#have you *seen* the fuckshit his brother is on????

[mxtxfanatic]

Li Yu: thank god the prince doesn’t know I’m a fish that can turn human! He might have me killed

Prince Jing: why doesn’t my fish want to fuck me? :(

LOL 🤣 But listen, he already knows his swan princess is a human! He is having the normal reaction to finding out the hot dude he met that one time is actually moonlighting as a fish to spend the days sharing his company and keeping him protected. Li Yu is the one who needs to get with the program!

[raccoonspooky]

Don't Buy The Entire Pig For Just One Sausage

Bo Sinclair X Fem Reader, NSFW 10k words. Rated E. Y/N Device is not used in this fic. Second Person, Bo POV. Full list of tags on ao3, highlights include: Unsafe sex, stranger sex, Bo is having a great time until he is not. This fic is not kind to Bo. Bimbo! Reader Nothing is safe or sane, consensual yes but hmm..

*Alternative ending included!

You’re overly confident and the dominance you think you deserve is pulled directly out of a delusion. Bo’s sure that it wouldn’t take much to teach you your manners. Someone failed you somewhere down the line. You were either given too much freedom or not enough, and now you’re running about wearing hot pink in biker bars; lifting wallets like some kind of whorish raccoon.

Full fic under the cut, or on ao3!

Last month, the grimy old dive bar Bo frequented for twenty damned years decided to kick the bucket. The place was run by some old git who either was the son or the grandson of the original owner and Bo imagined the fucker just curled up and died in whatever shithole he lived in. Ain't like he had family left to close the place proper, it locked up one night and it’ll stay locked up till someone decides to pry open the casket.

No one ‘round these parts had any concept of legacy to cling to, most folk were just sitting around with their thumbs in their asses, sitting in their graves and watching the world die around them. Figures that this shithole of a bar would eventually run dry. Bitter as he was, Bo knew it was a long time coming. Place was standing longer than most places lasted round these parts, it’d seen the birth and death of multiple nearby towns, it’d seen that big ol fire that burnt down the mill in Ambrose.

It wasn’t all that hard to find another place that suited him, it was closer to Baton Rouge than he would’ve liked but sometimes a man’s got an inherent need to get some pretty thing drunk. Back home, it’d been slim pickings recently; no tourists, no one on the road. Bo was stalking further and further away from home and every inch he stepped away from his front door added a new crick in his neck. One day, he’s gonna put Mama’s dream on the maps and he needs more materials to make it a reality. He’s got work to do and this fuckshit corner of the world is trying his fucking patience.

Sitting in his truck in the parking lot, white-knuckled on the wheel and glowering at nothing in particular —as if his bitterness had hypnotized him into staring blankly into space like a goat— a dancing gut punch of pink floats past his vision and Bo snaps into focus. The single-braincelled goat becomes a coyote in an instant and his fingers uncurl from their death grip on the wheel and finally steps out of his truck. He gives himself a once over in his driver-side window’s mirror before taking his hat off to smooth down his hair. When he first got into his truck, he wasn’t sure where he was going and now he regrets not finding an outfit better suited to picking up chicks.

He sucks his teeth audibly before spitting on the ground after clearing his throat. His skin itches in the way it does whenever he’s got the scent of something good in the air. No one would believe him, but Bo’s always thought that he had some sorta sixth sense on top of all the looks and charm. These blessings keep his dick wet and fill Ambrose with all kindsa new wax neighbors. Mama always said he stole his brother’s face, but Vincent wouldn’t know what to do with it. Dumbshit ‘ain't the same kinda predator he is.

As he heads inside, he sorta elbow pushes the door open while pulling his pants up a little as he looks around for the pink thing that had his arm hair standing on end. He doesn’t see you right away, but he’s already got a picture of you in mind. So far all he knew was that the blur of a person he saw was that it was vaguely feminine, walking stupidly, and likely some kinda whore. The rock solid assumptions are backed by years of work in this field, therefore he’s sure that this night is gonna end up in the exact same way it always does.

The case he’s building on you quickly begins to bloat. First of all, any unaccompanied bitch in a place like this must be some mix of stupid and a slut. The second biggest wedge in the mental piechart that he’s currently working on building is branded with four big bold letters spelling SLUT. You come in here, some dirty fuckin sticky floored joint that smells like sour beer and piss dressed in pink? You lookin’ to suck some hillbilly cock?

Of the few times Bo’s visited this place it’s been full of dusty old bikers and their floppy-tittied old ladies with sour cunts that smell and look like leather. Sometimes he’s seen some real fuckin backwater bushes folk, but girls sure don't frequent this place, sure there's lot lizards and other night stalkers like them but those don’t count as women. They’re more like walking fuckpockets full of rotting meat that’s more or less shaped like a woman.

Mindlessly, Bo finds himself with a cold beer in his hand and a tinge of agitation beginning to blossom behind his left eye. The routine that he’s kept to all these years right now feels like a collar buttoned too high up, one of those stiff starched church shirts where his mama would tie his tie damned near to choking him. He wants to rip it off and run at you like a bull, fuck the rules. It ‘ain't fair to keep someone like him contained by all this bullshit. This is a dog-eat-dog world and he ain’t the bad guy for being the first one to bite most often. Whoever you are? You’re prey and you know it walking in here in what he assumes is a pink dress. Maybe you have a death wish? Maybe you’re one of those dumb sluts who’s coasted through life with batting her eyelashes and shoving your tits at your problems. Over the years, Bo’s mastered breaking apart girls exactly like you, and from the way his throat tastes and the twitch in his eyebrow, he’s sure that you’re exactly what he assumes you are.

Bo saddles himself at the furthest end of the bar where he can get the best viewpoint of the whole place, there’s a pool table to one side and a forever out-of-order cigarette machine that’s got a nest of roaches inside. First time he came in here, he jiggled the machine just to see if anything would come out and a big fat roach fell out of it dead right atop his boot. Everyone else here looks blurred, he’s got tunnel vision and everything he can see, smell, and hear is pushed to the background in favor of setting all his focus on you.

His ears pick up on you before anything else, which is weird ‘cause he sure as fuck took a look at the group behind him and he didn’t see no pink thing in the mess of bald-headed fucks. You jingle as you walk, the sound of metal on metal and clothes shifting together and in another moment. You all but skip past him trailing some skinhead looking motherfucker behind you. Bo didn’t get a look at your face but he got an eyeful of everything else and god damn is there a lot to see. Your boots clip clop on the floor and they cling tight to your calves despite the pointed cowboy toe of ‘em. They’re shiny looking, like the vinyl seating of an old car. Bo’s mind registers legs, naked skin, the general shape of your body, and just as he’s on the cusp of a full thought, the most annoying voice he’s ever heard spouts from your lips and you chirp, “Follow the leader!” with a singsong voice at the asshole behind you.

So far, Bo was right in his assumption about you wearing a dress. Well… it’s some kinda skirt and a little shirt but that’s the same thing. Your lower back’s bare and he can see the hint of a tramp stamp peeking out of your waistband, it’s frilly up top like old lady bloomers or something but it’s got that sorta floaty look like in old movies. It might look old if it wasn't barely covering your ass. Bo’s not taken a single sip out of his beer and all he can do is stare at the back of your hair, dry swallowing and feeling his blood turn acidic in his veins.

Who the fuck are you? You’re like something that crawled right out of a trashy porno and into this shack as if you were summoned by the stench of ball sweat and violence. You sit atop a stool near the bar, sitting on your knees so you can sit higher and lean over toward the grizzled woman working the taps. You squeal something high-pitched and Bo feels his brain rattle against his skull. That fuckin’ noise reminds him of those fish bitches who sing dumbasses to their death, luring them with their fish titties while wailing them to their graves. The tone of your voice is gratingly annoying but he’s already imagining what other kindsa noises you could make. There's a perfect moment between three points of hurt, scared, and needy that Bo’s got several tape recordings of. He’s already thinking of what to label your tape with.

— “Pleaaase? I have to pee so bad and I just got over a bladder infection.” You press your hands together in a mockery of prayer after slamming your giant purse onto the counter with a thud. “You gotta know how it is! Cranberry juice for days and it’s not all that good of a drink when there’s no liquor in it!”

The woman at the bar huffs, surprisingly amused, and Bo glares. He’s tried charming the fuck out of that old gator but he’s never got so much of a twitch of a smile out of her. Old ladies fucking love him and that old bitch was completely immune to everything he was laying on. You continue to beg for a bathroom and it comes to Bo’s attention that sitting like you are, leaning over like that… there’s no way that you’re not just showing your panties to everyone who cares to look. There ain't anyone behind you and he gets up to casually walk your way to take a gander. No one’s looking at him, so he doesn't care to make a show of why he decided to get up and move to a booth directly behind you.

Bo’s convinced that anything he assumes is correct and raking his eyes up your exposed thighs and up to the slope of your ass. Your skirt giving him a good eyeful of ass is all the proof he needs to convince himself that he’s the smartest man in the universe. His assumption that he could take a peek at your panties is correct, sure he had to squint and pretend to pick something up off of the ground but he’s able to see just a hint of white fabric.

Fuck, white panties. Something about ‘em makes his dick jump to life in his pants. You think you’re some kinda sweetheart huh? With the frills in your skirt and your Barbie pink boots, d’ya think you’re some kinda doll? Plastic cunt hidden away by painted on panties? He remembers using scissors to cut the hand off of one of his mama’s childhood dolls; it didn’t have the same thick weight of slicing through meat that Bo’s come to enjoy in the years since then. You’ve probably got dainty lil hands, soft and with manicured nails. Bo’s fist clenches around nothing and he realizes that he left his untouched beer at the corner of the bar. With a huff, he gets up to retrieve his drink and you shout across the L-shaped counter,

“Ha! Pretty boy like you shouldn't be leaving his drink uncovered, c’mon that’s like rule one of being hot.”

In response, Bo coughs. And then he coughs again. He pounds on his chest with his fist and you giggle at him. He’s not looked at your face yet and glaring at you down feels like a nightmare he once had of his mother dragging him through some department store while glitter-faced makeup ladies from the counters laughed and pointed at him for being a grown man holding hands with his mama. What the fuck did you just say? Was that a threat? You think he’s…. pretty?

Instinctively, Bo latches onto the closest semblance of composure he can find,

“Speakin’ from experience sweetheart?” He sneers while finding his seat in the booth again.

You blow him a kiss and the gator behind the counter hands you a key and points. The big guy behind you stumbles and you hop off your stool with a sickly sweet smile that’s almost convincingly real. To anyone less versed in fake smiles, it might’ve gone undetected. Behind you, the guy looks woozy. The guy behind you shuffles as he walks, you stand him in front of the door and he steps away as if uncomfortable and you pull on his belt loop to force him closer. Bo can’t hear your command exactly, but it seems as if you were using the guy to guard the door as you took a piss. Fucking weird.

When the door opens again, you basically slam it into the neanderthal guarding you and he barely reacts. He turns around like a lurching zombie and your face screws up in mock concern.

“Are you feeling okay, big guy? I thought you were gonna show me your Harley!” You leave him for a moment to return the bathroom key and the dude slowly collapses into the nearest seat. You make a show of putting your hands on your hips and huffing, you nudge his boot with your own and sigh when he groans you roll your eyes, big lashes making the expression cartoonish. “Nighty night then lightweight!” You say cheerfully before basically skipping away from him with a big grin on your face. You hold your big bag low at your side and Bo notices for the first time that it’s bulging and looking as if it’s barely able to zip closed.

He can’t take his eyes off of you. Fuck you’re the most annoying thing he’s ever fucking seen. You seem to feel his gaze on you and Bo only challenges your “I caught you” expression with a raised eyebrow. You’re a fuckin loud ass flamingo with tits, of course he’s looking. Why would you dress like that if you didn’t want people to stare? He tilts his bottle at you, (still barely sipped) in invitation and you prance your ass over to him like a pony.

“Are you gonna buy me a drink? Cause otherwise I’m going home.” Your tone is completely bitchy, and you reach into your dumb little shirt and presumably your bra to dig out a tube of lipgloss. Your lips are already glimmery and Bo takes a slow drink from his bottle while imagining ‘em wrapped around something long and hard. Not everyone has his higher than average people reading skills, but any fuckin’ moron could look at you and determine that you’re good at sucking cock.

“I heard that guys who prefer bottles over cans have daddy issues.” You blow a small bubble with the gum he hadn’t noticed you were chewing and your sentence ends with a snapping noise as you pop it with your teeth. Your lipgloss disappears back into your tits and a lightning strike of rage splinters up his spine. He could slam your face into this fuckin’ table so quickly that you wouldn’t be able to so much as cry about it before you’re choking on your teeth! In a place like this, no cameras, cash only you’d be one more face in a god damned Walmart’s missing people plastic box by the return center you fucking bitch.

Ignoring his facial expression and the general violence radiating out from his person, you sit next to him which cages him into the booth without any escape.

