#(is it obvious that i am not taking this film as seriously as it wants me to. is that obvious)

[seikkoi]

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰɪᴠᴇ [1, 2, 3, 4] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 9.8k

There isn’t any conversation surrounding Pepper’s visit, or the divorce, but it’s all around you regardless.

Random items disappear from the penthouse–a Pollock (your present takes its place), some throw pillows from the study, and a few Turkish ceramics you never knew existed. The phone rings far more than you care for. Tony has far more meetings than you care for. A bespeckled lawyer and his blonde associate nearly become housemates, spending hours behind the frosted glass door. Natasha makes a few appearances as well, which confuses you the most. You find the spice in her perfume too bold.

On her third exit in as many weeks, you question Tony on it. He absently traces patterns on your calves, seemingly not paying attention to you or the film on screen. 

“Should I be worried?” you hide your sincerity behind a glass of wine, twirling the stem between your fingers. The red liquid mirrors the motion inside, spidering against the walls.

“About Natasha?” he asks incredulously. 

“Yes,” you draw out, “and you–all of it, really.” 

“Now why on Earth would you be worrying about me?” 

You would love to point out the obvious and address the building-sized elephant in the room that says  ‘you’re recently sober and just got a divorce’ but the look on his face tells you it’s unnecessary. 

Tony finds a way to answer the unasked anyways. 

“It’s a shit ton of paperwork, and signing things, so it’s annoying, yes but I am fine. Scouts honor.” 

He kisses your hand and grins with all the confidence in the world. It’s so fucking arcane each time–close to magic in how it undos every worry and mirrors his gleam. 

You wished it had more permanent effects. Something long-lasting and memorable. Easy to spread over the evening and into the early morning hours, when he’s inconsolable in your arms. You could turn it back into magic words. Banish whatever miasma racked his body and go back to peaceful nights (because you had those at some point, right?).

Being able to ask the hard questions doesn’t mean shit if the answer’s always a dismissive work of fiction. You never learned what caused their separation, or sent ‘everything to shit’ as Tony put it. Not because you didn’t ask, no that question came the same night Pepper did.  Apparently it’s the same driver of every modern American divorce–money. Tony summarizes the event as a fatal disagreement over corporate shares, though like always you feel you’re being told an official story. Clean cut with all messy details chopped away. 

“You don’t have a signature stamp at this point?” you joke.

“Oh no,” Tony’s hands brace your ankles to pull you closer, “ every squiggle needs to be authentic and fresh.”

“Right, how could I assume anything less.” Your eyes roll but you let your legs drape over his lap. 

“Seriously, I’m doing fine–things will calm back down soon.” A gentle squeeze drives the point home. 

A thought crosses your mind. An insecurity, really, but one you haven’t let go since meeting Pepper.

“If it’s like, I don’t know,” you hesitate under Tony’s raised eyebrow, “–I can head back to my apartment if it’s too much.”

Stark Industries was still footing the bill even though you spent less than 10 hours there in the last two months. There’s a fear in overstaying your welcome, or whatever it is you were doing here. Either way, you figured it was less than ideal to have your girlfriend around during a divorce. 

“If what’s too much?” 

“I don’t know, if you need your space right now or–” you answer exasperatedly.

“Honey,” he gives a hearty laugh, “if I ever start asking for space, call a doctor.”

All resistance becomes futile.

You keep your apartment (for unnecessary security), but more time lapses between visits. You issue a long overdue farewell to bartending. Even being driven, the commute to that side of town is hellish and the whole thing got more pointless with each day. You drank in the fruits of this life, but not without a tiny bit of unease. It’s unease that you bury down under all the other feelings. The affection, the simplicity, the serenity. So you swap mixers for paintbrushes and solitude for the man you love. 

Other subtle changes require a quicker adjustment, but you’re getting dangerously good at adapting. With Tony’s birthday past, you recognize a pattern to Harley’s visits. Every three months like clockwork. You begin to anticipate them well enough, and start appreciating his occasional presence during your early morning tea. By his third appearance, you brew two cups.

On the first visit he barely utters a word. You were ready for some witty insult that never came, and offered him a cup in silence. You want to ask why he arrives so early just to sit in his father’s kitchen, but opt for peace instead. 

Once Pepper’s placard is gone in the parking garage and Natasha stops showing up (at all hours of the day, atleast), he’s there a second time. 

“How he’s doing with the,” he trails off, peering at you over an empty mug as the sun starts to break. He doesn’t need to motion at the empty space for you to pick up his meaning.

The official story is dancing on your tongue. The one you’ve told two times over at this point (Jarvis, Natasha). He's perfectly fine, better even. It was a piece of cake then, but now you can’t seem to look Harvey in the eye and speak in half-truths. 

“Honestly,” you sigh, “Good–not good, I don’t know.”  You were dying under  the irony of it all. Consoling Tony in the darkness of morning and then watching him make million dollar deals by noon. You don’t know how he’s managing any of it, and if any of this qualifies as okay. 

Green eyes blink slowly through an overgrown fringe. Barbers were clearly scarce in the last three months, wherever he spent them. Exhaustion forces a yawn before he speaks again, pinching his nose. 

“Figured as much.” Harley stands for the sink.

He goes through the labor of washing the ebony cup, a rare quirk amongst the obscenely rich. You’d learned they are very reliant upon their quiet servants. You wondered if he did it out of modesty or good manners.  

“Do you know why they separated?” If he was in the mood to talk about Tony, you weren’t going to pass up the chance.

“Uh, something with the company, her share or whatever. Always about the money with them.” he answers casually, tossing a look over his shoulder. 

It’s genuine enough, but all too similar to the rehearsed lines. You half-expected him to call you nosy. 

“No real loss there.” Harley adds, a hint of disdain in his voice

“Not a fan I take it?” The flimsy tag finally crumbling under your ministrations.

He chortles as he slumps back into the bar stool. 

“Pepper can be, uh,” A yawn and an eye rub take precedence, “overbearing, yeah that’s a good word for it.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine that worked well for Tony.” You murmur into your tea.

“Oh it most definitely did not.” Harley laughs again. “Not for a guy that does the opposite of whatever you tell him.”

His laugh is infectious (like father like son), and you smirk even though instead the mental picture makes you cringe. A lull passes between you. Outside, morning traffic begins, trickling upwards to interrupt the quiet. It cues Harley to get back to whatever it is he comes here to do, while you move on with the day. 

As an advantage of all the free time, you get to invest more time in your estranged friendships. Being around old friends turned out to be surprisingly good. You had anticipated more awkwardness, but there was something comforting about not having to wear a mask for once around someone besides your boyfriend. 

At this point, you slowly filled in a few close ones about your relationship with Tony. Clearly you were in this for the long haul, and keeping things under wraps was becoming futile. The general consensus was positive, thankfully. Obviously, that’s due to a great deal of details being omitted. The act left a sour taste in your mouth. Not from the content–how easy it was. You hated to repeat such behaviors, but it was less complicated this way. You wouldn’t have to labor through justifying your relationship, or hear concerns you didn’t already have. 

Tony’s reception was, oddly, less positive. He didn’t care much for your old ‘starving artist’ clique. He thought you should take advantage of his access to New York’s greatest–the real pioneers. It took little arguing from you for him to drop that thought entirely, and he conceded to just be happy to see you happy. 

Like good friends, they tease about your newfound love. One asks when they’ll get to meet ‘Mr. CEO’ and you have to brush it off casually. You like your worlds better separate. 

A sweltering autumn soon becomes frostbitten winter. This gives you less light to work with, resorting to find shuddering shoulders in complete darkness. You don’t think it’s worth searching for warmer pastures or a simpler life. No, you order a cashmere robe and get used to seeing by touch. 

Late nights in the tower turn out to be a great place to hone such skills. The halls are narrow and void of any windows, so you ghost the pads of your fingers around for customary shapes. A cushioned nook and a neglected book lull you into a nap one evening and you wake past the sunset. If you were able to sleep so late undisturbed, Tony must be preoccupied. You planned to tiptoe into the kitchen without a sound, but your ears catch words murmured behind the glass. The door is cracked slightly, just enough to let a streak of light breaks across the hardwood floor

“–fifteen, ten, maybe if we’re lucky.” 

The bespeckled man’s words are measured, precise as usual. You can almost picture his lips barely parting to utter syllables behind round-trim frames. 

“Jesus christ–the fuck am I paying you for? Because I am paying you, like a metric shit ton” 

At Tony’s voice, you press closer. 

“I’m not the idiot getting a divorce.”

“Okay, okay, let’s just stay focused here.” Natasha raises her voice above the two men, and you hear a chair drag across the office.

“Uh-uh, don’t think you’re getting off scot free–we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you did your job a tad better too.” 

“I will say it was ‘lot easier to spread the financials between two people.” 

Social norms concerning privacy start to get to you, urging your feet to pivot and take you back upstairs. Your escape goes undetected, and you seek refuge in the shower. 

You wash the day away under warm jetstreams. Part of your mind is stuck replaying everything, wondering how he was handling it all, trying not to indulge in the urge to check the sink drawer. In a flash, you toss the thought away. It’s easy to not overthink at this hour. Especially when coconut vanilla soap tugs you back towards exhaustion. You make it back out to the bedroom, where you find Tony removing his shoes at the end of the bed.

He smiles at the crack of light from the bathroom. Tony’s days were getting longer while the rest of the hemisphere’s got shorter. He would say he missed when life was simple, but he can’t remember such a time. Life growing up was anything but simple, then the older he got the more it sucked out every ounce of his energy. Everything after became, well, everything after.

Picturing a new future keeps him going. One in a coastal city, something global like New York but much, much warmer. He fights the urge to picture your silhouette amongst the waves. It’s not guaranteed. He might find himself in this dreaded cycle all over again. Then his coconut scented fantasy would be tarnished. 

No, it’s better to cherish the present with you. Like right now, watching coconut scented water droplets descended down your legs and shoulders. Even though he knows he won’t be here long. Truly, he’d wish you weren’t awake,  knowing he’d have to leave soon.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You teased, abandoning your towel as you pulled the dresser open.

He’s easy to rile up, and you know exactly what you’re doing–bending over slowly to pull your panties above your hips. You can’t help it when he stares like it’s his first time seeing you, every time. 

“Please don’t tempt me.” 

Tony’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. He’s unmoving on the edge of the bed, hands braced beside his thighs as his eyes follow the movements of your hands around lacy black fabric. Truly he’s perplexed. Who knew watching someone get dressed would be just as much of a turn-on. Or maybe it’s just you.

You toss one of his faded band tees on, and he thinks this might actually be better than any sun-soaked dream (it’s definitely just you). 

You cross the bedroom, the loose cotton brushing against your skin with each step. As you approach, you snake your arms around Tony's neck and straddle his lap. His large hands ghost up the smooth skin of your thighs, leaving a trail of warmth as they make their way to your back. The moment your skin touches his, Tony’s eyes lock onto yours, but you can tell his focus is elsewhere.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask softly, raking your hands through brown coils.

You assume his mind is still on the conversation downstairs, but the grin spreading on his face says otherwise. His lips move to pepper your exposed neck with kisses, still smiling.

“Really wanna know?” 

“Sure, hit me.”

The ghosts across your veins turn into full blown grazes. 

“You, in a bikini, drinking margaritas somewhere with no extradition laws.” 

You chuckle at the notion and swat his shoulder when his teeth find your pulse point. 

“Hey, you asked,” he laughs into your skin, gripping your hips tighter, “besides it’s your fault–’smell like I’m damn near there already.” 

Tony’s mouth turns hungrier and hungrier, moving feverishly across every exposed inch until the flesh is tender and you're panting in his lap. It’s just encouragement, so he doesn’t pause for a moment as his fingers slip behind your lace. They work at the wetness already ruining the fabric, dragging it across your length and making your shiver. 

Okay, sure, maybe another period of minimal alone time was getting to you, maybe. Sue me, you thought. Honestly, Tony should be more grateful to have such a willing partner–and you told him as much. Unfortunately, this elicited a need for Tony to instill a sense of gratitude in you.

In the next second, you're tossed onto your back, wrists pinned tightly above your head. His other hand pulls your panties down your legs and you try not to make a joke about the futility in getting dressed. Instead, you soak his weight against you, the roaming hand between your thighs and teeth on your neck. 

Marking you is the obvious goal-sucking harder with each breathy whimper. He wasn’t kidding earlier, either. You smelled good enough to devour and he intended on doing so. His danced along your folds, a cufflink scratching the supple skin at the top of your thigh.  They are never anywhere long enough to give you any real pleasure. Just to take more breath from your lungs and feeling from your legs. 

You squirm against vicuna dress pants, trying to gain more friction on his hand. Instead of catering to your needs, he stops all together and the noise you make is almost pathetic. Who are you kidding, it’s fully pathetic–it couldn’t have been over two weeks, and pleas can hardly form on your tongue for more. 

Tony reels back with a smirk that flips your stomach. A scheme is brewing behind darkened pupils. His eyes stay on you as his hand returns to your center, slow and heavy over your clit. 

He doesn’t relent when your wrists strain and hips buck against him. No, a tighter grip and knee over your hip hold you steady enough for his fingers to work faster. You want to chastise yourself for how much you missed this–then two fingers slide into you and there isn’t room to think of much else.

He moves quickly and silent, like a serpent, finding that perfect rhythm that makes your eyes flutter. Your soft moans fill the quiet space. He’s too steady, not changing a muscle as your peak comes closer. The most desperate you get, writing against his palm to get even one extra inch of depth, the slower he moves. 

“Did you have fun sneaking around?” 

Your eyes flutter open in the dim bedroom, Tony’s sly grin shining above you. It cuts straight through the fog of pleasure taking you over. 

“I don’t know what you’re–” you start to bluff. 

