#full offense but americans fucking suck

[apothheosis]

learning once again why i had told myself i wasnt gonna join servers again and then i did it and like. i need to stop fr no more discord servers for me it never ends up being fun in the end i just feel frustrated

[humanpurposes]

Full offense but British people need to shut the fuck up

Sucking at the monarchy teet, colonizers and the epitome of racism

England has had far more conservative PM's

Take a look in the fucking mirror (oh wait it's not fair to blame all of you for that so stop generalizing Americans as such you stupid twat)

lmao are you upset that I generalised Americans? In my post I'm clearly talking shit about people who voted for Donald Trump.

I agree on your first point though (I'm not British).

[jinx-on-mars-19xx]

Making Christmas Gay

🎄 Previous Holidays Here 🎄

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: mentions of past abuse (childhood), Dom being nervous about Holidays, Kells being silly, Christmas puns, arousal, improper enjoyment of a candy cane, a cat trying to attack a Christmas tree, naughty Santa, not much else it's pretty tame actually ❄️ Rating: I suppose mature

Dom woke slowly to the scent of fresh hot tea and… peppermint? He'd stayed up far too late the night before because he'd waited until the last second to wrap his lover's presents. He was always good at procrastination and anxiety when it came to what seemed like big moments. He'd realized how important holidays were to his man when they'd shared their Thanksgiving but Christmas? He truly couldn't have prepared. The house looked as if Jack Skellington exploded and he loved every bit of it. He was just… surprised.

Growing up he'd been forced to act jolly and enjoy the day with his family though they always fought worse around Christmas. When he was young the day had frequently felt black and blue hidden behind red and green lights and ribbons. It was the first time he didn't feel like he had to go home to his family. In fact, it was the first time the punk felt like he actually had a home. He was still adjusting though and he couldn't exactly give away how eager he was, especially not if his boyfriend went as crazy on Christmas as he had on turkey day.

“Ho ho ho. Get up bitch!” That raspy smokey voice danced over the boy's skin as he opened his eyes and grinned at the man kneeling over him. In fact, somehow he had completely missed Colson crawling on top of him and the rapper was straddling his hips and holding a steaming cup too close to Dom’s chest for his comfort. The man had steady enough hands but he didn't feel like risking it. Even so he felt the rest of his body wake up at the sight that greeted him. Kells was clad only in red boxer shorts trimmed with white fur and a Santa hat with a fake white beard.

“Is tha’ why ya bleached ya hair so white?” The Brit teased, pushing himself up on his elbows to get the full effect of the look.

Colson rolled his eyes and shrugged, the kid might be right but he didn't have to admit it. He couldn't agree that he'd bleached his hair all for a bit. He'd never live it down. “Asks the fucking skunk.” He grumbled back as he watched his lover rub his jade eyes and yawn.

“Did you call me a ‘ho’ and a ‘snunk’ in less ‘an five minutes? Trying to insult me enough it feels like ‘ome?” The singer joked a bit darkly but his boyfriend huffed a laugh. They were meant to be, even their trauma responses matched. “If you got a kink you ain't told me about…” Dom trailed off as he took the tea and set it on his bedside table but he did take the offered peppermint stick sitting on the side of the plate to cure any possible morning breath. No offense to the American but he still hadn't mastered tea. He had a feeling his man wasn't planning to allow a bathroom break anytime soon either. “You can jus’ tell me now cause beards ain't really me fing.” He mumbled around the sweet. If he sucked it a little deeper than was strictly necessary to show off, that was his business. “But I get it. Ain't like you can grow one.” He slurred, twirling his tongue around the confection as he watched those Santa shorts tent slowly. It always gave him butterflies knowing how much he turned the man on.

“Asshole. I do nice shit for you and get treated like this? Fuck me then.” The rapper huffed but they both knew they were teasing each other.

“Alright you, I'm sorry. I'll be good. Ain't used to waking up on Christmas ‘appy.” Dom sighed back, biting the tip of the candy before he set the rest back on the plate.

“Same, but don't be a ‘right bitch about it'.” Col’s voice did that awful British impression that Dom knew was supposed to be him but for once he didn't roll his eyes. He would try and be good. Ish.

“Long as you ain't got a ribbon wrapped ‘round ya cock I'm good.”

For just a moment Kells paused above his boyfriend and Dom worried he'd fucked something up but he knew there was no way he'd keep a straight face for that. “Damn. I didn't even think about that. For next year.” The man teased, happily rolling off his lover and bouncing off the bed. He reminded Dom of a golden retriever but he wouldn't say it out loud.

“Wha? No morning kiss or cuddle? Fuck me ‘en.” The punk turned Colson's words around but he found himself excited. Grinning even. He couldn't wait to celebrate and that almost brought on his anxiety all over again until the rapper reached down to slap playfully at his thigh, completely distracting him.

“Nope. You don't deserve any of it. You're taking too long.” Kells growled before wandering off. Dom was sure he had gone downstairs but he almost wanted to linger, just to be a dick. He'd always been rushed at home too but he supposed at least this was out of excitement instead of fear. He just had to remind himself he was allowed to be happy.

Kells paused in the living room, biting his lip and fiddling with the beard on his chin. He was trying desperately to make sure it was a good day for them both but he knew he was being over eager. He knew if he kept them both busy they couldn't stop to think about how rough the day normally was. Thanksgiving had started bumpy for them but they found their way. They could do it again. Damn that kid for making him so gooey. “Whiskey! For fucks sake!” He cursed as he caught the cat trying yet again to go to war with the Christmas tree. He wanted everything perfect.

Dom found his way downstairs after pulling on his pinstripe black boxers. Technically it was Christmas-y, he was sort of like Jack Skellington. He hoped it was an acceptable amount of holiday spirit. What he found in the living room was a sight though, his boyfriend was crouched over a pile of presents trying to catch the cat who was hiding under the tree. He paused next to the couch and tried not to giggle. “Mm, going for tha’ ‘fuck me’ bit of wha’ ya said? Fhought we was opening presents.” He joked, picking up a cat toy and shaking it which of course called Whiskey straight to him. “Least resistance and all tha’. Bribe ‘em. Don't scare ‘em.”

Kells grumbled under his breath as he tried to push himself back up only to fall over sideways but he counted it a win he didn't smash anything.

“Tha's wha’ ya get being a right bitch.” Dom purred, tossing the cat toy to their pet before he moved to pull his gangly lover off the floor.

“I was trying to- fuck. Just- just close your eyes.” The older man commanded as he righted himself. He watched as jade eyes closed but he fully expected the confusion written across Dom’s face. After making sure nothing was broken he took a seat on the dressed up chair next to the tree and grabbed for his phone to turn on the lights and start playing some silly Christmas music. He knew it was over the top but he didn't mind. He found himself enjoying cheesy bullshit with Dom around. “Okay open.”

“I mean probably still yeah but-” Dom’s sexual joke stopped short as he opened his eyes and took in the room. Since he'd been asleep his lover had added more lights to the room and everything was honestly- “Beautiful.” He whispered, smiling wide when his sight landed on his lover who looked quite the naughty Santa waiting for his lap to be filled. When he didn't automatically move the rapper patted his lap and reached for him, pulling the boy into his arms. “You can't ‘andle me on one leg- I'm too fhick!” But Kells didn't care, he pulled him onto one knee and wrapped his arms around Dom's waist.

Blue eyes were a little too earnest as Colson looked at him and asked softly- “What do you want for Christmas?”

And a Christmas miracle happened when Dom let his walls down enough to wrap himself around Col in return and whisper back- “You. Jus’ you. Always.”

Of course Kells had to break the sincerity with a tease. “Fuck. We'll I spent a lot of money I didn't need to then. Guess you don't want-”

“Whatever it is, give it!” The boy joked back, tangling his fingers in the thick fake beard before he tugged it off the man and moved close, kissing him with as much feeling as he could and probably a little too much tongue.

Author's Note/Tags: @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @fenoy7 @cole-way-iero28 🖤

I know it's not the double fic I had hoped I could do and it's probably not even up to my normal standards but I've been incredibly sick and my mom has been worse lately so 😅 I'm sorry. I hope you all still enjoy the late Christmas present. I'll try to do more soon 🎄❄️🖤

[hummingbird-hunter]

But seriously you all are very very silly for this

To the first group of people. Ah yes a franchise that notoriously features such characters as an american superhero created by american government and a russian superhero created by russian government did unthinkable and introduced an Israeli superhero created by Israeli government. A shocker I know and definitely something that calls for boycotting this company that has never committed an offense of such caliber before. Literally be so serious right now either take off your cross or put on your underwear yknow

To the second group of people let's be for real here what did you expect. This is marvel, this is a film franchise that created a fake country just so they didn't have to make wanda Romani. Like I get being disappointed but I don't get being surprised

And to everyone mentioned and also literally to everyone else does this mean you shouldn't boycott marvel? WRONG you should and not because of sabra you know why you should? Because their movies fucking SUCK they're BAD they're mindless soulless cash grab with shitty plots and bad acting because actors aren't even given full scripts I promise you sabra is not the fucking problem in this franchise

People who are concerned about Palestine are hating on the upcoming marvel movie because it features a Jewish Israeli superhero

People who are concerned about the rise of antisemitism are hating on the upcoming marvel movie because the aforementioned superhero is now neither Jewish nor Israeli

People who are concerned about Ukraine aren't hating on the upcoming marvel movie yet, but I propose we start doing that because the said superhero is now russian

I mean, I don't care about marvel so I'm not going to. But someone should

[mixelation]

Rate catelunian foods?

full disclaimer that for all the shit i talk about catalunya, i've actually only lived in adjacent areas (valencia + illes balears)

PLATS TÍPICS DE CATALUNYA (X)

Escalivada - This one is similar to pisto/ratatouille. When done well, it is an excellent mix of delicious mediterranean vegetables in a tomato-y base. When done poorly.... it has a lot of things that I hate undercooked, like eggplant. 8/10.

Escudella i carn d’olla - This article says this is the first known soup in Europe, so hats off to that, I guess? Basically a vegetable based soup with one giant meatball. Like a lot of food from the area, it's pretty basic.... so really fucking good if you get fresh ingredients that you cook right, and boring if you don't. 6/10.

Canelones - I actually had no idea this was a catalan dish, but it's on the list and I'm not going to argue. Tubes of pasta filled with cheese and sometimes meat, usually in a bechamel sauce. Very similar to Italian American favorite manicotti, which was one of my favorite things growing up. As a result, I associate canelones with the taste of my childhood. 10/10.

Cap i Pota - More "stuff in tomato-y sauce," this time featuring the ""left overs"" of meat (eg, pig nose and intestines), possibly alongside some carbs/veggies like garbanzo beans. I've never had this but I'm going to judge it anyway. We should just be eating more "weird" cuts of meat. 7/10.

Esqueixada - Salted cod with tomatoes, onion, and olives. Did you know I didn't start liking olives until I moved out fo the Mediterranean? Absolutely horrible planning on my part. I've never had this dish either but it sounds like it'd be good as long as you didn't fuck up your cod and your tomatoes weren't bullshit. 6/10.

Calçots - CALÇOTS. These guys are a type of green onion that gets grilled. They're advertised all over the place in Catalunya, and I actually have an inside joke about them with my old Spanish roommate, but I've never had one. I want one so much. 10/10.

Suquet de Peix - A sea food stew. No offense to Catalunya and adjacent areas, but your sea food sucks. Langostinos.... awful. Mussels.... iffy. I do like fish in general, though. 5/10.

Mongetes con botifarra - White beans with sausage. I like white beans, although I've never had them serves as their own dish and I'm suspicious it wouldn't be deeply boring. I do quite like botifarra though... probably more of my higher recommended "you should try this" catalan foods. 9/10

Pa amb tomàquet - "Bread with tomatoes." Folks, this is so fucking good. Toasted bread with the guts of a really good tomato spread over it, along with olive oil y sal.... divine. I made fun of some other foods for being "basic" but this one is SO FUCKING GOOD. 11/10.