“Where do you get off sayin’ this shit huh?” Bo spits, low and dangerous. You’re so fucking dumb. Usually, Bo’s got a little more tact when it comes to finding someone for one of Vincent’s new projects. He knows how to sweet talk, Bo can put on the fuckin’ ritz for every dumbass type of bitch in the world but you’re tearing apart every bullshit line he could pull on you as if you knew that he was barely keeping it together in the first place. You don’t know fucking shit about him, you’ve got it all twisted around you bitch. He’s reading you, you’re the prey here. Not the other way around.

“Hmm.” You look upward, thinking. “Where do I get off? Ummm…. my bed usually. Where do you? Are you an alley pervert?” You speak before he can. “Oh! No, no ways. You’re like one of those guys who takes sneaky upskirt pics.”

Fucking what? Bo feels like he stumbled into another fucking dimension. “The fuck is wrong with you? Jesus.”

Your laugh is grating, a little nasally. “You seem like a photo guy is all. Everyone has their things. You asked where I got off, so I told you, duh.” You roll your eyes and Bo imagines how good your pretty makeup would look running down your face. You wouldn’t be all that sassy while bleeding out in his basement. The murderous thought is sliced clean through by your suddenly meowing phone, you unzip a pocket of your bag and dig around for a good minute before you find your phone and flip it open to answer the call.

“Nuh-uh!” You partway scream through a laugh as Bo just… stares at you, mouth breathing. He spent every last Thursday of every month buying two lotto tickets and treating himself to a burger and maybe some pussy, and he hadn’t won shit from the lottery in the twenty years he’d kept to the damned ritual, he hadn’t scratched off the tickets yet but with your stupid ass he feels as if he’s got a million dollars folded up in his wallet.

—” Oh you bitch! You did not,” You snort, actually fucking snort. “Did it hurt? What about lube?”

Bo clears his throat and you hold up a finger, “Ugh alright, fineee.” You pout into your phone, “Talk later babes, I forgot there's a guy next to me.” You pause for a moment and then turn to Bo to look at him with an analyzing expression.

“Hmm, he’s like a solid seven. Hot in a DILF way.”

Bo’s breath jumps up a few notches and he feels a growl building in his throat. Something is fucking wrong with you and you’re a gift from fucking god at the same time. He imagines your limp body, legs bruised, blood seeping from beneath you. You’d beg him to kill you in the same way you’re gonna beg for his cock. Bo blows a slow breath through his nose and shifts in his seat, resisting the urge to adjust his dick that’s steadily swelling with blood the more you run your stupid slut mouth.

In a flash of movement, your phone is put away and you unzip your purse just enough to get your hand inside to pull out a worn brown leather wallet. It’s a bizarre contrast compared to the rest of you, it looks cheap but not cheap like you. You smell like dollar store perfume and your jewelry sure as fuck ain't valuable. Getting by as he does, he’s gotten good at figuring out if jewelry and shit is worth any money. You use the tip of your pink rhinestone-adorned talon to dig through the bills in the wallet and your eyes go wide as if surprised to see what was in there. Two twenties are removed and you curl them lengthwise as if offering money to a stripper.

You wiggle the bills toward him and Bo scoots further away from you, scowling. The only thing he wants to do is wrap his fingers around your neck and squeeze, he doesn’t want to waste any words on you because right now they’re in short supply. He’s unraveling at the seams and beneath his exterior he’s an animal thing desperately in need of a good fuck or a good kill.

“C’mon pup, get me a drink? Please? You can keep the change! My treat!” You flutter your eyelashes. Throwing money away like it’s fuckin nothing to a stranger? You don’t seem like a rich girl, but the thought pisses Bo off just the same.

“That ain't your wallet and I ain't a whore.” Bo decides on a safe response to spit out. He’s yet to fully comprehend that you just called him “pup.” as if some sort of mental barrier simply wouldn’t allow him to hear it otherwise he’d suffer a series of incoming strokes.

“Debatable.” You hop out of the booth and you point to the bar while blowing another bubble with your gum. “Something with a cherry in it?”

“Aint no fuckin cherries here girl.”

“Wine..?”

You look so miffed that Bo chuckles, he gets out of the booth and plucks the money from your fingers before pocketing it. It takes a tremendous amount of effort but he manages to even out his breathing. He’ll get what he wants, he’s never learned to be patient but if things go right he shouldn’t have to wait long.

“I got wine at my place.” He offers, putting on his best attempt at charm. If he could just get you back home things would work out perfect and he wouldn’t lose his fucking mind and either fuck you right here or now or break every bone in your body with a fucking audience barely ten feet away.

“Sure!” You grin, “We both know we’re gonna fuck in your car anyways. Might as well pretend it's headed for wining and dining.”

“Confident ‘aintchya?” Since the moment he set eyes on you Bo’s imagined about thirty detailed plans for what he wants to do to you and most of ‘em don't end up all that good for your well-being. He’s never met a girl quite so fuckin glib about shit like this, but he’s beginning to think that you’re missing a handful of marbles and your skull is full of cotton candy and cum instead.

You meet his gaze with big, moony eyes and there's a distinctive moment where your gaze turns sharp. The expression barely surfaced but Bo easily saw the face he’d be wearing if it weren’t for all this stupid pretense. Your big ass bag is hauled up and you hold it in front of yourself, “Carry my purse and maybe I’ll swallow.”

What the fuck would keep him from taking your purse and leaving with it? Your stare oozes nothing but confidence and your smile is an obvious challenge. His cock twitches, more blood surges through him and Bo swallows dryly. He used to volunteer to carry his mama’s purse when he was a kid, mostly cause he wanted to root around in it for candy but secondly, because he liked feeling important. Doing things for her was the only way she’d give him any ounce of positive attention and your tone cuts through him in a way you’d sure as fuck never live long enough to understand. Bo takes the stupid fucking purse and you preen, “That’s a good boy.”

You’re fucking lucky that you mentioned swallowing because otherwise, wrapping his hand around your throat as your mouth’s stuffed with cock and watching your face turn purple and your eyes bulge red sounds pretty goddamned good right now.

Bo has to push past you somewhat as you begin to walk ahead of him, as soon as you’re both in the dirt lot outside, it's clear which car is yours. An eyesore of a blotchily painted rattletrap is parked some ways away, one of its doors is a completely different color and the entire car is tilted as if your tire pressure’s low. There’s no doubt in his mind that if he were to turn on the engine, the entire dash would light up with every light there is.

He leads you to his truck and you giggle, “Man I thought I was driving a real shitbox. Look at this dinosaur!”

Bo’s jaw gives an audible cracking noise and he wrenches the door open to forcibly shove you inside. He doesn’t give a shit if it hurts if your surprised yelp is anything to go by. Your bag is tossed in next and he wastes no time in crawling over the bench seating and forcing your legs up to make room for himself. You’re like a dead bug on its back and he hates that you were right about him being a “photo guy” because he’s sure that he wants to remember you but he hates the idea of proving you right. This part of the show is easy, he feels more in control of the situation now that he’s found out how to get back on track, he’s barely aware of his thoughts as his body remembers who and what he is.

His hold on your thigh relents in favor of working on his belt and you contort your body, sitting with your knees over the back of the seat and your side twists as you unzip your purse. You tut an annoyed tone and then lay back to set your purse on your stomach, you tuck your chin to look into it and the angle causes an avalanche of shit to tumble out onto the floor.

“The fuck are you doing?” Bo grunts out, the conscious flow of thoughts to his brain cut off just about when he saw that blur of pink disappearing into the bar. It’s been weeks without any pussy, nothing’s stopping him from taking it by force, but he wants to savor the motions he has in plan for you. It’s a long ride home and it’d be easier and a hell of a lot less messy if you’d go compliantly. Maybe he’ll keep you around, fuck you for a few days till your cunt’s worn out. That’s the best a girl like you can hope for and that’s the highest offer he’s willing to place on the table.

“Looking for a condom, I dunno where you’ve been!”

Mentioning a condom is an instant boner killer and Bo shakes his head no while watching your purse spill more and more shit out. He sees makeup and a couple of wallets. Two belts, what looks like an entire outfit change, and countless receipt papers. “Girl you’re fucking killing me.”

You scoot a bit, bending and squashing yourself until you can sit up after seemingly giving up on your search. Fluidly, you lean closer into him and up close your perfume is almost cloyingly sweet. It tickles his senses, not enough that he wants to sneeze but enough that he wants more of a sample to determine whether or not he likes it. For someone who looks so sugar-sweet, who wants to smell like a lollipop you’ve sure got a fuckton of presumably stolen wallets. You’re a sticky-fingered little freak and a fucking cunt to match. Easy girls are never good ones, someone like you couldn't have possibly been raised right.

Slowly, your head tilts and you assess his face curiously. Bo only allows it because lately he’s been pushed past desperate, he’s fucking starved and he doesn’t want to know what the fuck comes after he’s skin and bones. He needs this to work out right, he needs a fucking win. It’s been forever since he’s stolen something he wants to play with and without that distraction, his mother finds her way in to bitch and moan at him from beyond the grave.

Your lips slant over his before Bo realizes what you’re doing and his stomach twists in disgust. Kissing is for pussies and your lipgloss is tacky against his mouth. Your tongue tastes like bright citrus, like an orange creamsicle and he feels you manipulate your gum to sit between your teeth and gums. The thought is gross and Bo grimaces against your kiss, you manage to straddle his lap without breaking the kiss, and on instinct his hand reaches to cup your ass, squeezing hard while using his other hand to hold your hip

The candy-mouthed kiss feels all kinds of wrong but pulling away from you is far from his thoughts while you grind your hips down, rubbing yourself against his undone jeans. Your breath hitches when he slides his hand up to one of your tits and he pinches your nipple through your shirt, hoping to hear you complain about it. He’s made aware immediately that your tits are pierced and he’s unable to keep himself from groaning into your mouth. Your pussy could feel like a sandpapered ant hill and he wouldn’t give a single shit about it if you’d let him slot his dick between the perfect tits in his hands. Unfortunately for him, you pull away from the kiss which leaves him fat-lipped and dumb. “It’s a total bummer that we can’t fuck.” You sigh, speaking plainly, sounding almost bored.

“Why not?” He almost spits, his tone takes on defensive but it comes out sounding bitchy. If he was anywhere but here, he wouldn’t have to play this stupid fucking game. He could just take.

“Hello? Weren’t you listening? We need a condom and I can't find one.” You cross your arms, looking every bit the bratty doll that you are. Remembering that doll hand that he severed that got him locked in a fucking cabinet for a day makes his cock throb. His daddy woulda called him a sissy for playing with dolls, but the old man might’ve keeled over and died he caught wind that his son was about to fuck one.

“I haven't slept with anyone since my wife died.” Bo lies, settling on a random story for who knows why. It’s the first thing he landed on and a familiar face he often wears to garner some pity pussy.

“And you’re a forty dollar whore. Maybe your wife was a slut like you are huh?” Your garble out with genuine venom. It’s completely random and Bo blinks at you, surprised by what the fuck you just said.

Your bottom lip quivers and you suddenly slump over him to wail into his neck, he doesn’t know what the hell is happening but he doesn’t fucking care. Not when he can feel the heat of your cunt just a few thin layers away from where he wants you. Your shoulders shake and Bo wonders if he could reach under his seat and find something to get this over with before you’d even know what was happening. He had to have something… a knife, a syringe, a piece of broken glass. Just as quickly as your sniffling came, you sat up with a bright smile though your eyes look blown wide and manic. “Sorry.” You glance to the side, “I hate hearing about other girls. I just went through a breakup and everything still hurts y'know?”

God damn it. For some reason your insanity has his cock barking like a damned dog to get inside of you. If he just slid it in, maybe you wouldn’t notice? Your claws come to curl around his bicep and girl you’ve got a fucking grip on you. You wriggle your hips as if in frustration and Bo finally forces you to sit up so he’s able to reach between your bodies to free his dick. He strokes himself just once and closes his eyes, praying to god that he can hold onto his patience. You’re too good to waste on dumping you in the bayou. You’re a crazy fucking bitch but your mama blessed you with a face worth preserving and a body torn out of his favorite porn searches. Curled over him like this, tucking yourself in to be as small as possible makes it difficult to get at your tits, unfucking fair.

“—I thought he loved me.” You whimper though you confusingly begin to grind on his dick again. “I would’ve been so good, if only he gave me a chance. I would’ve been a wayyy better girlfriend than his slut wife and I wasn’t wrong for putting water in her gas tank. If you’re in love you’ll do anything right? So what about chemical burns and a missing poodle!”

Through your ramble, you readjust yourself and Bo takes the opportunity to pull your panties to the side. He wants to take a look at your pussy but right now it seems like a better idea to treat you like a wild animal, like one wrong move would have his head ripped off. You’re officially one of them one flew over the cuckoo’s nest sorta bitches but Bo can’t give a single fuck about it right now. Your body figures out how to slot his dick between your lips and you sigh, eyes closing, pussy soaking his length as you move. Seeking pleasure even while you continue to run your stupid mouth. On Bo’s end, he barely hears you and he’s pretty sure he mumbled for you to shut the fuck up, though he might’ve choked the sentence to death while fighting back the moan that wanted to croak out of him.