“You’re not very sneaky, you know? Or a good liar. That’s a particular skill set that you, my dear, sorely lack.”  Slow and teasing, he slides two fingers back into you.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I was eavesdropping a little.” He finally moves with purpose again, but of course not enough.

“A little? Let’s not start underrepresenting things, hm?” 

Before you can debate him further, he withdraws and you think you might honestly cry if this continues.

“Okay, point taken, would you please stop torturing me now?” 

“Now, why would I reward bad behavior?” he asked, lowering his gaze.

“If it helps, I wasn’t trying to.”

“It doesn’t.” 

His palms grip your hips, flipping you onto your stomach and lifting your waist upwards. The sudden movement leaves you breathless, searching for balance on your forearms until they’re pulled behind your back. 

“You know exactly which nerve to press, don’t you?” he breathes into the base of your neck, chest flush to your back as he hands work at his zipper.

How ironic, considering he spends the next hour tuning your body like an instrument. Knowing exactly where to press, where to ease off, until you finally unlock, bare and moaning into the mattress.

Afterwards, you fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart. 

You’re half way to sleep when Tony slinks out of your arms. At first, you don’t bother stirring. Then, the soft draw of the dresser catches your ear. 

You flip over onto your stomach to get a better view. You watch Tony’s shadowy figure attempt to quietly dress. For a rare sight, he abandons the tailored suit for dark Levis and a t-shirt. It hardly looks like him, in the best way possible (ignoring the obvious question of where the hell he planned on going in that. Less larger-than-life, more real. This, now this was someone you can imagine running into at the grocery store. The sharp edges of his suits always added a degree of gravitas to everything.

“Where are you off to?”

“Going to see a man about a horse.” 

He leans down for a bright smile and a quick kiss before he leaves, and you let sleep suppress any thoughts about what that could possibly mean.

You awake to a sun that has long outran the horizon. The sheer curtains were already pulled back, with the smell telling you Jarvis made a feast for breakfast. Tony’s side is empty. Which is no surprise there, but you don’t expect him at the kitchen table. 

He grins behind a newspaper as you approach. Jarvis is busy with the espresso machine, muttering curses under his breath. 

“Tell me, what are your thoughts on cyclamen–oo, or actually, narcissus, yeah, that’s better.” Tony asks like you've been having some sort of conversation before five seconds ago.

Jarvis clicks the tamper in with a satisfied click as you stare back confused. You’re two blinks away from falling back asleep and desperately craving something stronger than green tea. 

“What are you-Is-Are those restaurants?” 

“Oh, morning ma’am. Shall I prepare you a tea, perhaps breakfast?” Jarvis turns at the sound of your voice, wiping damp grounds from his hands.

“Good morning, but no, just some coffee, please.” You try to sound natural. It’s weird giving someone else orders. 

“Nope, flowers. We could do something simple like a peony but I don’t think that matches the whole vibe with the satin garlands.” Tony continues. 

“Tony, hon, I have no idea what you’re on about right now.” you groggily slouch in the chair beside him. 

“We, my dear,” the newspaper is folded and plopped onto the table for dramatic effect, “are having a Christmas party. The proverbial ‘we’ in this situation being the company, of course.” 

“A Christmas party?” you muse with a laugh.

“For tax purposes, a gala. For my purposes, and therefore to make it fun, it is indeed a party, yes.” 

Espresso warms your veins as you listen to Tony ramble through plans for catering, guests, decanters and a whole bunch of other shit you can hardly keep up with. Good thing that responsibility falls to Jarvis, who jots away on a worn notepad. Once your eyes fully open, the thought starts to excite you. Your yearly festivities normally boiled down to a bottle of chardonnay and some loosely Christmas film like Die Hard. “Plus, if I auction some art, it works out even more.” He punctuates his brilliant plan with a bite of a muffin. 

“That’s not like a massive trigger for you?” 

High-volume social events dropped off the radar recently, for good reason, you assumed (not that you minded a break from fake smiles and cold handshakes) . Instead, Tony dragged you along to more intimate dinners with whatever broker or councilwoman he needed to charm. Your role as plus-one never went anywhere, but doing so at Tony’s your home would give you more confidence. 

“What are you, my sponsor?” he teases but you're less amused at the thought. 

“You don’t even have a sponsor.” You know so, because Tony believes Narcotics Anonymous is a, quote, ‘sad-ass glorified tea party’. 

“I have Jarvis.” He’s completely serious, and Jarvis hides his laughter behind a stack of plates.  

You don’t want to point out the obvious cognitive dissonance. That a man who spends his nights in petrified somnolence might crack under the pressure of dozens of inebriated colleagues. Not now, in a moment of peace. Not in front of Jarvis. You’re not sure how much sound slips out into the hall.

Tony watches the worry creep over your face from the edge of his newspaper. With a sigh, he abandons it again.

“Look, all you have to do is look pretty–which is no sweat for you, maybe drink a few apple cider cocktails, and relax. I’ve got everything else perfectly handled.”

He gives you a look, both reassuring and decisive. It’s a simple message meant to be taken without debate, ‘trust me’. 

You get one more peaceful morning drinking tea in the dark with Harley before the holiday season.

The event overtakes your life from Thanksgiving onward. You really don’t know how this sudden festive fervor spawns, but it slowly creeps into everything. From the elevator music, to miniature elves by the door, to candy canes everywhere, and more Christmas ties than days in December (you can’t be sure he’s not switching them multiple times a day). 

You weren’t a total Grinch, not by a long shot. Tony just so happened to be creeping into that weird overly festive zone reserved for suburban moms and kindergarten teachers. 

“Tony, what’s all of this?”

Vivaldi plays faintly on the record player. There’s a delicately placed mistletoe just off of the elevator, accompanied with a haphazard trail of roses leading out onto the balcony. You navigate through a candlelight kitchen juggling a heavy box of resin. 

“Tony?” you call out again once the box makes contact with the counter,

“Out here!” 

You follow the voice and rose trail to the balcony. Unsurprisingly, he’s donning a god awful Christmas sweater, grinning and pointing to the wool like it’s runway fashion. A small table holds two covered silver platters, and a tall bottle of champagne rests in a bucket of ice. It’s the kind of overtly romantic display you’d gotten since night one, but it never fails to sink your breath straight in your heart. Something about the way he’s standing there, beaming like a nervous, lovestruck fool, tells you this isn’t just a normal gesture of affection.

Still, your lips part to thank him, but he stops you instantly. 

“Just wait–” he pleads, “I got like thirty minutes of practice into saying this and I can’t fuck it up.” 

His voice is rushed enough that you believe. Clearly the words were threatening to jump out of him. It sets you a bit on edge, trying to anticipate what this was about. You indulge him anyway and nod. 

Tony crosses the balcony to take your hands in his, thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Okay, I know things haven’t been copacetic around here. And I know I’ve asked for a lot–more than I ever thought I would–and you know sometimes it feels like I’ll never be able to return what you’ve given to me, but I swear I’m going to make this worth it.” 

He squeezes your palm, tired brown eyes searching yours for something, any sign that his words meant a single thing. It’s a fast-winded speech that makes you wanna laugh at the irony. Tony, the man who’d move the stars if they had a price tag, somehow feeling the need to repay you.  Yet his voice is raw like a frayed nerve. Exposed to the cold winds whipping against the tower glass. 

“Tony, you’ve made it more than worth it, everyday.” You smile, though it’s worth wondering what’s driving him to say all this. The words ring true regardless.

“Not nearly enough,” he says softly, “but I’m going to–I’m going to give you the world.”

In that moment, you see it: the weight of everything he’s been carrying. Your ribs seem to tighten inside your chest. That unspoken fear you’ve both been trying to avoid–it was far easier twenty seconds ago when you thought it was yours alone. You realize now that the fearless man you saw in fact was scared of something (losing you, primarily). Yeah, you comforted him through nightmares, but even then he managed to carry an aura of control.  

This wasn't about  holding onto the life you’ve built together, the one that’s felt so fragile lately. And for the first time, you see how much that matters to him, too.

He starts to say something else, dropping your hands. His fingers fiddle behind his back, seemingly nestled in his back pocket. He stares like he intended to say something else, lips parting and closing right back. In the next second, he seems to shift gears, pulling you into a hug. 

You welcome the warm embrace, as the chill has started to gnaw at your bones. He plants a kiss to the top of your head, and you want to stay in that feeling for the rest of your life.

Sadly, he does eventually pull away to admit dinner on the balcony would be quite miserable, and the two of you move inside. 

You could spend the rest of the evening overthinking about what all that meant, but you don’t bother. Why go through that mental labor, when instead you could drink $500 champagne, carefree while your handsome boyfriend flirts with you like it’s the first date. 

You don’t think about it then, or later in the night when your legs are pressed to your chest and you can’t recall a single thing he said. You focus on what he’s saying then–filthy words about who you belong to, and exactly where you belong–a whimpering mess underneath him.

Even when it turns possessive (more so than usual), when your throat is littered with marks and his hand stands to leave another on his hip, you don’t think of it. But it’s the only thing on Tony’s mind. When another orgasm rips through you, all he can think about is how much he needs you. He whispers ‘you’re mine’ over and over and over as you fall apart just so your broken moans can still echo–so he can hear just how true it is. How could you, with such a dutiful guide at the helm?

Afterwards, when you’re drained of every ounce of life, it still doesn't bother you. You don’t wonder if tonight might be another night he slips into plain clothes and disappears until sunrise. You can’t muster a single thought as his arm slinks around your waist to pull you closer. 

You simply close your eyes, and let sleep take you. 

Eventually the days tick by to the gala, and you’re somewhere between impressed and overstimulated with all the ensuing holiday glamor. 

Though, you can’t say he doesn’t go all out. 

The first floor of Stark Industries is transformed from a cold minimalist space to Ebenezer Scrooge's worst nightmare. A makeshift stage sits at one end, complete with enough tinsel to suffocate a horse and twinkling garlands. Piles of fake snow anoint the corners, and a particularly large one sits beneath a 12-foot tall Christmas tree in the middle of the lobby. The open bar even serves drinks in frosted holiday glasses. He even has the guards wearing reindeer ears. 

By ten p.m. the vast floor seems smaller than a shoebox, packed with guests in evening gowns and tailored tuxedos. Initially, you’d planned on wearing a new piece for the gala–something to make the overwhelming festivity Tony demanded. Once it came time to get dressed, your eyes caught the sanguine dress. You hadn’t gotten the chance to wear it since your first date. It had felt too exquisite for any other occasion, but for some reason you were drawn to wear it tonight. 

You wish you could say Tony had a good reaction–or a reaction at all. From sunrise until the doors opened, he’s caught up in planning and preparations. Matter of fact, you were two hours into the gala and had only seen glimpses of him shaking hands in the crowd. It takes away from the expected familiarity. You imagined this night to be simple, easy for you to blend it with Tony on your arm, in his home your home. Instead, you wander like a lost gazelle, feeling every pair of eyes on you. You want to blame the dress. Revealing and bright red.

In the blurry swarm of faces, bright auburn stands out. Natasha wouldn’t be your first pick, but she’s the only familiar face and you need a respite.

You squeeze in next to her at one of the corner tables. The spice of her perfume permeates your nose but you can look past it for the moment. She pays you no mind at first, legs crossed and head turned to the crowd. You don’t mind one bit. It’s quieter towards the back, and you have no issue with it staying that way. 

Natasha sighs deeply, almost in boredom, maybe annoyance, but not with you. 

“I don’t know how you stand him.”

“How do you figure?” you respond absently, picking apart at a stray piece of tinsel.

“One of the richest men on Earth-I know he’s got the ego to match it.”

“You’d know better than I would, wouldn’t you?” you answer. You’d gotten the sense Natasha and Tony back way further than him and Pepper a while ago,

“Touche, but I’m not dating him.” she shifts to take another sip from her glass, “though, I’m not really sure why you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you really love him, or are you just after a family fortune?” Emerald eyes points like knives, her tone blending from casualty to scorn.

“W-what,” you stammer, “Of course I love him–Tony pursued me.”

“Please, he’d pursue anything with a pulse,” Natasha chuckles, “and relax, I’m just finally getting around to doing my due diligence.” 

“Your ‘due diligence’ is being a cunt?”

“Ooh! I see you’re a feisty one–you did sit here after all, you know.” she muses.

“Just needed a break from the crowd,” you mummer, rising. 

“Stay then–relax, like I said.” she gestures towards your now-empty seat. When you sigh and retake your place, she smiles. “I like you, you know.”

“We’ve barely spoken.” you declare, a dry chuckle spewing alongside. 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know a smart person when I see one.” 

“Smart?”

“Smart decisions, going out with Tony, not screwing that up, though I’ve been told you’ve come close a few times.”

“Who–”

“This isn’t an interrogation, like I said, I like you–I don’t really care what happens between you two.”

“Then what is this?” you flag the nerdy tuxedoed waiter for a glass of water. 

“You said it yourself, we’ve barely spoken. My job is to keep Tony’s business running smoothly, and that’s become a lot harder since he won’t make a single decision without considering the ‘y/n’ of it all.” 

You scoff, unimpressed. “We don’t talk about his business.”

“Oh, I know,” Natasha remarks, “A bartender has no idea how to run a billion dollar corporation, and even less of an idea how to advise one.” 

“This is the part where you tell me I have no business being with him, right?” The waiter drops off a tall pitcher of water for you both. Once your glass is full, he passes along a message that Tony’s speech starts soon. 

“Dear god no,” Natasha laughs, “I imagine you’ve heard that enough–and he’s much more pleasant since you came around. Besides, you’re living the dream.” 

“Is that so?” You have to give a laugh of your own (considering you had a bit of jealousy buried for her). 

“Oh yes, filthy rich, live in a penthouse, never work another day in your life, loving husband–maybe not my dream, but still a dream.” 

