They’re still tryin’ to replace all the windows it broke, after two weeks.”

“Yeah, well, there was those two guys trapped, and they had ta get International Rescue to get ‘em out.”

“I know that.”

So did Virgil. It had been a nightmare rescue, and was a completely avoidable situation. Virgil was in town now as Tracy Industries representative; his father was buying the site, and the attached business. It had been a viable manufacturer, with a good product – the disaster had been caused by greedy management.

Jeff was trying to prevent an even bigger disaster – the collapse of a middle sized town. For all it was a ‘busted old factory’, it was a major employer in the region. The people deserved better.

The waitress continued, “Wish I’d been able to see them. Either the planes or the men. Pity I was stuck here.”

Little brother laughed. “Well, today’s your lucky day!”

Virgil froze. The boy hadn’t paid him any attention when he came in, he couldn’t have been there and recognised Virgil, could he?

His fingers strayed to his watch. Should he call his Father? Could he contain the situation here on his own?

“Cause Johnny here is a genius, and he thought to grab his camera. So here, today, is the first ever photographs of the …”

“THUNDERBIRDS!” the group shouted in unison, and broke out cheering.

Virgil started, slopping coffee onto himself, but now he had bigger worries. Brains was trialling a new technology in the ships, with a view to replacing the Photo Detectors, after the detection system had failed at that movie set, and Scott hadn’t reported activity of either system at debrief. Had the new technology disrupted the Detectors? Had the Photo Jammers worked?

The waitress noticed his mishap, and hurried over, napkins at the ready. “I’m so sorry, did you scald yourself? Can I get you a fresh cup?”

Virgil shook his head, accepting the wad of napkins. “No, I’m fine. Sorry, I was in a world of my own and I got startled by the noise.” He smiled. “I’m not normally so jumpy.”

She smiled in return. “They were loud, but, please, don’t mind those idiots. They’re a little excitable.”

Virgil deposed of the dampened napkins – he was going to have to change his shirt, his father would kill him if he turned up at a business meeting with a giant coffee stain on his shirt, and turned back to the waitress. “Sounds like it. Was that the Thunderbirds they were shouting about?”

She glared back at the group. “Oh yes, we had a bit of excitement a couple of weeks back. International Rescue saved two guys from a factory fire across town. Johnny here reckons he got photographs of them.”

“Yeah! We were just gonna have our first look! You wanna see?” The teens where hanging over Virgil’s booth, grinning, and immensely pleased with themselves.

Virgil nodded. “I’d heard they had some kind of system to stop photos being taken,” he ventured as the kids piled in across from him.

“Yeah, well I shot these beauties, no problem,” boasted one boy. Virgil eyed him, worriedly, trying to see if he could recognise the boy, but couldn’t. Hopefully the fact that Virgil had spent the whole time in his fire-suit would mean the boy couldn’t recognise him.

Apparently there was nothing about Virgil that rang any bells in ‘Johnnys’ memories; either that, or he was too focused on his moment of glory. “You’re lucky, mista,” the boy continued. “‘Cus the rest of the world is gonna hafta pay to see these!” He grinned. “And pay big! Hell, I might even buy myself an island, like that astronaut weirdo!”

There was laughter and catcalls at this pronouncement, and Virgil carefully swallowed his reaction. He gestured to the envelope. “Well, before you call the realtors, better check the goods.”

There were enthusiastic cries of encouragement, and the envelope was opened with a care that amused Virgil. Johnny couldn’t have been more careful if he had been handling the Mona Lisa.

The first two photographs were blurry generic landscapes, then a series of five less blurry images of bared backsides hanging out of a car’s windows at traffic lights. Virgil picked one up, and examined it briefly, before it was snatched out of his hand by a red-faced boy. Virgil raised an eyebrow at him, “One of his models, I take it?”

The boy flushed even brighter red, as the waitress laughed.

“No!” That was Johnny, staring, bug eyed at the top photo in his hand. Virgil craned his neck. A blurry, staticky mess of grey tones filled the centre of the image framed by the clear, focused image of the fire ravaged factory building.

