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The real horror of a Stepford Wives situation isn't 'the suburbs are creepy' or even 'conformity is creepy' or 'I don't wanna be replaced by a robot'
The horror is the idea that you might choose to spend your life with somebody only to realize they don't actually want a partner and friend, somebody with ambitions and thoughts and joy. They want somebody productive, compliant, and sexually available, and all your internal life is nothing but a barrier to that. That the person you love only loves what you do for them, and the less of the an actual person you are, the happier they are.
i do unironically think the best artists of our generation are posting to get 20 notes and 3 reblogs btw. that fanfic with like 45 kudos is some of the best stuff ever written. those OCs you carry around have some of the richest backstories and worldbuilding someone has ever seen. please do not think that reaching only a few people when you post means your art isn't worth celebrating.
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Man no one even remembers laptop in bed. It was laptop in bed for years. Now it's just phone in bed. Maybe tablet. But usually phone. So much has changed
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listen I am all for fidget toys. But we need to go harder. Humans were actually not meant to sit through lectures without using their hands. Fight against the robotification of humanity. Do fibercrafts in your office/classroom/church. You do not need to sit there like the impassable ideal man. Do fibercrafts. Start embroidering at work. Listen to the call of the strings.
"The America I loved still exists, if not in the White House or the Supreme Court or the Senate or the House of Representatives or the media. The America I love still exists at the front desks of our public libraries."
I was so tempted to go back to 'You Are My Sunshine' with this, but I refrained. I loved this prompt so much!
CW: Nightmares
Sam woke up choking on a quiet sob. The dark, reaching fingers of the dream covered his eyes for a few seconds, painting the world in bloody landscapes and echoing screams. The bedroom faded into view too slowly. Not so much chasing away the phantom visions, as appearing behind them as they faded.
His heart ached fiercely and he felt he could barely breathe. As gently as he could, while his body throbbed with stress, he sat up and untangled the sheets from himself. He didn't get much further. Didn't even get his legs off the side of the bed. Just sat there, knees bent, fan blowing across hot sweat, and let everything hurt.
He put his fingers to the back of his arm, the side of his forearm, looking for scratches that weren't there, that had never been there. No one had ever gripped at him, looking for a savior. It was just a concoction of a guilty conscience.
"Sweetheart?" a voice said from the balcony door.
Sam almost came out of his skin. One hand went to the other side of the bed, searching for Bucky. The other reached for the handgun he kept between the bed and end table.
But Bucky wasn't beside him. The extra heat beneath the blanket was caused by the cats, who were ignoring him as he patted them down. He blinked away the moonlight glare and found Bucky's silhouette in the doorway instead.
"Why are you up?" Sam asked. And he sounded as tired as he felt.
"Long week without any action," Bucky said with a shrug. "You know I don't need a lot of rest outside of recovery."
"I give you plenty of action," Sam mumbled.
Bucky snorted and let himself back inside. Sam listened to him lock the door, then rattle it three times to make sure it was actually locked. The cats got hissy at being awakened and moved, but they each went their own way when Bucky kneeled near them.
"C'mere," he mumbled as he climbed into the bed. He kept one arm held up and Sam shifted near him. Bucky half-laid down, propped up on his hip and elbow. Sam adjusted too, sliding beneath the blanket again, curling up against Bucky's chest even though Bucky was always warm and Sam was on fire at the moment. He wanted the thump of Bucky's heart near enough to feel. He didn't care how much he sweated to get there. "There you go, I've got you. You're alright." Bucky relaxed against him, dropping his arm over Sam's side as they sank together.
"I don't feel alright," Sam said honestly. "I feel like..." Everything in his mind sounded so stupid. It didn't make sense. "I feel wrong," he finally settled on. "I feel like everything I've done is wrong. I don't want to close my eyes again."
"You don't have to close your eyes," Bucky said. "But you do have to lay here at least. You do need rest."
"I keep hearing it. I hear all of it. It just keeps echoing in my head." That, on top of everything else, was making a headache dig into his brain, stabbing and squeezing.
Bucky didn't ask what Sam heard. He didn't have to, and Sam didn't have to talk about it. But a few seconds later, Bucky began to hum. At first, Sam didn't recognize the tune. It was slow and uneven. Like Bucky was really thinking about every note.
Then he began to sing and Sam realized the hesitation was because he was pitching down a song.
