#Gloss Cast Iron

[bi-writes]

who to call to clean up after an "accident" than your sick and twisted military boyfriend? :D (dark!ghost x dark!fem!reader, 18+)

cw: dark!reader, dark!simon, horror movie vibes, graphic depictions of character death/murder, unhealthy relationship dynamics, one slip of daddy, smut, unprotected piv, simon "spit in my mouth" riley, reader and simon are kinda psycho :D

you've been so nice to her. really nice. you've let it slide off your back whenever she doesn't do her dishes. you pretend you don't notice when she borrows your shoes from the hallway and wears them out to dinner. you hide yourself in your room when she has her awful, loud guests over, and you have never once said anything about how she takes her sweet time in the shared bathroom in the morning and makes you late 2 days a week for work.

but this? this?

she needs to keep simon's name out of her fucking mouth.

"excuse me?" you say finally. your roommate is shrugging on her jacket to leave, her purse in her hand as she types on her phone, using it as a way to not make eye-contact with you. her long nails are tapping against the screen, and it feels like fucking drip water torture. "what the fuck did you just say?"

she sighs, irritated, rolling her eyes as she keeps tapping away at the screen.

"you're so dramatic, it was just a fucking joke."

"you know, i let a lot of things slide," you laugh, humorlessly, and you cross your arms over your chest as you follow her into the kitchen. "but you need to be careful what you say."

"i don't do anything except call it like i see it," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at herself in the reflection of the mirror hanging on the wall. "you need to just...go out more. man like that isn't gonna stay for long if you don't give him something to go for. he's bored, you know. when you have him over here all the time. and i've totally caught him peeking at me after i shower, y'know."

"well why the fuck are you wearing nothing but a towel when my boyfriend is here, anyways?" you snap. "he's trying to be polite, he's a guest. what if i wore a fucking towel when you had your guy friends over?"

she laughs, poking at the edge of her lip to fix the gloss of her pout. "trust me, honey, no one's looking at you in a towel."

you step back, a little shocked. she rolls her eyes again, sighing.

"i didn't--"

"are you kidding me?" you retort. "you're the worst fucking roommate in the world, and i put up with all your bullshit, and now you're going to go so low as to insult the way i look just to make yourself feel better?" you make your way around the kitchen island. "you don't wash your fucking dishes, you steal my fucking clothes, you're always late on your rent so i have to spot you--"

"you know what, just because i'm fucking happy, and you're not, doesn't mean you have to take it out on me!"

"i am happy, you sorry bitch!" you cry. "i'm so fucking happy, you're the only thing in my life making me constantly miserable!"

"oh, shove it up your ass, you ungrateful little shit!" she snaps. "you're just so fucking insecure and hate me so badly just because simon would rather fuck a girl like me than have to spend another minute with--"

the crack of cast iron against her head shuts her up. it dents the side of her head easily, and her face smacks against the countertop before she crumples to the floor.

it's so fast. one minute, she's yapping, high-pitched voice straining your ears. the next, she's silent.

and she won't say simon's fucking name again.

you watch with bated breath as she folds into herself, her head hitting the hardwood last, a slow puddle of blood beginning to grow under the tendrils of her hair as your eyes move to the heavy pan you're still holding in your hands.

fuck, that's a lot of blood. god, you thought she was just full of fucking air.

you drop the pan once the rush of anger leaves your chest. it thunks onto the ground, and your hands shake as you see the specks of blood that are on the back of your hands, sprinkled over the shirt you wear. it stains your bare legs, even your toes, and you don't even want to look at the spray of it along the counters.

you should be crying, you think. you should feel bad. you're trembling a little, but you think it's just the adrenaline beginning to fade and not the guilt you know is supposed to be racking your insides.

you turn your eyes back to her. her eyes are dull. she doesn't move. it's so quiet now, utterly silent, and you take a deep breath as you take in the silence that you've craved for a long while now. you make your way quietly out of the kitchen, stepping over her body before going for your phone that sits on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you keep your eyes on her as you put your phone to your ear. it rings, and you tilt your head to the side as the blood begins to spiderweb under the kitchen table.

"'ello?"

you blink, looking towards the door. you clutch your phone a little tighter to your ear.

"simon?" you say softly. "a-are...are you busy?"

he hums lowly, chuckling, "no' at the moment, swee'eart, why?" he asks. "mmm...missed y'r voice..." you close your eyes as you hear the buckle of his belt. you try not to picture your giant of a boyfriend leaning back on his worn couch and shoving his jeans low enough to fuck his fist. "tolk t'me, luv...tell me 'ow much ya miss daddy."

you clear your throat gently, willing yourself to ignore the soft squelch of what you know is his hand around his cock, to not let it distract you from what's more important. "uhm...i liked the flowers you gave me, simon. t-they were beautiful."

the sounds on the other end of the phone quiet. you hear shuffling, and then a few moments later, the clink of his car keys.

"tha' right, baby?" he asks, and you close your eyes as you hear the front door of his flat opening. he's already on the way, already coming.

"yeah," you sniffle. "really nice sunflowers."

a yellow flower. he huffs on the other end of the phone, breathing a little easier.

"good girl," he murmurs, and then the line cuts. you set the phone down, making your way back to the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. you watch as the blood continues to curl over the floor. you make no attempt to help her; you just swing your feet under you as you look at her spoiled outfit, just grateful she isn't wearing your shoes or one of your jackets. you would hate to have to throw something out that she got all dirty.

there's a curt knock at the door ten minutes later, and then it opens. simon shuts the door behind him, cracking his neck by moving it from side to side before narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip, blinking, forgetting suddenly why he is here when he looks so fucking good. he's got a sweatshirt on under his windbreaker, worn jeans tucked into his boots; you like these jeans, his ass looks incredible in them.

"wot happened?" he asks. you stand, remembering your place. your lip starts trembling, and simon's eyes soften just a little. he's wearing his balaclava, hood up over his head and jacket zipped up, shadowing any true expression on his face. his gait sounds heavy as he lets his hands out of his pockets, coming towards you. when he steps into the kitchen, his eyes dart towards your roommate who's still on the floor, laid out unnaturally just by the oven.

he lets out a low breath, clicking his tongue under the mask. you hold your breath as you wait for his reaction.

"bloody hell," simon mutters, reaching up and throwing his hood off. you wring your hands together nervously, your eyes beginning to sting with tears. you brace for the accusations, for the inevitable terror of facing the music. simon is military, for fuck's sake, why the fuck did you think turning to him would be a good idea?

"i...i-i--" you start, looking up at him, and he holds up a hand, taking the side of your face into his palm before smoothing a gloved thumb over your bottom lip. you blink in confusion, not understanding.

"'s olright, baby," he shushes you, shaking his head. "don't cry."

"simon, i--" you sputter a little, gripping his wrist gently. "i just--i couldn't do it anymore, she just--"

he pities you. maybe you can explain. maybe if you tell him a warped story of what happened, he can help you. he must know someone. he must have important friends, he must--

he uses his free hand to move his mask up over his nose, and you lean into him when he bends, kissing you warmly. your eyes flutter shut, and you shuffle closer as he kisses you sloppy, kisses you hot. you mewl as he slips his tongue into your mouth, licking over your teeth and humming low as he pulls away. his eyes are flashing.

mmm. love.

"hmm..." simon licks his lips, smiling a little. he looks over you, almost pensive, his eyes scanning over your face before he settles back on your eyes. it's tender, the way he looks at you. romantic. "let's get this off of ya."

he reaches for the large shirt you are wearing, pulling it up and over your head. he crumples it into a ball before tossing it on top of your roommate, nodding his head behind you.

it's then that you realize simon isn't going to do the noble thing. he isn't going to call the police. he isn't going to turn you in, make you explain, he seems uninterested in knowing what really happened. no, he already knows what happened. but that's not important.

his pretty, perfect girl got into a little trouble. and he's going to make this go away.

"go on, luv. take a nice shower, yeah?" simon turns you around and pushes on your back gently. you suck in a shaky breath when he fondles your ass, pulling on your panties gently. "mmm...take these off, too."

you slip your panties down your legs, handing them to him.

"they have blood on them, too?" you ask, wiping your face, and he chuckles lowly.

"nah," he shrugs, stuffing them into his back pocket after taking a little sniff. "these are just for me."

jesus fucking christ, there's really something wrong with him. there's something really, really wrong with him.

and something wrong with me.

simon looks you up and down, his eyes catching on your naked body for just a few moments before he nods his head again.

"go on," he tells you. "before i get distracted." you pause for a moment, tilting your head back a little as he reaches out and cups one of your breasts in his big hand. you bite your lip, swallowing back a heavy breath as he flicks his thumb over your nipple gently. "greatest tits 've ever seen," he mumbles, scrunching his nose under the mask before he lets you go. "yeah, go on, baby." it takes everything in you to walk away when you see him reach down with that same hand and grip his bulge through his jeans, adjusting himself as he turns back to the mess in the kitchen.

when you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear shuffling in the living room. the coffee table scraping. the couch being pushed. the rustle of the rug you have there. he grunts a little, and you hear his boots track from the kitchen back to the living room.

you turn the water on hot. you decide to take a bath, not looking at yourself in the mirror as you sink into the tub and plug the drain. you make the water scalding, and it soothes your sore muscles as you rest your cheek against the edge of the tub and stare at the door.

you're not sure how long you stay there. long enough for the water to nearly slosh over the edge of the tub and for simon to swing the bathroom door open, seemingly done with his...tasks.

he's taken his sweatshirt off. just a black t-shirt tucked into jeans, and there's a slight pant to his breaths that tell you he's exerted some energy. you notice he has his gloves still on, but before he touches you, he takes them off and tosses them into the sink.

"move over," simon mutters, starting to undress. you look up at him as he undoes the button on his pants, shucking his shirt off and into the corner before dropping his jeans. the water swishes as you sit up, and you swallow hard when simon kicks his boots and pants off, his cock hanging heavy as his mask is the last to hit the floor.

fuck, he's so pretty.

he has no regard for his size. he simply steps into the tub behind you, taking a seat. he looks comically large in your small bathtub, and you squeak a little as the water spills over the edge of the bath and wets the floor. he hums as he feels the hot water on his back. you don't say anything as his hands start to turn the water a little red. you just look up, away, at him.

you shuffle between his legs, tucking yourself into his space. you can't help but look him up and down, admiring his naked physique. he's just hot. big arms, thick thighs, sunburnt tattoos and scars cutting across his face. he hasn't shaved today, so there's some stubble along his jaw, but your eyes focus a little too much on his girthy length, heavy as it sits on his stomach and leaks a little there. his fat stomach, all solid and pudgy, such a nice place for you to rest your hands.

"you did good today," simon says finally. you look at him, and he tilts his head to the side. his approval makes your chest warm. "callin' me like tha'. wot a good girl you are."

keeping quiet on the phone is what he doesn't add out loud.

you purse your lips, trying not to keen at the praise, but it's hard not to when he reaches over and slides his hand over your shoulder, thumbing at your jaw.

"i-i didn't...didn't know what to do," you admit, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. you didn't know what to do, so you called him. level-headed enough to not do something rash and call someone else, no, you called him.

"mmm...tha's wot i'm 'ere for, luv," simon soothes you. "made such a little mess..."

you close your eyes. it's sick. deranged. fuck, it feels nice.

why don't i feel anything?

"i know. i'm sorry."

"nothin' ta be sorry about."

you slump into his arms, resting your cheek on his solid chest. you can feel his cock pulsing against your tummy, and you adjust yourself in the water, straddling him as you rest your chin on his pecs and look up at him through watery eyes.

you aren't sad. no. not sad at all. simon has shown you what he will do for the you. the lengths he will go. what he'll forgive just to take care of you. he's so capable, so understanding.

sick. twisted. mine.

"then i'll just say thank you," you mumble, grinding your hips slowly. simon hums, a wicked smile coming over his scarred face. he licks over his bottom lip, big hands gripping you by the fat of your hips as you grip the edges of the tub for stability. "say thank you to my big, strong man for taking such good care of me..."

he chuckles, his eyes lowering, watching your tits sway as you fit your pussy over his length and grind down on him.

"tha' so, baby?"

you nod.

"mhm," you whine. "how can i thank you, my big boy? how can i show you how grateful i am for cleaning up after me, hmm?" you bend at the waist, kissing him wet and warm, and he hisses as you suck his tongue into your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, and normally you would curse him for it, but right now it tastes so much like him, and you lick around his teeth trying to taste more of that sweet nicotine.

"fuck--such a naughty little girl..." he snickers, reaching down. you sigh when he slides his big palms over your ass, forcing you to grind slower, the tip of his cock sliding through your folds leisurely. you grip the edges of the tub tighter, pressing down to give you more leverage to grind down harder. "make such a mess, oll the time..." you gasp when he presses into you just enough, the tip breaching your entrance and forcing you to squeeze around him, your cunt trying to suck him in. "olways needin' me ta pick up afta ya..."

you giggle, sliding your hands up his chest, gripping his shoulders for leverage as you sink down onto him. he grits his teeth as you do, his eyes focused on the way his cock disappears inch by inch until you're seated down in his lap, his length kissing deep and twitching excitedly. he always feels like a teenager again whenever you fuck--like you're the first pretty girl to ever wet his cock.

you cup his cheeks finally, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes as you bring his gaze up to meet yours. you swallow hard, looking down at him.

"i-i love you, simon," you breathe. he stills underneath you, his jaw clenching as he frowns just a little. you come a little closer, nuzzling your nose against his, your thumb falling to trace the outline of his torn lip. "i should've said it a long time ago...i-i..."

"heart's beatin' out y'r chest, luv," he mutters lowly. "'s olright...'m not goin' anywhere."

it's so disgusting. you should be fucking ill. you should be scrambling to the toilet, your breakfast halfway up your throat. you should be crying, emotional, begging simon to tell the cops that it was all your fault, because it is. he should've come here and made you do the level-headed thing and confess your terrible crime.

he shouldn't be here, sitting underneath you in your tub, cock-deep inside of you after helping you commit murder and then fucking clean it all up.

"what did i do?" you gasp, sitting up. you move to get out of the tub, but simon growls, putting two firm hands on your ass and shoving you back down on his cock, making you cry. "w-what did i do? s-simon, why don't i feel bad, why am i not sorry--?!"

simon tsks, feigning comfort. he juts his bottom lip out into a pout, mocking your little cries.