The group fell silent.

The image was discarded in favour of the next in the stack. “No!”

The next. “No!”

“No!”

“No!”

“No!”

“No!”

“No!”

“No!”

“No!”

All the way down the stack. Every image had the same distortion, sometimes in the centre, sometimes there were smaller, multiple areas of distortion.

Virgil could tell what the boy had been trying to photograph by the relative sizes and positions. Thunderbird One. Thunderbird Two. Both Thunderbirds. Thunderbird Two on her struts. Thunderbird Two with her module open. The Diceltalyne Ladder truck ….

If it International Rescue had it on site, Johnny had tried to photograph it. Including, Virgil noted, himself and his brothers. Those zoomed in shots with the four small blurs could only be an attempt to photograph people.

Virgil was impressed. Kid clearly had some quality gear.

When Virgil said as much, Johnny roused himself enough to offer a slight proud grin. “Yeah, my uncle gave it to me, he’s a professional photographer and upgraded. I got his old stuff.” The boy wilted again. “Not that it did me much good,” he mumbled, staring at the blurry images.

Virgil smiled wryly. “International Rescue are pretty adamant about the no photographs thing,” he reminded the boy. “Looks like I heard right about their anti-photography kit.”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah.” He shuffled the photographs back into a stack, before glancing around the room. “There goes my private island,” he sighed. “Oh well.”

Virgil took the stack from him, and perused through it again. Johnny looked utterly miserable, and the rest of the gang was equally morose.

Virgil came to a decision. “You get these developed in town here?” he asked.

Johnny nodded. “Yeah, drugstore down on First does photos.”

Virgil slid out the ‘International Rescue’ photos into their own pile. “They do enlargements, say A4 size?”

Johnny frowned. “Yeah. Why do you want to know?”

“What’s he charge?”

There was a muttered argument across the table, and the waitress watched him warily. Johnny offered up a price. Virgil suppressed a smirk. Kid was damn good, price was high, but not so high as to be implausible.

He did a quick spot of mental arithmetic. Then reconsidered, before sliding one of the traffic stop images onto the International Rescue pile, and pulled out his wallet, before counting out a number of notes on the pile, before pushing it towards Johnny.

“I’ll be back here this time tomorrow,” he said. “Think you can be here with A4 copies of all these?”

The boy gaped at the cash. “Uh, yeah. I guess so. Why?”

Virgil tapped the cash. “If you are, you get the same amount again. That should keep you in film, and out of trouble for a while.”

The boy stared. “But … but you can’t see anything. They’re all blurry.”

Virgil nodded. “Yep. But I know a lot of guys interested in International Rescue. These …” he gestured at the photos. “Will drive them nuts.” He grinned at the boy.

Who grinned back.

The waitress looked at Virgil suspiciously. “And the, uh, ass picture?”

Virgil grinned. “I took some similar photos, when I first got a camera, about Johnny’s age,” he admitted. “My Grandma found them, and tore them up, and then tore strips off me.” He shrugged, sheepishly. “Figured it’d be nice to have something to remind me of the out night I had with my friends. ‘Cause we had a lot of fun.”

As the boys hooted in glee, and high-fived each other, the waitress stared at Virgil, before softening. “Boys,” she snorted.

Virgil shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”

The next day, Virgil wandered into the diner, and was surprised to find Johnny already waiting for him, shifting from foot to foot, anxiously.

Virgil slid into the booth he had occupied the previous day, and Johnny followed him, clutching a large envelope to his chest.

The waitress wandered over, and took Virgil’s order. She looked at Johnny. Virgil followed her gaze. “If you’re eating, I’m paying,” he said.

Johnny shook his head. “Nah,” he mumbled, not meeting Virgil’s eyes. Virgil frowned, and glanced at the waitress in askance. She shrugged, before wandering off.

“What’s up? Problem with the pictures?”

The boy shrugged. “Kinda.”

Virgil stared. “What’s the problem? Couldn’t get them all printed?”

