#Patrick touched her intentionally

[toladlugopiska]

4x4

W tym odcinku jest dużo dotyku... // There is a lot of touch in this episode…

[poppy-metal]

https://www.tumblr.com/poppy-metal/758180099830022144/darby-rowe-come-over-here-and-talk-to-me-about

i gotchu 🫡

i am very very sleepy but the first thought that came to mind was about patrick & bunnygirl. and how patrick would come home after being out for hours (intentionally or unintentionally) and his bunny is just pissed. crossing her arms, pouting childishly, stomping her feet all over the house, “you were out all day and didn’t even have the nerve to tell me where you were going. for all i know you could have been getting well acquainted with some other bunny. in fact, i think i can smell her on you right now.”

this, of course, sets patrick off real bad and this whole argument ends with him forcing her mouth open and stuffing it full of cock. the best part about it all is him getting to watch her bunny ears twitch and fall down to the sides of her head as she finally loses her attitude and submits to him.

it seems like she’ll never learn to not give patrick lip because it’ll end up with him shutting her up one way or another. 🫶

RAHHHHH

patrick and his bratty bunny <3333 knows he gets held up sometimes but that doesn't stop her from pouting and kickin up a fuss about it. it's cause she misses him <//3 she has so much energy and not being able to annoy patrick or bounce on his cock is tantrum worthy.

nips at his hand as soon as he walks through the door enough to draw a pinprick of blood because she's mad - "dont touch me right now I don't even wanna see you. I hate you!" like she's not vibrating with the need to hop into his arms and tear his clothes off.

it's easy enough for patrick to pick her up in his arms and hold her arms to her sides as she kicks and struggles (not very hard) wiggling and pretending she's outraged when she's already sopping wet. "you made me bleed," he'd say against one of her upturned ears, making it twitch. "that's not very nice, huh? thought you new how to greet me."

bunny loves feeling like the prey she is <333 loves ticking patrick off enough that he'll force her on her knees and tower over her - send that zing of fear through her body that makes her little cotton tail twitch and her ears flop down. her attitude doesn't last very long when he pulls his cock out, she's so ready to take him into her throat he hardly has to force her down - fisting a hand around both of her downy soft ears to use as a leash.

"c'mon bunny. show me how much you missed me -" dragging her up and down over his fat cock. her warm tight little throat feels so good, inner walls spasming around him - thick globs of her saliva dripping down to his balls. he makes her suck those too, and she's gone all docile by then - ears limp in his hand, eyes hazy as she laps at him. got a hand shoved between her legs to jerk her clit off desperately - rubbing it in mad little circles as her throat is used. she can make herself cum so many times just like this - everytime a orgasm racks through her body her eyes roll back and her throat goes lax and patrick doesn't falter one second - punching his dick in and out of that wet hole as she twitches between his legs.

pulls her back and slaps her cheek every now and then to see her gasp - she goes crazy for it - such a slutty fucking bunny - he's obsessed with her. needs her bouncing up and down on his lap - pulls her up by her ears until she's straddling him and with renewed vigor she rides him. completely cockdrunk and not even remembering she gave him lip earlier, arms hooked around his neck as she fucks herself on the dick she loves so so much.

wants to give him sloppy kisses and lick his face she's ecstatic when he grips her ass and bodily moves her himself. "such a good bunny cunt - this is what I needed all day - fuck yeah -"

[remnants]

thots about tommy wayne under the cut 👇🏾😚👍🏾

ok so in my head he's not from gotham lol (my guy is east coast mean, which is pretty mean, but not gotham mean which translates to being the sweetest guy on earth once you’re within the city limits). he's the illegitimate and son of patrick wayne and his daddy wouldn't claim him bc the affair/one-night-stand/whatever-you-wanna-call-it happened while he was very much married (fuck this guy fr!) and his wife was very much pregnant (oh brother this guy STINKS!!!). anywayyyy elizabeth mitchell isn’t stupid and knows a fight she can't win when she sees one so she leaves gotham for new york when the test comes back positive and patrick won’t pick up her calls.

and things are going good! she's made a little name for herself as a local nightclub singer and she's got a job waiting tables during the day that makes good money and sure things were a little touch and go for a while and sure there were times where she was sure that they weren't gonna make it but she got her baby through school (he graduated valedictorian btw) and now he's in the first year of his pre med undergraduate degree at the local university on a full scholarship (her parenting HER parenting).

so imagine her surprise when the billionaire deadbeat of the hour shows up on her doorstep one day talking about family duty and lines of succession.

patrick amadeus wayne jr. is dead. dead dead dead. and while it wasn't really a surprise to anyone with eyes (weak lungs can only take so many wet gotham winters and the tabloids were saying that the cough he sported at the latest gala sounded particularly nasty), he was by all appearances an only child (francesca wayne could barely get pj out let alone carry another baby to term) and the waynes were fumbling for someone to take his place before the body was even cold.

the transition is as rough as you would expect, what with the stony silences from his father’s wife (stepmother? who knows, not that either of them would ever acknowledge the relation) whenever they cross paths in the manor (francesca wayne never makes an outside appearance in gotham society again after the passing of her son. she enters a period of seclusion and never emerges, spending her days wandering the halls in mourning blacks and lighting candles in prayer), and sometimes being called patrick or pj by the gotham upper class (intentionally or not. though he suspects intentionally because his mother’s side of the family got the monopoly on his looks). it’s very obvious that he doesn’t fit in but hey, free college is free college and his mama is gonna be set for life if he can just see this through.

of course the whole thing doesn’t go over well (a long lost father suddenly appearing on your doorstep and claiming you only because his other kid died would put most people off to be completely fair) but after some yelling and screaming and haggling, compromises are made. in exchange for thomas moving to gotham and being prepped to take over as head of wayne enterprises, his mother is also to be put up in a fancy brownstone on the upper east side and given enough in allowance (in addition to the 18 years of child support she never got) so that she never has to work again and thomas is to be allowed to continue his studies, graduate medical school (in gotham and not at john hopkins like he planned. rip it was literally his dream school), and become a doctor (i like to think becoming a doctor was solely a thomas wayne endeavor. all the wayne men before him were men of business and trade but tommy has wanted to help people his entire life and he’ll be damned if he lets his father keep him from following his dreams). there’s a handshake and signatures signed on a drawn-up contract (because patrick wayne doesn’t do anything by halves and of course he brought the family lawyer to meet his son after 19 years of pretending he didn’t exist) and thomas goes from a two-bedroom apartment in hell’s kitchen to a bedroom the same size (and then some) right outside of gotham city.

and he does see it through, very well in fact! thomas wayne graduates top of his class in undergrad at gotham university as well as in medical school, is granted a residency at gotham general, and eventually becomes the head of surgery. Along the way, he meets a girl named martha, gets married, and has a beautiful baby boy named bruce (after his maternal grandfather ofc) and the rest is history!

[vanillahigh00]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @hippolotamus! 💙

A rework from Sunday's seven sentences and a bit more.

She should’ve been back by now. It had been a few hours since Rachel darted out the door like clockwork after another fight. He knew that dance, swaying to and fro many times over the last decade plus. Patrick would give her space and within days, she’d be back in his arms like their squabble never happened, pledging to start fresh. Except tonight was different. They didn’t live apart. Patrick’s apartment was hers and she wasn’t here. It wasn’t the first night they had spent apart since Patrick moved to Schitt’s Creek, but the first night either of them intentionally slept somewhere else. 

Patrick stared at the door, willing it to open, his stomach tightening, hating himself a bit more with each passing minute. He should’ve felt relieved that Rachel was ending this. Excited at the prospect of seeing if there was still anything between him and David, but he didn’t. Not like this. Not while she was out there not answering his texts. Not when Patrick couldn’t make her understand the real reason they couldn't elope. At the heart of all this, he still loved her. He just wasn’t in love with her. She was still and will always be one of Patrick’s favorite people. Every muscle tightened in his toned body as he envisioned Rachel out somewhere, crying. He needed to find her. They needed to talk this out. More importantly, he needed to know she was okay. 