[supercantaloupe]

okay yeah actually, i’ll bite. i’ve got some of my own thoughts about the unsleeping city and cultural representation and i’m gonna make a post about them now, i guess. i’ll put it under a cut though because this post is gonna be long.

i wanna start by saying i love dimension 20 and i really really enjoy the unsleeping city. i look forward to watching new episodes every week, and getting hooked on d20 as a whole last summer really helped pull me out of a pandemic depression, and i’m grateful to have this cool show to be excited about and interested in and to have met so many cool people to talk about it with.

that being said, however, i think there is a risk run in representing any group of people/their culture when you have the kind of setting that tuc has. by which i mean, tuc is set in a real world with real people and real human cultures in it. unlike fantasy high or a crown of candy where everything is made up (even if rooted in real-world cultures), tuc is explicitly rooted in reality, and all of its diversity -- both the ups and downs that go with it. and especially set in new york of all places, one of the most densely, diversely populated cities on earth. the cast is 7 people; it’s great that those 7 people come from a variety of backgrounds and identities and all bring their own unique perspectives to the table, and it’s great that those people and the entire crew are generally conscious of themselves and desire to tell stories/represent perspectives ethically. but you simply cannot authentically represent every culture or every perspective in the world (or even just in a city) when your cast is 7 people. it’s an impossible task. this is inherent to the setting, and acknowledged by the cast, and by brennan especially, who has been on record saying how one of the exciting aspects of doing a campaign set in nyc is its diversity, the fact that no two new yorkers have the same perspective of new york. i think that’s a good thing -- but it does have its challenges too, clearly.

i’m not going to go into detail on the question of whether or not tuc’s presentation of asian and asian american culture is appropriative/offensive or not. first of all, i don’t feel like it’s 100% fair to judge the show completely yet, since it’s a prerecorded season and currently airing midseason, so i don’t yet know how things wrap up. secondly, i’m not asian or asian american. i can have my own opinions on that content in the show, but i think it’s worth more to hear actual asian and asian american voices on this specific aspect of the show. having an asian american cast member doesn’t automatically absolve the show of any criticisms with regard to asian american cultural representation/appropriation, whether those criticisms are made by dozens of viewers or only a handful of them. regardless, i don’t think it’s my place as someone who is not asian to speak with any authority on that issue, and i know for a fact that there are asian american viewers sharing their own opinions. their thoughts in this instance hold more water than mine, i think.

what i will comment on in more depth, though, is a personal frustration with tuc. i’m jewish; i’ve never really been shy about that fact on my page here. i’m not from new york, but i visit a few times a year (or i did before covid anyway, lol), and i have some family from nyc. nyc, to me, is a jewish city. and for good reason, since it’s home to one of the largest jewish populations of the country, and even the world, and aspects of jewish culture (including culinary, like bagels and pastrami, and linguistic, like the common use of yiddish words and phrases in english colloquial speech) are prevalent and celebrated among jews and goyim alike. when i think of nyc, i think of a jewish city; that’s not everybody’s new york, but that’s my new york, and thats plenty of other people’s new york too. so i do find myself slightly disappointed or frustrated in tuc for its, in my opinion, rather stark lack of jewish representation.

now, i’m not saying that one of the PCs should have been jewish, full stop. i love to headcanon iga as jewish even though canon does not support that interpretation, and i’m fine with that. she’s not my character. it’s possible that simply no one thought of playing a jewish character, i dunno. but also, and i can’t be sure about this, i’m willing to bet that none of the players really wanted to play a jewish character because they didn’t want to play a character of a marginalized culture they dont belong to in the interest of avoiding stereotyping or offensive representation/cultural appropriation. (i don’t know if any of the cast members are jewish, but i’m assuming not.) and the concern there is certainly appreciated; there’s not a ton of mainstream jewish rep out there, and often what we get is either “unlikeable overly conservative hassidic jew” or “jokes about their bar mitzvah/one-off joke about hanukkah and then their jewishness is never mentioned ever again,” which sucks. it would be really cool to see some more good casual jewish rep in a well-rounded, three-dimensional character in the main cast of a show! even if there are a couple of stumbles along the way -- nobody is perfect and no two jews have the same level of knowledge, dedication, and adherence to their culture.

but at the same time, i look at characters like iga and i really do long for a jewish character to be there. siobhan isn’t polish, yet she’s playing a characters whose identity as a polish immigrant to new york is very central to her story and arc. and part of me wonders why we can’t have the same for a jewish character. if not a PC, then why not an NPC? again, i’m jewish, and i am not native, but in my opinion i think the inclusion of jj is wonderful -- i think there are even fewer native main characters in mainstream media than there are jewish ones, and it’s great to see a native character who is both in touch with their culture as well as not being defined solely by their native-ness. to what extent does it count as ‘appropriative’ because brennan is a white dude? i dunno, but i’m like 99% sure they talked to sensitivity consultants to make sure the representation was as ethical as they could get it, and anyway, i can’t personally see and glaring missteps so far. but again, i’m not native, and if there are native viewers with their own opinions on jj, i’d be really interested in hearing them.

but getting back to the relative lack of jewish representation. it just...disappoints me that jewishness in new york is hardly ever even really mentioned? again, i know we’re only just over halfway through season 2, but also, we had a whole first season too. and it’s definitely not all bad. for example: willy! gd, i love willy so much. him being a golem of williamsburg makes me really really happy -- a jewish mythological creature animated from clay/mud (in this case bricks) to protect a jewish community (like that of williamsburg, a center for many of nyc’s jews) from threat. golem have so often been taken out of their original context and turned into evil monsters in fantasy settings, especially including dnd. (even within other seasons of d20! crush in fh being referred to as a “pavement golem” always rubbed me the wrong way, and i had hoped they’d learned better after tuc but in acoc they refer to another monster as a “corn golem” which just disappointed me all over again.) so the fact that tuc gets golems right makes my jewish heart very happy.

and yet...he doesn’t show up that much? sure, in s1, he’s very helpful when he does, but in s2 so far he shows up once and really does not say or do much of anything. he speaks with a lot more yiddish-influenced language than other characters, but if you didn’t know those words were specifically yiddish/jewish, you might not be able to otherwise clock the fact that willy is jewish. and while willy is a jewish mythological creature who is jewish in canon, he isn’t human. there are no other direct references to judaism, jewish characters, or jewish culture in the unsleeping city beyond him.

there are, in fact, two other canon jewish characters in tuc. but...here’s where i feel the most frustration, i think. the two canon jewish humans in tuc are stephen sondheim and robert moses. both of whom are real actual people, so it’s not like we can just pick and choose what their cultural backgrounds are. as much as i love stephen sondheim, i think there are inherent issues with including real world people as characters in a fictional setting, especially if they are from living/recent memory (sondheim is literally still alive), but anyway, sondheim and moses are both actual jewish people. from watching tuc alone you probably would not be able to guess that sondheim is jewish -- nothing from his character except name suggests it, and i wouldn’t even fault you for not thinking ‘sondheim’ is a jewish-sounding surname (and i dislike the idea/attitude/belief that you can tell who is or isn’t jewish by the sound of their name). and yeah, i’m not going to sit here and be like “brennan should have made sondheim more visibly jewish in canon!” because, like, he’s a real human being and it’s fucking weird to portray him in a way that isn’t as close to how he publicly presents himself, which is not in fact very identifiably jewish? i don’t know, this is what i mean by it’s inherently weird and arguably problematic to portray real living people as characters in a fictional setting, but i digress. sondheim’s jewish, even if you wouldn’t know it; not exactly a representation win.

and then there’s bob moses. you might be able to guess that he’s jewish from canon, actually. there’s the name, of course. but more insidious to me are the specifics of his villainy. greedy and powerhungry, a moneyman, a lich whose power is stored in a phylactery...it does kind of all add up to a Yikes from me. (in the stock market fight there’s a one-off line asking if he has green skin; it’s never really directly acknowledged or answered, but it made me really uncomfortable to hear at first and it’s stuck with me since viewing for the first time.) the issue for me here is that the most obviously jewish human character is the season’s bbeg, and his villainy is rooted in very antisemitic tropes and stereotypes.

i know this isn’t all brennan’s fault -- robert moses was a real ass person and he was in fact jewish, a powerhungry and greedy moneyman, a big giant racist asshole, etc. i’m not saying that jewish characters can’t be evil, and i’m not saying brennan should have tried to be like “this is my NPC robert christian he’s just like bob moses but instead he’s a goy so it’s okay” because...that would be fuckin weird bro. and bob moses was a real person who was jewish and really did do some heinous shit with his municipal power. i’m not necessarily saying brennan should have picked/created a different character to be the villain. i’m not even saying that he shouldn’t have made bob moses a lich (although, again, it doesn’t 100% sit right with me). but my point here is that bob moses is one of a grand total of three canon jewish characters in tuc, of which only two humans, of whom he is the one you’d most easily guess would be jewish and is the most influenced by antisemitic stereotypes/tropes. had there been more jewish representation in the show at all, even just some neutral jewish NPCs, this would not be as much of a problem as it is to me. but halfway through season 2, so far, this is literally all we get. and that bums me out.

listen, i really like tuc. i love d20. but the fact that it is set in a real world place with real world people does inherently raise challenges when it comes to ethical cultural representation. especially when the medium of the show is a game whose creatures, lore, and mechanics have been historically rooted in some questionable racial/cultural views. and dnd is making progress to correct some of those misguided views of older sourcebooks by updating them to more equitably reflect real world racial/cultural sensitivities; that’s a good thing! but these seasons, of course, were recorded before that. the game itself has some questionable cultural stuff baked into it, and that is (almost necessarily) going to be brought to the table in a campaign set in a real-world place filled with real-world people of diverse real-world cultures. the cast can have sensitivity consultants and empathy and the best intentions in the world, and they’ll still fuck up from time to time, that’s okay. your mileage may vary on whether or not it’s still worth sticking around with the show (or the fandom) through that. for me, it does not yet outweigh all the things i like about the show, and i’m gonna continue watching it. but it’s still very worth acknowledging that the cast is 7 people who cannot possibly hope to authentically or gracefully represent every culture in nyc. it’s an unfortunate limitation of the medium. yet it’s also still worthwhile to acknowledge and discuss the cultural representation as it is in the show -- both the goods and the bads, the ethically solid and the questionably appropriative -- and even to hold the creators accountable. (decently, though. i’m definitely not advocating anybody cyberbully brennan on twitter or whatever.) the show and its representation is far from perfect, but i also don’t think it ever could be. still, though, it could always be better, and there’s a worthwhile discussion to be had in the wheres, hows, and whys of that.

[aizenat]

if you want a great female rapper who doesn't really talk about sex can i suggest snow tha product? she's a mexican-american artist that's been around for like almost twenty years. she's also bisexual and has been with her partner juju for around five years. she raps in spanish and english so idk if you know spanish or not but it's awesome music either way.

I know I can seem serious a lot, but I actually often make jokes that I expect zero people to take seriously. And so I am rather bemused when people do take them seriously.

So since people are taking me way too seriously:

My "female rappers go a song without talking about dick challenge go" post was VERY tongue-in-cheek. I'm very aware of snow tha product actually (I believe I became aware of her because one of her songs was featured in the second season of She's Gotta Have It, and I really liked it), as well as Angel Haze, noname, Chika, Young M.A, and the billion other fucking suggestions people have sent me as though my post was a request for that. Just about any female rapper out there who isn't singing about sex, I'm at least vaguely aware/familiar with, including many from the UK as well. This isn't me attacking you, but to anyone on my page, I don't fucking need suggestions.

My point is that the MAINSTREAM BLACK FEMALE RAPPERS of this generation are all hypersexual. Period. The end. And that is a PROBLEM. None of the suggestions I get are from popular female rappers playing on the radio (do people listen to that? whatever) or topping the charts. They're not winning awards and being talked about in the mainstream. They're not in our daily conversations, few people are following them on socials, and because of all of that, they get little support from their labels (if they're even signed with one). As such, there are huge gaps between song releases, their songs are never that catchy or have mainstream appeal, all because studios decided they can't sexualize the hell out of them so there's no point in giving them a lot of studio time and sessions with engineers and song writers to pump out at least a full length album every year or two.

And even then, no offense to them, a lot of their songs and vibes aren't compatible with me. I love hip hop. I love pop. I love songs and beats I can dance to. I love catchy choruses. I love repetition, crescendos, beat changes, and fast paced flows. There's a reason I was a huge Nicki fan back in the day. I'm an east coast girl who loves that east coast, fast moving, can barely keep up with what they're saying, rap styles.