Johnny mumbled at the tabletop. “I didn’t think about it. I just … took the photos. I didn’t think about what could happen.”

Virgil frowned. “What could happen?” he echoed.

“They say no photos. They say they have to stay secret. I didn’t think …”

Virgil got it. “You’re worried that someone might be able to unscramble these pictures, and then they’ll stop working. You’re worried about the people who might die if that happens, people who’ll die because of photos you took.”

Johnny stared at him. “Yeah, how’d you …?”

Virgil shrugged. “Because I’d worry about the same thing, if I were in your place.”

“So why’d …”

“Why’d I offer to buy the photos?” Virgil glanced around, checking for anybody listening. “Because International Rescue saved two of my friends. And my dad.”

The boy stared.

Virgil sighed, and pulled out his wallet, digging into a hidden section, he pulled out a folded up newspaper clipping. He opened it up, and pushed it across the table to Johnny.

He picked it up, and read the article.

He frowned, and read it again.

Then stared at Virgil.

“Th-this says that they saved … J-jeff …”

Virgil nodded. “Yup.”

“Your dad’s one of his advisors?” The boy was practically begging Virgil to agree.

Virgil shook his head. “Nope. His advisors are my friends.”

“Y-y-you’re …”

Virgil took pity on him. “I’m Jeff Tracy’s son. Well, one of them. He asked me to come and oversee the purchase of that ‘busted old factory’.”

The boy stared. “Why?”

“It was a good business. The problem was with the managers, not the product, not the production. And without that factory, this town dies.”

Johnny stared at him.

Virgil took back his newspaper clipping as the waitress put down his order. Virgil chewed down a dozen fries and drank a good half of his coffee while he waited for Johnny to regather his wits.

Eventually his companion spoke. “Your dad’s like mega-rich.”

“Yup.”

“He has all sorts of people working for him.”

“Yup.”

“I give you these photos,” Johnny tapped the envelope, “you give them to him.”

Virgil shrugged. “That was the plan.”

“And he gives them to some hotshot photograph technician who unscrambles the images …”

“Wrong.”

Johnny stared at him.

“Most of my training is as an engineer, but I really love art. I’ve done a few – more than a few – photography courses. The kind of mess you’ve got there,” Virgil indicated the envelopes, “is some kind of electronic – maybe even x-ray – emission messing up the film. Unless you know the frequencies, it’d take oh, I don’t know, a hundred people a million years to unscramble those images.”

The boy blinked.

“And you’d need the negatives,” Virgil added, deciding this his burger had been neglected for long enough, and took a bite, watching as Johnny thought it through.

Johnny frowned. “You’d really need the negatives?”

Virgil nodded, his mouth full of – really delicious – burger.

Johnny nodded thoughtfully. “I remember my uncle saying that you need the original negatives to do proper forensic analysis of a photograph. That’s why a photographer should never let go of his negatives.”

Virgil nodded again, taking another bite. Damn, he was gonna miss this place when he left. Grandma and Kyrano were fantastic cooks, but a proper greasy diner burger was hard to beat.

He finished the burger before Johnny moved again. Evidently the boy had come to some kind of decision, because he pulled out a negatives folder, and slid the ashtray into the centre of the table. “You got a light?” he asked as he dumped the negatives into ashtray.

Virgil frowned. “You not gonna save the rest of your negatives?”

Johnny shook his head. “They’re blurry as all hell, and useless, no point.”

Virgil eyed him, but the teen was resolute. Virgil shrugged. “Well, if you’re sure,” he pulled out his cigarette lighter, a cheap disposable thing that frustrated his father and brothers, but suited Virgil fine. He pulled it back, when Johnny reached for it. “Not inside,” he said firmly. “Film burns fast, and film burns hot. You do not want to do this inside.”

They went outside, Virgil borrowing a broom from the bemused waitress to sweep clear a large patch of asphalt as far from the diner and anything flammable as he could get. At his gesture, Johnny put the negatives down, weighed against the breeze by a small piece of wood, as Virgil wrapped a scrap of cleaning cloth around one end of a long stick.