The truck’s cab ‘aint all that big and you lean back, blindly reaching behind yourself to press your palms against the dashboard, your dumb frilly skirt rides up on your thighs and you whimper when you manage to figure out how to move to rub his cockhead against your clit. “Fuck that’s so good,” Your voice comes out small and your face is adorably screwed into a pout.

“Look at me and shut up.”

Stubbornly you shake your head no and your eyes scrunch as if forcing them to stay closed. “No thanks, you’re too pretty.”

Bo lifts you to stand on your knees and takes hold of his shaft to position it between your lips, his cockhead just teasing your entrance. He can’t see your pussy on account of your skirt, Bo supposes he could easily look but little freak shits have been making Barbie get naked for decades and he likes the idea that he’s the first smart fucker who figured out how to use the bitch’s plastic pussy. If he looked, maybe all he’d see is the flat mound that other dolls have.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He finally remembers to speak after letting your previous words marinate. “Your mama drop you on the head or what?”

You open your eyes to glare, “I mean that you’re hot and if you ask nicely I’m gonna do something stupid and let you fuck me like I want you to.”

He can’t help the shudder that racks through him in response, girls ain't supposed to be forward and Barbie sure as hell ‘ain't but call him handsome all you want, he’ll allow it. He leans up to graze his teeth over your collarbone before easing you to raise your arms and get rid of your shirt and the cupless flimsy thing that’s apparently a bra. Your tits spring free and Bo wastes no time in pulling you toward his mouth. His tongue curiously flicks the hardening bud and he’s not shy to nuzzle into the soft flesh against his face. All points of contact of his body against yours are met with soft tits and skin, the slick glide of wet pussy, and hard, cold metal against his tongue.

Vaguely, he’s aware that every man on this planet knows the golden rule about sticking your dick in crazy but no one ever fuckin’ told him that crazy had the most fuckable, ruinable body all done up with perfect tits to match. Even now he’s barely able to resist baser urges, if he can't hurt you in the way he wants, he needs to at least gore out your pretty cunt with his near painfully hard dick.

It’d take a while but he wants to cover you head to fucking toe in cum, his stomach feels tight as if he’s going to cramp up if he doesn't bury himself inside of you right fucking now, his throat works the taste of steel down into his gut and no one would be able to resist you wet and writhing on his dick, telling him he’s attractive and downright begging for him to fuck you. Not even you could fault him for holding your hips and forcing you down to take his cock. He can't find it in him to savor your surprised gasp and the way your body yields, biology taking over delusion. His inner monologue clears away any conscious thought besides a desperate chant of hot-wet-tight.

Everything you are can be summed up in a simple “What the fuck.” Three hard thrusts in and he stammers, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he fights back the pressing urge to blow his load. He needed this more than he knew and your walls squeeze and suck at him as if trying to keep him deep inside of you, reluctant to let go. His fingers dig into your hair and Bo pulls you down to kiss him again, he wants to fuck your mouth with his tongue because he doesn’t have enough cocks to shove one down your throat. Your teeth clack against his and your hand slips on the dash, blindly you reach for the wheel and whatever you did causes the damned thing to click in a way that would normally have him bursting a gasket. All he does is mask a moan with a savage bite to your bottom lip instead.

“W-wait,” You pull away from him panting, “I didn’t give you permission—”

“Nuh-uh. Your pussy was fuckin’ begging for it.” He says smugly, unable to keep the pride out of his voice.

Your brattiness finds its way back from wherever Bo managed to fuck it from you and you cross your arms. “Only my boyfriends get to fuck me raw.” You poke him in the chest, enunciating your words with poke after poke. “You. Are. Not. My. Boyfriend.”

He takes your hand, unable to take you seriously. You’d look so much better with some fucking respect spanked into you, “Who’s your boyfriend? That fucker you left in the bar after you robbed him?” His thrusts slow and you sit up to hold onto his shoulders for leverage as you lift your hips until actually pulling off of him before sinking down inch by inch as if to take in every detail of the undoubtedly perfect fit.

You snort, “I have lots of boyfriends. Just most of ‘em don't know they're mine…”

Bo’s palm finds your lower back, his fingers slip into the waistband of your skirt and he traces the raised texture of your tattoo with his thumb. He’s still not seen it yet, but he wonders if you were dumb enough to get some asshole’s name branded above your ass. Over the years, Bo’s known plenty of stupid and slutty, or slutty and stupid… he’s not yet met a mix of slutty, stupid, and batshit until you. If he knew that girls like you had pussies that felt like they were manufactured for the sole purpose of draining his soul out of his balls, maybe he would’a snagged a girl like you years ago.

“Some of them think they’re taken. They’ll figure it out soon enough,” You continue, snapping your gum again and Bo takes your face in his hand to squish your cheeks and he uses two fingers to physically remove your gum from your mouth. Your only reaction is a pout and he sticks your gum onto your discarded shirt. He would’ve assumed you might’ve bitched about that but you’re already caught up in an incoming rant.

“Nobody’s gonna break my heart never ever again, I’m not gonna let them.”

Ugh, Bo closes his eyes and does his best to ignore your words because he couldn’t give less than a shit about them. Your already piss-poor job at riding him slows even further and you reach next to you for a moment before one of your hands comes to rest on the side of his neck where your nails just barely dip into his hair, your breath is hot against his ear and the unrelenting heat wrapped around him squeezes hard as if for his attention. Your teeth graze against the shell of his ear and the smallest murmur of a moan escapes his involuntarily parted lips.

“Do you wanna be my boyfriend, pretty boy?” You whisper, and your sharp nails curl around to the back of his neck, “I’ll be good to you, let you fuck me whenever you want. You can cum inside right now if you say yes…”

With a mind of its own his cock twitches inside of you, agreeing to any and all unspoken terms. All you fucking do is run your mouth and half of what comes out of it ‘aint fit for a lady and the other half is batshit insanity. You don’t get to claim him you dumb whore, but he can play along for now. If he can bite back the twisting wave of hate, all he has to do is behave for thirty-some miles back to the house. Once you’re in Ambrose, you’ll play by his rules and learn your fucking place. You’re overly confident and the dominance you think you deserve is pulled directly out of a delusion. Bo’s sure that it wouldn’t take much to teach you your manners. Someone failed you somewhere down the line, you were either given too much freedom or not enough, and now you’re running about wearing hot pink in biker bars and lifting wallets like some kind of whorish raccoon.

He can domesticate you. He’s always been decent at fixing shit, and he wants to put you back together so it’ll be all the more satisfying when he breaks you apart. Of course, he nods to your question, he’d be a right fuckin fool to say otherwise.

“Ah-ah,” You tut, “Out loud. Tell me.” The hand not on him shifts next to your side.

Lying is one of the things Bo does best. It’s effortless to look at you and spread a slow smile over his lips like sizzling butter sliding toward the edge of a pan, it’s greasy but it melts easily. He schmoozes hard enough to tilt his head to press his lips against your inner wrist. “I ain’t makin no promises tonight darlin’, let's get to know each other huh? Tell ya what, if you come back to my place tonight, I’ll take you out tomorrow.” His tone drips and oozes.

“A date?” You gasp, grinning. “Oh! That’s great! And here I was, ready to ride you at gunpoint till you said you’d be my boyfriend! This works out so much better, I think you’re gonna be my favorite.”

Bo jolts with the first mention of the word gun and you bring your right hand up, finger on the trigger of a cutesy little derringer that you must’ve pulled out of your purse. You didn’t have a condom but you had a gun? He’d wonder what was wrong with you if it weren't for his kit of zip-ties, xylazine, and duct tape beneath the seat. Instinct tells him to fight, to wrench your arm back until it cracks. You point the thing at him, squinting an eye closed and he feels as if some sense of self preservation should activate. “Bang bang!” You laugh, finger still on the damned trigger and Bo’s stomach flips, his cock surges and he growls, frustrated with the fact that you’re just sitting on him as his dick all but begs for movement. He should give you a taste of your own medicine, show you his own kit of weapons if you’re so excited to play show and tell…

The gun in your hand is so ridiculously small, it looks like a toy and you’ve seemingly stuck a few stickers to it here and there. Hello Kitty adorns the tiny barrel and a yellow dog thing decorates the handle. You’re so… stupid, god it’s like you can’t get any dumber, any more ridiculous, and then here you are, sitting on his dick and demanding that he hand himself over to you on a silver platter. You’re fucking lucky that he’s desperate, if he wasn’t so starved for an ounce of pussy this might’ve ended the moment you stepped outside the bar. Your body would’ve been hauled limp into his truck bed. You had no idea who he was, but he knew everything about you. his nostrils flare and his pulse races every screaming ounce of his sanity tells him to get rid of you because it’d be a mercy to put you down. Y’aint right, you’re fucked in the head… you’re a violent, demanding little psycho bitch who throws pussy around like you don’t care where it ends up and—

Bo unleashes an almost animal noise as the frustration building inside of his gut erupts into sparking violence. Your wrist is cruelly twisted and your fingers spread out to drop your weapon, Bo picks you up to slam you down onto your back, he thrusts back inside of you and the instant gratification nearly has his eyes rolling back in his head. Sure, you’re meant to take cock but you sure as fuck aren't supposed to take it while thinking that you get to decide whether or not it's for your benefit or his. No. He decides whether or not you’ll get it and bitch you’ve been asking for it since your stupid ass got dressed and got in your ridiculous fucking car to drive down here.

“Mm… You’re strong huh?” Your giggle clips into a moan, your weapon falls to the floor and you don’t pay it a second glance. Of course, you’re vocal. Hell, likely no one’s ever told you to shut up before tonight. Bracing himself with one knee on the seat and one knee on the ground, he uses the back of the seat for leverage while the other finds your throat. Feels fucking good to squeeze down, it’s just a taste of what he wants to do to you but for now, it’s enough. You choke on a half-spoken syllable, and every time he drives back into your cunt it’s as if the longer you’re without air, the wetter your sloppy pussy gets.

“Y’like it when it hurts sweetheart?” He lets up from your throat and you suck down needy lungfuls of oxygen. You only grin dumbly, neither confirming or denying his question or maybe you just didn’t hear him. Your body is unfair, your tits bounce against the force of his thrusts and he wishes he had some way of recording this. You’re all smiles, eyes half-lidded as if loving this treatment. Your body seems to understand what it’s made for even if your mind’s skipping around the maypole twirling a gun by the trigger around your fingers while thinking you’re anything but a living fuckdoll. Absently, Bo wonders if your so-called boyfriends ever thought of lobotomizing you or if he’s the first genius to cook up the idea. He can’t imagine being able to stand being around you for more than a parking lot fuck. Good ol’ Doctor Sinclair’s still got a handful of tools in his dusty old office. Maybe that’ll be step one into your redesign.

Whoever you were going on about must be some sorta delusion of yours because there ain't no way in hell that any man could listen to you and submit to whatever stupid bullshit you demand of him. Your pussy’s too tight, too perfect to have been stretched over anyone else. Hell, anyone besides him wouldn’t be man enough to take on a piece of work like you. Bo’s always wanted a fucktoy who ain't got right or reason to think herself a person and with a body like yours, you might as well be the best bet for a walking, talking cocksleeve.

Thinking about you floating through his house all dreamy-eyed and soft smiles, constantly available and with nowhere to go, your dollar store perfume a permanent feature of the place seems so fucking right. Hell, he can get rid of you whenever he feels like but Bo thrives on having goals. He might not want that forever but it might be nice for a while. If he plays his cards right, you might not even need the good ol icepick to the eye socket.

“You like my cock better than your “boyfriends”?” Bo emphasizes his disbelief in the concept and your sleepy fuckdrunk eyes brighten into coherence. Your lips twist and you bite your lip, thinking and Bo immediately regrets asking.

“Third maybe? We’ll have to try out some other things before I’m sure.”

“Wrong answer sweetheart, try again.” He sneers, hating how he’s been biting back his orgasm since the first thrust inside of you.

“But—” Whatever you were going to say is cut off with an open palmed slap to your cheek. He didn’t hit hard, there wasn’t any wind back but your attitude changes in an instant. You blink up at him, wide-eyed and your mouth opens and closes soundlessly. Your expression just about melts and you shudder beneath him, breath kicking into little high-pitched gasps. That’s it, Bo can just about see the pretty little fuckdoll right beneath your skin. You just needed someone to put in the work.

Your inner walls constrict and Bo grunts, feeling as if your cunt already knows who it belongs to and it doesn’t need to be taught a thing about being a good girl for him. Your legs twitch outward with an almost funny tremor and after another savage thrust, your back arches upward and you hiccup out a jumble of broken sounds that coagulate into a throaty, low moan. The moment your orgasm began to build in intensity was the breaking point of Bo’s pulled-thin restraint, a lightning strike of heat spits through his cock and he buries it deep inside of you with a feral need to drive impossibly deeper into your body. He can't stop, he can’t keep going, his orgasm seems pissed at him for the fact that it’d been too long since the last cumdump and he pulls out of you, groaning only to immediately thrust back inside because the loss of your body is an almost jarring sensation.