"oh, luvvie, don't start cryin' now," he chuckles. "don't start pretending like y'care."

uhm...

"simon--"

"no one likes a liar."

you're still trying to pretend, and he knows this. you're still trying to act how someone normally would react. someone normal, someone who thinks rationally, would never have picked up the pan in the first place. and even if they had, they would've scrambled, cried, picked up the phone and confessed, called an ambulance as they tried to get her to start breathing again, put both hands on her chest and tried to get her wake up.

but you didn't. you watched, unnervingly calm, as she stained the hardwood with her blood. you watched as her eyes glassed over, lifeless, and you watched as her insides began to paint the floor in abstract shapes as you gave it time to spread. and not once during that time, or waiting for simon, did you think to help her.

you didn't want to help her. and you certainly didn't think she deserved to get back up. maybe she hadn't done anything quite harsh enough to deserve death in someone else's eyes. annoying, overbearing, rude.

but it's hard to feel bad when she talked about simon. when she called him by his name. when you've seen her let her towel slip when he's in her vicinity, trying to coax him into her room when you're looking away.

you should've taken one of the throwing knives that simon hides in his boot and thrown it at her then, just for that.

"we're cut from the same bloody cloth, baby," simon says, almost accusingly. you grip the edges of the tub, trying to stand again, but he cants his hips and fucks up into you, drawing a frenzied moan out of you. you reach for his shoulders as he does it again, his tongue darting out before he licks a fat stripe over your pebbled nipple. "'s olright. 's okay, luv. don't worry. don't hafta get y'r hands dirty, swee'eart, i've got it."

"but simon," you whine, but all he does is shake his head. you don't have to put on this morality act for him. you don't have to pretend that you are sorry for something that you had every right to do, you don't have to explain to him why you aren't feeling the way you should be feeling.

simon doesn't care about how you should feel. he only cares about how you actually feel.

"she was in y'r way," simon grunts. "always bein' a bloody brat." he fists your hair and brings your mouth to his, groaning as you tighten around his cock. "'ow many times did she fuck ya over, baby, hmm? 'ow many times did she steal y'r fuckin' things, come outta the loo wearin' nothin' but her fuckin' knickers, yeah? 'ow many times?"

you kiss him, frantic, digging your nails into his pecs and dragging them angrily.

yeah. fuck her. fuck what she did to me, fuck the way she behaved, fuck her stupid face and her stupid attitude and her stupid little games.

"called ya names..." he's hitting your sweet spot now, making you cry from pleasure. your pussy feels so hot, squeezing him because you know he's right, and the way he fucks this time makes you think he really knows what you are and knows exactly how to get you there. "wot a fuckin' twat. deserved every bit o' it, baby."

you meet his eyes, dark and cruel. he's still moving, still holding onto your hips and drawing out little whines, but it's different suddenly, it's more. you nod, understanding.

simon is terrible. no good. his head isn't in the right place, maybe it never has been. you wonder, briefly, if this is what he does when he's at work, if these are the things that he's used to. maybe simon has been in service too long--maybe he doesn't understand that you aren't at war here, that you can't just kill and clean up, that you aren't in the field.

"she deserved it," you whimper, and he grins, all teeth, all mean.

"tha's it."

"she was such a bitch."

"fuckin' right."

"she got what was coming for her."

"nnghhh--fuck, baby, gonna make me fuckin' cum, tolkin' like tha'," he hisses. you practically smack him as you grab onto his scarred face, gritting your teeth as you glare down at him. his lips part, and you spit in his mouth as he fucks up into you, thighs hitting your ass with a wet smack that makes your head spin.

"and i'll get rid of the next bitch that so much as looks your way, simon."

the kiss is searing. hot, blinding, white noise fills your ears as he cums with you, stuffing you full as he cums hard, a pained groan leaving him as he collapses against the porcelain tub with a harsh thud. you follow him, chasing after him, kissing him between heavy breaths as you don't make any effort to move off of him. when simon opens his eyes, he can't help but smile.

he's never seen his reflection without a mirror.

[lundenloves]

fatherhood II

*Standing on a soap box, pointing at every one of you.* I will not be responsible for the tears passed in this piece of written emotional catastrophe. It simply had to be done. Simon meeting his daughter for the first time. It's canon. Leave me alone! *Runs away*

↳ no warnings | f!reader | 1.2k

part one | dad!simon masterlist

i may as well be running from lions at this rate, i cannot believe this. yes i can. no one talk to me or ask me the colour of anything for at least twelve days. sigh.

Having a baby sleeping on his chest was not on Simon Riley’s bingo cards for this year. His own baby at that.

Ironically, it was like learning to walk all over again. Having a little person who was completely dependent on you was something he couldn’t fathom at all until the time came. And boy, did it come, straight to the deep end he was.

It started when he was stood on the doorstep to his own home, two days late, taking deep breaths and roughing his hair in attempts to alleviate the bubbling anxiety. He was mentally beating himself up for the fucking career he’d chosen, and the hardships that came with time. Time he wouldn’t get back.

“Fuck sake, Simon.” Came a mutter to himself, slapping one hand of motivation to his cheek before reaching to turn the handle. Baby cries were audible from outside, his jaw tightening at the sound. He hadn’t been home in two weeks. Many an argument had passed to get time off although it just simply wasn’t an option. Forcing his wife to give birth alone bar her family. Christ.

He stepped into the house quietly, as if subconsciously on a fucking stakeout. A shaky sigh came when he’d leant against the wall, dropping his bag and shutting the door behind him.

It was a lot and he hadn’t even met her yet.

His daughter.

A rush of guilt panged in his chest and forced the steps he took toward the living-room. His broad shoulders filled the doorframe, in complete contrast to the tiny baby who lay in your arms.

His cold heart attempted to ignite a spark at the sight, kickstarting a warmth that didn’t quite come. Not until you had caught sight of him and instantaneously teared up. It was like all hell had broken loose in his chest, experiencing emotions he hadn’t felt in years. Still, he couldn’t speak, nor move.

You brought her to him, standing up and pressing your forehead against his chest. “You don’t need to say anything.” He nodded quietly, looking down at the baby in your arms. The inner corners of his eyebrows had raised, jaw tensing and loosening between seconds.

You could practically see the thoughts race through his mind. Good and bad.

“Stop worrying, you’re home now.” His shirt had a central wet patch from your silent tears.

You weren’t going to tell him how it was hell, how awful it was that he wasn’t around, and just how much you cried the night you got home with her. Welcomed by an empty house and darkness.

“Simon.” You said weakly, looking up at him and catching the gloss of his dark eyes. He was just as devastated about the whole thing. “Don’t think about it. It’s over. We have her, she’s safe, I'm safe.”

He nodded slowly, eyes unmoved from the baby below him. “Do you want to hold her?” Your voice came as a whisper, aware of his anxieties.

“I don’t know how.” He cleared his throat, looking back up to you. The hardness in his eyes was still there, although exposed by the sheen of upset that threatened to spill. You’d never seen him cry. Not once in the seven years of being together.

You smiled a little at him, a quivering one at best. “You just have to support her head.” Your arms lifted toward his, lightly adjusting his positions before handing your daughter toward her father.

And fuck, did it hit you then.

Stepping back, you made an effort to mentally photograph the scene in front of you. His eyes cast down to the baby in his arms, holding her as if she could break any second. The large palm of his hand was bigger than her whole body, supporting her with his arm although she barely used a forearm's worth of space. Her little hands raised upward, entirely relaxed in his arms as opposed to the crying he had walked in on.

His energy had entirely calmed her down.

“How do you feel?” You sucked your lips inward, both hands on your head to calm the maddening amount of emotion running through your stomach.

His eyes remained fixed on his daughter, still frozen in the position you had put him in. “I don’t know.” He admitted, voice as deep as ever although it had a strain to it.

You nodded. “That’s okay.”

The two of you shared a silence for a minute or two, just entirely in the moment for your daughter and the small babbles she made every now and then. The only consistent sound was her breathing, only audible for the dead silence in the house.

He shifted, “Are you alright?”

You rubbed your arm, looking up at him to find his eyes already on yours. “Mhm.” It was the truth, although he was evidently searching for a different answer. “Just glad you’re home.”

“Have you slept much?”

“Not really. But that’s okay.” The sweet tone of your voice made his shoulders drop, arms relax and his eyes soften. Well, until the baby began to cry and he tensed up all over again, silently panicking while looking to you. “Relax, Si.”

He screwed his face, letting her small hand curl weakly around his finger in hopes she would stop crying. “She’s fine. You’re fine.” A warm laugh escapes you and a slight smile plays on his lips at the sound. “She’s just tired.”

He pushed his arms toward you, gesturing you take her back. He was tired. You could see it in his eyes, “She’s still crying.”

“I couldn’t hear that.” You quip and he tsks, holding his arms out a little further. “Sit with her, it’ll be easier on your arms.” It was a thing for you, wanting him to have her in his arms as often as he could and not scare himself away.

He gave you a predictably unsure look before moving to the sofa. Each step he took was cautious to not stir her even further, sitting down slowly. You leant against the dining table, looking at him from across the room as he mumbled words you couldn’t hear to the baby in his arms.

When he had relaxed, she too calmed down. The steady breathing of his chest created a rise and fall that drifted her to sleep, small fingers still wrapped around his the best they could.

“Are you alright if I shower?”

He looked up in your direction, a flash of a panic appeared across his features. “What do I do if she wakes up?” His glance directed back down to the unthreatening baby in his arms.

“Just talk to her, like you just did.” You walked over, leaning down over the back of the sofa to press a kiss to his cheek. “I know it’s hard, but don’t think about it too much.” Hands placed on his shoulders, massaging into his collarbones.

He hummed in response.

“I’ll be ten minutes.”

Simon only lasted three. Three minutes of staring down at his daughter, alone and full of emotion for her but it wasn’t willing to come out just yet. Fatigue had taken over and by the time you had gotten back, ready to put her down for the night, she was already deep in sleep along with her father.

She was on his chest, arm raised upward to his neck where her tiny fingers touched his skin. His head tilted to the back of the sofa, two hands supporting her while soft snores left him.

Fatherhood.

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated! i’ll sit in a hole if no one pats me on the head every now and then.

taglist? fill out this form.

[peoplesgraves]

I have yandere thoughts yet again

Imagine being a Model and you literally can’t get away from obsession.

Yandere Fans cover their walls in pictures of you. They rip out every magazine page your included on and papermache them above the ceiling so you can look down on them every day. If you have shoot with other models they’ll use those too but with cut/scratch the other people out or even crop their face over the other person. If you ever did a meet and greet it would be absolutely packed and would likely get shut down because everyone’s fighting over who’s your biggest fan and who loves you the most. Those who do manage to meet you end up lovesick,sobbing messes so the pictures usually turn out bad. But the fans don’t mind as long as you look good in them.

Yandere Models all want to be pictured with you and they’ll do anything to make it happen. From blackmailing other models to drop out or bribing whoever’s casting, nothing is too dirty or too illegal if it means getting to spend all that time with you. Models will starve themselves and do all matter of dangerous treatments or plastic surgery just to have a leg up and hopefully be chosen to pose alongside you. It doesn’t matter how much it hurts or how much they lose, it’s all worth it to have all the tabloid gossiping about the two of you after the latest editorial you were pictured in together.

Yandere Photographers who only care about you. Who call you their muse and only ever take perfect pictures. They’ll take awful pictures of other models who they feel are a threat to your career until they’ve been all blackballed from the industry. If you have shoots with other people then there’s a super noticeable difference in quality over the way you look and the way other people look. The photographer obviously plays favorites but no ones going to say anything. It’s what his muse deserves.

A Yandere Stylist who is just a little too cheeky. Always staring obviously at your lips when putting gloss on or making jokes about having to punish you if you smear your makeup one more time. They’re always jovial and smiling but there’s something dark in their eyes that only you get to see. Their touch lingers when they’re tailoring your clothes and their hands go from professional to more like a lover whenever they’re helping you take 100 Bobby pins out of your hair. They’re always by your side always joking and touching and waiting for the second you get lipstick on your teeth or a fly away.

A Yandere Manager whos always on your nerves. Who’s older and has more experience. They always have some excuse for steamrolling over you and just making whatever decision they want for you. They’ll keep you in line with their connections and their influence. In a way you both get what you want. You’re the most loved and sought after model in the industry and they have you too dependent on them to ever try to leave. Stylists and photographers are a dime a dozen but your manager has your entire career in his grasp.

Yandere Paparazzi who are ironically more ethical towards you as yanderes then they would be if they were normal. They don’t take bad pictures or catch anything embarrassing about you, or at least not that they show publicly. They might snap a few pictures at vulnerable moments to keep just for them, they’re the only ones who get to see you like that. While they may do their best to protect your reputation the same can’t be said for anyone else. They’ll slander other models left and right. Wether it’s true or a little editing magic they’re good at swaying the public opinion against anyone they need to. Just let them watch from the sidelines and you’ll never have to worry again.

[toxicroyjamie]

I always feel like people over look the physical abuse Jamie probably faced. We’ve seen just a glimpse of what James would do in public, imagine what it was like when Jamie was young and behind closed doors.

Plus like literally almost killing Beard?? Like he and his friends are seriously scary and probably did a lot of damage to Jamie. 😕😕

I know :(( people don't understand how serious and terrifying domestic violence is

And YES thank you. Beard After Hours was such a horrific and enlightening glimpse into how violent and scary James can really be. The way he said "goodnight, son" before trying to bash Beard's skull in with a tire iron actually gave me chills. It's terrifying that he's capable of murder regardless, but the implication that he was thinking about killing Jamie is just. Sick

We too easily gloss over how SCARED Jamie is of James, also. It's not like he just thinks he's a dick or a bully, he's ACTIVELY terrified of him. In Mom City, he describes James as "fucking terrifying" and says it "really freaks him out" that he can't see him in the stands. James isn't just an asshole, he's a very real and present threat to Jamie's safety, and Jamie fully knows that.