"I love you for sentimental reasons. I hope you do believe me. I'll give you my heart."
Bucky had a voice that wasn't going to win him any competitions, but it sank into Sam's chest, curled around his heart like a warm, purring cat, and eased the ache of anything else hiding behind his ribs. Even with a nightmare still clinging to him, he couldn't help but ease a little, found himself sinking closer.
Bucky rubbed his hand over Sam's back gently, slow and firm. "I love you and you alone were meant for me. Please give your loving heart to me and say we'll never part."
The racing pain of his mind ebbed away as Sam focused on the places where they were touching. The way he could feel Bucky's breath as he sang against his hairline. His knee pressed up against the soft muscle of Bucky's thigh. Bucky's arm resting against his as he kept his hand on Sam's back. The way he could feel his own heartbeat right there, right where Bucky was touching the back of his ribs.
"I think of you every morning. Dream of you every night. Darling, I'm never lonely whenever you are in sight."
Sam let out a slow breath, tried to release the last of the tension in his ribs. The bed really was soft against his aching muscles. The blankets were warm, with Bucky right in front of him and one of the cats curled up behind his knees again. The fan overhead spun lazily, catching on spots of cooled sweat. Everything was fine. He was at home and no one was dying.
"I love you for sentimental reasons. I hope you do believe I've given you my heart. "
Sam dropped his forehead against Bucky's collarbone, eyes finally falling shut. His heart thundered for a second, a flash of terror about visions that didn't immediately come back. "I love you too, Buck," he breathed softly. "Could you... Could you keep humming it? Please?"
Bucky didn't say 'yes' or 'of course,' but Sam did get a series of gentle kisses across the crown of his head and a tight hug before Bucky began to hum the song again. Every now and then, he slipped into the lyrics, mumbling them seemingly without meaning to, whispers pressed against Sam's head as they laid together.
Sam put his hand over Bucky's chest, above his steady heartbeat. Bucky covered Sam's hand with his. If those terrors were his, he thought, at least this could be too.
as a writer you will have a specific deck of vocab words you like using a lot and when you read other peoples' work you will see a very clear spread of different vocab words on their end. this is why you need to read, to collect other writers' words like it's a card game
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there is nothing a corporation hates more than having employees, but a close second is having to provide a good or service in order to make money. these two reasons concisely explain is why the ai bubble formed in the first place.
Choke. Just think about it, seriously. Think about what choking is and imagine speaking while itâs happening. That would fuckinâ hurt, man.
Hiss. Look, itâs just not possible, okay? No matter how âevilâ you want your character to seem.
Snarl. Animals snarls. The Beast from Beauty and the Beast snarls. The Hulk snarls. You know who doesnât snarl? PEOPLE WHEN THEYâRE SPEAKING.
Shriek. Come on, 99% of the time, âshriekâ is not the word you want.Letâs face it: if you put an exclamation point at the end of the sentence, your reader gets the picture. Donât bring to mind banshees and screaming toddlers.
Sneer. Iâm not even going to bother explaining this one. âSNEERâ ISNâT EVEN A SOUND.
Choked is not meant to be taken literally, an obstruction in the throat. It means theyâre having difficultly speaking, theyâre forcing the words out with difficulty. Often used when the character is convulsed in tears or laughter.
Hiss is a low, threatening whisper. Raw, guttural, vicious. It is NOT a literal hiss like an animal, it is a tone of voice that serves the same function. Someone will hiss that theyâre going to cut your throat- a message from one person to the other.
Snarl is the same kind of thing. Not literal, itâs a tone of voice that serves the same function. Itâs raw and gutteral like a hiss, but more savage than vicious. Itâs loud, itâs showy, itâs intimidating. Itâs very alpha male, big man, look at how fucking dangerous I am. Iâll take ALL of you on. Even if theyâre snarling at one person in particular, nobody better back them up or theyâre gonna get fucked up too.
Shriek. Come on, seriously? Weâve all heard people shriek either in fear or outrage. High pitched, loud, out of control, feminine. Men can shriek, but itâs funny and emasculating. Think angry italian women throwing pots and pans or ladies on tables who just saw a mouse.
Sneering is contempt whether itâs a facial expression or a tone of voice or both. There are a hundred different ways to sneer with your voice, but it all adds up to the same thing.
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