“Christ” Is all he can say as his brain threatens to leak out of his nose.

You hum, looking up with starry eyes and you speak after a long moment of quiet. “Did you like it?”

Bo takes a deep breath, “What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Yay!” You clap your hands together excitedly, “I wasn’t sure what I stole from that douche I roofied, figured it looked like coke so I decided to take a test run on it when I went to the bathroom.”

After coming as hard as he did, Bo can barely comprehend what you’re saying. You’re everything he’s been raised to hate and he sits up to lazily stroke his flagging shaft, already wondering if he can force his way into another quickie.

“I’ve never been able to come without anyone touching my clit before, so I think a little bit of coke in my pussy definitely did the trick.”

Immediately, his eyes threaten to bulge out of his head, and a vein bulges on the side of his neck. “Wh—” His shock turns to anger and Bo shoves you, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Fuck!” The world around him threatens to cave in, crushing his skull with the weight of a lifetime of American morals and a Christian upbringing.

“I told you that I wanted a condom. You’re the one who decided to fuck me like a rabid dog! And I loved it, but you have no right to be pissed at me, pretty boy.”

Pretty boy feels like an insult and the truck cab that’s usually his happy place begins to feel like a coffin that’s steadily being covered in dirt. Genuine dread keeps Bo tight-lipped and quiet. Someone needs to do something about you but you’re vermin rather than prey. You’re a pest. Despite the cold shoulder, you roll your eyes and laugh right in his face. “Are you seriously mad? You’re so cute!” Your bottom lip juts out obnoxiously, “It’s a joke! I’ve tried that before, it’s only good for like thirty seconds.” You giggle and for some god-awful reason, a hateful breath of heat tickles his cheeks. He’s not embarrassed if that’s what you’re getting at.

You pull your shirt over your head without your bra and do your best to get the gum off of it, the wad of orange is tossed to the ground and your purse makes a weird beeping noise. Looking like Winne the damned Pooh, pantsless and likely dripping cum onto his seat, you pick up a bright blue egg-shaped thing from the floor and press two yellow buttons.

“Ugh!” You whine in a high-pitched wound of a noise, “My Tamagotchi died! I take a ten-minute fuck break and the little shit poops itself to death!” The little egg’s screen is shoved into his face and Bo grabs your wrist, glaring.

“God damn it girl, how much of a dicking do you need for you to shut the hell up?” You don’t seem to think you need to respond to his words and you take a moment to pull out a pad of paper from your ridiculous garbage bag purse you hum while scribbling a few things down. When you’re finished the sheet is torn out and you place it in his lap, after patting it a few times.

“The fuck is that?”

“Read it if you’re so curious!”

He swallows the number of things he wants to say in response and Bo picks up the paper, he reads as far as the list’s header before crumpling the paper up and throwing it behind himself. The only thing he needed to read was “Rules of being my Boyfriend.” and that was enough.

You’re more or less dressed soon enough, all your shit is hastily stuffed back into your bag. “Can I get a goodbye kiss?”

“You’re sayin’ goodbye? Thought you were coming back to my place?”

You answer with a laugh, “Oh, you’re adorable. I’m not that dumb pretty boy.”

Bo sneers, patience broken and he hastily reaches over you to push the lock down on your door. It clicks satisfyingly and the incoming sense of gratification has his tone dripping toward bitchy. “Nah, here’s the thing sweetheart. I thought we had a damned agreement.”

“Oh! We do! I wrote it up for you!” You respond cheerily as if not quite understanding the threat you’re under.

He’s not listening, Bo grabs you by the hair with the intent of either knocking you out via asphyxiation or slamming your forehead into the dashboard. The violence he’d been uselessly sitting on all night roars to life and—

Something velcro rips apart and cold metal is shoved beneath his ribs, moving faster than what should be possible. A button clicks and his vision warbles in and out before splintering like glass. Piece by piece it all begins to crash and cut him apart and he chokes on a gasp, tongue feeling too thick to let him open his mouth to suck a lungful of air down his throat.

His door is forced open and you hop out, once again reduced into a pink blur of a person, and a sparking pink rectangle spits lightning, still sharply crackling in your hand. Through insurmountable effort, he manages to force his body to slump forward and just as he regains the general concept of feeling his fingers and toes, a cloud of stinging, whipping heat seemingly rips through his eyes and mouth and he gags, coughing on the gaseous fire that seems to get worse the longer his mouth stays open.

“Oh, I really wish you hadn’t grabbed me like that. I hate when guys get handsy!” The sound of a zipper is the only thing he can discern, Bo tries to open his eyes only to be met with another dose of wet acid that begins to melt his flesh from his bones. Fuck it fucking hurts.

“Toodles babe!” You chirp, “Pleaaase read that paper you crumpled. It’s got my number on it! Rule number one to being my boyfriend, call me or else!” The last word of your sentence is heavily emphasized but Bo barely hears you, all he can do is curl up into a ball to rub his involuntarily leaking eyes into his seat, his freshly tased mind is only able to rely on instinct rather than conscious thought.

Gravel crunches beneath your boots and you walk away unhurriedly, the general pattern of your footsteps is off kilter as if you’re skipping. “Call me!” You yell from a distance repeating yourself for emphasis, “Don’t make me say or else again! No other girls, No fucking around! I’ll know!”

Your sing-song voice is a tornado siren and Bo can’t help but feel as if he just stuck his dick in the eye of a storm. Everything hurts. He can’t see, his mouth and nose are on fire and his bones feel as if he shook hands with god. You’ll be hearin’ from him alright, count your blessings there sweetheart.

ALT ENDING (If you told the truth over whether or not you actually bewitched him with pussy cocaine)

Course you're a druggie. Figures. You're everything he's been bred to hate and you used him. Violated him as if his body was yours to ruin. He feels dirty for the first time in his life.

“Rule number one of being my boyfriend means you have to kiss me.” You wave your hand in front of Bo’s face and all he sees is buzzing flies and rot. Every southern superstition he ever laughed at currently taunts him in his mama’s tone and inflection. She spent her life warning him about how easily the devil finds its way inside of you and he never thought it would feel so fucking good to let it in.

“Okie Doke,” You quip after hearing no response. “You’ll call me then. Rule number two.” You tap the paper on his thigh. Bo wonders where your sissy little pistol went and if he’d still get a usable corpse out of you if he plugged a bullet through your skull but he knows that a clean kill won't be enough for him.

He fucked up. He was stupid and strayed too far from home and look where the fuck he ended up. Already, he wants more of you, and every deluded thought he had about making you his still felt like the best idea he ever had. Fuck you for taking that from him and fuck you in general. Your stupid bag unzips and the distinctive sound of a knife flipping open pulls him from his trance.

Quickly, you hop out of his truck and before he can think to react, you shove a pink, automatic switchblade into his fucking tire. It sinks in again and again as if you’re somehow used to knifing tires.

The dread withers away into animal rage and Bo launches out of his vehicle, seeing blood red pulsing in his vision.

“There’s a three-strike rule! It’s on the paper!” You yell, running at a full speed away, your stupid platformed shoes thwacking the ground while Bo lumbers after you with his pants undone and every nerve ending in his body on fire. Usually, he likes a good chase. He likes to win, but you’ve already scored several points over his tally, and at first, it was cute but now it ain't acceptable anymore.

“Strike one, you didn’t wanna kiss me… so you don’t get a tire! It’s only fair!” You stop running once reaching your car and Bo cracks his neck, thanking god for your stupid little brain for thinking the chase is over. You might think this is a game, but it sure as fuck aint a game to him. Your purse is dumped in your passenger seat and before you can close your door Bo shoves his hand in the way, which hurts but he reacts only by flaring his nostrils. Using every ounce of strength Bo fights to wrench your door open but you let go, causing him to stumble backward.

The hammer to your dumb little pistol clicks backward and you smile, “I’m sorry! Ugh I hate fighting on first dates, it’s uncute.” You turn your key in the ignition and your engine sounds like a croaking frog, subconsciously he’s sure that your radiator’s fucked just from the sound of it but right now he cares about killing, not cars.

“ I promise I’m gonna be good to you.” Your voice is pleading, “Don’t worry! Now walk back to your truck like a good boy now,” Your fingers wiggle and you jut your chin toward his truck, “These things are hard to aim and it’s only gonna kill you if you’re up close. I’m running low on boyfriends so I’d really hate to have to shoot you. That’s usually a third date thing!”

The little gun only has two bullets in it and Bo rushes you with a growl, hoping to catch you off guard. There’s a low chance you’ll get him bad enough to kill him and—

Your pink knife finds its way home right above his knee and Bo crumples. You take his moment of shock to slam your door. His leg refuses to respond to the urgency of the situation, he can move it but it comes with blinding pain that intensifies as you peel out of the parking lot. The way he fell seemed to have dug the blade in deeper and he can only yell in outraged agony as your trashy pink car gets smaller and smaller in the distance.

Thanks for reading all this! I opened a year old single paged draft and just spat out 10k words lmao. I love the idea of this bitch in his home, Tamagotchi beeping like the fkn telltale heart like just fkn HAUNTING him and he doesn't know where the beeping is from. I also love the idea of her smelling some other cheapo perfume on him and having a fkn meltdown because she'd NEVER wear such a trashy perfume!! Like she's fine with the MURDERING but how dare he even look at another vaguely feminine person, he's a cheating!!! HORRIBLE PERSON!! Jail! Jail for boyfriend #5 for one thousand years!

[needle-noggins]

Since you are oc pilled.. what can you tell us about Fanny? I'd love to hear all about them!

OH FANNY MY BELOVED FANNY?

So. Frances Paine (Fanny Paine. pain in my fuckin' ass) is my beloved Trigun OC for a ttrpg I'm in. You have have seen me tag things as #gunsmoked; that's the game. Fanny is a thomas rancher by trade. She grew up in Hopeland. Her best friend, a girl from the orphanage named Nova, went away when they were 12. Nova got shipped off to the Eye of Michael and sent Fanny letters about how bad it was until the letters just... stopped. Fast forward 20 years. Fanny left Hopeland, starting ranching Thomases in a little town called Gunpoint. Killed her husband (backstory) when she found out he was trafficking kids for the Eye of Michael. I wrote a little thing for it.

Within the span of game.... well, Fanny has done some truly buckwild shit. First thing she did in the game was punch the mayor's boytoy so bad that the local gang burned her house down. She helped rescue another character's brother (it's amnesiac Millions fucking Knives) and in the process killed the mayor. Who ended up also being the gang leader. It was Brilliant Dynamites Neon.

Fanny in that moment became the town mayor and the leader of the Bad Lads gang. Like, okay!!?!? OKAY! After grappling with the extremely sudden new responsibility, she discovered that the neighboring town was a front for the EOM. She and her best friend, another sad cowboy named Charlie, went to fuck up the EOM base and quickly discovered they were outgunned and outmanned. It did not go well. Also, Fanny ran into her childhood friend Nova in there. Nova didn't recognize her. Come to find out Nova didn't remember her. At all. Cue Fanny panic. Fanny gets another character, a plant scientist named Aggie, to give Nova the old childhood letters. Aggie, love her dearly, decided to do this in the most unhinged way and just scatter letters around Nova's office for her to get jump-scared by emotions while doing her job. This also did not go well. I mean, it worked, but... Nova went apeshit. Murder mode angry.

Some fuckshit happens, the Eye takes over Gunpoint. Fanny and Charlie shenanigans continue (RIP Knife's beautiful tank), and they try to take back the town but Fanny gets a little too obsessed with making Nova remember her and she's on a suicide mission about it, actually. Because Nova is freaking out that she can't remember this person and is trying to kill Fanny. Fanny almost gets shot with a punisher laser just as Charlie shoots Nova, saving her life but putting Nova in grave danger. We discover Nova is part cyborg, now in a robo-coma, and it takes about a week in-game to find the parts to fix her. Fanny spends this entire time just losing her goddamn mind about it. She may be a little bit gay for Nova. Maybe. Perhaps. But absolutely obsessive.

Nova gets fixed and comes to, bounces, Fanny has a mental crisis about it but realizes she can't fix her childhood friend. Still wants to kiss her, though. But the party has got bigger plans, like saving the world, first. And she still has responsibilities to be, ya know, the town mayor and Bad Lads leader.