Meg gets to do a remix to Salt n Pepa's Push It, and she can afford the royalties and copyrights or whatever goes into that because she has a big label behind her that can afford it, and will do it because she's gonna rap about something sexual that they can push to objectify her and they'll get their money's worth (love the song, but I recognize the game is all). Meg gets to collab with big pop stars with songs that top Billboard. Beyonce featuring on a Chika song? Is Snow tha Product getting a song topping the charts on Billboard? She hasn't had a single song even make it on the US Billboard chart.

And I'm not saying that to put them down; it's to show how our society doesn't appreciate talented women who they can't hypersexualize. Who they can't throw a thong on her and send her out. And this is why up and coming rappers/newer artists play into that. From Doja Cat to Saweetie (who's sexualized image is literally ALL she has going for her; she has zero real talent) to the Shitty--I mean, City Girls, to Coi Leray (who that post was specifically referencing).

Talented Black (and brown) women get snubbed and ignored for the women who are fully willing to put their entire asses and pussies on display, rap almost exclusively about sucking and fucking dick or how great men love fucking them, and are willing to do whatever it takes to doll themselves up and objectify themselves for men to enjoy and for women to aspire to be like. Docile, pretty fuck dolls and little more. And any woman who can't be that (either due to looks/beauty standards, her personality/not wanting to be a sex object, etc) might get a little hype, but never too much. And def never more than women who happily stay in line.

[mst3kproject]

Invasion of the Star Creatures

I promised you guys something truly awful this week, didn’t I?  Well, how about a space invasion ‘comedy’ (big emphasis on the air quotes there) produced by Samuel Zarkoff to be a double-bill with The Brain that Wouldn’t Die?  The closest thing it has to a star is Frankie Ray, whom MSTies might know as the writer of Laserblast.  He also wrote Zoltan, Hound of Dracula, which I really, really need to see one of these days.  Film Historian Bill Warren described Invasion of the Star Creatures as ‘so helplessly bad it’s almost unwatchable’.  Let’s find out if he was right.

Fort Nicholson is the world’s center for atomic research, despite apparently being staffed entirely by idiots.  The two biggest idiots are, unfortunately, our main characters.  Their names are Philbrick and Penn.  No, I don’t know which is which.  No, I don’t care.  I’m gonna call them Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice.  The first ‘comedic’ sequence involves Rick With The Squeaky Voice sitting in a barrel pretending he’s going to space, and getting his ass set on fire.

That sets the tone for the whole movie quite nicely. It’s stupid and it’s not funny, and it never gets any better.  In fact, as we shall see, it gets significantly worse.

For some reason, Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice are assigned to a mission to explore a cave recently exposed by a nuclear test.  This turns out to be the base for two seven-foot space women, Tanga and Pona, and their tuberous minions, the Vege-Men, and the entire party is soon in their clutches.  The aliens say that they have come to save humanity from destroying ourselves through nuclear war, but naturally the army isn’t into that.  Rick With The Squeaky Voice discovers that kissing the women puts them into a daze, allowing the two idiots to escape, but of course nobody back at Fort Nicholson believes their story.  Is it really up to these two to stop Tanga and Pona from heading back to their home planet with their report?  We’re doomed.

I don’t remember which review it was, but I once invited you to imagine a movie in which every character is Dropo or Watney Smith.  This is that movie.  This is proud of being that movie.  The aliens try to read the two Ricks’ minds and one is completely empty while the other is full of superhero fantasies.  Pona calls what she sees ‘completely illogical and infantile’, which is a fair description of the whole movie.

There’s a sequence where one of the army men shoots a rattlesnake that was about to bite one of the Ricks, and then cries because ‘he might have had a family’.  They try to lampoon the thing in old movies where the characters walk through the same set from different angles by doing it without cutting away or changing the camera angle, but it just looks dumb.  The Colonel gives a long-winded speech about the merits of getting straight to the point.  A forced march stops for a lovely picnic and wine tasting.  A guy gets his ass kicked by a Vege-Man and declares, “that’s the first time a salad ever tossed me.”  There’s a running ‘gag’ about fans of ‘Space Commander Connors’ recognizing each other’s secret decoder rings and immediately going into a full-on geek-out.

None of this is funny, much of it is downright embarrassing, and the worst part is that the writers have no idea how to include their attempts at comedy in the story.  Rather than the hijinks advancing the plot, every time something that’s supposed to be funny happens, the whole thing comes to a dead halt.  This gives the impression that the movie is stumbling around in the dark with no idea where it’s going.  It finally seems to settle on a plot when we find out that the spaceship is about to leave and must be stopped.  After some bullshit the Ricks convince the Colonel (and only the Colonel) to help them take on the aliens.  At this point I was thinking that this movie was pretty terrible but it hadn’t actually pushed me to the point of being tempted to turn it off…

And then it got racist.

The last ten minutes or so of Invasion of the Star Creatures are a downward spiral in which it seems like they gave up trying to be funny in favour of being actively offensive. First, they encounter what’s supposed to be a group of Native Americans on horseback.  Rick With The Squeaky Voice tries to get their attention by saying “hey, Kemosabe, I wanna buy some blankets!”  The Natives don’t speak much English but they do a lot of grunting, and threaten to kill the Colonel because they think he’s General Custer (?!).  Then they kidnap everybody and force them to smoke the peace pipe and drink firewater and the white guys only escape once the Natives have passed out.

Holy shit.  Not only is this repulsive, it is, as previously noted, irrelevant.  It has no effect on the plot other than to waste time.  The Natives do not help them defeat the aliens and neither does the Colonel, who is also in a drunken stupor.  And then, just when we think this can’t possibly get any worse, the defeated alien women declare that they must throw themselves on the mercy of the Earth Men.  This turns out to mean marrying them, and the dialogue specifically likens marriage to slavery, which Tanga and Pona seem to consider a point in its favour!  The end of this movie left my head spinning.  It’s like I watched a guy get ‘comedically’ knocked over by a punching bag for forty-five minutes and then he suddenly turned around and punched me in the face.

(Hey, I just realized… remember how I said the cave was exposed by a nuclear test?  The dialogue emphasizes how this whole area is irradiated and dangerous – and then totally forgets about it.  It’s never mentioned again and the characters take off their protective gear and never put it back on.  So… that was useless, too.)

There is stuff in this movie that could have been funny.  The secret decoder ring stuff almost got a smile out of me once or twice, because the characters seemed so earnest in their love for ‘Space Commander Connors’ and his lore.  The ‘Vege-Men’ also had potential.  We get to see a greenhouse room where they’re grown to be the women’s slaves, and the seedlings are hands or feet sticking out of flowerpots with a few leaves around them.  This is fairly amusing and I could see it being the juvenile form of a sentient plant on Star Trek TOS.  Adult Vege-Men are actors in stupid carrot costumes that they obviously can’t see out of very well, which should have been funny just because it’s so terrible, but Invasion of the Star Creatures is so bad you can’t even laugh at it ironically.

The idea of using a bumbling idiot as your main character, let alone two bumbling idiots, frankly baffles me.  Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice are supposed to be the guys we, the audience, identify with.  We’re supposed to like and root for them and to perhaps be able to imagine ourselves in their places, but the only thing I feel for them is contempt.  Why would anyone want to see themselves in these guys?  Perhaps it’s an attempt to say that anybody can be a hero, but the two Ricks don’t even qualify as that.  When they save the world, it’s basically by accident.  The ending, which rewards them with promotions, medals, and beautiful wives from outer space, actively makes me angry because they didn’t earn any of that!

Invasion of the Star Creatures works very hard at being pointless, and there’s very little in it that comes anywhere near a theme.  If any such thing exists, its in Tanga and Pona’s insistence that they’re here to save humanity whether we like it or not, and how the humans react to that idea.  The women say it would be a shame to see a young civilization destroy itself because nations were too stupid to work together.  Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice reject this entirely, which is supposed to be a joke: these guys are in the army, so if humanity transcends the need for conflict they’d be out of a job.  The rest of the plot then seems at pain to emphasize that humans cannot work together, and do not want to.

After all, the two Ricks’ attempts to summon help come to nothing.  The Native Americans never understand that these men want assistance, and the Colonel thinks it’s all a Space Commander Connors game before sliding under the metaphorical table, having never done anything useful.  The Ricks themselves spent most of their time arguing and complaining and in the end succeed only through good luck on their part and poor timing on that of the invaders.  Usually a story that begins with ‘aliens want to save primitive humans from ourselves’ would end with ‘the aliens were wrong about us’.  Invasion of the Star Creatures seems to want to say the aliens were right the whole time!

So there you have it – Invasion of the Star Creatures.  It started off kinda bad and not funny, then swirled down the cinematic toilet into outright offensive, racist, sexist drivel.  I’m trying to think of some small thing I can say about it that’s nice, but I’m having a very hard time.  I guess I kinda liked the rumbly noises that represent the alien language – that was more fun than just having the actresses spout random gobbledygook.  Other than that, I’m at a loss.  The actors suck, the sets suck, the effects suck, the costumes suck, and everybody involved was a bigoted dickweed.  Fuck this movie.

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Wonderland by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Read on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Or on FF

Tagging: @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @teamhook

Chapter 4: It’s a Mad World

“Are you feeling defensive today because of the way the group session went yesterday?”

Emma looked up defiantly at her therapist. “Do you always let them say whatever they want?”

“It’s important that everyone in group gets to speak their mind, that includes you.”

“August was doing more than speak his mind. He called me a goddamn spoiled rich kid with daddy issues.”

“Are you?”

“What the fuck?” Emma said angrily.

“Emma, your father is rich, you’ve been afforded things that most others have not.”

“So what? That gives him the right to talk about me that way?”

“I didn’t say that I just asked what your thoughts are on his statement.”

“I think he’s full of shit.”

“How is your relationship with your father?”

“Wow. Ok. Well, he traveled a lot.” She rolled her yes. She wasn’t exaggerating, she saw her father maybe once or twice a month when he wasn’t on some business trip that took him out of the country.

“Did you resent him for that?” The man was staring into her soul.

“Hard to resent someone you barely know.” She stared at her fingers, clicking her nails against each other.

“What about your mother?”

“She’s dad’s soldier. Does all his work for him back home while he’s out there making his mark on the world.”

“She’s a manager at the New York Hotel?”

“Yes, she runs all his North American hotels. She’s smart, runs a tight ship. Honestly, mom could have done anything she ever wanted.”

“Did she always want to work in management?”

“God no, she wanted to be a teacher. Mom loves kids.”

“Yet you’re an only child?”

“Yeah well, guess they got too busy to think about a brother or sister, or maybe I was just too much of a handful, you’d have to ask them.”

Emma knew her mother wanted desperately to have another child; she’d heard her parents argue about it a few times when she was younger. When she turned 15, her mother went through a period of depression. Emma had escaped the house on more than one occasion with Neal to avoid their fighting.

“David, we waited too long.”

“You don’t know that darling, the doctors said this could have happen for any number of reasons.”

“If you’d been home more, actually been here.”

“You’re blaming me for this?”

“Do we have to talk about my parents?” Emma stirred nervously in her chair.

“What would you like to talk about?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never done this before.”

“Let’s talk about Neal.”

“Why?”

“He’s your boyfriend?”

She bit her lip and shifted in her chair. “Ok yeah, sure. I met Neal when I was 12. We went to school together.”

“And your parents like him?”

“My parents love Neal. Sometimes I think they like him more than me.”

“I’m so disappointed in you Emma. How could you do this again?”

“Why do you care?”

“Don’t talk to your mother like that and answer the question.”

“I was just having fun with friends. It’s not that big a deal.”

“You’re drunk! You’re only 16. How is this not a big deal, Emma?”

“Seriously mom, stop acting so high and mighty.”

“You need to find better friends. I can’t believe you ditched Neal to go drinking. Really Emma, after the way he stood by you the last time you got in trouble!”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Emma Nolan, you are grounded for a month.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Neal does no wrong. He’s perfect. Heir to the Gold throne. Hell, I think my dad believes he walks on water.”

