#terrific visuals

[fourorfivemovements]

Prehistoric Planet:  Episode 4 - Ice Worlds

#I thought this was the most beautiful episode #terrific visuals #Prehistoric Planet #Dinosaurs #My Post

[mariocki]

Irezumi (1966)

"See how fascinating this painting is? A beauty trampling the corpses of countless men at her feet, feasting on their flesh and blood to grow and prosper. Tell me... don't you think she resembles you?"

#irezumi #japanese cinema #1966 #yasuzô masumura #jun'ichirô tanizaki #kaneto shindô #ayako wakao #akio hasegawa #gaku yamamoto #kei satô #fujio suga #reiko fujiwara #asao uchida #kikue môri #hikaru hayashi #absolutely beautiful film. full of deep‚ rich colours and vibrant detail‚ a masterful composition on a morbid subject #I've loved the other Masumura films I've seen‚ and appreciate his aesthetic focus and eye for detail but this is the first of his colour #works I've seen and it's a whole new level. near perfect in pure visual terms; plotting and script‚ while suitably dramatic #and tragic‚ aren't quite as perfect. centres on a terrific performance from Wakao as a woman transformed from an impulsive and #irresponsible but romantic girl into a cold‚ near monstrous vision of vengeful hatred. arguably Masumura is asking the viewer to look at #Wakao's distorted personality by the end of the film as somewhat grotesque or at least as tragic but i gotta say that in 2023 it's hard not #to feel a frisson of 'good for her' as she engineers the bloody deaths of every man who ever wronged her #the character could perhaps have used a little more nuance and I'd also have liked to have seen more made of the parallels in trading flesh #(both figuratively as sex work and literally as canvas for tattooists) but these are relatively minor gripes. a kind of updated fairy tale #with a moralist slant‚ but a deeply beautiful one. rain swept and blood drenched‚ deep shadows and pale skin‚ flashing blades and #rich fabric folds. sumptuous.

[goshashka-design]

Cheetah Chic

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#Cheetah #Cosmic #Creative Projects #mood elevation #Price Range #Products #RedBubble #Terrible Dark #Terrific Style #Visual Intrigue #Young

[quotesfrommyreading]

When I’m out with Deaf friends, I put my hearing aid in my purse. It removes any ability to hear, but far more importantly, it removes the ambiguity that often haunts me.

In a restaurant, we point to the menu and gesture with the wait staff. The servers taking the order respond with gestures too. They pantomime “drinks?” and tell us they learned a bit of signs in kindergarten. Looking a little embarrassed, they sign “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day” in the middle of asking our salad dressing choice. We smile and gently redirect them to the menu. My friends are pros at this routine and ordering is easy ― delightful even. The contrast with how it feels to be out with my hearing husband is stunning.

Once my friends and I have ordered, we sign up a storm, talking about everything and shy about nothing. What would be the point? People are staring anyway. Our language is lavish, our faces alive. My friends discuss the food, but for me, the food is unimportant. I’m feasting on the smorgasbord of communication ― the luxury of chatting in a language that I not only understand 100% but that is a pleasure in and of itself. Taking nothing for granted, I bask in it all, and everything goes swimmingly.

Until I accidentally say the word “soup” out loud.

Pointing at the menu, I let the word slip out to the server. And our delightful meal goes straight downhill. Suddenly, the wait staff’s mouths start flapping; the beautiful, reaching, visual parts of their brains go dead, as if switched off.

“Whadda payu dictorom danu?” the server’s mouth seems to say. “Buddica taluca mariney?”

“No, I’m Deaf,” I say. A friend taps the server and, pointing to her coffee, pantomimes milking a cow. But the damage is done. The server has moved to stand next to me and, with laser-focus, looks only at me. Her pen at the ready, her mouth moves like a fish. With stunning speed, the beauty of the previous interactions ― the pantomiming, the pointing, the cooperative taking of our order ― has disappeared. “Duwanaa disser wida coffee anmik? Or widabeeaw fayuh-mow?”

Austin “Awti” Andrews (who’s a child of Deaf adults, often written as CODA) describes a similar situation.

“Everything was going so well,” he says. “The waiter was gesturing, it was terrific. And then I just said one word, and pow!! It’s like a bullet of stupidity shot straight into the waiter’s head,” he explains by signing a bullet in slow motion, zipping through the air and hitting the waiter’s forehead. Powwwww.

Hearing people might be shocked by this, but Deaf people laugh uproariously, cathartically.

“Damn! All I did was say one word!” I say to my friends. “But why do you do that?” they ask, looking at me with consternation and pity. “Why don’t you just turn your voice off, for once and for all?” they say.

Hearing people would probably think I’m the lucky one ― the success story ― because I can talk. But I agree with my friends.

  —  I'm Deaf And I Have 'Perfect' Speech. Here's Why It's Actually A Nightmare.

#rachel zemach #austin andrews #disability #ableism #deafness #sign language #speech #asl #american sign language

[kairologia]

Your untapped talents according to your fifth house.

In traditional astrology, being Venus’ joy, the fifth house is (among others) a signifier for natural talents, as well as hobbies you would enjoy most or thrive at.

Which are yours?

· Aries in the 5th house (Sagittarius rising): you possess a proficiency in competitive or energetic sports and activities, a natural ability to lead a team, an uncanny ability to face & overcome your fears, as well as high stamina & endurance. Steadfast in your beliefs and capable of debating in their favour anytime of the day.

· Taurus in the 5th house (Capricorn rising): you’re naturally talented in gardening & cultivating a beautiful, lush & luxuriant outdoor space, effortlessly skilled in arts like painting, sculpture, or pottery, and excellent at cultivating artistic talent in others (would make a great art professor).

· Gemini in the 5th house (Aquarius rising): you have unrivaled storytelling and writing skills, an innate versatility in performing arts such as acting or comedy, & skilled in employing incisive language to convey complex ideas or emotions. You may have a talent for photography, drawing, or manual/visual arts.

· Cancer in the 5th house (Pisces rising): you’re skilled in acting out intense scenes or writing emotionally charged stories, talented in interior design and making every new place you inhabit feel like home. Usually talented in cooking &/or baking. Great swimmers too.

· Leo in the 5th house (Aries rising): Leo fifth houses are highly creative in fashion-related endeavors such as designing clothing items or costumes, have natural flair for performing arts and a natural ability to captivate an audience or command attention. Great at improvising and coming up with stories on the fly.

· Virgo in the 5th house (Taurus rising): you’re talented in crafts like knitting or woodworking, editing or artistic critique, photography. You’re the go-to person for event organization & planning. Skilled at DIY crafting projects, scrapbooking, manual creations such as jewelry making or ceramic works. Great debators, too.

· Libra in the 5th house (Gemini rising): you have outstanding diplomatic skills & are capable of negotiating your way through just about any situation. You're skilled in creating harmonious compositions in visual arts or music. You would definitely enjoy ballroom dancing, painting, & decorating spaces. You also have a natural sense for aesthetics & beauty.

· Scorpio in the 5th house (Cancer risings): you would make a great taboo/erotica/crime fiction writer or visual artist. You're also talented in writing intense and charged scenes or lyrics, & are capable of evoking strong emotions through artistic expression. You would probably enjoy investigating mysteries & delving into occultism.

· Sagittarius in the 5th house (Leo rising): you’re amazing at inspiring others through creative expression, great at documenting experiences through photography or journaling whether in remote destinations or within your hometowns & making the mundane seem interesting. You’d make a great writer of philosophical or esoterical fiction or analysis.

· Capricorn in the 5th house (Virgo rising): usually great at forms of art that demand focus and discipline. you're the type of person that can master more than one classical instrument if you were to put your heart into it. You would enjoy collecting antiques as a hobby, & have potential to be an eloquent & articulate speaker & writer.

· Aquarius in the 5th house (Libra rising): terrific at advocating for social change & making unheard voices feel heard through artistic or creative expression, and creating experimental or avant-garde works. Potential great musicians. The type of person who can turn even the blandest looking items into something uniquely gorgeous.

· Pisces in the 5th house (Scorpio rising): you have an innate versatile talent at anything creative as you’re capable of creating immersive artistic experiences that can even cloud the senses. Potential talent for dancing, occult or spiritual pursuits and intuitive painting as well. Would definitely enjoy swimming & marine life exploration.

P.S : one configuration cannot describe your entire experience. you may not relate to certain points, as you have had life experiences that shaped you and an entire chart consisting of inextricable elements that need one another to make sense.

Click here for readings !

#astrology #astro notes #astrological observations #hellenistic astrology #astro observations #astrology signs #astrology readings #zodiac #5H #5th house #fifth house #rising signs #venus

[pen-and-umbra]

The second episode of the Remake, FF7 Rebirth, has proven to be a terrific experience thus far. SE obviously made a few big decisions here and there.

It is seemingly implied now that Jenova wasn't "brain-dead", and it is hinted that Sephiroth was addled during his breakdown.

It all begins with a strategically placed cut, when Sephiroth touches the door bearing the name Jenova and instructs "Cloud" to close the valve. The scene is merely functional for new fans, yet leaves a vacant space that Crisis Core players will quickly fill in with the inferred arrival of Genesis. Smart move that, leaving the interpretation to the player. Whether Genesis exists inside the Remake's continuity or not, the moment reads differently to each fan. Quite frankly, I was half-expecting “Cloud” to come across a banora apple, rolling on the floor, but I suppose that would be telling.

What's remarkable is that they give Sephiroth almost identical symptoms to those that Cloud has in the remake. Glitches and odd headaches superimpose themselves nicely over the original Crisis Core scene. And, as much as I loathe Tyler Hoechlin's acting in the game, he lends a tangible sense of rage to Sephiroth's disparaging remarks about Hojo and his experiments. You can hear the hatred, a touch of pity, and disgust directed at Hojo's work and the creatures he tortured. In Crisis Core, he refers to the test subjects as “abominations” with the same touch of bitterness.

Back to the point: glitches, pupil dilations, and headaches are visual cues for Jenovaroth's influence or proximity, as shown in the first part of the Remake. However, at this point, Sephiroth is still sane — cracking, but still himself — so the only agent who can exert influence on him is, well, Jenova.

Now, a widely established fan hypothesis maintained that Jenova was brain-dead or comatose. Bodily functions sustained, but brain activity plateaued. Rebirth, however, strangely suggests otherwise.

When "Cloud" returns to Sephiroth in the manor's basement for the second time, Sephiroth recites an excerpt from a journal purportedly written by Professor Gast: 

“The specimen, found in a strata dating back two thousand years, smiled with what could only be described as 'ethereal grace'… Though the truth eluded me at first, I later determined that she was an Ancient - or a 'steward of the planet', as they are referred to in legend”. 

Remembering the battles with Jenova Dreamweaver and Jenova Emergent, the creature is far from "graceful" or "ethereal". There is nothing graceful about her figure in the tube either, and she is not smiling. The game goes out of its way to lampshade the glaring contradiction by showing the flashes of Jenova’s fanged skull and grotesque body as Sephiroth quotes the passage. So how could Gast perceive her as such?.. The answer is most likely found in Jenova Dreamweaver's description given in Ultimania: the entity has the ability to induce hallucinations in individuals who come into proximity with it, which is further corroborated by Jenova Emergent description.

An ancient lifeform that Shinra Company has kept under strict confidentiality. Those who come into contact can have their conscience interfered as well as see illusions. Professor Hojo has dedicated half of his life to researching Jenova, and within the Shinra Company building's top floors lies a secret research center called the "Dome," where Jenova's cells are injected into lifeforms or machinery to conduct experiments. (Ultimania)

Gast even writes that “the truth eluded him at first”, but LATER he determines the specimen belonged to the race of Ancients, as if that answer was suggested. The implication is chilling: Jenova may have purposefully misled Gast in order to present itself as an Ancient. As Sephiroth later explains in the FF7Rb, Jenova is capable of seeing deep into one's soul and impersonating individuals you fear, love, or hate.

If ShinRA and Gast were determined to unravel the mysteries of Ancients and their Promised Land, it would make sense for Jenova to "scan" Gast and determine the best course of action: disguise itself as an Ancient in order to escape captivity in geological strata jail.

The scene in which Sephiroth reads Gast's notes is possibly the final time he is more or less himself, before Jenova's image intermingles with his for a brief moment. Again, I appreciate Tyler's voice acting in this particular section and the real rage he brought to it. Admittedly, I was concerned that with next-gen visuals, they would take a more gruesome approach, displaying Sephiroth conducting the Nibelheim carnage with sadistic pleasure, but they took a different route. Slow, zombie-like movements, and a glassy expression.

He speared the militiamen as casually as if he were spearing bugs, which is far more frightening from a narrative point. What jumped out was how they emphasized the possessed-like behavior: from snarling and flailing the book like a suffering person to an empty countenance and automaton-like strides, as if he was being beckoned. Which is what "Mother is waiting" implies.

The final segment of the Nibelheim flashback is likely the most essential as well. According to previous developer claims, Sephiroth's will took precedence over Jenova's, and he was in control — whether Jenova was brain-dead or simply of lesser willpower.  However, the Rebirth appears to suggest something different right off the bat. First, "Cloud" shouts, "I believed in you… No… Not you — whoever the hell you are!", highlighting the significant personality change and the resulting lack of recognition. But then "Cloud" sees Jenova's image superimposed over that of Sephiroth in a rapid, glitch-like succession.