He picked up his phone, hoping he missed a text response, but Rachel hadn’t even read his messages unless she turned off read receipts. Patrick focused on his words, hoping his message and concern would telepathically reach Rachel.

9:30 pm Patrick: Rach, where did you go?

9:45 pm Patrick: Can we talk?

10:00 pm Patrick: Are you okay?

Sleep evaded him as he laid in bed watching a classic Stanley Cup game. He didn’t know which teams were playing or what year this game took place. It was background noise, maybe something to take the edge off the failure sweating off his body. He failed Rachel, not only as a boyfriend, but as her best friend. A friend should’ve known she needed more and time after time he thought he could give that to her, but she kept coming back. Every doubt filling his mind vanished every time she ran into his arms. 

He did love her. His blood boiled when he imagined another man touching her, and many men tried over the years, some succeeding because Patrick couldn’t get his head out of his ass quick enough to reclaim her. Why wouldn’t other men want her? Who could turn down a beautiful redhead with freckles dusting the gentle skin between her nose and where her eyes met her high cheekbones? 

He missed her when they weren’t together, but he didn’t mope around his apartment like a lost puppy, unlike his father had when his mother traveled for work. That was love. One of many red flags that should’ve given Patrick pause, but he ignored all the warning signs on so many levels because his parents had what he always wanted, and it seemed impossible that it wouldn’t be with Rachel.

Until David. 

It's late and leaving an open tag for anyone who wants to share what they're working on!

[bittersweetlikecoffee]

Random photo dump for 2023...

Those outdoorsy and hotel pictures were taken on a planned trip to Portland, OR. It is everything you've thought about when the word "hipster" comes to mind. The majority of the food that I consumed was amazing: fresh, intentionally selected ingredients, so many food trucks and restaurants that were birthed from food truck conversions.

Seattle was weird to me. It IS weird. It also is suffering deeply from the struggles of the unhoused and temporarily displaced. But there is still beauty in her cracks. I have to separate my line of work from the city because she is so much bigger than my 12 hour shifts.

Portland is like this. Go and see it. Put it on your bucket list and budget for it.

Amarylis is a beautiful girl, and she has impending appointments to be made. She screams at me for attention and never says "no" in cat to affection from her parents. It's more like a "not right now" in cat, where she appears affronted that you'd so much as touch her and then sashays as she turns away from you and starts preening and grooming. Diva...

She's been a great source of comfort to me, though. Amarylis never fails to curl up at the foot of the bed while I go to sleep or just nuzzle my legs and sit beside me when I'm relaxing at home. She is the chillest of cats except for when it's close to the hours of 5am and 4/5pm, her feeding times, and then she becomes this feigning, wild-eyed, desperate, whiny little thing practically prostrating at your feet.

But other than that, she's wonderful. 10/10. Would clone another of her for sure!

That. Coffee. Bar.

I made that. 🥹😭

It's very Magnolia Home and Pinteresr-inspired. Did I nail the modern farmhouse look? Yes? I'm going to say I did. Emphatically. The bar was ordered off of Amazon and is really good quality. It took like 2 hours to install with my partner.

The knick knacks: mugs, coffee stirrers, canisters, and storage jars, and what have you are from Fred Meyer (local grocery store chain out here that's like this regional part of the country's answer to Wal-Mart. It literally has everything, even jewelry and engagement rings), Wal-Mart, Amazon Fresh (that cute pop of orange from that mug in the left corner? A free promotion giveaway and thank you gift from the associates at the Amazon Go in my apartment complex. I have two.), and Target.

In a few months, I will be visiting my parents' homeland of Jamaica. My home away from home. My other place. My Caribbean heritage. I am quietly excited and celebratory but also personally struggling so...

I'm peac-ing out for now. I'll lurk on here and probably won't post like this for another few months. Expect the occasional random reblog. Maybe I'll post vacation pics to Jamaica. Sans family. Just me and my boo.

But, before that, I have to deal with some personal shit: work stress, life stress, my stress...and all the effed up mess, and then I need to love on my man. He's been holding me down since day one and never ever stops. Of course, I support and cheerlead him 200 percent all day every day. That's Bae. I know what I offer and what my value is. He meets and matches that exponentially and without question or complaint. 10/10. Bitch, get you a cis- or Trans or nonbinary or asexual or whatever and however they want to be identified as- Grade A Patrick. Or I could just clone him.

Alright, ya'll, let me shut up cuz I know this shit isn't getting read to the very end.

Until next time, lovelies... ✌🏿

Xoxo💋

[inblueandyellow]

A Look at Charlie & Nick's Color Story in the Heartstopper TV Show.

HEARTSTOPPER SPOILERS

So as a TV/Film graduate I spend most of my time consuming media in an annoying way. This means I overanalyze every single detail until my brain hurts and won't shut up about it. This post is going to be a comprehensive look into color theory and my thoughts while watching (and rewatching) Heartstopper.

First, let's start with the setting and how the colors help set the tone. Truham Boys School. The school colors seem to be a blue (but color grading often makes it look teal/cyan) and yellow (and color grading also varies to make this more mustard/or desaturated or more saturated), as seen below.

These also happen to be the colors that represent our two main characters: Charlie and Nick.

We'll start with Charlie. His main color palette seems to be yellow. His room. His water bottle. His rugby bag. The sparks when he and Nick touch. The table HIS friends sit at. It's all yellow. If we wanna get film and artsy, which we are, this can represent a lot of different things.

Positives to start: Hope. Optimism. Knowledge. Wisdom.

Negatives: Cowardice. Deceit. Betrayal. Jealousy.

Yellow reflects a lot of Charlie's mood in season one and is shown a lot in the scenes in which he is present. Below are some examples.

Next is Nick. This section will be a bit longer because his palette changes in the last episode. His main color palette is blue, which is actually a lot to do with Truham in my opinion. He has a lot of societal pressure to follow what his friends from Truham do or say, so most of his palette reflects that.

His rugby bag is blue. His sparks when he holds Charlie's hand in front of the Truham boys is blue. His room is blue. His jumper he gives Charlie is blue. The table his friends sit at is blue. The memory of Charlie's bullying is blue, due to the Truham pressure. Hell even his marker is blue.

Positives of blue representation in film can be loyalty, cleanliness, clean, calm, confidence.

Negatives can be depression, sadness, coldness, isolation.

Blue can be an emotional color which is perfect to represent Nick's journey through Heartstopper. It pulls the audience through and rips at the heartstrings more when basked in blue light.

But, the colors start to change as Nick and Charlie get together. The lighting choice used when they first kiss at Harry's party? Yellow, it's the hope for Nick. Nick's mug has an "N" in what color, as his mother tells him he is more like himself around Charlie? Yellow. The umbrella they kiss under in the rain? Blue and yellow. The details are there if you look.

And the final episode, the beach. Nick is in yellow. He is hopeful for their future together. He's wearing Charlie's color because he's more like himself around Charlie, he's finally feeling proud and joyful and optimistic of what could be their future together. And, Charlie is wearing a muted blue under his outer shirt.

Nick is wearing yellow when he tells his mother they're dating as well. Not to mention, Nick's mother is often wearing yellows throughout the series - possibly a subtle production/wardrobe hint to those who already didn't know that she would be supportive of her son.

There are many other examples that I couldn't fit into this post. Some cute prop things like their notebooks on the table on Episode 5 when they poke each other's hands: Charlie's is yellow, Nick's is blue.