Georgie has also never been at a single one of Jamie's matches, including the match in Mom City (at which point they had an actress cast for Jamie's mother and could've easily shown her in the stands) and the World Cup (at which the audience was offscreen and could've easily included Jamie's mom) despite clearly being a very devoted and loving mother. There's obviously something keeping her away from Jamie's matches, and I think it's more than likely a fear of James. Most men who abuse their children abuse their children's mothers. :(

All this to say, yes, James is actually terrifying and physically dangerous and I think everyone (including the show runners) just kind of forgets that

[baambastic]

Spoilers ahead for Puss in Boots: The Last Wish

I can’t stop thinking about The Last Wish (go see it if you haven’t, seriously, it’s incredible) and I wanted to talk about a moment that I think carries a lot of meaning even though it’s easy to gloss over.

I want to talk about the moments before and after Puss draws his gatito blade against El Lobo del Muerte.

During Puss’s climactic duel with Death, the Wolf slashes Puss’s boot, bats away his hat, and knocks his sword out of his hand. The Wolf is destroying the symbols of the legend of Puss in Boots, stripping Puss’s mortality bare.

But Puss is no longer defenseless before Death. He has spent the movie’s runtime building bonds with other characters, finally letting others into his life, no longer walking alone as his legend demanded. His gatito blade, given to him by Kitty Softpaws, represents this development. Puss has cast aside his legend through learning the value of his life, and in doing so, he can stand against and block Death’s blows.

Ironically, Death’s attempts to take Puss early are the very catalyst for Puss’s success in redefining himself, symbolized by Death’s blocked blow allowing Puss to reclaim his symbols—his hat and sword—with their meaning now changed by the accompaniment of the gatito blade. The unstoppable weight of Death’s scythe has quite literally pushed Puss towards a new life.

The Last Wish is packed with moments of visual symbolism, but this one in particular is the standout to me, both because and in spite of its brevity.

[murfpersonalblog]

steel magnolia

(chiefly Southern US) A woman, unashamed, who exemplifies both traditional femininity and an uncommon fortitude.

Combining the contrasting images of steel, a hard metal, and magnolia, a flower.

I'm in the middle of drafting another post/response about Armand, and decided to address this out separately:

"if Armand really was so easy to control he wouldn't have been able to stay a Maître for so long, and he wouldn't really be Armand." (@newtrambling)

AMC hasn't gone into Armand's backstory much at all. (Hence, so many misconceptions over "Arun.") So his time with the Children of Satan/Darkness was largely glossed over.

In the books, Armand was NEVER easy to control--he was a stubborn brat and a total spitfire who gave even Marius a hard time, let alone the CoD/S cultists.

They set Marius on fire, and threw all of Armand's brothers in a fire to burn alive in front of him. The coven poured their ashes on Armand as they laughed.

When Armand still refused to submit, they threw him in the fire, too.

The coven let him out of the fire before he died, expecting Armand to be grateful and FOLD.

But this neoante fledgling 17-year old vampire STILL resisted.

They locked Armand in an iron cell--iron has magic against vampires, making them weak & nullifying their powers.

In that cell, it took the Children of Satan 4 months to starve him enough to break him down. That's entirely too long for a newly-turned vamp to go without blood, without going feral or falling into a coma/torpor. Armand was a BABY in the blood when Santino kidnapped him; but he still gave them hell, holding out for months.

Armand has nerves of steel (magnolias)--"uncommon fortitude."

He went mentally insane in that cell; crazed with grief, trauma, and hunger/thirst. After that, he was compliant enough for them to start molding & brainwashing & grooming him; "Come to me."

It took 6 more months to teach Armand the Great Laws, and reverse Marius' teachings (embracing beauty in life and only hunting the Evil Doer), so that he'd become a coldhearted killer like them.

He was conditioned to believe that all vampires were evil, and all deserved to suffer, and that it didn't matter who they killed or mistreated or sinned against: their Original Sin was existing at all.

The Great Laws assured that vamps'd spend eternity atoning/making up for existing--forsaken by God to hide in the shadows, eternally damned.

(Which is why Lestat was horrified by the coven, hated the Great Laws, blasphemed by breaking the Jesus crucifix right in front of the cult, and insisted in his songs that 🎶 "I cannot be Forsaken"🎶.)

Meeting Lestat gave Armand his STRENGTH back, even as he resented Les for shaking the foundations he'd relied on for the past 200+ years. He led the coven a new way, their plays casting off SOME of the Children of Satan's rules/shackles under Santino & Alessandra--but not all. He's still a "fool for God."

And ultimately, Lestat would be the catalyst to shake/break him again in Memnoch the Devil, when Lestat returns from Hell with Veronica's Veil--proof that God & the Devil exist; and ostensible proof that vampires really are damned, but can be redeemed/atone if they martyr themselves for Christ--hence: Armand walking into the sun to commit suicide (which is why I effing HATE that Rolin made AMC!Armand sunproof).

Armand's passive & submissive by nature, but he's NOT easy to control. It takes a HELL of a lot to wear him down, and it's all wrapped up in his religiosity--which is why Marius specifically warned Lestat not to turn uber-religious Christians into vampires, cuz their Catholic Guilt can't handle it (*cough* Louis *cough*). For Marius, following religious dogma made vampires weak/self-loathing.

But in a way, Armand holding onto his religiosity gave him strength--it was all he had when he was at his weakest/loneliest. Armand loves God--and he loves people the way a religious fanatic loves God.

Armand constantly refers to loving Louis as (indentured) "service."

But it's also a performance/an act--exemplified with "Rashid".

The Maitre roleplay isn't where Lou's dubious/tenuous power over Armand comes from--that's just BDSM sexplay. It's the DEBT/punishment Armand feels he owes, the guilt he's been tryna ATONE for, when he KNEW he had more than enough hierarchical authority & physical/vampiric strength to prevent it (if not mental strength).

He allowed himself to stay "locked together in spite" for 77 years, a "testament to our companionship"--a punishment for Lestat, Louis, AND Armand, for all the wrongs they'd done individually & together.

Armand's steely, but he's still a flower; too soft for his own good.

Armand's my favorite character in the books for a reason--against all odds, he's a certified GOAT.

But he's also a maladapted, maladjusted unhinged little gremlin. 😊

[powderblueblood]

oh my god! can i request maybe steve in his cocky era with cocky reader and this prompt

‘I've dated enough narcissistically neurotic men to know that you are all just a pack of roving babies in search of a giant teat from which to suck the lifeblood out of me until I am a hollow shell.’

200 CIGARETTES SENTENCE PROMPTS!

steve's eyes roll back in his head with such a vigor that you're sure they'll dislocate, but that smile still sits on his pretty pink lips-- pinker, now, from the cold.

"and you've manged to find all of these so called 'men'... on the basketball team?"

"yeah, harrington!" you say, voice raising in volume and sarcasm as you shiver outside of the car. "all of them but you!"

"i bet i could have changed your mind," he says, leaning back against the spotless bumper.

"and i foolishly bet you wouldn't have driven into a snowbank, but here we are!"

you're prissing out, and you know you're prissing out but you're also shaking against the frigid cold and getting slush all over your satin shoes and you're missing out on your very first college party all because steve goddamn harrington insisted on driving you because his parents insisted on storming your house for new years eve drinks with your parents because they all insist on being friends.

not you and steve, though. no, no, no. your antagonism towards each other is well-treated and seasoned, like a good cast iron skillet that you'd love to hit him over the head with right now--

"honey, you're freezing." steve loves to do that-- call you honey like it'll make you soften in his grasp, like all the other girls. he's moving toward you, moving to remove his jacket.

"for god's sake, would you keep that on! if you don't, you'll freeze to death." a beat. "and i don't know how to talk to people who drive tow trucks."

"what makes you think i do?"

you scoff, a plume of breath following in an accusatory cloud. "so king steve can charm anyone but the common man?"

"thought that was your territory," he smirks, then pulls a mock pause, "oh, shit, wait! sorry! you're trying to keep what's left of your lifeblood unsucked, right? whatever that means..."

"means you're not getting anywhere near me, no matter how bad you want it."

steve stops short with about a foot of space between you. his expression, more devastating to your patience than devastatingly beautiful right now, still seems to engulf you a little. you hate him for having the kind of face that's hard to look away from.

"i still think i can change your mind." his voice has dropped to a just-for-us tone, and you hate yourself for feeling a little chill that isn't prompted by the cold. he's so sure of himself.

"and i still think you wouldn't be able to handle me if you could, harrington."

"yeah?"

"yeah. i'm not one of your little cheerleaders-- i'd blow your goddamn mind. i'd break your goddamn heart."

"sounds delightful."

you huff out a little laugh from between your glossed lips. unbeknownst to yourself, you've drawn a touch closer to steve in your barbed exchange.

"god, you're desperate."

steve, with all his towering hair and well-fitting clothes and intoxicating cologne, leans over you. "and you're looking hot tonight, you know that?"

there's a charge here; a number of cars you could've hailed down for help have already passed you. this exchange took precedence. his hands are shoved safely in his pockets. yours are bound under your arms, minding your body heat. but you inch ever closer still.

"let's make a deal," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

you try your damnedest not to get suckered into his dark caramel eyes as he looks at you, lids heavy. "a deal?"

"yeah," you say, reaching out to finger his fine cashmere scarf, "if you can use those legendary harrington wiles to get us a tow truck and get me to that party by midnight, i'll kiss you."

"yeah?" he murmurs, a little breathier now. his lips part, motioning to move for yours already.

you nod, eyes all a-glitter, and crane your neck back. deal's a deal.

and he nods too, dashing from your side to just about throw himself into the middle of the road, attempting to wave down the nearest available car. "little help! need a little help over here!"

look at that; all he needs is a little motivation, and all you need to do is sacrifice your satin shoes for the satisfaction of watching him fail.

[chuckeroo777]

Dungeon Meshi Volume 6 Part 1

Welcome back to my liveblog! As a reminder, this is a re-read, so expect plenty of spoilers!

Don't intentionally spoil people or get thwacked in the face.

Huh. So they have been here for about a week. Makes Rin's exasperation even more understandable.

Wow, rude. I feel like if you actually knew her, that's kinda the last thing she would do. She hates eating weird stuff.

Batting 0 for 3 Maizuru. Honestly, I originally thought she was kind of a jerk, but between this and "Ninja Art: Babysitter", I think her observational skills are just really bad.

See? She doesn't have a clue why this is an atrocious idea.

I mean, it was an elf who was around during Delgal's day, and was using exceptionally potent ancient magic. Who the heck else would it be? Plus the orcs confirmed his identity. And of course Laios thinks Thistle is mad about the food.

Asebi is not amused.

Hmm... another depiction of the winged lion with horns. Also, there was no need to bring up the black magic. Marcille used a regular resurrection spell, just using ancient magic to boost the power level. If the dragon hadn't been soul-bound by Thistle, it would have gone without a hitch. People like to joke Marcille did nothing wrong, but in this one case, I think she was totally in the right. There is plenty of time for her to commit war crimes later.

Chilchuck: Gasp! You were drugging him!

Kabru is here for ALL the hot goss. From a distance.

I love how the canon explanation for why Faligon has feathers is that Dragons = Dinosaurs. It's like an atavism or something. Idk, it looks cool. Stop asking questions.

God. Marcille may be my favorite, but I relate so much to Laios. This chapter and the next are painful. (And I'm not talking about the part where everyone dies)

If only Chilchuck won the coin toss, we could've avoided this drama. (At least until Shuro saw Falin)

Now that's a trustworthy face if I ever saw one.

Well well well. If it isn't the consequences of my actions.

I know I just got done explaining that her actions were fine. Just let me be funny.

Eh, it's worth a try. It works in at least one alternate universe.

She's beauty, she's grace. She's gonna eat your face.

What's all the more heartbreaking is you get little moments where Falin shines through. She wants to pet the doggie! But then the dragon reasserts itself.

Even freakier, I think this is actually Falin too. You can see her pupils oscillate throughout this scene between normal, and elongated.

Like, I don't think it did that on purpose, but the dragon is more than happy to exploit the opening it creates.

Holm? Holm, are those golem cores? Have you been holding out on us?

Man, no wonder she freaks out. Imagine you've been a dragon for who knows how long, covered in scales of iron, and suddenly this dude manages to stab you five times like it's nothing. Heck, Laios just stabbed her in the foot with a normal sword. This dragon must be fearing for it's life like crazy.

Obligatory Whoa Hey!

An important image.

No you dummy. This is standard dungeon procedure. There's a reason healers like Holm and Falin wear those silly robes. So that they get priority resurrections.

Hold up a sec. My drama senses are tingling.

I am genuinely curious what this insult was in the original Japenese, if only because I can't see that coming from either of them.

You know, when I first read Dungeon Meshi, I kinda glossed over the secondary cast a lot. Hard not to when you have my attention span, and like two dozen characters. I didn't even notice the Asebi stuff.

I know people dunk on Toshiro a lot, but I really have to question his relationship with his retainers if a simple thank you and sorry elicits this sort of reaction. Honestly, I mostly get the impression that his dad isn't great, and Maizuru is too loyal to do anything about it.

I also have to wonder why he left Asebi behind. Did he just not want to bother? Or is he rethinking his whole relationship with his retainers, and is offhandedly giving her her freedom?

Like brother like sister.

Image limit reached! I'll be back in a bit. Need to get some meshi!

[isaut]

𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓— f!reader x captain rex. 6.7k. ao3

coincidence number two: you're running errands. he's a civilian for the afternoon. previous. masterlist.

You make your reward purchases before your necessity purchases. They are of the same vein— the new lip gloss tube and new mascara will serve their purpose when your currents run out. The record you’d found at the vintage store was warm and vibrant, welcoming to the ear. They’ll stun and impress at the next cocktail hour you host. 

It would have been a crime to part without it. 

Just as it would have been a crime to not part with the extra gelato that hadn’t been on your grocery list, to have exited the grocery store without your arms over flowing with bags. Flowers spill from the top of one of them— pink and white and orange for your kitchen table. When you get home you’ll combine them all in one of those artisanal vases you’ve acquired from more flea markets than you can count. 

Marauding as a civilian, Rex spends his afternoon off wandering the streets of Theed. He knows upon any close inspection he’s anything but, but the day is young. The sun is nearly high in the afternoon air, casting the streets in a harsh glow. The fountains trickle consistently, the water gleaming under said beams. Mothers sit on the edge of the stone, careful to not get their skirts wet, while their children run around. 