In other words, he sees Jenova inhabiting Sephiroth's body as a vehicle to once again escape the confinements. Whatever that means, whether it suggests that Jenova is in control from the start, or whether Sephiroth is literally the greatest functional agglomeration of her cells, and therefore literally “becomes” Jenova. 

If Jenova's original body was severely damaged — either as a result of eons of incarceration or Hojo's tinkering — it stands to reason that, if she wished to carry out her plan, she would need a new body, one capable of moving at the very least. Perhaps Sephiroth, an able-bodied skilled Mako-infused fighter of considerable might, served as a better "vessel" than her original damaged one. 

But the crux of the matter lies elsewhere. The possibility of Jenova being conscious and influencing Gast is very terrifying. With the potential to affect others in close vicinity, she may have influenced the minds of the whole science team behind the Jenova Project, particularly those who had long-term contact with her tissue — Gast and Hojo. It could turn out that the whole idea to revive an “Ancient” was planted by Jenova in order to grow itself a powerful host. In fact, if it could "peer into one's soul," i.e. read minds and memories, it might have easily identified a pressure point to indoctrinate people who could forward her objective. It's one thing to inject tissue samples into an adult body; it's quite another to devise a plan to inject cells into a developing human fetus. Who knows. Perhaps Hojo is such an obsessed Jenova nutcase in large part because he fell under its spell; feelings of inadequacy and being overshadowed by his colleague may have offered a crack in his defenses.

One that Jenova easily took advantage of. After all, as Dirge of Cerberus implies, Hojo ended up implanting himself with alien organic material.

Again, Jenova's power to extract information from an individual when in proximity supports a bleak reading of the events leading up to Nibelheim's ransacking. A person who kept on carrying a photograph of his supposedly late mother and badgered others about his background, as suggested by Ever Crisis episodes, was literally wearing his weakness on a sleeve.

Perhaps the 30-something years of the Jenova Project were supposed to bring Sephiroth there.

Perhaps the chain of events had been nudged in that direction, starting from the very discovery of a derelict non-human lifeform. Nudged by an intelligence both cunning and incomprehensible. And that makes Jenova a much, much scarier presence in the remake than it was ever suggested in OG.

#ffvii@luv fandoms #ffvii rebirth #ff7 #ffvii #ff7 rebirth #jenova #sephiroth #hojo #gast

[octoberwitchsblog]

One of the moments that has the most potential to become a stellar scene in House of the Dragon is probably the days before Criston Cole's death. The men sick and starving walking through the destroyed Riverlands, the burning villages, Criston realizing that all of this is Aemond's doing. Them walking through those horrific feasts of burnt corpses and getting attacked by men disguised as dead villagers. This whole scene has such a vivid sense of horror linked to it and it could allow the audience to have a sense of the scale of what Aemond did when he burned the Riverlands. Have Criston walk through the ruins caused by the boy he practically raised and then have him die like a peasant at the Butcher's Ball. This has so much potential at every level, visual and storytelling of the war and I know that Fabien Frankel and Ewan Mitchell would be terrific at portraying all of that.

#aemond targaryen #criston cole #ser crispin #fabien frankel #ewan mitchell #riverlands #house of the dragon #hotd #dance of the dragons

[savnofilter]

At First | Izuki Midoriya

      Pro Hero!Izuku Midoriya x Fiancé![FEM]Reader

WARNING(S): sexual content, brat!reader, oral (f -> m), face fucking, reader low-key annoying asf, reader gets their doonies beat down, reader is a crier and squirter, mating press, reader is folded as she gets fucked, sometimes Midoriya gives mercy, sex with (barely) any clothes on, Midoriya is a big fan of eye contact, hickies, reader has brunch with bsf in the morning, established relationship.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k (14 mins).

READ MORE: masterlist + [students masterlist]

A/N: this originally was supposed to be written during panini19 so i had to come up with a new context as to why reader and midoriya were 'stuck' together. ☠️ either way i think i salvaged this pretty okay! wish i had finished this sooner lol... but anyways, thank you anon & @chxrryp0p !!

Being cooped up in your shared penthouse was starting to become unbearable.

For Midoriya, less for you.

You see, recently, Midoriya has been on break for about a month, and the country was trying to adjust to it all. At certain times, he would have to clock in for emergency missions. Still, other than that, he has been vacationing with you, his fiancé, for about a month now.

At first, it was terrific. The saying that the heart grows fonder the longer you’re away is absolutely correct. Midoriya was all over you with his overwhelming urge to smother you in affection when he finally returned from being away for so long. You two would wake up, cook together, eat, have a good time for some of the afternoon, and then spend the rest of the night,, “catching up.” You did this routinely so that neither of you had to say what to do next for the day. You just knew. Later that night, you two would reconnect like tenfold when he would be off to save a city or something.

So yes, at first, it was great. Then, your behavior started to change.

However, not in a way that he found unbearable, but in a way that annoyed him. You would make little jokes about how “smol” he was—he hadn’t heard shit like that in years—or bluntly tease him about how subby and whiny he could get during sex.

“Hey, Izuku, can you get that for me?” You ask, pointing to the pair of headphones that dropped on the floor not too long ago.

Midoriya, being the kind fiancé he is, picks it up without a second thought, oblivious to your other ulterior motives. He’s met with a mischievous look when he hands you the earbuds, his brows furrowed in confusion when you grin at him. “What’s funny…?” He questions as he watches you start to giggle to yourself.

You shake your head and wave a dismissive hand at him. “Oh, nothing….” You teasingly chide him, thanking him for the kind gesture before folding your lips in to keep yourself from continuing to make jokes about him. He narrows his eyes, not necessarily at anything but indeed in annoyance. Midoriya rolls his eyes at what you were wordlessly insinuating.

“I’m not.”

“I’m just teasing you~” You sing in his ear and grin when he turns to you with a glare. “Do you want to prove it to me?”

“Prove what?” He mumbles against your lips. He rests his phone down to properly wrap his arms around your waist now that you two are face to face. “Why do you insist I’m “pure”-”

“You are!” You laugh, “I’m just saying… with us spending so much time together now, I think I’m just now realizing how cute you are…” You trail off and give the corner of his lips a chaste kiss as a mock reassurance. You maintain eye contact with him when you pull away and get between his legs, hands resting on his knees.

Midoriya now has a clear image of you on your knees in front of him with an expression of deviance that didn’t sit right with him. A flustered blush starts to form on his face before deepening a bit as he feels a boner begin to form. Your ‘outfit’ left almost nothing to the imagination, and the visual was starting to get to him. Rolling his eyes, your fiancé decides not to entertain or indulge your persistent behavior, though. His ignorance of your obvious motives makes you pout, crossing your arms as you challenge him. Your one-sided stare off with him ultimately bugs him, your hot gaze making him stare back at you. He sighs, resting his phone down again, and crosses his arms, his body language cutting you off. “But?”

“A sub would say no~” Your grin finds its way back to your face as you watch your boyfriend’s face twist into an expression of one you’ve never seen him wear before. The lucky sensation of hitting the jackpot crawls through your body; your plan finally falling into place. It was evident that your egging on was affecting him, and today, you made sure to wear something skimpy and easy to take off, too. It was only a matter of time before you could have him right where you wanted him.

Your fiancé tries ignoring you further, not wanting to deal with your brat behavior. Maybe he is a sub. Even with all this teasing, Midoriya still holds his urge to pin you down and fuck you into oblivion. But it felt different in his circumstance; if you could be a brat, he could also be a brat. He slowly shrugs off his annoyance, a deep sigh leaving him as he returns to scrolling on his phone and quietly gives you the silent treatment. There is no mistaking the disappointment that runs through your body, and now you’re thinking of the next part of your plan: provoke him with your actions.

Your hands on his knees slowly slide up his sweatpants, covering his thighs, squeezing periodically as they slowly rise on their intended arrival. You’re looking up at him with clear intent of what you will do, but he doesn’t look back.

‘fine, two could play at this game.’ a game at which you had started. You didn’t care about the audacity; you were in the mood to annoy your fiancé.

Your softly padded fingers finally make it to his hips. You lean up a bit to press more of your weight onto his body, the feeling making him budge. One of his favorite things about having sex with you was that he loved feeling your weight on him. Most times out of ten, when you did press against him, it was an easy ticket that would lead to the inevitable.

His cold demeanor still held up, although you knew his body was fighting to keep a strong front. You lean forward to kiss against his exposed abdomen; since he tends not to wear shirts at home, you can feel his soft but taught skin under your needy lips. One of your hands slips down to palm at his rising boner, a gentle hum of approval coming from you as you feel his length. Your other hand tugs at the side of his sweats, your eyes flickering to gaze at him.

He merely gives a glance once he realizes you’re looking at him, your eyes asking for permission. He presses his lips together and helps lift his hips, your kisses still descending to where he needed it most.

You don’t break eye contact until you have his cock freed from its confines, causing his length to tap you in the face lightly. Your mouth watered as it twitched once in need, and your pussy started to crave the feeling of wanting it inside there too. You double grip the base of his length before leaning in and pressing your tongue flat against the underside of his tip, your eyes now back on him again. The game of getting him off his phone is proven successful as he now has his full attention on you, his expression nothing but lust with a noticeable building pressure of his annoyance behind it. His breathing has deepened, though, and that was due to the fact you knew how to suck him off real good.

Your tongue laps at his tip, the textured and wet muscle dragging across the sensitive part, making his hips buck up to feel more of it. A grunt from deep within his chest lets you know his patience is starting to run thin, and it took everything in you not to smile. Still, you continue to tease. Your hands languidly stroking at his lengthy dick, a soft hum coming from you as the taste of pre-cum starts to cover your taste buds.

Midoriya would be a panting mess on a regular day, begging you for more, but today, he was feeling different. Today, you were making him feel feral. The way you can push his buttons was no joke, but you always knew when not to cross a line. With one hand, he rested his hand on top of your head. He slowly forces your mouth further onto his length, a slight but sadistic smirk clawing at his lips, watching as your hands stop their stroking to find refuge on the conjuncture of where his hips and thighs meet, needing to brace yourself as you take in his entire length into your mouth.

“Suck.���

You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the tip of his cock poke at the back of your throat, his hand unmoving, and you know that you have no choice but to do as he says. With all the might you can courage, you suckle as you can, drool starting to pool from how open your mouth sat on his member. When you whimper and tap his leg, he finally lets you up on his own accord. Midoriya decides to be generous and lets you start at your own pace. At first, you were going at a comfortable pace, the tempo and suction he was used to, and he couldn’t complain. But just like many times during this break when he has given you an inch, you would sprint a mile.

An ingenious idea pops up in your head to catch him off guard. While bobbing your head, you reach the base of his length and deep throat him again, just like when you first started. But this time, you didn’t shy away from looking up at him with fake innocence as you pulled away and took it slow instead. Midoriya’s once complicit hand now grips your hair to control your bobbing. The more he guides you, the more he doesn’t stop himself from reveling in the sight of you starting to become a slobbering mess as your attempts to tease were really starting to piss him off. Midoriya then places both his hands on the side of your head after widening his stance on the ground and sprawls a bit to gain more strength in his movements. You weren’t sure what he was doing until a strong kick of your gag reflex hit you.

He fucks his hips into your mouth as you try to keep up, eyes alarmed and hands gripping at him for support. You now had no other choice but to take him in, still bobbing your head like the greedy brat you are. You could faintly hear his labored breathing over the sounds of your poor mouth taking in his face fucking, the feeling sending deep arousal straight to your crouch.

You shift as you try to somehow ease the tension between your thighs, your eyes now prickling with tears in frustration as you so badly want to touch yourself. The ability to do that was simply impossible because you had no choice but to take your fiancé’s girthy cock in your mouth. You squeeze your thighs together to release the build-up tension in your loins, trying to brace yourself for what will happen next.

“Look at me,” Midoriya commands, a tug at your hair, making you peek an eye at him. You don’t miss the dark look in his eyes as you undoubtedly look at a mess. All of your control surrendered to him and the rough pace of his hips. For a moment, he stops altogether, and your confused eyes are peering up at him again for guidance. He tugs you off by the base of your neck, eyes dark as he stands up. Consequently, your confusion doesn’t last very long before he’s guiding your head to retake his length now that he’s standing up.

It’s obscene how the sound of you swallowing his cock echoes in the spacious living room; the bustling city sounds quickly drowned out by your full mouth, his heavy breathing, and even some of his soft profanities and sounds of pleasure to accompany yours. You don’t try to hide that you have now slipped one of your hands into your loose and tiny shorts, your other hand holding onto him for support. Your knees, although separated enough to take in his rough thrusts, were probably starting to bruise, but you didn’t care. You shamelessly moaned as your fingers played with your wet snatch; the slight hum to your noises aiding you not to gag on his length.

“Look at me, Y/N.” Midoriya tugs at your hair again to let you know he means business. Once you look up at him, he groans at your tear-filled eyes and presses you fully against the bush at the base of his cock. He holds you there as he wordlessly finishes down your throat, rocking his hips to ride the rest of his load into the back of your throat. You gurgle on his length before he pulls you away, you recoiling as you desperately try to gain your breath back from it being prolongedly taken away from you. He watches you choke and catch your breath, patting your hair down as you compose yourself. “You alright?”