When Johnny was ready, Virgil used his lighter to light the cloth, and handed the stick to Johnny. “Arm and stick length,” he commanded. “Stay up wind.”

As Virgil had known it would, the film burst into enthusiastic and hot flame the second the lit stick touched it. Johnny jumped, and dropped the stick, swearing.

The fire didn’t last for long, and Virgil picked up the stick stamping down on the charred end to put out the residual flame, before using it to poke at the pathetic ashes in front of them.

Johnny stared, bug eyed again as Virgil poked the ashes, and pushed the pathetic scraps of film into the melted asphalt, sealing them away forever.

Virgil glanced at him. “You okay?”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. I just never … damn, that was … scary.”

Virgil shrugged. But he did remember the first time he had tried burning film … He’d had a hang of a time explaining how the bathroom basin had gotten cracked through. Who’d have thought you could crack porcelain with a couple of strips of photographic film? Not fourteen-year-old Virgil Tracy.

They went back into the diner, and Virgil ordered milkshakes. Johnny slurped his as Virgil examined his new purchases. He grinned. Brains would be pleased that his new photo jammers worked beautifully, and against some high-grade kit. Johnny had been coaxed into describing the equipment his uncle had given him, and it was better than a lot of the professional paparazzi had hanging from their necks.

Virgil’s grin widened as he got the bottom of the stack. Oh, memory. His backside burned with the memory of his grandmother’s ire, but he owed Gordon, and he owed Gordon big. This would do nicely.

Let’s see him ‘paint’ with his butt on Virgil’s good canvases after Grandma had thrashed him for having this.

Virgil was on a high as he left the diner for the last time; Johnny practically skipping off, his stomach and wallet full, and conscience clean.

International Rescue: Protected.

Payback for Gordon: Secured.

It was just the Tracy Industries deal left to finalise, and he’d have a clean sweep.

It was a good day.

Notes:

I sat down to write a completely different story, and this happened.

One day I may get to write the story I intended to write, but for now …

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds 1965 #fanfiction #my fanfic #virgil tracy #photography #boys will be boys

[divinecomedyproductions]

I think I also want to explain my big bias about romance in epics: a heavily opinionated thread

Keep in mind, I’m not trying to throw shade at any indie creators who do this, just trying to explain my style and why

I really don’t like “Star-Crossed” Lovers and “Love interest to be built up and killed off” tropes. Not sure I ever did honesty.

I get why they work, they just don’t work for me. Unless like Peter Parker they get another chance again.

And three franchises were the final straw for me, and what drove me to go indie along with being inspired by indie works of others

First it was RWBY the tragic end of Arkos and what I feared to be sane of Black Sun among others along with the doomed fate of Oscar Pine

I tried to express my distaste of it on tumblr on my past accounts and RWBY wiki discussion forum(big mistake, I know) and I regretted it so much

Never had I met a fanbase so arrogant, self righteous, and sanctimonious about this kind of stuff, going on how amazing these tropes and dark stories like RWBY initially seemed circa V3-Finale along with Madoka Magica and Akame Ga Kill were and sneering at anything even one shade lighter than that

They were either passive-aggressively judging and gaslighting me, or outright lecturing me

How a epic story that has Dork knight and a lonely warrior woman isolated by society crushing on him,  or a unlucky moody girl and sunshine himbo, a doomed hero having a well earned happy ending, especially if it involved resurrection as a good thing was nothing but “pandering”, petty, and worthless and the preference of the weak and cowardly

Even one fan said “people don’t find that interesting, sorry.” And that another fan seemed to stated characters like Pyrrha and Jaune are only fit for tragic endings because “that’s the kind of character she is” both of which these fans spoke as these things were gospel, or they themselves had some kind of storytelling authority

Then I heard about Superman and Lois Lane getting married and having a kid and even Bruce and Selena getting hitched, until hearing both marriages get trashed along with a few others

Along with the defense Dan Didio gave

It was absolutely MADDENING to me

"Heroes shouldn’t have happy personal lives. They are committed to being that person and committed to defending others at the sacrifice of their own personal interests.

