#but its okay that fictional man can be my wife | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madddays · 2 years ago

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camera shy

pairing: yoongi x reader (f) summary: after his last Oakland show, you carve out a little alone time with your husband, away from the stage lights and the cameras and the million people who always seem to be around rating/genre: explicit // fluff + smut + slice of life-ish (it’s a tour fic!) + an attempt at humour warnings: smut -- oral + fingering (f receiving), missionary, unprotected sex (they’re married it’s fine), terribly thought-out plot note: hello!!! i haven’t written anything in this format in a long time (poetry is my medium of choice) so pls be gentle!! also this is set in what is the “current timeline” but is of course fictional and i took every creative liberty i could :) also there was supposed to be a little bit at the end that i cut out bc reader was getting a little too cuckoo but that’s where the title came from and i couldn’t think of another. okay. anyway.

Being on tour is exhausting.

You’re not sure you have the right to complain – you’re not the one performing high-energy shows in sold out arenas every night. But you are lifting your share of your husband’s emotional weight as he does his solo tour. His first solo tour, as is stressed to you.

And you’re dodging cameras left and right. While it was impossible for you to stay out of the picture completely — the team at HYBE had convinced you that there was no need to hide your presence — being an idol’s wife didn’t really make you the most… sympathetic character.

So you try to keep the complaining to a minimum.

“If I have to duck out of one more cameraman’s way today…” you grumble under your breath. Sejin laughs.

“There’s only so long they can spend in your room,” he placates. “And tomorrow you’ll have use of the business centre again.”

You harrumph. Fucking businesspeople using the business centre for their business shit. Hunkering down over your laptop again, you attempt once more to read over the article you needed to finish editing tonight. You’re finally making a little headway, getting into the groove, and then —

“That’s it!” you snap in English, frantically trying to catch the open water bottle that almost spilled all over your computer. The culprit, a man looking through the lens of his giant stupid camera on his giant stupid tripod, glances at you with a bored expression.

“Whoops,” he says lightly, wheeling the contraption slightly to the left of where he’d bumped the desk. “Should probably keep that closed.”

You see red. Just as you’re about to toss this man and his equipment out the 50th story window, your husband appears.

“Jagiya,” Yoongi murmurs to you, placing a grounding hand at the side of your face. You instantly relax about fifty percent. “I’m sorry, just the rest of the afternoon.”

You look up at him, at his soft pleading face. He’s turned away from the filming crew, hiding both his expression and yours. You relax the rest of the way, resting in his palm, a little guilt creeping in.

It’s not his fault. Obviously, everything was going to be filmed — a BTS member’s first solo tour. There was going to be a documentary, and like it or not, you were going to be in it. As marginally as possible, everyone had insisted, but you couldn’t afford to look bad. Unfortunate that the filming crew was full of a bunch of dicks who didn’t give a shit about anyone who wasn’t the star. “No,” you shake your head, “I’m sorry. I know you hate this as much as I do, probably more. I’ll try to be good.”

At this, Yoongi smiles, shoulders jerking with a laugh. “I’m not asking for a miracle,” he teases. “Just a little patience.” You roll your eyes. You can behave.

Just then, the same nimrod shoots a look at you, almost goading, as Sejin picks up your laptop and its accessories so the Christopher Nolan wannabe can put some more douchebag equipment where it just was. You look Yoongi straight in the eyes, dead serious. “If that man crosses me one more time, I’m going to kill him. And I’m going to film it with his stupid fucking camera.”

--------------- xxx ---------------

Most people expect you to be ecstatic about the proximity to free tickets that being married to Yoongi brings. And you love watching him perform. Up on the stage, in his element. He’s never more radiant than when he’s singing and rapping, leaning in close to the edge of the stage so he can look into the fans’ eyes — gloss, a fitting name for the shining star you see giving his all.

And the confidence is incredibly sexy. So you have a competency kink, sue you.

But god is it tiring being there. Even in the nosebleeds, or in the VIP box. You can’t exactly abandon Yoongi afterwards, so you have to make your way discreetly backstage with the security team, and then you wait through the undressing and the debriefing and the security checks and the filming. Sometimes the media circus. Only then can you sneak into a car with him and head back to the hotel.

So you stay behind tonight. It’s the last day of the American leg, and you’ve already seen a few spectacular shows. You have your own life, your own responsibilities. Which includes deadlines.

You were able to come with Yoongi for this leg of the tour because you’d promised your boss an exclusive — first dibs on Agust D’s experience touring in the U.S. While you wouldn’t be allowed to take part in the spread (a very clear conflict of interest, no bueno) you’re excited for it. The potential of the photoshoot alone is making your head spin.

But part of the deal was also to keep working. The list of articles your Senior Editor ass has to go over is slowly dwindling, this feature on Korea’s impact on global fashion getting to the finish line.

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the now blessedly empty hotel room. Email with the finished article sent, you roll your chair to look straight into the little camera that’s trained on the desk Yoongi’s claimed and flip it the bird.

Job done and borderline invasive filming (it’s only on when Yoongi decides to get some working shots for them, but still) disrespected, there’s not much left to do but wait.

When the third time cycling through all your social media apps doesn’t provide any groundbreaking entertainment, you decide to call down to reception for some reading material. It’s not technically work if you’re just reading a dozen trashy ‘Who Wore It Best?’ segments. “Anne Hathaway, hwaiting!” you mutter to yourself.

--------------- xxx ---------------

A couple hours later, you’re still thoroughly immersed in your magazines and your music, completely missing the cacophony in the hallway. The knock on your door startles you so thoroughly you hit your head against the headboard.

“Unnie, are you okay?” asks Ari, one of the stylists. “I was coming to call you to eat!”

“Oh, you’re all back! One sec!” You scramble off the bed, excited to see the aftermath of the show. You barely remember to put on a pair of pants before rushing out the door, Ari’s surprised face greeting you. “Thanks, Ari-yah,” you grin, locking arms with her. “How was the show?”

“It was great! Oppa is always good, but tonight he was especially energetic.” Her face screws up a little. “He ripped another one of the jackets, though.”

An inconvenience to her, but you don’t share the irritation. Yoongi’s broad shoulders busting his clothes, yum. “Oh,” you say anyway, your sympathy unconvincing, “that’s annoying.” Ari snorts.

“Sure. At least it’s new costumes for the next leg. We’ll refit them.”

You practically vibrate with excitement at that. “I haven’t seen them yet! I’m sure you all did an awesome job!”

She blushes. “I think it’ll be good! They’re not totally finalized yet, but I’ll send you a ton of pictures.” Her eye drops in a wink, making you giggle delightedly.

Dinner is a buffet in one of the conference rooms of your beloved business centre. One of the security team members escorts you down with a group of the staff, but most people had gone down earlier, apparently very hungry. Yoongi among them. As you approach the doors, you hear someone complaining to him that they should’ve done this at a restaurant and where is his sense of celebration.

“Come on,” you hear him grumble. “It’s not like the entire tour is over. We can all go out tomorrow.”

You snort. “And then tomorrow you’ll say ‘tomorrow never comes’.” If it were happening to someone else, you’d never let them live down how quickly their husband’s head snapped towards them, but you make an exception because yours is so cute.

Despite his enthusiastic surprise, he doesn’t miss a beat. “Great, now I have to come up with a new excuse. Thanks for that,” he rolls his eyes, but immediately swaps the empty plate you grab with the one he was filling up for himself, no room to argue. Your giddy mood sours a little when you catch sight of the filming crew again.

Yoongi holds your hand over his bouncing knee and the two of you sneak food off and onto each other’s plates. The mood is bright and light, despite everyone’s obvious exhaustion (at least three people by your count are in danger of falling asleep into their food). You expect to see an extended shot of the staff and crew laughing and eating, a flushed Yoongi being plied with praise and encouragement, under some sort of pensive voiceover.

And you’re right, because right after he’s done eating they whisk Yoongi away to do what is sure to be a thorough recount of his adventure in the States. You’re a little jealous that they get to hear all about it before you do. Fuckers.

As the room starts to clear out, you bid everyone a good night and trudge back up to your room, planning to crawl into bed and wait for your husband.

But when you open the door, he’s already there. Your immediate thought is that the air conditioning is up too high for him to leave his hair damp like that. Your second thought is how pretty he looks — sharp eyes focused on his legal pad, sinful hand flying across the page trying to get down whatever lyrics are thundering through his brain, cheeks flushed and pouty mouth puckered. He must’ve gone straight from the shower to his desk.

After a few moments he must sense your eyes on him, because his writing falters and he turns to you, a soft smile breaking out across his face. Your heart flutters.

“Hey!” he says happily, pulling out his earbuds. “I was waiting for you.”

“Clearly,” you laugh, moving to perch on the table in front of him. He pulls your feet into his lap, putting his papers aside. You resist the urge to sneak a peek, instead asking “did I interrupt something?”

“No,” he assures you. “I got everything important down. You were right on time.” His fingers are drumming on your thigh like there’s still something on his mind, but you’re feeling greedy tonight, so you let it slide.

“Apparently, I was late.” His hair is cold when you ruffle it. “Let me dry your hair. You still have schedules to make it to, can’t get sick.”

Under the gentle whirr of the expensive hair dryer and your hands in his soft locks, you coax out some of the details of the night from him. Stuff those production company jerks would never get to hear, wouldn’t think to ask about. How he was so glad to never have to wear one of his costumes ever again. The way he didn’t even feel the heat of the stage lights, the thing that drenched him in sweat (aside from the jumping and running around) was nerves. You laugh when he tells you about the girl in the pit who danced so hard the veil of her wedding dress outfit ended up on one of the lights. Your heart swells, swells, swells.

There’s still a restlessness about him when you’re done. You suggest he goes back to his desk but he shakes his head. “Let’s go to bed.” The first time in ages you can do so without the weight of anticipation and stress over him – hopefully it will settle whatever is making him twitchy.

There’s a spark of arousal in your belly when you feel his eyes on your backside as you change into your pyjamas. A breath stutters out of your mouth when you meet his sleepy gaze, getting a soft smirk in response. “Come here,” he says softly. “I missed you.”

In your eagerness to get to him, you collide with the bed a little too fast. “Oof,” you huff, making him laugh. He sits up to haul you into his side, another surprised noise leaving your mouth.

“Dummy,” he teases. “Not even safe in a cushy hotel room.” You kick at his shin.

“Quit giving me bedroom eyes then.” You see his eyes sparkle and mouth start to open and smack a hand over it. “Yes, we are in a bedroom, ha ha, you are very funny.”

He moves your hand away, unimpressed. “It is a funny joke,” he grumbles. Truly funny thing is, if he’d said it, you would’ve laughed. You’re down horrendously and he knows it, although you do your best to keep his ego in check at least some of the time.

Giggling anyway, you let him press you closer to his chest. You especially love him like this, warm and soft and silly and all to yourself.

Yoongi turns over onto his good shoulder to face you, tipping your chin up. His gaze flits across your face, tender and deep, like he can see everything you’re thinking. You hope he can. You think he does. “I love you,” he murmurs, and he kisses you.

Your eyes flutter closed, relishing in this closeness. The way his mouth moves over yours, slow and deliberate.

This isn’t a kiss just because, or goodnight or I’ll be right back, this is a kiss because I want to be touching you. I want to breathe you in. I want to forget everything but you.

You let out a sigh. Yoongi hums against you, a rumble you feel in his chest, and slides his tongue to meet yours. He shifts some more so he’s over you, braced on his forearm. It’s urgent now, but the way he licks into your mouth is languid, a creeping heat.

He knows just how you like it, just how to drive you wild. Where you push and pull and grasp at him, he slows you, pins you down, makes you feel every second like it’s an hour.

When he pulls away, panting slightly, you realize – it’s been a long time. The last time the two of you had had a chance to get horizontal (or otherwise) had been the week you left Korea. More than a month ago. No wonder you’re so desperate for him, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him back in, feeling his smug little grin against your mouth.

He grabs at your hip with his other hand, and just that contact, his hand deliberate against the bare skin between your shirt and pyjama shorts, is enough to have you gasping.

He pulls away again with a low chuckle. “I’ve been neglecting you, my love,” he noses against your jaw. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver.

“You’ve been such a good wife,” he continues, sitting back on his heels, raking his gaze over you. His tone is soft but his eyes are so, so hungry. You reach for him, desperate to be back under his body, but he just smiles, closed mouth and innocent. “Shh, let your husband take care of you.”

He climbs back over you, settles his weight on you like he knows you like and hovers an inch from your face. His hair, longer again, hangs in his eyes, but you can see the mischievous shine in them. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Yoongi,” you whine. His smile grows even bigger, but before you can crush your lips to his he leans down and kisses you, slow and searing again.

“I’ll make you feel good,” he promises, mouthing down your neck. You know he’s going to leave marks, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s been so long since you’ve felt properly like his. “Smell so sweet,” he sighs, opening the top button of your sleep shirt and burying his face between your tits. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

You moan, sensitive from his touch. “You’re –” he nips at you, drawing more breathy noises from your mouth. “You’re unusually talkative tonight.”

He smiles up at you. “You like it,” he says simply. And you do. You want him to keep telling you how you look and feel to him, what he’s going to do to you.

You start to fall apart under his mouth, his hands, his words. Soon your shirt is gone, tits shiny with his saliva. “Your fucking tongue,” you grab his hair, hold him in place, and his groan against your skin makes your sensitive nipples shoot fireworks into your brain. He presses your tits together tighter, sucking them noisily in turn as you grind up against his hardening cock.

“Taste fucking perfect,” his voice is so deep. Your pussy is already clenching, desperate for him.

Yoongi helps you out of your pyjama shorts, wanting you completely bare to him. “Need to see you, jagi.” He settles between your legs, settled over his shoulders. His warm mouth over your cunt has you spreading them wider, eager.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles approvingly, expecting the ensuing flood from your pussy. He uses two of his long, callused fingers to spread it all over, sliding almost coincidentally over your clit. Your hips cant towards his hand, wanting more than anything to have them inside you – fuck. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Yoongi, please,” you choke. It’s getting nearly unbearable, this desperation. You’re so wet, so sensitive, your entrance clenching around nothing.

“Pretty, pretty,” he says in a soft rasp, talking to himself. He gets comfortable between your legs and you can see his sharp, dark eyes zero in on your cunt, tongue wetting his lips like someone’s set a meal in front of him. You suppose you have.

“Ahhh-hhhh,” you moan, the first broad sweep of his tongue over your folds like electricity. Like he’d just set a firecracker off inside of you – buzzing and sparking from the tips of your toes to your scalp. Eyes squeezed shut, a broken noise comes out of your mouth.

He keeps going, lapping at your pussy in an even rhythm and making low sounds of appreciation. It’s so, so wet you’re sure he must be drooling, and the thought is enough to have you clenching your legs together. “Careful, baby,” he says against your skin, but the vibrations of his voice are just fuel to the fire. “Watch me.”

You lean up shakily on your elbows, and the sight of him is nearly enough to knock you back down again. The mop of dark hair between your legs, working away as though you’re barely there, like he’s just using this to get himself off – except his eyes, watching you under the harsh slant of his eyebrows – shit shit it’s almost too much already.