You nod and wipe your mouth, only for him to grip your wrist and pick you up. He quickly tosses you onto the couch, and he’s on you, leaning down to give your messy mouth a searing kiss. His hands are heavy and fast on you, his fingers tugging down your useless tank, and his other moves your shorts and panties to the side, not bothering to get a lick of clothes off your body correctly. As you’re distracted by the kiss, he slips his tip into you, the poke making you flinch at the contact. Your hands helplessly grip him as he pulls away.

Midoriya looks down between both of you to watch as his cock splits you open, his hands finding the back of your knees and pressing your thighs close to your chest in a mating press. You gasp as you can’t help but suck in a small breath and feel the weight of his cock slip inside you, the position not allowing you to adjust.

“Z-Zuku, wait—!” You pleaded. A winded groan escapes your lips, and you tilt your head against the sofa. “I-I have brunch tomorrow afternoon! I can’t take it like this-”

“Mm, should’ve thought of that before pissing me off.” Midoriya dismisses your sorry excuse to get out of this mess. A mess you started. A mess that you curated. A mess that you caused. He wasn’t having any of it. If you wanted him like this, then he’d play the role.

Despite his words before, he did give you a moment or two before he began thrusting inside of your hungry cunt. His thrusts were heavy and fast, and he wasn’t sparing you the grace of not bottoming out, which he knew you hated. The noises you let out were nothing but obscene. The leather couch squeaked in protest while your moans fought back in an obnoxious match of who could desperately cling to reality. Your pussy is so undoubtedly wet, and your sloppy blowjob from earlier helped with the fact he had no issues to hinder him fucking you silly now.

He watches in glee with hungry eyes as your face rivals a pornstar, and nothing but lust and submission is written all over your face. With each thrust, your chest jiggles at the force, the sight making his cock twitch again. He waits no longer to lean down and take a nipple into his mouth, teeth nipping at the sensitive bud before sucking feverishly. He loves your chest, and the fact that at this pace made them look more delectable. He is generous in leaving other marks on your chest to compliment your clear skin, wanting everyone to know what you made him do. A chuckle tickles your skin as he can’t help but find it funny that your words aren’t coherent anymore.

“Is this what you wanted, hm? To be fucked like a little slut?” Midoriya spits out at you as he straightens to hold your thighs up. He moves to the side of the couch so your lower body rests on the arm of the chair, an angle that makes your body fold from the hold. His heavy thrusts successfully knock the wind out of you, the impact springing, overstimulating tears to your eyes. Your trembling hands were trying hard to keep up by gripping the seat beneath you, but it was useless. Your feeble attempts were no match for him.

Your whimpering at the new angle is all he needed to know that you are enjoying this. It was evident by the way that the tears that rolled down your face were evidence that you were indeed close. He glares down at you as he speaks, “Touch yourself, Y/N.”

You tilt your head up and hum as you almost didn’t hear him. He reaches down to roughly rub your clit to wake you up, the gesture indeed doing the job. You cry out at the feeling and hurriedly reach down to do the work instead, a shiver wracking through you as you follow his command. Your cunt is unbelievably tight around him, and the squeeze makes him dizzy. “Cum, please let me cum, please,” You beg, getting lost in his fucking. There were no thoughts at all in your head. Just dick and knowing you wouldn’t get off easy if you came without asking.

Your fiancé grunts as you start to fumble with your words, bearing witness to you getting fucked so stupid that you had no choice but to fall into what you knew you needed most. Today, although you irked him to no end, Midoriya was feeling gracious and let you release first after feeling his second climax coming around the corner. When you finish, it happens so fast that it was almost painful. Your body shook as you squirted on him and yourself, your body freezing as your walls pulsed around his length, his hips stuttering against yours as he couldn’t help but finish in you. Midoriya leans down to sloppily kiss you as you both come down from your high. It wasn’t long before he was pulling away and flipping you over, hands on your breasts and his chest pressed against your back as his cock was back inside your sensitive cunt. Midoriya was sure that you were fucked dumb at this point, but he, too, was pussy drunk over you as well.

Indeed, a few more rounds could cure his lust.

— ✮ ★ ☆ —

"Y/N!" Your best friend calls out to you when she notices your figure approaching her.

You smile and awkwardly walk over to her, a noticeable limp to your stride as much as you try to hide it. She raises a brow at the display, her eyes trailing your unmistakably disheveled appearance. However, you did look put together all the while.

“You okay, N/N?”

“Y-Yeah! Of course, why?” You rush to answer her question with your own. You and her have a stare-down once she notices you haven’t sat down yet, and you know the act added to her suspicion.

“Why won’t you sit down?” She accuses, brow raised. You nervously laugh it off and forcefully push her shoulder as your rough handling earns a dirty look from her.

“I’m getting there, you know?!” You smile hard, your words with a grit added to your speech from your teeth being clenched together. Still, the awkward eye contact continues as you try to hide the wince as you sit in front of her. Suddenly, her eyes and face lit up like a bulb had gone off.

“No fuckin’ way-!”

“Watch your freaking mouth,” You mumble as people start to look over, and you try to cover up your skin that exposes your neck.

“I’m going to take a wild guess that the reason you didn’t respond to me till this morning, didn’t join the group call, now wearing suspiciously warm clothes for the hot weather and walking weirdly is because of him?” She leans on the table to get a closer look at you with a shit-eating grin as if she already knew the answer.

“... yes.” You also break out into a stupid grin, you two giggling like madmen as she slaps your arm at the admission.

“So the plan worked?! You got to tell me everything!”

As you catch your friend up on everything, you can’t help but feel bad for egging Midoriya on for as long as you did… but it was all worth it. At first, the idea to annoy him was simply a dare. Still, soon enough, it became a plan to see another side of your fiancé you realize you had never seen before.

After the many rounds yesterday, you did find out and learn your lesson, though. Before you fell asleep for the night, you did apologize to him for being a brat, and you two fell asleep to a movie after having a much-needed takeout meal that rivaled a mukbang from your activities.

One thing was for sure, though: your state of the aftermath was a great way to remind yourself not to annoy him as much as you had prior.

    all rights reserved © do NOT steal, alter or copy this work.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #midoriya izuku x reader #pro hero!midoriya izuku x reader #bnha x black!reader #mha x black!reader #bnha x poc!reader #mha x poc!reader #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #n/sfw #sav's saucin'

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A year in illustration, 2023 edition (part one)

(This is part one; part two is here.)

I am objectively very bad at visual art. I am bad at vision, period – I'm astigmatic, shortsighted, color blind, and often miss visual details others see. I can't even draw a stick-figure. To top things off, I have cataracts in both eyes and my book publishing/touring schedule is so intense that I keep having to reschedule the surgeries. But despite my vast visual deficits, I thoroughly enjoy making collages for this blog.

For many years now – decades – I've been illustrating my blog posts by mixing public domain and Creative Commons art with work that I can make a good fair use case for. As bad as art as I may be, all this practice has paid off. Call it unseemly, but I think I'm turning out some terrific illustrations – not all the time, but often enough.

Last year, I rounded up my best art of the year:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/25/a-year-in-illustration/

And I liked reflecting on the year's art so much, I decided I'd do it again. Be sure to scroll to the bottom for some downloadables – freely usable images that I painstakingly cut up with the lasso tool in The Gimp.

The original AD&D hardcover cover art is seared into my psyche. For several years, there were few images I looked at so closely as these. When Hasbro pulled some world-beatingly sleazy stuff with the Open Gaming License, I knew just how to mod Dave Trampier's 'Eve Of Moloch' from the cover of the Players' Handbook. Thankfully, bigger nerds than me have identified all the fonts in the image, making the remix a doddle.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/12/beg-forgiveness-ask-permission/#whats-a-copyright-exception

Even though I don't keep logs or collect any analytics, I can say with confidence that "Tiktok's Enshittification" was the most popular thing I published on Pluralistic this year. I mixed some public domain Brother's Grimm art, mixed with a classic caricature of Boss Tweed, and some very cheesy royalty-free/open access influencer graphics. One gingerbread cottage social media trap, coming up:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

To illustrate the idea of overcoming walking-the-plank fear (as a metaphor for writing when it feels like you suck) I mixed public domain stock of a plank, a high building and legs, along with a procedurally generated Matrix "code waterfall" and a vertiginous spiral ganked from a Heinz Bunse photo of a German office lobby.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/22/walking-the-plank/

Finding a tasteful way to illustrate a story about Johnson & Johnson losing a court case after it spent a generation tricking women into dusting their vulvas with asbestos-tainted talcum was a challenge. The tulip (featured in many public domain images) was a natural starting point. I mixed it with Jesse Wagstaff's image of a Burning Man dust-storm and Mike Mozart's shelf-shot of a J&J talcum bottle.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/01/j-and-j-jk/#risible-gambit

"Google's Chatbot Panic" is about Google's long history of being stampeded into doing stupid things because its competitors are doing them. Once it was Yahoo, now it's Bing. Tenniel's Tweedle Dee and Dum were a good starting point. I mixed in one of several Humpty Dumpty editorial cartoon images from 19th century political coverage that I painstakingly cut out with the lasso tool on a long plane-ride. This is one of my favorite Humpties, I just love the little 19th C businessmen trying to keep him from falling! I finished it off with HAL 9000's glowing red eye, my standard 'this is about AI' image, which I got from Cryteria's CC-licensed SVG.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/16/tweedledumber/#easily-spooked

Though I started writing about Luddites in my January, 2022 Locus column, 2023 was the Year of the Luddite, thanks to Brian Merchant's outstanding Blood In the Machine:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

When it came time to illustrate "Gig Work Is the Opposite of Steampunk," I found a public domain weaver's loft, and put one of Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes in the window. Magpie Killjoy's Steampunk Magazine poster, 'Love the Machine, Hate the Factory,' completed the look.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/12/gig-work-is-the-opposite-of-steampunk/

For the "small, non-profit school" that got used as an excuse to bail out Silicon Valley Bank, I brought back Humpty Dumpty, mixing him with a Hogwartsian castle, a brick wall texture, and an ornate, gilded frame. I love how this one came out. This Humpty was made for the SVB bailout.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/23/small-nonprofit-school/#north-country-school

The RESTRICT Act would have federally banned Tiktok – a proposal that was both technically unworkable and unconstitutional. I found an early 20th century editorial cartoon depicting Uncle Sam behind a fortress wall that was keeping a downtrodden refugee family out of America. I got rid of most of the family, giving the dad a Tiktok logo head, and I put Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes over each cannonmouth. Three Boss Tweed moneybag-head caricatures, adorned with Big Tech logos, rounded it out.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/30/tik-tok-tow/#good-politics-for-electoral-victories

When Flickr took decisive action to purge the copyleft trolls who'd been abusing its platform, I knew I wanted to illustrate this with Lucifer being cast out of heaven, and the very best one of those comes from John Milton, who is conveniently well in the public domain. The Flickr logo suggested a bicolored streaming-light-of-heaven motif that just made it.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/01/pixsynnussija/#pilkunnussija

Old mainframe ads are a great source of stock for a "Computer Says No" image. And Congress being a public building, there are lots of federal (and hence public domain) images of its facade.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/04/cbo-says-no/#wealth-tax

When I wrote about the Clarence Thomas/Harlan Crow bribery scandal, it was easy to find Mr. Kjetil Ree's great image of the Supreme Court building. Thomas being a federal judge, it was easy to find a government photo of his head, but it's impossible to find an image of him in robes at a decent resolution. Luckily, there are tons of other federal judges who've been photographed in their robes! Boss Tweed with the dollar-sign head was a great stand-in for Harlan Crow (no one knows what he looks like anyway). Gilding Thomas's robes was a simple matter of superimposing a gold texture and twiddling with the layers.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/06/clarence-thomas/#harlan-crow

"Gig apps trap reverse centaurs in wage-stealing Skinner boxes" is one of my best titles. This is the post where I introduce the idea of "twiddling" as part of the theory of enshittification, and explain how it relates to "reverse centaurs" – people who assist machines, rather than the other way around. Finding a CC licensed modular synth was much harder than I thought, but I found Stephen Drake's image and stitched it into a mandala. Cutting out the horse's head for the reverse centaur was a lot of work (manes are a huuuuge pain in the ass), but I love how his head sits on the public domain high-viz-wearing warehouse worker's body I cut up (thanks, OSHA!). Seeing as this is an horrors-of-automation story, Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes make an appearance.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Rockefeller's greatest contribution to our culture was inspiring many excellent unflattering caricatures. The IWW's many-fists-turning-into-one-fist image made it easy to have the collective might of workers toppling the original robber-baron.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

I link to this post explaining how to make good Mastodon threads at least once a week, so it's a good thing the graphic turned out so well. Close-cropping the threads from a public domain yarn tangle worked out great. Eugen Rochko's Mastodon logo was and is the only Affero-licensed image ever to appear on Pluralistic.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/16/how-to-make-the-least-worst-mastodon-threads/

I spent hours on the sofa one night painstakingly cutting up and reassembling the cover art from a science fiction pulp. I have a folder full of color-corrected, high-rez scans from an 18th century anatomy textbook, and the cross-section head-and-brain is the best of the lot.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/04/analytical-democratic-theory/#epistocratic-delusions

Those old French anatomical drawings are an endless source of delight to me. Take one cross-sectioned noggin, mix in an old PC mainboard, and a vector art illo of a virtuous cycle with some of Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes and you've got a great illustration of Google's brain-worms.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