But my final thing is something even stated in an interview Patrick and Alice had, where the production designs for the rooms were intentionally opposite for the boys. Nick's is put together and clean. Charlie's is a bit chaotic and cluttered. This beautiful shot mixed with that interview is what fully inspired this overanalyzed post.

If you've gotten this far, it's time to just say the color meanings in film is fully up to Directors and Their production designer and art teams; and not to mention the audience. How a director may intend for something to read on camera can be taken in 1000 different ways and this isn't a certified truth in anyway. In fact, this is just an opinion and honestly, an overanalysis of color theory in a show I absolutely adore.

Go watch Heartstopper again and come back to share your thoughts now that you see this from a new perspective because oh is it fun to notice these cute details.

[hippolotamus]

for the physical intimacy prompt

linking arms with each other

Ohhhh boy did this not go where I thought it would (but really does it ever???) I hope it works for you! 💙🦛

Alexis isn’t sure if she would say the hour is early or late, considering she had never gone to bed. Now, wrapped in a cozy sweater, linking arms with Stevie and David, it doesn’t feel all that relevant. What does matter is the distinct feeling of bursting and collapsing all at once as they wave until the black SUV fades from view. 

Once, Ted had lovingly smiled at her as she tried to articulate what it would be like to be separated from her family. He said it was what people felt when they miss someone. It’s a stupid term, she thinks. Mom and Dad aren’t missing. Alexis isn’t missing, either. Someone ought to come up with a better word for it. There’s got to be, like, a total girl boss phrase she can use. She makes a mental note to figure it out later. Once she’s had some sleep and Mom’s wigs are packed. 

David and Patrick are speaking softly to each other, foreheads pressed together as if nothing else exists. It reminds Alexis how, as a little girl, she loved watching Cinderella waltz around the castle ballroom in her sparkling white gown, ignoring everyone but the prince. She always hoped to find her own Prince Charming. At least David found his. 

Stevie slips her arm free, and swipes her fingers over her eyes, mumbling about her allergies flaring up. Alexis can’t hide how her lips curve up in a soft, fond smile. She taps the perfectly manicured nails of one hand on the palm of the other, thinking that it’s more than just Mom and Dad being gone that’s bothering her. 

Alexis fixes her gaze across the dusty parking lot, locking onto the bunches of wildflowers blooming there. She feels her smile grow, and her cheeks flush, as she thinks about the night before. The way Twyla wore the daisy Alexis picked for her tucked into her hair. How their fingers laced together so easily and Alexis’s hand sat perfectly, curved around Twyla’s hipbone as they danced to the string quartet playing So This is Love. How David’s words about never liking a smile as much as Patrick’s echoed in her mind when Twyla fell asleep on her shoulder at the end of the night. They were both tired, and a little tipsy, when Alexis asked Ray to drive Twyla home so she would get there safely. Even with the ache in her chest, and the lingering impression of Twyla’s fingers skimming her bare shoulder, Alexis couldn’t take advantage of that fragile moment. But maybe–

“I have to go,” Alexis touches David’s shoulder, to make sure he’s semi-aware that she’s intentionally gone. She's 87% certain he doesn't notice, but Stevie gives her a knowing look when Alexis gathers the silky fabric of her dress in her fist and begins a hurried walk to town. She ignores the voices of various townies saying good morning and wanting to pass congratulations on to her brothers. She edges past a customer leaving the café as she slips inside, only to find George at the counter. 

“Oh,” she says softly, wondering if she’s making a mistake. Standing in the middle of the café, among the cracked vinyl booths and oversized menus, the romantic notion she had in her mind is replaced with anxiety and doubt. She turns on her heel to leave when she hears it. 

“Alexis!” comes the sunny voice she would know anywhere by now, followed by a hand on her shoulder. 

She turns to see Twyla, still looking sleepy, with traces of last night’s makeup on her face. “Twyla,” Alexis swallows, nervous. “Hi.”

Twyla scrunches her nose, never losing her rosy smile. “Is… everything okay?” 

“Yeah! Yes!” Alexis sucks in a breath. “I… last night was real. Right?” 

“Yes? Alexis, what’s going on?” 

With trembling hands, Alexis cups Twyla’s face, sweeping her thumbs over her cheekbones. “Can I-?”

The rest of her question is lost as Twyla’s lips meet hers. Despite being in the center of the café, with everyone watching, Alexis can’t bring herself to care. They separate, a negligible amount of space between them. Twyla slips her arms under Alexis’s, twisting them around so her hands rest on top. 

“Twyla, last night I wanted-”

“I know. Me too. But you’re here now.”

“I am. Have breakfast with me?” 

“I’ll make you a smoothie.” 

“Thanks, Twy,” Alexis leans in, beaming and kissing Twyla again, just because she can. They remain there, longer than they probably should, wrapped up in only each other. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Alexis hears the echo of violins and Ilene Woods singing so this is what makes life divine…

send me a physical intimacy prompt!

[mla0]

and there are. SO MANY. in-canon moments that can be interpreted this way too, whether literally or as an allegory. i'm just going to start listing them off this is gonna be kinda long

in one of the videos where shaun is talking to michael, shaun mentions having the same dream as him where there's the clock at the end of an alleyway. but unlike michael, shaun can't fully get up to it and touch it. as if she can't even face herself

patrick is always saying "you need to remember," michael is always begging shaun to remember, remember, remember. shaun intentionally never goes too far into her past, when it's brought up she barely says anything, and she either literally does not remember key parts of her childhood or simply chooses not to think or talk about them

when shaun and stormy start dating and michael comes back, and they're all in a safe environment for a time, shaun grows out her hair, the tough-guy act who's dismissive and snarky falls apart slowly over time... and then stormy dies. when shaun closes herself up fully, she cuts all her hair off into a buzzcut and hides it with a hat. she wears all black, long chunky clothes so you can't even really see what she looks like under it

when stormy says shaun's hair is long, they're both joking about it but when stormy jokingly says she's going to cut her hair off in her sleep, shaun turns slightly defensive/worried and says "please don't do that"

in brotherly love, when michael touches stormy's necklace he starts stammering about having a sister. stormy's never been mentioned to have a sister, and past-lives are a pretty well-implied thing in a lot of slenderverse series (especially one that centers around time/a clock)

shaun seems to have a canonical fear of the dark. a fear of the dark is usually moreso a fear of the unknown than anything. and it's pretty clear shaun hates anything unknown to her. she's always asking questions before anybody has a solution. she's always pestering patrick and asking the hows, the whys, the whens, instead of letting herself sit and think about things deeply and thoroughly

so in my view, slenderman in mlandersen0 especially is often seen as an allegory for mental illness. but slenderman also affects people in different ways and for different reasons. for shaun it could present itself more as an allegory for gender dysphoria; the closer it is, the more it's taken from her, the more she closes off, the more in denial she is, she more walls she puts up, the more she hides from the world and pushes away people close to her

it's remarkably similar to the real-life lived experience of trans people, who push other people away, closet themselves more and more, and hide from the truth because they're afraid of it, they're afraid of what other people will think, or they just don't know any better yet. of course slenderman would want this; it keeps her away from others, it keeps her isolated and in the dark about herself, and in the case of slenderverse series- and the experiences of a lot of closeted LGBTQ people- isolation can literally kill you.

thanks for coming to my tedtalk

the transfem allegory with shaun andersen is not even a joke or a headcanon i made up for fun, it makes complete sense. reacting to everything with anger or dismissal because if you start to actually let yourself think and feel for yourself outside of it, you're afraid of what you might find. anger keeps everything else away, it's a gut reflex, it keeps you from ruminating, it keeps you safe. you feel like you're dying if you dig too deep so you deny, deny, deny. you lash out and hurt both yourself and the people you love most, because if you get too close to someone they want to know you, and you don't know you. you cut off your hair when stormy died, because it didn't feel safe to even lightly touch that part of yourself ever again. you cut everyone off, telling your own brother, your flesh and blood who has been through unimaginable hell, that you don't need him, that you'll do everything yourself, because you only need yourself and your own toxic self loathing and denial. you can put it all into a neat little box to never analyze, to never think about. you're strong. you don't need to think about it, you're fine.

keep telling yourself that.