“Fuck, baby, please,” you plead breathily, not even sure what you’re asking for. He’s already giving you everything you want. The close of his pouted lips around your clit has you jerking, the fiery crackle in your nerves making everything hazy except the places he’s touching you – big hands clamped around your thighs, face buried in your cunt, fingers pressed into the meat of your ass. He’d taken off the rest of his rings, but you can feel his wedding band pinching your skin slightly. Your matching one catches the light as you twist your hand into the sheets. “I need – I nee –” you break off, keening when he rubs a finger over your hole.

“Don’t worry, love,” he slides a digit in, feeling the way you clench around it desperately. “I know what my girl needs.” On the next stroke, he slides in a second finger, groaning when you clamp down on him. You collapse back onto the pillows, hips kicking up despite the way he’s pressing you into the mattress

You’d teased him mercilessly, way back when the two of you had started dating. “Tongue technology, huh? Do you have any songs where you’re not bragging about how good you eat pussy?” He’d only smiled, smug and amused, like he knew something you didn’t.

Boy, did you find out. Again, and again, and again. The way he flicks his tongue over your clit, a fast, even tempo that has you curling your toes. Combined with how fast he’s pumping those long fingers in you, the squelching sounds absolutely obscene.

“Another?” he asks, voice almost disinterested, betrayed only by how hoarse and low it’s become. You nod frantically, knowing you’re close.

When he adds his ring finger, you know you’re done for. There’s a searing heat all down your body — your belly’s tight, your feet digging into Yoongi’s back with how tightly you have them tensed. Your face is flushed and sweaty and you can barely hear your own breathy whining through the rushing in your ears. It’s building, the wet slick of his tongue joining his fingers as your legs start to tremble around him, threatening to squeeze his neck, your hands finding their way into his hair to bring him with you when your back arches off the bed, and when he sucks your clit back between his lips —

“That’s it, fuck, baby,” he growls against you. He pumps you through your orgasm, almost struggling to get deep because of the way you’re gripped tight around them. Lets the gush of come slick his tongue further, shaking his head side to side as you ride out your aftershocks. You grind against his face, stuttering as the oversensitivity kicks in, whining when it becomes too much.

“N’more,” you slur, gasping when Yoongi eases out of you. He sits back on his heels again, his mouth, nose, and chin shiny from the way you’ve drenched him.

He seems content to let it sit as he meets your eyes, popping his used fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back and groaning at the taste. “Pussy monster,” you sigh deliriously.

He laughs, having sucked his fingers clean. Pushing yourself up to lean back against the headboard, you try to get your bearings. Your legs are shaking a little and between them is still sensitive, but away from Yoongi the cold air of the hotel room makes your nipples tighten and you want more.

Your husband focuses his attention back on you. Your legs, open just enough so he can see the mess he’s made of you, and the way your skin is flushed, from your face all the way down to your chest. You shiver.

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks in a low growl. He pulls his shirt off and wipes his face with it, giving you an uninterrupted moment to ogle him. His broad shoulders, defined chest and arms, and toned stomach. The tattoo on his pec. The dusting of hair leading from his belly button down, down, down…

“Warm me up,” you say coquettishly, spreading your legs further.

“Fuck,” he whispers, reverent. Even after all these years, you have the exact same effect on him as the first time. It’s evident in the bulge in his pyjama pants that you eye hungrily. He wraps a hand around each of your ankles, pushing them up to bend your knees, crawling up so he can settle against you and lock your legs around his waist.

You let out a pathetic little sound at the feeling of him against your cunt. You’re still leaking, juices sticking to the insides of your thighs and probably leaving a patch on his pants. “Baby,” you whine. He leans down to kiss you and the grind of his cock against you has you gasping. “Need it,” you whisper into his mouth. “How do you want me?”

Yoongi kisses you one more time, chaste, and shakes his head. “How does my sweet girl want it?”

You flush even warmer. “Like this,” you say shyly. Yoongi smiles at you, fucked out and endeared.

Your hands find their way to his sweaty skin like magnets. Shaky fingertips tracing from his hips up over the flat of his stomach, hard muscles twitching as he sighs under your touch. When you reach his chest, you look up at him from under your lashes – he’s already looking back at you, pretty mouth agape. “The abs are new. I like them.” Then you scratch your blunt nails down them, feeling the muscles jump under your hands.

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning into you. You gasp at the twitch of his cock, the head rubbing your clit. “You’re in for it now.”

“Then fucking give it to me.”

He kisses you again, and he’s just so predictable. Despite his big talk and the way he’s pinning your hips down hard, he takes his time, opening you up to him. Your husband kisses like he drinks – slow and savoury, loves the taste of you, the way you make him feel dazed and light. Letting out little satisfied noises in response to the way you kiss him back, the way you let him have his way with you. If it were up to him, he’d work you up like this for hours. Drinking you in.

Unfortunately for him, you’re worked up enough. He’s grinding into you in tiny movements but the sensitivity from your prior orgasm, the insistent press of his cock between your lips, and the knowledge that you haven’t had him inside you in probably the longest stretch of time since you’d met is driving you insane.

“Take off your fucking pants, Yoongi,” you snap against his mouth, pulling at his waistband. He just laughs. “If you don’t fuck me right now –”

He keeps laughing, breathless and fond, but tips away from you enough to get his pyjama bottoms off and kicked away and hell yeah.

He runs his fingers through your folds and you gasp. Your hips cant up towards his hand but it’s gone immediately, and the sight of him jacking his cock with your wetness makes you whimper.

“So wet,” he murmurs, guiding the head to your pussy. The previous teasing mirth has vanished and there’s only the dark, focused look as he presses forward and – “Fuck.”

“Yoongi!” you cry out. His fingers hadn’t done nearly a good enough job of stretching you. The burn of him as he pushes into you makes your eyes roll back as you feel him pepper kisses over your cheek, down your neck to your collarbone. “Oh –”

“I must be out of my fucking mind,” he grunts, bottoming out. You choke on a sob. His big hand kneads your tit and it feels so fucking good you think you’re going to lose your mind. “How did I go without this for so long?”

He pulls out almost all the way then thrusts back in hard. “Y-Yoon – “ you whine breathily, barely able to make a sound at this point.

“My gorgeous wife, in this bed every night, so needy. This perfect pussy — shit.” He sucks the other nipple into his mouth, buried in you so deep you can’t think of anything but the way he’s filling you so good. The way you hadn’t realized you’d needed.

You’re blubbering at this point, beyond words, as Yoongi chases his orgasm inside you. Kissing every part of you he can reach as the sound of his skin against yours fills the room, playing with your tits the way that drives you wild. You come again with a shout, tears streaming down your face.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, kissing the tears away. He’s still going, deeper now instead of fast. “Can you give me one more, love?”

You’re dizzy with pleasure and overstimulation, but he loves to come with your pussy squeezing him. “Yeah,” you pant. A kiss, slow and deep, as he pushes back in.

Your legs are wrapped so tightly around his waist he can barely pull all the way back out. All you can do is hold on as he takes what he wants from you.

“Shit, shit,” Yoongi groans, hips stuttering. He’s close. “Love you, pretty girl, so fucking good to me,” his voice low and raspy and warm right next to your ear. “Do I make you feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you manage to get out and you can feel his cock throb inside you, rubbing your g-spot and it’s enough. Your vision goes white and you see stars as your entire body tenses up and you tremble all over when it suddenly releases. “Yoongi!”

“Fuuuck,” he grunts. “Squeeze me just like that,” and he’s coming too.

You lay there, panting under Yoongi as he softens inside you. The sweat makes you stick together where you’re touching, and anywhere outside your bed it would make you push him away. But you’re content to lie under him, soft, laboured breaths puffing next to your ear.

“Should’ve used a condom,” you say hoarsely. There’s going to be a mess when he pulls out, you can already feel it.

“Fucking raw used to be so hot,” he sighs, kissing your cheek. “Now it’s a chore.”

Your snort turns into a gasp as he pulls out. Reaching for his discarded shirt, he cleans up as much of his come as he can. You watch him, eyes zeroed in on the mess, licking his lips.

“Reel it in.” You boop his nose and he scrunches it. “I really cannot go another round. You’re gonna have to drag me to the bathroom.”

--------------- xxx ---------------

And he kind of does. On a good day, he could definitely carry you. But after three weeks of touring and a semi-vigorous round of sex, he hitches you onto his back in some semblance of a piggyback. You actually could probably walk, but you know the mood Yoongi’s in.

He lets you pee, then comes to clean you up the rest of the way. Both of you wrapped in fluffy robes, he washes the sweat and tears off your face gently, brushes through your hair with his fingers. Puts up with your halfhearted whining about expensive skincare as he pats it carefully back onto your face.

By the time you’ve dragged yourselves back to bed, the California King large enough that you don’t worry about the mess you’ve made on the other side, all the tension has drained from his body. The frantic energy of performing in a foreign country alone for the first time, melted away.

He’s soft and sleepy when he hitches your leg over his hip, pulls your head onto his chest. “Thank you,” he mumbles. You don’t have to ask him what he means.

You laugh softly. “Silly,” you say, drifting off.

#yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #bts fluff #bts smut #min yoongi imagine

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 1 year ago

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Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 5

Propaganda

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

#Propaganda for Glenn Close: one of the other PCs mentions multiple times how hot he is #Actually several characters point it out but especially Henry #Also the only person in a podcast that has to put a disclaimer about not being a BDSM podcast to have had sex during the course of the show

Young hot rocker dilf

Loyal to his dead wife <3

Does in fact smoke weed

BARD!! HES A BARD. HE WAS LEAD GUITAR IN HIS BAND (that he was kicked out of)

His band was a Christmas cover band btw.

Literally the fandom had hot Glenn summer which consisted of drawing him being incredibly hot and sexy

Anti government (ofc)

Kind of cringefail (Disney adult) (was on dilfs of disneyland)

Young and sexy not your style? Then how about HIM AFTER YEARS LOCKED IN A TIME PRISON WITH A DAMN HANNIBAL MASK ??

Lost an eye and wears a fucking eyepatch

One incredibly buff arm

Has a pet rat named after his son <3

Immeasurable amounts of trauma in this man- becomes progressively more unhinged

OH OLD HUMAN BARD ISNT CUTTING IT? FINE

HE BECOMES A FUCKING DEMON

A COOL HOT ONE-EYED DEMON WHO WANTS TO KILL HIS DAD (also sexy)

HE CANONICALLY ENDS CHRISTIAN HELL VIA CHRISTMAS

IS ALSO WAY OVERLEVELED

Becomes a demon hunter for the rest of his existence

Also nonwhite !!! We are done with cringefail whiteboys !!!!!!!!!

I can’t put into words ok just know he is the best plz love him.

Okay but Glenn made a minivan cum by talking to her so

HE HAS A BOOK THAT HE MARKS X’S AND CHECKS FOR EVERY DAY TO SEE IF THAT DAY WAS A SUCCESS OR NOT. TO SEE IF HE DID GOOD THAT DAY. ITS ALMOST ENTIRELY X’S. HE WAS CUCKED OUT OF A SON. AND A DEAD WIFE. HE DIDN’T EVEN GET TO KILL HIS DAD IN REVENGE. There’s absolutely nothing going for him except his sex appeal in his life. Nobody he loved remembers him. He lost his eye. All he has is a pet rat and friends who admit they don’t really like him that much. He was kicked out of his own band. The band was named after him. He was kicked out of the Glenn Close trio. All he could do was deez nuts the big bad and be sexy. If nothing else, then pity him. Look in his eyes. Look at his heart and soul. He did not do the BDSM episode for this I’ll tell you what. Do this for my his sake. Do it for Nick Jr, who needs the prize money to pay for his rat snacks. Do it for his son. For Morgan. Ganbatte.

Glenn is the goofiest sexiest character there is and I will die on this hill! I will ride into battle for him! what Dndads created is truly unique and Glenn is a key part of that and for that he deserves to win. I said it before and I'll say it again - GLENN SWEEEEEP

Can we talk about how he says ‘baby’ casually? Like he just calls people that?? That’s HOT. THAT IS HOT!! He’s also bilingual and knows Japanese!!!! He’s a big dumb idiot with a lot of charisma!!!!!! HE WORKED AT A BDSM PLACE FOR TWO SEPARATE ONE SHOTS. HES SO SAD BUT PLAYS IT OFF LIKE HE’S CHILL ALL THE TIME!! HE DOESN’T THINK OF HIMSELF AS SINGLE BECAUSE HE DIDN’T DIVORCE HIS DEAD WIFE!!! He’s like.. the perfect guy. We need this win.

I’d also like to add the fact I made this. Which is the first 11 episodes edited to (almost) only have Glenn in them <3 which is a level of insanity I hope to reiterate. These took hours to make. I wouldn’t do that for anyone else.

Mod Note: While I will still take "bad dads are sexy" propaganda and "bad dads aren't sexy" anti-propaganda, I kindly request no more discussion on whether or not he was a bad father. This is a sexypoll, not a parentingpoll. If you see a post you strongly disagree with, you can just not reblog it.

Mod Note 2: This tournament is about fictional podcast characters. Please do not vote for the real actress Glenn Close.

Amber Gris (The Adventure Zone: Ethersea):

Middle aged woman who punches sharks to death. My hero

If you love me you'll vote for amber gris I swear to everything holy on earth amen

Amber is butch, instant win

Amber Gris has a negative charisma modifier and she pissed her pants on purpose in order to trick a guard and knock him out. She tied up a dude. She once killed an evil magic shark (they're out for murder. not like real sharks) by punching it and then picked it up and smashed it into another shark, also killing it. She talks in a southern accent. She calls people guppy because it indicates a lack of respect. She has a big pair of magical green arms that come from her stomach. She got a fancy jacket and immediately ripped its sleeves off. She has a gay thing going on with one of the political leaders in the city. She gets in fights with people and doesnt do vulnerability and tries to lay low and not get in any social trouble she doesn't have to. She jumped through a portal into a new world because she could. She's now the god of said world, alone with only afformentioned political leader, who was previously possessed and she had to fight. She spends her time in a bar called the Cloaca. She calls people she doesn't like claspers, because it means shark penis. She and her friend, an old man named Uncle Joshy, sneak attack each other and yell VIBE CHECK! She tries to talk fancy to impress people and she's really bad at it (verily).

She’s everything and more. She’s irreverent. She punches sharks for a living. She becomes God. What more do you need in a butch.

amber gris propaganda: she is straightup the physical embodiment of "women want me, fish fear me." also she's an appalachian post apocalyptic sea captain. that's just objectively cool.

AMBER GRIS IS PUNCHES SHARKS AND IS (one of) THE MOST BADASS BLACK WOMEN PCS IN DND SHOWS IVE EVER SEEN. SHES INCREDIBLE AND A WIN FOR DYKES EVERYWHERE

amber's creator said she was based off of the type of working-class woman you commonly see in appalachia where "this is the sort of woman that you see walking past CVS, and you know that a truck could hit her and it would just split around her as she continued to go pick up whatever she had to do that day." and that's pretty hot

guys Amber becomes lesbian god of the new world with her childhood “”friend””

#amber gris is LITERALLY a middle-aged butch #she would win this entire tournament in a just world

Last time Amber got horny was when she killed that shark

"it was a savage bummer though, don't-- trust me, there's nothing that great about a history. You know? I got one. What did I do, killed a bunch of sharks? Last time I got horny, god and christ I can't even tell you-- well, it was when I killed that shark. But! Hey. We're all just kinda figuring it out."