You don’t know if she’s trying to be funny but your next laugh is genuine, and she joins in.

“What is your dream, then?” you question.

Natasha’s grin stiffens, surprised. Contemplation passes for a second and you worry that you’ve underdone the last three minutes of camaraderie. 

“Ballet teacher–but that stays at this table.” She gives you a matching pointed look.

“My lips are sealed.” You do try not to giggle, but it’s odd to imagine her frigidity in a warm lit studio surrounded by tutus. 

“Did you mean it, what you said about Tony? That things are...okay?” Natasha asks, referring to Tony’s sobriety. It’s weird how everyone dances around it, especially someone so usually straightforward as her. 

It was weeks ago when you parroted that claim. And you only call it that because the question annoys the fuck out of you. It’s entirely subjective, and you give in to the optimistic look in their eye and tell them what they want to hear. He’s fine, better even.

Maybe it’s because she’s being nice, or because you already gave up this facade with Harley, but you can’t be bothered to pretend you know what’s going on with him all the time. Besides, clearly you weren’t doing a good enough job for her to ask you about it again

“I want to say yes, but I don’t know, I guess?” you admit, staring into the crowd. 

Natasha’s mouth parts to speak again, only to have the microphone’s feedback interrupt her. The host–some Nobel prize winning chemist Tony invited to pull donors–clears his throat before starting his introduction, and the noise draws to a lull. Natasha excuses herself, presumably to find Tony before his speech. You decide to stay at the back of the lobby, with a good enough view of the stage. 

Supposedly this entire sordidly festive affair had a true business purpose, some big announcement Tony was making on the ‘future of the company’. He didn’t explain much more than that, and you’re certain the technical logistics were beyond you anyway. 

After a long, boring welcome, the mic is passed off to Tony. It’s the first time today you’ve been able to see him fully–draped in a jet black tuxedo and bright red bowtie. 

It whines again in his grip, and Tony pauses once the cheers die down, glancing at the expectant faces below. Thick cards press into his palm, each written meticulously inked by Natasha last night He clears his throat, glancing out past the lights into the crowd. He hopes they can’t see how heavy the stillness starts to weigh on him like before. The sudden quiet, all that attention. Including yours, somewhere out there. His heart stalls at how must look to you up here. Larger than life probably, or maybe you weren’t looking at all (he hopes you aren’t). A hundred odd pairs of eyeballs, and he hides from yours. 

Tony knew what he had to do, and was quite confident in his choice. But he can’t risk looking you in the eye while he does it. Ironically, his decision had very little to do with you, and everything to do with Pepper. The edge of his mouth still twitches. 

“Tonight…” he starts, turning the twitch into a warm smile, “…I’ve asked you all to be here in celebration, to celebrate Stark Industries, and talk about the future of the company,” He clears his throat, rolling his shoulders as if trying to loosen some unseen knot.

There’s a small, brief ripple of confusion among the front of the room, murmurs. Something shifts in his expression—just a flash—before his eyes catch something and harden. A gesture is made to the guard at the end of the stage. His hand tightens around the mic.

“To keep things transparent,” he says, stuffing the cards into his pocket, “the real reason I threw this party, asked you all to be here, is because I want everyone to see how much this means to be.”

Your ears perk up. Natasha swears under her breath, glancing at you before sharply leaving the table, tapping away at her phone. Tony can’t hide from your gaze anymore, and he finds your confused face in the back corner. Before you think about a path to escape, the crowd follows his attention, taking their eyes from the billionaire to the nobody fiddling with tinsel alone.

“I want to celebrate the love I have for this woman, and take this opportunity to share it with everyone.” 

What the hell is he doing?, you think. He can't be doing this here, like this. 

“The truth is,” he pauses, feeling his phone buzz off the hook (most certainly Natasha telling him to stop), “I’m getting married, and Stark Industries will be welcoming a new partner in its operations.”

The room erupts in a chorus of oos and awes, all to the tune of your racing heart. It takes you a second to process. He means getting married to you. You never even talked about marriage, the future, anything like that. Yeah, maybe in passing the idea came up, but at no point did you accept a marriage proposal. 

Everything feels nauseatingly blurry after. Random individuals come over with their congratulations, while half the crowd stares and the other half still bothers to listen to the rest of Tony’s speech. It’s a bunch of nonsense about restructuring and profits, and you’re too confused, pissed, and too fed up with fake smiles to bother standing around to listen. 

You suffer through two more superficial conversations about the marriage you were only made privy a few minutes ago. Finally, you escape to the restroom. You find an empty stall to hide in, trying to process what was going through Tony’s mind.

He couldn’t be serious, could he? This wasn’t real–it was some ploy or tactic. He didn’t genuinely intend to marry you. You didn’t like to think of the long-term for the same reasons you didn’t think about the short-term. This was unpredictable, you learned that. You learned to be okay with that. You could soak in the pleasures indefinitely without ever worrying about how it might all end. This, this brought it into a sharp focus you weren’t ready for. 

You’re not even certain he’s fully divorced yet. 

Once your palms finally dry, and the threat of a panic attack fades, you step out of the restroom. You don’t even know what to think, and the sterile walls weren’t helping. Glancing back toward the gala, you spot Tony scanning the room—until his eyes find yours. You don't hold his gaze long; instead, you turn sharply toward the elevator. You hear your name faintly called from somewhere behind, but you keep moving down the hall, ignoring it.

He breaks into an awkward jog to catch you. You keep your eyes forward.

“[Y/N], look I know this wasn’t what you were expecting, and I can explain I just need–” he starts,

“You’ve lost your fucking mind, Stark,” Natasha heels stomp angrily down the hall, stepping in front you to point her finger in Tony’s face, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Alright, alright, not you right now–cut it out!” He smacks her hand away flippantly, “I’m not entirely sure you and Matt haven’t been drinking the kool-aid either.” 

Tony huffs and straightens his bowtie and you step back from Natasha’s heat. Behind the three of you, someone gets their hands on a karaoke machine and a terrible rendition of Santa Baby follows.

“The whole point of this bullshit was to go public and get out of this shit so explain to me how this gets us anywhere closer to that?” She grits.

Tony throws his hands in the air, “Maybe it doesn’t, but your dumbass plan wasn’t any better.”

“You think marrying her is going to help you? You know I was joking when I said that, right?” 

Suddenly, a spotlight seems to beam over you. Neither party stops their death glare to fully acknowledge you. That wasn’t a proposal–you were just some pawn in their game.

You don’t even know what the hell they’re playing for.

“This is a great time to remind you who signs your checks.” 

Only then do her eyes bother to glance at you. 

“This isn’t gonna end well, and you know it.” She concedes, still stern. After that, she stomps back off into the crowd. 

Tony turns towards you, but you're already back at the elevator, watching the buttons finally reach L.

“[Y/N], please–” 

The doors ding open and you don’t stop to hear anymore. Despite your feverous attempt to close the doors, Tony makes his way inside. The door just barely misses his coattail, to your annoyance.   

Even worse, and completely on par for the evening, the jingle bells elevator music plays the moment the doors shut. 

A hard, awkward beat passes. You’re pinching the bridge of your nose, sparsely emptied of any more energy for this night (mentally or otherwise). 

“You look fucking stellar, by the way, love that dress–”

“Tony.”

“Right, you’re right, sorry.”

Neither of you spare another word from the elevator to the bedroom. Tony follows behind, closing the door softly as you toss your earring onto the dresser. You’re waiting for him to speak again. Explain, deflect–hopefully just explain, but he doesn’t. He sits at the end of the bed, eyes trained to you in the mirror. 

“Why didn’t you ask me? Alone? Before today?” you sigh, “

“I wanted to, I was going to, the other night on the balcony I just–” he answers quickly, but trails off in a way that has you turning to face him instantly.

You don’t doubt that for a second. Truthfully, the level of effort and random heartfeltness of the night gave you some clue. But, when it never came you just chalked it up to Tony being Tony. Painfully romantic in most conditions. 

“You just what, didn’t want to?” There’s anger, though you know it's hypocritical. 

“No I just,” he exhales, dragging his fingers through slicked back hair, “I knew you’d say yes.”

“You knew I’d say yes? What the hell does that mean?” Your necklace joins the rest of your jewelry with a loud clink. 

“This is coming out all wrong–”

“You think?” The six inch heels are the next thing to go, throwing haphazardly in the closet. Tony rises to cut you off in front of the door, eyes pleading for understanding you’re not sure you have. 

“I saw the look in your eye, I’d done so much to make sure you’d say yes in that moment because I needed you to–not because I wanted it and that wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.”

“You don’t know that I’d say yes.”

“You would,” he says with that practiced charm, all sunny but hollow. A trademark Stark move—confidence teetering on arrogance. When you hesitate, he’s ready with another word, a gaze intense enough to hypnotize. “You know you would.”

You laugh, looking away as if it’s absurd. “Are you really so sure?”

His hand slips into yours, gentle but firm, thumb brushing across your knuckles in a way that makes it seem like he’s talking to you, only you, and not the thousand voices in his head screaming at him to get this done. 

“I know you’re scared, but” he says, leaning into your warmth. “Don’t leave me hanging here, please.”

“You sound so desperate, it’s kind of sad.” 

But there’s a softness to your voice now, a hint that he might be getting through. For a moment he was worried he wouldn’t be able to get away with this again, that you’d learned all his tricks since the boutique. 

It’s enough of a crack in your resolve for him to keep pushing. He slips closer, voice low. 

“Look, I know I keep asking a lot of you, but, There’s a pause, just long enough to let the ache in his voice sit, before he adds, “this could fix everything, everything can be okay.”

There’s a sliver of doubt in your eyes, and that’s what he clings to. 

“And when was the last time everything was okay, Tony?” You watch him in the bureau’s mirror. 

 “It could be. All I need for you to do is say yes, so I can fix this,” He squeezes your hand, the hint of desperation all but veiled now. 

And when you finally exhale, when that flicker of sympathy slips in, he knows he’s won.

It’s good enough. Better than he hoped, honestly. The relief slides into him like a tonic, loosening the tight lines in his jaw. He keeps his hand on yours, knowing the warmth of it will serve to distract from the creeping dread, from the hollow pit that’s been widening ever since the stakes got so high he couldn't see the top of them.

For Tony, this is all still just a means to an end. One step closer to true liberty and the life he was supposed to have. If he had to lie and disappoint–cheat and charm, then he’d do it. It would be worth it. In the end, the sum of his achievements would outweigh his sins.

He reminded himself of that a month ago, the night before he decided to have the gala. When the bedroom door closes, a sigh of relief escapes. He was lucky that you didn’t catch the conversation with Matt and Natasha in full. What he had in the works was sensitive, and he couldn’t have that ruined by anyone knowing the details in advance. He couldn’t lose you again, not when he needed you most. 

There is a shred of guilt as the elevator whirs down to the garage. You’re probably thinking the worst, understandably, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Only to pray his love was enough to placate you for now. 

Especially when he doesn’t even want to fucking do this. Each day seems to come at the loss of his autonomy, another suit on his payroll telling him what’s best for his life. It’s more deplorable when the people closest to him come up with the shittiest ideas to fix this. He can truly thank Pepper for his recent migraines (and a bunch of old ones). Filing for divorce was quite a move to try to get what she wanted, and throw him to the mercy of the Securities and Exchange Commission at the same time. If you listen to Matt, Tony’s mere minutes away from a cold cell. If you listen to Nat, Tony’s plummeting stock will be the sealer of his fate. And as of right now, two of the smartest people he knows can’t come up with anything that doesn’t come at the cost of you or his company. And he can’t live with either. 

Since, both their solutions arguably suck, he tells a lie or lack thereof to find a third opinion. Or a hail mary. However it’s called, it’s a long shot that he can’t be certain won't jeopardize him even more. 

The drive to Hudson Valley is peaceful, to the point he forgets his world is on fire. It’s late, or early, depending on who you ask. Few cars grace the road and he finds solace in the solitude. The radio is ignored for the repetitive rumble of the tires, until paved tar turns into rough gravel. 

When Pepper sent over the address, he wasn’t too surprised. She always rambled about moving out of the city, dreaming of cabins in the woods and sprawling hills. Tony could never wrap his head around living anywhere else. In retrospect, that was another early omen. They never even shared the same dream. 

He can’t say it doesn’t look impressive. A dark a-frame that strikes beautifully against the earthen spruce. Maybe that is why she had him drive all the way out here and not somewhere in the city. Part of masterplan to show him what she presumes he’s missing out on. 

The porch lights flicker on once he parks, and he makes his way up the stone path to find Pepper sitting just outside the door. She’s preoccupied with a thick novel, acknowledging Tony with the raise of a finger. 

It’s strange, being alone with her for the first time in years. She’s not dressed in Valentino but tattered college sweats he had forgotten about. Seeing her at the penthouse all those months ago was troubling, but this was different. Here, it’s too quiet. Even though he’s a few paces away from the table, he can hear the tension of her nails against the pages–the swirl of wind through her hair. Sure, she can’t control the environment but he knows this is a calculated move too. To make him wait, make him uncomfortable. Every other sense sharpens in the absence of constant noise. Norway spruce and duplicity. 

He’s losing his nerve and he needs this over. 

“Why the hell’d you make me drive this far out anyway?” He tries to keep a level voice, knowing she wouldn’t hesitate to use his irritation against him. 

“It’s the one place I’m certain your little spy hasn’t found yet.” she murmurs.

Okay, fine, so he’d used his son to spy on his ex-wife. Big deal, he couldn’t be certain she wasn’t doing the same. Plus, Harley had offered to keep an eye on her. It was a matter of security, not personal (mostly). 

“Can we get on with this?”