Ireland's privacy regulator is but a plaything in Big Tech's hand, but it's goddamned hard to find an open-access Garda car. I manually dressed some public domain car art in Garda livery, painstakingly tracing it over the panels. The (public domain) baby's knit cap really hides the seams from replacing the baby's head with HAL9000's eye.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

Naked-guy-in-a-barrel bankruptcy images feel like something you can find in an old Collier's or Punch, but I came up snake-eyes and ended up frankensteining a naked body into a barrel for the George Washington crest on the Washington State flag. It came out well, but harvesting the body parts from old muscle-beach photos left George with some really big guns. I tried five different pairs of suspenders here before just drawing in black polyhedrons with little grey dots for rivets.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/03/when-the-tide-goes-out/#passive-income

Illustrating Amazon's dominance over the EU coulda been easy – just stick Amazon 'A's in place of the yellow stars that form a ring on the EU flag. So I decided to riff on Plutarch's Alexander, out of lands to conquer. Rama's statue legs were nice and high-rez. I had my choice of public domain ruin images, though it was harder thank expected to find a good Amazon box as a plinth for those broken-off legs.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/14/flywheel-shyster-and-flywheel/#unfulfilled-by-amazon

God help me, I could not stop playing with this image of a demon-haunted IoT car. All those reflections! The knife sticking out of the steering wheel, the multiple Munsch 'Scream'ers, etc etc. The more I patchked with it, the better it got, though. This one's a banger.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

To depict a "data-driven dictatorship," I ganked elements of heavily beribboned Russian military dress uniforms, replacing the head with HAL9000's eye. I turned the foreground into the crowds from the Nuremberg rallies and filled the sky with Matrix code waterfall.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/26/dictators-dilemma/#garbage-in-garbage-out-garbage-back-in

The best thing about analogizing DRM to demonic possession is the wealth of medieval artwork to choose from . This one comes from the 11th century 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros.' I mixed in the shiny red Tesla (working those reflections!), and a Tesla charger to make my point.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

Yet more dividends from those old French anatomical plates: a flayed skull, a detached jaw, a quack electronic gadget, a Wachowski code waterfall and some HAL 9000 eyes and you've got a truly unsettling image of machine-compelled speech.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

I had no idea this would work out so well, but daaaamn, crossfading between a Wachowski code waterfall and a motherboard behind a roiling thundercloud is dank af.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

Of all the turkeys-voting-for-Christmas self-owns conservative culture warriors fall for, few can rival the "banning junk fees is woke" hustle. Slap a US-flag Punisher logo on and old-time card imprinter, add a GOP logo to a red credit-card blank, and then throw in a rustic barn countertop and you've got a junk-fee extracter fit for the Cracker Barrel.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

Putting the Verizon logo on the Hinderberg was an obvious gambit (even if I did have to mess with the flames a lot), but the cutout of Paul Marcarelli as the 'can you hear me now?' guy, desaturated and contrast-matched, made it sing.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/10/smartest-guys-in-the-room/#can-you-hear-me-now

Note to self: Tux the Penguin is really easy to source in free/open formats! He looks great with HAL9000 eyes.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

Rockwell's self-portrait image is a classic; that made it a natural for a HAL9000-style remix about AI art. I put a bunch of time into chopping and remixing Rockwell's signature to give it that AI look, and added as many fingers as would fit on each hand.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

(Images: Heinz Bunse, West Midlands Police, Christopher Sessums, CC BY-SA 2.0; Mike Mozart, Jesse Wagstaff, Stephen Drake, Steve Jurvetson, syvwlch, Doc Searls, https://www.flickr.com/photos/mosaic36/14231376315, Chatham House, CC BY 2.0; Cryteria, CC BY 3.0; Mr. Kjetil Ree, Trevor Parscal, Rama, “Soldiers of Russia” Cultural Center, Russian Airborne Troops Press Service, CC BY-SA 3.0; Raimond Spekking, CC BY 4.0; Drahtlos, CC BY-SA 4.0; Eugen Rochko, Affero; modified)

#pluralistic #illustration #collage #fair use #creative commons #stock art #blogging #art #practice makes perfect

[chronically-ghosted]

can you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills?

rating: T (this is the tamest thing I’ve written in years)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8K

summary: a year into secretly dating, you are overwhelmed by your feelings for Dieter Bravo, confident and resigned to the fact that he doesn’t feel the same way. But on Oscar’s night, drunk on sparkling wine and a terrific win, Dieter gives you a reason to doubt your fears. 

warnings/tags: age gap, self-aggrandizing rumination on our public vs private personas, a stupid amount of kissing, angst but soft angst, angst that is resolved, this is very different from anything i’ve done recently, and there’s no smut? just kisses? What have you become Taylor? one very very very soft Dieter, waxing shamelessly poetic about being in love and being loved by Dieter Bravo 

a/n: this comes from the same request by two of my LOVELY followers ( @tvversionperson and @bitchwitch1981) from my 100 followers event: “I’m not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?” “You’re not doing anything.” “But… I sent you my love. Did you… did you not get it?” with Dieter Bravo. this is so wildly different from anything i've done before, i'm flinging this into the internet like a goddamn trapshooter of emotional angst

shout out to @iamdesibell for the visuals of Dieter at the party. She spoils me with all of her incredible Dieter artwork.

🤍Masterlist

Every artist knows it's about the looks. The aesthetics of it all, the internet’s new favorite buzzword. Increasingly too often, the merit of the artwork is equated to the moral merit of the artist; it’s not so much about selling the image you create, it’s about selling the image of yourself. Does the artist fit into the image of what the masses imagine when they hear what the artist offers? Can the artist balance both the expectations and provide something new? When is the right time to break the mold, and be different, or when is it best to follow the crowd? Keep your head down and make more content than art. When does the aesthetics of a thing matter more than the thing itself?

For Oscar’s night, often there is nothing more important than the look of things. The elegance. The allure but approachability of the stars. Beautiful but obtainable. Handsome but effortless. But beneath all the veneer, all the lights, and gold and glitz, there is a yearning, an animalistic hunger, for a quite literal shiny object waved in their faces to clamor and push and shove for. The beauty is a mask that covers fragility and fear and anticipation – and that mask must remain firmly in place, no matter the outcome. Remember, they’re watching, always watching, and you cannot want a thing too much, lest you become conceited or conniving. You cannot love in a way that scares them.

And sometimes, you think you love him in a way that scares yourself.

His warm palm grips yours over your knee. He, along with the other nominees, wait patiently as the names are read allowed from the gilded stage. His face, a mask – of curiosity, of wonder – but only you, perhaps because you are so close to him, can see the fraught want in his eyes. You know how much he wants this, how much you want this for him. He wants it so much he’s trembling. Microscopically. Barely at all, barely a flinch of genuine human emotion, it makes you sick. Because Dieter, the Dieter you’ve come to know in the past year, is so wonderfully unpolished, such a sterling testament to the beauty in the raw, it makes a spot behind your sternum ache to watch him hold himself back. 

You want to give him a smile of encouragement, to kiss his knuckles and soothe his hammering pulse with your thumb, but you can’t. You can’t even look at him, any movement immediately flagged by the cameras. Always watching.

But behind the rows of seats, they can’t see your clasped hands. Can’t see his tapping foot. They can’t see how much he wants, how much he loves. As the names are read aloud for the category of Best Actor, you lift your thumbnail to the meat of his palm, between his own thumb and index finger. Gently, softly, quietly, so as not to startle the molecules of air around you, you draw a heart in his skin. 

But by his rigid posture, you’re not sure he registers it. You can’t tell if he knows you’re there at all. 

It began a year ago. 

After a truly spectacular break up that left you bereft and aimless, you decided to quit. Quit it all. Quit and start over doing the one thing you actually had passion for: screenwriting. Was it risky and dumb as hell at your age? Absolutely. But it didn’t matter if you never ended up writing for a big Hollywood film, you told yourself, as long as you were writing, that’s all that mattered. 

So you quit writing articles about car insurance, packed up everything, and moved to the City of Angels. 

Two years later, you were still earning your dues. Still working from the bottom of the barrel up, climbing through muck and verbal abuse and emotional exploitation and the very dredges of the industry. 

You tried to focus on your craft, on getting more than just getting coffee for the actual writers, but after multiple days spending nineteen hours on your feet, the capacity to be creative so rarely comes, your brain often sizzled and fried like the back end of a janky, unreliable toaster. The production company you worked for had just purchased the rights to a popular novelist’s book for a film adaptation. The party you were at was more of a “pat yourself on the back” sort of thing for the director and novelist to rub elbows while surrounded by beautiful people. Attending mind-numbing parties for the sake of building connections was one thing. You could actually have fun when you wanted, but this? This self-indulgent, ego-driven, flattery bullshit, when all you wanted to do was sleep?

You watch as Eliot Baker, friend of the director and whose house is currently being trashed by a bunch of dangerously drunk and high animals, steps up onto his kitchen table. His pupils nearly dilated to the size of quarters, he holds up a baggy of white powder.

“Anyone interested in Colombia’s finest, please join me in the bedroom. Beautiful women, please stay.” 

The three shots you had done earlier had done nothing to dull your irritation, now amplified by the grating cheer that goes up from the crowd. Coke rarely puts you in a better mood, but at least it’s better than sulking by the stairs. Eliot leaps off the table and leads a gaggle of giggling women, and men with their hands all over their sparkly asses, down the hall and you try not to roll your eyes, your feet all but dragging beneath you. 

Then someone catches you by the elbow.

And you wonder how a homeless man got past security. 

A comically large green beanie on his head, a blindly yellow hood zipped up over what perhaps had been a white t-shirt – you are immediately arrested by his dark, soft eyes. Thick, furrowed brow. He hasn’t let go of your elbow. 

“That guy is a fucker,” he tells you with vehemence. 

“What?” He could have asked you your name and you would have said the exact same thing.

“Baker,” he sneers over your shoulder at the small crowd tumbling through the open door, Eliot’s too blue eyes watching like a farmer counts cattle to the slaughterhouse. “He laces his shit. Makes you too fucked up. He’s the kind of evil fucker who roofies drinks.”

The stranger looks at you, the twist of rage around his mouth fading, eyes softening again, as if he is worried about you.

“Don’t go in there,” he says. 

His warm hand is still around your elbow. 

“Okay,” you say because you haven’t come across anyone this earnest, maybe in your entire life, and certainly not since moving to LA. 

He blinks, as if surprised, and slowly withdraws his hand. You stare at each other for perhaps too long before he jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

“Wanna smoke some weed?”

The cool night air of LA always surprises you. It’s never cold, no, but the chill is noticeable, tangible, always right at the back of your neck when you least expect it. You stifle the urge to shiver as the man slides the glass door behind him, immediately deafening the party inside. You hadn’t realized it had been so loud until there is blissful silence, the sound of blood rushing in your ears replacing the trance music and the dull hum of overlapping voices. 

The man straight off the set of The Big Lebowski unhurriedly digs around in the pocket of that obnoxious hoodie for a bit, as if he could lose an item in that small pouch. 

He finds what he’s looking for with a grin on his face, and when he brings both the lighter and blunt to his lips, you realize his left arm is in a cast. 

He sees you eye it, managing to light and hit the blunt with one hand before pocketing the lighter and offering the smoke to you. The browns in his eyes are overcome by the darkness surrounding you on the back porch overlooking the valley below, the skyline of Los Angeles winking in the far distance. 

You notice something, not writing or words on his cast, more like a dark blot, but you don’t ask him about it. Most people in this business you’ve found are only on for the cameras and when it comes to personal, quiet moments, the less personable they have to be the better. You feel like you’re already pressing your luck by getting a few free hits off this guy so you wait your turn, ready to be as silent as he wants it to be.

Which apparently isn’t very much at all.

“How’d you end up here?” He asks with genuine interest and just a touch of weariness. 

You shrug as you take the blunt from him again. “My boss is here to schmooze his new writer. As his assistant, I think I’m contractually obligated to be around him more than his own shadow.”

“You’re a PA?” He asks, voice strained and full of smoke, before he puffs out the side of his mouth. A considerate smoker, then. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m whatever is lower than a PA. I think an actual bottom-feeder in a fish tank has more power than me.” 

“So you’re new to the scene?” 

You scowl, one arm tucked around your waist, the other tapping on your thigh. “Yeah, if two years is still new.” 

He frowns. “What are you trying to break into?” 

His fingertips brush yours over the next exchange and maybe it’s the earnest look in his eyes, or the bizarre fact that he actually smells good despite looking like he’d raided a garbage can, or maybe it’s the weed finally hitting, but you are honest with this complete stranger.

“I wanna be a screenwriter.” 

Maybe it’s the drugs finally hitting him too, but the glossy shine to his eyes doesn’t seem to be from boredom as you explain to him the past few years of your life, starting from the breakup in Boston to getting a very specific brand of q-tips from a drugstore on the other side of town for your boss at midnight. 

“I know I have to pay my dues, and I don’t mind that, but I just want to do something that matters, you know?” The unexpected chill of the night air curls around your neck as he listens intently to your uninterrupted ramble for ten minutes. “I don’t even care about big movies, or the awards, I want to write something that touches just one person. Give them something to think about for years to come. Comforts or encourages them to do the thing they’re scared of doing.” You feel heat climb up your ears as he watches as though you’re the most fascinating thing in the world. “It’s silly. It’s just a job, and I know I should treat it like that . . .”