“Are you jealous of their affection toward him?”

“Jealous? No, I just find it hypocritical. They immediately believe that I’m the bad influence, no one stopped for one second to ask about Neal and what he was up to. Not once.”

“Should they have? Was there a reason for them not to trust Neal?”

“And once again, I’m bored with this subject.” She crossed her legs underneath her on the chair and buried her face in her hands.

“Come on Emma, just try it one time. If you don’t like it, you never have to do it again.”

“I don’t know, Neal. Is it dangerous?”

“Of course not, why do you think so many people are doing it? It will make you feel good, don’t you want to feel good?”

“Ok Emma let’s talk about what happened after you got arrested. How long were you in jail?”

“I spent 11 glorious months behind bars at Lakeview Shock Correctional. Not like it was hard time or anything, daddy paid a pretty penny to hide me in a minimum-security housing facility.”

“So, it wasn’t a juvenile center?”

“Nope, that really pissed him off, I got busted a week after my 18th birthday.”

“Did you have a difficult time while you were there?”

“Emma you can do it. One more push.”

“Oh God.”

“That’s it, the head is out.”

“It’s a boy. Do you want to hold him?”

“No.”

“Nope, pretty ordinary. Bad food, lots of alone time. Nothing to write home about.” She stared out the window, willing her subconscious to float above her, to drown out the memories and keep the tears at bay.

Her father had paid a lot of money to keep her out of prison, but mostly to keep the story hidden. The minute the baby was ushered out of the room, she was returned to her cell and no one ever spoke of it again. Her father refused to talk about it when she returned home, and her mother continued to pretend like nothing had ever happened.

“Ok Emma, I think that’s enough for today.” He was looking at her with apprehension.

“Awesome.” She pushed out of the chair and sprang free from the room, all the air draining from her lungs. She started to tug at the hem of her t-shirt, feeling like she was trapped in her clothes. She looked around the courtyard, she felt like everything around her was blurring before her eyes.

No! She couldn’t have an anxiety attack out here in the open.

Before she realized what was happening, she was running. She didn’t turn around or stop until she reached the sands of the beach. Bending over and heaving out breathes as she tried to stop her heart from racing. She turned toward the pier and ducked under the boards, climbing the sandy hill hidden from the sun and falling into the sand, her sobs coming out in panicked spurts.

“We really need to stop meeting like this, love.”

No. No. No. No. Not now.

“Go away.” She shouted, sucking in her breath.

“Are you alright, Swan?”

She sat up, tossing sand in his direction. “I’m fucking fine, now go away.” She watched him standing at the bottom of the hill, she could tell he was debating his next move and unless it was leaving, she was going to beat his ass.

Of course, he wouldn’t just leave, she watched him climb the sandy hill toward her.

“You don’t appear to be fine, lass.”

“Why are you so damned irritating?” She screamed, the tears starting to fall down her cheeks again. She blew out a breath and sucked in the air again.

“Swan, you need to breathe. You’re going to hyperventilate.” She rocked back and forth, her arms hugging her chest. She felt warmth against her back, a hand brushing circles against the fabric of her shirt. “It’s better to let it out.” His breath was warm against her ear as he pulled her into the side of his body.

Her hand clinched in his shirt, balling her fist against his chest. “I told you to leave!” She sobbed into his body.

“It’s bad form to leave a damsel in distress.”

She pulled back from him, his face staring at her with a concern that only fueled her annoyance. She felt anger rising in her chest when their eyes met. “The only one who saves me, is me.” She spat.

“Don’t take offense, I’m only trying to help.”

“You are so goddamn frustrating.” He smirked, which only made things worse. She needed to run away from the heat of the man seated beside her, away from his eyes staring into her soul, his arrogant smile still stuck to his face. The fact that he actually seemed worried about her was making the hairs on her arm stand on end. She shoved away from him, “Let go of me.” She stood up and he grabbed her hand.

“Emma…”

She yanked her hand back as if she had been shocked. “Stop touching me, asshole.”

“You really are a pain in the ass.” He stood up, his face inches from hers.

“I’m a pain in the ass? You’re the one who keeps following me around.”

“I was here first, love.”

Emma balled her hands in his shirt before she could stop herself, yanking his lips down to meet hers in a fury of heat and wanton desire. He didn’t hesitate to respond in kind, his fingers tangling tightly in her blonde locks as his tongue pressed against her lips. She opened her mouth with a groan, clinging to him in desperation as their tongues intertwined. When she came up for air, his forehead pressed against hers.

A sudden realization of what she had done began to dawn on her. She frantically pulled away from him.

“That was…” He started to speak, and she panicked.

“A one-time thing. A distraction. That’s all.” She backed away from him, turning quickly to leave and not looking back.

“Emma.”

“Don’t follow me.” She spat.

“As you wish.” She heard him say softly behind her.

She grumbled to herself all the way back to her room, when she entered, Ruby was putting on yoga pants and a sports bra.

“Emma, you’re just in time.” She looked up at her. “Oh my, are you alright? You look pale.”

“Gee thanks, but yes I’m fine, rough day in therapy.” She tore her t-shirt off her body. “What am I just in time for?”

“Spin class!”

“Um, yeah pass.”

“No way, you’re coming with me. It’s the best way to de-stress after therapy. Trust me, Zelena is amazing.”

She considered her options, either sit in her room, and relive the last fifteen minutes over and over in her head, thus driving herself insane, or sweat the kiss out of her system.

“Ok fine, spin it is.”

What Ruby failed to mention was that when she said that Zelena was amazing, what she meant was an insane crazy person.

“Come on you animals, push it harder! Sweat your way to recovery.”

“Oh my God what is with this woman, I can’t push any harder.” Emma panted.

“I heard that.” Zelena yelled in her direction, “When you think you can’t go any faster, find it in yourself to pick up the pace.”

Emma groaned and wiped the sweat off her forehead with her hand.

“Don’t just walk in my room late and expect not to get on one of these bikes.”

Emma peered over her shoulder and grunted when she saw August and Killian enter the room.

Can she do anything without that asshole following her?

She expected him to jump on the bike behind her and make some sort of inappropriate comment about her ass but instead he took the bike next to Ruby.

“I love seeing a woman work up a sweat.” He smiled at Ruby who giggled loudly.

“No laughing in my class, if you’re having fun, you aren’t working hard enough.” Zelena yelled.

She peered in his direction and their eyes met for half a second before he turned his attention back to Ruby. She rolled her eyes and focused her energy on moving her feet.

“Let’s go kids, five more minutes.” The red head screamed.

“I can go for more than five minutes, lass.” She heard Killian murmur toward Ruby.

“Oh, I bet you can.” Ruby returned the flirtatious discussion.

“If only I knew someone who could make that happen around here.”

“Maybe you do.”

Emma was getting winded, letting out a guttural groan, she took her feet off the pedals, the wheels spinning on their own until they came to a stop. She jumped off the bike and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her neck and swigging from her water bottle before walking out of the gym, ignoring the red headed instructor who was yelling at her to get back on her bike.

She turned the corner to the dorms and ran into something solid.

“Apologizes! I hope I didn’t hurt you, beautiful.”

She looked up and smiled at Jefferson. “Sorry, that was my fault, I should have been paying attention.”

“No harm, no foul, Miss Emma.” He stared down at her. “Are you quite all right? You seem sad.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“Trust me, I know, I’ve had six months of them here.”

She laughed. “How have you survived?”

“Wanna know my secret?”

“Oh yes.”

“Come this way.” He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her down a series of corridors until she no longer recognized where they were. He turned around and put his forefinger over his lips and she put her hand over her mouth. He pushed through the double doors, bending over, and creeping along the wall. He peeked up into one of the windows and then pulled her past it into a dark room.

When they were both standing in the dark, he let go of her hand and moved away from her to the other side of the room. She heard a clicking sound, a soft light illuminated his face before the light was extinguished.

He was by her side again, and she felt his lips against her ear. “Follow me.”

She turned and followed him back the way they came until they were standing outside the doors they entered, and he was dragging her through another set of doors into a part of the courtyard she had never seen before.

“What did we just do?” She exclaimed as he plopped down onto the grass lawn and patted beside him for her to sit. When she did, he passed her a small edible item. “Ding dongs? Did we just do all that to steal ding dongs?”

He popped one into his mouth, lying back on the grass. “There’s nothing better after a stressful day. And they don’t give them out to the patients, but I found out that one of the cooks absolutely loves them and hides them in the storage behind the kitchen.”

Emma fell back onto the grass next to him, leaning her head onto his crossed arm. She took a bite of the treat and moaned. “Oh my God, that is good.”

“I told you.” He smirked. “You forget the simple things when you are out there, dealing with the world.”

She sighed. “Why are you still here after six months?” She asked seriously.

“It’s hard enough to live in a land where you don’t belong but knowing it…holding conflicting realities in your head…will drive you mad.”

“And you think you belong in here?”

“Oh no, I hate Wonderland.” He exclaimed. “But unfortunately, I have an affliction. Do you know what it’s like to be at odds with yourself? It’s like having two lives yet they live inside one mind. Double the pain, double the suffering.”

Emma frowned. “Don’t you want to get better?”

“I supposed I do. And yet here I am.” He grinned at her.

“You’re very odd.”

“Thank you.” He laughed, sitting up on his elbow and leaning closer to her. “I could tell the first day in group that you were special. Don’t let August scare you off.”

“Oh, I’m uh, I can handle him.”

“I believe that.”

He leaned over, lightly brushing his lips against hers and then pulling back to look at her. “I apologize, I’ve been arguing with myself for the last ten minutes about doing that.”

She didn’t know what to think of the kiss, Jefferson was sweet and kind, with a strange air about him, and the kiss was so very different than what she had experience earlier kissing Killian. The kiss from Jefferson was almost comforting compared to the desperate need she experienced earlier under the pier.

Both of their watches began beeping and she sat up quickly.

“Oh my, have we been out here that long? I uh, guess we should get back to our rooms or we’ll miss lights out.”

“Time flies when you are having fun. I’ll show you the way back.” He stood up, reaching his hand out for her. He pulled her to her feet and tugged her forward, keeping his hand in hers. Once they reached the building, he dropped her hand, guiding her through the hallways until she started to recognize her surroundings. He stopped at the fork in the hall.

“This is where we part, beautiful.”

“Thank you for sharing your secret with me tonight.” She whispered.

“I only hope it helped. Goodnight.” He winked before turning away from her and skipping toward his room.

Emma grinned and walked the rest of the way to her room. Ruby was lying on her bed. “There you are.”

“Oh hey.”

“You just took off tonight. What happened?”

“Just overheated, needed to get some air.”

“Ah Zelena’s classes can be like that. She’s pretty serious about cardio.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You sure you’re ok? This wasn’t about Killian was it?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, you just seemed upset when we were flirting today. Are you interested in him? Because I can totally back off if you two have something going on?”

Emma bit her lip. She was most definitely not interested in that asshole. Not at all. Not even a little.

Liar.

“Nope, he’s all yours. I’m not into assholes.”

“Suit yourself, but honestly, can you imagine what he can do with that mouth of his?”

Emma flushed, remembering the feel of his mouth burning on her lips. “Never really thought about it honestly, he’s not my type.”

“Which part? The accent, the arms, his abs, or the bulge in his pants, cause I could keep going if I haven’t proven my point yet.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t hot. He’s just…” She got into her bed and turned off the lights to mask the redness growing in her cheeks. “I can assure you his ego is probably bigger than his dick.”

“Well, one of us needs to find out, and if you’re not interested, then I volunteer as tribute.” She joked.

Emma rolled her eyes and turned over on her side, squeezing her eyes shut and praying for sleep. “You’re such a nerd, Ruby. But seriously good luck with that.” She grumbled before she fell asleep, blue pools of light haunting her dreams.

Notes:

I have updated the Chapter length to 21 chapters, I'm excited to say I have written all the words for Wonderland and I'm just going through and editing it now. :) Hope you are all enjoying the fic. Thanks again for reading!