Moonshine Cybin (Not Another D&D Podcast: Bahumia):

She's a hot elf with mushrooms growing on her. She has 1 level of barbarian. She's bisexual. She shapeshifted into a dragon and ate a god.

how tf does the post not mention Moonshine’s giant boobs her greatest asset

Moonshine has canonically gone down on a woman for a solid hour without asking for anything in return. Moonshine edged a dryad just by kissing them. Moonshine faced down someone being controlled to kill everyone in his path and told him if he still wanted to hurt her, she would take his blows as a friend. Moonshine makes jambalaya for her family and friends. Moonshine mispronounced someone’s name for a month and that woman still wanted to hook up with Moonshine. These are just a few of the reasons why Moonshine is sexy.

shes illiterate

canonically huffs dirty water from a bong

has big tatas

wears a belly chain with a demon trapped in it

almost became the queen of hell

ate a god

turned into a pregnant moose & gave birth

The woman she went down on for an hour asking nothing in return is still hung up on her, 200 years later. Moonshine is unmatched

To be clear the woman whose name Moonshine mispronounced for a month and then hooked up with is the same woman she went down on for an hour, and the same woman who is still flustered over her 200 years later. The rizz is unparalleled. She’s also incredibly kind and accepting of others, and goes out of her way to bolster her friends. The party always requests one big bed.

moonshine cybin is a druid who learned counterspell through sheer force of will. moonshine cybin turned one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse into a dolphin, flew him 60 feet up into the air, dropped him on the ground, and then spit spores into his face to kill him. moonshine cybin turned into a dragon and bit the head off of a double god. moonshine cybin was willing to confine herself to an eternal hell to save the world. moonshine cybin is a dragon rider. you know what you must do.

Amber and Moonshine Together

Look at them. They should not have to fight when they could be gay instead. Imagine the power they would have combined... Every lesbian in a hundred mile radius of the post would swoon. It may be an odd alliance, but from an Ethersea fan to Bahumia fans, i believe this will strengthen both our odds. I have always been insane about Amber Gris but through this poll I have also learned about Moonshine and come to love her too. Take my hand... We can do this together...

OKAY HEAR ME OUT MOONSHINE AND AMBER WOULD GET ALONG SO WELL

appalachian sapphic solidarity!

Art of Amber and Moonshine from @pirateknight.

#Round 5 #Glenn Close #Glenn Close DnDads #Moonshine Cybin #Amber Gris #Not Another D&D Podcast #Bahumia #The Adventure Zone #TAZ Ethersea #Dungeons & Daddies #Dungeons and Daddies

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justthemis124 · 2 months ago

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My opinion on “Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez story” PART I

If some of you guys have read my presentation post, you know that this show encouraged me to create this blog, because after finishing the last episode, I just needed to talk about it to someone. Unfortunately nobody I know has seen it or is even interested in seeing it. Anyway that’s not the point, I have a lot of things to say about the show, that’s why this post is only a part 1, and I’ll try my best to organize my thoughts as best as I can.

You can read part II just here :))

I. THE RYAN MURPHY PROBLEM

I feel like I needed to start with the most obvious one.

So first of all you need to know that my only knowledge of Ryan Murphy comes from the 5 seasons of American Horror Story that I watched. And the thing that I noticed straight away when watching AHS was the omnipresence of very, very uncomfortable and weird s*x scenes. Every 5 seconds you get these scenes that serve no purpose to the plot whatsoever, it feels like they’re there just for the sake of making people uncomfortable and satisfying whatever perverse desire Ryan Murphy has. Now, I’ll say that American Horror Story is fictional and that, at the end of the day, no matter how disgusting these scenes are, they remain in the fictional realm.

BUT the problem is that RM has clearly brought his weird and obscene fantasies into the world of what I can only think of calling “True Fiction” (a show or movie based on real events, and that wants itself to be accurate). It’s something that you can so clearly see in each and every episode of the show, and while watching it, I remember thinking how disgusting it was that this almost 60 years old man was just forcing his perversion into a representation of literal victims of incestuous s*xual abuse. And I genuinely cannot express how sick to my stomach it makes me.

Furthermore, I think that it is also very clear whose side Ryan Murphy seems to be on, and in my opinion and based on the way he decided to portray the brothers, I think that he clearly thinks that the boys are liar. Which okay, he is of course entitled to his opinion on the matter, even if I (along with a lot people) strongly disagree with it. The problem is that he should not bring his opinion into the show and make his opinion seem like the real and factual events.

On that same note, I’m sure most of you are aware, but Erik released a statement through his wife about the show, I’ll put it below :

And I’m so glad he spoke up and said how much fake things, inaccurate portrayals and misinformation this show was spreading. Unfortunately, Ryan Murphy responded to this statement, in the worst manner possible, here is his response below :

I find it absolutely insane to tell people, whose life you tried to recreate on screen, that you did an amazing job at it while these persons themselves tell you that you failed to put in light the truth that they spent their whole lives trying to be heard.

In conclusion on this whole part about Ryan Murphy, I was just really disappointed in the way that he produced and realised the whole show as well as the way he handled the aftermath of its release, this man even had the audacity to say that he had no interest in talking to the brothers so that tells us everything that we need to know about him. And I think that he should just stick to fiction and stop trying to film true crime shows if he’s gonna ignore the facts and just build the show on his opinion instead.

II. THE PORTRAYAL OF THE BROTHERS

The issue with the portrayals of the brothers is obviously directly linked to Ryan Murphy but I wanted to dedicate a part about it and not it be a sub part to the RM problem.

When I was watching the show, the first thing that struck me was the portrayal of Lyle. I was familiar with the Menendez case way before the show because, like a lot of people, I had watched the trials on YouTube. And while I cannot claim to know what Lyle is like, and none of us can, because we don’t know him, I was still quite shocked to see the way they made him act on the show. I guess that this arrogant, angry, violent and spoiled rich kid act just wasn’t what I was expecting, along with a lot of people. And we were right to find this representation to be odd because Erik, himself, talked about how inaccurate and defamatory this representation of Lyle was in his statement that you can read above in the Ryan Murphy problem.

So there's already that. And then, the worst part in my opinion, is the way that Lyle and Erik were, first of all, highly s*xualized and also represented as if they were in some kind of incestuous relationship with each other. If we focus for a second on the s*xualization of the brothers, the first example that comes to my mind is the shower scene with Erik in prison. What purpose does that scene serve in the telling of Erik and Lyle's story? I cannot help but think that this is just another manifestation of Ryan Murphy's perverted mind. On that same note (I'm gonna try and explain this next part as best as I can) but I think we all know now that RM has a tendency to cast attractive actors for these type of roles (ex: Evan Peters as Jeffrey Dahmer) to later s*xualize them non stop. And words are failing me to express how wrong that is, because in Dahmer's case he was literally s*xualizing a serial killer, and in the Menendez' case, victims of incestuous s*xual abuse. Again I fail to understand how this man doesn't see any wrong in that.

Now, about the representation of the brothers' relationship. As I was watching the show, I remember noticing all these little things that were insinuating that something romantic was going on between them, again I cannot express how uncomfortable it made me, I can only assume that it was the case for everyone else watching. And again, I cannot find the words to say how disgusting and sick this is. Because here is the thing, so we know that Erik was m*lested by Lyle, because Lyle was himself being abused by José Menendez, he was child and he didn't know any better than to try and recreate what he though was an act of love. BUT knowing that and willingly deciding to subtly portray these brothers as if they were in a consensual incestuous relationship is digusting and sickening.

And I want to clarify that this critic of their portrayal is aimed at Ryan Murphy and in no way at the actors, I will be talking about the actors' work in the second part, in another post.

Alright guys that's it for the first part of my opinion on "Monsters", I hope that maybe some of the points I addressed will help you see the show in another light if you didn't share my point of view. And if my post didn't convince you of anything and if you disagree with me on certain point, please leave a comment so we can discuss it :)

The second part will be focusing on the portrayal of José and Kitty Menendez as well as the work of the actors.

See you in the next post!

#ryan murphy #monsters: the lyle and erik menendez story #erik menendez #erik and lyle menendez #lyle menendez #netflix #true crime #menendez brothers #monsters #monster: the jeffrey dahmer story #ahs murder house #american horror story #cooper koch #nicholas alexander chavez #free the menendez brothers

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icarusredwings · 4 months ago

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Explaining this because I don't think people are getting it. Ft. One of my favorite mutals. @the--quotifyer--innit

The Master's issue isn't that the Doctor is poly. His issue is that he can not feel second best.

Tw: Mention of toxic jealous behavior, social/ romantic hiarcys, a lot of dog metaphors because its easier for me to explain, someone who's really autistic yapping about fictional old man yaoi, lots of misspelling, Apologies if I seem upset/rude, Im very passionate about the phycology behind social/romantic hiarchys and similar behaviours.

I was asked; Hey what would you think Sax would do if he met tentoo and rose?? With or without 14.

Me: Without 14? Like pre saxteen or just him not there? I think either way he'd beat the fuck out of tentoo. (Because he'd think he's cheating on him at first) He'd try to best up rose too depending on if we were talking s10 sax, pre saxteen, or established saxteen. Hed probably fail, but he'd try.

Yeah, sharing is definitely not his thing

No, definitely not (with Rose). Also, he'd probably lecture her, and then she'd be like "dude LOOK WHOS TALKING" and he'd be like, "WELL- ....☝️ 🤨.... actually... erm (you got a point)." Especially if we're talking Torchwood Rose? It would also piss him off how many traits she has picked up from the doctor. He'd become so emotionally jealous about it. (That Rose has the Doctor's traits)

Because he's not stupid. He's extremely smart. If this is pre/ established, the Doctor talks about her all the time. Even now. Little things. "Oh, there's this little shop down the road that Rose worked at. They have some sales sometimes. " He would SEE how much he actually loved her and feel extremely defeated, which would probably turn to rage and try to kill her. Then have a mental breakdown and sob by himself.

Probs blackmail her Bout how long he's know the doctor compared to a pathetic human girl. Rose would not be impressed.

You can't really use that as black mail but brag? Yes. (He'd definitely brag about knowing him much longer)

I could write a whole thing about this (and I did), but bassically, the fact that she's just a human girl is PART of the reason he'd get so upset. He's a fucking TIME LORD with MORE credibility then the doctor and one of the top loves of his eternity he's ever had is some 20 year old blonde girl????

Because with the master (and all of Gallifrey in general) Reputation and status means a lot. So the fact that the doctor chose her (someone who has zero of both) over him (someone who has a lot of both) it would mean that he likes her PURELY for love and this? That crushes him entirely.

Donna: The doctor is currently locked in the shed writing ' I love you, I promise' notes on the window.

If this ever happened, they'd probably get a divorce on the spot because the doctor CAN'T deny that he loves her still. And will. Forever. Saxon would kill him again and not even want to regenerate. He is a "You said til death do us part, and I said until all of time collapsees. We are not the same" kind of guy. He'd kill them both and be sure they fall in the same grave. It's very poetic. (In a way)

See he's okay with River because her physical body is dead as fuck. She can never leave that computer. So this automically puts sax on top of the metaphotic food chain in his head.

Because the doctor comes to him and asks if he can visit his wife and then comes back home to him. That's what matters. Meanwhile, the doctor would go to a different universe to go home to Rose. (If given the chance) And he knows it.

It's like having a dog tolerate/dominant dog. I'll use Minpins because I own one. Minpins have a pack status, and the top one has to be seen as the top by the owner, mainly rather than the other dogs. So if the doctor has multiple lovers (like always), sax has to feel he's on top and receives the most attention. If the doctor starts ignoring or punishing him for "defending" his spot as the top, he'll actually get MORE aggressive towards the others.

He has to be the one at the top of the list, the most special to the doctor, just for his own weird lil reasons

No, it's not really his own weird little reason. It's social psychology.

The thing is, he doesn't *actually* have to be the most special to the doctor, but he NEEDS to think he is. For me personally, and what I know, I like to think that Rose and The master are actually pretty equal, he just says stuff about her *because* he can't do stuff with her anymore which is just the process of longing.

I know I keep coming back to the dog metaphors, but im autistic like that, so give me a chance.

It's like for me, i had a dog named bailey. I love bailey even now, and often I compare my current dog fern to bailey. Its part of the healing process because im comparing them less and less. Especially with the fact that they're VERY different breeds. Bailey was a live stock guardian, an anatolian shepherd, to be exact. 90 pounds. Hairy. Fern is an 8 pound chihuahua miniature pinscher mix. Short hair.

Both are protective of the kids, both bark at men, both are silly and cuddly, and I love them both a lot. But its unfair to compare them because they are so different.

Though there's nothing wrong with liking the similars.

It's unfair for the master and rose to be compared. That's how the doctor thinks about it. The master is his top time lord on his list. Rose is his top human.

In my head anyway.

I'll probably add to this later, but for now, feel free to add on yourself

#doctor who #the master #thoschei #saxteen #fourteenth doctor #charater analysis #rose tyler #tentoo #s10 saxon #saxon master #social construct #polyam pride #retired time lords #ship analysis #cultural differences #yapping #yowzah #river song

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lilgoblinbitch · 9 months ago

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THE ONES WHO LIVE EPISODE FOUR (spoilers)

my reactions while i watch this masterpiece of an episode:

HELP OMG MY HEART IS POUNDING

why is there a roomba

HOLY FUCK THEY LANDED IN THE OCEAN OKAY

WHAT IS THIS GIANT BUILDING THEYRE IN

“we needed a time out” YES YOU DID TELL HIM BAE

“the hell is this place” ITS WHERE U AND MICHONNE ARE GONNA-

why are they both so sexy omfg this is ...

OMG MICHONNE HAVE MERCY Y ON ME

rick that stare is making me feel things, STOP.

IM SCREAIMUNG INTO MY PILLOW SO MY ROOMMATES DONT HEAR ME FOLDING OVER TWO FICTIONAL CHARACTERS

MICHONNE I COULD SEE U AS A CREATIVE WRITER OMGGGG

the queen is so smart and witty and STRONG HOLY SHIT???

no because if i was her at that moment i would be on the ground sobbing and convulsing

“CHILDREN?” HELP PLEASE SOMEONE

rj…

oh god.

WHAT THE FUCK RICK

WHY DO U THINK SHE PULLED YOU OUT OF THE HELICOPTER YOU DUMB MALE

have sex already please

MY TV PARENTS ARE FIGHTING :(

michonne it’s not that simple you can’t just go home yet :(

“what did they do to you” bad things :(

“do you still love me? :(“ MY POOR BABY MICHONNE

“little brave man” i can’t.

please smack some fucking sense into him michonne.

poor rick he’s so fucking broken. and poor michonne i can’t imagine what it feels like to find your husband after 8 years and he’s just…gone. 😔

STOP IT I DONT WANNA CRY AGAIN

THE WAY HE SAVED HER FROM THE BUILDING COLLAPSING

OH FUCK THE KNIFE OH NO OH NO THEYRE GONNA FIND OUT

LMFAOOOOOO MICHONNE IS SO SASSY I LOVE HER SM “I DONT EVEN HAVE A WEAPON, COMMANDO”

okay he deserved that shove from her.