Fanny is an absolute idiot, chaotic as hell, with the second-highest known body count in the party (Tesla did July; hard to top that. Knife is a new man so his past crimes don't count. Wolfwood has not told us shit about himself). She wears some Orville Peck-esque Neon Cowboy shit. Her thomas is named Cash, after Johnny Cash. Her gun was her momma's and it's an ornate little thing. She thinks half of being a cowboy is about the drip (she's right). She's a coward, she can't hurt people she cares about - even when they're threatening to kill her. She means well, she's actually not half-bad at being a leader because she's compassionate, but she's impulsive and has no self-confidence. She cannot catch a fucking break. She's hopelessly in love with her childhood best friend, she blames herself for everything that happened to Nova, she thinks she failed her by not following her to the Eye at the age of 12. She's a small town girl who is finally realizing that the world is so much bigger than her small town drama, and other people have some much bigger problems. She's can be condescending and controlling, but she's also nurturing and wants to help. She's insulting and doesn't know how to comfort others, but she's loyal to the death. She just wants to save everyone. She cannot take her own damn advice. She is extremely accidentally Vash-coded. When I play her she and her goofy-ass southern accent just take over and I don't know half the shit I say. I adore her and the absolute disaster she is. She compels me SO much.

[fuckshitslover]

Fuckshit with bimbo reader

FUCKSHIT X BIMBO!READER

authors note: I ended up not making her so much bimbo, but more that style and like out there

All day, Fuckshit was waiting to hear the clicking of your heels along the tiles of motorz. He liked how the other girls tried to dress more casually and you; not caring what those bitches think wore your cute pink tank tops and denim skirts. That's what he first noticed when you came into the store with your little brother, looking for stickers for your board. He never believed in love, only in pointless hookups and month-long relationships with the school whores. That was when he saw you, instantly taking an interest. The boys obviously noticed his change in demeanor and hyped him up and embarrassed him a little bit to eventually go up to you and invite you to hang out behind the shop one day. You happily took up the offer, needing something to do on the weekend other than babysitting someone down the road for 4 bucks an hour.

You happily skipped down the street on the way to Motorz. You did receive some odd looks from girls your age, but that's okay. You rocked your bedazzled hello kitty crop-top, cargo-mini skirt of course having your thong hanging over and pastel pink stiletto pumps. People thought you were childish, sure. That didn't sway your love for the clothing style, though.

You could hear skateboards skidding against concrete and poles, so you knew you were getting close without even looking up.

Within a couple minutes, you reached the town's not-so-beloved skate shop, motorz.

You walked in, heels clicking against the cold tiles, walking over to the group of boys who were focusing on the film on the tv in front of them.

Fuckshit, who was getting up anyway to grab a beer, nearly did a double take when he saw you walk through the doors of the shop. He immediately walked in, noticing your outfit before anything else. You felt flustered under his eyes, hoping that they weren't too judging. But that definitely wasn't the case. He was looking at you with pure adoration. For the first time in his life he felt like he needed to make an effort to make and maintain a relationship.

"Hey, I didn't think you were going to come" He says cooly, trying not to show how much he loved that you were here.

"Yeah, I was just running a little late. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long". You felt embarrassed that he had pointed it out, as you were hoping nobody noticed.

What you didn't notice was that the rest of the boys, fuckshit's friends had started making their way out of the store. Fuckshit did notice this however, so he decided to be bold and grabbed your newly-manicured hand softly to lead you outside.

You sat down on a block of concrete, Fuckshit sitting next to you. You grabbed your pack of cigarettes and handed one to Fuckshit before getting one out for yourself. You grabbed out your cinamoroll lighter, Fuckshit snickering.

You turn to him in mock confusion "What are you laughing at mister?"

He laughs even harder "You got tons of that cartoon shit don't you?"

"yeah...?"

Fuckshit grabs it, lighting his smoke after you.

He shuffles closer to you, covering you from the cold wind, giving what you were wearing.

You lean in to Fuckshit's shoulder, understanding what he was getting at. Out of the corner of your eye you see him lightly smile. You guys watched Ray and Fourthgrade do tricks, Ruben and a kid you've never seen before sitting over on the other side of the park.

This was better than you expected.

[thenixkat]

good golly the art in this issue

whent full extreame 90s

superman's back and he has a mullet

Guy did get a haircut. Man's ot rocking that hideous bowl cut anymore Wonder Woman lost her ability to fly off screen Ice, I get you miss home, but if all that melts while yer away on a mission that would fuck up the whole building

Ice gained superstrength and the ability to fly after fighting her brother and absorbing some of the magic from the staff that his benefactors gave him

this paneling is overly dynamic for what's going on right now

ah teh casual ableism in comics. Ted getting called a head case for becoming withdrawn after his coma and more easily stressed out by shit this level of detailing is excessive

ALso why is Oberon lean now? He used to be stockier

RIP to this dude Everett becoming aware that destiny is gonna force him to become a superhero, something that destroyed two generations of his family, and reacting to it with the appropriate horror of his situation

also some big cosmic fuckshit is heading to Earth giving fuckers prothetic dreams and premonitions that Dreamslayer guy that once possessed Max and tried to seduce Bloodwynd is involved with shit

I'm currently on issue 87 of 113

so Skeets and Ted have been collaborating offscreen working on Booster's fugly new suit. I would have loved to have seen them working together, b/c I wanna see Ted be friends with Skeets

I'm actually surprised that Ted hasn't been having issues managing his weight post coma given its been implied that he's a stress eater and he most certainly has reduced his exercise between lingering chronic pains and being unmotivated granted that would mean Ted's weight issues existing outside of being a gag and the series has taken a more serious bend with the past few writers

also man, Skeets has been underutilized since he got out of that box

of course using Darkseid's cred to make the new threat sound more dangerous

the fuck is going on with Bloodwynd's cape? that much fabric would be a hindrance

also Bloodwynd is still teh only recurring Black superhero here. And we've gotten a either join the villain or die ultimatum presented to him so I'm getting the JLA is gonna be all white again soon

against this series isnt beating the racism allegations that started with the Brownface Fire's powers come back while a villain is trying to murder her Captain Atom is a Christian and tries to lecture this cultist on false idols when he should fucking know that other gods exist in this universe

why does Vandal Savage have blue eyes if he's older than the fucking blue eye mutation? Hell, why is he so pale if he's older than any of the mutations that lead to lightskinned people?

like I'm pretty sure even if he's a Neanderthal that they probably weren't that lightskined or had blue eyes (but scientists reconstruct-- scientists have racial biases all the damn time)

also we have so many big name villains coming out of the woodwork to sell the new threat as being teh end of times again there's actual gods on Earth and personified concepts why dont those fuckers do shit? ok Bloodwynd didn't die of get kicked off the team yet granted several characters are still immensely distrustful of the only Black heroes that's been around for the past few dozen issues which is yikes. Everett, the new Amazing Man seems to be set to join soon so we're up to two Black people. Hopefully folks are dicks to him also since when did Oberon get such a tucked waist, he used to be stocky

also Fire, why are yer titties all up on Max's back like that (yes I know its been implied before that she's fucked an employer to get favors nut like) yall about have a meeting oh hey Dr. Light, that's like 3 nonwhite people here

oh hey Booster Gold finally remembered something useful from his history classes

also, if we go with the stable time loop shit (which i dont personally by) Booster's continued existence means this shit didn't end humanity did they retcon the nuclear war being the reason most of this eras' records didn't survive into the future?

Captain Atom who's also been thrown through time thinks they should trust Booster's story

Power Girl's pregnant? I'm gonna assume she lost the baby since I've not heard of her having kids

Ted accuses Booster of knowing shit that would have been helpful and is angry about it

is this what the big bad looks like? That is not hype worthy this generic ass looking motherfucker

Ice got possessed and flipped sides

i just realized that knowledge of teh future records are crucial to this fight but instead of asking Skeets, who has a perfict machine memory, they're relying on whatever Booster remembers from his history classes

once again Skeets being under utilized if I'm remembering right this shit probably killed Booster, who only kept living due to the big bad suspending all death and birth on the planet

yeah that fucking Booster up majorly

[unavernales]

🍾 + when did aubrey know he loved seungkwan the first time ever?

answering questions drunk

shaking his finger as a warning, aubrey's big dumb smile cannot be contained. "i always say it's when he listened to my--" a burp interrupts his story. "fuck. sorry. my boohoo fuckshit about my brother. but you know what? i knew since i fuckin' saw him. my darling" the petname is slurred in korean. "... gosh, he's pretty... he's got these kind, sweet eyes that just reflect all the understanding and good shit in the world. i looked in his eyes and i was like fuuuuuuuck. i can't fall in love! i got shit to do!" he throws his hands up in emphasis. "but fuck it! fuck it. sometimes you just gotta fall in love. that's what i tell kitae all the time. ya just gotta fall in love! sometimes that shit is worth it." another gulp of beer. "and have you seen seungkwan's ass? man, i knew i wanted my dick to die and be buried in it for the rest of my life--"

[sweetsweetstrawbs]

The Woodsboro Horror Picture Show, Chapter 1

I post all of these on AO3, my @ is buttonsinajar!

The world always looks better through glass. Something about it makes it look like a painting, like that one Nighthawks, I thought to myself as I stared at my new high school through my car window. I didn’t want to move here, but I didn’t exactly have a choice. If you have to hide, fuckshit-nowhere California seems as good of a place as any. The bell rang, so I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and made my way towards the main entrance. I’m not religious, but in that moment I was praying to God that I blended in with the mass of teenagers trudging inside.

Once Principal what’s-his-name got me all orientated and whatever, he walked me to my first class. It was art, at least. Possibly the one place where I might find a soft landing. I’ve spent far too long falling down this rabbit hole.

The door opened to one of the most well-loved rooms I’ve ever seen. Art covered the walls; it was painted on, stuck on, nailed up, everything. Generations of students have spent their school lives cultivating this room to make it immediately feel welcoming. The curious expressions of the around 10 students within it, however, were absolutely terrifying. They were all sitting sporadically at bright red tables, with all manner of art diaries and bits of paper covering at least 2/3 of each table.

“Class, we have a new student today. This is Deli and she’s coming from, where did you say again?”

“It’s Dahlia, and I’m from the east coast.”

“Ah yes. Well, make her feel welcome!” He awkwardly rubbed his hands together before scuttling away, leaving me standing in from of a room full of seated students. I turned my head to look at the teacher, who made a funny waving motion with her hands before talking.

“Sit anywhere! We were just getting started.” I took a seat at the very first open chair. The kid sitting across and a bit to the left of me looked up and smiled widely at me.

“Sooooo, you had to leave for a very specific reason.” He said with a weird, playful intonation.

“Come again?” I blinked at him.

“No-one just moves schools in the middle of the semester unless something happened. So?”

“Nope. Try ‘hello’ first.” I countered with.

“Alrighty then. I’m Stu.” He reached out an ink-stained hand to me, which I took. His handshake was just as vigorous as I expected.

“Nice to meet you, Stu.”

“You too, Dahlia. So why’d you leave?”

“Ha. Still no.” He laughed loudly, apparently quite amused. I think he and I gonna get along just fine. The teacher came over, pausing our conversation. As she started explaining how they were beginning to plan their final artworks based on a theme of their choosing, a crazy-hot blonde girl strutted in the door and glided into the seat directly across from me. Her plaid mini skirt hitched up slightly as it caught on the plastic edge of the chair.

“Tatum, you’re once again tardy.” The teacher grumbled.

“I noticed. My brother’s car broke down.”

“Well then maybe you should start taking the bus.” The teacher deadpanned, before stomping back to her desk. I somewhat awkwardly pulled a visual diary out of my knapsack, a little intimidated.

“Check it: new girl.” Stu chuckled, nudging his friend then pointing at me.

“God, were you stuck with this dipshit alone? I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it, he was fairly well-behaved.”

“I highly doubt that. I’m Tatum.”

“I’m Dahlia. I love your outfit!”

“Aw, thank you! I love yours, you look like Lisa Bonet.”

“Really? Thank you!” I started playing with the long velvet sleeve of my top.

“Definitely.”

“Are you two gonna make out?” Stu interrupted, slinging an arm around Tatum.

“Fuck, Stu, can you not be gross for like two seconds? You’ll scare her off.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, I don’t shake easy. Hey, what are your themes? For your art finals, I mean. I don’t have a fucking clue.”

Stu’s was, for some fucking reason, internal organs. I shit you not. Tatum’s was about the passage of time. After quite a few mind maps, I decided to do nightmares. The rest of class passed without incident, and I managed to produce a few sketches of ideas to show the teacher.

“Come sit with us at lunch today!” Tatum invited as we were packing up our stuff to leave.

“Sure!” I was honestly surprised by the invite. At my old school, kids weren’t nearly as kind. Actually, maybe they just hated me.

“Sweet. We meet over by the fountain. See ya then!”

“Cool.” I grinned at her before setting to find my next class.

After a few more classes, I wandered back to my locker and quickly realised I had no idea where the fountain was. As if sent by God, Tatum sauntered up from behind and linked arms with me.

“Hey again! C’mon, we’re this way.”

“Are you psychic?”

She led me to a nice-looking fountain in front of the town hall. I hadn’t been in town very long and hadn’t really explored anywhere, so I didn’t realise that the school was right across the road from town square. You’d probably still be able to hear the bell from here. There were four people already on the fountain, and I got the vague impression that Tatum stayed behind to find me. I recognised Stu and the girl that wasn’t Tatum, but I didn’t know her name.

“Hey, you’re in my English class, right?” I asked her. Her face lit up with recognition.