The oncoming lunchtime is signaled by elderly folk dressed in expensive linens eating their lunch on the iron wrought chairs outside of their favorite bistros and cafes. Rex’s gaze lingers over their habits, over the way they seem so at ease with each other. 

He’s not looking where he’s going. 

With your gaze turned towards the sliver of sea visible through the buildings, you collide straight into an unfamiliar body. 

“Oh! Pardon me,” you say quickly, taking a step back. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Rex says, voice melted by the late spring sun. 

The sunlight illuminates Rex directly, making his hair seem blonder and his skin darker. His eyes are all amber encrusted, sparkling in the light. In turn, the sun has haloed you, showcasing your aura around your body, from the natural frizz of your hair to the bronzed shine on your shoulders. 

“Oh.” “Oh.” 

Rex’s brows pinch together in recognition, just as yours furrow. His lips form a perfect little ‘o’ as yours pull down on the corners. Surprise morphs to disappointment.

“You never called me,” is the first thing out of your mouth, once you recognize who you’re talking to. 

“I–” Rex can’t seem to find the words. Have you always had a mole on your cheekbone? A trifecta of them on your shoulder? Rex clears his throat, snapping himself out of his reverie. It had been dark when he was with you last, after all. “I would, but comms are monitored at work.” 

“That’s the first time I’ve heard that excuse,” you sigh. 

“No, no, I’m being honest,” Rex says, all too quickly. He ignores the little voice in his head that reminds him that if he had wanted to, he could have easily arranged for a secret call. That he knows all the right people for that to happen. “Really. And work’s been real busy.” 

You don’t look impressed. Your eyes rake over his body, both out of irritation and to remind yourself why you had been so keen on getting a call in the first place. “Has it been?” 

Yes. There had been rebel groups on the Outer Rim that needed the Republic’s help with fending off the Separatists. Not only had Rex been off station, he’d been off communications with everyone. “I’m no liar.” 

Your gut– which has an eighty twenty chance of being right– seems to confirm this information with you. 

“No?” 

Rex shakes his head. “If I’m bein’ honest, I’m not smart enough to be a liar.” 

That has you twisting your lips to squash down a smile. Your gut, the same eighty twenty one, tugs and tells you that he’s lying about that one, though. 

He’s cuter in the daylight, your brain supplies you with. Then: He didn’t call you. 

“Well, I should get going,” you say, shaking your hair out of your face. “Um, it was nice seeing you.” 

“Yeah, you too.” The words roll off Rex’s tongue before he can stop them. He calls your name after you, with a simple request: “Wait.” 

Oh, he remembers your name. You turn your attention back to him. He’s caught it again. Your grocery bag digs uncomfortably into your arm. 

“Let me get you lunch. As an apology for not calling.” His eyes seem softer in the harsh light, a please behind bronze irises. 

“I have to take my groceries home, I have sorbet.” 

Rex glances at your bags before coming back to your face. “Let me carry it for you, then.” 

There’s a part of you that wants to put up a fight. Say you’re a big girl, that you can do it by yourself. That he blew it when he didn’t call you back. Instead, you feel something tug at the back of your mind. Something that you can’t quite place. So you sigh, so you shrug the canvas bag off your shoulder and pass it over to him. What harm can come? He’s already been there. 

Rex accepts the bags as if they’re made of feathers. He adjusts them all to make sure he has a good grasp on everything. It’s all rather seamless. You linger to admire for a moment.

“After you,” Rex says. 

The comment snaps you back to the present moment. 

Your eyes linger on him one last time, before you adjust your purse and lead him down the cobblestone roads. 

“So, what work have you been doing?” You ask, making quiet conversation as you walk. 

“Classified information,” Rex replies. 

You hum. “Communication is monitored, classified information… You must be pretty high up on the chain.” You lift your hand to eye level to demonstrate. 

“I am,” Rex confirms. “‘S not much to talk about though.” 

“Well, it sounds like you can’t talk about a lot of it.” Your voice is light at the comment. “So what can you talk about?”

Shit. What can he talk about? Rex thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “I guess not much.” 

“Shame. What are we going to talk about over lunch?” You unlock the gate to the courtyard, then climb the stairs to your apartment. 

“I’m reading a book on military strategy,” Rex supplies, watching as you unlock the door. “But I don’t think that’s something you’re interested in.” 

“Does your whole life revolve around work?” You ask, posing the question once you’re in the kitchen. 

Yes. As a matter of fact, it does. His whole reason for existing revolves around work. 

The sorbet slides into an empty spot in the freezer. The flowers replace old ones in a vase. Your kitchen table has an open magazine on it and a data pad. It feels like only yesterday he was in here, and maybe that’s because yesterday he woke from a dream that took place here. 

You’d made him coffee. Placed it in front of him with a kiss to his forehead. He woke to a battle alarm going off. 

Lunch is taken at a little cafe with a white awning. You know the worker behind the counter well, enough to be on a first name basis with her, as you order. You know the restaurant well enough that you immediately head to the outdoor area, taking a seat so you’re still able to people watch and enjoy your company. 

“You must go to lots of places all over the galaxy,” you note, watching as Rex pours water for you both. 

“Nowhere too fun,” Rex says, taking his seat. 

Unimpressed with the answer, you take a sip of water. “Where was the last place you went, then?” 

Rex debates if it’s classified information. It’s already happened, it’s not as if he’ll be returning anytime soon. And either way, you’re a pacifist. Not like you’ll go running to the Separatists with old news. 

“Ryloth,” Rex says. “What I was doing there, though—”

“Is classified,” you finish for him. “That’s fine. What’s it like?” 

“It’s hot. Wet, too. Even in the desert. The atmosphere holds water in it like a sponge, so as the jungles produce water, it seeps into the atmosphere. And that’s how it rains in the desert areas and why it feels wet all the time even if it’s dry.” 

“I didn’t take you for an environmentalist.” 

“‘S just interesting.” Rex tries his hardest to downplay his knowledge. 

“I think it’s interesting too. Two years ago we had a twi’lek from Ryloth showcase his work at the gallery. All of his art was drawn with the different clays found there.”

“There are a lot,” Rex says. Some of it is even flammable. He watches with rapt attention as you fumble around in your purse for your sunglasses. 

“I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, the sun is just really bright,” You say, holding them open and with the leg near your lips. 

“We can swap spots if you’d like,” Rex offers in a heartbeat. 

“No, no. I like the sun. It’s like I’m photosynthesizing.” 

Rex thinks it’s an apt description. If you were a flower, you’d be the prettiest one. He doesn’t know much about botany, but he thinks you’re comparable to an orchid. Maybe the cattleyas, with their delicate, ruffled petals that match the flow of your hair. Or the oncidiums, which look exactly like women dancing where the blooms join together. Or even the laelias, with star dripped petals that resemble legs spread— 

“I don’t get a whole lot of sun,” Rex says, stopping his train of thought. 

“That’s a shame. Why not?” 

“Normally on a fleet ship.” 

You lean forwards. “What’s space like?” 

Rex blinks. “Have you never been?” 

You shake your head. “No.” 

The idea baffles Rex. Only staying on one planet for an extended period of time? For a lifetime? It was unfathomable to him. Your food arrives, as he ponders over how different your life is from his. Then again, perhaps in a different life, he’d like to stay in one place. Especially if it was a planet as nice as Naboo. 

“So, what’s it like?” You press. 

“It’s… Well. It’s big. Really quiet.” 

“What about the stars?” 

“There’s lots of ‘em. Really tiny. Looks kind of like static.”

“Wow,” you breathe. “I’ve always wanted to get off the planet. I’d love to travel… My friends and I had a trip planned to Coruscant but we could never agree on dates to go.” 

“Between you and me, it’s not all that exciting. I mean, it is exciting, but it’s… Loud. Visually and audibly.” 

“We just wanted to go clubbing,” you confide.

Rex chuckles. “I stand corrected, you would probably enjoy it.”

“But honestly, the travel scares me. Hyperdrive? Terrifying. I don’t even like to go on the boats here.” The admittance feels silly. Who doesn’t dream of intergalactic space travel? 

“Really?” 

You nod seriously. “Nowhere I really want to go that I can’t get to on foot.” 

Oh, that’s endearing. “And where do you usually take yourself?” 

“Not many places I haven’t seen you at.” 

Rex chuckles nervously. “Really?” 

“Yeah. I’m a creature of habit.” 

Your eyes descend down to his plate— He’s barely touched his chicken and rice. It’s good, you’ve had it before. Not your favorite thing on the menu, it’s no pesto before you, but it’s good. 

“Do you not like it?” You ask, gesturing towards it with your fork. 

Rex glances down. “No, I do. It’s just… it’s too good.” 

Normally too good implies that it’s deserving of scarfing down the first serving and savoring the second. You wait, expectantly, for elaboration. 

“Compared to rations it’s… I don’t like to tempt myself. Remind myself what’s out there.”

You blink at him. “Really?” 

“Makes it easier.” 

Rex doesn’t do temptation. He doesn’t indulge in local meals filled with seasonings— the cumin and the masala that Jesse lunges after when he’s on a planet. Fried foods, fresh and sizzling and on a skewer are something that he watches, mouth watering against his will, while Fives and Tup eat as much as they can afford. He doesn’t do top shelf liquor, he doesn’t do liquor at all. He only drinks the beer that’s brought to him. 

You think back to the conversation from last time. No pretty women. No art. Now, no food. No good food at least. You doubt military food is very good. 

“I would have thought that you would want to indulge. Do you want to try mine?” 

Rex also doesn’t do hook ups. Not typically. Not unless a mission’s gone really bad, not unless he wants to bury himself out of the pain only to lie in it uncomfortably. He doesn’t do coffees after, he doesn’t do run-in lunches. 

“Sure,” Rex says. You push your plate toward him, and he reaches over and takes a forkful. Normally the motion is done over a steel table under fluorescent lights, when the rations are especially bad and it’s important to have everyone join in on the misery. 

Once more: It’s too good— fresh basil and lemon. Rex shouldn’t have taken a bite. He wants another. He wants another. 

“You should let yourself indulge,” you say, pushing your plate further towards him. 

He takes another bite. “What are you doing after this?” 

“Laundry,” you answer truthfully. “And then I was going to paint.” 

“You paint?” 

Before you can stop yourself, the words are leaving your mouth: “Do you want to come by and look?” 

Rex needs to be back at base in two hours. He’s been entrusted by his General to escort Senator Amidala back to Coruscant. Then, he’s been entrusted by his General to get back on the battlefield, witness more death and destruction and lovelessness. 

“I can spare a few minutes.”

Rex tries your wine before he leaves. The crisp notes dance along his tongue, citrus and gooseberry fermented to perfection. He takes one last bite of his chicken, moist and juicy, and rice, soft and flavorful. 

The last time Rex had been in your apartment, it had been by the guidance of the moon. Then, scattered from the dutifulness of his mission with your groceries. Now, under the relaxed sunlight, he has a better view of the intricacies of your railing, the floral swirls soldered together. The fountain in the center of the apartment courtyard bubbles and flows. The mosaics of the tiles are clear in the light: blues, greens, oranges, stark against the light grout.

Your keys join the others in the little tray by the door. Your shoes come off, as do his, and the two of you head through your apartment. There are paintings Rex passes that he hadn’t recognized the last time he was here. Not that he was looking, by any means. His attention had instead been focused on you. 

But the paintings. They’re watercolor and oil, still life and landscapes encased behind class in treated dark oak frames. 

The doors to your balcony are open. Sea breeze filters up from the ocean through the doors, rubbing against the sheer curtains like a playful, large kitten. You get good sunlight in your apartment. It warms the room with both light and atmosphere, streaming in through the windows. 

“Are you not worried about bugs?” Rex asks. 

You turn around to face him. “Bugs?” 

“Yeah. With the…” He gestures at the open doors. 

“We don’t live near a swamp. And anyways, it costs too much to run the air conditioning.” You turn back towards the doors and head out through them, letting Rex trail behind you. 

Suddenly a spark of nervousness crawls through you. You play with your fingers, glancing out over the quartier of Theed you live in. Then, you gesture towards your painting where it’s leaned against an easel with a now dry watercolor palette beside it, suddenly feeling silly. Why would some random man– because Rex is still some random man– care about your art?

“Well. This is what I’m working on right now,” you say. 

Rex first notes the craftsmanship of the worn easel. The natural grains in it. The only metal being the small hinges. The painting, however, is another story entirely. 

“It’s pretty,” Rex says. The watercolors are delicate dabs of life. You’ve captured what must be the sunrise over your little neighborhood view. The blue-hued warmth spreads over the delicate buildings, creeping over inked lines. 

He doesn’t have much else to say. It’s pretty. The flowers are larger. 

“It’s really pretty,” Rex repeats. 

Your cheeks warm. “Thank you.” 

You glance over at the painting, then over at Rex, hesitantly. His gaze slowly leaves the painting to meet yours. 

“I wish I had better words to convey how pretty it is.”

You swallow under his gaze. 

“Pretty is just fine,” you say, “I remember: no art. No pretty woman, no dancing either.” 

Rex feels his face warm. The tips of his ears go pink. “There’s more to me than that.” 

“I’m saying it as a reason why you can only describe it as pretty.” It, because you don’t want to presume he was talking about the painting. Part of you hopes that he wasn’t only talking about the ink. Part of you hopes he was also talking about you before him. “Do you want something to drink? I can make you espresso.” 

Rex watches with rapt attention as you twirl a piece of your hair around your finger. He forgets, in his gazing, to reply. 

“I also have limeade. That is, if you can spare the time.” 

He can absolutely spare the time. “It’s whatever you want to make.” 

You check the analog watch on your wrist. Delicate, your chosen color of jewelry. 

“Let’s have espresso. I’ll make us double shots, it's just a little too late to take a nap.” 

The prospect, the idea, of napping is a new one to Rex. He’s never had one offered to him, never seen one ever partaken in. Meditation over naps. One could sleep when they were no longer part of this world. 

Sitting back at your kitchen table, Rex watches with great interest as you make the shots. You have specific mugs you let the brew pour into, and specific saucers you rest them on. From the pantry you receive two sweet looking cookies, setting them on the saucers. 

Saucers in hand, you look over at Rex. His fingers are lightly feeling a flower petal between them, thumb rubbing over the soft, colorful leaves. Cut at their base to decorate the water vase, the monochrome flowers are a quiet accent to the brightness of your kitchen and the appliances within. You almost don’t want to disturb him. 