ANDY AND DANAI DESERVE AN AWARD

oh god mich again i’m so sorry. rick is gone he’s got stockholm syndrome or some shit

rick lost his manners fr he is not treating his wife well, the blood on her face the “DAMMIT HUG THE WALL” UM RICK DO YOU KNOW WHO YOURE TALKING TO HELLOOO?????

uhhhhhh what is happening….

oh! i like this part :) (they’re kissing)

oh! i like this even more (they’re fucking)

OH FUCK YES I NEEDED THIS

oh poor rick my baby he waited for this moment for way too long

omg the look in their eyes STOP THIS IS SO MAGICAL AAHHHH

i’m actually fucking sobbing.

i love them sm i don’t ever want them to leave that bed (unless they go back to their children ASAP)

DARYL MENTION!!!!

“sit, rick.” YES COMMAND YOUR HUSBAND

“we, our family, are real. our love doesn’t get denied.” 👏👏👏👏

CARL MENTION PLEASE HELP HELP HELP IM NOT OKAY :(

rick sobbing makes my heart drop. this tissue box is my new bff.

the CARL DRAWING….

i’m still fucking sobbing. like, hysterically.

THE ELEVATOR MAKE OUT YESSS

THE CAR MAKE OUT YESSS

“WE CAN MAKE THIS WHOLE DAMN WORLD OURS IF WE WANT TO” YES YOU FUCKING CAN RICKY DICKY DOO DAH GRIMES!!!!

MY TV PARENTS ARE BACK TOGETHER YIPPIIEEE

holy shit that was truly an emotional rollercoaster. honestly this was my favorite episode. danai, you are fucking amazing, thank you for feeding us this delicious richonne meal today!!!

#the ones who live #towl spoilers #twd towl #richonne #rick grimes #michonne grimes #the walking dead #twd #i am gonna cry again tonight #and then i'm gonna rewatch that scene iykyk #danai gurira #andrew lincoln #andy and danai #rick and michonne #carl grimes

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previousloversandmuses · 2 years ago

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FREQUENCY: Episode 6 - A Soldier Boy Story

FREQUENCY: A Soldier Boy Story

EPISODE 6: “You Make Me Feel So Young”

WORD COUNT: 7736 (sorry)

PAIRING: Soldier Boy X Reader

WARNINGS: (NSFW) Foul language. Offensive slurs. Violence, depression, and mentions of suicide. Slow burn. Drinking, and drugs.

A/N: This story is dark, and covers mature themes. The main character, as well as other major characters, are offensive in nature, and may offend some people. Please peruse with caution, and remember that this is fiction. Reader discretion is advised. Please message me for any questions, comments, or concerns.

Masterlist | Taglist

Everything was exactly where she usually would have left it. Hm, he thinks. Totally stumped. She’s never gone this long without telling him. Her apartment, vacant and cold, hadn't seen her around for about a month, and neither had he. Not since the last time she had come over, at least.

He stalks around her place. Taking a peep into the fridge, only to be greeted by the smell of spoiled milk. He grimaces, shutting it so hard the door comes off of its hinges. Fuck. He leans it back up against the body of the refrigerator, not really bothering to fix it. Maybe she wouldn’t notice?

He takes note of her bedroom. Her worn laundry is still in the hamper, including that little get up she had on the last time she came to see him. He reaches down into it, grabbing onto the black lace underwear, and taking a deep whiff. Still smells like her, which surprisingly brings him little comfort. He knew she did her laundry every day, or else the smell alone would drive her close to insane.

He rummages through her drawers, observing that almost all of her undergarments are gone. She’s also missing shorts, flannels, and her hiking shoes. Okay, he thinks, perhaps she’s just gone home for an extended period of time. Perhaps she is angry with him because of his reaction to her most recent proposition. Lord knows when she’d be back. But he knew he could always check.

Leaving her apartment, her black lace underwear stuffed into the sleeve of his supesuit, he knocks on her neighbors door. He knows they are home, he can hear them. An older woman answers, her eyes wide, mouth dropped.

“Good evening, ma’am, I was wondering if-“ She passes out before she can answer.

Great.

He knocks on the other neighbor's door. He stomps his foot with impatience. His lips formed into a tight line. He crosses his arms over his chest and swallows his irritation with feigned patriotism.

“Hello Sir, would you mind if I asked you a quick question?”

The man stammers, completely dumbfounded.

“Wow! Homelander, what a wonderful surprise,” He turns to look over his shoulder. “Honey, come look! Homelander is here!”

John rolls his eyes, only to resume his pleasant expression once the imbecile turns back to meet his gaze.

“What can we do for you, Sir?” The idiot asks.

“Well, I actually had a question about your neighbor.”

“Which one?” The man beams, a goofy grin on his face. His wife joins him at the door.

“My God! Homelander! To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Homelander smiles back at her, nodding his head. His irritation becomes a lot more difficult to hide.

“Yes ma’am. I was actually asking your husband here a few questions about your neighbor.”

“Who, Old Emma?” The woman asks. “She’s demented. Whatever she did, we had nothing to do with it.”

He raises an eyebrow at them, shaking his head.

“Uh…no, no, not the old—I was asking about your young neighbor. Apartment D.”

“Ohhhh,” They both say simultaneously. The woman slapping her head, showing her idiocy. “Well, we don’t hear much from her, right Steve?”

The man looks at his wife, nodding, turning back to John.

“She in some kind of trouble? Not one of those supe terrorists, is she?”

“No, no, God no.”

“Is everything alright? Anything we should be worried about?”

“No, just curious about the last time you saw her.”

The couple turn to each other, scratching their heads. Visibly searching their brain for some sort of answer.

“Maybe a few weeks ago? She’s quiet. It’s not out of the ordinary. She usually comes and goes late at night anyway.”

John sighs, nodding to them.

“Alright, thanks anyway. Sorry for bothering you two. Stay safe out there, okay?”

As he begins to walk away, Steve, the husband, calls after him.

“Hey homelander!” John turns back to them, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Do you mind if we get a picture?”

Kill me now. He thinks.

“No, not at all!” He walks up to the two of them with open arms.

The two of them eat dinner every night together for a few weeks. He comes home from a long day of work, which again, he chose to do willingly. Something she still thinks is a feat in itself. He slips off his boots, and lays down on the couch. He’ll turn the TV on and flip to whatever channel is showing reruns of M.A.S.H. Although he does happen to enjoy Two And a Half Men, he was good friends with Charlie Sheen's father back in the day.

Last Tuesday she had borrowed one of Amas cookbooks, deciding on a southern style pot roast. Didn’t look too hard. You just stuff everything into a crockpot, wait eight hours, and call it a night.

By the time he got home the house smelled heavenly, and had been obsessively deep cleaned by the freak herself. He had noticed during their time together that she had to deep clean every few days, otherwise it’d drive her up a wall, and she’d start acting like a deranged mental case. Although regular, established, modern people would just refer to it as irritability. He will never not call her out for it, no matter how many times she tells him that upsets her.

Because of this interaction, his enjoyment of smelling whatever she had cooking for him would usually be cut short, ending in some ridiculous, twenty minute bicker. The two of them are equally hard-headed, and would never admit they were wrong. At this point they both give up, and begin to eat in silence, on the couch, side by side, watching some sort of movie. Finally beginning to talk normally from some obscene observation on his part. She’d never say it, but times like that she did find him funny.

He was crass, and gross, and condescending, and simply everything she thought she’d hate in another human being. But, unfortunately, there was a part of her that found it charming. And come present day, she realized she might be sad the day he doesn’t come home to bother her. She’d been by herself for so long, the idea of even any sort of companion drove her crazy. But she had gotten used to this. And his nightmares had gotten at least a little better to the point where she could fall asleep without headphones, and lie back, being soothed to the sound of his steady heart beat.

All that is short lived when she wakes up to a screech, or a shout--or something. Either way she knows it's him.

Typically, in this situation, or what she’s done so far to cope, is turn on “Swan Lake” on her headphones. She cranks it up, rolling her eyes, and flipping over on her side. Facing away from his side of the house. But tonight, after a particularly heated conversation about the Star Wars Prequels, she can't help but feel a tinge of guilt.

She lies awake, staring at the ceiling, her box fan only doing so much to conceal his soft whimpers of misery. She gnaws on her lip, her heart aching with a sudden remorse for the oh-so-broken man that lies tortured by his own sleep. When was the last time he slept a full night? She thinks. When was the last time he woke up feeling rested? She knows he's strong as steel, and biologically augmented. He probably didn’t even really need the sleep. But mental anguish? Cognitive health? She knew from her own experience that can take a toll on even the strongest of Supes. Take John, for example, even he was a loose cannon for Christ's Sake!

She sighs, standing up, and making her way into the living room. It’s at least worth a try. She didn’t even really know what to try. She was never one for comfort, even with the likes of John. Hell, she didn't even know how to expect people to comfort her!

He lies on the pull out bed, resting on his side. Small, innocent, puffs of air fall from his lips. He almost looks sweet like this. Like a little boy, so wholesome and demure. She's sure that won't last long when he wakes up. With this man's amount of pride, she's sure he'd have her in a chokehold for even thinking consoling him was a good idea.

She softly sits to the left on him, making sure to not create too much noise. Did he wake up to stuff like this? Could he sense her presence or maybe he's well equipped to military style combat even when half asleep? She definitely wasn’t willing to find out.

Another round of his wimpers start up again. She looks around awkwardly, unsure how to go about this situation. She reaches her hand down, it hovers over his damp forehead. He’s going to snap my wrist, she thinks, grimacing. She bites her lip in preparation. Anything to get this wild, uninhibited man to have a full night's sleep. Shit, anything to get her to have a full night's sleep!

Fuck it.

She begins cascading her stiff hand through his wet hair. She's moving like she doesn't have control of her arms. I look disabled, she thinks, shaking her head. It was a funny sight. If she were to tell someone she had cerebral palsy, she’s sure they'd believe it. She snorts at that. What an awful thing to think. She had definitely been hanging around him too much.

He shifts over onto his back in his slumber, her hand moving away from him quickly. She eyeballs him to make sure he's not awake. His little breaths continue to puff away. She sighs in relief. She watches as he stiffens up, his whimpers bubbling from his throat again. Her eyes widen. She drops her hand back down to his scalp and begins to scrape her fingers through it. He starts to calm down. Like magic, she thinks. She shuts her eyes for a moment, suddenly desperate to feel any sort of electrical current dancing around underneath the top layer of his skull. And she does. It lights like a wildfire as his nightmare begins to calm down--

That is, until he nearly breaks her wrist, of course. He's up with a jolt, as he wraps his hand around her delicate, unaltered bones.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He demands, her eyes going wide.

She tries pulling her arm out of his vice grip, her bones creaking under the strength of his fingers.

“You were having a nightmare,” She argues, slightly embarrassed. “I was trying to help.”

He laughs at her, dropping her arm into her lap. He stands up, separating himself from her.

“Only little boys have nightmares, and last time I fuckin’ checked, I’m a grown man.”

“You have kept me up every night for a week now.”

“What happened to your phoneheads?” He demands. “Those keep you from hearing things.”

She rolls her eyes at him. Hearing things. Whatever gets you to sleep at night, pal. Which was, obviously, nothing.

“They are uncomfortable.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m uncomfortable when you come and caress me in my sleep-” He stops himself, thinking about that statement for a second. Well, maybe not that kind of caressing.

“You’re perverted.” She already knows exactly what he's thinking.

“And you don't listen. How many times do I have to tell you I dont have fuckin’ shell shock?”

She shrugs, “You’re gonna have to keep telling me, because thirty years of captivity seems like it’d do a lot to a guy.”

“Yeah, well, maybe to one of those pussy desert storm vets. Those are the ones who were left fucking half-retarded.”

She stands up, scoffing, brushing past him, and walking back into her room.

“You liked it,” She states. “It shut you right up.”

He stares at her.

“But okay, tough guy, I won't do it again.”

He looks down at his feet, kicking at the floor. “Good, glad we're on the same page.” He says.

She closes the door on him.

John has been sitting in Vought Security for the past four hours trying to find any surveillance he could of her quiet escape. He just wanted to make sure she really did go home. That she wasn’t flaking out on him. That she wasn’t abandoning him. Not that he cared or anything…

“Doesn’t she have a tendency to take out security cameras?” The young intern asks.

He had stolen her from her minor duties as a security assistant. She wasn’t even sure what she was doing.

“Yes, but don’t you think we’d at least see her take them out?”

“Yes Sir, but if she left, then I’m sure we would have seen her leave by now.”

“Don’t question me. Filter through the next hour, I’m sure we’re almost there.” He breathes down her neck as he hunches over, getting himself closer to the screen to see.

And anyone could have missed it, but he didn’t. There goes her shitty old car, flashing past the screen.

“There,” He shouts. “Go back, pause it.”

The young girl sighs, rewinding the footage, and stopping on the blurry still of the car.

“There she is,” He smiles, “Now where the fuck are you headed?”

The two of them sit there for another hour as they watch her car travel from camera to camera across the city. That is until she reaches a big dumpster behind some shitty supermarket on the outskirts of Queens.

The camera on the lamp post that recorded this had to be at least twenty years old. It looks like it had been filmed on a fucking microwave.

“Is there any way we can make this image clearer?” He asks, gesturing to the screen.

The young intern shrugs, pressing some buttons, and filtering out at least a little bit of the grain.

“It’s not much better,” She sighs.

He pats her shoulder, she goes stiff, ready for this loose cannon to fire any second.

“This works.” He states, yanking her out of the seat and taking her place.

He gets obnoxiously close to the screen, squinting his eyes, and watches as Freak throws something into the trash can.

“Is that a body?” The intern gasps in horror.

John rolls his eyes, “No, it's not a fucking body.”

He begins to rub at his chin, “...At least, I don’t think so…”

The girl reaches over his shoulder, clicking a few buttons, then walks over to the printer and hands him the location.

“This is where this camera is located. I doubt whatever she threw out is still in there, but it's worth a try, I guess.”

“Wow, thank you so much for your input that I definitely did not ask for.”

Deadpan. The girl would rather him put her out of her misery by this point. They stare each other down pathetically for a moment, before he shoos her away to go about the rest of her day.

He waits for the young girl to leave. Sighing as he turns back to the screen, he watches as Freak hops back in her car and drives off. He keeps the speed of the footage up, and only a few seconds later does he spot a homeless man walking over to the dumpster. He pauses the video quickly, putting it back into real time. The homeless man looks around suspiciously, before launching himself over the side of the dumpster.

John is at the edge of his seat. Please, Christ. He thinks. He begs. Anything that will get him on her trail.

After a few minutes, the homeless man pops his head back out. He hops back onto the ground, something shiny under his arm. Maybe a laptop, he thinks. He follows the man on nearby security cameras until he reaches a pawn shop. The man is in there for a good five minutes before he walks back out, envelope in hand. He immediately walks next door and into the liquor store. Typical.