[cherry3point14]

One Helluva Car

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Minor car fetish, one paragraph of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut, a little jealous!Dean, this is crack babes’, I can’t stress this enough: car fetish Word Count: 3,500. Summary: Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world and then one day she sees Baby... A/N: @alexwinchester23​ hit me up a THOUSAND years ago with the prompt: dean x reader where she is more “in love” with deans car and it makes him a little jelly lol. And I was like, ha ha ha sure I’ll write it. It’s been half written ever since. So, I finished it. Someone please be proud of me for finishing. (Not like that you animals.)  This also fills Driving In The Impala for @spndeanbingo​

It’s Monday lunchtime when you see it. Her? It looks like a her. The best cars are ‘hers’ and even from a distance, she has curves that only a good woman could possess.

You’ve had a morning of shitty, old trucks that have been run hard for too long, and new cars that you plug into the computer to diagnose, which takes all the fun out of life. It’s easy to see a mile off that she isn’t shitty or bogged down with modern tech. She’s a well looked after classic. A thing of beauty. A freaking masterpiece. She’s polished enough that the sun bounces off of her black surface like she’s made of glass.

If only your arms weren’t laden with brown paper bags of food you’d take a detour to get a closer look. You could ghost your hand over her hood and take a look at the interior. You bet it’s the softest fucking leather your ass would ever hope to feel.

You’d generally drool over her without actually drooling because God knows spit is not good for the paintwork. Unfortunately, you do have bags filled with hot, meaty subs intended to feed your workforce. And you’re wise enough to know that making a garage of hungry mechanics wait for their lunch is not a good move. It’ll only result in some sort of unnecessary disaster this afternoon that you, their boss, will have to fix or pay for. Or both.

The only thing you can do is take one last look at her, memorize that beautiful shape while you heft the bags closer to your chest and carry on walking. It’s not like you’ve never seen a good old fashion American muscle car before, you have your own ‘70 Mustang at home.

It’s just… this is a Chevvy Impala, arguably the first car to flex its muscles. You don’t see one of those every day.

Your hobby is like a much cooler version of birdwatching. You have an appreciation for cars, classics in particular. The craftsmanship, the design, and the sounds they make as they tear through the world like moving time capsules. Nothing generated by a low emission engine compares.

That’s how you spot her for the second time, on Wednesday.

Well, you hear her first.

You’re closing up for the night. Everyone goes home early on Wednesdays, the shop closes at three, except for you. There’s always paperwork that needs to be done and you hate the idea of taking it home if you can help it. Taking a car home you’re always happy to do, but paperwork? You refuse to dirty your private space like that.

It’s just before six when you’re locking the doors and thunder screams in the distance. At least you think it’s thunder, you wonder where the clouds are until it moves too fast to be a weather condition.

The closer it gets the more the sound transforms into pure, uncut horsepower. It’s the deep rumble of an engine that demands to be heard. It tears your attention to it whether you like it or not. An announcement of the coming vehicle before it arrives.

Then she glides around the corner of Maple and Third before peeling down the street past you. It’s her again, she’s still in town. You know it’s the same car, she isn’t a vehicle made for stealth and your little ol’ town isn’t exactly heaving with beauties like her.

You know she’s not a local, it must be a flying visit, you’re lucky enough to have seen her again before she left. Not just seen her though, heard her. Heard her engine and the screech of her tires on the tarmac. Experiencing her in action is breathtaking enough that you gawp at her like an idiot as she zooms away.

It’s not a fetish or anything. You don’t exactly cuddle an exhaust pipe in bed. You appreciate cars more than your job requires you to, simple. It’s a respect that was drilled into you from a young age. Your dad owns a franchise of shops across the state and never had the boy he always wanted. He didn’t mope about it, he taught you to fix an engine instead. To appreciate every individual piece like an unsolved puzzle. And because your dad is a big ol’ softie he taught you that classic cars can’t be beaten, he favors Camaros in particular. He gave you a garage to work in until you’d labored enough to earn it for keeps and manage it as your own. Your dad raised you to bleed motor oil and sweat gasoline.

Cars are your life. Ok, maybe you’re a bit of a gearhead is all. You can’t help it if that Impala is a fine wine you want to uncork.

You watch the street lights make a hazy path for her to follow, another corner and she’s gone.

At home, you curl up on your sofa and scroll through your usual sites to see how much your own Impala would cost. In good condition, you’d have to sell one of the two cars you already have but there’s this smashed up ‘68 in New Jersey that might be worth the drive for the price. It would basically be a new car by the time you rebuild it but that doesn’t matter. All you needed were the bones of the thing and you never shy away from a project that involves weeks of hunting down original parts, that’s half the fun. For tonight at least it gets bookmarked. The decision left for another day, if it still seems like a good idea in the morning then you’ll make the call.

Hell, maybe tomorrow you’ll see something else and forget all about her. Maybe.

Good looking guys come through town from time to time but Dean is a rare treat. He’s the picture next to ‘handsome’ in the dictionary. He’s got these full lips that you’ve stared at, without an ounce of shame, while he sucks on a beer bottle. A jawline covered in scruff that you’ve already imagined between your thighs. And then there are those hands of his. It could be your line of work but you always loved a man with hands like his. Broad hands and thick fingers. Mechanic hands you’d call them, you half wish they were covered in oil and grease.

He was tapping away on the bar for a while, drumming aimlessly while you drank, but now he’s toppled in your direction. He’s standing between his barstool and yours, while you're still seated, which makes you the perfect height for him to slip an arm around you. His thumb has settled in on tracing the edge of your jeans while he talks to you, tickling your back where your tank had ridden up.

Honestly? He doesn’t even need to be a good lay to be worth the trip to bed.

“I know you said you’re in town with your brother…”

He winces at the start of your sentence, “with the things I’m thinking about doing to you honey, you can’t go mentioning Sammy at the same time.”

Underneath the stained overalls, you’re still a woman and you’re not sure if there’s anyone alive who could resist Dean’s charms. When you laugh at his ridiculous propositioning, you don’t even try to fight when it tails off into a giggle.

“I was going to ask if you had your own room? Or are we going back to my place?”

You’d almost think he’d been playing it cool up until this point. Everything had been measured and smooth. But you ask him that and he finally cracks, urgency slips through that charm offensive. He tilts his head forward as his face hardens into something intense, eyes hooded under the light of the bar. His hand slides up underneath your top enough that his whole palm skates against your skin. “How about a compromise? My car, your place?”

You lean in until you’re almost touching his lips, your tongue peeks out to wet them and flicks against his, taunting. “Deal."

He doesn’t need to know that you walked here and needed a ride home anyway. That's irrelevant.

Stumbling out of the bar is messy. Not because of the alcohol, neither of you have drunk that much, it’s his hands on your waist. They’re possessive and so there.

Maybe he’s not so bad in bed. Maybe he’s actually, pretty good in…

Oh fuck. It’s her.

You’re stopped in your tracks by the sight of your very own white whale. Well, black and shiny Impala but the metaphor stands.

You stop and Dean bumps into you, not expecting it so soon. For a brief moment, you’re frozen in awe, reverence. Even in the dark, she’s perfect. Street lights bouncing off of her smooth exterior. The night is chilly and there’s a hint of condensation creeping around the edges of the windshield which only serves to make her sparkle.

“Wow, she’s-”

“Mine?” Dean finishes, a wry grin on his face and keys dangling from those fingers you’d been drooling over moments ago. Fuck him and his fingers now.

“Shit, Dean. I’ve been seeing this car all week. She’s beautiful.” You walk towards her, carefully, in case you spook her. She’s an old soul, probably jumpy. Your hand reaches out but doesn’t touch her yet because you’re being respectful.

You’d have thought Dean might have appreciated your care. Instead, he laughs and it catches you off guard. You whip your head back around to glare at him and he encourages you, “she won't bite.”

When you finally make contact she’s cool and glossy under your touch, but even so, you don’t run your hand over her like you want to. You can feel the waxed surface that you don’t want to ruin. You know how much effort goes into a good wax job like this. Instead, you trade your whole hand for your fingertips and trace her edges as if trying to remember her shape for when you rebuild your own.

“Ahem.” In the distance, Dean clears his throat. Sucks for him. You’ve got a new love interest.

“Sweetheart?” He asks again, stepping up closer to you as if you didn’t hear him. He sounds needy like he wants you, but it’s edged with this vulnerable envy. You already noticed his bright green eyes in the bar, now you're wondering if there’s a different green-eyed monster at play.

He needs to understand, you saw the car first. She’s held your heart all week, Dean piqued the interest of your lady parts about half an hour ago. You might say age before beauty but this Impala has Dean beat on both fronts, older and more beautiful.

“Where’d you get these rims, if I didn’t know better I’d almost say they’re original,” you spare him a glance over your shoulder. “But I do know better.”

He looks like he’s struggling with not having your full attention, you’d almost say he’s pouting. Then he sticks out his bottom lip and he's definitely pouting. He shuffles from foot to foot and steels his jaw. It makes it even more difficult for him then when you ask questions that he wants to answer. You can see the cogs turning where he’s trying to work out if he should encourage your interest or not. As much as he wants sex, in the end, the gearhead wins out.

“Fixed her up a lot over the years, found those in a junkyard if you believe it.” He steps up next to you now with a proud smile.

“I can believe it. I’ve seen the stuff people throw away. They’re perfect. Can I?” You slide out your phone and wave it at him.

He nods, although a little dumbstruck.

You bend down and snap a picture, explaining. “I was looking at a sixty-eight to rebuild, maybe. Actually, yours gave me the idea, saw her and couldn’t get her out of my head. I have a friend who might be able to help me out with these.”

“You wanna build one?” He sounds interested but not enough to get him off track. The track being you.

“Yeah. I told you I’m a mechanic. Building these things is in my blood.”

The air is cool and you start to feel it, not having intended being outside this long. He sees you shiver and steps behind you running his hands up and down your arms. “Sixty-eight ain’t a sixty-seven though, is it?” He asks, voice dripping with cocky arrogance about his car.

Oh, fuck. He’s figured out the way to your heart. He’s got you all turned around and leaning against her. Back pressed against her metal and glass enough that you’ll be feeling her for weeks.

“No, it’s not…”

“Wanna ride my Baby?” Dean presses his lips to the corner of your mouth with the question, leaving enough space for you to let out an almost inaudible gasp.

You’d be inclined to say men name their cars the dumbest shit sometimes but ‘Baby’ fits somehow. It’s perfect. She’s Baby.

“Yeah,” you nod. Right now, it's all you’ve ever wanted.

He walks you to the passenger’s side door and opens it’s for you. It’s not even romantic, it’s a fucking turn on.

Maybe you do have a car fetish. You should probably figure that out, like, another day.

In the time it takes Dean to strut to the other side you have sunk into the leather and just as you imagined, it’s soft. Worn and loved, like everything else about this beauty. This is what’s makes her special and that’s why you would have to love your own extra hard. To make up the years of neglect.

“Ready to go?”

He’s looking at you, smirking in your peripheral, and you’re looking at his fingers on the keys. You know what’s going to happen when he turns them. You’re still not prepared.

“Let’s do it.” A grin slides onto your face.

She rumbles to life beneath you. The vibrations from her engine shudder through the seat straight to your core. From there you swear the horsepower zips to every nerve ending in your body like electricity powering a city. And the sound could strike you down. She somehow purrs and roars at the same time. Each rev is a scream but her engine sings between each turn.

“Two eighty-three?” You ask, bottom lip caught behind your teeth.

“Get out of here with that two eighty-three crap. She’s a three twenty-seven.” He snaps, but not really, pressing his foot on the gas again just to see you quiver. Another rotation of the engine, her power, rolls through you.

He pulls out onto the road, leaving the dive behind, and drifts a little as he does, the back of her floating into the road. You slide over the seat an inch and he’s half focused on you, half focused on driving, so you're not even sure if he planned it. You scoot closer to him and he weighs his arm, the one not currently steering, around your shoulders. You’re becoming increasingly aware that the car smells like him, or he smells like her. Leather, sweet and spicy, musky. It’s a complicated mix where you’re not sure whether it's more her or him. You want to wrap yourself up in it all the same but Baby can’t wrap you up, Dean can.

“Dean I… Next left… I really, really love this car.”

He licks his lips as he looks down at you, his pupils wide, probably has a clear view of your chest, “yeah? How much, sweetheart?”