“Let’s have them on the couch,” you suggest, voice as gentle as seafoam. Rex’s gaze immediately flits to you, his hand dropping just as quickly. You watch with fondness. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?” 

“Yeah,” Rex says. “We don’t have plant life on the station.” 

“I have more in the living room,” you say, tilting your head in the direction of the other room. Turning, you head there, letting Rex follow behind you. 

The saucers are set atop mosaic tiled coasters on the coffee table. You busy yourself in front of the stereo, picking through albums until you find one for the mood, sliding the record from its case and resting it upon the disc. Acoustic bossa nova fills the room. Crossing the space, you cross your legs on the couch, letting Rex take the cushion right beside you. 

Your knees barely touch. It causes your breath to hitch, just ever so faintly, in the back of your throat. 

“It’s called a monstera deliciosa,” you say, in reference to the subject of Rex’s gaze: the large, green beast of a plant in the corner of your living room. It’s almost too big for the space, despite the fact that– “It won’t stop growing. I keep having to cut off leaves and propagate them for my friends. Or I leave them in cheap little pots on the side of the road for people to take.” 

Rex looks at you from over the espresso cup. 

“It just won’t stop growing,” you say. 

Rex doesn’t know exactly what to say. You must love it a whole lot seems a little too personal. Seems a little too on the nose. It’s pretty seems overused, but it’s what comes out of his lips. 

The giggle that escapes you is one you can’t help. You cover your mouth with your hand, holding the sweet little cookie between your fingers. Your hand had originally been on a path to dip the treat into your coffee, but the detour was needed. 

“She is.” 

You take a bite of the cookie.

“You must love it a whole lot,” Rex says, letting the comment bubble up through him. 

Glancing over at the plant, you take her in for a moment. All green stems, fanning leaves with teardrop holes in them, as if gravity was pulling them open. 

“I’ve had her since I was in school,” you comment. 

Rex reminds himself that it’s a normal thing to go to school. That not everyone is plucked up from a young age to undergo various trainings and trials to make them soldiers– peacekeepers. 

“What did you go to school for?” Rex asks. 

“Art history,” you say, still looking at the plant. Then, you look back to him. “Then back again for Gunganese art history. And then again, one last time, for a focus on art during the Suffering Period.” 

Rex nods. 

“Someday there will be an art historian who will study all the art made now,” you note. 

“And what do you think she’ll notice?” 

Humming, you ponder over the answer. You take a final sip of your espresso. Lean back against your couch. Gaze up at the ceiling. “I don’t know.” 

Rex studies your profile like this hypothetical historian will study the present. 

“I think she’ll think it’s interesting how war is portrayed,” you finally decide on, turning your head to face Rex. “But we don’t have to talk about that.” 

“We can, if you want,” Rex says. 

Your eyes flit down to glance at his hands, then back to his face. “Have you looked at art recently?” 

Rex has to take a moment to think. He finishes his espresso. “There are some pieces in the Senate building on Coruscant. I’ve never really…” Suddenly he feels embarrassed. “I’ve never really paid a lot of attention to them.” 

“Are they boring?” You ask. Then, coming to your own conclusion: “I bet they are. All the good art on Coruscant comes from the lower levels.” 

“I thought you’d never been?” 

“I haven’t, but I’ve acquired art from there. It’s all so… If it comes from the upper levels, it’s too perfect. The stuff from lower tells a story. There’s real emotion there.” 

“How come?” 

You shrug. “No idea.” 

Rex nods. “I have a brother who likes art. He draws on napkins and stuff.” 

“With a pen?” You ask, a little surprised. 

Rex nods again. “Yeah.” 

“I didn’t know they had those on ships,” you say, the words leaving your lips before you realize how ignorant you must sound. No reason not to dig the shovel in a little deeper. “I thought everything was done with holograms and screens.” 

“Yeah,” Rex chuckles a bit at that. “Most of it is. At least ninety-eight percent of it. The other two percent is Tup drawing.” 

“He must draw an awful lot to make up for two percent of all the activities up there.” 

We all have our hobbies would be a lie. “He doesn’t get a lot of sleep. Or, he doesn’t get as much as he should.” 

You rest your arm over the back of the couch, head against your knuckles and shift your entire body to face Rex. “That’s kind of the essence of art, though. Finding time for it no matter what. I bet she’ll be studying whatever she can find of his work.” 

Rex doesn’t mention that it would all look like he’s drawn the same person over and over again. Instead, he mirrors your position. 

“Really?” 

You nod. You glance at his chest, then back to his face. “Yeah. I’m almost certain of it.” 

Rex moves his hand to rest on his knee. 

“Do you like my living room or my patio better?” You ask. 

“Hm?” Rex’s eyes seem to go into focus again, as if you’ve called him back to the present. 

“Do you like my living room or my patio better?” You ask again, no hard feelings. 

“I think they both have their own pros,” Rex says. 

“Do they have cons?” 

“No,” Rex says, quick to shoot that question down. 

A smirk pulls up at the corner of your lips. Just barely noticeable. “No?” 

Rex shakes his head. They’re not on a cruiser light years in the sky. They happen to be yours. Safe from the spoils, or lack thereof, of war. And he’s been enjoying his time with you. All two times he’s met you. 

“C’mere,” you murmur, reaching your hand out for him. Your fingers are just out of reach of his collar. “Did you know that coffee is a slight aphrodisiac?” 

Rex takes in your lidded eyes, your widening pupils. “Only slight?” 

Your gaze dips to his lips, his collarbones, his eyes. 

“Only slight?” Rex prods, leaning forwards. Your fingers catch on his collar, pulling him closer. 

You nod. Rex doesn’t stop leaning in. 

Rex enjoys himself. 

He’s laid over you on your couch, leg slotted between yours. One of your hands is on the side of his face, able to feel his jaw work as his lips pass over yours. The wind brushes through your open balcony door, sprawling over his back. There’s slow, lazy music playing on your stereo, and your bodies move in time with it. 

The urgency that Rex should be moving with is nowhere to be seen. His hips roll against yours lethargically, and one of your legs is thrown over his hips. There’s coffee and sweet cookie on both your lips, slipping and sharing between taste buds. 

Each pass of his clothed and poorly concealed hardness causes gravity to pull your legs wider, the universe eager for your pleasure. It’s been years since you’ve indulged in the pleasures of the body while the sun was still out, and it’s better than you remember it being. 

Perhaps it's because Rex takes up space. He consumes you, soap and faint shaving cream infiltrating your senses. You wonder if it’s too heady to be taken in the middle of the day. If you’re too grown, if that’s something that only teenagers do when their parents aren’t home. 

“When do you have to leave?” You ask, pulling back just a millimeter from his lips. 

Rex glances over at the analog clock sitting on your mantle. “Forty minutes.” 

You place a hand on Rex’s chest, gently pushing him back. Rex slides back, sitting on his knees. Worry flashes in his eyes, brows furrowing. 

“Gonna go grab you a condom,” you say. 

Rex’s ears go pink. “Really?” 

“Unless you have objections.” 

Rex doesn’t have any objections. The only thing he can object to is the lack of time— only forty minutes. Less, truly, because he has to be walking out the door in forty minutes. Now, thirty-nine. 

You return, little foil between your fingers. 

Before you can sink to your knees between his legs, Rex’s hands are on your waist and maneuvering you to sit on the couch beside him. 

Before you can question his actions, Rex’s lips are back on yours. His hand slides over yours, taking the packet from you. With his hand on your back, he gently lowers you backwards against the couch. 

Bunching your skirt up, you expose yourself to him. Your panties are embarrassingly dark, damp at your core from just a little bit of kissing. 

Rex has that look on his face, the one where his brows are pinched and his mouth is slightly open as if he’s both shocked and deeply appreciative to be in this situation. His thumb drags over the growing wet patch, and his brow furrows. 

You’re shaven. Velvet soft. 

“What happened?” He asks. 

In turn your brow furrows.  “What do you mean?” 

“You’re… You shaved.” 

“I’m waxed.” 

Rex blinks at you. You sit up on your elbows. “I went on a girls trip to the beach. So I got a wax beforehand. I got back in yesterday.” 

It’s more information than Rex needs. He simply nods. 

“What?” Insecurity begins churning in your stomach, taking over the heat that had been building. Rex’s eyes flit up from your cunt. 

“Nothing,” he says, fingers dipping under the waistband on your panties. He slides them down, sighing upon seeing your exposed pussy. He’s missed this. He’s been thinking about it, been thinking about you. 

You giggle. “Have you been?” 

Rex’s eyes widen. “Did I say that out loud?” 

Grinning, you nod. “Yeah, you did.” 

A ruddiness fills Rex’s face as he flushes. “Didn’t mean to.” 

“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” you admit, though you feel your body warm in embarrassment at the statement. There was a reason you were so insistent to feel him inside you again. 

Humming, Rex runs his hands on the insides of your thighs, pushing them further apart. “Really?” 

You nod. You wrote about it in your diary. 

Rex doesn’t share that he’s thought about you so loud it’s earned him more than one reminder about Jedi sensitivity from his General. The last being on an airship after a battle. General Skywalker had bumped him on the shoulder, mumbled that he could hear him. 

He doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Rex’s lips glide over yours, his tongue dancing in the tang of your pussy. Your fingers rack over his hair, scratching at his head. His tongue swirls around your clit, lips closing in after it. 

Essence escapes from your cunt, trickling down your smooth skin. Soft moans escape from your lips, floating into the warm air. 

Your body hungrily accepts the finger that slides inside you. Sitting up on your elbows, you want to watch, watch this mysterious man who’d rather be on his knees at work. His brows are furrowed in concentration. You squeeze around his finger and he moans into you. You wonder if he’s also gotten ahead of himself, if his mind also races forwards, thinking about the next instead of the present. 

It’s loud, all the slick and saliva swimming together. Rex’s tongue is dutiful and steady, his fingers working in tandem. 

Rex’s eyes crack open to gaze up your body. He ends up meeting your heady stare, the rise and fall of your chest. He pulls away, his fingers still working in those easy motions. 

“Come here,” you beckon, pulling the hemline of your shirt up to expose your breasts. You haven’t forgotten the array of hickies you were left with, the days of forgoing low cut tops. 

Rex seemingly misunderstands, instead shooting straight for your mouth. He swallows a moan, one that bubbles out of you as his fingers continuously beckon your closer towards a climax. 

A third finger slips inside you when his lips finally wrap around an under stimulated nipple. You groan through a bitten lip, arching your back into him, hips rolling into his hand. It feels good. So much better than your own. Thicker. Longer. Better reach. 

Better than your friend’s slender fingers after a drunken dinner on the beach. Rex seems to remember you. Remember all the crevices inside your body, remember the basics of what you like. Like he’s been replaying that night in his head, like a poet and their haiku.

“Rex, please… Want you inside…” you insist through a sigh, squeezing around his fingers. 

Rex lifts his head. “But you haven’t cum yet.” 

Your jaw goes slack. Rex’s cock throbs at the plumpness of your lips, puffy from biting. 

“It’s polite,” Rex elaborates. 

“We don’t have very long,” you reply. “Next time you’ll call me and—” Your breath hitches as Rex’s fingers grind into you, curling upwards. “—and we’ll have more time.” 

“Next time?” Rex likes the sound of that. He slowly removes his fingers, and brings them to his lips. It’s utilitarian, the way he’s after the taste. But he has to commit it to memory— He isn’t sure there will be a next time, that there will be a phone call. But now, the sun is soft and you’re sweet on his tongue and on his eyes. 

You nod to answer his question. One of your legs slides off the couch as you sit up, grabbing the condom off the table. 

“I wanna do it,” you say, eager to feel the weight in your hand. 

Rex chuckles, enamored and a little self conscious, at your enthusiasm. His pants and briefs find their way onto the floor and he takes his shirt off for good measure too. 

Your eyes linger on his dog tags, glinting in the afternoon light. Instead of calling attention to it, you take his cock in your hand, all warm and heavy, and swipe your finger over the head, through the pearly bits of precum crying there. 

Rex gasps. His chest heaves, rising up and down as an arm stretches across the back of the couch. 

You want to kiss it. Kiss the fat tip, let your tongue lace through the seam. But you had tried to earlier, wanted him salty in your mouth so he’d be relaxed, and had been, quite kindly, redirected. 

So you pump him once. Twice. Three times for luck. The condom glides on, sucking against him. Almost too small. 

Rex takes you on your back, with one leg lifted above his shoulder and the other hanging off the couch. His movements are shallow and even, pressing you further and further towards the armrest. His dog tags swing in your face and you’re caught with the unexpected urge to bite them. 

Rex glances from you, out the open patio doors. A few birds flock along the horizon. The sun is setting. He sits back, hand resting on your thighs and watching intently as your breasts bounce with every thrust. 

He glances over at the clock on your mantle. Fifteen minutes. He swears to himself. This is why he doesn’t like quickies— He wants to be buried in your warmth for as long as possible. 

Taking his tags in his teeth, Rex leans back over you as his thrusts speed up and harden. You cry out in shock, though it quickly warbles into pleasure, as your core tightens in pressure and then suddenly, without warning, snaps. Your legs shake around him, pussy pulsing around his throbbing hardness. 

Rex’s mouth opens in surprise, tags dropping. His hips slow as his attention focuses on guiding you down from your high, but you’re quick to shake your head. 

“N-no, keep going,” you urge. “Want to feel you cum.” 

“But—”

“No buts,” you breathe, hiking your hips up slightly. “Please, it’ll feel so good.” 

Rex nods and pics up the thrusts again, returning them to his original speed, the one that had made you cream around him. Your hand travels between your bodies, fingers rubbing desperately at your clit as you feel a second, stronger orgasm approaching. 

“I’m going t’cum again,” you warn. 

“Fuck,” Rex swears, then quickly apologies. His hand finds purchase on the back of your thigh and presses you open, creating more of a stretch. 

You swear this time, brows knitted in pleasure. With each thrust you can feel Rex’s balls, wound tight, slapping against you. 

Without thinking, you clap a hand over your mouth as your second orgasm shakes through you. Rex ducks his head, chasing his own high in erratic throats before he moans directly into your breast. 

You feel light, like you’re floating. Too light. 

You’ve painted Rex’s groin and the v of his abs. 

“Sorry,” you breathe. 