This is worth a try, John thinks. Although, this was recorded over a month ago. Even if it was sold, he's sure they wouldn't mind giving him the information on who bought it. I mean, he is the Homelander for Christ's sake.

With that in mind, and location of the pawn shop in hand, he makes his way out of Vought Security, and then launches himself out of the tower. He’d find her. Even if it was the last thing he’d do.

They didn’t talk for two days after the nightmare fiasco. He’d come home to a dark house. She was either asleep, or hanging out with Ama until late. She never told her what really happened, just that his senile ass was getting on her nerves.

All the young adults on the res had plans to go out on friday night. He didn’t really know what that meant. Partying wasn’t like it used to be, and he isn’t sure if he would even like to party at all.

“You coming tonight?” Asher asks, taking a drag off a cigarette.

He and Ben lean up against a brick wall outside of the diner that they all frequent for lunch.

“What’s it we’re doing exactly?” Ben asks, pulling a cigarette out of his pack and up to his lips.

“It's like a bar honkey-tonk.”

“A honkey tonk?” Ben grimaces.

“It ain’t too bad, they barely play any country, either. Usually old classics, disco, that kind of thing.” Asher adds.

“Old classics…what the hell does that even mean?”

Asher laughs. Ama and Freak had ended up telling the rest of the young people on the res about Ben. Who he was. Why she broke him out. What the plan would be come summer.

A lot of them were hesitant at first, and for good reason. The Soldier Boy they knew had not necessarily been too kind to them. He understood their resistance for acceptance. Hell, he didn't even really want to be talking to these people anyway. The further they stay away, the better. But, of course, that wasn’t how it seemed to work. Everyone had been harassing him about stories from the past. Hell, he was once the most famous man in the world at the time.

“Old classics…80’s and under.”

“80’s and under?” Ben gapes. “Spare me.”

“Your version of old music is what…Beethoven live?”

Ben shakes his head, laughing.

“Fuck you,” He drags from his smoke. “So old music, drinking, and dancing?”

“Think you can handle that, old man?”

“We’ll see.”

Asher finishes his cigarette, dropping it to the ground, and crushing it with his foot.

“There will be some girls there too, I’m sure. Plenty for you to choose from.”

With Ama and Freaks' admission about who Ben really was, also came everyone knowing that the two of them weren’t really together. He didn’t mind…Or, at least he didn’t think so. A few days after they let everyone know, Ben watched one of Ama’s brothers pull Freak off to the side of the outdoor pavilion. He rested his arm above her head and looked down at her with a glowing admiration. Soft, big puppy dog eyes, doing what they do best. A look she seemed to send right back to him in return. She had never looked at him like that.

Did he even want her to? He swallowed that feeling down before he let himself answer.

“I’m a little rusty. I’ll come out for a little while and then turn in.” Ben sighs, still smoking on his cigarette.

“Your choice.” Asher shrugs, beginning to walk back inside the diner.

In theory it would probably be best for Ben's mental health to at least try to stay out later. Be social. Did he have to talk to women? No. These were baby steps. He could stay out, drink with the few friends he’s made, and listen to songs that made him feel comfortable. Think back to the good times. Hell, he might even get to see Freak let loose.

“...Christ on a cross…” He lets out a heavy groan. He had almost forgotten about what happened a few nights ago. There's no way she’d be going out, he thinks. And even if she did, she sure as hell wouldn’t get anywhere near him.

He felt bad for his reaction to her sweet gesture. How it was purely innocent, and kind. Something he rarely saw from her. She wasn’t cold-- well, not really. It was more like the idea of letting herself become comfortable with someone was, shocker, uncomfortable. His response to the situation ended up making him look weaker than what he was afraid of. He was acting like a little boy terrified of catching cooties.

He had always considered himself to be an open book, because to him there wasn’t much to be open about. He didn’t have any feelings that weren’t manly, and if he did, they were suppressed by bouts of irrational anger and rage. Reactions which he's sure led to his existence as a lab rat for thirty years.

He was cold to all of Payback, especially Noir, who was always agreeable and pure. And even to Countess, who he claims he loved. No man would ever treat a woman they cared about that deeply with such discontent and hatred. He acted like she made him sick. He’s sure he had even slapped her around a few times. But he was so arrogant, and she wasn’t built like regular women. He thought she could take it. She was strong. She needed that treatment. She needed that to be stronger.

In reality, his behavior all led him right back to his father. To his silver spoon childhood. His father, who was a disgrace. His father, who was unfair and disgustingly evil. His father, who was everything he turned out to be. Ben's personality was purely the result of mistreatment. Of parental negligence. Of deep rooted insecurity. Worst part is, he knows that now. He's been having to live with it. He’s been having to deal with these weird, foreign, repressed emotions. Ones that bubble to the surface as a short temper that's taken out on another broken human being who doesn’t deserve it.

He remembers dinner with her about a week ago. She was freshly showered so her hair was dripping wet, making a little puddle on the floor. The back of her shirt damp, and sticking to her skin. She was ridiculously shiny, which was the result of some face mask from the nearby pharmacy. It smelled like blueberries, and he’s sure she could tell. Most definitely an overpowering mixer with their steaming plate of macaroni and cheese. She grimaced as she took a bite.

“You put a lot of effort into yourself for a girl who’s so set on dying.” He says, breaking the silence. He had been refering to her planned suicide mission in the coming weeks.

She widened her eyes at him, setting her fork down, and reaching over to take a sip of her water. She had been exhausted that day. There had been a big music festival thirty miles down in one of the valleys. That's all she had heard and felt for the past twelve hours. A little self care is what she needed. Anything to treat her pounding headache, and sore muscles.

“I would've done it a long time ago if I wasn’t so set on revenge.” She stated, rubbing the sides of her temples with her fingers.

He shakes his head, putting his fork down.

“You can’t let these people have such power over you.” He argued.

“I’m too tired to have this conversation right now.” She sighs.

She pokes around her plate with her fork, resting one side of her head on her hand. He watches her as she mopes.

“Y’know, sometimes people in my blast zones don’t even die they just…end up losing whatever fucked up thing the V did to their DNA.” He tries to act nonchalant about it.

She looked up at him. It was a sweet gesture, she thought. He obviously didn’t think she was worthy of dying. Worthy of throwing her entire tortured life away. He was willing to help her find an alternative to her suffering. The question was whether or not she was willing to do that. And at this point, she didn't think so.

“Ben, it’s a nice gesture, really.” She smiles weakly.

She had always thought she was one of those people who were born to die. Like her whole purpose in life was death. That her existence had a deeper meaning, and that she wouldn't die in vain. She’d die in sacrifice. In the way she wanted to. She thought it was beautiful that she would be the final factor in her demise. That cancer, or John, or Vought, or an atomic bomb--any outside source wouldn’t have the ability to take control of her ultimate cessation.

“We can keep you at a close distance so you wouldn't get hurt. It’d be quick, and you wouldn’t have to worry about shit like today anymore.” He sounded excited almost.

“This thing that V gave me, I hate it,” She starts. “But I wouldn’t know how to live without it, either.”

He nodded along. That he understands.

“Like today for example; the ground is shaking, I feel it everywhere. It gives me a headache, raises my blood pressure. And the sound, the fact I can hear the bass from thirty miles away. I mean, to say my ears are ringing is an understatement. But, at the same time, the way I experience music is an incredible gift. I can hear chords and choruses and notes and keys--things machines couldn’t even be able to pick up…Without this curse, I would be just an empty shell. I wouldn't know how to live. So I guess, maybe the real curse, is just continuing to exist, compound V or not.”

By the time John gets to the pawn shop it had already been closed for thirty minutes. He lands just as the shopkeeper is locking up for the night. The man’s coat flies up from the force of John's arrival. He jumps in response. He turns to face him, John already putting on a shit eating, manufactured smile. The man freezes, dropping all of his belongings on the ground.

“How are you this beautiful evening, Sir?” It had been raining all day.

The man stammers, searching for some sort of coherent response. John grits his teeth. Deep breaths. He goes out of his way to continue the conversation.

“I’m looking for something that may have come through in your shop, do you mind if I have a look?”

“I-I-I…”Almost there, it’s nearly out. “I’ve just closed up for the night Sir, can this not wait until m-morning?”

Sorry--wait until morning? Does this absolute fucking imbecile retarded fucking moron not understand who hes talking to? John stalks up closer to him, the shopkeeper trembling enough to drop his keys onto the ground. John watches them as they fall, only to turn back up to the man.

“You gonna pick those up?” John asks, cornering him.

“Uh, y-yes sir.” The man stutters, squatting down and picking up his keys.

“Good job,” John praises. “Now, are you going to unlock this door and let me inside or am I going to have to force my way in myself?”

The man audibly swallows, turning back to the knob and unlocking the door with an old, rusted key. When the door opens John is hit with a waft of moth balls, old cigarettes, and dust. God this place was a slum. Who the hell would buy anything from there and expect it to be any quality higher than dog shit?

“Are you looking for anything in particular, Sir?”

John scans the room. There is furniture; some old and ripped, some newer and draped in red velvet. There is a section for jewelry, he's sure none of it is real. There is silver, china, guns, knives, japanese art, again, definitely not real.

“Do you have any electronics?”

The man gestures down in front of him. There is a glassed case that houses a few flip phones, a handful of Blackberry’s, some walkie talkies, and, Ah, laptops.

“We actually just got in a few new flip phones, Sir,” The man leans in closer, looking around, speaking under his breath. “Including a first generation keypad Nokia.”

John snorts, shaking his head. Unbelievable.

“I’m actually looking for a laptop.”

The man takes a deep breath, “Aw man, we just sold our last one today. Microsoft Windows I think.”

John feels himself getting agitated. He’s sure he can no longer hide the look of discontent on his face.

“So, no apple computers then?”

“N-no, unfortunately not, sir.” The man swallows hard again.

John takes note of his blood pressure. One-eighty over ninety. He must be hiding something. He begins to laugh at the man.

“What was your name?” John asks.

“A-Akash.” He stutters, his palms beginning to sweat.

John could smell it.

“Okay, Akash,” John leans in closer, grabbing him by the collar. “I know an apple computer came through here a few weeks ago. And I’m gonna assume by the pounding of your heart rate that you bought it off of some homeless guy for thirty dollars and some change.”

Akash nods, beads of perspiration forming at the top of his hairline.

“And I’m gonna bet that since you got such a good deal on a new, nice laptop, that you decided you were gonna keep it yourself. Is that right?”

Akash squeaks something, but John can hardly understand him due to his crushing vice grip.

“Sorry, what was that?” John says, pulling Akash up closer to his face, his feet hovering off the ground.

“Y-yes!” Akash cries, “P-please, Homelander, I have a family at home. Take whatever you want!”

“Where's the laptop?” He asks.

The man points down to his briefcase.

She stands in the kitchen, doing her makeup in the reflection of the microwave. She likes the natural lighting. She turns around, reaching to grab the controller, and turning the TV on. The New York news station is reporting about some Pawn Shop that caught on fire. Good, she thinks. As long as it has nothing to do with Ben. She's relieved to know that the two of them continue to be white noise.

And ugh, speaking of Ben, she prays he won't be going out tonight. Maybe he’ll continue to be antisocial and isolate himself at home, watching reruns of “Happy Days”, and snorting mountains of benzos. She's tired of getting them for him.

After she finishes up on her mascara, she walks back into her room and slips on her dress for the evening. It's black, tight, vintage Guess. She had gotten it from the consignment store the other day. Everyone had planned on going to dinner first, but most of the guys had a long day. They would rather go home and relax, and then go back out later in the evening. The club had alright bar food anyway. Well, at least from what she can remember.

Smoothing out the edges of her dress with delicate hands, she sits back down on her bed, and turns on the TV. Waiting for when everyone was ready to go out. She’d rather be ready early than having to scramble during an already stressful evening. She hadn’t gone out in ages.

As she settles back onto the pillow, she hears the front door creak open. She goes still, hoping he won't come in to bother her. He doesn’t, just goes to hop right into the shower. He must be going out then, she thinks. And if he is, there is absolutely no way he's leaving after her. She will be fashionably late. He can happily go early and hopefully turn in before midnight like the old man he is. Anything to guarantee avoiding an unwanted interaction.

She's still and silent as she listens to him get ready. Her TV on mute. Her face heats up as she hears the familiar zipper of his jeans. She had gotten used to hearing that everyday. He clears his throat, keys jingling as he shoves them into his pocket. The clock on the wall now read 9:03. People would slowly start to turn up at the bar.

Suddenly his phone rings, the one that she got him from Wamart. It was a cheap flip phone that had minutes. He still didn’t understand how any grown man is ever able to type on the tiny little keypad. His whole fingertip takes up half the screen.

“Yeah?” He answers, opening the front door and walking outside. It was Asher. “I’m leaving now…No, I don’t know if she's coming…Well tell Ama to call her that’s not my fuckin problem.”

She hears Tough Guy’s big ass truck pull up outside of the house. It growls as it comes to a quick stop on the gravel drive. He hops in, hanging up the phone as he does so.

Thats not my fuckin problem. What an asshole.

She bolts up after that phone exchange. Her skin was hot. She was embarrassed. Why the hell is he acting like this whole situation was her fault? All she was doing was trying to help him! She stomps over to the floor mirror, reaching for the ties on the back of her dress. She pulls it tight so her waist cinches in significantly. She reaches over to her makeup bag again, adding a load of eyeliner and an even thicker layer of mascara. Popping off the lid to her perfume, she drenches herself in it, making sure to get all of the parts any man would love to smell. The places that catch in the wind, only to make their breaths catch in their throats.

What was this going to do for her? What sort of gratification was she wanting here? Is this her way of getting back at him for being a piece of shit? By acting like a slut and taunting him with something he couldn't have? Maybe. She’s sure it might work. She’s sure it would do something. Even if he didnt feel that way about her. The fact that she was letting loose and having so much fun without him.

But what if this made him angry? What if this backfires and he blows the whole place to the fucking ground with everyone still in it? Or worse, what if he decided to back out? He says “fuck you, and fuck the family,” and leaves in a cloud of dust? She’d really be fucked then. Well, her rational brain wasn't thinking tonight anyway. She grabs her keys off the console and says fuck it.

The car ride there was hot, and sweaty. Tough Guys AC in his car had stopped working and he was too tired to fix it. Although he must've been 200 more pounds than Ben, he wasn’t blessed with the likes of Compound V. That shit made him a human heater. They had the windows rolled down, which made everyones hair look fucking crazy.

Once they make it to the bar, all the guys hop out of the car. The place is buzzing with people. All different ethnicities too, which surprised him to say the least. You’d think the rednecks would've ran these people out of town by this point, he thinks. One thing everyone had in common though, almost all of them were wearing cowboy boots. Ben felt significantly out of place, and not just because he was a century older.

The inside of the club is blasting “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees when they walk in. Okay, he could get behind that. In the center of the dance floor is a good amount of people, mostly couples or groups of girls. Some of the couples were grinding up and down on each other. It was inappropriate beyond gross proportions. I mean, some of these girls were literally rubbing themselves on these guys' thighs. The older crowd, anywhere between 40 and 70, stood by the bar, watching the dance floor. A lot of them were grimacing, although slightly amused by the ridiculous display of affection. Feeling the same way about it that Ben was. There were high top tables over there, one of them just freeing up as they headed over. The four of them wrap around the table, looking around for their friends.