[adie-dee]

Nyssa pacing the length of the empty apartment they were waiting in was enough to pull Dominic’s attention from the security footage on his laptop. Interesting. This was nervous, human energy quite unlike her usual statue-like patience. “What’s happening, precious?”

“I want to get in there,” she replied, pausing at the window to glare at the bank opposite. “Something feels wrong.”

“In what way?” Everything on the security feed looked fine, other than the fact the thieves were struggling with the vault, but he’d expected that; despite trying to convince them otherwise, they’d bought the cheapest, crappiest equipment he’d had on offer.

“It should be me breaking into the vault. I can get in and out faster and quieter and with less collateral damage than they can. And yet you’re insisting on doing things this way.”

Ah. He’d inadvertently insulted her.

“We’re hiding our robbery in their robbery,” he told her. “I need to get into a safety deposit box.”

“Why are we even doing a robbery? I know you have easier ways to access them.”

“Mm.” Dozens, in fact. “”But the bank manager is Patrick Arnett, so I want to make sure there’s nothing that can trace this back to us.”

Whatever insecurity was running through her mind vanished, instead replaced with a faint, knowing smile. “That would be your ex, Pat, who you—“ she paused, a thoughtful frown forming. “What do the kids call it now? Spooked? Haunted?”

“Ghosted. And I didn’t ghost him; I left him a note.”

Nyssa settled on the floor behind Dominic, pulling out his bun. “What happened there?” she asked, running her fingers along his scalp and through his hair. “You never said.”

“We had bigger things to worry about at the time.” A comment kept intentionally vague; the last thing he wanted was to upset her.

“You mean my return.” A flat voice, and if he could see her eyes, he was sure they’d be glassy. It had taken her years to come back to herself, and even two decades on, the memories were still fresh.

“We don’t need to talk about this.”

She was tugging on locks of hair now, the movement suggesting she was braiding it. And then a sharper tug, tipping his head back until he could see her eyes. “I think now is the perfect time to talk about it,” she said, “seeing as your entire plan has been done this way to avoid him.”

“We need to focus on the bank.”

“You are more than capable of focusing on both at the same time.” She held Dom’s gaze a moment longer before finally releasing his hair enough for him to look at the screen again.

Annoyingly, the bank idiots were still trying to get into the vault, which meant Nys was not going to drop this. “There’s not much to say, really. You vanished, and I snapped. Was going to burn the world down if that’s what it took to find you.”

“And then you met him.” She was weaving again, pulling his hair back into a complicated plait, and he relaxed at her touch.

“He pulled me back, somehow. Gave me something to cling to when I felt like I was going under. And he knew I was looking for you - I was always honest about that,” it still hurt it was one of the few things he hadn’t lied about, which had come up in the inevitable argument, “but he thought he’d need to console me when I gave up or found your body. But then you came back. And he wasn’t interested in sharing.”

The tension on his hair dropped, and Nyssa wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He leaned back into her, closing his eyes to savour her affection. Losing Nyssa—even for the brief five year period she’d been gone—had left him feeling like his heart was being ripped out on a daily basis, and when she’d returned, and Pat had begged him to leave her, the pain had only grown worse. Nyssa was his first, his always. No one else had ever come close.

“Would be cruel for him to see me now,” Dominic murmured. “He doesn’t need old wounds opened.” If only it could have ended better.

Nyssa stroked his hair. “And cruel for you, too.”

A beep emanated from his laptop and he pulled away, muttering a low swear. “These fools are going to trip the silent alarm,” he grumbled, typing away. “Get your gear ready, we’re moving in three.”

The weaving picked up speed, stopped, and the plait dropped against his neck. Then a kiss on his cheek, followed by her forehead resting on his temple. More than a sign of understanding or concern, her touch was a promise. Despite all the loss they experienced, she would always be there. His shining rock against the madness of immortality.

And then finally, her voice in his ear. “I’ll see you on the roof.”

[vertigoambrosia]

Bdhdhd for the ask meme, sorry it too so Long. I really so Not know anything about Star Trek but! 34. 35. And 41. 👀👀👀

whoops i thought i posted this but just found it in my drafts

34. favorite cast photo

Hm I haven’t seen a ton of them! (or at least not intentionally remembered them). Are we talking about the whole cast or any backstage stuff?

For whole cast, the first that comes to mind is this one from DS9:

Look at Quark and Jadzia. What is Odo doing? Someone help Worf.

For pictures with cast members in them, either Gates McFadden in costume on a unicycle

or that one picture of Jonathan Frakes and Brent Spiner where they look baked as fuck (sadly I can’t find it right now -- will edit if I do)

35. favorite behind-the-scenes fact

Patrick Stewart legit did not think TNG would last until the third season; for the first two seasons he was pretty distant from the rest of the cast (at least, relatively, since the rest of the cast seemed to have been immediate besties).

Though I guess the real fact behind that is that all of the TNG cast are all a bunch of goofballs.

This outtake also has a pretty good inside tidbit (0:34)

41. favorite headcanon

Maybe not favorite, but I like to think Worf stayed in touch with the kid from the one episode where his mom died and an alien tried to replace her. He takes personal interest in the kid (his mom was under her command), and says he’ll be there for him, and I like to think he did.

In general, from what we see in how he talks about her, how he’s protective of Lt. D’Sora when Data goes around asking everyone if he should date her, and how he mentors Ensign Sito, I like to think that he’s a stern but supportive boss who has taken more than one subordinate under his wing.

[poppy-metal]

Being Tashi’s virginal/sexually inexperienced college roommate at Stanford. She notices how you look at Patrick and how you linger in the room when things get steamy between them. She notices how your bed softly creeks when you touch yourself thinking she’s asleep.

Tashi and Patrick are making out and their topic of discussion is you (you are out). Tashi divulges her musing to Patrick while he has his hands in her panties. Patrick asks her what she plans to do about it. Tashi suggests maybe setting you up with Art. He’s a pent up ball of sexual frustration who wants Tashi and your a ball of sexual frustration who wants Patrick. It’s simple math. Patrick disagrees, Art doesn’t know what to do with an innocent girl like that, you need a firmer hand. Someone to show and tell you what to do. Patrick slips himself inside Tashi’s cunt. Noticing that the mention of you makes her pussy clench around him. Patrick and Tashi in their horny addled brain discuss the things they would do to you. Patrick’s wants you to take his cock while eating Tashi’s pussy. Tashi wants to pin you down and rub her clit on yours forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you until your clit is swollen. Art and Tashi spend their whole night fucking while discussing the hedonistic things they’d do to you. Meanwhile, you’re in Arts dorm.

You and Art met through Tashi and Patrick. It makes sense. You texted Art when you left your room to see if he was busy and now your sat on the bed of his dorm. The two of you are just giggling and chatting. You get physically closer through the course of the night. Art tells you about what happened between him, Patrick, and Tashi the summer before Stanford. Art loves those sad eyes you give him, and he loves it even more when you pull him into your chest. He nuzzles himself a lil further into your breasts and takes notice of your stiffened peaks. He intentionally brushes against them and feels your body shudder. Art tells you how pretty he thinks you are, his hand playing with the edge of your pajama top. Your body stiffens as you feel him start to touch your skin. It feels electric and your body tingles. Art hands slowly make their way up your top until they come up to your breasts. Art and you are face to face. Art’s hands tease at your nipples pulling soft pants out of you, you grip with his bedsheets. Art is whispering such sweet and dirty things in your ear. “You’re so soft, I want to touch all of you.” “Does that feel good? I want you to feel good.” “Can you take your top off for me? I just wanna see em better? Please?” You comply. Art felt his boxers grow tighter at the sight of your exposed breasts, losing all composure he shoves you flat on your back and puts your exposed nipple in his mouth. You shriek and gasp. Your hand goes to the back of head as Art tongues at your nipple. His hand begins to wander downward, towards the waistband of your shorts.