“I suppose,” she sighs, tossing the book onto the table. The thud reverberates, stark against the stillness of the valley. “But I’m not sure what it is you want from me–you did call me after all.”

“I did.” And he’s regretting it every second.

“So, what can I do for you?”

“You can start by accepting the deal Murdock sent, and let this be over.” 

Pepper chuckled, crossing her legs. “What are you playing at, Tony?”

“I’m not playing at anything–this needs to be over, you need to move on.”

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffs, “this is all very rich considering you’ve held me in litigation for months, you rejected my offers over and over, so why the sudden change of heart?”

A cold chill and burning annoyance pull him closer to the table. 

“Yes, because I should just give you forty-five percent of my company–I can get it gift-wrapped too if that makes it all the better.”  

“That’s right, your ego won’t let you admit I’m the only reason you have a company to speak of.”

“Can’t you find an ounce of compassion in that gaping pit you call a soul, for me?”

“Such harsh words from someone who needs something from me.” Pepper smirks and stands once the heat recedes from Tony’s face. 

“Take the twenty percent, finalize the papers, and end this, or else there won’t be anything for either of us.”

She circles the table to stop in his view. Tony wishes he had a time machine.

“Let me guess, someone’s under a little heat.” she muses, voice high and dripping in sugary venom.

“Little is an understatement.” He steps back, hands tight in her pockets.

“And why would I give up my shares to help you?”

“This entire thing started with you, and the second it wasn’t convenient you ran. The least you could fucking do is help me out of it.” Tony snapped. 

“Right, and if I don’t?” 

She still laughs, because it’s all a good game to her. Entertaining to see him against the ropes–desperate enough to reach out to her. For once though, it’s calming. It soothes his anger and reminds him why he agreed to this at all. This time, he had an ace up his sleeve.

“Then I’ll tell just that to whoever needs to know–you know I have the evidence. You’ll go down right alongside me.”

In the quiet solace, for a moment, she’s outplayed. Her smile falters and brows crinkle. Truthfully, as much as he’d love to, he could never sell her out. But she had a terrible tendency of assuming the worst of him, and he was banking on that. 

“Please do, I’m sure they’d love to hear what I know about Obadiah.” 

Oh, so that was her ace.

A soft buzz vibrates his back pocket. He doesn’t need omniscience to know it’s you. He can picture it clearly–you, traipsing around the penthouse looking for signs of life. He knows you hate that feeling, and he hates to cause it. 

There’s a more pressing issue; not giving Pepper the emotional reaction she wants.

“You wouldn’t do that.” Spare words from some forgotten bin. 

“Not if you don’t force my hand.” 

A painful pause ensues. The valley’s fauna recognize the tension, silencing out of respect for the sound of Tony’s plan shattering. A true stalemate. Not what he came for, but his throat swells thinking about the aftermath from a war of attrition. 

He can’t let that get out, above all else. That’d be his dissolution. Stark Industries, everything he worked for would vanish. You, without question. You never see him the same again. The crafted image he sought, the life he was creating with you for you, it’d be wasted effort. 

“What’s it gonna take for you to help me?”

After another migraine-causing conversation, Tony slumps into the driver seat, shoulders heavy and eyelids even heavier. Fifteen minutes have passed since your text, and he wonders if it's better not to answer at all. 

[ everything okay?  ]

[ be home soon ]

Ignore. Deflect. Move on.  

The drive back to the city is less pleasant. Actually, it’s a nightmare that he disassociated through the moment he entered the garage. He was, tragically, fucked. There was no telling if he had the capital to replace whatever Pepper took, and he certainly couldn’t risk everything by going public. And if he didn't give Pepper what she wanted, he might be looking at a depressing future behind bars. And that was not an option. 

So he’s at the mercy of the ginger Judas who put him on the path in the first place. Go figure. There’s self-blame for entertaining this option at all. For not guessing she’d snake her way into the upperhand like always. This wasn’t a beast he could defeat with regular tactician and planning. No, he needed to surprise her–usurp her. Piss her off the way she pissed him off. Go against the grain and act in a way that she couldn't predict. Something she couldn’t maneuver around. 

So, when the mic graced his hands, and the coached words on his marriage, the marriage  he never asked you about. The marriage he couldn’t ask you about because he wasn’t ready either. 

He said fuck it, and did it anyway. 

He knew you would’ve said yes then, so you obviously would answer the same afterwards. Even if you were predictably, and understandably pissed, you loved him, and he intended to use that. Grand gestures were his thing after all. A huge public soiree was more on brand than some private dinner. And, he was Tony Stark. The man who got everything he wanted. Why would your hand be any different? Certainly it fell under the same bracket (and really, an argument could be made that he had your loyalty regardless–this was just a title). 

It was justified in his mind the moment the words hit the mic. It just sounds right– Y/N Stark. Like he should have made it that way a long time ago. For a second, the ceaseless pit of vengeance is taken over by something more. 

It;s even easier to justify when he gets a wave of childlike excitement over it. Imagining the ring on your finger, the life he could have with you. Palm trees and salt waves on a remote coast. No more Stark Industries, no more nightmares about cold federal prisons, just you and him. 

Then, in the crowd, he spots what must be Pepper’s lookout. A short, brayish man stays still while dozen roar in congratulatory apologize. Pepper should’ve coached him better, a clear sore loser in a room full of winners. 

The real reason he’s doing this comes back. Tony makes a quick signal to the guard behind him, and moments later the man is escorted upstairs. He used to hate doing this. But he soon learned that humanity gets you nowhere in this business. Still, he almost tells his team to go easy. Then he remembers the cold look on Pepper’s face at the valley while he plead for mercy like a sad dog. 

Fuck that. The man knew the risks. It’s not Tony’s fault they didn’t play in his favor. 

Out of whatever kindness was left, he makes a note to have his body dumped somewhere nice. 

PART SIX SOON

[jacenotjason]

OK this will be an extremely long ask i am sorry. i love radford

i havent sent an ask to people in years but i am one of the radford fans of all time and demonic possession is a fun concept to me, so the idea of gadreel possessing him specifically makes me INSANE

i just think itd work extremely well. radford doesnt take anything seriously and doesnt understand boundaries, but he always puts his concern for others first and his well-being last. he annoys father gregor and compares him to priests hes seen in the movies, and he does spray holy water + offer free candy against kevins wishes, but he also warns rick about the trouble he could get himself into when not giving the right movie tickets, and helps kevin with his job with no pay in mind. hes annoying, but his heart is in the right place

but gadreel is the Ultimate Prankster. him trying to imitate radford would backfire Hard, because gadreels idea of fun is,, More Extreme. he allows kids to enter adult films, he steals candy and says its fine since hes friends with kevin, he tells his friends and brother to break the rules and disrespect authority, etc etc. im unsure what gadreels motives are other than to ruin everyones day, but hes doing a damn good job at it. all the blame is going to radford, and honestly, its just So Easy to blame him for it

i imagine it takes a while for most people to figure out that somethings wrong with radford. he does what he wants freely, wherever and whenever, so these mistakes could be rationalized by him having an off-day. i assume rad would look extremely tired after a days long session of gadreel torturing him (because he loves pushing the human body. bill cipher behavior). but i think what makes everyone truly concerned is when "radford" starts involving Others in his antics

it isnt like rad to encourage bad behavior. he would never tell rick to swap the prices of two items at his new job, or tell robert the best blind spots to steal from stores, or forcing kevin to take his anger out on someones property. the radford everyone knows is ditzy, but kindhearted. if theres trouble, radford would be the only perpetrator

and god, imagine how much worse it gets if "radford" gets in trouble with the police. john would be frustrated seeing his own nephew be so careless and cruel all of a sudden. itd probably even make him spiral and assume the cult had something to do with it, and that john and his family arent safe like he thought. and i think gadreel relishes in that knowledge

im also so curious as to how gadreel and radford met and how long the possession lasted, maybe it was a week? in my head, he came to radford in the form of a snake before revealing his true self and attacking, leaving no time for rad to fully process it and run away. i also assume skid and pump will have some involvement, and pumps eyes turning blue will be a clear sign that "radford" is associated with a demonic entity, or Is one. either way i love gadreels character being a "twisted" version of radfords if that makes sense

so um ya sorry for the longest ask ever. heres a drawing

OPOOOHMYGOHMOSIEJHIOSRHGIUSADHRUITGHSDUIGSDB !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU ARE AWESOME!??!?!?!?!? FUCK OK OKAYAKOAJTYAOKATY THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS IS SO COOL

THANK YOU FOR THE DRAWING, EATING IT, YOUR POINTS ARE ALL CORRECT

Unlike Moloch whose possessions are more brutal and obvious, Gadreel hides and youre so right! Hes here for the long haul babey!!

yes i imagine the possession lasted about a week, week and a half. Gadreel can't feel pain (at least Radfords pain i mean, he has a higher pain tolerance, as a demon yknow) so he could very well accidentally snap a bone as Radford and not even notice. What im saying is Rad is hospitalized afterwards

AUGHHH the police thing. Gadreel sees the cops and WANTS to get caught by them, just for goofs. in a "Oh what would happen if i did this :)" way.

GOD THIS IS SO COOL YOURE LITERALLY THE BEST

OH!! AND ON THE SUBJECT OF HOW RAD AND GADREEL MET !!

Instead of possessing Patty in the morgue, Gadreel took the form of a snake and.... left lmao. or got noticed and thrown out bc oh my god a snake

he ended up near the candyclub and radford was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Gadreel saw Radford as a hiding place and a means to have fun.

I imagine Moloch doesnt care about what his vessels look like, meanwhile Gadreel won't possess someone if he thinks theyre lame. like yeah he couldve possessed patty but then he would've had to.... do stuff. eugh. This guy looked WAY more fun.

im actually vibrating yourel iterally the coolest dawg.

[spittingbloodandscreaming]

can u do cis alex k. x cis male reader smut where alex spanks the reader and perchance piss play like reader being forced 2 piss themselves pretty pretty plz :3

WARNINGS: piss, semi-public? you're in the woods, humiliation, brosex?

thanks for the 10 bucks!! Sorry it took me a while to spit this out, so i hope you like it! sorry I totally forgot to incorporate the spanking

"Alex, I need to piss dude."

You and Alex have been out in the woods since about 10 AM, working on his student film Marble Hornets. It's now 2:30, and you've had to pee for the last hour or so. And you’ve been complaining about it for that long, too, but Alex is getting increasingly annoyed.

“Then go behind a tree or something, we're in the woods,” Alex says, rolling his eyes as his warm breath turns into fog around his face. He holds his camera up to a dead tree, for some reason. He's responded this way for the past hour, disregarding your basic human need to pee. He couldn't care less if you end up wetting your pants. In fact, it might even serve as a 'I told you so' moment. That’s what he tells himself. Though, secretly, he has a different, less passive-aggressive motive behind wanting you to lose control.

“No! I’m telling you, that’s weird! What if a bird or a squirrel sees my dick or something.” Alex just rolls his eyes, completely choosing to ignore your genuine concerns of indecent forest exposure other than letting out an indignant sigh. You huff, kicking a tree stump only a few feet away from the tree Alex was focused on. Really, he could care less about whether you pissed your pants or not. He might even like it, it could be a good ‘I told you so’ moment. That’s what he told himself, anyway. In reality he’d like you pissing your pants for a very different, significantly less passive aggressive reason. 

As the next twenty minutes tick by, Alex is reaching his breaking point of annoyance, while you're bursting at the seams with urine. Shifting your weight back and forth, you continue 'whining', as Alex puts it, about needing to pee. Your absolute refusal to pee in the woods, while logical to you, is making Alex's filming process harder. So, it's either shut up and pee in the woods or shut up and wet your pants. Unfortunately for Alex, you're not complying with either of those options. You’re so uncomfortable; the pressure in your bladder is borderline unbearable.

“Dude, you're being really stupid right now,” Alex says, his back turned to you before he turns around, looking at the screen of his camera and periodically glancing up at you. “I mean, you seriously can’t be that against— did you just piss yourself?” Alex looks down to the very obvious. and, a decently large soaking wet spot in your pants. Your face is flushed a bright red as you look down to your pants, then moving your gaze down to stare aggressively at dead leaves. You’re completely over loaded with embarrassment, focusing on the nearest possible escape plan even though Alex had driven the both of you here. You hear Alex’s mildly sadistic cackling. What a supportive friend. “Dude! That’s really fucking embarrassing for you!” Alex nudges you a bit, taking time to catch his breath. “C’mon, look at me. That’s honestly really pathetic.” This is the part where you remember how much of a dick your friend is.

And even worse than the embarrassment is the way your body reacts to it.

You immediately cover your face with your hands, feeling the heat radiating off your bright red cheeks as Alex picks back up his howling laughter. “No, just— just shut the fuck up right now.”

“No way! You seriously got a boner over pissing yourself in front of me?”  Alex laughs harder, doubling over slightly as he does so. As Alex's cackling dies down, he collects himself and places his camera down on the tree stump. “Okay, okay we'll talk about that in a second, but don't you have a change of clothes in my car?” Alex speaks a little more genuine, but his voice stays laced with condescension. You shake your head in response to his question, cursing yourself for trying to save space in your bag.

Alex lets out a huff, pausing for a moment before clearing his throat. “Well, you probably don't wanna stay in those pants, y'know. It's gonna get cold soon and wet clothes are worse than none.” Alex tries to disguise his attempt at seeing you half naked and humiliated with half hearted concern. You saw what he was trying to do, but he was right. Any breeze that passed was absolutely freezing. So, with shaky hands(partially due to the cold, and partially due to your body radiating with embarrassment), and multiple thoughts telling you it was a bad idea to strip from the waist down in front of your friend, you unbutton your jeans and make very slow work of pulling them down. All the while, Alex is looking down at you with a strange amount of amusement on his face.