“I’ll go look for the other guys.” Tough Guy says, they all nod at him.

Asher looks around, craning his neck, searching for his girlfriend.

“Ah, there she is,” He says. “Just in time.”

The music changes in the club “Who’s That Lady” By The Isley Brothers coming on. Ben turns his head to follow Asher. Ama and the rest of the girls begin to walk in the door. Perfect timing for this song, he thinks--And then his breath catches in his throat.

She walks in behind the rest of them, sticking out like a sore thumb. Girls like her beelong on the silver screen. They belong in films. On the cover of magazines. In art museums hanging up on a wall surrounded by a sea of onlookers taking her picture. She is it. She is money. She is light. She is so radiant in that tight, black dress he thinks the whole place quiets down when she walks in. Okay, he was not expecting that.

The herd of girls say hello to him as they walk up to the bar. He nods, not paying attention. His eyes glued to the sight across the room. Adohi, the guy that had her up against the pavilion the other day, saunters towards her, two drinks in his hand. He passes her one, she accepts it happily, leaning in to give him a hug.

“I'm surprised you could make it!” He yells over the music, she grimaces.

What an idiot, he thinks. Who the hell would forget that about her?

“Sorry,” Adohi says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just surprised you can even handle the music.”

She smiles at him, gesturing towards a pair of earplugs. She knew they didn't do much. But, those plus the gifts of alcohol made it much easier for her to tolerate. Once she got drunk enough her body would end up feeding on the sensation of the bass through the floor. She downs the drink quickly at the realization. Then starts sauntering over to the bar.

She catches him in her peripheral, not daring to look at him. She knew where he was sitting the moment they pulled up. His heartbeat was so unique, it was easy to spot even from a mile away.

“Freak,” He calls. Fuck. She wasn’t expecting that.

She looks over her shoulder quickly, not stopping her pursuit towards the bar.

“Hey,” She says, sounding completely uninterested. She said it in a way that you talk to someone whose name you don't remember. She is ice cold. Leaving him frowning on the chair.

Ouch, he thinks. This was going to be harder than he thought. Good thing he's persistent.

Throughout the span of the next few hours the both of them had their fair share of drinks. Ben was buzzed, and so was she. Not to the point where the two of them were incapacitated, but enough so the room was brighter, and they were significantly happier than they were the moment they walked in.

The two of them stood at opposite ends of the club all night. Both stealing glances, pretending that they didn’t catch the other one looking. She made it obvious she was putting on a show. Dancing with Adohi provocatively when any sensual songs came on. Ben gave up on moving slowly with women about an hour ago. After she had her first dance with Adohi. Currently, Ben sits at the bar leaned into a woman's ear. He has her howling with laughter, his hand resting on the small of her back.

Ama and Asher watch from the entrance of the club after going outside for a smoke break. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. It was embarrassing, and immature, to say the least. These were two grown adults acting like petty teenagers to get back at each other for the sake of their own pride. They had had enough.

Ama stomps over to Freak, who was currently grinding on Adohi on the dance floor. She was flushed and sweaty, her hair poofed up from the humidity within the club.

Ama grabs her arm, “Mind if I steal her for a minute?” She asks.

Freak gives her a what the fuck look, as Ama drags her off to the bathroom.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to go alone.” She says, blatantly lying.

“Couldn’t you tell I was in the middle of something?” She asks as the two of them walk through the bathroom door.

“Yeah, exactly why I pulled you out of it.” Ama pulls them into a bathroom stall. It's small enough where their feet are on top of each other.

“I was having a good time.” Freak argues.

“Adohi is three years younger than you and has a heart murmur, there is no way you are dancing with him because you want to.”

“I am so.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“You are not,” Ama argues, looking down at the time on her phone. “Okay, one second.”

Ama reaches up and ruffles Freaks hair. Making it sexier, messier, voluminous. Then she takes her thumbs and drags them under her eyes, wiping away the running mascara.

“Didn’t your mom ever teach you about waterproof?” Ama teases.

“I don't have a mom.” Says Freak plainly.

Right, Ama thinks. She then reaches to unlock the bathroom door and pulls them back out.

“Hey, I thought you had to go to the bathroom!”

Ama drags them both out onto the dancefloor, the familiar intro of “How Deep Is Your Love” beginning to play from the speaker.

“It, uh, went away?” Ama says, looking around for Asher.

He sees him coming towards her, and just as Barry Gibb begins to start singing, Ama pushes Freak into Asher, who pushes Ben into her. The two of them running into each other. Out of habit, Ben wrapped his hand around her back to steady her. Having no idea who it was at first. They both stare at each other for a minute, not knowing what to say. It would be too immature and awkward if the other decided to just storm off, leaving the other one alone.

Looking around, all the other couples slowly start to slow dance with each other. A new one coming off of the side lines and onto the floor every few seconds. Freak eyeballs him, then slowly lifts up her arms and onto his shoulders. Not looking him in the eye. In fact, she looks everywhere but him. The ceiling was interesting this evening.

He rolls his eyes at her. He was so sick of her acting like a little teenage girl. Although, he thinks he's no better. The two of them dance in silence until the song is almost over.

“I’m sorry,” He says suddenly, breaking the tension. “I’m sorry for all of it.”

She blinks at him, tilting her head to the side. She wasn’t expecting that to come from him so easily.

“I was just- It was- I haven’t…” He trips over his tongue trying to find the right words to say.

He takes a deep breath, looking her in her eyes.

The song switches to “You Make Me Feel So Young” By Frank Sinatra. They usually played Frank this time of night before the older couples decided to turn in.

“I’m an asshole, and I’ve always been an asshole. And I know that now and I’m trying to be kinder and to adapt but I don’t know what to do or what to say or how to even exist…” He trails off, looking over to the side of the club.

“I get it,” She says, smiling softly. He turns back to her as she continues “I have a hard time feeling like a real person too.”

He looks down at her outfit, his voice getting quieter, his eyes becoming heavy.

You make me feel so young

You make me feel there are songs to be sung

Bells to be rung

And a wonderful fling to be flung

“You look so beautiful.” He says.

“Thank you,” She says, her eyes watering, her throat dry.

She doesn’t think anyone has ever said that to her in her life.

He thinks he's never said it and meant it before in his whole life. Not until now. This was the first time in his life he's ever felt it. The first time in a hundred years. When he looked into the eyes of someone and had the answers to every question he’s ever asked.

And even when I'm old and gray

I'm gonna feel the way I do today

'Cause you make me feel so young

“I’m sorry,” He starts, resting his forehead on hers. “This is the closest to home I’ve ever felt. I’m such an asshole.”

She looks up into his eyes with a misty glimmer, a devious gaze. One that holds the whole world within it. A soul pouring out into another. And he caught all of it in the palm of his hands.

She leans up and places a gentle kiss on his lips. He’s reluctant at first, but slowly begins to smile into it.

This felt like home.

Masterlist | Taglist | Episode 7

Taglist: @sl33pylilbunny @Lanassmarty @Sydneyyyya @1-800shootmeplease@muhahaha303@nancymcl@speedyrebelfan@ghh05ttt@agentorange9595@let-me-luve-you @peachytits @darkdahl @deans-spinster-witch @soggybasementfries @ladysparkles78 @madamthemoo @lyarr24@sadlittlecountess @mickaelly007 @mrscountryclub @vtheoneandonly @decadentanchorwerewolf @wonderland2022@buckybarnes-1917@rebeccathefangirl@daisy-the-quake @tiredbibi @greyish-wallpaper@previousloversandmuses@is-this-a-febreze-commercial@justrealizedimmascifygurl@broimamy@freewastelandstrawberry@breadsgalore@savagemickey03@franblaq6466@lustendreams@atinylittlebee @VtheOneandOnly

#homelander smut #homelander x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x reader #homelander #jensen ackles #soldier boy fanfic #soldier boy the boys #jensen ackles x reader #soldier boy oneshot #the boys fanfic #the boys #jensen ackles smut #frequency: a soldier boy story

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notsocheezy · 3 months ago

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Brain Curd #176

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily (haven't missed one yet!) and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please like and reblog if you enjoy - the notes keep me going!

He's gonna be Frank with you. Read the rest of The Frank Program here on Tumblr!

Last time on The Frank Program, Frank caught Daryl watching something on his phone during recording, and he didn't like what he saw.

Daryl exploded out the door to the parking lot, anger in his stride, fear in his posture, and tears in his eyes. Chad, leaning on a car, got up immediately when he saw the kid running off.

“Hey!” He called out. Daryl wasn’t stopping for anything.

Cautiously, Chad poked his head back inside. Frank was stoic, silent in his host’s seat, a lit cigarette in his left hand. He took a drag from it and sighed out a puff of smoke.

“Come in, Mr. Graves. We oughtta finish the show.”

“You alright, bud?”

There were bags under Frank’s eyes that Chad didn’t recall seeing before. “I’m plenty content to finish recording.”

Graves sat down in his chair. The corner behind him was conspicuously empty. The chair which had been there before sat askew and on its side at the other end of the room.

“You know, Mr. Graves -”

“You can just call me Chad.”

“Well, Chad…” Frank took another hit. “I ain’t touched a cigarette in ten years. Kept this one in the studio just to prove to myself I didn’t need it.” He chuckled. “Funny how I keep proving myself wrong, huh?”

“How’s that?”

“Oh, the usual. I think o’ someone as a friend, or a wife, or… or a son. And I come to find they never were, really. They stab me in the goddamn back.”

“I take it that your chat didn’t go too well?”

Frank sneered. “You have no idea.”

“I’m sure he’ll come around. You know teenagers, I mean… I remember when I was a teenager, I got in arguments with my parents all the time.”

“We’re no stranger to arguments, Chad. This is somethin’ else. I’m losing my boy.”

“What exactly happened?”

Frank huffed and smothered his cigarette in the ashtray. “We better get back to my prepared questions.”

“Yeah…” Chad nodded slowly. “Alright.”

Frank shuffled through pages, looking for a question he still felt like asking. “Uh… Do you and your friends ever have creative differences when working on the show?”

“I don’t think we’d be as effective at doing our jobs if we did. Really, all four of us try to stay out of the creative side of things most of the time. Our producer decides what the story is for a given episode. He takes our full night of footage, and our analysis of the findings, and he gives that to his editor to make the pieces fit together.”

“Does the show replicate the experience of actually bein’ there, do ya think?”

“To be honest with you, I don’t usually watch it. Kind of a ‘been there, done that’ situation. But I have been channel surfing before and caught a rerun from a few years ago, and it definitely brought back memories.”

“Well that’s nice. Nice to have something to look back on. I guess I’ve got that too, huh? A little piece of the past… to bring back memories.”

“Yeah, I guess so. The nice thing about the show is it cuts out all the boring bits. The parts where we’re just sitting around, whispering to each other like we’re trying not to wake up the parents at a sleepover.”

“Right,” Frank said, a lump in his throat. “Those are the parts you really miss when they’re gone.”

Chad tilted his head to look around his microphone. “It’s gonna be okay, Frank. He’ll -”

“Mr. Graves, I don’t want another grown man to see me cry. So thank you for being here, but I must be signing off. Go ahead and tell the people where to find you.”

“I’m on all the socials as @GravesGhostVisions, so just search that up if you want to see where we’re headed next.”

“Thank you. This has been The Frank Program…” Frank struggled to get the words out without letting tears come with. “So long.”

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9w1ft · 9 months ago

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How do you find LGBTQ+ people are viewed in Japan? Is it safe to come out?

i think it’s a bit of a mixed bag

on the one hand, laws and civic setups are still pretty antiquated (gay marriage is only recognized in several cities, still very common for forms to provide man/woman as the only options for gender, etc) on the other hand, even as we move at a snail’s pace, ending discrimination is, in general, a publicly communicated goal for the country, and many big businesses have proactively adopted lgbtq+ friendly policies without waiting for the government (gender inclusive bathrooms and uniforms, access to family benefits for partners regardless of gender, etc).

there is definitely representation of a variety of lgbtq+ people in media both in fiction and also news/variety tv though it can get a bit trope-y at times especially with effeminate stereotypes. still, there is a history of gender swapping / adopted gender presentation in theater (kabuki, takarazuka), and many known famous historical figures having same sex suitors and confidantes, so i think that more than in some countries people are predisposed to the idea of gender as a concept and the existence of gay people who have done important things. its also not incompatible with religions indigenous to japan, so there’s not so much a “you’re going to hell” vibe to the prejudice, its more of a “why do you insist on being different” prejudice if that makes sense. not great but it could be a lot worse.

i was part of a lgbtq+ circle at university and a gay friend of mine told me there’s a phrase that goes something like “it’s okay to be gay as long as you have a wife and kids” so once again just this idea that older generations value maintaining a public face for the sake of the group, whereas gayness is considered a subculture or private part of oneself.

so i think in terms of coming out i think it really depends on your situation, like my understanding (based on the stories of japanese friends i have) is that in general you would closet during your school years to avoid potential bullying for being different (maybe be out to close friends) but it’s much easier to come out in university or to move to a bigger city as a young adult. easier to find your people. but you might be careful when dating and stick to places where you know gay people are. you might closet at your company as well depending on the industry, and it’s a bit of a don’t ask don’t tell vibe socially among strangers, but it’s not necessarily something you’d hide.. if that makes sense. in my case i flag at work and i definitely know lgbtq people because they flag too and i know they know im flagging. but we don’t really talk about it. we just vibe and are extra kind to one another.

in terms of if it’s “safe” i’d say once again it depends but that there’s less (not zero but less) of a physical safety issue than many countries. even so, irl harassment exists and internet harassment is also a thing especially for out public figures. you might hesitate to come out to family or friends just so as not to ‘upset the order of things’ or to chance making people you love uncomfortable. over time your parents might ask why you won’t marry or won’t have kids like so-and-so’s daughter or so-and-so’s son.. these social pressures and tensions, especially in important relationships, can lead to depression and because mental health is also not that progressively talked about here, this is the part that is most dangerous, in my opinion.

just as a footnote this is all my impression of the generation of my age group and the ones above it and i think things are a little more relaxed or open for the next generation. but i think it’ll take one or two more generations to get to the point where it is in the US where everyone’s like, out and proud and colorful at school and work and among strangers. so once again, it’s not great, but i feel like things could be a lot worse.

#btw unironically Lover era coincided with a big push in the country to promote understanding of LGBTQ+ issues and taylor’s support helped 💕#YNTCD and her messaging in general was cited on the news and on tv programs a lot. so thank you taylor!

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thus-spoke-lo · 1 year ago

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Okay let me burst in here and tell you MY Katakuri thoughts. I got carried away and it's almost 100% violent monster fucking sorry. 😭

Hes as tall as a two story house. A lot of people shrink him down or make the reader taller in their fics and although I respect it, I also think there is an opportunity to use some fictional world anatomy and physics.