Rex shakes his head, falling against you. His face rests in the crook of your neck. “Don’t worry about it.” 

His cock twitches inside of you. 

You let out a breathless laugh. With gravity, your head turns to the side and you look at the clock on your mantle. Your cunt throbs around him, and he exhales sharply. There’s a little twitch in response. 

Part of you, the dirty naughty part, wishes there was more mess to clean up. For Rex to dip his head down and lap through, for him to—

Your train of thought is cut off by a sudden yet slow loss. Rex eases himself out, hands on your knees. Immediately, your hole pulses at the sudden loss. 

“Sorry,” Rex says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. Your heart, once more, flutters. 

“‘S fine,” you murmur, tossing an arm above your head. The sun soothes over your body, urging you to close your eyes. 

Instead, you watch as Rex disappears into your bedroom, then your bathroom, and returns with a warm washcloth. 

It all feels so natural. Just like last time. 

His hands are steady as he cleans you up and then himself. He tucks himself back into his pants, then his shirt, then moves to grab your underwear off the ground. 

“Leave it,” you say softly. “I’m going to take a shower.” 

“Oh.” 

You move your legs so Rex can sit back down on the couch, then you place them in his lap. 

Mournfully, Rex replies with a hand on your shin, “I have to get going.” 

“You sat back down,” you point out. 

You’re right. He did. 

Rex’s hand rests on the inside of your calf, rubbing softly. He bows his head, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of your knee. 

“Poor baby,” you murmur, reaching to scratch your nails against his hair. Rex raises his gaze to yours. “Have to go back to work on such a beautiful day.” 

The day is beautiful, Rex can agree. It’s gorgeous. Stunning. He presses another kiss into the daylight that streams across your skin. 

“Tell me about the rest of your day,” you coo. 

If you were a Separatist spy, you’re the best one they have. Rex melts into your words, crawls up your body to place more kisses against the soft skin. 

“Just some escorting work,” Rex says. “Easy stuff.” 

“No danger?” 

“Shouldn’t be any.” 

Rex hovers above you. Your lashes glide closed and then open as you gaze down Rex’s body before back up to him. You cup his face in one hand, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. 

“That’s good. Are you going to call me this time?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Do you promise?” Your voice is almost a purr, your thumb sliding down Rex’s bottom lip. 

Rex nods. There’s a hypnotic rhythm to his breath. “I’ll call you. The next time I’m in Naboo.” 

“You can send me a text, too.” 

“I want to call you.” 

You swallow. 

“I’ll call you,” Rex promises. He lowers himself slightly, unsure if he’s allowed to get a kiss or not. This is a hook up, right? 

Your lips meet his half ways for a long peck. 

“Good boy,” you say against his lips. 

Rex nods again. “I have to go.” 

“I know.” Your breath mingles with his. “You don’t want to go.” 

Rex shakes his head, agreeing with you. He doesn’t want to go. You press a brief kiss to his lips. 

“I’ll hear from you soon.” 

Rex nods. Slowly, he eases off your body, eyes leaving even slower. 

“You don’t do this often,” you note. 

“No, I don’t.” 

You readjust your clothes so you’re decent again. Pantyless, but decent. You sit up on your knees, dancing your fingertips along his ears. 

“I’ll walk you out,” you murmur. There’s a feeling in your stomach that he won’t leave on his own. 

Rex stands, and your hand dribbles off him, landing in his own. He helps you stand, letting go as soon as you’re upright. It’s a careful walk to the front door, where Rex puts on his shoes and you don’t. 

“Bye, Rex,” you say. 

Rex returns the departing words, your name rolling off his lips. He turns, steps through the threshold, and heads down the stairs. He’s in the courtyard before you close the door. 

[alittlefrenchtree]

So. The Idea of You.

It’s not spoilers free. I’m talking about details and a couple of (very expected) plot twists.

As quickly mentioned before, I hadn’t huge expectations for the movie and I’ve watched only because I’m interested with what Nick as an actor, even on projects that aren’t for me or that I’m not really enthusiastic about.

My main goal was to not be angry at the end of it. And I’ve kind of succeed? I was briefly angry after one hour and forty minutes BUT nobody acted on the said stupid idea so I didn’t stay angry at the end. Yay.

Things I liked about the movie :

-Roughly the first… Lets say 50 minutes to be generous (roughly until the night at the nyc hotel included). It was silly and cringe and absolutely ridiculous but it was fun. I think it’s even funnier if you followed a band when you were a teenager and read or write the same self insert scenario in fan fictions. And since I did, I laughed a lot. Both Nick and Anne sold the thing from their first scene together. As seen during the promo tour, the duo works quite well on screen.

-The very few glimpses we had at the weight of celebrity on Hayes’ shoulders. When Solène asked if it happens a lot, when he gets recognized in the car, when simple daily life things as even grabbing a thing to eat is an impossible problem to solve, when he understands it’s because he’s famous that he’s loosing his relationship… It’s one of my favorite subjects to write about so I would have been on board with that anywhere and anytime but watching it on Hayes Nick’s face broke my heart all the same. I know this is not that kind of movie but I would have been delighted if it was more about that.

-The very few tries at portraying how boysbands created around a casting process destroy the kids they’re hiring. How each member is pushed in a little box to fit a role that is identifiable, very narrowed and marketable. How music is never at the center of anything for this kids who are dreaming of it. How they all have an expiration date and how they’re all left alone with huge mental health problems that usually leads to self-destruction. I find ironical that in a movie that is described as something for 40yo women who were told they have an expiration date, it’s the 24yo male character who is the target of that through an industry of billions of dollars in their script.

Things I disliked :

-…everything else? I swear I tried to keep an open mind about light, fun and silly cute but the majority of what I’ve watched and heard only felt shallow and empty. I was hard to root for a couple when the majority of the development of their relationship is glossed over. In the second half, bounding and solving problems are mainly portrayed the same way (tonguing each other romantically kissing). Any attempt to develop something past the first half of the movie is terrible. The writing is atrocious even for a light and fun thing. There are cute and fun moments in the second half but there are so little and rare I was mostly bored out of my mind.

-the person who wrote the PR kit and sent Anne and Nick in front of every camera around the world to say that it’s a movie about female pleasure and that female pleasure is a whole character of the movie on the base of an unrealistic 12 secondes fingering scene alone. Straight women around the world, you have my whole compassion, because that was sad as fuck. I understand all too well the need to take liberties with marketing speeches but damn 💀

Here you go! Remember that every word is a personal opinion, disliking half a movie is different from hate and hating the people who worked on it and if you want to write to me saying you disagree with every word I wrote, it’s ok too. But I suggest you to write more arguments than insults if you don’t want to waste your time 😘

[thegigilwriter]

08 | “Danger & Star, Rooster & Angel” — Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Mitchell OC

Summary: 26-year-old Lucy Asa Mitchell did not know what was in store for her when she first bumped into Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. After an instant mutual connection followed by a sweet whirlwind romance that swept both their feet, Lucy found herself being immersed deeper into Bradley’s world of the Navy, F-14s, and deployments. What she didn’t expect was finding was the answer to an elusive part of her past — the identity of her long-lost father.

Masterlist

Keywords/Warnings: Romance, Implied religious themes (OC is Catholic), slight angst, Drama

08 | Crab Dinners and Star Gazers 🌌

Sunday PM June 25, 2023

Lucy sighed shaking her soft waves as she ran them through the hairdryer. She stared at herself in the mirror, her head cocked to one side. She put the hairdryer down, pulled the plug, and stowed it away in her dresser drawer. As she began powdering her face, she wondered if the crab meat was thawed enough and hoped that Bradleyʼs special dessert was baking as desired. The ice tea was prepped and resting in the fridge, the table was set, and the brioche toast was buttered and flavored, ready for the oven. After Lucy applied her final layer of mascara, she gazed into her own visage. Something had changed — something deep within her and it showed in the gleam of her eyes, the stretch of her smile, the glow of her round cheek, and the way she stood in front of her own reflection.

Her face wasnʼt so wide anymore, the mole on the corner of her lip and the one near her eye didnʼt look so bothersome, and she held a new fascination with her eyes. How odd, she thought. She straightened her dress, checked her lip gloss, and proceeded to walk into the kitchen.

She drained the water from the half-pound of backfin crab meat and put a pan on high flame. When the surface was hot enough, Lucy heated a tablespoon of butter and the juice of a half lemon. She then added the crab meat and seasoned it with salt and pepper to taste. She stirred it around the pan a little before popping the lid on and putting the toast in the oven. Just then, a knock resounded on her apartment door and Lucy excitedly rushed towards it.

“Hey Angel,ˮ Bradley breathed. He swears, he was getting so spoiled from seeing Lucy like this twice a day. Tonight she opted for another dress with a shorter skirt. It was auburn-colored with a halter strap neckline. She had also paired her outfit with little open-toed black heels.

“Hi,ˮ Lucy smiled as she opened her door for his entry. As Bradley stepped in, he couldnʼt help but quickly notice how full and vibrant her space was compared to his barren house.

“Make yourself at home,ˮ she told him, returning to the stove as Bradley wandered into her living room. “Dinnerʼs almost done.ˮ

He saw the green tendrils that hung by her window as well as her lush plant box. He noticed the tall bookshelf with weathered spines as well as Harry Potter memorabilia. He was fascinated by the tortoises, Tip and Toe, in their makeshift enclosure acting as her TV console. He peered into Walstead fish bowl on her living room table, and admired the cherry red shrimp among the pearl grass as well as the slow-moving golden snail. Bradley sat on her grape-colored couch, and a handsome, classical, rosewood guitar caught his eye. He walked towards the instrument and lifted it in his arms. It was old, but well maintained. By the light of the street and of the moon streaming from her window, his fingers grazed an inscription on its curved side.

To Ford, play with a tender heart.

“Bradley?ˮ

Bradley instantly put the guitar down as carefully as he could before stepping into the kitchen. Lucy had just set down a lidded cast iron pan beside the pitcher of ice tea and a serving bowl of brioche toast. Bradley smiled, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the side of her head. He banished all thoughts of the guitar in his head as he pulled a seat for Lucy as well for himself.

“This smells so good Angel,ˮ Bradley sighed, inhaling the aromas of the table. Lucy lifted the lid and Bradleyʼs eyes widened.

“Is that—?ˮ

“Norfolk-style crab!ˮ Lucy announced. “You told me that you grew up there and I wanted to create something close to home. Do you like it?ˮ

“I love it,ˮ Bradley replied. “But Angel you didnʼt have to—“

“I wanted to,ˮ Lucy interjected. “If youʼre set on spoiling me, then why couldnʼt I do the same for you?ˮ

Bradley chuckled

“Whatever you want, Angel.ˮ

Dinner conversations were alight with banter, flirty remarks, and laughter, but at the back of his mind Bradley thought about the guitar. Who was this Ford? What did he mean to Lucy and why was she still holding on to something that belonged to him? It bothered him just a little, knowing that before him perhaps another man sat in her dining room or that she was in the front seat of his car. But what was most bothersome is that perhaps in some way, Lucy was hurt by this man so severely that it warranted Tita Ramonaʼs concern.

“Be careful with her, please. There are things that can only be broken so much.ˮ

As their discussion waned and their plates became empty, Lucy went to the kitchen. As Bradley quietly conducted his train of thoughts, all rails came to a halt as soon as the lights in her apartment dimmed slightly and Lucyʼs voice resounded fluidly across the space.

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you...ˮ

Bradley gaped at her as she carried a cheerful, yellow ceramic plate on which she served a chocolate mound with a dollop of cream and a white candle on top. For a while, Bradley was stuck in a daze. Lucyʼs lovely visage and her auburn-colored dress. Her soft voice. The dancing flame. The rich smell of chocolate and vanilla and sugar.

“Happy birthday to you!ˮ Lucy ended.

“Angel—“ Bradley gasped, slowly coming out of his daydream. “H-How—?ˮ

“Phoenix told me,ˮ she replied as she set the plate down. “I have to say... Iʼm a little disappointed that you didnʼt tell me that your birthday was two days away and it happened to be on your deployment date.ˮ

“I didnʼt want you to make a big thing about it,ˮ Bradley told her.

“This isnʼt a big thing,ˮ Lucy assured Bradley, as she reached for the small spoon. “Itʼs just a little something special.ˮ

Bradley took the spoon from her outstretched fingers.

“Now dig into it,ˮ she smiled. “I wanna see if I got it right this time.ˮ

As Bradley dug his spoon all the way down the mound, a rich chocolate ooze appeared from its depths and ran across the remaining space on the plate. Lucy clapped her hands and did a little celebratory dance.

“Chocolate lava cake,ˮ Bradley remarked. “Impressive, Angel.ˮ

He took a bite, the balance of the cream and chocolate cake and ooze— their respective textures harmoniously melting together on his palette. Bradley moaned, taking another spoonful. He urged Lucy to sit on his lap before feeding her a bite, to which she relished with a satisfied hum.

“Chocolate soufflé, chocolate mousse, and chocolate lava cake...ˮ Bradley recited. “What should we have next, Angel?ˮ

“A nice cup of tea?ˮ She suggested, feeding him a spoonful with his arms wrapped her waist.

Bradley hummed thoughtfully.

“Under this beautiful night?ˮ He suggested. Lucy smiled.

“Iʼll get a thermos and a sweater.ˮ

Bradley parked the Bronco in an isolated area by the beach. They moved to the backseat of the car and Lucy draped their close bodies with a big fluffy blanket she grabbed from the pillow basket near her couch. She poured the passionfruit blend into two small portable cups, steam billowing from the rim. Lucy leaned her head against his hard chest and Bradley put an arm around her, frequently turning to relish the scent of her fragrant hair. They sat there for a while... among the silence of the stars and the rhythm of their breaths, savoring something hot and delicious.

“This is nice,ˮ Lucy sighed. “I havenʼt stargazed in a while. Theyʼre all so bright tonight. Thereʼs Perseus, Cassiopeia, and Andromeda...ˮ

“You sure know your constellations...ˮ Bradley remarked.

“When I was younger, there was this small balcony near our room in our house at Oregon where my brother and I used to go to when we couldnʼt sleep...ˮ Lucy remembered with a nostalgic look in her eye. “He loved the stars. He memorized their names and the constellations, and whenever he saw a shooting star, he would wish for a telescope. I would stay up with him all night, just fascinated by how much he knew...ˮ

“You have a brother?ˮ Bradley breathed.