After a fair amount of time spent struggling to get your pants off over your shoes, you reluctantly look up at Alex. He takes a moment to adjust his gaze away from your crotch, only bringing more awareness to the fact you're sporting a hard-on in wet underwear. The look he gives you alone is enough to tell you to ditch those too, and so with a sigh, you do so. Now standing in the middle of the woods, half naked in front of one of your best friends, you begin to question just what led you here.

A train of thought that is, of course, quickly interrupted by Alex's horny gawking.

“You're really just on full display now, aren't you?” He takes a step closer, pushing up his glasses. He hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you way too close to him considering the situation. He's very liberal with his free hand as he continues to talk, ignoring how rigid your body gets at the sudden contact. “It's… not that big.” He takes the opportunity to grab your dick in his hand, only wrapping a few of his fingers around to further emphasize his point. The redness in your face deepens as you shudder. You'd look away if you hadn't already been aggressively avoiding looking at Alex the entire interaction.

Alex begins to move his hand, going all the way up your shaft and back down, moving devastatingly slow. He couldn't help but lean in to kiss you, and you would've pulled away, you really would've but, he was just so intense, it'd be a sin to pull away. Unless, of course, it was for Alex to talk more. “You're such a fucking loser you know that? Getting a boner all because you pissed yourself? Or was it ‘cause you pissed yourself in front of me?” Alex doesn't give you a chance to respond before he pulls you even closer and kisses you again. He speeds up his hand, sufficiently getting you to moan into the kiss, and he takes that chance to force his tongue into your mouth. Alex places a firm grip on the back of your neck, kissing you roughly as his other hand returns to the slow, steady pace he had set before. You throw your arms around Alex’s neck, getting weirdly into the situation you have yourself in. 

Alex only lasts a few minutes like that before he flips you around, pushing you against the closest tree and pulling your hips against his, forcing you to bend over. He reaches a hand around, shoving two of his fingers into your mouth. He presses down on your tongue, keeping his fingers in your mouth for a few more seconds before taking them out ever so slowly. He puts his free hand on your hip, fingertips digging harshly into the flesh. His other hand finds your entrance, wet fingers pressing into you, pulling an extended whine from your throat. You hear Alex undoing his belt as he works you open, followed by a long sigh as he removes his fingers from your hole and replaces them with the tip of his cock. Are you adequately prepped? Probably not, but at least he had the decency to try.

You aren’t sure how long Alex has been inside of you at this point, but his pace has become unbearably fast, and his thrusts are so hard they’re shaking the few remaining leaves off the dead tree he has you positioned against. Each moan you release is laced with quiver as you make an attempt to tell Alex how close you are, but he seems to catch on. He reaches a hand around to hook his fingers into your mouth, making it impossible for you to form any words at all as he growls.

Alex hissed, sucking in a long breath through his teeth as he bottoms out inside of you. He barely gives you any time at all to adjust as he starts rough right off the bat. The side of your face presses against the tree with every one of his thrusts, and there's drool dripping down your chin from both your inability to close your mouth properly at the moment, and because of just how good he feels inside of you.

“C’mon, you pissed all over yourself, right? You can cum all over yourself for me, too, right?” You do your best to nod, drooling all over Alex’s hand as you moan loud enough to surely be heard from any nearby trails. Alex’s hips start to stutter, too, a sign that he’s without a doubt close to filling you up. You still cum before him, of course. Your muscles spasm, your legs buckling and struggling hold you up. It only takes a few more thrusts for your dick to twitch, sending spurts of cum that hit both your stomach and the tree you're pressed against. 

It can’t be more than a minute before Alex’s fluidity turns jagged, filling you with his hot cum, rutting his hips into you as he does so. Once his movements completely stop your chest is heaving. He slips his fingers out of your mouth, panting as he wipes your spit onto your shirt. He leans into you, holding you up by your hips as you let your upper half relax into the tree that's been oh so graciously supporting you this whole time.

“I’m so glad you pissed yourself, dude.”

“Shut up,” you’d be more irritated if you could muster the energy for it, but all you can gather is an exasperated sigh.

“We really should do this again sometime,” Alex says, his voice still breathy as he kisses the top of your head.

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Halloween/Autumn Prompt List

Hi!!! Welcome to my mish mash of a writing prompt list!! 

NONE OF THESE PROMPTS ARE MINE!!! I took my favorites from other lists and compiled them all together. 

Feel free to request for whoever and feel free to add a plot or just send a name and a prompt!! Happy fall yall!! 

dialogue!! 

“You have a leaf in your hair.”

“You’re shivering.”

“Why don’t you take off that mask? I’d like to see your face.”

“You’re scared of that, really?”

“That’s your favorite candy? You have shit taste.”

“Promise not to laugh at me if I scream.”

“My friend abandoned me at this Halloween party and I don’t know anyone. But you look as miserable as I feel.”

“It says take one, love.”

“Well…you grabbed my hand first.”

“Oh, I see. Is someone a little scared?”

“I spent so long in the darkness I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is.”

“Nice try. You’ll have to work harder to scare me.”

“I know you’re trying to be scary, but you’re just way too cute.”

“I couldn’t find a costume, so I just decided to go as your [partner/bf/gf].”

“You’re a scaredy cat.” / “I am not!”

“Boo!” / “You were scarier with the mask off.”

“What are you supposed to be?” / “It isn’t obvious?”

“Ew candy corn?” / “What? This candy is hated for no reason. It’s good!”

“That kind of scared me.” / “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“Kill me now and put me out of my sugar-fueled misery.” / “I told you to slow down.”

“Come on, it’s just a haunted house! It’ll be like a walk in the park.” / “More like a walk through hell.”

“There’s literally one candle flickering mysteriously. In what universe would I go over there?” / “Is that…a no, then?”

“Oh no. You are not wearing the same costume as me! You can’t!” / “Well I did.”

“Ooh very scary!” / “That’s not part of the costume, dumbass.”

“You could have been a prince(ss).” / “Well, I wanted to be a(n) [insert costume] instead.”

“Who you gonna call?” / “Ghostbusters?”

“You look so stupid.” / “Well, that was the idea since I dressed as you.”

“What happened? Let me help you!” / “Relax, the blood is fake.”

“Carving pumpkins is a lot harder than it looks.” 

“The Frankenstein movie is an absolute insult to Mary Shelley’s novel! I can’t believe you would suggest we watch it!”

“I spent over an hour raking up all those leaves. If you jump in that pile, you’re dead to me.”

“You’re gonna have to work a lot harder if you want to come up with a Halloween prank that will actually scare me.”

“You haven’t really lived if you’ve never camped out in a graveyard on Halloween night.”

“It’s alright. It’s just another power outage.”

“Wait, you seriously don’t like pumpkin pie?”

“I love moments like this. Just curled up by the fire, listening to the rain.”

“The only thing I plan on doing this season is reading through the complete collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s works.”

"what do you mean you've never gone trick-or-treating?!"

"i really appreciate that you're getting into the halloween spirit, but it's ten in the morning. please turn off the slasher films so i can eat my breakfast in peace."

"ah, you've made the mistake in thinking that just because this is a couples/family costume that you get any kind of say in it. you don't, actually.”

"i love you, i swear i do, but we're not wearing matching costumes."

"you're like the toughest person i know! am i really supposed to believe that a horror film is enough to have you cowering into my lap?"

"come on, if there was ever a time for me to be superstitious it's definitely now."

Scenarios 

Tailgating at football game

Baking a pumpkin pie

Visiting an apple orchard

Visiting a pumpkin patch

Carving a pumpkin

Making caramel apples

Bonfire

Corn Maze

Decorating for Halloween

Costume shopping

Buying couple costumes

Baking Halloween cookies

Haunted house

Watching a scary movie

Halloween photoshoot

Setting up a haunted house

Masquerade ball

Going trick-or-treating

Handing out candy

Telling scary stories

Halloween/Murder Mystery Party

comforting the scaredy cat amongst them

laying wide awake at night after watching a horror movie that left them unnerved

Cuddling under a blanket 

Lazy days in 

Flannel shirts 

Cold hands 

Steaming mugs 

Bear hugs 

Pillow forts 

Thunderstorms 

Sharing blankets 

Log cabin 

Mischief Night 

[seerofmike]

Mike's Media Medley; September and October 2024

so it turns out having 3 jobs and being a part time student means i dont wanna do anything ever so this will be kind of a lightning round in which i just state some brief thoughts and give a score on all the things i experienced for the very first time in september and october 2024.

Movies (2024 releases): Blink Twice, My Old Ass, Transformers One, Saturday Night, The Wild Robot

Movies (non-2024 releases): Rear Window (1954), In The Heat of the Night (1967), Tár (2022)

Video games: Touhou Mystia's Izakaya (2021), Cult of the Lamb (2022), Sonic x Shadow Generations, Balatro, and Mouthwashing (2024)

Blink Twice

this is zoe kravitz's directorial debut and im gonna be honest this kind of slayed. i saw some people complain about how long the build up goes but i think the build up makes the twist work even better. speaking of the twist PLEASE take the warning at the beginning of the movie very seriously.

really enjoyed it and might watch it a second time to see if i can pick up new details but i think seeing it two times will exhaust its appeal to me, i think that's like the max i can enjoy it. really good movie but it hinges on the twist.

btw the title card popping up EXTREMELY briefly during a camera flash? 10/10 no notes

77.5/100

In The Heat of the Night (1967)

i think this movie is like, Fine. definitely a solid movie with good performances. i think the cultural context it was made in elevates it and i understand how BOLD this movie would've been back in the 60s (especially when sidney poitier slaps a white man) but as far as like. police procedurals/mystery solving etc goes its not my favorite but that's not necessarily the point.

decent watch, made better with the cultural context of its time

65/100

My Old Ass

this movie was ALRIGHT and i barely remember anything about it. i didn't hate it i don't think. i didn't love it. i think only one moment made me truly laugh and i can't even remember what that moment was.

40/100 on the basis of me liking it i.e it didnt piss me off like some other movies ive watched but maybe the score should be lower because i dont remember a thing about it idk

Rear Window (1954)

i meant to watch this in theaters for its 70th anniversary but i had to work both days it was showing so i rented it from my local library. this is my first hitchcock film and i thought it was REALLY good, definitely way better than i was expecting based on plot synopsis alone but that just shows i was a fool sorry for doubting alfred hitchcock

that being said watching old movies rly makes you notice how many young women get paired up with men twice their age and its narsty and i wanted the mc to die for most of the movie. im only half kidding. didn't care so much for the personal drama side between crusty ass man and his girl tbh

incredibly good suspense. might watch it again but idk if i would like it as much on repeat viewings

80/100

Saturday Night

i couldnt understand a word anyone was saying in this movie because of weird sound mixing and how intrusive the music was especially at the beginning which feels rly uh bad considering how talky this movie is.

wish i could give it a higher score but alas i didnt hear 75% of the plot or jokes which SUCKS because I AM RACHEL SENNOTTS BIGGEST SHOOTERRRRRR

40/100

Tár (2022)

i was kinda bored by this. i got the point i just got bored. i dont rly remember much except thinking it was incredibly funny she got punished by the narrative into orchestrating video game concerts

technically very well made and cate is obviously putting her pussy into this it was just not for me.

45/100

Transformers One

now this is what im fucking talking about

i didnt think i remembered much about transformers but i watched this w my mom and the whole time we were going omg starscream omg soundwave omg i am optimus prime yassssss

choreography is fucking epic. jokes landed for me 75% of the time. but the obvious highlights are the character development and backstories for optimus and megatron. this movie was epic and you should watch it for free on your favorite pirate website because fuck paramount lives and SHOUT OUT TO BRIAN TYREE HENRY OF LEMON FAME WHO HASNT MISSED YET IM GONNA WATCH ATLANTA ONE DAY KING I PROMISE

85/100

The Wild Robot

gorgeous movie. lupita fucking killed it. cried at the end. dont think i would rewatch it much but i greatly enjoyed it. no notes go watch it

85/100

viddy games

Balatro (2024)

girl help

Cult of the Lamb (2022)

ADORABLE art style, lots of mechanics but not necessarily very in depth. the perks just feel kinda eh but i love the aesthetic and the music. also usually not big on things with religious themes but i let this one slide cuz its a cult doing. bad cult things LOL. also i love my little guys

Mouthwashing (2024)

theres literally so much i want to say about mouthwashing but what can i say that hasnt been said already...ill save it for my end of the year review because it is DEFINITELY making my top 7 unless these final 6ish weeks of the year are full of fucking bangers

Sonic x Shadow Generations (2024)

ok so i never played the og sonic generations much, i rented it on redbox once and my brother rented batman arkham city at the same time and we had one xbox so i barely played that thing before we had to return it becuz his stupid ass hogged it all weekend and im not bitter about this still at ALLLLLLLL but god i fucking love shadow the hedgehog so much hes truly the little guy ever

Touhou Mystia's Izayaka (2022)

so i haven't sunk a WHOLE lot of hours into this game because i keep getting distracted by other things but i think its VERY cute and chill and pretty fun and i might be tempted into the touhou project dark side maybe

[ginger-snap-talkin-nonsense]

I deleted the ask because I just woke up and it pissed me off, but holy shit am I fucking sick of hearing people say “The Barbie movie wasn’t even that feminist like oh my god it’s so generic ‘be what you wanna be’” like America Ferrara taking the audience by the shoulders and loudly explaining to them the inherent contradiction in being a woman in society or the general theme of womanhood being complicated and painful but entirely worth the experience no matter how you choose to enjoy it fully realized in the void scene or the Ken subplot being a means to show how the patriarchy severely hurts everyone involved, not just the women, all didn’t fucking matter.