Imagine how big his cock is- It's gotta be at least 3 feet long- and THICK too. It definitely pulses too, super heavy. If he swung around too fast he'd knock you out. But that being said he probably likes smacking your face with it.

I think one of the hottest things to him is just resting his huge cock against your stomach and seeing how far up it goes. It's about as long and thick as a regular muscular man's forearm and the head almost goes up to your throat. If this was real hentai physics maybe he could go all the way through. You'd be like a moaning, twitching kebab LOL.

He takes a lot of time stretching you. If you're lucky. Do you really want him trying to jam that thing anywhere near you without prep? (Okay, I do but that's because I'm insane.) Especially if he's taken a special liking to you. You're so cute and small, he just wants to take care of you. Don't cry from just his giant fingers- are you really that little and weak? He ignores your panicking and taps at his arms to let you up. You can't do this.

But you will. He's putting that thing inside you no matter what. From the moment he saw you he knew he'd make you his wife, even if he needed to keep you locked up for a while. You're so kind and sweet, you'll love him like he loves you eventually. (I can imagine him just silently slinging you over his shoulder and taking you back to his house.😭)

He doesn't say much, probably grunts and holds you close, smelling your hair as he finally pushes in. You scream before he even gets the full head in and he waits for you to stop. He's so kind and patient. 🥺 Once you're reduced to pained stuttered breathes he'll push the rest of himself in, ignoring your return to screaming. He's probably physically rearranging your guts, molding you to him. It's so painful.

You can see the bulging outline of his dick if you look down and it makes you even more light headed. You cry about how you're going to burst but he loves it. He wouldn't really let anything like that happen anyway. He definitely is fascinated by the weird bump though, sliding in and out with a hand pressed over it so he can feel his head through your skin.

When he cums inside it completely swells you up like a balloon. He's the type to get up really close to your pussy and watch it ooze back out when he presses down on your tummy. Also you're absolutely left with a huge gape and in severe pain 😔 But he pulls you close to his chest and cuddles you after and that's what's really important. 🥰

- Law's patient

You know, if anyone could make a compelling argument for being a Katakuri fucker, I would trust you to be the one to do it. 😭 "You'd be like a moaning, twitching kebab" i am dead btw

There's something in him that makes him not genuinely want to hurt you--he's protective and capable of violence, but there's nothing about you that threatens him, even if your kindness and gentleness do occasionally give way to a fiery temperament. (It's almost laughable to him how cute you are when you're mad, like a feisty little pet trying to bare its teeth and flash its claws.) But there's simply no way he can't--he's too big and you're just so small and fragile, he's bound to hurt you, so all he can do is make it as pleasant as he can.

And despite how broken you are afterwards, he's willing to spend as much as you need picking up the pieces and putting you back together, cradling you in his massive arms and holding you to his tree-trunk chest. You'll learn to enjoy it eventually, he thinks--you just need to let him take care of you.

#law's patient anon #op.katakuri #cw monsterfucking #(kinda!)#cw size kink #cw tummy bulge #cw yandere #(kinda)#cw noncon

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pixelgrotto · 10 months ago

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Top-down Planes Galore

Over the last few years, thanks to my wife's English side of the family, I've visited a fair share of interesting British museums. One of these is the Shuttleworth Collection, a neat place that features an array of planes from the early half of the 20th century. If you're ever in Bedfordshire and have a hankering to see biplanes from the 1920s, I really can't recommend a visit enough. I wouldn't call myself an aviation geek, but there's something about seeing a World War II aircraft in person that stirred my imagination, and one of the souvenirs I bought from my visit was a cool pair of socks that had pixelated biplanes on them.

I specifically bought the socks because they reminded me of Capcom's 1942, the first entry in the 19XX series of shoot 'em ups, AKA shmups. Honestly, I hadn't played much of 1942 at the time, but I've always known enough about shmups to think of the game when I see pixelated biplanes. It probably stands out in my head as an interesting example of a Japanese company making a product where the whole goal is to blow up the Japanese. Yep, 1942 puts the player in the role of a Lockheed P-38 Lightning pilot maneuvering his aircraft through the skies of the Pacific Theater, on a mission to reach Tokyo and blast the heck out of everything. Apparently the game was made with Western audiences in mind, so I suppose we have capitalism to thank for a game that is both historically accurate and not historically accurate at all. (Yes, Japan lost the war, but I don't think any of the Lockheeds in the Battle of Midway had spray guns capable of shooting a billion bullets at once.)

I recently dove into 1942 and almost all of the other games in the 19XX series, mostly because I was inspired by my British nephew, who's recently been going on about planes for hours on end. You can play almost all of them via the Capcom Arcade Stadium compilations on Steam, which repackage classic arcade games and make them easily playable without the hassle of needing to fiddle with MAME emulation. (The decision to make each game DLC that you have to buy is probably questionable, but putting that aside, these packages are pretty okay.)

Anyway, I soon discovered that the original 1942 is the epitome of a 1980s arcade quarter gobbler, with a staggering 32 levels of monotony and some of the most annoyingly tinny background music known to man. It's fun to do loops around Japanese bombers for the first ten minutes, and I've always loved the power-up that gives you two flanking planes that help soak up extra damage, which would go on to be a series staple. Beyond that, 1942 grates at the soul and has not aged well.

1943: The Battle of Midway, and its slightly remixed semi-sequel 1943 Kai, are much better. Here, we bear witness to screen-filling tsunami attacks that can instantly wreck all enemies, a more forgiving difficulty level, and varied stages that don't consist of simply flying over the ocean and rice paddies. Everything's faster and a good deal more fun, and instead of solely taking down planes, now you've got boss battles against Imperial Japanese naval fleets, ending in a fight against the battleship Yamato. And thankfully, the tinny music is gone and replaced by battle-ready tracks that are nicely catchy.

This formula is refined even further in the later games, all of which loosen up on the feeling of "one American plane versus Japan" for a progressively zanier feel. 1941: Counter Attack ditches the Pacific Theater for firefights over European skies, and despite taking place in the earlier years of WWII, your pilot goes up against enemy crafts that are so extreme in size and flavor that they border on science fiction. You'll fire away at German rockets that look like they're designed to fly to the moon and tanks that take up a quarter of the screen. The end boss is a Horten Ho 229, the German prototype bomber that never went into mass production, yet is a formidable foe in this game that is sleek and almost alien-like in its movements.

19XX: The War Against Destiny takes that science fiction appeal to the maximum and says, "To hell with a historical shmup, let's go to the future with two X's, baby!" In an amusing move that would later be replicated by the Call of Duty series two decades later (when they jumped from WWII to the arena of Modern Warfare - and later Advanced Warfare), 19XX sees you taking on the Outer Limits, a terrorist organization that somehow has a futuristic army with hundreds of expendable fighter pilots. For the first time, you can choose between three different planes: the old school Lockheed P-38 Lightning (the well-balanced one), the de Havilland DH.98 Mosquito (the heavy firepower one), and the Kyushu J7W Shinden (the speedy one). All of these planes are worthy options against enemies that scale in a ludicrous fashion, and one of the bosses in the later levels is basically a mech. It's great. And because the game runs on Capcom's CPS-2 arcade board, which also powered the Street Fighter Alpha/Zero series, the action is fast and clean to a degree that's very reminiscent of the company's fighting game output.

1944: The Loop Master is the last 19XX game I played, because it's the last one available in the Capcom Arcade Stadium. It takes the action back to WWII, but the gusto and fury of all the futuristic stuff exhibited in 19XX: The War Against Destiny is present and accounted for. Hello, my biplane can shoot lasers? Sure, why not! Technically, this one was developed by Eighting and not by Capcom, and all I know about Eighting is that they made the Bloody Roar games and Battle Garegga, another shmup with a cool soundtrack that samples the techno track "Jupiter Jazz," by Underground Resistance. They did a good job, and while 1943 and 19XX: The War Against Destiny stick out in my memory more than The Loop Master, I can safely say that this one features a little dude who parachutes out of your plane when you die. About time I finally saw my pilot!

Honestly, I'm not a great shmup player. I played all of these casually on my Steam Deck, and I never would've made a dent in them in the arcades. But there's something about the 19XX series that's appealing to me, at the very least on an aesthetic level. It's probably the highly detailed 2D pixelated artistry that goes into the top-down depiction of these warplanes, which are given the same slavish fanboyism that you see in Japanese mecha franchises. I think back to the several times I've visited Japan and been to antiwar exhibits like the Hiroshima Peace Memorial. Minus a few groups of nationalist nutjobs, Japan's by far and large a deeply antiwar country - but there do exist otaku who nerd out over WWII-era tech, usually not in a "the Imperial Japanese Army was right" sort of way, but in a way that basically says, "the Yamato was one of the biggest battleships ever constructed at 70,000+ tons, I shall now proceed to write an essay about why that was cool." And you know, I can appreciate that attention to technical detail, just like how I can respect the planes on exhibit in the Shuttleworth Collection. So give the 19XX games a whirl if you like planes or simply dig fine artistry - and go visit the Shuttleworth and buy those socks while you're at it.

#pixel grotto #now playing #1942 #1943: the battle of midway #1941: counter attack #19xx: the war against destiny #1944: the loop master

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bunnidid-reviews · 2 years ago

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DID(Headcanon) Book Review

Facts -

Book Title: Still Life with Tornado

Author: A.S. King

Publication date: 2016

Fiction or Nonfiction: Fiction

Was there a diagnosis of DID? No

Was the person with DID presented as evil for having DID? No

Major Trigger warning list:

- Descriptions of domestic violence, at times somewhat graphic (mentions of hitting, punching, breaking bones and threatening

- Witnessing a spanking (at least audibly and then mentioning it by name, which I personally cant stand)

- Emotional abuse, general tension and unrest

- Gaslighting (? Is it? I don’t like misusing the word)

- Very vague mentions of witnessing sexual misconduct on a minor (a teacher having kissed a student and the main character witnessing it)

- Medical stuff that can sometimes be a bit graphic? (the mother is an emergency room nurse)

- The police show up and make an arrest in the end (its not violent)

Subjective Review(this is how I felt about it) -

Personal triggering scale from 1 to 10 (1 being not triggering at all, 10 being a badly overwhelming experience that might cause personal harm): 5-10? (not too graphic but hit a bit close to home for me personally)

Personal relatability scale from 1 to 10 (1 being unrelatable, 10 being OMG THAT’S ME!): 10

Personal avoidance scale from 1 to 10(1 being eager to get on with it, 10 being impossible to finish): 7

My interpretation of the media(Includes spoilers):

Aaaaaaahhh this book was a hard read. Okay let’s go

The basic premise is about the 16-year-old Sarah. She’s an artist, but suddenly finds she suddenly can’t create anymore, and this is obviously distressing for her. It’s hinted at that the art teacher is suspicious, and something had happened in the art club that sparks this initial avoidance. Sarah was seemingly a good student with fine grades and on her way to being an artist, when she suddenly decides to drop out.

It’s clear by the tension she comes home to, that this is not a household that communicates with one another. Her mother is a night-shift emergency room nurse who’s always exhausted, her father is a sinkhole of a man. He has a job I don’t remember, he takes up a certain space that makes everyone around him very wary. The older brother is completely out of the scene and has been for 6 years. No one talks about it. Or anything, for that matter. These aren’t people Sarah can depend on.

There’s something wrong and no one ever talks about anything. Nothing is original.

In the steady decline of Sarah’s mental health, we start with her deciding to get her name changed to Umbrella, something of a nonsense choice that becomes symbolic of her favorite umbrella, one that shields her from the raining Bullshit as she ponders on whatever’s making her the way she is.

At the bus stop she meets 23-year-old Sarah, who clues in that even though life is hard, it gets better. And 10 year old Sarah, who’s sole existence surrounds the trip to Mexico and the traumatic events that transpired. Then 40 year old Sarah, who pushes for Umbrella to talk about what’s all going on here. The Sarahs all exist in the world as real people that others can interact with (which other characters find uncanny), but also seemingly show up out of the blue around Sarah. You can see how I feel this is heavy DID-coding, right?

As Umbrella traverses her existential crisis, we get flashbacks that piece together what’s going on under the surface, going over the trip in Mexico several times with more and more truth to it. This is all chock-full of confusion, denial and obvious dissociation; a tornado. Every now and again the chapters are in the point of view of Helen(the mom), who’s resentful and full of loathing for her life and her rat of a husband. Sarah also makes contact with her estranged brother to find the truth.

The hard truth we find out, is that the father had been regularly violent to his wife and son for years and years, up until Sarah was born. The incident Umbrella can’t remember was the same thing happening again on their trip to Mexico, that pushed the older brother into deciding to leave.

When Chet(the father) is confronted with the sight of his son coming back home, he has a violent rage and completely wrecks the house. When Umbrella confronts him, he destroys things dear to her, like the very umbrella she named herself after.

The cops are called. Chet the rat puts on a pathetic display as he’s he’s hauled out by the police. A divorce is sorted out and no matter his attempts to come back, all four of the Sarahs personally pack up his belongings and kick him out of the house for good.

Everyone lives a hopefully happily ever after with their sights set on healing. 10-year-old Sarah fuses with Umbrella, and it’s assumed the other two do too

This book is very difficult for me because the only difference between Chet and my own father is a couple of letters in the name and the lack of the bitter irony of being a “Loving Pastor". Everything about this book really resonated deeply with me, from the way he was intentionally unresponsive in a way to bait others into starting fights with him, down to completely not recognizing my own face. Chris is just as perfectly pathetic as Chet was in the book, and it shook me to the core to read such an accurate description of my own father.

I recall having a similar mental breakdown from 14-16 as well, and it went very much the same way. Nothing is original, after all.

A big part of Sarah’s trauma too is the betrayal of the Helen choosing to stay for the sake of ‘the girl needs a father’. Helen lost her son over her broken marriage. She didn’t leave, despite knowing all this, despite knowing it could happen again. I understand that she’s a domestic abuse victim herself and its very hard to get out of these situations in real life, but the absence of violence is not love. Sarah is betrayed and traumatized by it, and rightfully so. Her viewing 10-year-old Sarah as a ‘second chance’ for HERSELF hits really hard.

This book reads like a teenager going through all this who will later find out about her DID, because she doesn’t have the words for it at this point in time. The fragmented, unfeeling or only-feeling nature of her memories feel a lot like what memory recall is like with DID. Her unwinding into Nihilism and unreality is very dissociative in nature. The betrayal of being lied to all her life is palpable and complex.

What I found interesting was that the author clarifies that there are four Sarahs (10 yr old, Umbrella, 23 yr old and 40 yr old), but I’d argue there are a couple other fragmentations. The chapters titled with Tornado seem to almost be another part of Umbrella who embraces becoming a homeless man feels like an introject part. The sudden change in goals at the start of the book feels as though Umbrella is newly split off and taking over for whatever Sarah came before.

The author put a lot of personal details into this book, so I’m assuming a lot of this story is true to her own life. I don’t know how else you write a quietly domestically violent family like this without lived experience. The characters are all flawed and so life-like. The villain is notably human and not evil in the classic Disney villain sense. Evil and vile but in an extremely real way

It’s a really hard read, but it’s a good one. I’m not sure what else to say. If you’ve had experiences like this, traverse with caution, it might take you back like it did for me

Sorry this review is a bit of a scrambled mess also. I might’ve gotten some details mixed up, usually I do extra research for what I’m ingesting and didn’t have the energy for this one by the end

Key features that makes it relatable to the CDD experience:

- Heavy dissociative vibes.