“Art, I’m super sensitive down their” “good.”

Art touches your pussy through your shorts. “You’re so wet I can feel you through your shorts.” You flush and whimper. Art gets more agressive with your nipples and rubs your clit through your shorts. He spanks your pussy through your shorts making you jump. Art wants to see how it looks when you orgasm. He takes his hand off your shorts and adjusts himself so he’s in between your legs. You tells him that you’re a virgin and you aren’t ready yet. He tells you not to worry. He begins to bump his hips in your yours. His clothed erection bumping into your your sticky shorts. Art picks up his pace, feeling himself ready to release. And starts sucking on your nipples again. Keeping himself steady, and bringing you over the edge. Art finishes in his boxers and your body twitches from the release. Art pulls himself forward and gives you a sweet kiss and you two fall asleep together.

“Tashi I’m fine. I’m in arts dorm. I stayed later than I expected and feel asleep” is what you tell Tashi, when she calls you the following morning. “I’ll see you later. Ok? Bye” you hang up the phone. Art detaches his mouth from your clit. “Cmon stay a lil longer, please. I wannna keep having keeping playing” Art pouts so prettily. He gives kitten licks to your clit, enough to stimulate your but not enough to finish you off. “Let’s keep playing. Dont go. ” Art whines, he turns on the manipulation. “Tashi kicks you out of the room when she fucks Patrick. You should get some playtime too” Art goes back down an sticks his tongue in your pussy, thrusting it in and out making your squirm with pleasure. Somehow Art gets a full day out of you. Plying orgasm after orgasm out of you. Letting you sit on his lap and you dry hump his cock, sitting on his face, fingering you. Fucking your sticky thighs, while his cockhead bumps up against your clit. Before you leave Art shows you how to touch is cock, prompting you to put it in your mouth. “Do you like how it tastes baby? You like sucking your pussy juice off my cock?” You nod your head and moan, your brain is fried. Art keeps babbling, “next time I’m gonna fuck your tits and come all over them. Get them nice and sticky. Next time lemme cum on your pussy. I’ll clean it so good. Keep working that mouth on me. I’m free next weekend. Come see me please. I wanna keep eating your pussy. Please please please. Oh fuck! I’m gonna” Art finishes in your mouth, you don’t know what to do so you swallow it and look at Art with such sweet eyes. Art gives you a deep kiss goodbye, his tongue swabbing every bit of your mouth. When you get back to your room, Tashi and Patrick are there. They look a bit flushes and sweaty. “Where have you been? I’ve been texting you all day” you didn’t notice. You dazedly reply to Tashi before climbing back into bed. Unknowingly flashing Patrick and Tashi your flushed and sticky pussy. You wish Tashi and Patrick good night. But while you doze off, Tashi has her hand around Patrick’s cock while she whispers in his his ear about breaking your virgin pussy on his cock. But Patrick cums to the idea of you pussy being broken on Arts cock. He then drifts off the sleep into arousing dreams of the 4 of your having dirty, toe-curling fun

(Sorry bout all the typos I’m sleepy and it’s 1 AM but horny so I need to get this off)

(Fuck I spent like an hour writing this. Bedtime)

OH !!!!!!

[demi-shoggoth]

2021 Reading Log, pt. 1

New year, new count! Hopefully this is not a “quarantine” reading log for the whole year.

01. The Book of Imaginary Beings by Jorge Luis Borges, translated by Andrew Hurley. I haven’t read this since I was in middle school, I think. I remember being disappointed with it at the time, since it wasn’t a book of monsters in the way that I was hoping. It is, instead, a meandering exploration of various creatures, typically ones of cosmological import. It is also, as is known by this point in teratological circles, full of lies. Borges invented multiple creatures, the peryton the most famous of which. As an adult, I have a better appreciation for Borges’ musings on reality through unreal creatures, but I still don’t think it’s the great classic it’s commonly made out to be. The text comes off as somewhat orientalist. The illustrations in this edition add nothing, and are intentionally (annoyingly) crude.

02. Stoned by Aja Raden. The subtitle, “jewelry, obsession, and how desire shapes the world” says it all. It is a look at economics and world history through the lens of precious stones, and how their values rise and fall due to the whims of chance or the determined effort of marketers. This book turned out a lot more leftist than I was expecting, and the author possesses a quick wit, a deep distrust of institutions, and a fiery passion for gems that shines through. She also has a personal stake—the Spanish Empire and their lust for lucre is a common player in these stories, and the author’s family is descended from Jewish bankers who lent Queen Isabella money and then were driven out of Spain so she (the queen) didn’t have to repay it.

03. Buzz, Sting, Bite by Anne Sverdrup-Thygeson, translated by Lucy Moffatt. I didn’t realize this was a translation when I picked this book up, but it was originally published in Norway. The topic is insects, their evolutionary and ecological adaptations and how they interact benevolently with humans. As someone with a degree in entomology, I always like seeing how authors try to sell it to the general public, and there’s definitely a throughline of “insects are good for us” in the book. The author talks some about her own research, into decomposition and climate change in Norwegian forests, which I found were some of the most interesting anecdotes. I also found it charming and perspective-inducing the number of times my home state, California, was referred to as a far flung and wondrous land, where crimes are solved by bug splatters and almonds grow to the horizon. Considering I know people who worked on that case, and who study those almond orchards, it was a little touch of home.

04. Genuine Fakes by Lydia Pyne. The subject of the book is authenticity, and how it is a cultural, negotiable quality. Some of the topics used to illustrate this include the market for genuine art forgeries, the making of documentaries and artificial diamonds, and the construction of replica paleoart for tourism and to preserve the originals. I enjoyed the book overall, but it never really seemed to cohere into a whole; it was somehow less than the sum of its parts.

05.The Field Guide to Extraterrestrials by Patrick Huyghe. I’ve been trying to get my hands on this one for a while, so I was very pleased when a used copy popped up at Half Price Books. Huyghe is a true believer in the extraterrestrial visitant hypothesis for UFOs, although he plays coy in the introduction. The front and back matter focuses primarily on the Greys, and discusses possibilities about their anatomy and motivations (unsurprisingly, Huyghe concludes that, in so many words, Mars Needs Women). But the core of the book is the eyewitness reports, discussing a wide variety of different types of alien creatures involved in encounters, ranging from the familiar to the very strange. As someone who’s interested in UFOlogy, I’d heard many of these stories before, but not all of them, and new details popped out at me in these versions. One of my favorite stories that was new to me was a sighting in Argentina that combined UFO motifs with The Phantom Hitchhiker urban legend.