I have no idea what these people wanted out of Barbie but I am long past the point of taking criticism of the movies feminist theme seriously when even the non Ben Shapiros in the audience watched a movie where Margot Robbie absolutely stole the show with a heart wrenching film about what it means to be alive and spent the whole time going “WOW KEN IS THE ONLY THING WORTH TALKING ABOUT HERE IM SO KENOUGH HAHAHA”

Like maybe the blatantly loud and obvious feminist message needs to be at the level it’s at because people still weren’t getting it at that level. Maybe when the amount of people talking about America Ferrera or Margot Robbie in the movie instead of how Ken is “just like them fr” hits the double digits.

I get that your personalities revolve around hating popular things and digging for things to complain about, but kindly piss off with that shit around me, cool cool?

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of an affair

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 20

In my diary entry dated April 5, I wrote, “The baby’s getting more beautiful as each day goes by. Dr. Turman said she’s healthy and progressing well. Matt went with me to the pediatrician, waiting outside in the car. He also accompanied me to the obstetrician. He’s insisting I keep up with my regular checkups taking care of both of us like a doting father.

“But I’ve been lonely for him since the baby’s birth; he is still withdrawn. It’s been two months and he still hasn’t touched me. I’m getting concerned.”

The following day, I wrote, “I asked Matt if anything was wrong, if he’s lost his desire for me. I saw this made him a little uncomfortable. He told me he wants to make sure my system’s back to normal—that he doesn’t want to hurt me. That made me feel a little better.

“We brought Charlotte to our room, put her in the middle of the bed with us. She’s such a good baby—we can’t believe she’s ours.”

Matt and I started getting back into our regular routine. Since the baby was born, we were spending more time at Graceland, eventually moving all the horses back to the original stables, James selling much of the equipment and, later, the Circle G itself.

Matt accepted fatherhood with a great deal of joy, but the fact that I was a mother had a disquieting effect on him. I didn’t understand at the time, but later on I would learn more about men who are very close to their own mothers. I am no purveyor of Freudian theory. I believe when a man comes into the world, his first unconditional love is his mother. She cuddles him, gives him warmth, the breast for nourishment, and everything he needs to exist. None of those feelings has a sexual connotation. Later, when his own wife becomes a mother, this bank of memories is ripped open and his passion may dissipate.

When Matt’s mother was alive they had been unusually close. Matt even told her about his amatory adventures, and many nights when she was ill, he would sleep in her room with her. All the girls he took out seriously had to fulfill Mary Lou’s requirements of the ideal woman. And as with me, Matt then put the girl on a pedestal, “saving her” until the time was sacred and right. He had his wild times, his flings, but any girl he came home to he had to respect.

Now I was a mother and he was uncertain how to treat me. He had mentioned before we were married that he had never been able to make love to a woman who’d had a child. But throughout my pregnancy—until the last six weeks—we had made love passionately. He’d been very careful each time, afraid that he might hurt the baby or me, but he was always loving and sensitive to my needs. Now months had passed.

On April 20 I wrote in my diary: “I embarrassed myself last night. I wore a black negligee, laid as close to Matt as I could while he read. I guess it was because, I knew what I wanted and was making it obvious. I kissed his hand, then each finger, then his neck and face. But I waited too long. His sleeping pills had taken effect. Another lonely night.”

Finally, months later Matt made love to me. Before we made love, he told me I was a young mother now, that being the mother of his child is very special. But I wrote in my diary, “I am beginning to doubt my own sexuality as a woman. My physical and emotional needs were unfulfilled.”

We returned to Los Angeles, where Matt was filming Live a Little, Love a Little. He started getting into his old habits again. Frustrated, I started searching for dance classes to enroll in. I looked through the local Yellow Pages until one class caught my attention, a school for jazz and ballet not far from home.

The studio was small and unpretentious; the owner, Mark, was an extremely attractive and dynamic man of forty-five. He was an excellent dancer and a fine teacher, and by the time I left that afternoon, I had enrolled for private lessons.

Still too shy to dance in front of a group, I wanted to wait until I was sure I could keep up with the other dancers before taking a class. I began taking private lessons three times a week. Mark’s personal interest and attention were flattering, and I was soon doing lifts and jumps, things I’d never thought I could accomplish.

He said I had the potential to be a good dancer, and he pushed me to the limit. Out of frustration and pain I would want to quit. Demanding that I continue, he told me I was building character and forced me to repeat the same routine until it was nearly perfected. This made me realize that I could go further than I’d ever dreamed.

He believed in me, and I was accomplishing something. For the first time I was creating, feeling good about myself, and I couldn’t wait to get to class each day.

Mark was charismatic and I was particularly vulnerable. In lieu of a passionate marriage, dance was becoming my life; I was obsessed with it, taking all my frustrations and feelings into the studio. I found myself thinking about Mark even when I was home. I had only seen him a few times in my life and yet I was unable to get him out of my mind. I rationalized, telling myself it was because he was always there for me. He seemed to understand me, while the man I truly loved was involved in his own world. I began to relax, enjoying myself almost against my will. It had been a while since I’d spent some time with a man who validated my abilities and appreciated spending time with me alone. It was also the first time I was not competing for my own identity. This was a high I had not experienced recently. I had a brief affair and decided to end it.

I came out of it realizing I needed much more out of my relationship with Matt. Matt and I decided to get away to Hawaii.

This was the first time we’d gone on holiday, and I was hoping that it would be a second honeymoon, that my experience with Mark would be forgotten. We took along Charlotte, her nurse, Nate, Amber, Patsy and her husband, Gee Gee, Steven and his wife Nora, and Charlie. We checked into the Ilikai Hotel on Waikiki, but soon found that Matt couldn’t go to the beach without attracting a crowd. We decided to rent a house on a private beach and spent the rest of our vacation there.

We had a great time, and Matt and I were like two kids again, away from the pressures and the filming—and away from Mark, to whom my attention would occasionally wander.

It was there that we met Tom Jones, and Matt became very fond of him. He had always enjoyed Tom’s vocal style, especially in “Green, Green Grass of Home,” which Matt had first heard while traveling from L.A. to Boston. He’d called me when they’d stopped in Arizona, encouraging me to get the record.

Tom Jones and Matt enjoyed an instant rapport. After an appearance at the Ilikai, Tom invited us to his suite, along with our group. Within minutes the champagne exploded and the party was on. We laughed, drank, joked, drank some more (lots more), jammed—and reeled back to the Ilikai at dawn. Matt had had such a good time he personally invited Tom and his group to join us the next day at our beach house. A friendship was born, a friendship of mutual respect and admiration.

One of Matt’s outstanding attributes was his conviction that there was room for anyone with talent in the entertainment field. In my experience, only a few stars are this generous. Greed, insecurity, jealousy, ego usually keep celebrities from supporting one another.

Matt could spot talent instantly. In Las Vegas, we regularly took in lounge acts featuring various up-and-coming artists, and if Matt liked the show, he patronized the club, encouraging the entertainers to pursue their careers, infusing them with confidence and enthusiasm.

Some of his favorites were Ike and Tina Turner, Gary Puckett and the Union Gap, dancers Tybe and Bracia, and old-timers Fats Domino and the Ink Spots, all talented people deserving acknowledgment in their craft.

One night we visited Barbra Streisand backstage at the International Hotel, now the Hilton. It was a classic Streisand performance and Matt, after a few too many Bloody Marys, wanted to tell Barbra his impressions. We were ushered backstage to her dressing room and Matt’s first words upon meeting her were: “What did you ever see in Elliott Gould? I never could stand him.”

In typical Streisandese she retorted, “Whaddya mean? He’s the fah-tha of my child!”—leaving Matt speechless.

Matt had some other very special favorites—Arthur Prysock, John Gary, opera star Robert Merrill, Brook Benton, Roy Orbison, and Charles Boyer’s recording “Where Has Love Gone?”

He couldn’t abide singers who were, in his words, “all technique and no emotional feeling” and in this category he firmly placed Mel Torme and Robert Goulet. They were both responsible for two television sets being blown away with a.357 Magnum.

Matt’s five-year contract with MGM was up in 1968 and he was finally free to move on to new challenges. Even Colonel admitted that Matt’s career needed a shot in the arm. NBC made him an offer to do his own television special, with newcomer Steve Binder directing. There was no initial format, but the idea was tempting and the money was right. The fact that there was no script—that it was an “open development”—made Colonel hesitant to agree. Colonel demanded more control than that, but Matt wanted to meet Steve, make sure that they could get along, speak the same language.

It had been years since Matt had appeared on TV and he was nervous. To his surprise, Steve was much younger than he had anticipated, extremely perceptive, and soft-spoken, a startling contrast to the studio heads he’d worked with, men much older, with hardened, preconceived opinions on how Matt should be packaged and sold. For the first time in years he felt creative. Steve Binder gained Matt’s trust and had the sensitivity to let Matt just be Matt. Steve observed, took mental notes, learned Matt’s ways, discovered what made his star comfortable and what got him uptight.

During their meetings Steve sensed Matt’s fear that he hadn’t been before a live audience in years but he noticed that Matt came alive backstage in the dressing room jamming with the musicians.

Each day he grew more confident and excited about his new project, taking pride once again in his appearance, watching his weight, following his diet, and working closely with the show’s costume designer, Bill Belew, creating a look we hadn’t seen him sport in years—the black leather suit.

I was surprised when he said, “Sattnin, I feel a little silly in that outfit. You think it’s okay?”

Matt knew this special was a big step in his career. He could not fail. For two straight months he worked harder than on all his movies combined. It was the most important event in his life.

During this time I was discovering whole new worlds of music—Segovia; Blood, Sweat and Tears; Tchaikovsky; Santana; Mason Williams; Ravel; Sergio Mendes; Herb Alpert—and I was anxious to share my new enthusiasms, music and dance, with my husband. I wanted to bring energy to our relationship in the hope of strengthening our marriage. Discussions at the dinner table now included Leonard Bernstein and Carlos Montoya, but they held no appeal for Matt; the TV special was consuming all his thoughts.

He was away much of the time, and when we did see each other our level of communication was strictly superficial. Each absorbed in our own separate pursuits, we had little in common except our daughter. My approach with him was delicate: I was aware of the distance growing between us. But because of his preoccupation with the special, I realized that the last thing he needed from me was a statement that I feared we were drifting apart.

In his absence, I was taking care of Charlotte in addition to attending dance classes in the morning, ballet in the early evening, and two jazz classes at night, lasting often until one in the morning. I was now studying with a new dance instructor, who was using me to give demonstrations for the evening classes. Many of the students were professional dancers. I had diligently worked my way into the company, rehearsing four hours every day to master new steps, constantly pushing myself to new limits, and eventually I was to take a place in the dance company, anonymously performing shows on weekends at colleges in the L.A. area.

Matt’s Singer TV special was a huge success, the highest-rated special of the year, and his finale, “If I Can Dream,” was his first million-sell-ing record in years. We sat around the TV watching the show, nervously anticipating the response. Matt was quiet and tense through the whole program, but as soon as the calls started, we all knew he had a new triumph. He hadn’t lost his touch. He was still the King of Rock and Roll.

It was a blessing for both of us. The hours I devoted to dance released him from the strain of my dependence. My new interest didn’t pose a threat in the sense that taking up a profession would have. I was still there to tend to his needs, as he wanted his wife to be, while also creating my own world, no longer intimidated by the magnitude of his. I was growing, learning, and expanding as an individual.

This new freedom nearly came to an abrupt end when a newcomer to the clan decided to take it upon himself to investigate my comings and goings. He reported to Matt that I was seen coming out of a dance studio at a late hour and did Matt want him to carry it any further. Matt’s unpredictability in dealing with certain crises in life could be astounding.

Logically, such a volatile man would explode. Instead, he made no accusations. His only comment was, “Little One, there are some people who are insinuating you’ve been seen coming out of a dance studio at late hours.”

“It’s true. You know I’m part of the company. It’s not just me leaving. That’s the time we break.”

I pleaded with him to tell me who was starting trouble. All he would say was, “Let’s put it this way: He’s new and he’s treading on dangerous ground. If he knows what’s good for him, he better keep the fuck to his own business.”

After the success of his special, Matt devoted several weeks to a recording session, and again he was highly motivated. For the first time in fourteen years, he’d been persuaded to record in Memphis, at the American Sound Studios, a black company where major artists, including Aretha Franklin, had recorded their most recent hits. The studio musicians were young and Matt had a great rapport with them. More importantly, he made great music with them.

He’d be at the studio singing until the early-morning hours and then return the next evening, full of energy and ready to start again. His voice was in top form and his excitement was infectious. Each cut was more terrific than the one before. We’d listen to the songs over and over, Matt yelling, “All right, listen to that sound,” or “Goddamn, play it again.”

Colonel stayed away from this session. Matt was the artist, and he was on a roll. He ended up recording so many songs, it took RCA a year and a half to release them all, including hits like “In the Ghetto,” “Kentucky Rain,” and “Suspicious Minds.”

Watching Matt sing with confidence again, honing each word in his own style, filled us all with pride. What a contrast to sessions in the past that had been filled with anger, frustration, and disappointment, resulting in late arrivals or, on occasion, no-shows.

At one point he looked over at me, smiled, then casually started singing “From a Jack to a King.” He knew it was a favorite of mine. Later he sang “Do You Know Who I Am?” As I listened to the words, I couldn’t help but relate to them.

After four years of lackluster songs, he was back on the charts again, and RCA could no longer complain about him. They’d been threatening the Colonel that if Matt didn’t have a recording session soon, they were going to rerelease some of his old songs.

One success led to another. Since his TV special, he was eager to begin performing in front of a live audience again, to prove to everyone that he hadn’t lost his touch. Looking for the best source of immediate income, the Colonel made a deal with the nearly completed Las Vegas International for Matt to headline there for a month, at a salary of half a million dollars.

Vegas was the challenge he needed to demonstrate that he could still captivate a live audience. This was what he loved most and did best. But it was a major challenge.