“Oh yeah! Mrs Taylor loved you.”

“Haha yeah, she really seemed to. What did you guys do to here before I got here?” We both laughed, and it felt nice.

“Everyone, this is Dahlia. Play nice with her. Dahlia, this is Billy, Sidney and Randy. I doubt you’re gonna forget Stu any time soon.” Tatum announced. My hand instinctively tightened around the strap of my bag.

“Do ya like movies?” One of the guys leaned forward to ask. He was wearing an oversized polo that might have even been a hand-me-down.

“That’s kinda a broad question. That’s like asking if I like music.” I replied after a beat.

“What’s your favourite genre then?” Asked the other guy, his voice deeper and more… Judging? Curious? Sexy?

“Now that’s an easy question; horror.” Both guys smiled, although the second one’s was more of a smirk. Definitely sexy.

“Sit down. Now, what horror movie is your favourite? I’m partial to anything with Jamie Lee Curtis myself.” The first guy moved his bad from the concrete between him and Sidney. I cautiously sat down, keeping my bad between my feet. I used my foot to feel its contents, double-checking that my knife is still there. It is.

“The Evil Dead movies. In saying that, though, the Universal Monsters hold a special place in my heart.”

“Ooh, which Evil Dead movie is your favourite?” “The second, for sure. Sam Raimi really finds his footing with that one, and you just can’t surpass Bruce Campbell’s physical comedy.”

“You can’t downplay the impact of the first one, though.” The second guy called out from behind Stu and the two girls.

“Oh, never. For his first feature-length film, he immediately showed incredible prowess and spot-on directorial instincts.” I replied, turning to face him. He tilted his head in what I assumed (and hoped) to be approval.

“Oh my god, it was totally fate that you’d join us.” Tatum laughed. I couldn’t help but smile. I haven’t felt at home anywhere in ages.

“Did that hurt? If you don’t mind me asking.” Sidney pointed a little shyly to my nose ring.

“I actually didn’t! Weirdly though I started crying when I got it, but the piercer chick said that it was just because it’s close to my eyes. You could totally rock one.”

“Do you really think so?” She blushed ever so slightly.

“Totally! You’ve definitely got a good nose shape for it.”

“Sid, you so do.” Tatum chimed in.

“I think my dad would kill me.” She giggled. “How did your parents react to that?”

I hesitated before answering, because I wasn’t really sure how to. “They honestly didn’t care. I think they were hippies or something back at our age though. They’re just happy when I come home in one piece.” This wasn’t actually a lie, but I still felt like I was lying to them.

“That must be nice.” Sidney bellyached. I chuckled, toeing my bag.

“Yeah I kinda lucked out in that department, I guess.” I cast my eyes down at my feet and bag.

“Ugh, ever since my brother joined the force my parents have been riding me about my ‘ambitions’ and ‘doing something with my life’. Like, it’s not really my fault that the career inspiration lightning bolt hasn’t struck me yet.” Tatum complained, making air quotations with her polished fingers.

“Shit your brother’s a cop?”

“Yeah, still a rookie though. He’s barely older than we are.”

“Isn’t he 25?” Sidney asked cheekily.

“I meant mentally.” Tatum shot back with a smile.

“Damn. Don’t know if I could ever be a cop. The shit those guys see in the cities!”

“And here.” Stu started, but was stopped with what looked like a very painful elbow to the ribs from Tatum.

“Nice going, shit-for-brains.” Billy jeered at his friend. My eyebrows furrowed, but I didn’t ask. I think a collective sigh of relief was breathed when the bell rang out, cutting the awkwardness short. I groaned out loud.

“I’ve got gym next. If it’s anything like my old school, it’s gonna suck balls.”

“Hey, you’ve got gym with me.” Billy piped up. “I’ll walk with you. Gotta warn you though, it’s just as shit as you expect.”

“Yeah that sounds about right.” I rolled my eyes and picked up my bag.

“Oh, Dahlia, we’re having a movie night at mine tomorrow night. You should come!” Sidney said as I stood up.

“That sounds awesome, thanks! I’ll check with my folks but I doubt they’ll say no.”

“Cool! I’m sure we’ll see you before then but I thought you’d probably need a little notice.”

“No, I appreciate it! Catch you guys later.” Billy joined me in standing and we walked back into the school.

“Hey, can I ask what that was about?”

“I’m sure you’ll hear it soon enough, but Sid’s mom was murdered last year.”

“Shit! That’s… fuck. Do they know who did it?”

“Yeah, and the sicko’s already behind bars.”

“God, the poor thing.” The conversation lulled as we reached our respective lockers. After collecting our gym bags, he started to lead me to the gym.

“So, what brings you to our school? You’re from out of town, right?”

“Yeah, I’m from the east coast. Uh, my family just moved here.”

“Big move.”

“You’re telling me. It’s totally different here.”

“I always thought that east coast/west coast thing was just in the movies.”

“No, man, it’s real. It’s already so much more laid back here. All of my old teachers were mega serious about academics and college.”

“Sounds crap.”

“It really was. Just so much more stressful than necessary.” We arrived at the gym and headed towards our respective locker rooms. Billy stopped just before the door and turned to look at me. The doors were fairly close together, and I hadn’t realised how tall he was until now.

“See you in a minute.” He winked at me. I laughed and pushed open the women’s door. I hoped I made it in before he saw me blush.

Gym was just as crap as I anticipated. The only redeeming factor was that I got to suffer through it with a cute guy. Turns out, we also had science together next period.

In contrast to all of my predictions, I got to go home that day with a group of friends I liked, Friday plans, and actual hope for the future that I hadn’t had, ever.

[soraegeeks]

Review: Fire in the Mountains

Fire in the Mountains by EllaBesmirched (El_Bell)  AU: Fantasy Main relationships: Bakugou Katsuki x Todoroki Shouto; Katsuki and his multiple spouses Status: Completed Rating: Explicit

Official summary:

“I’ll do it.”

Enji froze, fingers curling into a fist at his side, and didn’t turn around.

Shouto froze too, feeling his own eyes widen in shock at the words that had come out of his mouth, at the fact that he had actually stood up, followed his father out of the room, and dashed after him all just to say… he’d do it? He would do it? Him. Shouto Todoroki. He would--

Enji finally turned around and fixed Shouto with an expression so scathing, Shouto had to fight to keep his chin raised. “You’ll marry the Barbarian King.”

Shouto blinked. “Yes.”

I came across this story earlier in the year and almost didn’t give it a chance because it centered around TodoBaku. I am so glad that I did though. It is so well written and captivating.

The setting is a marriage for diplomatic ties. Shouto is a 20-year-old prince of the Endeavor kingdom and Katsuki is the 28-year-old King of the Outlands’ unified tribes. Shouto volunteers to go in his sister Fuyumi’s place as Katsuki’s spouse. He’s worried about what the “barbarian” would do to her in general and afraid that she couldn’t carry out their father’s spy mission. Because ya know why would Enji ever NOT be a conniving asshole?!

Shouto A recurring theme is that Shouto doesn’t understand why the Outlanders’ customs are so different from his. He was raised to live his life in such a regimented way that it confuses and stresses him out to lose the predictability.

He doesn’t like people in his space and doesn’t like to be touched. A defense mechanism from his childhood that is constantly tested because the Outlanders are a VERY touchy feely people. It’s hard for Shouto and the Outlanders to understand this difference and Shouto snaps a lot early in the story.

Something I love about this story, though, is that it is a story of Shouto’s personal growth. He learns to open up to people, that he’s worth more than his father ever allowed, that he’s worthy of love and friendships and that it’s ok to be FREE.

Shouto & Katsuki When Shouto first meets Kastuki he THINKS that Katsuki is just like his father, evil and cruel. Immediately, the barbarians threw him for a loop when Katsuki flew in on an effing DRAGON and then they all get excited when Shouto loses his shit and lashes out with his magic. Over time he realizes that Katsuki just pretends to be cruel but is a caring man. 

Shouto discovers that he is Katsuki’s FOURTH spouse and the others (Kirishima, Mina and Denki) he married for love and not political gain. Shouto struggles to figure out how to fit in when he feels no love for Katsuki and has to live in a shared room with everyone. Katsuki treats him with kind acts but Shouto is so convinced that he’s being conniving. He’s never known a kind act without a trick at the end and very few pure kind acts.

It’s interesting contrasting Shouto’s “civilized” world and the barbarians’. The way Katsuki twists Shouto’s thoughts on his head: 

The Outlanders celebrate loudly because life is hard and the only thing they have is to be grateful for live;

Their clothing is actually more convenient than the Flatlanders’;

Shouto was taught to not acknowledge servants and not thank them. Katsuki calls him and his people out, “you’ve got pretty formal clothes and your pretty, stupid fucking ceremony and you all use it to cover up how fucking rude and cold and condesending you are.” DAMN! Shouto had never heard it expressed that way.

Shouto and Katsuki spend a lot of time together early in the story antagonizing each other. They both expect the worst and then live up to it. Little by little, though, they start revealing their true selves:

Shouto’s welcoming celebration. Shouto challenges Katsuki to fight him. Shouto gets so enraged because he thinks he hates Katsuki and gets a chance to go all out with his magic like he’s never been able to before. He knows that Katsuki can take it and doesn’t hold back. Katsuki learns that Shouto isn’t some pretty pretty little princess and Katsuki leaves a great quote that describes Shouto, “thought you were spoiled but you were really just caged, huh?” Shouto earns Katsuki’s respect in the end and maybe Katsuki gets a little of Shouto’s;

The fight against Dabi and Tomura. Shouto is badly injured while still recovering from injuries from the previous fight and new injuries. He instinctively protects Kiri with his life. After the fight Katsuki antagonizes Shouto to keep him moving during their hour long trek to Katsuki’s home village for help;

Katsuki repeatedly tells Shouto that he doesn’t have to do anything that he doesn’t want to and never forces himself on Shouto;

The Winter Solstice celebration. Katsuki surprised Shouto with an Outlander version of a stuffed sweet potato treat that Shouto had mentioned in passing. And they danced. Oh did they dance and maybe Shouto became a little aroused. Oh;

The nickname “Princess”. Katsuki starts off calling Shouto “Princess” as an insult but it soon becomes an affectionate nickname.

And the two of them letting down their walls a bit when Katsuki asks Shouto to use his ice magic for fun by making an ice slide. “You want me to. Use my magic. To make you an enormous. Toy.”

Katsuki and Shouto hide their feelings for each other and finally admit everything when faced with Enji coming to take Shouto back home. Enji’s ass with his deceptions and manipulating plans. Shouto doesn’t want to leave and knows that he loves Katsuki. He’s angry with himself for waiting so long, for waiting until they may be separated and never see each other again. But Katsuki finds a way. He keeps Shouto in the kingdom, even conceding some in the new treaty to keep Shouto by his side.

Family & Relationships Running parallel is the fuckshit mess that is the Todoroki family. Touya (in this fic Dabi is the eldest Todoroki son) was executed for trying to kill their mother. He was brought back by a necromancer. Natsuo and Fuyumi were just trying to fulfill their roles as royal children and keep their mother safe. Queen Rei is locked up in a tower due to her mental illness and there are suspicions that it was unnaturally caused. And then we have Enji’s ass throwing his weight around everywhere as is he was the rightful ruler. How could Shouto NOT be emotionally stunted when Enji kept him locked up as a tool?! All he was was something “pretty” for the nobility to look at and try to take advantage of. Sigh.

Touya, as Dabi now, remembers some of his past and keeps hinting at a family secret involving their mother but Shouto can’t figure it out. It torments him to see his brother like this. His brother that he WITNESSED being burned alive 10 years prior. Again, how did Shouto make it to 20 with his sanity intact??!!!

And here’s where we get to the complicated part. Are you with me? Good. Like I mentioned before, Katsuki has four spouses. He fiercely loves and protects them. The first three sleep with Katsuki and sometimes play with each other and the others. Shouto absolutely loses his mind the moment he finds out. Shouto knows nothing about intimacy so he really thinks they’re all faking it and it takes him a while to realize that there’s really love there. And then he starts hearing sounds at night. He’s disgusted and a little turned on and he doesn’t understand why. His puritanical upbringing clouds his mind and makes him feel so guilty for his thoughts. He’s barely touched himself, let alone had fantasies. He’s so uncomfortable even talking about sex. Each of the spouses tries to help Shouto break out of his shell. They gave him thoughtful wedding gifts and tried to engage him in one-on-one conversation.

Kiri is such a loving and generous soul. Oh, did I forget to mention that he’s actually a dragon who can take human form?! Yeah. So anyway, he took Shouto on an outing to an old dragon’s nest where they talked, ate and kissed a little. They had a discussion about love and intimacy and it opened Shouto’s mind to the fact that there are many types/levels of “love.” Mina for her part can’t understand why Shouto isn’t interested in sex and not with Katsuki of all people. And Denki is just a FLIRT! Taking advantage of how “pretty” Shouto looked at the Winter Solstice celebration and giving Shouto his first kiss.