[remlos]

arlo being touch deprived (a series of multiple events)

i feel like this deserves to become a subcategory of its own in the remlos masterlist

13-14 b.r (before remi) arlo has had 0 physical contact with anyone so once they’re canon you can only imagine how unused arlo is to any increment of affection he receives

remi reading with arlo and when she snakes her arm underneath his to turn to the next page so they’re intertwined he’s cupping the bottom half of his face with his palm edward cullen style to cover his blush

she looks up at him and he averts his head to avoid getting exposed until she tugs his earlobe and he reluctantly meets her eyes with his face tomato red

he’s like 😑😑😑 and remi’s like “ok ok fine i’ll give you space ☺️” 

the entire time after they continue reading but half of remi’s concentration is on arlo doing his best to focus on the book while he keeps rereading the same paragraphs 3 times in a row

down bad

down so bad

there’s virtually no way to recover from that

it would get too much for arlo at one point when remi asks him to turn a page but also reaches over intentionally

he just puts his hand over hers and locks lips

at this rate they’re on a mission to have pda in literally every single location

the librarian: i don’t get paid enough for this

they get kicked from the library (wave goodbye to your self help books arlo!!)

he’s sitting outside in defeat and remi is like “round 2?”

arlo: this is all ur fault

remi: and what makes you think that :3

he just gives her that resigned look while his face is still flushed pink

(honestly this would’ve totally happened in canon except remi wouldn’t notice the way he’s trying to contain himself bc her simply existing has arlo a mess. as it should be

she’d be oblivious and they’d argue over nothing as per usual)

imagining them both tangled up in each other and then blyke or isen knocks and arlo is giving them the darren nightmare stare bc they’re interrupting their time 

blysen are OVERR

they disappear due to unforeseen circumstances (arlo being mad af)

anyone who dares interrupt remi and arlo are mysteriously never seen again

they need their quality time or else arlo’ll pull a patrick bateman

remi opens the door all normal like “what’s going on 😊 what do you need” meanwhile arlo is envisioning all the different ways he could skin them and hang them over a spit roast

doesn’t drop the death glare until remi jumps back into bed and flings her arms over him

remi constantly tells him to relax but he simply cannot

they’re messing with the order and balance of his domestic life

she is helping him compensate for the 18 years of deprived physical affection and they are interfering!!

steam comes out of his ears till she takes a hold of his hand and you can see the fight practically leave his body

she lightly ruffles his head once and his eyebrows visibly unknit

remi’s second passive is controlling arlo’s blood pressure

can either lower it to a reasonable level or spike it up high enough for him to start passing out

[fishyspots]

the same magic touch

happiest belated birthday to @patrickbrewsky! one day i’ll finish the AU you deserve but for today i can give you this, inspired by a conversation we had a while back ❤️️(ps: it’s also on ao3)

“Why are you throwing that sweater out?”

Patrick looks up from the bin, fabric in hand. He feels caught out somehow, but he’s not sure why. “It has a hole in it?”

David stares him down from his spot by the bathroom door. “Why are you ripping holes in your best sweater?”

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Patrick protests. “It was totally innocent.”

“Hand it over.” David crosses Patrick’s apartment, narrowly missing clipping the bed with his knee, limbs akimbo the way they always are this early in the morning. Patrick lets David take the sweater from him, perhaps to say a fond farewell, and turns to start David’s coffee. He didn’t know David liked this sweater best; David’s peeled it off of him more than once, but that’s true of most of his shirts at this point.

For some reason, David folds the sweater and puts it in his bag instead of the trash where it belongs. “What are you going to do with that?”

David looks at him like he’s being difficult. “Excuse me?”

“If you’re trying to clone me, that sweater got ripped in the wash so you’ll want something less fresh.” Patrick grabs for the cocoa powder he keeps in his cupboard and that David still won’t look directly at.

“Why would I clone you before they let me edit out your sense of humor?”

“You love my sense of humor.”

David is scrolling through something on his phone now, clearly past the sweater conversation, but he looks up and smiles when Patrick slides his coffee across the counter. “I have very intentionally never said that.”

“Just like how you’re not saying what you’re going to do with my—”

“The tear is on the seam.” David shrugs and takes a sip, wrinkling his nose in the way that means he tastes the cocoa but will not be commenting on it at this time. “It’ll take, like, five minutes to fix.”

“And you know someone who’s willing to do that? Because the only person I can think of is Jocelyn, and I know you two have that begrudging acceptance thing going but I don’t think it extends to me.”

“She likes you too, you know. She told me last week that you were the best Emcee they could have cast.”

“That’s very sweet.” Patrick tilts his head. “But I don’t know there were any other contenders, so it probably sounds better than it is.” But they’re getting off topic now. “Wait, no. Who’s fixing this sweater?”

“I’m fixing the sweater.” David grabs his bag and sets the mug in the sink. “Should we go? We’re going to open late otherwise.”

David’s concern for keeping normal opening hours more than anything else tells Patrick that he’s missing something. Still: “You’re going to fix it.”

“That is correct.” David sighs. “Can we please go? If you wait much longer I’ll lose all this energy and then you’ll have to open by yourself.”

Patrick rolls his lips in and bites down. “How many sweaters have you mended, exactly? Because you talked for an hour once about all the cashmere sweaters you lost to moths.”

“Cashmere is different. Anyway, I’m not, like, totally helpless,” David says. “I went to art school.”

Patrick privately thinks that the sentence might be an oxymoron, but he can acknowledge his own bias here. He took a pottery class in college as his “understanding art” elective; he and his fellow business majors had a lot to say about the cost of equipment and the annoyance of waiting around for the clay to bake. And then after all of that, his glaze was cracked and uneven. “Do they teach stitching there? Like, a whole class?”

“Mm.” David’s mouth is a thin line. “Right after the Etch-A-Sketch one.”

Patrick may have overshot it. “That didn’t—”

“Go to the store. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Patrick sets the spare key on the counter and elects to retreat.

***

“This is earlier than I was expecting to see you.”

David makes a beeline for the macchiato Patrick set in a prominent place on the counter in a spot near the door. He didn’t want David to miss it. “I said an hour.”

The teasing is right there; Patrick has to consciously push down countless other times where David has wildly miscalculated his arrival time. Instead, he takes a breath and prepares for a real apology. They’re a new thing for the two of them—after his parents came to town, Patrick’s been making communication a priority. It’s mostly his idea, but it was spurred on by some...gentle suggestion from Stevie. He doesn’t want to keep falling back into old habits, and he’s not going to put the burden on David to keep him accountable.

But David has not been exceptionally amenable to this new strategy. “Stop,” he says once he’s taken a drink and turned to look at Patrick. “Enough. Thank you for the coffee.”

He drops a kiss on Patrick’s cheek and continues on to the back room. Patrick entertains the idea of following him, but the bell above the door chimes again and he pushes down the conversation they need to have. Not forever, he tells himself sternly. Just until closing. Or lunch, if he can rig them a break.

But it’s Ronnie crossing the threshold, so maybe they do need to finish their relationship discussion. Maybe close the store for the day, or something.

“Ronnie!” Patrick winces at the enthusiasm he can hear in his own voice. David keeps saying that he’s forcing it, which might be valid. “What are you looking for today?”

Ronnie lifts her chin but doesn’t make eye contact. “David here?”

Still trying too hard, then. “He’s in the back. I’ll get him.”

Apparently he heard them, because David’s already peeking out. “Sorry about that, Ronnie. Back for that cheese or is it something else?”

Ronnie lets David curate a cheese plate for her next Women in Business meeting and suggest some wine pairings; Patrick bites back his own opinions to the best of his ability. Or, he does after Ronnie pointedly sets the chardonnay back on the shelf after he says it’s his favorite.

David rings her up and sees her off, and Patrick opens his mouth again to take advantage of a lull. Then the phone rings.

“Can you take that?” David asks. “I want to figure out what we need for that greeting card workshop next month. Jo likes it when we order with at least three weeks’ notice, and they gave us that frame for the poster last time as a thank you so I don’t want to—”

Patrick waves him off before the phone goes to voicemail. “I got it.”

Fortunately for their stocking schedule, it’s Brenda. They’ve been running low on the moisturizer she’s trying out recently, and they need to get more on the shelf as soon as she has it ready. Unfortunately for him, Brenda called seeking opinions about her new combination skin formula and the essential oil blend. David informed Patrick early on that he had combination skin, but Patrick senses that Brenda will not find this information useful. He bides his time and lets Brenda talk until David catches on to his frantic gestures.