“A lot.” You pant in his ear, teeth grazing his lobe. “Second right, then it’s the third house on the left.”

A growl comes out of him. Determined. And you’re not so sure you care about fucking Dean anymore but each time you work him up a little higher, he revs that gorgeous engine and you get to feel that thunder. It’s the best circle jerk you could imagine, everyone is truly happy.

He pulls up in front of your house in record time because Baby is gunning 285 horsepower, so she’s not exactly going to be beat.

The problem, that you hadn’t really planned on, is arriving at your destination. As soon as he cuts the engine you puncture. Missing the everything about her straight away and wishing you’d kept driving for hours. Still, you have the scent of leather everywhere, burdening your senses with the smell of a bygone era. You hike a leg over Dean and sit in his lap. A knee either side of his thighs, denting her seats and Baby’s steering wheel holding the curve of your ass. Your hands skip Deans’ shoulders in favor of the seat behind him, the cushioned bench under the pads of your fingers, as you attach your mouth to his. Sandwiched between Baby and Dean, and you never want to leave the spot.

Your tongue curls into his mouth at the same time that he presses his fingers into your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises. You’ve never worried about a tight grip on you before but he starts pulling you towards him and away from where you’re wedged on Baby. The more you lean your body into Dean, the less you feel his car.

“Baby.” You murmur into him. Dean must mistake it to be a pet name you’re borrowing, calling him, because he pulls you again. Actually you’re telling him where you want to be, to stay.

Here. With Baby.

“This is a nice neighborhood.” He hums in this tone that’s deep but it doesn’t go through you like the sound of a turbo V-8. “We should take this inside.”

He’s right. Carl from the damn neighborhood watch is probably already doing just that, watching. The pervert.

“Right, sure.” You agree despite the way your stomach drops at the thought of leaving her.

You’re all untangling limbs getting out and he kisses you once more against Baby before you allow him to drag you away. It already feels different, normal, boring.

Dean’s fine, he’s good, he’s handy. Like you’d thought he would be.

You wrap your mouth around his dick because you’ve always liked looking up through your lashes and seeing the way a guy goes breathless on your tongue. He works you open on his thick fucking fingers until the pressure in your stomach snaps with his thumb circling your clit. He pushes into you and the stretch, the burn, is perfect. Dean is better in bed than you’d expected him to be.

And yet, it’s empty. Dulled. It doesn’t scratch the itch like good sex used to. The whole experience dampened compared to what you’d felt sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy Impala.

You slip on some oversized shirt from your floordrobe to walk him out when he leaves. Neither of you under any impression that he’s staying the night. He’s got this satisfied grin on his face that he hasn’t been able to wipe off since the first time he came. He stops at your doorstep, “thanks, sweetheart. This was fun.”

“Sure was,” you agree, not giving him the full story. Standing at your doorway you’re looking at Baby instead of Dean, again. “Let me know if you’re still in town tomorrow, I’d love to go for another ride.”

He nods and backs away a few steps until he’s in your line of sight along with his car, “will do, baby.”

He must think you mean sex. You wouldn't be opposed to it but you mean a drive. A real drive with wide roads, and opening the taps. You can break that to him tomorrow if he does give you that call. If he doesn't then there's only one thing you need to say before he leaves. One thing you can't let her leave without saying.

“One helluva car you got there, Dean.”

Second A/N: Look, this didn’t start out as a full on car fetish but I was writing it and SOMETIMES I HAVE NO CONTROL. Sometimes these characters they say, “fuck you!” and do what they want. I was going to write a nice little jealousy thing. Dean wants some attention. That’s all. You only have yourselves to blame readers!

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer @iamabeautifulperson18 @erins-culinary-service

[that-soccer-guru]

the way i was literally so stressed for the anthems only for my naive optimism to stab me back in the chest... i mean i’m not even american but nonetheless, still applicable. disheartening and disappointing to say the least. makes me want to bash my head into the wall.

All I wanted out of this game was to see where Colombia could do better and to be excited for Sonnett starting.

Instead, as always, I got punched in the chest with the white people bullshit.

AND to top it off? ESPN skipped the fucking anthems so I didn't even get to hear the Colombian Anthem??? Full offense to the Star Spangled Banner it fucking sucks next to the Colombia Anthem. And you may quote me on that shit (if the USCIS is reading this tho I was kidding, I love America, don't take my residency away).

I'm gonna be over here, being not a little bit surprised that white women from affluent backgrounds and expensive educations are complete and fucking morons about anything and everything.

And they can all get fucked 🙃

[foramomentonly]

20 or 28 from meet ugly prompts for Malex?

Prompt: I’m a famous singer and you’re the new techie who just tripped and pulled the plug out of my microphone mid-concert [extra awkward if they lip sync, extra badass if they keep singing and their voice is still on point]

Author’s Note: I don’t love this one. It got a bit away from me. I hope you like it, though! Multiple anons asked for it, so I hate that I might not have done it justice. 

Alex is distracted. 

Ostensibly, the job is simple: arrange the music equipment correctly, hook it up, and stay out of the way until and unless something breaks. Maria set it up for him, some easy, part-time work in an industry he’s actually interested in to help him explore his options. Between an extended hospital stay and rehab, his honorable discharge, and falling into mind-numbing contract work for the past six months, his new normal is looking pretty bleak. But the environment backstage twenty minutes before a show is chaotic in a way that even an active war zone never felt—or maybe Alex had just grown accustomed to that particular brand of shitshow—and the physical element of the work is taking more of a toll on his leg than expected. And then there’s the guy.

Alex had done his research before agreeing to work for Michael Guerin, rising country-folk star. He’d listened to his music—twangy, and the lyrics were a little obvious, but overall Alex approved—and of course he’d seen pictures, candids from shows and promotional material. But all that is a very different experience from watching Michael lean with practiced nonchalance against the back wall just offstage, flirting lazily with the bassist from the open act. He’s no taller than Alex, really, but his body seems impossibly long, hard and lithe in tight, dark denim and a chambray shirt three haphazardly-fastened buttons away from hanging open. His curls are a little longer than Alex remembers from pictures, light brown and tousled in a way that makes Alex think of sex; and, judging by the way Michael’s companion keeps tugging at them as he grins down at her, Alex is not the only one. Michael’s smile is open and inviting, and he gives it freely, but it’s also practiced, a bit of a cipher that he passes off as innuendo. It’s a clever distraction to the poor stage manager's assistant who is hovering to the side, anxiously waiting to escort the main act; to the woman he’s talking to, who missed her cue and had to scamper onstage a full minute after the rest of her band; and, inadvertently, to Alex, who finds himself wanting to both wrap himself up in the warmth of that smile and fuck it right off Michael Guerin’s smug face.

In a way, it’s reassuring; Alex’s hasn’t experienced this kind of dizzying lust since before his amputation, and his path to reintroducing himself to his body as a tool of pleasure has been rough. Moments like this one, when Alex would like nothing more than to strip himself bare and drag every delicious ounce of gratification out of his own body—whether he does that with Michael Guerin or just thinking of him—gives Alex an intoxicating sense of hope and promise that goes deeper than the thrill of desire. 

It doesn't help him concentrate, though, and between the ache in his hip, the dim lighting backstage, and the haze of lust clouding Alex's vision as he shoots another glance at Michael, now onstage and mid-croon, it feels in retrospect almost inevitable. Alex fails to pick up his foot, to see the length of cords traveling across the floor from the stage to the impressive sound system in the back, and he trips, catching himself roughly against one of the pillars that supports the backstage balcony, but pulling out at least three different wires as he goes. There's an offensively loud, metallic screech, a deep thump of bass, and Michael's voice goes from clear and booming to soft, trembling, and completely drown out by his band.

Everything that follows is in slow motion. Alex raising his head as the band stops playing and locking eyes with Michael, who gazes at him hard and steady. Alex is the only person in the vicinity, not to mention the only one clutching a pillar like a life raft, cheek pressed uncomfortably against the rough wood; there’s no way Michael doesn’t know he’s to blame. Michael holding his gaze from onstage, tapping his index finger slowly against the mic resting on the stand in front of him. When no sound reverberates, Michael shakes his head, and Alex’s eyes widen. He hears whispered shouts and scuffling behind him, but he already knows the sound system will have to be completely reset. 

“Bear with me,” Michael says in a loud, clear voice to his audience, finally releasing Alex from the inescapable hold of his arresting gaze. He sweeps up an acoustic guitar from the side of the stage, waves off his band, and slides onto a stool he drags front and center from just offstage. And then he begins to sing; voice like gravel, deep and rough, projected as best he can. It’s an intimate venue and an adoring audience, and as they begin to crowd closer to the stage, falling silent all on their own and lost to the spell of Michael’s tune, it dawns on Alex that Michael Guerin is going to pull this off. 

He should feel relieved, redeemed even, considering the mounting enthusiasm of the shrieking crowd as Michael performs a full hour-long set completely acoustic, no mic and unaccompanied. But the memory of Michael’s eyes on him, hard and blazing, leaves Alex unsettled and, ultimately, unsurprised when Michael finds him just outside the theatre’s back entrance after his set, the roar of an extremely lubricated crowd pleading for an encore fading as the heavy door slams shut behind him.

“Alex Manes?” he asks, leaning his forearms against the railing of the small concrete landing in a mirror of Alex’s own position.

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck, man?”

Alex winces at the rasp of Michael’s overextended voice.

“I’m sorry,” Alex breathes. “First day.”

“I get that,” Michael says with a practiced patience, running a hand through his sweaty curls. “But—You’re Maria’s friend, right? Maria DeLuca?”

Alex nods.

“Look, she told me a little, uh, a little about you. You’re background.”

Alex turns to look at Michael, brow furrowed in confusion, and Michael’s eyes slide pointedly down to Alex’s leg and back up again, meeting his gaze openly.

“If the job is too much for you right now, we cou—”

Alex cuts him off.

“I don’t need your pity,” he hisses, anger and frustration boiling over at this man who thinks he knows who Alex is, what his limits are because he knows one fucking thing about him.

“Why’d you hired me, anyway?” he demands, shaking his head and pushing off the railing to his full height to face Michael. “You obviously aren’t a fan of the military.”

Michael as a figure is inherently political—openly bisexual, a self-proclaimed descendent of Lavender Country—and his lyrics and iconography further distance him from the uber-patriotic conservativism of typical American country. It’s one of the qualities of Michael’s brand that initially drew Alex to him; but in this moment, underestimated and called out, Alex is tired of playing nice and he lashes out.

Michael rolls his eyes.

“Could ask you why you wanna work for me,” he shoots back, dropping his pretence of understanding and standing upright, turning to match Alex’s aggressive stance.

Alex glowers at him as they face off under the dull glow of the building’s security lights. 

“Look, man,” Michael finally says through clenched teeth, “you want me to thank you for your service?”

Alex scoffs.

“Pass.”

“Then what do you want?”

Alex pauses. That question. That’s the million-dollar fucking question. The one Alex hasn’t been able to answer for a year, maybe longer; maybe not since he was 18 years-old and enlisting, making the decision not to choose any type of future for himself. It’s why Alex hangs out at the Pony most nights when his workday is done, desperate for distraction; it’s why he downloaded Grindr, but hasn’t set up a profile, why he jots down lyrics and music, but never plays them aloud; and it’s why Maria called in this favor with her favorite former regular who made it big.

What does he want? 

To stop fucking thinking about what he wants and take it.

“I want to write for you,” Alex blurts, voice insistent and sure, his tone nearly a command. “And I want to fuck you.”

Michael laughs, loud and disbelieving. He takes Alex in, eyes dragging slowly down the length of his body, roving every inch of him hungrily before catching Alex’s gaze, smiling broad and dirty. He stares at Alex with the same insistent, heated look he shot him from onstage, a challenge and a plea, and Alex thinks maybe Michael needs to stop performing as much as Alex needs to stop thinking.

“In that order?” Michael growls, and Alex grins. 

This isn’t the lazy, flirtatious Michael Guerin he saw backstage, entrancing unsuspecting underlings for sport; or the easy, charming Michael Guerin of the stage. This Michael is darker, more intent, and he pushes rather than teases as he stalks closer to Alex, crowding him against the brick wall of the building and kissing him hard and filthy, teeth and tongue and no mercy. Alex groans and fists his hands in Michael's sweaty curls, tugging them to direct the angle of his head for better access as he nips and sucks his way up Michael's throat, tasting the salt of his sweat when Alex soothes a fresh bruise with his tongue.