But there is a hole in the family. Everyone dances around it at the beginning of the story. After visiting Katsuki’s home village, though, we learn that the hole was left by Izuku. Katsuki and Izuku used to be together in the early days but something tore them apart. Katsuki has so much animosity towards him it’s scary. There’s so much bad blood but also longing. And Shouto has an interesting reaction. With Katsuki, he was wary and slowly realized that Katsuki’s savageness just did something to him deep in his core that Shouto wanted to pretend wasn't true. But with Izuku, his inherent gentleness made Shouto want to be near him and let him in. It’s a heartbreaking situation because Izuku misses Katsuki and he sees that Katsuki is falling for Shouto. At the same time Izuku feels something for Shouto but doesn’t want to make things worse with Katsuki. It all comes to a head after Shouto and Katsuki’s joining ceremony when they ALL admit to having feelings for each other and it’s off to the races, kids! Cause Izuku’s gentle giant persona QUICKLY fades in bed and Katsuki easily falls back into his submissive role that only Izuku had seen before. Inexperienced Shouto is in for the ride of his life. That second to the last chapter in the story was HOT!! All aboard the TodoBakuDeku train. LOL Shouto “needed them both. Izuku to ground him. Katsuki to make him bold.”

The storyline with the necromancer (hello League of Villains) is interesting. But of course we don’t know WHY and WHAT is the group’s motive. We end the story with a cliffhanger of the fall of the Endeavor kingdom but what’s the end goal??!!! And why did Tomura keep mentioning to Katsuki that it wasn’t time for him, yet? So many questions and so little answers!!!! I’m so glad that the story is continued in “Fire in the Blood” that delves more into the aftermath of the displacement of the Todoroki family and Shouto’s continued personal growth.

[mrsmoviefone]

Mid90’s - 2018 - Jonah Hill

🍍🍍🍍🍍🍍

First I want to start by commenting on the quality of this film. It was grainy, dull and overall VERY 90s. I hadn’t realized that the film was made in 2018 until I saw the guy that plays the cop in one of the scenes.

Jonah hill brilliantly tells the story of a young kid named Stevie (later nicked named Sun Burn) who meets a group of rag tag, skater boys at a place called Motor. Stevie meets Ruben first, and then meets Ray. The two boys treat him with kindness immediately and Stevie wants to be apart of their group. He meets the boys while they’re outside of Motor, skating and he brings them water. Even that first day, they invited Stevie to come into the shop and hangout with them after skating.

While in the shop the boys are playing this game where they get to ask any questions they want and no one can get offended. One of the 4 boys that Stevie meets is 4th Grade (real name never said) and his question was for Ray. He was asking him if black folk could get sunburned because he “genuinely wanted to know” - Ray looks over at Stevie and asks him if he knew black folk could infact get sun burned and Stevie asks him “what are black people?” (To be totally honest I’ve seen the movie about 3 times now and I still don’t understand this part to much haha, so if you do, please explain it!) 3 out of the 4 boys laugh at Stevie’s answer and Ray and Fuckshit (real name never said) start calling Stevie, Sun Burn.

I think it’s so cool to see how quickly Stevie forms a relationship with these boys - even though it’s not really the kind of relationship that parents would want their young child having, he still finds a family when he feels like his family doesn’t care. Constantly being bullied by his older brother, I believe in a way Ray and Fuckshit are that for Stevie.

In the end Ray teaches Stevie how to skate, he gets in with the big dogs and he’s just living what he feels in an over all “badass” life. Drinking, going to parties, doing drugs and skating all day. At the last party the boys go to in the movie, Fuckshit has to much to drink but demands everyone get in the car and go with him to a party. Stevie sits up front & while all the boys are begging Fuckshit to pull over, he gets into an accident and Stevie is the only one to end up with injuries. The movie needs with 4th Grade showing the group of boys what he had been recording through the entire film.

This movie shoved me through a whirlwind of emotions but I think the hardest part to watch was during the first part they take Stevie to. One of the girls in the party takes him to the back room (the older boys were 17-18, so I assumed the girls were as well; Stevie is 11) and they get explicit. Which....couldn’t watch. Lol. As a 23 year old female, that entire scene just made me feel sick.

This movie was amazing though, if you’re looking to watch something nostalgic and old school (even though it’s not old school, being made in 2018) this is a great watch. It gave me KID vibes. 😌 Way to go Jonah Hill.

10/10: Highly Recommend if you like a good throwback.

[tamiddyinyourcity]

1:24pm.

It's getting bad, not gonna lie.

Sunday, March 15th of 2020.

What's got me having really dangerous and upsetting thoughts lately?

Staying in a hotel on a road trip with my family made me flashback to the times where rich older men tried to straight up rape me. (Two didn't succeed. And one was moreso coercion, a sort of pressure, where he treated me like I was the scum of the earth for even suggesting not giving him a 15th orgasm, after 14 nonstop ones.... And demanding I do it, pretty much acting as if I never even said how hooking up that many times in a row legitimately left my entrance and my insides feeling like they had been in super searing pain. Cool, a rich guy having an orgasm from something they knew caused me pain then leaving me traumatized from it... I hope that man kills himself, or that some Jeffrey Dauhmer fetishist makes him his lunch.)

Family road trips = nonstop memories of abuse or times I was hurt without a single fuck in the world, all the things they've done, and isolation and silencing myself and being quiet about all aspects of my life in order to not get mocked or ignored over them. Yay.

I was in my hotel room the other night, depressed. Oh look, my younger brother got to sleep with my older brother, and I had a huge hotel room all to myself for the night. Did I create? No. Did I get fucked by a loved one or a one night stand of my choosing? No. I was so tired of living, that all I wanted was the luxury of sleep.

Plus my pussy hasn't been functioning since my breakup.... Really fucking irritating. I need an orgasm to sleep, and oh look, my clit will not fucking work. I don't.... It's hell. Just, it hurts to even write. I eventually had one, but I'd rather not share how it happened. Not since I did anything terrible, just not any shit I feel like explaining the dynamics of.

The oh so lovely feeling of "i have no boyfriend that could have came on this trip with me and then plowed me the whole night with"

Also, a night in a hotel room, under soft blankets, in a peaceful and dark room, without a fat obese woman sleeping underneath my bed, stomping around, or using her flashlight like a strobe like? I slept so peacefully, that one was almost kind of scared upon waking up at the easy sleeping.... And the look, feel, and smell of a mostly clean hotel room, beats a lifetime with Shits McGee, sharting up a storm.

My feelings towards my ex. Its like, no fault of my own that they chose repeatedly to be a coward, and I don't exactly regret what went down with them, but that doesn't mean I fully hated them. I don't know. I guess looking back at it, I don't.... entirely regret it, since I did what I felt was best for me, just like how they chose their comfort zone over things slightly controversial but beneficial for us. I wasn't gonna just stay stagnant and silenced and uncomfortable. So I spoke up. And when made to feel like I was, shit happened. It shouldn't have. But, it did.

Reminds me of how our 2nd fight happened because he did something really atrocious, and I said, "See, that's the type of shit that gets you slapped", and he scoffed and said, "No, that happens because you have problems--" and then I stopped him mid-shit talk, with every limb I could use that functioned on myself.

.......

I still don't feel all that bad.

It shouldn't have happened, but it also could've been avoided.

Like, why would you purposely act antagonizing and condescending to a hothead? Who? That would be like if my mom were crying, and vulnerable, and I decided to do some fuckshit with the intent of being seen as an asshole.

I wouldn't be shocked if she hit me.

I don't see how he thought several times that going about things in the worst way possible would have positive benefits.

Slap or not, the end result was the same; I never see him again. Therefore, it never mattered. That was the point of the last time it happened. I cared so little about the guy who had cared for me none.

The oppressed hurt their oppressors when given the chance. And so, yes, and it worked.

I dont care.

Oh damn well.

1:51pm.

It's probably since I'm nihilistically zoned out right now.

I dont feel the need to be an empath right now.

Hes not in the picture, or checking up on me.

Thats that.

Peace out.

[theflyingfoxy]

tell us all about ur ocs!! what are their personalities?

you, i like you.

*sweats* well i currently have about 34 in my spreadsheet so unless you want to be here all day i won’t torture you. 

but here’s a few of my favs/more active ones!

June Shepard (Mass Effect: 1-3)

She’s here to kick ass and kiss aliens, and she’s all out of aliens. She romanced Liara in ME:1, it ended up just not working out. She’s a gunsmith at heart and is often seen covered in grease from messing with her Mantis. She’s a loyal friend as any, but has a penchant for letting her emotions override her judgement sometimes, so you don’t want to be at the end of her rifle when that happens. She was always close to Garrus, relying on him when the stress of the galaxy got to her, taking the next step together only felt natural.

Ilona Ryder (Mass Effect: Andromeda) (My icon!)

Andromeda is like a kid-in-a-candy-store moment. She’s got a lot of emotional trauma, losing her mother (lmao u thought) really took a giant toll on her. Her dad wasn’t much there for them, he was usually off grooming her brother for the Initiative, she just wanted to be a medical officer! She’s passionate and fearless and compassionate above all. Her magnetic, warm, sunshine personality drew Jaal in the moment they met.

Parsnip Sarhtet Ketbaldvingromek (D&D) (Header image!)

My little paladin has faced a great deal of heartbreak in her life. Nonetheless, she defied her family’s wishes and swore the Oath of the Ancients, dedicating her life to cultivating light, peace, and happiness wherever she roams. She’s a ball of sunshine and kindness, praying even over the most evil of foes and wishing them happiness in the beyond. She’s somber and borderline stoic on the topic of family and especially love, but a certain NPC tiefling is worming her way into her heart.

Nathinda Rhomdagon (D&D)

Nathinda is violently distrustful of humans. When she was young, perhaps 100, she was willful and gave her love freely, giving her a daughter. She guarded that child with her life until a group of human barbarians came upon her and killed her daughter, mistaking her for an animal. She murdered them all, of course, and now is very unwilling to trust others, especially humans. These days, at the ripe age of 300+, she roams the forest with her animal companion Felix, a black panther she saved from slavers one day and made a magical bond with. She still has a soft spot for kids, and her heart is good, if not broken.

Lysander Surana (DA:O)

Calm, level-headed. He’s confident in most things he does. He has the charm and wit nearly rivaling Zevran, and enjoys making the elf blush in as many different cheeky ways he can. Lysander is tender, gentle, and wholly devoted to Zevran, patiently letting him figure out his love and being a rock of support for him when he needs it.

Aneth Lavellan (DA:I)

Honestly why did anyone put her in charge of anything. A horrible idea really. A powerful mage but lacking discipline. She’s honestly a sarcastic lil firecracker and loves Josephine with all her being. She matures a great deal in the duration of the game, and it honestly scared her how quickly she fell for Josie. (Abort abort this is not a drill! XD) She’s a wild risk-taker, but caring and heartfelt when the need beckons.

Milo Cora (Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic)

Right from the beginning, Milo knew some fuckshit was up. The way he could sense emotions and energy around him like the push and pull of an ocean. Milo is nothing if not smart. Before he met Bastila he already had an inkling that he was force-sensitive. Taking the mantle of the jedi-sentinel, he struggled with the lure of the dark-side. The one thing that saved him was his attachment to Carth, which eventually grew into love. As Revan, he was blinded by the sheer determination to end the Mandalorian Wars, and he had nothing left to lose, humanity? what’s that? i don’t know her. But now, Milo struggles with his past as Revan, but finds strength and purpose with his new friends.

[ooc-but-stylish]

Future Barry is Savitar? I haven’t seen this episode yet but

MYLONGESTYEAHBOIEVER.MP3

Iris West doesn’t deserve what happens to her (which won’t happen, if the finale photos are any indication), but, let’s be honest Barry has spent the entire three seasons disrespecting Iris whenever he could: lying about his identity; flirting with her while she was with Eddie; beating up Eddie out of jealousy; lying about his identity; taking advantage of knowing she kissed him in one timeline to make moves on her in another; dropping the L-bomb on her on Christmas while she was with Eddie, instead of putting his feelings aside like he should have 10+ years ago and respecting the platonic dynamic of her relationship with him; lying about Mason’s death; lying about his identity; bringing Eddie into the Circle of Liars ( Eddie originally wanted to tell Iris, remember that, you guys ); fucking up so bad against Eobard that Eddie killed himself, depriving Iris of a natural dissolution to her relationship if there even was one; trying to get with another version of Iris while that Iris was unaware that that wasn’t her husband; starting Flashpoint and stalking Iris for three whole months instead of talking to her like a normal person; stealing her wallet from right next to her and convincing her she dropped it, instead of talking to her like a normal person; only helping Joe because he wanted to get with Iris and not a moment sooner; not helping Wally against the Rival when he was right there, resulting in Wally being injured and Iris almost losing her brother; ignoring the fact that Iris and Joe were estranged in post-Flashpoint for a good reason and forcing them to be together for his benefit; proposing to her not out of genuine love but because she was about to die soon and he wanted to “change the future” ( what, did he think Savitar respects honeymoons? was Barry going to use husband-status to convince Iris not to be in the area where she’d die? what? ); getting Wally trapped in the Speedforce via hypocritically being mad about Wally keeping secrets, resulting in Wally experiencing his personal hell for an untold amount of time; and other bullshit with the pretense of “saving Iris” ( almost letting people die, not bothering to apprehend criminals, using his friends as tools when convenient ). I know I’m missing a few instances but that’s off the top of my head. For at least the first two seasons he was running off of the fact that just because the byline on the future newspaper and their lives on Earth-2 said he’s married to her, that he’ll get married to her. Otherwise he’d been acting like a total fuckshit until that point. Last episode established he’s capable of disrespecting her wishes as a person post-mortem. He promised her he’d keep in touch with Joe and the team and not let her death set them apart, and then it turns out he did exactly that because his pain was too great. As if everyone else’s wasnt?