They don't teach this in business school. He lets his eyes drift from David's face (a struggle, sometimes) to the bag at his boyfriend's feet. They don't teach a lot of things in business school.

Patrick passes off the phone and greets the next customers, who thankfully do not have any qualms about his personality. Then he checks the stock spreadsheet. They’re getting low on sweaters and socks after the cold snap last week, so he flags the vendors for David to email and sets about filling in the blank spots on the shelves after a busy morning.

The sound of David’s voice soothes Patrick’s nerves even more than the playlist he and David made together in a process that started adversarial (“Smooth jazz? Why not just get a Muzak?” “People shop in those stores too, David.”) and turned playful after they decided on a one-for-one system. Patrick’s alt-folk mixes surprisingly seamlessly with the Whitneys and Mariahs David added. Even the Counting Crows Patrick put on the list just to be contrary fits, in a way.

“Everything okay with Brenda?” Patrick asks after David drops the phone back into his holder. “Are you going to put a new cleanser in my bathroom soon?”

“I don’t see why those two things are necessarily related,” David says, “but yes to both.”

“Good to know.” They might be able to flip the sign for lunch if they’re quick; clouds are gathering in the sky outside in a way that spells a dreary afternoon. “Want me to pick us up something?”

Patrick heads for the door at David’s nod of assent. Even though they haven’t talked about it, he still feels like he’s making up for something. Hopefully that will change. He’s jumping into this new talking strategy with both feet, and he just hopes that David will catch him.

Silly, he thinks as he crosses the street. David has never once let him fall.

Twyla greets him with a sunny smile and asks if they want their usual. For him, a burger is pretty standard, but David keeps vacillating between different soups, sandwiches, and salads. It’s a caesar salad day today; though Patrick would love to read into David’s mood from his choice, he knows better than that by now. David just does what he wants sometimes. As for Patrick, he’s mostly just happy that David is limiting the chance that he won’t like his food. He worked through the international section of the menu last week and spent three afternoons in a row cranky due to hunger and the continual failure of the café to meet his admittedly unrealistic expectations. He does add a cookie, because communication is great and all but it’s always good to have an insurance policy if things go south.

Back at the store, David’s handing over a Rose Apothecary tote to Roland and he’s not even grimacing. Much. There’s definite relief in his eyes when Patrick holds the door for Roland, though. It’s quickly replaced by confusion when Patrick flips the sign.

“I thought we could eat lunch together?” Patrick resists the urge to kick at the ground like a teenager, but it’s there. “We haven’t had much time to just...see each other. Today.”

“I saw plenty of you this morning.” David raises an eyebrow suggestively.

Patrick fights his easy blush; that’s beside the point. “That’s not—”

“You know I never complain about seeing you,” David continues. “But Roland said Jocelyn is going to stop by later, so we’ll have to keep an eye out.”

Patrick thinks Jocelyn can probably wait, but he keeps that to himself. He waits until they’re settled on the couch with David’s left thigh pressing against his right and David can’t talk past his mouthful of lettuce before he broaches the topic. “I did want to talk about this morning.”

David’s eyes widen as he chews, but he does look a little less frantic than he would months or even a year ago if Patrick said something similar.

While David can’t cut him off, Patrick presses his advantage. “I didn’t want to make you feel like you’re helpless. I don’t think you’re helpless.”

David rolls his eyes, but there’s something tight around his mouth that tells Patrick he has to do a little more here. He swallows, so Patrick hurries to finish his thought.

“I think you’re...you do a lot that I don’t do.”

“And you do a lot I don’t do.”

“I don’t think—no, I know, I know I don’t think about that enough.”

Something suspicious dissipates from David’s face. “Is this your whole talking thing again?”

“I don’t have a whole talking thing,” Patrick protests.

“You’ve had a whole talking thing for weeks now. Do you want me to run through all of my skills, or is it sufficient to just say that we’re okay?”

Patrick definitely had prepared to run through all of David’s skills, but he elects to save that for another time. Maybe tonight, when he has more ability to keep David in one place until he’s finished saying what he wants to say. “It’s enough. For now.”

“Threatening me with conversation.” David shakes his head. But he doesn’t take another bite, so he’s at least somewhat worried that Patrick will drop all of his feelings right this moment.

“You can eat, David.”

David lifts his fork cautiously.

So Patrick has no choice, really. “I love you.”

Patrick wants to frame the look David gives him, cheeks slightly bulging and eyes furious and generally perfect.

They unlock the front door in time to catch Jocelyn, and Patrick finds himself still cataloguing David’s competencies for the rest of the day. That night, Patrick sees his sweater, repaired and neatly folded in the way that David says limits wrinkles, hidden in his drawer under a college sweatshirt. It looks as good as new. “Thanks for the sweater.”

“Well, the cloning people were unhelpful. Said I’d have to keep all of you if I went for a new one, and I don’t have the constitution to be mocked twice as often.”

Patrick can’t let it go without saying something, though. “David. Thank you.” That should cover his whole talking thing for now. David still looks at him like he’s a too-large shipment that won’t fit in the planned display. Back to teasing, then. “You know, I had a thought.” Patrick affects his most guileless expression as he slides into bed next to his boyfriend. David’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Since you’re so good at this, and you went to art school and all, maybe you can help with costumes for Cabaret.”

Patrick enjoys the horrified look that blooms across David’s face probably too much. “I’m suddenly feeling very helpless.”

“Could be worse,” Patrick says. “At least there’s only one of me to deal with.”

[scarofthewind]

can you please do a patrick hockstetter x reader where he finds out that her father beats her

A/N: Here you go! Hope you enjoy and to the few who have directly asked me, yes REQUESTS are OPEN.

The front door slammed shut causing the walls to rattle in the house that you ran from. You could hear your father yelling angrily at you from the porch but you didn’t stop. Pain and adrenaline coursed through you as your bare feet hit the pavement. Your breath heaved in your chest as you forced yourself to go faster, your legs burning from the strain. 

It took a while for you to realize where you were running, but eventually you slowed, stopping in front of the small abandoned hut where the boys usually hung out; where Patrick was 98% of the time. You really didn’t want them finding out this way, but at this point, you needed someone to tell. The door was wet against your palm as you pushed it open and realized that it was raining.

The soft creak of the door, caused Patrick to stir, pulling out his switchblade and watching as you appeared from behind it. “What are you doing-” He paused as he was standing up, his eyes taking in the sight in front of him. It was silent for what felt like eternity, his eyes wild and angry. They were filled with so much hatred, and it wasn’t directed towards you.

You shut the door, looking around and realizing that the other boys weren’t here. That calmed your heart a bit. You winced as you moved forward slightly; Patrick was on his feet in the blink of an eye. “Who did this to you?” He asked, his jaw clenching and his fingers lightly touching your face. He’d never seen you this broken. Your hair was a mess, your lip was cut and bleeding, one of your eyes would no doubt have a bruise and the other bruises that littered the areas of skin he could see only feuled his hate fire. 

“Does this have something to do with why you haven’t been at school the past few days?” He asked, watching as your eyes glanced up at him with the answer he needed. “Jesus fucking Christ, (Y/N).” Patrick pulled you close and nearly popped a vein feeling you shake aganist him. 

“He just got so angry.” You cried and Patrick pulled back to look at you.

“This was your old man’s doing?” You nodded as Patrick gently wiped the tears from your eyes. A sudden realization hit the boy and he stiffened, “All those times then…it was him. All the times we’d seen those bruises and asked.”

“I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t know what he would do if I told.” You sobbed. 

Patrick shook his head as a guilt swept over him, sending ice down his spine, “Don’t you ever let me lay a hand on you again.” He backed away slightly but you caught his arm.