You trail off, waiting for him to admonish you, but instead he grins. A smile that widens his whole face. On someone else it might look condescending, but he’s grinning wildly as he slides the joint back into his mouth with two fingers and leans back on his heels.

“So you’re a little dreamer, huh?” That faint blush now beats a harsh red. Fuck, you knew you sounded like an idiot – always opening up too soon and too fast to strangers who don’t really give a fuck. You were just supposed to have a conversation with this nice, albeit weird guy and go on your way and – 

He cocks his head as he looks at you, takes in your beet-red ears and cheeks and that smile falters.

“You know that’s not a bad thing, right? The world needs more dreamers. People, who despite all the bullshit, continue to believe they can be happy.”

“You could also call that being delusional,” you mutter as you take the halfway-spent joint from him when he offers. 

One of those thick eyebrows jerks as though thinking of a funny joke. He shrugs, his mouth twisting down in a disbelieving smirk. “Personally, I like to call it whimsy.” 

Whimsy? Who talks like that?

You fight a giggle and find him looking at you again, that smile smoothed out and warm again. One glance and you snort loudly, then bust out laughing. 

Those magnanimous eyes glitter as he watches you laugh yourself silly. 

“Child-like, wondrous whimsy,” he teases and you laugh harder as though he tickled you. Another snort explodes out of you and you clap your hand over your mouth, finally hearing the noises you’re making and mortified beyond reason. You glance over your shoulder, worried someone else might have heard your donkey laugh. In fact, you wish anyone other than the gorgeous man standing next to you had heard it. 

But if he finds it unpolished or annoying, he doesn’t show it. He just rolls on his heels, grinning and looking overly pleased with himself. When the giggles subside, you bite your lip at him.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Fire away, Pistol Pete.” 

“How’d you break your arm?” 

He looks down at it as he forgot it was there.

“Uh, it’s a long story.”

He finally pulls it out of the sleeve of his jacket. Your mouth drops.

You can’t even tell what medium had been used, either paint or sharpie or something else entirely, but the cast is a mosaic of some of the most gorgeous artwork you’d ever seen. Birds in gold and blue hues, flowers and leaves in stunningly rendered detail, the curves of anonymous noses and lips and teeth and earlobes – all wound together in collage by someone with an eye for detail and a precious reverence for the mundane. 

But for all the artwork, designs you fully believe should be in a museum, you realize no one has signed it. Maybe only twelve year olds sign each other’s casts, you think harshly to yourself. Grow up.

But still, the sight makes you a little sad. 

“Did you do these?” You ask quietly.

He nods, turning his arm to give you a better look, as if eager for your approval. You think you see the horns of Goya’s El Gran Cabrón before he pulls his arm back. 

The man hasn’t answered your original question, watching your face for every microexpression. Finally, you do glance up and he has his bottom lip in teeth, as though preparing to be scolded. 

At that moment, you want nothing more than to kiss those plush lips. You swallow, feeling rather lighted-headed and capable of making terrible decisions, so you take a clear step back. 

“I got daydrunk and fell in my pool wrong.”

You frown at him. “That’s not a very long story.”

He drops your gaze, suddenly bashful, and shakes his sleeve back over his cast. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t come up with a better story that makes me look really cool, or makes you laugh, so I went with the lame truth.”

You don’t remark that it sounds like he wanted to impress you so you go for the easy alternative.

“Why would I laugh at you?” 

He flops his arms in half-shrug. “I don’t want you to laugh at me. I just want you to laugh. I like your laugh.” 

How does someone who wears their heart so openly on their sleeve survive in a place like this? You want him to swallow you down so you can count the rings in his stomach, learn his history like oak trees. 

“Who are you?” You blurt out, your mouth full of cotton and brain somewhat disconnected from your brain stem. 

At that, he laughs. “Gimme your number and you’ll find out.” 

His smile elongates the longer you stare at him. “It’s not a line. I mean, it is, but not like that, if you don’t want it to be. This fucking industry is built on who you know and I know a couple of people to know. You can call me if you have any questions or need a reference.” 

The whiplash between flirty tease and professional contact is jarring. Your fingers shaking from shock, you take your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him. 

He taps away, bobbing his head to some tune only he can hear, before lifting it up to his face and snapping a selfie – tongue out and eye squinting into the flash. 

He tosses your phone back and you learn his name for the first time. 

The shock wears off immediately and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, my turn.” 

He digs into his back pocket and slides a bright pink 2007 motorola flip-phone into your outstretched hand. 

Full – chock full, in fact – of surprises. 

“I’m not gonna get tracked,” he says seriously, eyes narrowed. “You really should think about giving up your iPhone. All kinds of bad vibes.”

You eagerly look forward to him explaining the Big Foot Conspiracy and his theories about the magic silver bullet. 

It takes you a second to type out your name with the multiple buttons, some old sense memory from seventh grade coming back like a grumpy, displeased ghost, but finally, you snap the phone together and toss it back to him.

With the nub of the smoking joint poking out of his mouth, he frowns when he looks at the phone screen. 

“Dolly Parton?”

You pluck the joint out of his mouth, a surge of playful confidence keeping your eyes locked on his. You nod. “Since we’re doing the whole fake name thing . . .”

You want to wink, with your hand on your hip, so clever to have figured out his little game, but when he continues to frown, that rush of bravery fizzles out.

“But the name I put in your phone is actually my name?”

You chuckle, surprised and confused he’s still committing to the bit, a little frustrated at this point because you are actually starting to like this guy and . . .

Unless . . .

“You’re actually Dieter Bravo? The actor? Three-time Emmy nominated actor Dieter Bravo?” 

He loops his finger through one of the free-roaming curls from under the beanie and twists it. “That’s what it says on my underwear . . . when I remember to wear it.” 

The blush on your face now scalding, you dart across the space between you and him and snatch his phone back. You can literally feel the shameful heat in your spine, your lower back, as you delete Dolly’s name and frantically type in your own. 

“I’m so, so, sorry. I was just trying to be funny. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you but it’s dark and, um, you don’t look like I thought you would and I-I had no idea – I’m so sorry –,”

“Girlie, take a breath,” he chuckles and strokes your fingers as they tremble over the keypad. “I’ve never seen someone so stressed out after smoking half a joint before.” 

You’ve gone stock still as he bleeds the panic out of you with just his touch. You watch as his warm hand, dwarfing yours in size, slowly moves up to your wrist, your pulse point. His thumb presses into the vein and gently rubs. You can’t help the sigh that eases out of your throat as all the tension in your arm collapses into that one focal point, that one place he presses against you. You inhale, not realizing you had stopped breathing for a second and he releases gently, the ache in your body left over from the rigidity gone. 

A brief dark haze passes over his eyes when you sigh, but gives you space easy enough when you settle. 

He takes the phone out of your limp hands and reads what you’ve typed out.

“Cute name. But I think I’m still gonna call you Dolly.”

Humor is your gut instinct. Defuse a situation or calm your nerves, sometimes the best you can do is crack a (often poorly timed) joke. You feel all fluttery inside, partially because you’d been talking to Dieter “I know people who know people” Bravo all night and partially because you’re about 86% sure he’d been flirting with you. And so, without thinking, you say:

“Because of my massive tits, right?”

His eyes flit up from his phone screen to, presumably, your tits. Which are very much not Dolly-Parton-comparable. 

But he grins. He actually giggles, pressing the back of the hand holding his phone against his lips as if trying to hide his smirk.

“Yeah, that’s definitely it.” 

It is the kind of laugh that you know he’s laughing with you and not at you and he’s still staring when his laughter subsides. 

He is still staring at your tits.

Just as your face flushes what feels like the hundredth time tonight, he glances up at you. He offers you the last puff, you shake your head, so he sucks in down before flicking the nub over the railing of the patio. His hands sit heavy in his front pocket, the frown on his face contemplative, eyes searching the horizon.

“I think you’re going to text me . . . on a Tuesday,” he says, like he’s divining portents from the shapes of the clouds. 

You swallow, trying to purge yourself of this whiplash embarrassment, but you can’t quite decide what exactly to make of this man or this conversation. “What makes you say that?”

His smile is so genuine it rattles something inside you. “It’s my favorite day of the week.” 

This feels too good, too real, too intense, too fast. It was a quiet, but familiar story passed around in writer’s rooms or on the back lots of sets: an older man seduces a young girl, promising the world, and then offering nothing once he had gotten what he wanted. 

You beg your heartbeat to slow down. 

But Dieter Bravo doesn’t seem capable of that, not with his honesty, his open heart, but then again none of them ever do. 

That’s the whole point. 

“So, um, I should go. My boss is probably out back, breaking things, pissed off because I’m not behind him with a fresh macchiato.” Your phone feels absurd in your hands, as if it now carries something vital inside of it. “But, uh, thank you – for everything. The smoke, the advice, listening to me ramble endlessly –,”

“You weren’t rambling,” he says, arms crossed and finger tugging at an errant curl again. “You were talking about what makes you happy and I was listening. I like listening to you.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did. 

“I’ll call you sometime, okay?”

He nods, raising a hand in a wave, but as you turn away, something final, the last piece of the puzzle, pops into your brain.

“Why me?”

Dieter looks at you, big brown eyes confused like a puppy whom you scolded for chewing on your shoe. 

“What do you mean?”

“There’s gotta be at least fifty people here. Why did you stop me from going into Eliot’s room? 

Dieter shrugs, that easy smile returning. “You looked like the only other person who didn’t want to be here. And you’re really pretty,” he adds casually and your heart launches itself into your throat. “I’ve got a thing for really pretty girls. Gets me into a lot of trouble.”

There comes that heat, that flare in his gaze that makes you wonder how someone like him fucks, all proof necessary that he has a working cock, and he’s not some mystical, Willy-Wonka-esque Ken doll. 

It’s a look that makes you wonder if he wants his cock in you. 

“Good night, Dieter.”

“Night, Dolly.” 

Weeks passed and immediately you were so drowned in work, Dieter Bravo occasionally slipped your mind, falling back on your list of things to do when a deadline was approaching.

But when a contract for a position in a new writer’s room passes over your desk, you pause, and immediately think of him. The offer is unbelievable. More money than you thought possible working as an underling. The channel set to produce was the real deal, likely to order more seasons if the first went well. 

“Saw your writing,” your boss told you by way of explaining your dreams falling directly into your lap. “Good work. I sent some of it off, and the studio came back with this. Don’t take too long signing the dotted line, okay?” 

You nod, dumb-founded as he walks off, and you glance back at the contract.

And, despite your almost desperate elation, something felt off. But you didn’t know enough about the industry to confidently say if this is a bad deal or not. 

So, with a glance down the hall, you call the only person you know who would.

He is immediately livid. Not that you haven’t called, of course, but that someone has clearly tried to take advantage of you. 

“Do not take that deal. That corporate bullshit means they’ll own your IP for years to come. I can’t believe they’d do that to you. Stay right there and whatever you do, do not sign that. I’m calling someone at the studios.”

“Yeah. Uh, okay, Dieter, I won’t,” you murmur, half-expecting your hand to burn if you picked the contract up again. “But, um, thank you, for being honest with me. It felt weird, but I didn’t want to pass up an opportunity and I was freaking out that this was the only one I was gonna get but I didn’t want to be rash,so I, um, . . .”

You trail off, the sudden silence on the other line only making your panic and shame more pronounced. You cringe inwardly – Dieter Bravo had better fucking things to do than console a baby screenwriter out of her first mistake – and Jesus, if there was ever a chance he was going to sleep with you, it’s long gone now – it must be, no one willingly sleeps with someone so goddamn gullible.

“Dolly?” His voice is quiet, but with a certain edge that makes you picture that implish little smirk. “Do you know what day it is?” 

“No?”

“It’s Tuesday.” 

That phone call turned into a new job with a female-led production team, thank yous over drinks, late-night dinners at obscure and dark Chinese food restaurants, movie nights at your shamefully small apartment, and then . . . a kiss.

Which led to all the rest. 

A year later and you’re so in love with Dieter Bravo, you crank up Beyonce’s Countdown and belt it from the top of your lungs every time you hear it on the radio. 

There’s a new irritant, a new agitation that can only be soothed by him. He’s remade you, changed you, reformed your very being to be missing a piece when he’s not around. He’s made space for him inside you, there was no life – not a real one, not a happy one – not before him and there won’t be anyone or anything after him. No one else fits with you anymore. Ever again. 

Your blood runs hot over the ridges of his fingerprints, stamped deep on your soul and your bones.

Trouble is, he’ll never know.

“And the award for Best Actor goes to . . .”

His grip is almost painful and you return it with everything you can, your jaw drawn tight.

The pause feels like it lasts forever.

You hear his name and you think for a second you’ve blacked out, that you’ve somehow missed the moment, or you’ve somehow slipped into a pungently real dream. 

And the crowd erupts.

The spotlight finds him in the crowd and you’re being pulled into his chest. 

The cologne he wears costs more than your car payment but the instant you’re crushed up into his silken shirt, it’s him. Beneath all the layers, beneath the veneer, the man with the green beanie and fervent yellow jacket is still there. Somewhere. You love them both.

“You did it, darling, you did it,” you whisper into his ear and that’s all you can say before you know you have to tear yourself back, because every second you linger on him, the harder it becomes to quell this rising tide inside you that increasingly tastes like salt water whenever he’s around. It’s become so obvious his name resides in the cup of your mouth. 