“You know I quit, right?” Alex pants, pressing his hips into Michael’s and smirking when Michael groans low and grinds back harder. Michael presses his palms against the wall on either side of Alex’s head as Alex reaches between them, working Michael’s belt and jeans open hurriedly. 

“As long as you know you’re fired,” Michael murmurs in reply.

Alex pushes his hand down Michael’s open pants and wraps long fingers around his cock, nipping at Michael’s lower lip and grinning when he gasps, dark eyes falling shut as his hips begin to churn in time with the twist of Alex's wrist. 

“Fair enough.”

Over coffee the next morning Alex shows Michael his songs, and Michael instantly re-hires him.

[watchinghannibal]

Season 1 Episode 1

I said I would go back and start at the beginning, and here I am! After I wrote the first post, it was clear that this a live blog experience, meaning I think this is best consumed while watching or right after watching the Hannibal episode. Therefore, I’ll be putting in some timestamps so that people know where I am in the episode without me having to stop the flow of my commentary. I am watching on Netflix. Here we go!

My very first impression of this show, knowing nothing but that it was a crime show with a cannibal involved, was that I was about to get the displeasurable BBC Sherlock experience. There’s a popular video on YouTube that intricately explains what I mean (https://youtu.be/LkoGBOs5ecM), but the short version is that we have a detective who can magically solve crimes that the viewer could NEVER solve on their own. You see Will, looking at a crime scene, and rewinding it in his head - something that I admit could possibly be done with the visual evidence laid before him. But then...

2:04 “This is my design”. Will has not only visualized the crime but he now knows the “psychology” of the killer, simply by looking at the scene. There are certainly ways to deduce the generic mindset of a killer from a crime scene - a person stabbed 100 times is most likely a crime of passion - but to know that the killer wanted the man to watch his paralyzed wife bleed to death is just not possible. 

But this is a work of fiction, and I’m willing to put reality aside to believe that Will can do this. The story he creates in the first scene has logic, it’s not unreasonable. What comes next is what really appalled me and drove me to write this blog.

4:46 Big, mean FBIman comes in and asks where Will falls “on the spectrum”. Rude, to start. Will then describes a spectrum that goes from Asperger’s to narcissist/sociopath and declares himself autistic because he doesn’t like being social. However, in the next sentence, he says he has empathy and imagination. Okay, so now I know what I’m dealing with - a Psychodynamic BBC Sherlock, based on psuedopsychology and wikipedia-level psychyoanalyses. The writers, five minutes into the show, have displayed a massive misunderstanding of Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), sociopathy, and personality psychology.

But that’s okay - psychopathology is an advanced and technical field. It makes sense that this American crime TV show doesn’t get it all right. I won’t forgive the mistakes they make because honestly I see this show as offensive to people with ASD, but again I’m watching fiction so I’m willing to continue watching and give my opinions about the psychology that comes up. 

11:32 Will finds the girl impaled by antlers in her own home. He chokes her in his little replay and this is when I started to become uncomfortable about how this show treats violence towards women. In the first scene, Will replayed the crime. This time, he just pounced and choked her. That’s not what happened to this girl - she was killed, impaled, and then placed back in her bed. So why did we see Will choking her?

14:05 Very good doggo scene. There are many good doggos in this scene. Good job to all involved.

15:28 I thought to myself, ooh is this gonna be a scary show? I’m into that. I think if this shows goes more towards horror, I’m more willing to allow all 

USE THE LADIES ROOM

to allow or at least tolerate the women choking shit. Quick note about sociopaths: sociopathy is a personality disorder in which the person is unable feel some or any emotions. They sometimes act in ways that harm others because they are unable to understand how their actions make others feel and further unable to empathize about others who are harmed. Not all sociopaths are bad people or do bad things. Some actively try to understand others and fit into society.

21:34 Will magically discovers the killer eats his victims and we are shown our first view of Hannibal eating a beautiful meal of dubious origins. I liked the imagery and contrast there. The gory forensic morgue, the mortifying realization of cannibalism, and then boom - a delicate and indulgent show of pleasure.

I actually really like Hanny and maybe it’s just ‘cause of Mads, but I’m sure I’ll figure out why I like him soon enough.

FIBman barges into Hanny’s perplexing and massive office. May I also note I hate FBIman. He has bad energy - he seems like the kind of person to call a psychologist a tree hugger.

26:18 Hanny analyzes Will in public. Again, so very rude. And might I add, against the code of therapists, the Goldwater Rule, to not make public psychological assumptions about people who did not ask for help.

28:26 Again I am questioning why I’m seeing a full naked woman impaled. I’m not against gore, but I guess since I’ve watched ahead a bit I just kinda know this pattern continues and it irks me. I promise I’m trying to turn off my angry scientist brain.

He loves women he LOVES them that’s why he eats them!! Love.

I can’t imagine lungs tasting good Hannibal. Or maybe he’s just a good cook. Damn the little smile Hanny gives to that tomato. Thank you Mads.

More SPOOKY visions, this time a feathery deer. Why does it have feathers? I guess that’s scarier? No, that... can’t be it. Is it because the call the killer a shrike? That might be it.

32:03 Are you reconstructing his fantasies? Oh Hanny please give me a full Freudian report on the shrike please. Oh he’s just gonna toy with Will, darn.

36:52 This made me want to keep watching the show. I mean I assumed Hannibal the Cannibal was a bad guy but this was a cool way to solidify the viewer’s suspicions. THEY KNOW!!!!!!!!!

Now Will rewinds a crime scene he was actually involved in. Hanny acts so chill he’s like, huh, would ya look at that? I also appreciate that Will legit looks like someone witnessing a horrible crime and panicking. Sometimes in crime or horror shows, the detective is like, yeah he ripped her insides out, just another Tuesday.

Big Bad FBIman is so fucking mad and Dr. Mom is like fuck you, you hurt my BOY! Those 2 really suck you guys. Will is not a child, Dr. Mom, and he did NOT ask for your help. Hanny has the balls to be holding this girl’s hand.

Okay guys, sorry this post was a bit less funny, but I wanted to articulate why this show is not good to me and why I feel like I can make fun of it without taking it seriously. I want this blog to be a chance to laugh and maybe learn a bit about real psychology. Thanks!

[warcrimesimulator]

Glad that everyone on Twitter is talking about how Warrior Cats is full of Native stereotypes/caricatures, it's one of the many reasons why it sucks. I mean I have a strong nostalgic attachment to WC and it was literally a huge part of my life but its so fucking poorly-written and I think it kind of started a trend of talking animal media where the animals' culture is just a handful of Native American stereotypes. It's lazy at best and offensive at worst.

There are better talking animal books out there.

[dememarquette]

True Crime

They parked outside a cottage. Portend Point was a gorgeous neighborhood. Occupying it, 1305 Parkview was an equally picturesque property. It had everything one could want from a gentrified postcard: a manicured lawn, a white picket fence, friendly neighborhood dogs excited to see you but not too excited. A sign advertised this slice of warm American pie could be yours. FOR SALE it said, smacked across an unfortunate realtor's forehead. Kevin Locklear had a new golf cart staked on this commission. In his desperation, which reeked as bad as the scene, he ducked below the police tape to plant an optimistic 'Open House Resumes Wednesday!' picket. Adria would take personal pleasure in throwing it in the garbage.