“I trust you Patrick. I know you’d never intentionally hurt me.” You told him. Patrick stared at you before laughing a humorless laugh.

“I’ve hurt you before, sweetheart. Need I remind you who gave you that?” He asked, pointing to the light scar on your arm from a sexual desire gone wrong. 

“It was an accident and we both know that. That was consensual. This was not.” You said, pointing from the scar and then to your face. Patrick winced at your tone and nodded, taking your hand in his and squeezing it. 

“We have to tell someone.” Patrick said, brushing some of the hair from your face and kissing your forehead. When alone, the boy tended to act more appropriate than when with his friends around. 

A sudden creak of the door had Patrick pushing you behind him, shielding you from whatever was on the other side. When it was revealed to be the rest of the Bower’s gang, you sighed against Patrick’s back, gaining their attention. 

“Oh, (Y/N)’s here!” Victor exclaimed, pausing when he saw your face. “Please tell me you didn’t do that to her.” Henry moved around the boys, towards you but Patrick blocked him from view. 

“Move.” Henry growled. Patrick glared at him but you tapped his shoulder letting him know it was okay. 

Henry stared at your face for the longest time before breathing. Slowly, they all began to realize that you needed help. “We could tell my dad-”

“No. Our dad’s are friends, he wouldn’t throw him in jail.” You let Victor put a blanket on your shoulders as you all sat in the small shack. Belch handed you a water from the cooler they had in the back and you weakly smiled at him. 

“Well you obviously can’t go back. He’ll hurt you again, or worse.” Victor stated the obvious. 

“I can take you to the next town over, they still have jurisdiction over this town so you can get him thrown in jail from there.” Belch suggested and you nodded. 

“You can stay here tonight, I’m not going anywhere.” Patrick whispered to you, watching as you nodded before talking with the boys about whatever random thing they came up with. Before you knew it, they went home for the night, planning to come by in the morning and take you to the next town to get everything settled. 

Patrick locked the door behind them as they left and looked back at you. He moved to sit by your side, making the blanket and pillows you were laying on more comfortable. You watched him with a small smile on your face. “You can be nice sometimes, you know that?”

Patrick looked back at you and let you run a hand through his hair. “Don’t tell the boys that.”

“What? They can’t know you’re a big softie behind closed doors?” You let the boy move to climb over you, letting his reach up towards your hair. Unconsciously you flinched, making him stop and remove himself from you. 

He twiddled a leaf between his fingers, “You had a leaf in your hair.” He felt a pain rise in him that he didn’t know. All he knew is that he wanted to protect you, more than ever. 

“Please,” Patrick looked at you, your voice quivering. “Don’t treat me like I’m broken.” The boy nodded, pulling you close and pressing his lips to yours. 

If I could take your pain away, I would take it all.

[spaceorphan18]

Marvel Movie Nights: X-Men First Class

And... back to X-Men! At the time (my god has it been ten years?!) this film was such a breath of fresh air, and the 2010s were such a revamp of this genre.  The MCU was, of course, leading the way, (along with the Dark Knight trilogy for DC) but it made way for films of other franchises to be taken more seriously within the craft.  I genuinely liked this movie a lot more than the previous couple of times I’ve watched it (I swear -- seeing these in order makes me appreciate functional movie/story telling).  However, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have some serious issues with it. 

So, let’s start with what I did like about it... 

Xavier and Magneto.  The original trilogy perfectly cast Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen.  And these films perfectly cast James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender.  Their paralleling stories, their dueling philosophies, everything about how they laid out these arcs in this film really works -- not just as a good origin film, but as a good character study, too.  I kind of wish the movie was just about the two of them, but apparently, this is still a superhero film I suppose. 

I also want to add intentionally or not, there’s a fair bit of queer undertones to this relationship. It’s definitely there in the comics.  And I can’t help but notice it throughout the film.  Idk - just stood out to me more this time.  

The first class grew on me, too.  Look, I’m a comic nerd, it feels weird that we didn’t have a reboot and get the actual first class.  But most of this works for me (with a few exceptions I’ll state later), especially since these kids are going to be mostly background players in a film that’s truly about Xavier and Magneto.  

Also, shout out to Nicholas Hoult as Beast.  It’s a fantastic interpretation, and a nice nod to his origins from the comics.  

So... before I get to my did not like list, I want to point out that the majority of the above takes up most of the film.  When the film focuses on Xavier and Magneto, it really shines, and it’s really what kept my attention this time around. 

Anyway, some indifferences first! 

The 60s backdrop.  It’s kinda fun when they actually stick to it.  Sometimes it feels in a nondescript time.  It works since the X-Men premiered in the 60s, and I did enjoy the subtle nods to the comics in the little things like that.  But there were times when the literal usage of 60s footage felt maybe a bit much.  

The fact that it was darker! The first twenty minutes of this film are super dark, and throughout there are times when it pushes just a little bit farther than regular superhero genre grittiness.  At times, it made the tone of the film feel uneven -- especially when the third act is less philosophy and more about punchy-punchy comic book stuff.  It would have been interesting if they had kept that tone throughout. 

Also, speaking of things from the comics -- I appreciate the that the whole driving conflict was a nod to X-Men issue 1 when Magneto threatens the world using missiles.  Nice touch. 

And... Moira MacTaggart.  I liked the actress.  I eye-rolled that she had to get into her underwear at one point. And eesh the fact that Xavier takes her memories.  I don’t think this film does women all that well.  

Alright, things and for the bad... 

So, ironically (?) one of X-Men’s main themes has always revolved around a group of marginalized people being oppressed and persecuted by the majority.  Hmmm.  And yet, for a film that wants us to take these themes seriously, does a great disservice to POCs.  There are only two in the film (that I can remember).  One is blown up maybe ten minutes after he’s introduced having no purpose other than to be a casualty, and the other is whisked away to be a villain because she doesn’t have much purpose being in the film.  The film spends so much time debating whether or not blue skin is acceptable, but does nearly nothing to promote that brown and black skin is, too.  

Meanwhile, the villains... Kevin Bacon is fine as Sebastian Shaw (though I have a hard time believing him as the scientist from the beginning of the film).  And I get why The Hellfire Club would be a good fit for the 60s, I can’t help but feel that it’s just conceived of poorly in this film.  There are a lot of cool things you can doo with the Hellfire Club -- and instead they use it to, really, booster the idea of missiles and government stuff so that they could pay homage to X-Men #1.  And as usual in these films, the surrounding villains are kind of lame.  Riptide is boring.  Azazel is perplexing (this dude is canonically Nightcrawler’s dad -- guess who his mom is...)  

But most egregious is January Jones’s dull Emma Frost.  This character is incredibly complex and vastly interesting in the comics, and she’s just a piece of diamond cardboard in this film.  I won’t completely fault Jones’s terrible acting -- I think the writing and directing of the character completely misses the mark, and it’s a shame they wasted her and the Hellfire Club here when they could have saved it to have a really good Dark Phoenix Saga.  

And then there’s Mystique.  This is, perhaps, the best of the Jennifer Lawrence outing as the character (or maybe the next one - it’s been a long time), and still I often find myself wanting to throw things at her.  Mystique is another character, who, when done well, is incredibly compelling.  But I think the Jennifer Lawrence pouting about things seems to overshadow actual nuance with the character.  

Lastly, there’s the problem that seems to plague a majority of these superhero films.  The drawn out and somewhat predictable and dull third act.  The thing that gets me about these X-Men films, though, is that they hardly do what the comics are best known for -- giving action sequences where they get to play all their powers off each other.  This film just doesn’t do it, and while I did like the final Magneto/Xavier showdown, a lot of the action up until that point felt standard issue, thus dragging an otherwise smarter film down.  

Final Verdict: Is this movie better than X2? It might be! 

Next Up: Captain America!!! Whoo!