But when you do pull out of his embrace, in the ringing shout of the crowd, the sparkle of the spotlight, his hand lingers on your elbow, and in a space of a heartbeat that lasts impossibly longer in your memory, you’re met with such a look of profound regret you feel it take up room in your chest. 

And in an instant, it’s gone. Grinning broadly, he drops your elbow and moves on down the line, cheered on by his peers, the white light from above illuminating his broad back, the bits of gray becoming ever more present in his beard. You cheer and you cheer and you cheer and you hope it’s from all the cheering that your voice grows hoarse and the tears start to trickle out of the corner of your eyes. 

You’re trembling visibly as he accepts his award, showing just the right amount of awe, and appreciation, and excitement. He glances up into the spotlight and there’s the real Dieter for just a split second before he humbly gawks at the golden statue in his hand.

The clock begins.

Make your speech thoughtful and poignant – relevant to what is close to people’s hearts right now.

Be profusive with your thanks. Better start with that, actually. Lower yourself at the height of your glory.

Mention family, friends, names and faces that the masses don’t know because it makes you appear connected to a reality those watching on the television can only speculate about. Say something kindly about how this means so much to you.

Cry a bit, but not too much. Keep your voice steady but with tears in your eyes. Cut yourself off, the emotion too much, and say thank you again. 

And anything more than three minutes, they start to play you off. 

You’re mentally going through the notes on a potential acceptance speech his PR manager gave him on the drive over, but in the end, it’s clear he doesn’t need it. 

Dieter’s speech is excellent. 

Really good. Really, really, really good. It has a flare of genuinity, but not the bite of vulnerability that makes people uncomfortable. 

He’s been practicing for weeks now, editing as he talks, in the mirror, while driving home from the grocery store, before he goes to sleep. Tonight’s speech, a compilation of all that you’ve listened to time and time again, is the best version of all of them. 

He’s soft when he needs to be and excited when he can. He’s onto the gratitude bit, going through the director, the writers, the cast and crew, even his costar, whose beautiful face is shown on the twenty foot screen above the stage, joyful tears in her eyes. And as the applause dies down, his big hand dwarfing the tiny metal statue, his fingers flexing, Dieter’s back goes ridgid, his eyes downcast. A smile slips out infinitesimally. 

Dieter clears his throat and looks up.

“And there’s someone else I’d like to thank. This, uh, this one goes to all the little dreamers out there. Working nine to five, to make your dreams happen. We did it, baby, couldn’t have done it without you.”

He stares into the camera and you swear, you fucking swear, he’s looking right at you. 

It’s a drowning sort of wave, this focal point that draws you down into him. It’s all consuming and it’s tender and it touches places you didn’t know could go this warm and what else could describe this but love? You resent the Academy, this place, these people for keeping him away from you. You think you’ll claw out the eyes of anyone who tries to separate you again.

You are crying – for your industry friend, his guest at the Oscars, so sees the cameras and the glitz and the glamor. 

You’re crying because you’re in too deep. 

The rest of the night is dipped into a champagne glass and swirled fast, catching like lighting in a bottle.

Gold dust falling fast, dizzily. 

Bubbles, glinting green and pink in the light, rising and winking out of existence.

Golden bubbles in your drink, in your mouth. Your throat. Your stomach. 

You feel lighter than air. 

With him, you feel as bright and as strong as diamonds. As timeless and luminescent as pearl.

As beautiful as gold. 

When the door finally shuts behind you in a darkened apartment, you’ve entered a secret, separate realm of domesticity: mismatched shoes, coffee creamer flavors you don’t like, and shampoo bottles that take up too much space in your shower.

It’s quiet here, blue and shadowed. The girl who left here hours ago to get ready in a hotel halfway across town forgot to leave on a light, rushing out in her haste. 

Behind you, you hear him snicker, his tongue behind his teeth, champagne bubbles still in his nose, as he hangs his silk jacket on your coat rack, right next to your muddy raincoat and baseball caps faded with sweat. 

“We gotta be quiet,” he hums, wobbling a bit as he toes out of his expensive loafers, pushing them near your off-brand birkenstocks. “Nala’s gonna hate me forever if we wake her up now.”

He is, of course, referring to your tabby cat, who hates everyone who isn’t you, and has a distinct requirement for twelve hour naps with no interruptions. Dieter swears he’s going to wake up one morning with that cat flexing her claws against his throat.

It takes you a moment to recognize and comprehend how your lives have melted together, how extracting you from him and him from you would be akin to destructive alchemy, the process of deconstructing two things causing both of them to oxidize and reduce to flaky rust. You’re drunk and you’re a little dizzy and you’re swaying slightly because your feet hurt but you are too consumed by introspection on your own feelings, what it means to love something other than yourself, to do anything about it. 

You’re so far gone from your own body you float, untethered and lost in thought, right up until the moment his arms come around your waist and he pulls you into his chest, like slipping on a beloved coat. 

“I think I can buy you for a quarter at Coney Island,” he murmurs into the nape of your neck like he is reciting Neruda’s poetry. You stifle a smile, your hands gripping around his elbows, as he sways with you. He does this a lot; thinks one thing, then two, then three, and by the time it comes out of his mouth, it’s nonsensical to anyone not strapped into his train of thought. 

“Try again, darling.” You stroke his cheek with your thumb, his chin tucked over your shoulder, ear pressed to yours. “I think you missed a couple of steps.” 

Your voice is gummy even to your own ears, the endless drinks at the afterparty stitching your syllables and consonants together into some freakish creature. He’s slightly blurry in your eyes, his presence overwhelming all of your senses as they try to keep you upright. 

He chuckles and presses his face into your neck in what you believe is an attempted kiss. 

“I mean, you glow,” he admits quietly to your skin. The grin falls from your face when your heart constricts. “You fucking shined tonight and I couldn’t stop thinking how beautiful and sweet you looked. Sweetness I wanna lick up.” He chuckles again, this time through his nose, laughing at his own absurdity. “And then I remembered cotton candy is sweet too and you can buy cotton candy at Coney Island for a quarter and. . . I think I can buy you for a quarter at Coney Island.” 

He scrapes the back of your neck with his teeth as he nudges you forward down the hall, not sparing an inch between your bodies. Which makes for a disastrous time, both of you drunk, his socked feet slipping on the wood, and your heels and dress tangling up together. 

“Baby, wait–,” 

“We’re almost to the bedroom, we can make it–,”

“Not if we break our necks first. Gimme a second, I’ll just–,”

You slide out of his grasp, inching down the wall and tucking up the truly insane amount of tulle they managed to stitch into your dress. You feel like you’ve been digging for five minutes before you find what you're looking for.

You stick your heel in the air and fiddle with the clasp around your ankle, drunk and working in near total darkness.

Dieter huffs and slides to the floor next to you. He watches you struggle for a minute, nearly swallowed up by the layers and layers of tulle, before he squeezes the air with his open hand.

“Gimme. We’ll be here all night.”

You pout visibly and awkwardly rotate until your foot is in his lap. His fingers are warm as he plucks at the clasp.

“I am perfectly capable of getting dressed on my own.” You toss your hair indignantly. 

“Yeah, but you’re always going to need my help to get undressed, right?” He smirks, eyes bleary, as he slides the heel off your foot and takes up the other one when you don’t move. 

Always, he said. 

Forever.

He’s being so soft, so gentle.

He sees the red marks left behind by the straps of your heels and frowns, displeased. Slumped over in the hallway of your tiny, pathetic apartment, his top few buttons of his pressed dress shirt hopelessly gone, tonight’s bow tie slung around his neck like a tipsy snake, Dieter gives you a foot rub by way of kneading out your pain. 

He kisses your ankle with such reverence, adoration, the liquid in your mouth vanishes and ends up in the crotch of your tights. 

You’re both too drunk for an actual fuck (“don’t make fun of my whisky dick, baby, it makes it sad,”) but you don’t want to be anywhere else but in your bed with him when you do sober up. So, you let the tulle drop, Dieter giggling as he gets hit with an avalanche of dress and you both clamor over each other to stand up. 

Towering over you and smelling like rich, warm, leather and splash of something spicy, he raises an eyebrow at you. You scrunch up your face, your twisted-up mouth betraying the stern look in your eyes, and put your knuckles to your hips. He matches your stance, this town ain’t big enough for the two of us . . .

“You’re in my way,” he grumbles, his mouth twitching. 

“Maybe you’re in mine.”

“Well, then it looks like we’ve got on our hands a good ol’ Mexican standoff.” 

“By all means, pardner, stick ‘em up.”

You eye him like PopEye, cheek full of nothing but air, your one eye all squinty. At that, he completely breaks, going red as he laughs. You hold the pose for a second longer before you collapse against him, laughing until tears run out of the corners of your eyes. You press your forehead into his chest, his heartbeat like a homing beacon, as he nuzzles the back of your head, giggles escaping occasionally on puffs of air. 

“That’s it!” He says after a moment of silence and tosses his hands into the air. “I’ve had enough! I can’t do this anymore!”

Without warning, he bends down and hauls you over his shoulder. He continues his tirade over your brief gasp of surprise – “Dieter!” – his finger indignantly in the air as he marches off towards the bedroom.  

“I can no longer date a girl who is funnier than me and so goddamn, fucking pretty. Who let you do that, huh? Who taught you how to be so fucking adorable? Answer me, you sexy, little weirdo.”

He tickles you enough just to make you squirm before dramatically tossing you onto the bed. You assume your best heart-broken divorcé pose, hand draped over your forehead, one leg tucked under the other. 

“Think of the children, honey! Nala needs a father’s influence, a lonely girl trying to survive in a man’s world! You can’t shoulder me with the responsibility of single motherhood!” You sit up, eyes fluttering up at him. “Everything I learned, I learned it all from you!”

Smirking, he kneels onto the mattress, your body folding back as he hovers forward, his nose inches from yours. You fight the shiver that arches up your body every time he gets that look on his face. He’s got your sanity between his teeth. “That child loathes me, darling,” he purrs. “She’s better off with you. She looks far too much like the milkman to be mine anyway.”

Your fake gasp is buried beneath the lunge of his mouth over yours. His hand cups your cheek as his mouth seeks out all its favorite places against your lips, your skin, your jaw. Your fingers dig into his wrinkled, once-starched shirt, the heat of his skin pricking your fingertips.

It’s right there, that knife edge between starting something there’s no going back from, no alternative path that ends in anything other than him buried deep inside you, filth that still makes you blush pouring from his mouth into your ear. A part of you, the part of you that’s been stalking behind every smile and touch he sends your way all night, the part of you that every nerve sing for him, is begging you to continue. To touch him in the right places that make his eyelids drop, mouth wrench open, to take on the animal that’s gnawing at you both. 

But you don’t. You can’t.

The simple fact of the matter is – you’re exhausted. You know he is too. The Oscar statue sitting on your entryway is a culmination of dozens of exhausted nights that finally paid off. 

He sighs when you pull back, there is no anger on his face, no disappointment that you’re ending things here. There’s only . . .

“You looked really, really pretty tonight,” he confesses to your nose with a smile. “Thanks . . . for coming with me tonight. You make everything better.”

You tuck his hair over his ear, feeling whole and small beneath the gentle search of his gaze. His hair is getting long and you love it, but you don’t want to nag him about it. The universe has finally balanced itself with him in between your legs, the foundations that make up the galaxy all settled in right here. 

He takes it one step further, reaching back behind him to the comforter you keep on the end of the bed that inevitably gets kicked to the floor every time he stays over. You’d pick it up and put it back every day of your life without complaint if it meant him in your bed until the end of time. 

Dieter tosses the blanket over both of your heads and crawls back in between your legs, elbows tucked by your ribs. All the champagne in the world couldn’t give you this same warm, bubbly feeling in your chest as his weight sinks into you.

He’s submerged you both in another realm, a deeper one than the one before, and in this one you have to whisper, even though the only other person in all of existence is inches from your nose. 

“You’re drunk,” you murmur, hushed. You can barely find the outline of his chin, his lips, his nose. The steady drum in your chest misses a beat as you consider where he might be looking on you. 

He awkwardly tugs your knuckles from both hands beneath his head, kissing them gently before allowing them to quietly slide into his hair. He’s so warm, nearly completely invisible to you in the blackness, the weight of his broad chest threatens to choke the air right out of you. But this exactly is how you want it to be. You want to be overwhelmed by Dieter Bravo.  

“I’m not drunk,” he tuts, a soft slur still tucking his words together. 

You reach down just inches to his temple, following the lines of his body that swear all lead to you, to find the arch of his cheek. He closes his eyes, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings against your thumbs. 

“Could a drunk person do this?” He asks quietly, as close as he could come to indignant in this special, dark little world. 

You wait, for a sloppy kiss, for something hard to tap against your thigh, but nothing comes. In fact, he doesn’t move. 

You inhale as best you can, grinning, ready to start another proverbial sparring match with him.

“You’re not doing anything, Dieter.”

His eyelashes stroke your thumbs again, a kitten lick, as he opens his eyes. 

“I sent you my love. Did you not get it?”

All in the air in your lungs is purged in a heavy gasp as his words impact your chest the way comets collide with meteors. 

He says your name, concerned by the wounded noise you just made, and when you don’t answer, he leans back, tugging the blanket as he goes.

It’s not until you’re looking up at him in your bedroom, his face blurry and your cheeks cold, that you realize you’re crying. 