He hadn’t made any real demands on his voice in years and now was locked into two shows a night for twenty-eight days straight. Anxious, he wondered whether he was up to the strain, whether he’d draw sellout crowds, whether he would be able to hold an audience for a full two hours. He wanted this new act to be accepted, feeling he now had more than his rock-and-roll gyrations to offer.

Not only was this a crucial time in his career, but there was the additional pressure of the unprecedented fee and the fact that Las Vegas was the only city where he’d bombed, thirteen years earlier, in 1956.

He wasn’t the kind of person who’d come out and say, “I’m scared.” Instead I’d see it in his actions, his left leg shaking, and his foot tapping. He held in his fears and emotions until at times he would explode, tearing into anyone who happened to be around. At dinner one evening Matt said that he was concerned about his hairstyle, and I mentioned I’d seen a billboard of Ricky Nelson on Sunset Boulevard. His hair was long with a slight wave, and I thought it was extremely appealing. I innocently suggested that Matt take a look at it. “Are you goddamn crazy?” he shouted. “After all these years, Ricky Nelson, Fabian, that whole group have more or less followed in my footsteps, and now I’m supposed to copy them? You’ve gotta be out of your mind, woman.”

He left the dinner table in a rage. He had always been hailed as an original and now he was afraid that in Vegas even that wouldn’t be enough. I knew I had injured his ego and for that I apologized.

In preparing his show for the International, Matt pulled out all the stops. He was in top form—on a natural high quite independent of pills. He was more trim and physically fit than he’d ever been.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - these next few chapters will be a little slower paced sorry!!🎀

[toomuchracket]

mads I keep imagining that d word girly would have an incident where she gets really defensive about Matty’s personal space/safety. maybe after he went into the crowd at the Hollywood bowl? but I actually think it might be when that reporter approached him in LA. I think she’d be like “you can you leave my boyfriend the fuck alone? He won’t be mean to you, but I will.” Or something else, pick your poison!

(i am dramatising these instances a bit)

actually yeah, i think that as much as you're professional and careful with what you publicly do or say and pretty good at staying calm in stressful situations, there's only so much you can take re. matty's safety/wellbeing/general happiness being threatened right before your eyes. your reaction to the hollywood bowl incident was maybe slightly amplified given the, um, changes to your body that you found out about a few days later, but it was justified - thinking that you (and denise, sitting next to you) got really worried when matty went over the other side of the barrier, and you got progressively angrier when they all started shoving phones at him and trying to grab him, to the point denise actually had to hug you just to stop you storming down there yourself and trying to intervene. literally, she had to calmly whisper "he's fine, he'll be fine, mark's there to keep him safe", while you were seething about "fucking animals they don't give a fuck about him it's fucking ridiculous imagine having such little respect for another person" (and this was BEFORE you started crying about peanut. quite the evening for you!). do you know what you were going to actually do once you got there? no, but probably nothing good.

in some ways, the earlier thing with the reporter in LA was probably worse to witness, because you saw matty up close and personal realise in real-time that he was being pestered by a journalist; you're both used to being filmed by randoms when they meet you (well, as used to it as you can ever be), and so you've gotten quite good at quickly determining if people seem a bit off, and thus i think it was you who clocked the girl was a reporter because she was holding her phone in a really weird way to try and discreetly get the shot (as opposed to fans generally being obvious about the fact they're filming). you whispered to matty to tell him, before you were audibly like "so sorry but we can't talk right now, we're running late for a meeting", but she still persisted in asking questions - matty didn't want to be impolite, you knew that (plus he kinda squeezed your hand anxiously like "help"), so you tried again to shut her down like "no seriously we literally can't talk right now" to no avail. she's talking over you, stepping closer as you move back, generally being a dick, and you think fuck it and calmly say, like you said, "look. my boyfriend won't be rude and tell you to leave him alone, and i've tried to do it politely with no success. so i'm going to be a bitch about it, actually - can you just fuck off? thanks". it works, but as soon as you say it you're internally trying to figure out damage control on yourself. but it's not too bad, because cctv and nearby fans caught the whole thing on tape and showed she was actually being a pest. and matty's reaction to you saying that was good; he kissed your hand as you walked off together like "that was so fucking cool, baby, i can't believe you got all aggressively protective over me like that. it was sexy", and you got all blushy but were still fired up like "nobody messes with my man", and matty was almost swooning like "so fucking true. i love you!" lol <3

[lesbiancolumbo]

sorry i've been catching up with your ask posts and about the substance... i haven't even watched the movie (i am gonna, i'm just too busy with work rip) but if you watch a TRAILER. a 2+ min summary for idiots. it's obvious they're one and the same... that's the whole idea, the crux of the story. oh god. those people really are pretending to be stupid - and doing a great job, no? feeling more determined to watch it now tbh. thank you for always being so sane about women in cinema, it's dire

misogyny makes people really fucking stupid. we do this every year with the woman directed film du jour, and we will inevitably all see each other once again in this space next year with whatever film replaces this one in The Discourse.

for the record, i’m all for a film inspiring some healthy discourse, and it’s a good thing to me that a film like this is so polarizing and yet still doing well financially. people ultimately want stories that push boundaries and take big swings, and i support women in this industry’s rights to be messy, to be a little chaotic or edgy, to take big swings, to succeed but also to fail.

but also - whether we’re conscious of it or not - we’ve been taught by this industry (which was built on the backs of women but whateverrrrrrrr) to write off, shrug off, and not take women seriously as creatives. coralie seemed to be very conscious of that and said okay, and then she wrote the last 20 minutes of the film, and now all of sudden people are taking her VERY SERIOUSLY. there’s no winning! it’s all rigged!

anyways. watch the film, it’s a fucking blast. and i will always be here to provide that sane, level-headed commentary. if you don’t know this about me by now, it’s that i’m always going to give women creatives the grace to be ambitious and to fail, i’m always going to give them the benefit of the doubt, and i’m always going to advocate for their films being produced, financed, and seen by audiences. if i ever stop doing that, it’s because i’m fucking dead.

[heretherebedork]

Oh, this flashback hurts, like really hurts.

Achi with his crush on Ji already and Ji with his crush on Pear and Achi just standing there and introducing them and all that love turning into teasing because teasing is the only way to stay next to Ji, to keep his attention, to stay with him... but also how that teasing means that now Ji never takes him seriously.

Ugh, the tears in Achi's eyes as he watches the movie next to Ji, in love and certain he'll never get what he wants and how that transitions to his present with the tears in his eyes as he films and the memories that bring him pain? I love this boy so much even if he's pushy with Ji..

A decade of being in love and then having his love confirmed and then absolutely rejected? Ooof. Rough.

(This shows is giving me whiplash, between me being frustrated at how pushy Achi is being to then wondering what would happen if he wasn't pushy at all because it's obvious Ji would just keep pushing him away forever...)

And then he only agrees to help him study to see Pear again? And Achi is just so silent and so Ji assumes they might be chasing the same girl and uuuugggh the queer teenager of it all, the way it aches. @absolutebl I am enjoying the little high school BL inside my adult BL.

My heart for this boy and his pining eyes. And the teenagerness of him, the way he's so desperate but so scared and so much in love but so young and so innocent and the way we know him as this joking adult who hides his pain and pining behind a smile and a joke as much as he can because that's all he has but now we're being invited into the quiet and slow pain and pining he's been trapped in for so long.

(Ji has been scared of his own sexuality for as long as Achi's been pining and that just hurts. That's a stab in the gut, that's two boys in something aching and now two men who still don't know what to do but want to do it so badly.)

[wellofdean]

This is old news, but I just read it for the first time and really loved it:

Rewatching Supernatural has been an interesting experience. I first watched most of it (from the start of season 2 on) in real time as it aired, and I have to admit that I did not take it very seriously. I gave it no thought whatsoever between episodes, and thought of it as an hour of indulgence in something dumb and pretty: two handsome brothers and their angel who fought monsters and melodrama every week. I never missed an episode and did love it, but I didn't truly engage with it.

It seems, however, that Supernatural worked on me in some kind of subterranean, unconscious way, because when it ended, I found I couldn't let it go. Part of that was the terrible narrative malpractice of its ending, but when I really thought about it, I realised that I also just missed Dean. He had been a weekly visitor for more than a decade, and I just didn't want my time with him to be over. I started watching Supernatural again, and the experience has been really interesting. A lot of things about my perception of it have shifted, and one of the main shifts has been in my apprehension of the serious artistic intelligence, nigh-on unbelievable range, and sheer excellence of Jensen Ackles' performance of Dean.

I keep thinking about what an incredible undertaking Dean is -- a 15-year-long development of one character! About how different the actor who played Dean in episode one is from the actor who played Dean in episode 325. How age, experience, and depth are reflected in both the character and the performance. It is just impossible to watch it and not see that there is an incredible evolution there, and at the same time, a kind of devastating psychological and emotional continuity.

Supernatural is a show that requires you to suspend disbelief and agree to go along with it. It can be silly and schlocky, and it's emotional strokes are often broad ones. It started airing in a time when our society was very different from the way it is now on issues surrounding social justice and inclusion. It isn't 'prestige TV' and it puts on no airs of being anything beyond what it is, but when the whole story is in your mind and you revisit it, and you aren't engaged with taking in plot and anticipating (or desiring) outcomes, you start noticing its subtlety, its themes, motifs and story parallels, the liminal spaces of its setting, the subtler play of emotion in moments without dialogue, and it starts to feel much deeper, more epic and just straight up BETTER than you ever thought it was.

All of that is mirrored in Jensen's performance. He grew into Dean and grew into an artist who could play Dean. He's not afraid of a little schtick, he's very capable of being obvious, but he's even better at the subtleties that allow Dean's inner life to rise up in his face without words. I love how this article positions Jensen's performance as being like that of so many classic film stars, the idea that he used his own essence -- the full range of his psychology, emotions and physicality with skill and intention to achieve what he did with Dean. His long commitment to and investment in the character, and the way he fully embodies Dean because Dean is a character that he built from pieces of himself.

Anyway. I have a lot of respect for his work. I love Dean and think he is magnificent. I hope Jensen Ackles knows how good he is, and is suitably proud of himself, and I am very grateful to hear that by all accounts, Dean is not over for him, because Dean is not over for me.

Sheila O'Malley wrote a few really nice pieces about Jensen's performance as Dean and one about Soldier Boy, and I recommend them. Very much enjoyed.

[amadmadmadworld]

31 Days of Horror

Day 2: The Autopsy of Jane Doe

Ooohhh boy. I cannot tell you how much I love this movie. I like a lot of movies, it doesn't take much to make me like one (which is why I would probably not make a good critic). But I am totally serious when I say that this one particular flick is at least in my top five of all time favorites. Which is why I am so frustrated by how criminally underrated it is.

Here's the story: set in Virginia (my home state <3), a grisly scene is found in a seemingly serene suburban home. Three people (an older couple and a worker unrelated to the couple) are viciously murdered, the house in disarray with blood and obvious signs of chaos. However, they are killed in different ways and the details confuse the investigators. But it gets even more strange when they find a partially buried young woman in the basement. Unlike the other victims at the scene, she is undisturbed, clean of any bloodshed and trauma. She's not related to any of the three victims and nobody has any clue of who she is or how she got there. So, the local sheriff (played by Michael McElhatton, who oddly looks like Kevin Spacey but thankfully has no relation to him) takes the victim--customarily referred to as Jane Doe--to local coroner/mortician Tommy Tilden and his son & assistant, Austin. The two conduct a customary autopsy on the young lady, and that is when the story really gets going. As mentioned before, she is clean. If anything, she looks like a Sleeping Beauty, untouched and at peace. But that turns out to be very, very untrue. Right off the bat, her eyes are milky, like she's been dead for quite a while, but doesn't have the slightest indications of rigor mortis or decay. She does, however, have shattered wrists and ankles, foreign dirt in her hair and under her nails, and, oh, a tongue that's been ripped out. That's just the tip of the iceberg. As the two continue the autopsy, they find more and more oddities and internal damage inflicted by horrific torture. If that's not enough, creepy things start to act up around them in the morgue as they dig deeper in to the mystery that is Jane Doe before it spirals into total madness. I would love to go on about the rest of the story and the haunting, fascinating details, but I don't want to spoil it. But, seriously, once you start watching it, you're sucked right in and don't want to stop until you see it all the way to the end. And it is so worth it. By the end, you are puzzled, unnerved, and wondering what hell you just watched and what happens next.

The movie directed by André Øvredal (who also did Mirrors, The Last Voyage of The Demeter, Trollhunter, and Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark) came out in 2016 and has a very small cast, perfect for a movie in a claustrophobic setting. It's stars are the excellent Brian Cox and the grudgingly decent Emile Hirsch (I must let you know that, a year before the movie was released, he strangled a female executive with his bare hands. He was sentenced to 15 days in jail, 90 days of probation, 50 hours of community service, and additionally fined $4,750. Ick.) However, the other, unsung star of the film is the lovely Miss Olwen Kelly. An Irish model who has dabbled in cinema, she plays the role of who else but the titular Jane Doe. Kelly steals the show without having to so much as blink, which is exactly what she does. Now, here's the thing: in these movies, they sometimes use an actor and a dummy. But not this particular movie. It's all Kelly. As in, every scene, every second featuring Jane Doe even in the background, is Olwen Kelly herself in the flesh. Prosthetics and makeup are used, of course, but it's still all Kelly. Lying perfectly still, unblinking, breathless, and totally limp. She spent hours like this. Seriously. As it turns out, Kelly practices yoga and, for the movie, she mastered controlling her breathing and relaxing her body to the point she would seem totally devoid of breath and life, just like a corpse. Damn, Kelly, talk about committing to the bit. Thanks to her creepy technique and excellent acting (or lack of acting, since she's a body), the character Jane Doe and the movie are all the more unnerving and feel so real in spite of the bizarre twists and turns. She might not be moving a muscle, but for almost the entire movie, Jane Doe is staring at us with a blank and spine chilling gaze that would make Sissy Spacek's Carrie and The Grudge's Kayako proud, all the while she tells her story through the puzzle that is her body and one special song that comes up every now and then in the movie, Open Up Your Heart (And Let The Sunshine In) originally by the McGuire Sisters and covered by Cowboy Church Sunday School.