- Depression, anxiety, traumatized spiralling

- The multiple selves that come from different time periods of her life

- Introjection

- Memory loss, memories that unfold slowly and in small details

Key features that deters from it being called a CDD directly:

- 23 and 40 coming from the future

- The Sarahs appearing as physical people other people can see

Would I recommend this to someone with DID to read?: Yes, but it’s very very relatable. You can feel the tension in the book.

#still life with tornado #a.s. king #dissociative identity disorder #DID in media #did in books #complex dissociative disorder #otherwise specified dissociative disorder #CDD #CDD in media #i care a lot about this book #i might buy myself a copy just to mark with marker all the words im not able to say #anni also recommended it to me and it was really nice being able to talk about it with u <3 thanks so much for the recc!!!!#bunnidid reviews

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butch-reidentified · 10 months ago

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hi, in a post you recently said 'if you're ever questioning if something you're experiencing in a relationship is healthy, please don't hesitate to reach out to me and ask', so i was wondering if this was okay? if not, please ignore and sorry for the convenience. i hope this isn't triggering but it includes bdsm and rape fantasies.

i'm very lucky to be in a relationship with a man who made it clear for day 1 that he wasn't going to hurt me during sex, pretend to force me, or engage with any of that. i used to be big time into bdsm but over the last 10yrs i've been doing more feminist reading and having conversations with others and tried to unpack all of that, which has left me wanting to distance myself from it. i stopped justifying and defending bdsm, stopped engaging with bdsm-content in fiction and stopped watching porn all together. i got more involved with anti-prostitution and porn advocacy too.

the problem is that i'm still engaging with it internally. it's like a switch flips in my head when i'm with my partner and i construct this world where i'm being forced but can't show it. i used to think it was because of prior trauma and i was trying to get a sense of control, but it just feels like i'm using that as an excuse. it's a big thing in the bdsm community to justify it by claiming you're 'working through your trauma' but i was supposed to be past that now. it's been years so i feel like i don't have a good reason to be still doing this.

do you have any advice? once again, thank you.

I'm glad you asked! it wasn't exactly what I was talking about in the post - more internal rather than interpersonal - but I actually can relate in a sense. my wife tells me that sometimes when I get super stoned (which I rarely do tbf), I talk about wanting some fucked up things. I definitely THINK about some fucked up things. I'm quite far out from any posttraumatic mental effects, so I also don't feel that that explains it, and I'm fairly sure I had some questionable fantasies prior to my traumas, too. i wouldn't call it kink, though, bc they're not inherently tied to sex nor arousing to me on their own. I think I like violence and adrenaline and always have, and I don't really care which direction the violence goes, I just find it fun. but that's not a "need," as men would have you believe. it's just a quirk of my personality, and while I choose not to engage with it outwardly (I don't start unnecessary fights but I don't shy away either), I also refuse to make myself ashamed by it. there is no such thing as a thought crime. your stances against prostitution, porn, and, yes, bdsm as well, are not compromised or hypocritical because you have those thoughts. let them be, observe them, and release them as feels right to you. i think the idea that we must analyze such things to death is rather Christian in nature and likely in origin: the idea that our thoughts and desires can be sinful themselves, or that they speak to who we "really" are. I think that's a load of shit. I don't believe anyone who would claim to have never thought (or even desired!) some really unhinged shit. humans are weird! I'm glad I have someone I can tell all my unhinged thoughts to without judgment, but none of it means I'd ever act on such things.

tldr, we all have some out of pocket thoughts (beyond just intrusive thoughts, to be clear!) and I don't believe there's anything wrong with that on its own, nor are we obligated to explain them

I don't expect everyone to agree with this, but it is where I stand on the matter

#mine #ask #anon ask #anon

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 1 year ago

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Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Finals

Propaganda

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

Young hot rocker dilf

Loyal to his dead wife <3

Does in fact smoke weed

BARD!! HES A BARD. HE WAS LEAD GUITAR IN HIS BAND (that he was kicked out of)

His band was a Christmas cover band btw.

Literally the fandom had hot Glenn summer which consisted of drawing him being incredibly hot and sexy

Anti government (ofc)

Kind of cringefail (Disney adult) (was on dilfs of disneyland)

Young and sexy not your style? Then how about HIM AFTER YEARS LOCKED IN A TIME PRISON WITH A DAMN HANNIBAL MASK ??

Lost an eye and wears a fucking eyepatch

One incredibly buff arm

Has a pet rat named after his son <3

Immeasurable amounts of trauma in this man- becomes progressively more unhinged

OH OLD HUMAN BARD ISNT CUTTING IT? FINE

HE BECOMES A FUCKING DEMON

A COOL HOT ONE-EYED DEMON WHO WANTS TO KILL HIS DAD (also sexy)

HE CANONICALLY ENDS CHRISTIAN HELL VIA CHRISTMAS

IS ALSO WAY OVERLEVELED

Becomes a demon hunter for the rest of his existence

Also nonwhite !!! We are done with cringefail whiteboys !!!!!!!!!

I can’t put into words ok just know he is the best plz love him.

Okay but Glenn made a minivan cum by talking to her so

vote Glenn I am asking with the biggest saddest eyes possible 🥺🥺🥺 he is so sexy it's pathetic and also so pathetic it's sexy, no I can not possibly adequately elaborate just trust me

Mod Note 2: This tournament is about fictional podcast characters. Please do not vote for the real actress Glenn Close.

Gable (Campaign: Skyjacks):

7ft tall silver-haired thembo of a fallen angel. was the literal sword of god until they killed him! reasons slightly unclear but probably sure to forbidden queer love! super caring for their friends. has one friend they have known for hundreds of years who they HATE but are bound to by the red string of fate. their sword is a part of them, they can sheathe it into a tattoo. they start out indistinct at the edges but as they have continued on through the campaign they have become more and more distinct. they became a flaming engine of justice to kill their friends shitheaded older brother who was following him. they have learned enough necromancy to allow other fallen angels to die, even though they typically cannot. they fly giant birds in to battle.

7ft tall beefcake wielding a sword as tall as they are. vengeful sweetheart

Imagine now: a fallen angel with beautiful gray hair and very big muscles. Now imagine them with a 9 ft sword. Now imagine them as a helmsperson of a pirate ship in a flowy deep-v pirate shirt. Now imagine they're dumb as a fucking rock. And finally, imagine that they killed god. Here, you have made Gable Skyjacks: sexiest podcast character of all time.

7ft tall nonbinary/genderfluid thembo fallen angel sky pirate who wields a buster sword. silvergrey hair with black/gold streaks as they regain feathers/memories of before their fall. back is covered in tattoos that hide the scars of their shredded off wings. killed God. toxic exes with lucifer. they are the keeper of several giant war birds who occasionally crave human flesh. they enjoy getting rowdy/smoking rope with their boys. they collect rocks that they think are neat. When anyone admits they are attracted to them, Gable trips over their words and absolutely swaglessly ends up sounding stupider and sexier by the end of the conversation; the will they/won't they and teasing they dish out to these (un?)lucky few is palpable. Sometimes the buster sword is on fire. They are immortal, they are cringe, they are trying to atone because they believe they are the reason the world is ruined.

Okay so aside from all of the above (giant with a matching giant flaming sword, killed god, extreme dumbass), here's some more propaganda for Gable the Godkiller.

They've escaped death multiple times with their partner in... crime? Like literally they were about to be executed in the most brutal way possible and just. Escaped and killed all their captors in the snowy wastelands.

They are the helmsperson of the Uhuru and take this job very seriously and definitely haven't left it to Bowser (you know, like from Mario) multiple times. Can steer that flying ship in horrible weather and still make it to port safely.

Healed an entire fucking hospital by cutting their hair for someone they had the hots for who was also in the hospital. Imagine being on that level of myth making in some random port city because of a hair cut.

Giant bird caretaker and also took the giant birds out on their friend's bachelor party (this was like. his Xth polyamorous marriage at this point btw) and had a fucking blast getting high on some rope and fucking around. They've also flown these birds into combat and looked cool as hell doing it (see: killing their friend's shithead of an older brother in a joust).

Had a relationship with Lucifer the Morning Star before they fell as an angel and killed God. Literally the reason the stars fell was their love for each other. The world would not look the same without Gable and they are, at the very least indirectly responsible for the creation of the Church of the Slain God and everything it represents (fantasy Catholicism).

And also yeah they are regularly tripping over themself and saying very silly things. 10/10 character we love Liz Anderson and Gable in this house

I am seeing people say that this Nicky fellow is basically trans! That's very cool! Gable is actually trans. Pronouns they/them/any presentation whatever they feel like.

Gable held a bachelor party for a BFF where the attendees hunted from their sky birds, wore dresses, and still managed to keep their eyeliner on point!

Gable killed God because he wouldn't let them be queer. They should rightfully crush anyone in their path.

We are finally going up against a character I know. I can confidently say all sexy moments with Gable are much sexier than TAZ's largely off-screen romances. Mod Note: This was written during the poll versus Killian Fangbattle.

But seriously. Listen to Gable's most recent introduction. Unparalleled sexy thembo introduction! Context: The Captain's Council is at a magical tattoo/piercing parlor (which has a lengthy form and disclosure process), trying to stay below the radar, and the Captain and Jonnit are pretending to be father/son to keep up the ruse. And to let Jonnit get a tattoo, since he's technically sort of underage. Bonus: Gable's decision at the tattoo/piercing parlor and noping out of Orimar and Jonnit's acting. (You should check out the full episode! Episode 197 starts a new arc and a good point to step into the series!)

Nicky Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

One armed half-demon man with a sword (also a Dedicated, Involved, Loving Father). (Specifically campaign 2, where he is an adult)

Transmasc bisexual (or at least so widely accepted as such it's basically canon) dilf half-demon let's start with the basics

And by half-demon I mean the literal prince of Hell

But also simultaneously is Saint Nicolas get you a man who can do both specifically this man

Missing an arm cause his ex-friends tragically betrayed him and shot it off but he doesn't need two arms to show you a good time wink wink ;)

The betrayal in question forced him to be seperated from his also hot milf voice actress wife and their son which is sad but in like a way that makes him sexier

Uses his one hand to wield a flaming katana that he used to rescue his son from the FBI

Protects his family with his life very literally which is hot as hell

Big himbo energy couldn't come up with a good plan if he used 100% of his brain

When he does fail at things it's pretty cute honestly

Definitely played a variety of musical instruments before the whole arm thing happened! Maybe he still does idk he's a sexy mystery

2 in 1 deal! This man was born from the merging of two timelines! Kinda sick!!! Also two dads = twice the daddy issues

You'd think the whole being forcibly split from his family thing would mean he isn't very close with his son but nope! His son adores him! They get along great!!!

His mom is simultaneously alive and dead

His mom bagged fucking two different dudes (one of whom FOUND HER DEAD in a different timeline, both of which are demons)

HIS MOMS NAME IS MORGAN FREEMAN, HIS DAD’S NAME IS GLENN CLOSE, AND HIS OTHER DAD’S NAME IS JODIE FOSTER, AND HIS GREAT SOMETHING GRANDFATHER’S NAME IS MERYL STREEP

HIS SONS NAME IS TAYLOR SWIFT

Lifelong pot smoker 👍 (plus drug flower user!!)

CANONICALLY BOTH A POLO WEARER (and yes, has all the stereotypes of that attached with it — a nerd, which is hot) AND A LEATHER JACKET WEARER (which also has all the stereotypes attached with it — a rebel dude person, which is also hot) [<- all widely accepted as canon by the fandom even as he’s older]

A part of the SECOND BIGGEST ship of season two, (Nark) despite the two characters only having one-two canon interactions (one of which JUST happened last episode)

Man’s a himbo what’s hotter than that

So many fucking names. You try to tag him in anything and he takes up half the space. That’s probably hot. For someone out there

This was already mentioned but so very very trans. Like. It’s basically canon

Rock and roll(er)

Joined a group of thieves called the watermice when he was like 13

for a few minutes had a guitar called the Battle Axe of Hatred

definitely had an frienimies with benefits relationship with his childhood friend Lark (sorry ppl that don’t ship nark lol) (it’s canon after ep 44 hah)

Nicky also acts like his sons Pokémon! Taylor tells his dad to do things, and Nicky does it without thinking about anything else he could do!

I feel like the audio of the entire Nick-breaking-into-the-FBI scene should be propaganda, but I'm copying select bits from the transcript:

Anthony: Yeah, it kind of echoes up through the vent, like the beginning of Metal Gear Solid. You hear a voice that strikes you as ever so slightly familiar, Taylor. Saying— ??: [a deep voice] [echoing in the vent] Where is he? Anthony: You hear— Will: Uh-oh, he’s hot. Anthony: —a bunch of shouting voices. [giggles] Beth: Uh-oh! Anthony: You hear a bunch of shouting voices and people shouting for him to get down on the ground to turn off his flame. To fucking get his hands behind his back. You hear this rhythmic stepping forward— because his footsteps don't sound like anybody else's because it's almost like… y’know when you toss a little bit of water onto a really hot pan and it just sizzles like that? It's like every footstep he's taking, you can hear that— Freddie: Cool Anthony: — and you can feel some of that heat coming up in this vent, even though you can't see him at this point. And he goes— ??: [echoing] Where. Is. My. Boy? Anthony: You hear the FBI agent—the FBI in quotation marks agent—in the back going like— Agent: [echoing] He's safe for now. If you want to go ahead and make sure that he stays that way, you feel free to go ahead and step inside the suite that we've prepared for you, my boy. Anthony: And you hear the hot guy voice saying— [chuckles] The Hot Guy: [echoing] I don't think that's going to happen.

...

[a powerful rush of air builds] Anthony: You hear— [gunfire, and the air rush culminates in a burst of flame; from underneath the fire, metal music starts playing] Anthony: ��plumes of flame exploding. [a person’s pained shout, gunfire and bursts of flame continue] Anthony: You can feel the heat radiating through this metal vent and it's actually beginning to hurt and burn your hands.

...

Anthony: And you hear blood— [sizzling] Anthony: —hitting the fucking ground and you hear sizzling and things boiling and burning. Taylor: That could just be coffee! That could just be coffee. Link, let's go. Anthony: And you are getting closer and closer to the elevator. And you hear that same hot voice say— The Hot Guy: [echoing] Where the hell is Taylor?

Gable and Nicky Together:

We are on a joint ticket now! This is a truly unbeatable combo. Not even god can nerf it because Gable killed him. Vote for us. Nicky Close will watch your stuff and play with your cats while Gable gives you the night of your life.

Gable and Nicky can literally be yuor angle or ur bevil.

Art of Gable and Nicky from @slightlyhopefulromantic.

#Round 6 #Glenn Close #Glenn Close DnDads #Gable #Gable Skyjacks #Nicky Close #Campaign #Campaign Podcast #Campaign: Skyjacks #Skyjacks #Dungeons & Daddies #Dungeons and Daddies

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