“I had one,ˮ Lucy smiled sadly. Bradley turned to her, and noticed the gleam in her melancholy gaze.

“Angel—“ he sighed. “You know that Iʼll still choose to be with you, right? Whatever brokenness you have... Iʼm not leaving you — no matter what you say.ˮ

Lucy choked on a gasp, and Bradley was quick to wipe a tear sliding down her cheek and pressing a kiss against her forehead.

“Iʼm not ready...ˮ she breathed deeply. “To talk about Ford yet...ˮ

To Ford, play with a tender heart.

The guitar flashed across his mind.

“Please be patient with me Bradley,ˮ she whispered.

“For you, Angel?ˮ Bradley smiled. “Anything.ˮ

“But there is... just one thing though...ˮ Bradley hummed after a moment of stillness.

Lucy shifted in his arms and averted herself to him swiftly, concerned. “I really, really, really...ˮ

She nervously waited for his reply.

“... want you to be my girlfriend.ˮ

Lucy smacked him across the chest with a flushed face, her eyes gleaming but her smile wide.

“Why do you have to say it like that?!ˮ She half-growled and half-laughed, shaking her head. Bradley cupped her face into his hands, chuckling.

“Iʼm sorry,ˮ he crooned softly.

“You know what?ˮ Lucy breathed, composing herself. “I really, really, really...ˮ

Bradley held his breath.

“Donʼt think—“

His heart fell suddenly.

“That thatʼs a bad idea.ˮ

And then it soared.

“So yes?ˮ Bradley blinked, his heart thundering in his chest like a drum announcing the commencement of a celebration.

“Yes!ˮ Lucy exclaimed, tears welling up in her eyes as Bradley bent down to kiss her. Her hands wandered through his locks greedily as she moaned into the kiss. Bradley lifted her on to him, letting Lucy straddle his thighs. His fingers gripped the flesh of her hip, and the other set remained cradling her soft cheek. Bradley began to press kisses against the side of her neck.

“Do you mind if I leave something here?ˮ He whispered to the shell of her ear.

“Make it last as long as your deployment or else Iʼll be even more disappointed,ˮ Lucy replied as Bradley began to bite down on her soft, fragrant skin. He loved the small noises she emitted with every breath and the way she would grip his hair and shoulders.

“Youʼve got quite an edge Angel,ˮ Bradley smirked as he kissed the newly-formed hickey just below the shell of her ear and far into her neck. “I like it.ˮ

“You have no idea,ˮ Lucy smiled impishly. “At least not yet.ˮ

Bradley chuckled kissing the mole on the corner of her eye and the one near her lips. Lucy rested her forehead at the juncture of his neck and shoulder — inhaling his essence.

“I donʼt wanna go,ˮ Bradley said to her softly as he stroked her hair. “I just wanna stay here, kissing you and eating your food and spoiling the hell out of you.ˮ

“And Iʼm afraid,ˮ he admitted as she turned to face him. “Iʼm afraid that Iʼve just gotten something so wonderful, and that itʼll be gone the moment I go away.ˮ

“Oh Bradley,ˮ Lucy stroked his face and let her fingertips graze his scars. “Thatʼs not going to happen. Do you know why?ˮ

Bradley looked intently at her.

“Because on the day of our first date, I went to church, and I asked God — ‘if this man was the one you meant to send for me, show me a sign and let him sit with me in front of You’ ... and this morning you did just that.ˮ

Bradley stilled, swallowing deeply.

“Iʼve had much taken from me Bradley,ˮ Lucy whispered. “And for the last two years Iʼve always wondered why, and now I know — every hurt and every path Iʼve taken since... has lead me to you.ˮ

Bradley kissed her forehead, holding her closer.

“In time, Iʼll tell you everything — everything, I promise. But for now, I hope that youʼll have me for what I am in your eyes.ˮ

“Angel,ˮ Bradley sighed. “However broken you may see yourself, in my eyes you are whole, and now — wholly mine.ˮ

Lucy knew it was naive of her — to think that there are good things in this life that can never be taken away no matter what promise or assurance was given. So as they held each other closely in the cold of the night, she offered up another prayer — one that asked to bring him home and to let this one good thing stay for good.

Bradley and Lucy are official! I have played out how this scene would happen in my mind so many times, but I’m glad how it finally turned out on paper :)) Thank you for reading! Now on to the next chapter 09 | First of Many.

[artsninspo]

Hi! Do you write for Modie? Can you do one where she is with the mandem and modie is her bf and she sees him for the first time after he broke out of jail. She is just like worrying about his scar and stuff and he‘s all soft. Just fluff. Thank you so much, love you🥰

“WHY SO SERIOUS?”

Author's Note: Hey, I don't typically write for Modie BUT since it's fall and Halloween is approaching I thought I’d do something fun with Modie. He gives me joker vibes (I mean it’s no coincidence they both had acid accidents), you know not easily understood, intimidating and a little off his rocker. This request is influenced by Joker and Harley Quinn - hope you enjoy the spin on this req. Sidenote* I don't plan to make this a habit LOL so please don’t be upset if your Modie req is never posted

Pairing: Modie X Reader 

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Mentions of murder & adult themes.

You finish a deep stretch letting out a sigh finishing your yoga for the day. Your thoughts are where they always are on Modie. Your muffin is locked up in a cage where he doesn't belong. Reaching for your phone you check your messages. Nude’s usually works to get his attention but he hasn't responded in hours. Groaning you head into the bathroom to shower and contemplate using one of the many dildos ready in your walk-in shower to take the edge off. You hope the pigs in the prison haven't confiscated his phone again because that’ll mean more time in the hole. You reach for the cast Muffin had made for you personally only to withdraw. He doesn't like when you play without him.

He’ll know, he always does.

“Uhhhhhh” you groan showering without any fun. You were supposed to have a facetime date last night. 

What if I did something wrong and this is my punishment?

You spend time lotioning your body in contemplation of your options trying to find a cause for the silence. Muffin said no tv or internet today so your options are limited, and you're in no mood to play on your switch. Muffin’s crew is having a party tonight, Layton told you. It's your best bet at staying in the loop so you decide on that. You hide your sadness with your makeup and freshly flat iron your half blonde and half black fringe, putting wavy curls in the rest of your hair. You put on a gloss and admire your full pout pretending Muffin was appling it for you. Then you put in your silver grillz he bought for your last birthday to match his. You smile sweetly at the memory of him smiling back at you in approval of the look, his hand under your chin before placing a soft kiss on your lips. What you wouldn't do to be back in that moment again, with him free, with you, when nothing else mattered. You step into your leather boots after getting on a one piece long sleeve unitard in all black. Your ensemble matches your mood. 

The journey to the fields is only a few songs long and you arrive at a full car park.

“Y/N” you're greeted a few times before heading into the yard. You push the door in and Layton stands at attention like you’ve done something wrong. There's no music, no scent of liquor or weed and definitely not the overflow of women these lot are used to.

“Ahhhh” you hear a groan.

You look at Layton knowing he knows better than to conduct business where the mandem call home and he uses his body to keep you out of the flat.

“Move!” you snap before shoving him back. You enter the living room and see the rest of the crew. Kit, Jamie and Si look least happy to see you as usual.

“Can I get you something?” Saf stands.

“I’m alright, thought this was a party” you look around and see the party was set up but nothings been touched.

“Nah, we're heading to another spot” Saf smiles.

“Has anyone heard from Modie? He hasn’t responded to my messages in hours” you ask. Each and every one of them look uneasy like they're keeping something from you.

“He had to get rid of his phone, spoke to him earlier today” Layton says puzzling you. “Then you lot must be fucking up if he used his call to speak to you and not me?” you snap, growing angry.

“Y/N, I swear” Layton stammers as you frown.

“Nah, nothing like that, we have good news for Modie - not bad” Jamie says. “Lets go to this party, yeah?” He stands, forcing a smile. Layton’s a loyal dog but Jamie’s always been smart first.

“I’m riding with you” you declare, watching him closely. Jamie’s afraid of you and you know it. He thinks you're crazy and unstable, he’s not wrong. Jamie's kryptonite is women and children, falling into the former category you have little to worry about. He gets the passenger door for you before getting in himself. He starts the car always observant before pulling out of the spot.

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie, what are you hiding from me?” you smile excited to play.

“Nothing” he lies.

“How convincing” you giggle. “You're usually much better, what are you on edge about?” you ask, leaning closer.

“Modie wouldn't want you to worry,” he says.

“Modie doesn't need your head all fuzzy, he needs you sharp” you smile and Jamie looks at you uneasily. Your smile grows as your assessment is correct. Jamie’s always shown you the utmost respect even when you've pushed quite far. He's never flirted or been suggestive and always shut down his peers when they were a little too close to the line. Any man with that much discipline and awareness is dangerous. “Don’t worry James, I like you. Relax, unclench - woosah” you taunt before giggling.

“Are you good for money?” Jamie asks.

“Yes Mister So Serious” you mock making a face. Jamie shakes his head in disapproval. “You’re such a stiff, now wonder you and Mo are friends - opposites attract” you smile sweetly.

“You are not his opposite” Jamie mutters and you applaud his wit laughing.

“See, that was a good one. I only get upset when they aren't fair or respectful” you warn.

“Throwing knives is a fair way to address disrespect?” he asks.

“One day you'll find your person and if someone goes mad at them, I bet you do much worse” you pat his shoulder.

“Modie broke out” Jamie says, wiping the smile off your face as he parks. “He had an accident he doesn't want you to worry about.” Jamie sighs as he parks. “He’s in there now, so do yourself up and act surprised” Jamie says once you've picked your jaw up off the floor. Your eyes hold his happy tears well. Your cheeks burn and you sniffle to keep your nose from running as you pull down the visor to get at the mirror. You curse for not wearing a better bra and re-adjust your tits before turning to Jamie.

“How do I look?” you ask him but he’s looking away as usual. “For fuck sake Jamie look!” you whine when he looks away.

“Bra strap is showing, gloss on your teeth” he says motioning to both before surveying you some more. “Some of the blonde is in the black bit” he says pointing to your hair, looking in the visor you fix it quickly. You look at him with big eyes in need of approval.

“Perfect” he nods. “Relax, unclench, woosah” he mocks and you snicker.

“I like you Jamie” you smile as you get out of the car. You head in the venue. The music is loud and you look around. There’s no time to take heed of the song playing as you look around. Layton motions for you to follow him you do with the rest of them to a secondary party drinks are flowing and there are more familiar faces. Phones are taken and shit off at the door. You grab a drink to calm your nerves and look around the party as the lights go so low it's hard to see at all. You feel a body against yours before your arms pull you in tight.

“Looking for me?” his voice asks, making your heart race, turning around and hugging him so tight. “What did I tell you about sending me naughty pics without warning?” he asks, placing kisses on your neck.

“But I missed you and I wanted to feel pretty and sexy,” you confess, pulling away to try and see him. It's impossible. 

“It’s inconsiderate to send a man that kind of material when he’s sharing a cell” he tells you. 

“Sorry, Muffin” you apologise and he chuckles running his hands through your hair. “Sorry” you apologise again when you realise you’ve used his pet name amongst his peers.

“Music's loud, it's okay Sweets” he says and you kiss him again. Your heart is racing as he holds you. You go to touch his face but he holds your hand. Uneasiness fills you. Jamie's words replay and you take Muffin’s hand following the lights on the floor into a private room. 

He’s been maimed. 

“Is who did this to you still alive?” you snap, trembling. Modie tries to withhold his amusement.

“For now” he nods as your temper flares. You hug him again relieved to have him home and he hugs back relaxing.

“I missed you, Sweets,” he says, rocking you side to side. He takes your chin. “Smile” he says and you show him you have your grills in. His smile grows wider and he hugs you again.

“We can drive to Spain and I can find you a good doctor, you can heal and rest and we’ll be alright” you say, devising a plan.

“Shhhhh” he says, holding your face in his hands. You look at the mangled skin and the blue hued cloudy eye. You don't look away and this time when you go to touch that side of his face he doesn't withdraw,allowing the intimate gesture. You smile when he takes your hand kissing your palm.

“What?” he asks.

“I don't know,” you shrug. “I just think it's really sexy,” you confess. “But, when I find out who did it, I'll kill them,” you added, smiling sweetly.

“I’m free now, we can have our fun” he says leaning in for another kiss and palming your ass.

“You promise you're alright?” you ask, looking him over.

“I have my girl and I have someone’s life to ruin - I’m perfect” he smiles and Layton knocks entering slowly with his head down.

“Boss, the mandem wants to toast” he says, you watch Modie’s persona change as he steps out among his peers, the leader of the pack. He keeps his eyes on you looking your way as he socialises and tells the animated tale of his escape. You sip your liquor thinking of all the ways you’re going to reunite later on. It takes you twenty minutes to slowly make your way to Jamie for answers.

“I know you know who did that to Modie” you say loud enough for him to hear.

“It’s for him to say” he responds.

“I thought we were friends” you pout.

“Only because you are more dangerous than him.” he says.

“Shhhhh” you tell Jamie. “Tell me” you mouth.

“Sully, Summerhouse Sully '' Jamie says but the name doest ring any bells. He must be a ghost, someone from the past trying to settle unfinished business.

Now he’ll be a corpse.

“Thanks, James” you smile heading back to Modie, the crowd parts for you like the red sea and you sit on your muffins lap making all the chatter and flattery stop. It's like it's just the two of you in the club, you drink and dance for him and laugh together, he tells jokes and tickles you and holds you and your heart is full because you have your man back.

...

I had a lot of fun writing this one, depending on how this does I may do a part two. No smut, just mentions of it with a little revenge and more lunacy. Maybe a halloween party idk. Chime in in the comment section.

[raaorqtpbpdy]

I just watched Blue Beetle and as much as I enjoyed it, I can’t say I’m not also a little disappointed.

Like it had all these fantastic elements! It had wonderful dynamic characters, and a very well established sympathetic secondary antagonist cast against a completely detestable primary antagonist, and a fun aesthetic, and cool technology, and great humor—I mean I watched it with my dad and brother and there wasn’t a single joke that didn’t make at least one of us laugh.

But it felt like all these stupendous pieces had been stuck together with duct tape and chewing gum instead of being stitched together properly and fully integrated with each other to create a cohesive story.