Everything about this movie is top notch. The acting, the writing, the setting, the story, the music, the characters, the scares, even the littlest details, is nothing short of amazing. Hell, even Stephen goddamn King agreed. The master of horror compared it to Cronenberg's early films and the classic Alien. He recommended to watch it but, quote, "not alone". It is a truly spooky story, and its undertones perfectly tackle the invisible devastation of psychological and emotional trauma. The movie's message fits so well in the cases of horror and mental health: everything might look fine, but if you look close enough, you'll find that it's not. Brian Cox, as Tommy Tilden, sums it all up quite well with one line he says in the first act of the movie: "Every body has a secret. Some are just better at them than others."

[bengiyo]

Dangerous Romance Ep 12 (Finale) Stray Thoughts

Last week, Sailom continued to baffle me by refusing to accept literally anyone’s help and then cried in a shower as he thanked Kanghan because he thought he was all alone 😑. Name is apparently “not that bad” because he pulled a gun on his boss in the dumbest way possible and then showed up at the hospital to shoot his boss before he could kill Kanghan’s dad. I think Kanghan got shot??

How is Sailom still falling for Kanghan’s obvious pranks?

Why are they all here? Bruh, Kanghan got shot. You got shot at. They wanna check on you guys!

So they went with Kong getting show as Saifah tried to wrestle the gun from the Boss.

The father and son reconciliation lands fine. Facing mortality can give much-needed perspective.

What in the Bangkok Love Story (2007) is this “I’ll be waiting for you” that Saifah has with Name?

Nothing lets the people know we’re all doing better than the high drama of SPORTS.

How dare they tease me about Max and Auto’s potential like this at the end?

Pimfah is going to visit an island nation that turned the entire countryside into lawns, while eliminating large predators and other keystone critters, to study environmental preservation? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!

Guy and Nawa making a competition out of this confession into a makeout actually feels so correct for them.

Okay, the grandma and dad walking off work Sailom was funny.

Now, why is Kanghan giving this speech?

Did you think we were getting out of this finale without referencing the heavy-handed windmill motif? Don't be a fool! What is this In & Out (1997) graduation speech??

So I guess that harrowing either or choice about studying with that senior from the open house just didn't matter, eh? Consistent!

Look at them just filming kids. Bad idea.

They're really want me to buy into these lesbian crumbs at the end.

Why the fuck are they suddenly giving Sailom a voiceover about equality and the fact that he can't escape his fate? Y'all abandoned that shit over two months ago!

Oh, we pulled the drone out for this kiss and pan for the windmill farm? Sure.

....this tag is escort roleplay... I have questions.

He got into this tub with all his clothes on. What in the A Shoulder to Cry On is happening??

Final Verdict: 3, This Was Not It. I absolutely did not enjoy watching this show at all for the last ten episodes. This show does not take Sailom or poverty seriously. This show was high-key offensive the entire time. The show wants to do this thing with people with means interacting with those without, but they do it in such a slapdash way and primarily from the perspective of the wealthy that it comes off as deeply condescending. To make matters worse, Perth and Chimon's chemistry did not come through to save this at all. After two outings in high school this year together, I'm just not into them as a pair. We thought they would be strong together, but I am not impressed. I do not recommend this show at all if you wanna take any part of it seriously. If you just wanna look at faces it might be fine, but this was not the fun kind of trash I can enjoy. One fucking chop.

[squeakygeeky]

600 hours/1 year of Thai

It's just under a year actually and I hit my goal for the year. I've been learning Thai will the 'ALG method' which is all about immersion. I mostly use this channel and I also take 1-2hrs of listening webinars a week. I'm currently on intermediate content. The transition from beginner was okay, but my comprehension levels feel on the lower side and they don't feel like they're improving that noticeably. It could just be that I'm pretty bored of lessons at this point.

I recently tried re-watching Lovely Writer and then He's Coming to Me without subtitles. I'm not sure why, but Lovely Writer felt easier. Maybe because there aren't any voiceovers and the non-romance vocabulary was centered on writing and film, which I'm more familiar with than heart conditions and funerary practices. I guess Lovely Writer also stuck in my head more, even though I had only watched each series one time. There were only a few points where I wished I actually understood, because I couldn't remember exactly what had been said in the scene. With He's Coming to Me I was more lost. Also it had more traffic noise picked up with the dialogue. I do think I will continue re-watching shows for a lot of my input. Even if my comprehension isn't that high, I'm wayyyy more engaged so it's worth it. I do think watching a whole series without subtitles is a ways off and I'd be too confused to get drawn in at all. I do watch a Thai game show with talented kids called Super 10 sometimes and I recommend it to anyone at an intermediate or higher Thai level. It's pretty easy to understand.

I still do watch shows with subtitles and it's with that where I really feel the progress I'm making because sometimes I forget for a minute to put subtitles on until the dialogue gets past basic phrases. However I'm still not logging that as part of my learning hours so the 600 number is really 600+.

I think part of the struggle now is that I don't feel like I'm picking up a lot of new words. Instead I think I'm getting grammar and cadence and the different ways that words I recognized are actually used. The way people talked to each other in terms of pronouns and particles was something I was already interested in and had explicitly learned a bit about, but now it's really obvious and one of my favorite things to pay attention to. The way Gene and Sib talk to each other feels absolutely wild now.

I was going to work on learning the alphabet more, but right now all I can really do is sound something out to see if the word is what I think it is. I may start learning to read more seriously even though it's not recommended by the ALG method to start yet (for accent reasons, which don't really matter given my lack of anyone Thai to talk to lol). I am really curious how I would fare in conversation if I actually tried. I do think I could talk about more than fruit.

There's a part of me that wonders if I should actually just stop, or cut back a lot. I don't need to know Thai, and this was partly an experiment on myself, which I think I can call a success. Meanwhile I actually need and use Spanish and I haven't been making much progress there, and a part of me still wants to learn Vietnamese (or one of about 2-5 other languages depending on my mood). But also, I like Thai and in another year I think I could watch shows without subtitles comfortably, and at that level I could stop trying to learn at all and would probably still improve.

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

Also I dunno whether you've watched Barbie movie in the end, but there is an actually good message of one embracing their life in their *entirety* and not just at the time of youth, energy and beauty in like period from 20 to 30 or something. Though I'd think mention of a scene where Barbie tells an old woman that she is beautiful (thus embracing the idea) and thing about her choosing to become a human and live whole life rather than always be a (literal) doll already would reach anyone by now? 🤔 And also I personally think the message that a person is already valid and enough as their own entity, even without a partner (of the opposite gender in this case) has a good merit (when Barbie and Ken let each other go). Plenty of people still think that they have "failed" in life if they don't have husband/wife. It is important to love yourself first and foremost, rather than place your worth on having a partner! Some people simply will live and die single, and it is not always a bad thing (for example, plenty of scientists of the past never found wives, instead choosing life of solitude for proper pursuit of knowledge). Basically it strangely speaks with men too, not just women. If you didn't have context for the "I am Kenough" pictures here it is yeah

Basically what I am saying is, this movie actually has kinda valid existential messages that maybe *should* be obvious but most people will get caught stressing over dumb things. Like, seeing your "worth" as a human being only in period of youth and beauty is very 'human' message. Recently one feminist movie after another fails and evokes nothing but arguments and hatred, but this movie feels different? But now I do want to know what do you think of it. Would you say that 1) they boosted it with actually very 'human' sentiments to push the agenda better (the 'giving medicine with a spoon full of sugar' kinda logic) or 2) there was *genuine* intention and positive vision of feminism? Like... do you think this is "all part of the plan" but this time trying to be "nice" instead of just insulting their own audience (like feminism movies normally do), or creators had genuinely optimistic vision and what they *think* feminism means? Or maybe the secret third thing where the movie is not bad because it doesn't take itself all that seriously + did NOT have advertisement campaign built on fabricated audience's outrage (you know, THE ones)?

I'm glad you found things in the movie to provoke thought, but I've no intention of ever seeing it myself. It's good to remind oneself sometimes that just because something's in the news this week, you don't have to jump on board the coach and go pay to look at it, with either your money or your time. I've heard in passing many detailed reports on the plot of the film, from many differing points of view, so I feel I've received enough of a multifaceted picture of what it does to know I don't want to waste two hours of my life on it. There are tens of thousands of actually good films out there that aren't trying to smuggle in radical feminist hatred of men, so I'll choose to watch those instead.

[miffmuff]

Fuck it we ball, this is my super duper awesome TAWOG x Scream AU!!! (Spoilers for Scream if you haven't watched it already)

Basically it's all the tawog characters but they've been shoved into the first Scream movie and take over their rules.

They're all human in this AU. I was considering keeping them as cartoons but they'd be very hard to kill, and it'd just get confusing. Also also it's a time skip of 5 years cuz I don't want the events of Scream happening to 12 year old. I'll also tell you guys some of my character hcs while we're at it. Oh and this has a more Scary Movie vibe to it in the sense that it's just not serious at all, it's just for fun!!!

Oh and one more thing, all these designs and details are just doodles and are subject to change :3

long post up ahead! (Also including art!!)

Roles:

Penny/Sydney:

Penny gives such final girl vibes, her and Sydney would get along tbh. Still dating Gumball after all this time, but she's become more distant over the past year. Probably cuz her mum died!!

She's 17, Arab and trans and awesome. She dyes her hair blonde and stuff :3

Carrie/Tatum:

Penny and her got pretty close over the years and now they're besties. Carrie's just awesome, and still dating Darwin! What a wholesome couple, I hope nothing bad happens.

She's 16 and albino, white as a ghost you might say. I really enjoy how her design looks hehe.

Random hc for her, during one Halloween she dressed up as Carrie from the movie. (She actually likes Halloween in this AU)

Gumball/Billy:

Gumball becomes EVIL!! He sees Penny being distant and is that wow that sucks, the final straw however is when she sends 1 heart emoji instead of 3 heart emojis... He's like god dammit she doesn't love me anymore and instead of communicating like a normal person he sets out to KILL her and everything she loves!!! In the words of Randy, there's always some bullshit reason to kill your girlfriend.

Something I've observed in the Scream movies is that everyone just loves to kill people. They act like it's the only resort. Dammit my film teacher gave me a bad grade!! It's okay, I'll just mimic my favorite serial killer and murder her ass!!! Why are film bros like the most evil people ever there, this world seriously has a murdering problem.

To follow the film bro trend, yk how in The Money they mention how Gumball gets obsessed with something weekly, well now it's horror movies. He like mansplains them to Carrie and she's like ☹️

He's 17 and mixed. Half Japanese half white. He dyes his hair blue but gets too lazy to redye it so a lot of roots are showing.

Real ones know where the varsity jacket comes from

Darwin/Stu:

Ahh Darwin, in a wonderful relationship relationship with his hot goth girlfriend, everyone loves him, he's just happy to be there.

Too bad he's so susceptible to peer pressure, now he too is EVIL!! As Gumballs accomplice.

He's 15 and black. He's the youngest

Sarah/Randy:

This one felt obvious, not only does she treat the world like a tv show, but she's also canonically interacted with ghostface! Sarah has forced her way into the group, and no one can get rid of her. Fortunately, she's gotten therapy and is no longer an obsessive stalker, woohoo!!

She's 17 and white, got that y/n messy bun for her collage au self.

Tobias/Casey:

Tobias is still a loser after all these years (affectionate and derogatory at the same time), and he'll die a loser. He gets killed cuz he owes Gumball 5 bucks and Gballs super salty about it.

Design wise I am so indecisive on if I should make him ginger like canon or black. Cuz both are so fitting jcwjxndhjs

Rachel/Steve:

Obviously Tobias doesn't have a girlfriend, so his sister is the next best option. Rachel is just driving over to visit when she's kidnapped and finds herself tied to a chair. Her mouth isn't covered with duck tape in that scene because Gumball and Darwin thought it'd be more torturous for Tobias to just get verbally abused by her. She's not scared just annoyed.

Rob/Roman:

Ahh yes the character introduced in the 3rd movie, yeah you'd think I'd give him a bigger role considering he's my goat but ehh wasn't feeling it. It's okay tho it all connects back to the first movie so it's still fitting!!!

In this universe Rob is just kinda delusional, since this is the real world and not a tv show, he's just gotten super into his roleplay with Gumball from middle school. He still hates Gumball for "giving" him severe electrical scars (it's in some weird butterfly effect typa shit) in middle school so the roleplay was serious on his part.

Y'all ever watch Meet the Robinsons? it's kinda like how Goob never got over the baseball thing and just got worse. Kinda like that. He's the "director" and manipulated Gumball into becoming very irrational and becoming evil, don't ask how I haven't figured that out yet just yeah! He figured you can't kill the main character, but you can kill the villain!!

Penny's mom/Maureen:

I don't know much about her in canon, if there is much to know. Whatever!! She's dead anyway. She died last summer, killed by Gumball, Darwin, Carrie, Tobias, and Sarah all being very irresponsible while driving and hitting her with their car. Gumball was driving. Penny never found out it was them and just thought she was hit by a random drunkie. All her friends are just like yeah... Who would do that......

I wanted to post this when I had all the designs figured out, but let's face it I'm never finishing that shit this had been in my drafts since October.

Ohh and doodles!!!