“Dolly, what did I do?” He sounds so concerned, so visibly shaken, you can’t help but cry harder. He only touches your wrist, as if he’d been banished from your body. 

If you hadn’t had so much to drink, this wouldn’t be happening or at least you’d be able to get it to stop, reign in those explosive feelings that you had kept for so long deep and buried until he came along with a match in the dark. 

You take a deep breath, eyes locked onto the ceiling, hands clenched in fists. You know he can feel the tension in your forearm beneath his thumb making circles inches below your pulsepoint. You thought you never, ever wanted to have this conversation, but now you understand this has been the only thing that’s been on your mind for months.

“You don’t mean that,” you croak into the darkness. You feel small and foolish, embarrassed for having a body that produces emotions. 

“Don’t mean what, darling?” He’s still talking quietly, but firmer, providing a hook onto which you can grasp and fight the current in your mind. He knows this feeling, anxiety, and he hates how it looks on you.

“That you love me.”

Your words ring in the air, like the distinctive pitch of singing glass. You swallow that choking knot further down your throat and, wrenching your gaze down from the ceiling, finally look him in the eyes.

It’s the same look he blinked at you from the seats, there and gone so fast you partially convinced yourself you’d imagined it: profound, deep regret.

“You think I don’t love you?”

His tone makes you instantly feel guilty. Did you miss something? What if he texted it to you and you didn’t see it? Or wrote it in a note . . .

“You’ve never said it. At least not to me.” 

And his face crumbles.

He slides off his haunches, feet dangling over the edge of the bed, his big shoulders curved. 

Slowly, as if believing he has no right to, he touches your ankle, where he had rubbed away those painful marks in the hallway. He shakes his head, smirking darkly at himself.

“At the risk of sounding like a dramatic fucking actor, I didn’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

You sit up, unable to help yourself from curling up next to him, his grip adjusting to your thigh, instantly finding the heat of it beneath all the tulle. Cutting right to the core of you. 

He gets this furtive glance when he’s thinking about something unpleasant, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth, as though unable to choose the right course of action. How much does he say, how much does he give away?

He rubs your dress material between his fingers.

“I’m older than you,” is how he starts. When your mouth twists open, ready with a litany of reasons why you don’t care, why no one should – reasons you’ve already said to him a dozen times – he meets your gaze and silences everything in your head. “And it’s not me they’re going to come for.” 

The weight, the finality to his voice shoves that knot right back up your throat, your eyes hot and tight.

“I . . . I didn’t say it, outloud, because then we’d have to do something about it. I don’t want to keep us in the dark, but . . .” he swallows as if choking too. “But after the dox two years ago and then the incident in Austin, I feel like I’ll be putting you in physical harm when they find out we’re together. And I would literally rather die than have anything happen to you.”

He kisses your temple, the touch a consolation. 

You don’t want to turn away, you want every kiss he gives you, but all you can feel are the studio’s words, the words of your managers, pressing down on you:

You know how some fans get. For your safety, let’s give it two years. 

We’re happy for you, we really are, but you can’t be seen together too much. Minimal instagram, rare public appearances. We’re just trying to keep up appearances until the fans settle. 

Appearances.

Aesthetics.

Image.

You’d happily kill anyone who tried to take him from you. 

But you know he’s right.

“It has nothing to do with how I feel about you, what I feel for you,” he promises, voice warm, dipped in honey. “I just . . . I can’t lose you.”

“Then can you say it just this once? Just to me?” You try to smile but the tightening of your skin only spills the tears. “Please, Dieter, I won’t ask again. I have to hear it once from you. After that, I promise I–,”

His great warm palm covets the back of your neck, rolling you into him like melting chocolate drips onto the floor. He stops, inches from your mouth, so close you can feel your neutrons mix with his.

“I love you.” 

Earnest, genuine, real. 

A green beanie and a yellow jacket.

Chinese food and dreams of a better life. Of a happy life.

You steady yourself, your spinning world, against his hand around your cheek, clutching onto his wrist like it’s the last great lighthouse at the end of the world.

You open your eyes and, yes, yes, there is adoration in his smile, in the way he watches his words soothe some ache inside of you with joy.

“I love you too,” you tell him, in case it wasn’t obvious. If somehow he couldn’t smell your obsession for him. “I love you,” you say again, firmly. 

It’s an inevitable sort of fall, his mouth into yours.

Like neutron stars collapsing together, alone and quiet in the far reaches of space.

Like the stone bones of an ancient church cracking and tipping into the sea as time and erosion eats away at a once great monument.

Like the spinning metal within a compass, never failing to find north, to find home.

When you awake next to him the next morning, warm in a way that goes behind physical body heat, he kisses your nose.

I love you, he tells you, with his words, with his body. With the dozens of ways he’s been mulling over in his mind to keep you safe and make you his for everyone to see.

I love you, he tells you that morning. 

And every morning after that.

#100 followers event #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble

[ckret2]

@bluefrostyy said: How did bills eye moved from his corner to his center XD

That's a terrific question I actually have a serious answer to!

So for context this comment was left on a post with this image:

About the writing system used in Bill's home dimension. I also illustrate him with an eye on his corner in other posts about his home dimension.

Small diversion: I actually do also occasionally illustrate him with an eye on the inside of his body to represent "psychic" perception (that is: the ability to see the third dimension)—

—as in his home dimension, having an "eyeball on the inside of your body"/inner eye is a non-literal visual metaphor for psychic powers (equivalent to how humans use the phrase "third eye").

But that's just supposed to be a visual metaphor to represent him looking at the third dimension; in reality his eye's in the corner where it belongs. Diversion over!

So I've mentioned recently that one of the consequences of living in a 2D universe is that to someone looking in from "above," a shape's perimeter is their outside/skin, and their internal organs are all on the inside of their shape—completely open and visible to the third dimension. (This is backed up in the original Flatland novel, where the main character Square mentions the visiting Sphere touching his "insides" because the sphere can reach it through the third dimension.) So if you were looking down on Bill's dimension you'd see this, exposed organs and all:

(just an illustrative example of the concept, I don't actually think their guts look LIKE THAT.)

Which means that for Bill to become the Bill we know today, at some point after he left the second dimension, he got skin or armor or an exoskeleton "over" and "under" his body to hide & protect his guts from being poked in the third dimension.

All of which is to say: since leaving the second dimension, Bill's had to make some SERIOUS surgical alterations to his body to accommodate living in the third dimension. Covering his guts is just one of MANY changes he continuously made over the eons since burning his universe.

Relocating his eye from a corner to the center of his body is just another thing he's had to do to adjust to 3D existence. An eye on one corner that's designed primarily to see in a thin horizontal line and that requires him to hover horizontally to see isn't as useful as an eye on the "inside" of his body that faces flat out toward the world and allows him to hover vertically. The new position WOULD look grotesque to a normal shape from his own dimension... but, hey, they've been extinct in the wild for a trillion years, so who cares.

For my writing needs I don't think the exact mechanism by which it was done is relevant. (Surgery by another shape doctor who'd moved to the third dimension? Snapped his fingers and did it himself automatically because he has godlike power? Slowly migrated as his body adjusted itself over time to accommodate his needs, the same way humans' muscle structures or bones can gradually change in response to how they live their lives but extended over billions of years?) What matters is: it was done deliberately, in response to living in the third dimension, because that's where he needed his eye to be.

The other survivors from his dimension—Kryptos, Hectorgon, Amorphous Shape—also have eyes in the middle of their bodies and also started off with eyes on their corners. (Hectorgon appears to have a mouth instead of an eye, but as Bill showed us in the penthouse scene those are the same organ for his species. Kryptos kept his eye in the original place, but it IS now forward facing, and he added a mouth in the middle of his body like the others.)

I think Bill was an early adopter of the new eye position: because being stupidly OP means it was easier for him; because he's not afraid of looking like a freak to his peers; and because since childhood a large part of his identity has been being "psychic"/"having an inner eye" so the idea of making that literal came naturally to him, it's making him a freak in a way that also highlights what makes him special.

#bill cipher #headcanons #about my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #bluefrostyy

[rottenraccoons]

I had a thought ruminating in my mind for a while after playing the demo (probably too many times)

But as long as its not potentially spoilers (or if its been asked already), I wanted to ask whether there was any intended meaning/intention in regards to how much of someone's face is covered by their mask? Just cause as things are, Cirrus and Fran's masks are quite open compared to Vesper/Kier/Oleanders. Since hiding ones face is reasonably important/expected underground, it seemed to me like showing off even just your lower face is quite a surprisingly direct/honest action, for a city where everyone's hiding who they are/what they want.

I don't have any definite answers for you, but I can confirm that Mugi put a lot of thought into the designs of the mask in terms of symbolism! The obvious ones to point to are sunshine lad Francesco vs. lunar priest Cirrus having similar masks that "point" in different directions, and Mr. Always-In-The-Limelight Oleander having a mask that evokes theatre masks.

I don't think there's a 1:1 relationship to how honest a character is based on mask coverage, seeing how everyone is hiding things at the end of Chapter 1. There's a lot of things going into mask design (Vesper's full face coverage is necessary, for example, to let players imagine their appearance however they like) but symbolism from us or the characters is definitely part of it! Cirrus wants to be seen as a trustworthy authority figure in his community so leaving his mouth exposed might be trying to suggest people trust what he has to say. Keir is surprisingly open and honest for the most part, but he does need to cover his full face as a survival strategy.

So yeah, there's definitely some symbolism involved! It's not just symbolism, there's plenty of characterisation and pragmatic considerations involved, too, but Mugi is a terrific artist who translates our characterisation ideas into visuals with lots of care!

#obscura vn #rotten raccoons #asks #about us #(by which i mean our process)

[moviewarfare]

A Review of “Oppenheimer (2023)”

Christopher Nolan is one of my favourite directors operating today. He makes some of the most entertaining movies in modern cinema. Even at his worst, such as with his last film Tenet, it is still way more entertaining than a majority of movies released. After the Warner Bros same-day streaming debacle they pulled; Nolan left for Universal and this is his first film with them. Does Nolan continue to deliver or has he dropped a big bomb?

Cillian Murphy has been a long-time collaborator with Nolan but this is the first time he is the main lead. He is PHENOMENAL as the titular character. He gives such nuance to his performance through body language and facial expressions alone to convey the emotion of his character. It is such a breath of fresh air from the normal yelling Oscar performances you see. He is genuinely perfect at Oppenheimer and if he doesn't get a nomination for his performance then I will be fuming! One surprising aspect of watching this film was how stacked the cast truly was. There are so many well-known actors in here that I didn't even know was even in the movie. Every supporting actor is terrific in their roles, even if it was a very minor role. The biggest standout amongst the supporting actors has got to be Robert Downey Jr as Lewis Strauss. He gives a spectacular, compelling and even frighteningly realistic performance that makes his character stand out from the crowd. It is great to see him in a non-Marvel role and knock it out of the park. If he doesn't get a nomination for the best supporting actor then I will be also fuming!

This movie is 3 hours long but you won't even feel the length because of the amazing pacing. Despite being a drama, it never drags or bores you. It moves from scene to scene very quickly in a non-chronological order but you're never lost either. There are lot of scientific jargon which is to be expected as this is about the making of the nuclear bomb. However, the excellent screenplay makes these relatively understandable so that non-scientist can easily comprehend what's going on. There is some great political tension in the 3rd act as well which was handled masterfully. In terms of story, it is juggling a lot with Oppenheimer's early life, the making of the bomb and the aftermath. Despite this, Nolan does an amazing job of exploring the character of Oppenheimer which shows all aspects of him, including his flaws. The constant build-up and tension to the bomb is incredibly engaging!

Ludwig Goransson, the composer of Tenet, returns for this film. His music score is wonderfully haunting with his use of violins. His music score illustrates the horror of the actions of these scientists. Hoyte van Hoytema also returns as the cinematographer. His cinematography is visually stunning and this is thanks to the practical sets, natural lighting and real locations used. On that note, the use of practical effects and no CGI is just so awesome to see. Nolan thankfully didn't use a real nuke but he still replicates it practically and it certainly shows! The realistic explosion meant it didn't take us out of the movie as you don't question the look of the explosion as it is real. When the explosion occurs, it is weirdly captivating and frightening to look at just like it was for the characters. The sound design is also a highlight as the sound of the explosion is impactful and even terrifying. The sound itself is the jump scare and it works. The only nitpick I have with this film, which is a common problem in Nolan movies is sometimes I just can't hear what the characters are saying because of the weird sound mixing. It isn't as bad here as it was in Tenet but it is still a problem.

Overall, what an amazing movie from Nolan! This is a monumental and engrossing achievement from him. Nolan is one of the few directors whose name alone is enough of a reason to watch and Oppenheimer does not change that. He successfully made a 3-hour biopic drama, the most entertaining film of 2023. Oppenheimer isn't one of those Oscar-bait movies that were made to just win an Oscar. It was made to be enjoyable for everyone and that is why this film should win best picture. This is a must-watch for everyone as it is the best movie of 2023 so far!

For more reviews like this visit:

https://moviewarfarereviews.blogspot.com/

#oppenheimer #cillian murphy #Peaky Blinders #marvel #robert downey jr #Christopher Nolan #batman #dc #the dark knight #interstellar #inception #world war II #barbenheimer

[que3rduckling]

I JUST FINISHED THE RIPTIDE SEA SHANTY VIDEO AND OML AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

THE VISUALS, THE MUSIC, THE VOCALS!!!! IT IS ALL JUST SO - AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

MY NEW FAVOURITE THING EVER. PERIOD.