"Jean and Sidney Morin," She briefed, as Ian punched in the door code. "They're from New Gisen, reported missing 72 hours ago. Gas station footage has the suspect grabbing Jean at the Circle K. Sidney was seen by traffic cams in hot pursuit, but we have nothing after the first intersection. Men are checking doorbell cameras along the street. So far, nothing." The stolen car in the driveway was similarly combed through. Every stray hair inside was documented. There wasn't much left that wasn't bagged, tagged and sent off to the lab, but Ian liked one last intimate walk-through before tossing the keys to clean-up. If he was absorbing one word of what Adria was saying, it didn't show. Her partner worked like a TNT detective. Adria pictured the world bottoming out around him. He'd suffer 50 consecutive epiphanies after looking at something stupid like a tipped ketchup bottle, and construct a convoluted MO from there, but that's not how she worked. If reading the block text helped, murder's hooked on phonics, by God she'd do it. "Neighbors didn't hear anything. We have no idea where the struggle took place, if there was one. Judging from the looks of this place-" "It wasn't here." He said, tuning in only for silent confirmation. She nodded, and he killed the lights. His UV swept over the walls. The inside had the aesthetically-pleasing insipidity of a gourmet cracker. It had been sanitized for a showing, but according to the carpet, the perp wasn't admiring the crown modeling. A modest drip-trail led straight from the front door to the basement, and there wasn't a petal out of place before it. After a quick scan of the rooms composing the ground floor, Ian got his fill of Ashley HomeStore's heritage collection. To the basement they went. Each wood plank creaked under their feet. The floor consisted of a flat slab of water-stained cement. The space was fashioned into a man-cave. Shelves were bolted to the walls. All the sofas were leather. Posters on the wall were swapped for something more palatable, flanking an entertainment system that was to be marveled. In a move that didn't appear to serve any purpose toward the room's breathability, all the furniture was shoved to the side to clear the center. A single bulb hung by chain overhead. Energy funneled through a copper wire made it hum. Evidence photos never did it justice. The victims were strung together by a lawn hose. A single cloth gag- maybe a sheet- knocked their heads together, pulled taut at the pocket of their jaws. Their height difference forced Jean's face heavenward. The whites of her eyes were visible from the top, but you had to be at the bottom to see the shadow she sat in was actually a pattern. Their blood leaked into a paste-like outline, seeping color into the circle etched into it. Where the natural tug of gravity didn't fill the trenches, the killer dropped to their knees and started fingerprinting, casting away any macabre elegance it formerly had. Their hands scraped to fill the pattern all until it got to the bottom of the arc. Ian read her mind. "They were interrupted." "By what?" She asked. His mouth pressed into a hard line. He didn't have an answer. Instead he completed his circuit before dropping closer to the gag. Adria knelt beside him, her boots toeing the edge where the brushwork tapered. Fingerprints- fragmented and smeared- were shipped off to IAFIS. Problem was, when the suspect hadn't indulged in some casual DUI, she needed something to match it to. She sized her hand up against theirs, while the deceased husband stared on. Adria avoided eye contact. Violent crime wasn't anything new. She's seen her fair share since moving to the city, but never a throat cut this deeply. Sidney had been nearly decapitated. Skin folded off his Adam's apple like a bow-tie. Stringy matter underneath was on full display. "What about the design? Does that mean anything to you?" "The team is working on tracking it. So far they're thinking it’s some type of online cult." "And that?" She tipped her head to the bowls skirting the outline. Ian grabbed one, sifting through it with a finger. Its contents stuck to the latex, white. "Cinnamon, and salt. The last one's pyrite. Offerings." "Then what were they?" "Bait." The moment he said it the lights died. Ian shot up. Adria pulsed to follow, but her balance teetered. Neither were near a switch. "Who else is here?" "No one." The bowl Ian was holding warbled a low note, spinning where he’d been. He shouted from the foot of the stairs. "Has to be the breaker. Don't move." "What?" "Don't move." "Wh- I'm not going to touch anything!" Adria lurched on steel-toes. Offense had her fumbling with her flashlight. Sure. Okay. Fine. So in the past she hasn't been the most careful. Maybe she's stomped through one or two crime scenes. But never when it mattered! So it's not like she'd- Something blew past her ear.  With a graceless shriek, she made it a third. "God DAMN it!" Coagulated blood gunked to her jeans. She fell onto her back, swearing and curling to assess the damage. Ian would take one look at her and scowl. He'll do that smoldering, glower thing of his that she only liked when it was directed to other people. And then she'll have to go home, change her jeans, and hope he lets her back onto the property before they break out the body bags. He's going to see right away that- There's smoke? She dropped her knee. Sniffing, she swiveled. Air was escaping somewhere, hissing like a busted soda can. Whatever it was suffused the room. Her eyes burned just to move, but she couldn’t shut them. It could be more than the breaker- But that wouldn't explain why it was in the middle of the scene. With a yelp, she witnessed a spark fly between the corpses. Her heels planted into the floor. She kicked, hastily wedging distance between her and smog lifting off the concrete. She could've pretended she missed the class where she found out cinnamon was flammable. She could've maybe let it slide that denim wasn't an accelerant, but this was straight up sulfur. A ribbon of light unwound between them. A silhouette stretched out from behind it, towering. "Ian?" She asked, already knowing it wasn't. It had too many feelings to be. "What is this?" It croned. Miserably, it picked up a leg. "Ugh." Fingers acting faster than her brain, Adria whipped her gun from its holster "HANDS. Hands up, now!" "Sticky-" It groused. She heard a wet, staggered ppmf-ff. That suspiciously sounded like bodies toppling. In a maneuver she couldn't repeat, she blindly vaulted over the sofa, jamming herself between its backing and the wall. Her vision developed slow. First outlines, then shapes. Colors a little after when the smokescreen fanned out, blurring the glow around his face. She propped up her gun. Old leather gave away her position. The red light of eyes widened, vaguely cartoon-ish. "WHOA, hey now. Don't shoot." "Get on the ground." She ordered. "I said I wanna see your hands! Both of them, now!" "Aye-aye!" He complied. There was something sarcastic about the way his shadow wiggled to the floor. "Happy?" "Who are you?!" "Demetri Marquette, at your service." He tried to bow, until the violent rattle of her pistol suggested that was strictly prohibited. "What are you doing here?!" "Same as you, I imagine." "What?! What does that mean?" "You know. Working. The hustle." He shimmied. One by one, the candles surrounding them lit. The man in the center appeared nothing as he did in the shadows. His stature halved. The reddish glow vanished from his face, but most perplexing yet was that he somehow found a cover to throw over the bodies. With the blanket over them, they looked like fucking sock puppets. Adria sucked in a breath, sputtering nothing but inarticulated syllables for solid five seconds before, "Hey- stop fucking with my scene!!" "Oh- this?" He patted the victim's heads. The disrespect alone should’ve been grounds to fire. "I was meaning to talk to you about that. I'm sorry but two? Overkill. We’re not in the business of extra credit but I do appreciate the enthusiasm. So, uh. What's it going to be?" She swore nothing about this conversation was tracking. "Huh? "Money, fame, power, et cetera?" Nonsense! Complete nonsense. What was he implying? That this was an offer? A transaction for the bodies? It didn't matter. He overstayed his welcome before he popped in. And the fact he got in here at all may mean he knew something they didn't. This ridiculous, unexplainable suspension of belief kept her from feeling imperiled but this fuck was going to ruin the whole case if he didn't already. She pinched the button on the side of her walkie. "Ian, I need back-up downstairs now." The stranger sucked his teeth. "Ah. I wouldn't do that.” ’Oh my God, shut up. “Come on, talk to me.” He cooed. “What would make you more comfortable? Fresh air? The lights- is it the lights?" She glared, trigger finger satisfied with rapid-fire button clicking. Ian's hip would be going off like the fire alarm should be. "You know, I was going for ambiance, but." He snapped. Suddenly the power was back. She twisted from her fort. Corner to corner, stomping cleared across ceiling. The basement door creaked. Ian came swinging down the stairs, perfectly on cue. "The breaker fixed itself." He announced, sounding leery of it. "Imagine that," Said Blondie. Adria’s aim stayed fixed, prepared for sudden moves. There weren’t any, even from her partner. Ian’s velocity slowed to a stop. His grip on the handrail turned rigid before the bottom, tightening like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes roved over the ruined scene, the magnitude of it driving a huge crease into his brow. He did not notice the stranger directly beside him. Adria desperately looked between the both of them. "He can't see me," Demetri elaborated. "Adria?" Said Ian. The gravelly rumble of his voice asked fifty questions- none of which she had an answer to. She had a gun aimed at nothing. Two bodies were down, bizarrely set up for a picnic. "I-..." She stuttered. "Word of advice," Demetri picked a piece of lint of Ian’s shoulder. The detective reacted with only the slight drift of his eye-line, before his attention snapped back to Adria. "Don't say anything or you'll buy yourself a ticket to a psych eval." "Ian, you can't-?" "Nevermind. From this angle, you already look insane." Ian waited for her to continue but she lowered her gun. If he was right, there was no coming back from this. "...I thought I saw someone in the smoke." "Smoke?" There was no smoke. No fire, no light. Demetri's trapeze around the basement hadn't even left footprints. To Ian, she used the two minutes he was away to go nuts. Just lose her mind. Sanity to the wind. Who needs to critically think when you can barricade yourself behind a sofa, wildly waving a gun around? Defending yourself from scary shadow people that a paid electricity bill keeps at bay? Ian stared, impatience surging from a quiet simmer to a boil. She realized it’s been too long since she even tried answering a question. "Are you alright?" He rephrased. What she heard was ’Are you an idiot?’ Her face burned hot. "I think-" She slung her bag over his shoulder. "I think I need a minute. I'll be back." The tight set of his jaw meant he agreed. She ran past him, bolting for the cruiser. Now she was going to have to type up an incident report. Scrub her pants. Contemplate the onset of her paranoia induced insanity, and hope they wouldn't take her badge for this. She threw herself into the front seat of her cruiser. The door slammed behind her. Before she’d let frustrated tears get the better of her, she pulled up a Chrome browser. Occult. Satanism. She typed. Demon summoning. Symbol. All the results looked close. Matching the exact twisted pattern would be a nightmare. "Mind if we hit Starbucks?" Demetri necked her seat. She jolted, narrowly stopping herself from throwing her elbow through his eye socket. Knowing he was fictional made her wish she hadn't hesitated. "Why are you in my car?!" She swiped at her face. "For a frap. Hopefully. Is butterscotch still in season?" "No! Get out." His cheek squished against her headrest. "Aw, c'mon." She adjusted the rear-view, only for him pop up passenger side. "I get it." He said, proving he did Not actually. Devoid of any understanding of what 'Get out' meant, "More of a Dunkin' girl. That's fine I guess. Oh! Hope you don't mind. I dug through your glove department. I was trying to get to know you." He waggled a scrap of stationary. "Does the department know you're dating? Seems naughty. Is that against HIPA or something?" She flustered, red-faced. That note had been in Ian’s lunch. "OUT!" "I mean, I'm not judging. I like it. You'd think detective romances would get cliché but ugh." He pressed it to his heart. "There's something so enticing about seeing the ugliness of humankind hand-in-hand with the one you love. A real testament to love's resilience. Do you listen to Rihanna?" We Found Love belted from her speakers. Forget the psych eval, now she had to worry about the HOA. "What do you want, huh?!” Adria punched her stereo. “What do you want? Why are you here? Turn this OFF-" "I want to know what you want." He shrugged. "I want you to leave?! I’ve said a million times!" "No can do. Gonna need something more substantial. Unless, gasp." He made a show of patting down his slacks before producing a pen. The document it came with looked real and official. Spooky, until it came to 'Officer Hardass' at the top of a memo. It read "I forfeit my eternal soul to get Demetrius Marquette to GTFO" in gold. She looked down at the paper, head reeling. This was a fever dream. A nightmare. A joke, but she could feel the weight surrounding the document. Metaphysical. And as tempting as it would be to physically take his pen and jam it through his palm, five finger fillet- "NO." She shouted, chucking it back at him. "I'm not selling anything." Rihanna's chorus guttered and died. Its volume fell with his face. Hopeless indeed. "I don't get it." He huffed, impossibly exasperated. Like she was the one being objectively difficult here. "Why did you even summon me, then? What's the point?" "I didn't summon you, asshole! Some psychopath did!" "Huh." He pondered, deciding that did make more sense after-all. "...SO GO AWAY." "EeeeeEEEH. I don't think I will." He kicked back in the seat. A pair of sunglasses slid down his nose, gilded logo hitting the sun just right. How did a Dolce and Gabbana sales associate see him but not Ian? "You see. The problem is that I'm here now. I can't go home without something to show for it." "That's not my problem," Adria said, incredulously. "YOU are my problem! I don’t know who you think you are, but I don't owe you anything. You came onto my scene, jeopardized my career, made me look like an idiot, and now you're making my car smell like eggs!" Demetri recoiled. For a moment she thought she got through to him. Then it became abundantly clear it was just the egg part, actually. "Wow." He said. Hurt gave his voice a raspy edge. "Wow..." “So GO AWAY.” She tried for two. Three would be a taser. “You- you know what?” Demetri splayed his hands. “Fine. We’re done here. I’ll go-” “THANK YOU.” He scowled. “-I’ll go, but I will be back. And when I return, we're continuing this discussion in earnest. I hope, I sincerely hope Detective Kyro, that you think about it." She wouldn’t. But he vanished before she could say so. - - - By the time she got home, the scene was cleared. Since it had been cataloged ad nauseam, there was no need to report his partner’s lapse in sanity. Ian let it go. He covered her ass by risking his to shuffle in clean-up before anyone with a badge audited the damage. She got off easy. Despite earning every letter of a psych referral, confrontation fell away into 'unspoken' territory. He said nothing, but it was strongly encouraged by his cancellation of their Friday after-work happy hour that she take an extended weekend to 'rest.' That part he phoned in without her approval. Defeated, she threw off her jacket. She hooked her gun belt on a peg by the door. Her jeans were just going to burn- they were as good as cursed as far as she was concerned. There was nothing left to do but take a long, hot shower. Maybe she’d feel better if her skin ran hotter than the shame. The rest could be dealt with Monday. What choice did she have, really? She jammed a thumb through her braid. The plaits fell loose as she kicked off her boots, Adria went through the motions of attaining tentative comfort. And the moment she thought she could let it go (until she’d inevitably replay it at all again tonight) she smacked into the chest of someone in the bathroom. Her bathroom. This motherfucker made himself at home. “So,” His finger wound in the cord of her hairdryer. Freshly washed, and expertly coiffed, Demetri smelled exactly like her body wash. "Did you think about it?"

[tricewithaz]

go off about something that pisses u off bc like we all need that

there are so many things that piss me off some of the most notable ones:

basic pinterest "redesigns" of disney princesses like theyre literally just carbon copies of the original ones except they have basic rich white girl clothes and they often dont suit the characters at all. Genuinely! Not every disney "modern" fanart deserves that ammount of attention! let it go! itsso unoriginal and often gets way more attention than original artists with their own style and actual cool designs. Fuck it! To this i also add: hyperrealistic art whose only appeal is looking like a photo but not beibg one, various plain drawings of basic girls in basic outfits, naming the aesthetics at that, and "realistic" remakes of disney princesses: i genuinely do not get the point and im sick of it being si popular. In fact, why do we want to make everythung realistic??? why ks realistic the epitome of quality??? wheres the d e s i g n and the f U N??????

Americans trying to tell Spaniards what is and isnt problematic. "oh rosalia is problematic oh yall are colonizers" yall dont know our history our culture or our demographic stop trying to tell US what our culture is about (istg twitter is 🤢🤢🤢🤢) yall can barely understand that mediterraneans are white and are trying to tell us why rosalia is offensive to our own people?

on that note: brits (Self explanatory, but them just jumping off balconys in spain? like yall really think this is a touristic attraction we sell or? you guys are malites)

The Picture of Dorian Gray: I read like two chapters and its essentially a whole ass misogyinist being gay and trying to be Philosophical™ about it. Like, we get it. Beauty is ephimeral and vanity is useless and you hate your wife. Shut up. I think i hate oscar wilde. the only good thing about him is the one pun he made (the importance of being ernest is a great title) and his tomb (its actually quite pretty and full of kisses)

There barely being any rock bands that arent made of cis white/asian (i only say this because i listen to some korean rock honestly but considering spotify recomendations i might as well also exclude them) men. Why???? Why are there barely any women and poc in rock??????

Men (self explanatory)

Sex Work being not only normalized but encouraged. not gonna elaborate but ??????

My skin??? Sucks???? it gets red and irritated so easily???? Bruises at the faintest brish against a table????? Lots of blackheads?????? Random breakouts????? Practically translucent?????? fuck outta here