That’s very important and something we reinforced. People in the Bat family their personal lives basically suck. Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon and Kathy Kane. It’s wonderful that they try to establish personal lives, but it’s equally important that they set them aside. That is our mandate, that is our edict and that is our stand."

Like, these guys want to hopeful, but only in certain ways the pop-culture/literary ‘intellectuals’ deem acceptable as well as what they deem to be ‘interesting’ and what I had in mind did not only not qualify, it was seen as outright heresy

When I brought this up in my grievances with stories like RWBY, one holier-that-thou jerk supported it because 

“Single Batman and Superman sells well”

After writing my preferences off as “pandering” and only for the likes such as Disney and Marvel,

The Self-Centered hypocrisy was staggering because what he said and his many followers were basically saying this;

“We don’t like it when your niche interest stuff is forced into our stuff, but when the case is in the reverse? We’re totally cool with that, and we hope it keeps happening.”

other fans said what I wanted was only for sitcoms, imposing themselves as gatekeepers of *epic storytelling itself*

From where I was standing, there is a growing hatred of couples in epics go through and making it and even getting married and having children, especially those of certain dynamics all under the guise of “hopepunk” and “The Greater Good.” Or whatever the term is now

Prattled on by conceited fandoms who in my opinion, have become a bunch of literary snobs who think way too highly of themselves

Who go around deciding what ways are legitimate “raised stakes” and “consequences”, 

both which might I add are defined by their *own* standards,

along with their own preferences, especially fates for of certain kinds of ships and characters, which they flaunt as “objective” and above those of “the unwashed masses” in order to justify glorifying them as well as themselves for liking them

Which then afterwards these fandoms pressure these standards onto aspiring writers such as myself or be exiled to sitcoms, romcoms, Disney, or Marvel.

Because it’s not “entitlement” if it’s directed at the peasants I guess.

That along with the fact their so insecure and discontent with just being different, they need to feel superior than others for their own preferences

Nor they can’t handle the idea somewhere out there there is story that have characters like the those of the stories they enjoy, but with a different outcome

All epic fiction, its characters, its settings, its themes, its use of its inspirations, the creator’s style needs to begin and end on terms of these self-appointed arbiters who, once again, try to justify by presenting their preferences, tastes, and “personal emotional beats” as objective and superior

And once again: I’m *NOT* saying creators who goes with the tragic romance route are bad or malicious, most of them are just doing their thing

This problem lies with sycophantic individuals among fandoms who appoint their chosen champion’s ways as law and act offended on their behalf, even though they never spoken to these creators personally nor did these creators asked them to pick up a sword in their name and are not held accountable for their behavior

And what’s worse, is that these groups imply epic stories where heroic couples get married and have families are allegedly incompatible outside of Disney or Marvel or else it ends up as terrible story

Which they will imply is the case for stories like DragonBall Z, Sword Art Online, and Naruto/Boruto

But when *their* way of doing things ruins a franchise like DC comics and people complain about it?

It’s the whining of unwashed masses or vocal toxic minority opposed to the enlightened few or informed majority

Because *their* way makes everything better and always will

It’s incredibly self absorbed and narcissistic

So that’s why I’ve been so keen on having my heroes find love, get married and having families. Especially ones who’ve been through so much sorrow.

I’m just weary of this and tired of fandoms telling me when I’m disappointed;

“It’s not for you” and implying “nothing should be for you and everything should be for us”

And I’m certain I’m not the only one who feels this way

You don’t have to share my personal tastes and distaste’s in story beats in epics, once again, I just want you guys to understand.

#rwde #dc comics #dc #Dan didio #romance #arkos #black sun #blake belladonna #sun wukong #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #batman #catwoman #bruce wayne #selena kyle #dragon ball #dragonball #naruto #sword art online #boruto #mcu #disney #writing #vent #vent post #Youtube