IT IS SO GOOD, AMAZING, TERRIFIC, AWESOME, SLAYING, SKRUNKLY, SCRUMPTIOUS AND EVERYTHING THING ELSE!!!!!!

#AND BIZLYS VOCAL OH LORD OMG OHHHH #I am actually going insane over this video #I am Not ok #someone send help #que3rduckling #jrwi show #jrwi riptide #Jrwi #just roll with it riptide #riptide pirates #riptide sea shanty #just roll with it #Jrwi riptide pirates #jrwi gillion tidestrider #jrwi chip #jrwi jay ferin

[miyakuli]

PARANORMASIGHT: The Seven Mysteries of Honjo

Game of Stones

Paranormasight is a half-horrific, half-thriller visual novel (I'll come back to this later) in which we follow several characters who find themselves involved in paranormal events caused by curse stones that are said to be able to bring dead people back to life. I really enjoyed the game as a whole, but I have to say that I found it very inconsistent in the way it unfolded.

❤ The game is very pretty. The chara-design is really well done and perfectly matches the characters' personalities, the semi-realistic backgrounds (based on real locations and redrawn on top of them) are superb and have a vintage feel to remind us that we're in the 80s, and the animations are quite often effective at giving you chills. ❤ The characters are the game's greatest strength. None of them are smooth, they all have their dark side and convincing motivations, some are certainly more complex than others, but each has an interesting evolution. And as much as they work well individually, their interactions with each other are also nice. You become attached to this group and find yourself excited when their paths merge (at least, I was rejoicing a little xD) ❤ As soon as you enter the game's menu, you realize that the soundtrack is going to be amazing. The themes are varied in style and mood, and contribute effectively to the dynamics of the scenes. ❤ There's a non-linear aspect to the plot, since we'll be following several character paths at the same time (represented by a flowchart), which will often overlap. As a result, you won't be able to unlock certain scenes without having fulfilled specific conditions in other routes. This gives the game a pleasant and original puzzle aspect.

+/- In fact, we often have to glance at the menu files containing all the historical information as well as the character profiles to help us move forward and understand the underlying plot, which makes the player an active part of the investigation. The story evolves in a coherent manner, buuuuuuuuut is a bit predictable when it comes to big revelations... +/- Some very good directional ideas, for example using the 360-degree rotation of the mouse to create some very scary moments (with jumpscares that really got me) or even playing on a rather surprising meta aspect…….but it all runs out of steam very quickly. Indeed, all these mechanics are concentrated mainly in the prologue (which is rather long, it has to be said), after which we find ourselves in a more conventional thriller with more "banal" scenes with no real gameplay apart from the choice of dialogues and exploration. This gives an impression of inconsistency in the evolution of the game, and makes the loss of that initial momentum almost bland. However, there are still a few good ideas here and there (such as an escape game phase), but I don't think they live up to this introduction. +/- The game asks the player to adjust the volume of the voices at the start….but the game is not dubbed xD actually, the option has its importance later in the story but I swear it gave me false hope at the time x')

✖ No skip option for dialogues already read, which quickly becomes annoying when you want to unlock the various endings. ✖ It's amazing how rushed the true end is! It's to the point where it didn't make any impression on me at all, and the final revelations fall flat. And I still come back to this feeling of inconsistency; we have an intro that is terrific for an ending that is anticlimactic (and it rhymes). ✖ Some of the characters sometimes make rather humorous faces that don't really fit in with the drama of the sequences at times; I didn't understand this choice…

If you're looking for a visual novel with a solid storyline and a charismatic cast of characters, you certainly won't get bored with this title. However, don't expect a purely horrific game, given the rather blatant change of tone and the more basic mechanics after the introduction. Why this choice? That's the real mystery of this game…

➡ My personal VN ranking (in french) ➡ My Steam page

#paranormasight #also Harue is best girl <333 if I could I would have followed her route only #personal #Lola plays games

[bokatan]

Fallout 4 Mods List

 Hello! Here is a full list of recommended mods that I’m either currently using or have used in the past. There may be required mods for some of these that I didn’t list - make sure to check these while you’re installing.

Visual/Environmental

Vivid Fallout

NAC X

The Fungal Forest

Grasslands

Grass Reworked

Wasteland Illumination

FAR - Faraway Area Reform

Glowing Animals Emit Light

Brighter Settlements

CROSS Crit Gore-verhaul

Enhanced Lights and FX

Illuminated Billboards and Posters

Mutant Menagerie

Wasteland Illumination

Crows and Creatures

Retextures/Miscellaneous

FlaconOil’s Complete Retexture Project: this looks amazing but it can be a bit heavy, I wouldn’t recommend if you’re concerned about PC performance

PTSD Mental Health Management System

Smokable Cigars/Cigarettes/Joints

Enhanced Blood Textures

The Nuka Project

Destroyed Pip-Boy Screen

Pip-Boy 4K HD

Eyewear and Mask Retexture

NPCs Travel

Wetness Shader Fix

SKK Fast Start New Game

SKK Fast Start Location

Immersive Facial Animations Remade

Lowered Weapons

Eye Normal Map Fix

Manly Crouching

Name and Trade with Dogs

No More Floating Razorgrain

Pet Any Dog

Recruit Scribe Haylen as a Settler

The Walking Ghoul

Rich Merchants

We Are The Minutemen

Workshop Spotlight Fix

Nuanced Eye Reflection

Scary Clown Monkey Trap HD

Where Are My Provisioners?

Clearer Glasses

Better Shaped Male Heavy Combat Armor

SavrenX Detailed Hair

Commonwealth Cuts - Vanilla Match Retextures

Expressive Expressions

Femshepping’s AE Armor Mod Patches

Hair Tones Redux - Hair Color Overhaul

Lip Color Blemish Tweak

Interface

Extended Dialogue Interface

VIS-G Item Sorting

Buffout 4

Full Dialogue Interface

Main Quest Choices Extended

Mod Configuration Menu

Survival Options

This Settlement Does Not Need Your Help

Workshop Framework

Audio

Immersive Squeaky Doors

Immersive Pip-Boy Radio

More Where That Came From - Diamond City Radio

Not Great Not Terrible - Scarier Geiger Counter Sounds

Jolly Item Sounds

Dynamic Music Overhaul

P.A.M.S. - Power Armor Movement Sounds

Travis’ Terrific Tips

Radiant Birds

Muffled Helmets

Immersive Nail Trim for Dogmeat

Companions

Unique Player and Followers Redux

Better Companions

Sable Dogmeat

Amazing Follower Tweaks

Danse Wear Your Helmet

This will affect how he acts outside of power armor, he’ll change outfits repeatedly. It’s fine if you keep him in his vanilla outfit but it gets annoying if he has custom outfits

Danse GTFO Power Armor

I saw someone refer to this mod as a giant can opener and that has been stuck in my brain since

The Danse Dilemma

Danse No X-01

Valentine Reborn

Truly Unique Nick: You’ll probably need this to get Valentine Reborn to work

Classic Dogmeat AKA Pirate

Nora Spouse Companion

Crafting

Armor and Weapon Keywords Community Resource - AWKCR

AWKCR-Grind Free: strongly recommended unless you love suffering and want to have to unlock all customization options

Lost AWKCR VIS-G Patches: Also strongly recommended, AWKCR on its own is very outdated and this fixes all of the main issues I had with it

Armorsmith Extended

Books, Burned Magazines, Folders, Napkins, and Subway Tokens Give Materials

Building Materials Dispenser

Accuracy International AX50 Anti-Materiel Rifle

Screenshots & Posing

FO4 Photo Mode

Screen Archer Menu: please note that this does require other mods - it’s user friendly and works well, but you will need to install a few mods from various sites aside from nexus

Animal Posing Framework

Male Eye Candy Poses

Stop Drop Pose

Thrax’s Action Poses

UPC - Unisex Pose Collection

Character Presets/Replacements

Army Rookie - Young Nate

Glamorous Magnolia

Maxson Gets a Shower and a Shave

Locke’s Soft Danse

Locke’s Detailed Piper

Locke’s Merciless Fahrenheit

Locke’s Ruthless Glory Locke’s Fresh Deacon

Locke’s HD MacCready

Picturesque Presets

Interesting Bunch Presets

Character Customization

Looksmenu

Looksmenu Customization Compendium: This mod can be finicky, keep it at the bottom of your load order

Top Surgery Scars Overlay

Ace Male Face Texture

Refined Male Head Mesh

Commonwealth Cuts

Enhanced Vanilla Bodies

The Eyes of Beauty

Lots More Male Haircuts

Lots More Female Haircuts

Real Bruises - Facial Damage Fixes

4K Hairy Men

Furby’s Face Paints and Scars

Ghoul Skin for Looksmenu

Blended Ghoul Eyes

Makeup for Men

Half Ghoul Texture

This requires manual installation and can be a bit finicky, but it looks great 

Femshepping and Radbeetle’s KS Hairdos Conversions

Mirrored Vanilla Scars

Softer Bodies

Clothing/Armor/Accessories

Apocalypse Accessories

Furby’s Custom Brotherhood Uniform

Big Dumb Flower Crown

Combat Armor Headlamp

CROSS Brotherhood Recon

Field Scribe Hat for Dogmeat

Wasteland Clothing

Dogmeat Helmets and Hats

Eli’s Armour Compendium

Eli’s Rugged Outfits

Fishing Hat

K-9 Harness

K-9 Harness Bandana Fix: Highly recommended, the vanilla bandana will clip through this harness

Dogmeat’s Backpack

NCR Ranger Veteran Armor

Tactical Flashlights

Wearable Backpacks and Pouches

Just Another Cait Outfit

MacCready Armor Redone

Winged Glasses

Spoon Glasses

4K Kellogg Outfit

NV Stealth Suit

Stalker

Clothing Color Variety

Harness with Tank Top

Private Military Company Extended

Grease Rat Garbs

Wearable Nat’s Backpack

High Waisted Jeans & Tucked Shirt

Park Coventry Outfit

Tactical Accessory Compendium

Wasteland Aviator

MASH

Modular Battlecoat

Mercenary Outfit Pack

Mercenary Outfit Pack Extreme Overhaul

Minutemen Merc - Mercenary Outfit Distribution

PMC Operators

Mongrel Outfit

CROSS Institute Expeditionary

CROSS Mojave Manhunter

CROSS Chosen of Atom

Collars for Humans

Bandana Headwear

West Tek Tactical Optics

Gorka-3 Suit

Survivalist Armor

Absolutely Headwear

Colored Clout Goggles

Colorful Commonwealth - Sunglasses and Wigs

Capital Wasteland Outfit Pack

T60 Equipment

Danse’s Wearable Holotags

CROSS Uni BoS Uniform

Ranger Paca Vest

Hoon’s Multicam AVS Plate Carriers

Ferro Bison Belt Pack

Task Force Helmet Pack

Modern Warfare Remastered - SAS Outfit

Brotherhood Pinup Uniform

Female Outfit Pack

CROSS Vertibird Flightsuit

Awful Wardrobe

Barren Vogue

Commonwealth Shorts

Commonwealth Shorts for Men

More Alternative Jumpsuits

K-Girl Outfits

K-Girl Outfits for Vanilla-EVB

Vault Outfits Redux

Vault Outfits Redux AWKCR AE Patch

Pride Bandanas

Private Military Company

Femshepping’s Assorted Mashups

Femshepping’s Assorted Mashups for Vanilla-EVB

Settlements

OCDecorator

Homemaker

Place Everywhere

SnapBeds

Snappy Housekit

Solar Panels

Settlement Electricity Overhaul

Lightbulb Wire

Scrap Everything

Garden Plot Snap

Farming Resources

Thematic and Practical

Repairable Sanctuary

Paintings and More Give Happiness

Faction Recruitment Pinups

Advanced Bubble Turret Set

Cat and Dog Food Bowls

Christmas Lights

Clothing Shelves

More Fortifications

Colorful Bottle Lanterns

CROP - Create Your Own Planter

cVc Dead Wasteland

Dino’s Decorations

Diverse Cats

Cat Apparel

Cat Inventory + 11 Cat Skins

Expanded Settlement Buildings

Fallout New Vegas Posters and Signs

Functional Displays

Looksmirror: Pairs with Looksmenu, gives you a way to change appearances easily without console commands

Lore Friendly Posters

Static Baskets and Bins

More Colorful Potted Plants

Park Posters

Cattle Feeders Immersively Filled

Holotape Display Shelves

Gun Posters

Repair the Castle

Cafe, Clinic, and Barbershop Posters

Horror Posters

Lore-Friendly Posters

Patched Roofs

Filled Bookcases All-In-One

Femshepping’s Mini Potted Plants

Wall Mounted Magazine Shelf

Misc. silly mods

Destroy the Brotherhood of Steel for Good Guys(save the cat)

Taco Bell Sound - Sledge Hammer Hit Sound Replacer

Mario Sunshine - Death Music Replacement

Funny Dogmeat Subtitles

Sarcastic Sneaking

Edward Deegan - Cat Stalker

High Confessor Desk Fan

Proper Party Gear

Fedora and Trilby Hats Lower Charisma and Intelligence

Alien Todd Howard Glasses

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