(spoilers under the cut)

I never advocate for movies to be longer because I’m not great at sitting still—but this is one movie that really could have used an extra ten minutes or so, just to slow down for proper scene transitions and to let people actually process the story aspects rather than just the characters.

I don’t want to knock its emphasis on family either, because it was not a bad thing by any means (I loved the family dynamic and it felt very organic and realistic), but it was sometimes redundant to the detriment of other necessary elements of the story.

Like the scarab, you know, the catalyst for the entire film?

It got treated as an object even after they learned it was sentient, and then largely ignored unless it needed to say or do something to progress the plot. They said it was sentient and then didn’t give it a personality. Even Jarvis had a personality in the Iron Man movies and he was just a computer program, not a sentient AI.

The only time I felt like the scarab was being treated as an actual character as it should have been instead of as an accessory was when Jaime’s mom pulled him aside and addressed it specifically when she gave them both her motherly pep talk, and then the callback to that pep talk during the subsequent fight scene, and I absolutely adored that moment, I just wish it wasn’t the only one.

They told us repeatedly that Jaime and Khaji Da were integrated and their respective minds were connected, but they didn’t really show that. They didn’t really address it at all outside of the way they fight together. Like these two characters are literally irreversibly fused together but somehow they never got an actual relationship dynamic.

Khaji Da immediately agrees when Jaime makes his no killing rule clear, despite obviously disagreeing before that point. It responds instantly when he asks for specific weapons. In fact, after the initial booting-up sequence, when it dragged Jaime around without consideration, it almost never disagrees with Jaime or exerts its own will at all, despite it being supposedly sentient.

It doesn’t even get a proper introduction. Jaime just starts calling it by name unprompted and that gets completely glossed over. They don’t even use it to further establish how their mental connection works.

The plot just skips over the inconveniences of a symbiotic relationship to jump into the action.

Also, any information we get about Kord or Khaji Da is rushed and simplified and then immediately gets tread on by the character development scenes. And I’m a sucker for good character development, which this movie has a lot of and which I loved, but you can’t throw necessary exposition and worldbuilding under the bus for it. A good movie and a good story needs both, and this one just wasn’t quite balanced right.

All in all, I definitely liked it, but I’m frustrated but the potential that was so agonizingly visible but that it didn’t quite live up to.

[dayseternal-blog]

Hi ! I see you giving lots of NaruHina recs, I am looking for any NaruHina fanfictions with them being in rival yakuza/gangs or just the fanfic placed in a yakuza/gang universe

Thanks ! ❤️

Hello! I've done this recommendation list before, but I think there may be new ones to add to it...

NaruHina Yakuza / Gangs AU

new ones:

"Savage" from "NaruHina Erotica Oneshots" by @makuro767 - Rated E, Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. Taking a deep breath, she focused on her current plan; escaping the Hyuuga Clan.

"Prey" by @sessakag - Rated E, Modern Crime AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. The moon aligns, a sacrifice is offered and he knows, she is his destiny. Following that midnight chance encounter with Hinata Hyuuga, a smitten sociopath, Naruto Uzumaki, tries his hand at romance, determined to make her fall in love with him the only way he knows how.

Here's the old list:

“When the Devil Picks Up a Stray” by callmesenorita - Rated E, A/B/O Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata, an Omega, questions buried feelings when she decides to help a childhood friend who has adopted a new persona under the name Menma. Although their attraction is instant he is no longer the Naruto she once knew, and soon enough Hinata is thrust into a dangerous yakuza conspiracy. DELETED FIC

“Bound” by suryass - Rated E, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Series of One-shots/Incomplete. Mafia AU-Collection of oneshots.

“July - Movie-Inspired” from “Still Falling For You” by @chloelapomme - Rated T, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto and Hinata peacefully live with each other. Well, almost peacefully…

“Powerless” by @bunny-hoodlum - Rated E for a lot of things like depictions of violence and character death, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. - His family’s past can’t be taken at face-value, and it comes clawing back to hurt him in ways that are out of his control.  DELETED FIC.

“Opposites Attract” by KyuubiLover100 - Rated E, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Citizens of Konoha all know that “The Light cannot exist without casting its Shadow.” It’s the unspoken system that the city runs on. Everyone knows their place and their roles. Those in the Shadows do what those in the Light cannot. Uzumaki Naruto knows this and has known this since he was young. Hyuuga Hinata knows this as well and understands her Father’s wished, but still…

“put on your warpaint” by @borzbois - Rated M, Tattoo Artist/College AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Hinata meets a stranger with beautiful tattoos. She never could have guessed the turn her life would take when she asked to draw him.

“All Kinds of Wrong” by Kieren - Rated E, Infidelity/Modern AU, One-shot. It was ironic how something so pure had sprung from such a sordid arrangement. They were perfect for each other. But they had met at the wrong time.

“Pink Chiffon” by @scalding-coffee-cup - Rated M, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. During the day, she wears pink chiffon and nude pumps; her glossed lips curve into an innocent smile. At night, she struts down the alleyway in black stilettos and wears a scowl on her red lips. The pistol is her most expensive accessory.

“Molasses” by EroPrincess - Rated E, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Adult film star, Hinata Hyuga, encounters a fledgling underground kingpin, Naruto Uzumaki. Is it possible for a romance to blossom between two people from very different worlds?

“Second Chances” by enzhe - Rated T, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Namikaze Naruto was abducted, then declared dead. Twelve years after he disappeared, his parents find him: now a scrappy, reckless teenager, with good friends, a lot of trauma, and ties to the murderous, anarchist Nine-Tails gang. As the family tries to put itself together, trust breaks, hurts heal, and the power struggles that led to Naruto’s abduction resurface.

“Dirtbags// The Fox” by OwlwaysHungry - Rated M, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Naruto and his friends end up having to work for a notorious drug dealing gangster by the name of Kyuubi after a not so satisfying night out.

“a home is a dream” by bluebeardsbrides - Rated M, Modern AU, One-shot. Naruto Uzumaki returns home with all the force maelstrom, three days after her husband’s disappearance and six years since she went and stumbled on Neji’s body floating in the creek downtown.

“Gangster AU” from “Tales of Two Ninjas” by @magmawrites​ - Rated M, Modern AU, One-shot. This world is an endless cycle of destruction, no matter how hard you try to stop it and sometimes the innocent get involved in the crossfire.

“What He Wants” by agitosgirl - Rated M, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Hinata Hyuuga is an average girl struggling, and failing to stay on top of things. But everything in her life changes once she meets a handsome stranger at club. She knows that he wants her, but doesn’t realize that he has the power, and the determination to do whatever it takes to make her his, no matter the cost.

Untitled collab w/ @matchaball for anon by @utsus​ - Rated T, Modern AU, One-shot. Prompt: She’s his ace in the cards that no one sees coming (that they honestly should’ve seen) and yes: she dislikes violence.

If anyone knows of others, please feel free to add!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love this kind of AU.

[myjustice]

spoilers for pt. 4 of lantern rite, thoughts mainly focused on furina.

at first i was concerned that her & hu tao meeting was going to be another little jab at furina's trauma concerning the floods & the people that were lost to the waters & other things ( because she genuinely carries a lot of guilt with her over it & the powerlessness she felt for the last 500 years & just making false promises that she herself as she was had the power to help them when that wasn't the truth ), so i'm really glad that it didn't end up being the case & it ended up being an entirely different thing.

by the sounds of it furina might be testing her wit on making a horror film which i would love to see personally. i hope this comes back full circle in a later patch - would love to see who she thinks would make perfect actors to star in her horror film, it'll probably be characters from liyue since liyue folklore seems to have been the source of inspiration for this film idea she's trying to iron out.

i'm glad that we caught the fontaine cast as they were leaving liyue because i really wanted the lantern rite to be more heavily focused on the liyue cast. i love the implication that the fontaine characters were there enjoying the lantern rite as well though!

i can't express just how happy i am that furina got to meet zhongli first out of the seven & that she got to spend time with him in the company of hu tao. she genuinely enjoyed their company & i adore & i'm so happy that she did because it emphasizes that her isolation isn't something she does with pleasure. furina doesn't like to be alone, she doesn't want to anymore. being on her own is just something she was forced to live with, self-isolation to cope with what may come her way & threaten her spirit. the fact that she can kick it off with others so well is wonderful & that she feels so at ease & comfortable to just be herself around them.

furina being able to tell there's more to zhongli than meets the eye by a mere conversation was awesome. the exhaustion i feel when people want to discredit her ability to critically think on her own or that she's too "childish" to connect two & two on her own is ridiculous. also this one shot of zhongli looking so happy to see her in person is very cute to me.

it gets glossed over that the seven see furina & her expelled divinity as one entity ( individual interpretations from the fandom/fanon aside ), so betwixt them they hold her at a very high esteem for being able to successfully deceive the heavenly principles which is an entity that they all fear ( for good reason ). they don't see furina &/or focalors, they just see furina who has simply destroyed her throne & is now like zhongli & venti are, they're just three retired tired & exhausted ex-archons. furina, however, does not fully have her memories intact, she only has vague recollections of her very old life. should that ever return to her in full swing or not is still very much in the air. it's neither a yes or a no.

anyway, i'm glad that it can't be argued that furina cares so much about neuvillette. he means a lot to her. & that she thinks of his wellbeing & is hopeful about him giving himself a chance in this world even with his lack of interest for it which she has known he has for the longest time. she knows him so well it's actually so lovely to see it play out how it does. she's using the traveler as her middle man, to pass on her message to him but i'm hopeful for the day where these two will get to talk to each other again & reconcile as she continues to find a healthy way to sort through her traumas & her woes to where it's not entirely consuming her anymore. having her see that she's deserving of love & is worthy of it & that it's genuine is the day i'm so excited to be able to see & witness for myself. for hundreds of years furina encouraged neuvillette to integrate himself more & more into the human world so that he for himself can see the beauty she saw in it even through the struggles & pains that come with it so i'm sure hearing the advice furina told the traveler to pass on to him was a song he was all too familiar with. him admitting & coming to terms with that is very important to that part of their relationship.

hearing clorinde regard furina as her friend no doubt meant the absolute world to furina & given how familiar furina is with clorinde it was important to me that she heard it from clorinde the most because furina knows clorinde wouldn't just say & toss the word friend around so lightly & so mindlessly. it really strengthened the foundation afterwards for furina to call them both her friends as well a few moments later because that was reassurance to furina. clorinde just saying this is what friends do for each other was letting her know that they really see her as their friend & that it's okay for furina to consider & see them as her friends as well because they already consider her as part of their group. it made me so happy. they all came separately but they all depart together.

in general i was pretty happy. it was so nice to see furina again. she means everything to me.

some tid bits that i found so funny were the implications that zhongli really did avoid neuvillette which the conflict in that is something i love because there really is a deep rooted conflict there by relation that needs to get addressed & ironed over & not fixed by the power of friendship.

hu tao saying that neuvillette was a friend of furina's that still had a lot of growing up to do because it's true, hu tao isn't wrong but it's just so funny that it came from hu tao, not because i believe her immature, but because her saying it out of anybody else is implying something.

& then the fact that furina vaguely recalls neuvillette's age as a result of hu tao saying that neuvillette has so much room to grow. i didn't know there was so much controversy around it because from the very beginning it was made clear that furina knew he was the sovereign. you may interpret the text as you want. both cn/jp say that he's at least a thousand years old while the english translation say he's several thousands which, both in essence, are not wrong. furina counting his previous dragon incarnations into his current one isn't anything new, at least to me.

regardless, i'm happy furina got to spend time with zhongli. they're good friends now.

[belladoesmakeup]

Hi guys,

Today we are chatting about hair, in particular my hair journey and why I went back to brunette from red.

When I was 17-22 (2010-2015) years old I loved colouring my hair with semi-permanent hair colours, at this time I was in my emo stage and of course had to have red / plum hair. My mum said I shouldn't use permanent dye at the time so I only used L'Oreal Casting Creme glosses and they had this gorgeous red colour I used all the time. Unfortunately they discontinued this shade so I stopped colouring my hair for a while and let my brunette colour come back. Though this took a while the colour eventually washed out and I didn't think about it again.

Skip along to 2020, we all know what happened that year and I was bored of my hair colour. Since I knew I was going to be at home for a while I decided to bite the bullet and go bright red! Unlike last time I committed to permanent hair colour which was scary but I knew I would be keeping the red for a long time. I used a Garnier dye called Warm Red and it was a very Hayley Williams hair colour. I loved the hair colour and felt so myself with this colour. I kept this hair colour for 3 years and during 2022 I decided my hair style needed a change so I added bangs! I blame Taylor Swift bringing out RED TV because this convinced me it was time to relive my bangs and fedora hat phase.

Finally in 2023 I grew out my fringe into a slightly awkward side fringe until it was finally long enough to pass off as (curtain) layers which was really cute for a while. I also decided the red hair was too much maintenance to keep up with so I started dying my hair dark brown. Now obviously what I should of done was strip the colour first and then use the brown hair on top but that's too easy so I coloured over it. Though it coloured most of the red I still had a tint of red coming through.

Since my hair was so dead I also cut a few inches off it and it turned into this cute dark brown long bob which I honestly loved! I also started using only brown hair dyes and tried to not colour my hair as often as I was before. When you have red hair you have to colour your hair every 5-6 weeks because of colour fade. Whereas with brown dye I can get away with it longer so it's every month and half to 2 months I colour my hair now since I have a few grey hairs now to cover. Cutting my hair was the best decision because my hair was much healthier and it also helped I was using hair masks to fix my dry, damaged hair.

Now in 2024 my hair has no more red tints going through it and it is so much healthier! I use a hair mask once a week, I wash my hair with Olaplex Detox shampoo once a week with a deep condition and it has made a drastic difference. So moral of the story by all means colour your hair however you want to but make sure you look after it otherwise you will end up with dried damage hair like me. Luckily I changed my hair habits before it's too late and now I love having more natural hair. I feel like now I'm 30 having dark brown hair feels a little more grown up and honestly kinda boosted my confidence a bit. It's ironic but when you've had funky hair colours for so long, a natural hair colour seems just as exciting to try again and they also cause less damage to your hair in the long run.

I would love to know what products you use to protect your hair so let me know in the comments.

Lot's of love,

Bella x x