He absolutely deserves this reveal. This is the  most logical conclusion I could think of to “Barry is a total ass to Iris and hurts her, hurts everyone around her using her as an excuse, and continues to do so unchecked, because he sometimes feels bad about it”.  He's spent too much of this season pulling ridiculous stunts for his own benefit, prioritizing his pain over everyone else’s, going back on his word when he promises not to do [insert negative thing], and then feeling sorry for himself afterward when it doesn't work out. "I'm sorry" this and "I'm sorry" that, instead of just not doing the things he was clearly advised not to do, instead of actually caring for people and their issues. Then when he feels bad, there's at least one other character being the Writer's Mouthpiece and caping for him at their own expense, saying "Well, he's the good guy and he's sorry so it's okay, we've all made mistakes too". They forced Iris to be that Mouthpiece, and I’m pretty sure more than once, because Precious Barry Allen can never be called out on anything, and Iris only has negative feelings for One Whole Episode ( at most! ) before needing to forgive him because “true love, OTP”. Remember that ultimatum she put that if he lied to her again, their relationship would be over? That was the beginning of Season 3, IIRC. But even though Barry did lie to Iris between then and episode 16, Iris wasn’t allowed to make through on her words or have any sort of feelings except pro-Barry, so Barry broke up with her, leaving her visibly devastated. And then they didn’t even stay broken up. He just came crawling back with a song and she forgave him, because “true love, OTP”. They broke up for one week.  Episode 19 is the first episode I've seen where Barry actually noticed the damage his self-centered behavior could cause other people. Having the villain be him down a darker path might cement for him the fact that he is constantly screwing things up and needs to stop sooner rather than later. Even his Future Self from 2056 realizes how much of an idiot he was, to have sent that message to the past saying "Hey, guys, don't trust me!" (paraphrasing). You know you fucked up when even your Future Self tells everyone how much of a fuck-up you are. Barry’s Flashpoint antics in particular put the Bad Future of 2046 ( John Diggle's death, etc. ) back on the table, and it brought the attention of the Dominators who tried to set-off the meta bomb, and, you know, that’s all pretty bad. So Barry absolutely deserves this reveal. Otherwise, how much sense does it make that up until now, only the women of the show, or the men of color in this show, were the only ones shown doubting their powers or being told they were better off not having them? Cisco only met Reverb for 10 minutes. Caitlin met E-2 Killer Frost and interacted with her for around the same amount of time. The both of them were immediately worried about whether having powers would make them turn evil just for having them. Despite having no proof that they themselves would lose control of their abilities ( and in Cait’s case, she didn’t even have powers to worry about until, you guessed it, Flashpoint ) they still feared the possibility. Yet Barry encountered 4 evil speedsters across 3 seasons and never once doubted that maybe his powers might make him evil or that he wasn’t meant to have them. Wally and Jesse only got their powers this season, and Jay made his proper debut in the season 2 finale, so it wasn't like their goodness was a balancing force throughout the show. Barry still met more bad guys with his powers than good guys with his powers. If anyone should’ve had the "I'm worried my powers are corrupting me" storyline, it's him.  Wally became a speedster in Flashpoint, then when he knew about it post-FP, every character around him was telling him he didn’t need powers, he was better off without powers, that he’d get hurt, and it’s dangerous, and all this patronizing junk. Jesse got powers, and Harry came all the way from Earth-2 to get someone from Earth-1 to convince her that she didn’t need powers, she was better off without powers, that she’d get hurt, etc. ... Yet Barry lost his powers and his SWM ass got an entire episode dedicated to showing him as absolutely useless without them, and how much he needed to have them, and he was the best version of himself with them, as if he didn’t have other ways to perform good, like through the intellect he’s supposed to have as a CSI. That they all now have powers and act as heroes now isn’t the point. The point was the storyline around it-- the writers chose to write Cisco and Caitlin as “worried about their powers, because potential evil”, or have other characters express their opinions that Wally and Jesse were “good enough/better without powers” while Barry was written as “too good for self-doubt” and “the best with powers”, showing what they really think about a) “powerless” people, and b) anyone that’s not Barry. So, yes. Barry Allen absolutely deserves this reveal.

[spicynbachili1]

Review: Mid90s

A fairly good coming-of-age film that you have most likely seen earlier than

I’ve very distinct reminiscences of my twelve years attending an all-boys college within the Philadelphia suburban space and although it is a radically totally different state of affairs than what’s introduced in Jonah Hill’s directorial debut Mid90s, I could not assist however suppose again to that have. For that lengthy chunk of my life, I used to be surrounded by younger boys aspiring to be masculine in a fairly short-sighted method. That’s one in every of a number of themes and throughlines in Mid90s, which acts as Hill’s ode to 1990’s Los Angeles, skate tradition, hip-hop, and the struggles of adolescence.

It is a acquainted story, and anybody who’s ever adopted the indie film scene for nonetheless lengthy has undoubtedly seen movies of its ilk earlier than. Regardless of its familiarity, and what I felt was an abrupt ending, I discovered myself drawn to the way it depicted dynamics between youths, familial dysfunction, and abusive relationships. Mid90s can also be a wonderful showcase for 13-year outdated lead actor Sunny Suljic, who the gaming neighborhood will acknowledge as Atreus from God of Struggle. The boy’s obtained a vibrant future forward.

Mid90s Director: Jonah Hill Launch Date: October 19, 2018 (Restricted) Score: R

Stevie (Suljic) is not in one of the best household surroundings. Whereas he has an affectionate relationship along with his single mom Dabney (Katherine Waterston), he’s continuously subjected to bodily and verbal abuse from his hot-headed older brother Ian (Lucas Hedges). It is not till he observes a bunch of skater children that Stevie is impressed to go a distinct course, away from his unsatisfactory home life.

Regardless of the prominence of 90s L.A. skating tradition within the movie’s plot, it is not the first focus of the story. It is a car for Stevie’s coming of age story and an incredible and handy visible method to monitor his progress as he weaves his means deeper into the social circles of this sub-culture. Hill shot the movie in 16mm, with the picture having a grainy high quality to it and the facet ration being a boxy four:three, which at first looks as if a way-too-obvious technique to make the movie look “classic,” however is justified by the ultimate scene.

Lengthy story quick, Jonah Hill proves that he is aware of direct a movie with Mid90s. The visuals and modifying have been deliberate punchy, and complimented decently with a well-curated soundtrack and a musical rating composed by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross; it is a brighter and optimistic rating from their typical darker David Fincher fare. Regardless of the story itself delving into some acquainted tropes, the performing, dialogue, and general characterization as written and directed by Hill is what gave this movie some added texture.

I am prepared to guess that the majority People, no matter East Coast or West Coast, will discover no less than a number of the loosest and fundamental parallels with their childhood buddy teams and the group of skater boys in Mid90s. Stevie is introduced on by Ruben (Gio Galicia), who comes throughout as probably the most guarded and insecure one of many group. “I smoke, I fuck bitches,” this little child tells Stevie. We see his exterior start to peel off when Stevie goes towards a few of his items of recommendation and wins the approval of his friends, just like the timid filmmaker “Fourth Grade” (Ryder McLaughlin), the impulsive (and infrequently self-destructive) “Fuckshit” (Olan Prenatt), and Ray (Na-kel Smith), the de facto chief, who just isn’t solely probably the most expert skater of all of them, however probably the most mature of the group.

We liken adolescence to a time the place “issues have been easier” with fewer cares on the earth, however this movie actually goes into the center of advanced social dynamics between youthful people. I felt like each mixture of the characters amongst the skater group had a definite relationship to trace via the movie, and Hill crafts them with a subtlety that enables them to organically evolve. It felt extra restrained than one thing you’d see from a Concord Korine movie, however the unfastened, pure dialogue did have shades of Youngsters and Gummo. I did not understand this till studying up on the movie after watching it, however Korine did certainly make a cameo as a one-night stand for Stevie’s mom.

Talking of, my touch upon each mixture having their very own little arc additionally applies to Stevie’s household. Waterston comparatively would not have an excessive amount of display time as Dabney, however there was nonetheless a lot to extrapolate from our time together with her. We see Stevie mendacity down on his flooring, his mom on his mattress, as the 2 are proven to have common, presumably satisfying and profound conversations; she seems to be the opposite means although she is unsure of her son’s new crowd, which is all principally silently conveyed, and he or she solely intervenes when a sure threshold is crossed. With Hedges as Ian, there may be all the time a storytelling issue in portray abusive characters as too sympathetic, however the best way Ian is dealt with feels sensible, and the character is extra multi-faceted than I anticipated.

Below the layer of the coming-of-age story is one other throughline of a cycle of abuse. It is not precisely stated per se, however Dabney was not all the time the motherly determine she presents herself now, in response to Ian—there’s an implied abuse, or on the very least, dangerous negligence in direction of Ian by Dabney earlier than Stevie was born. It is evident that Ian’s aggressiveness in direction of his youthful brother stems from each the harm introduced on by their mom and a resentment for the higher remedy that Stevie is receiving. However regardless of his powerful exterior and his shows of machismo, there’s a temporary and stunning second of vulnerability, the place verbal jabs from Stevie have a significant impact. I am somebody who thinks that we have seen an excessive amount of Lucas Hedges recently, however I used to be welcoming in direction of this very totally different efficiency.

Mid90s depicted abusive relationships fairly realistically—regardless of some stunning photos (to not point out the sound results each time Ian might beat his brother), you see that their relationship nonetheless forces a co-dependency on one another. Stevie continues to be obligated to present a birthday present to his older brother, he nonetheless asks him for assist (although the recommendation is commonly questionable), and also you watch the 2 play PlayStation and Tremendous Nintendo video games collectively. Going with my earlier declare that the ending felt too abrupt, likewise, I additionally felt that this story thread wrapped up too cleanly.

On the heart, the movie is in regards to the want for acceptance, and Sunny Suljic shows a lot maturity in his efficiency as a child maneuvering his means into this skate group—it begins off as remark, then nervousness and uncertainty when he makes it into the circle. There are an entire lot of close-ups of his face, and I do not bear in mind the final time I noticed a younger performer specific glee, confusion, strife, and generally a sure darkness as effortlessly as Suljic. He undoubtedly has much less to say than he does in God of Struggle, and it’s clear from the get-go simply how helpful a software his facial expressions are for conveying emotion. It helps that the remainder of the performers for this skater group, who I discovered later have been principally composed of real-life skaters and non-professional actors, add a particular sort of authenticity and genuineness.

Regardless of my reward, I am not sure precisely rating this movie. Having gone to some unbiased movie festivals, notably Sundance two years in a row, there was some extent the place I felt like I used to be watching too-similar movies repeatedly, and the inner reviewer in my head ended up frizzled as a result of I had a tough time distinguishing totally different indies with overlapping themes. Though I am unable to spout too many titles off the highest of my head that provoke this sense of deja vu (the one ones I can consider is one known as As You Are, and possibly even Dope) I felt like I would seen such a film earlier than.

Heck, I really feel like I’ve even seen 90s nostalgia like this too. The aforementioned Dope, whereas it had a distinct vitality and did not truly happen within the 90s, was stuffed with 90s-ness. This movie is stuffed with acquainted posters, classic recreation consoles, CD circumstances and covers, and a scene the place Ian is straight-up sporting a Invoice Clinton rubber masks, in case you by some means forgot what decade you have been in. Should you’re already affected by 1980s fatigue, no less than the last decade after is ripe for the choosing. Fairly quickly, we’ll have a resurgence of mainstream movies like The To-Do Checklist.

However that is an excessive amount of of a tangent, I suppose. I hesitate to present the movie too excessive a rating as a result of I do not suppose it should relate to everybody who will see it—I discovered it very particular and relatable primarily primarily based by myself experiences grappling and battling ideas involving masculinity, abuse, and social acceptance. It is a male-dominated movie, and whereas there are characters who really feel very actual, their relatability will fluctuate in several levels relying on who you ask and what experiences that they had. I’ll say, nonetheless, that the film is entertaining and humorous at occasions, and even so, Jonah Hill exhibits promise as a storyteller—he is undoubtedly matured from Superbad.

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      Mid90s reviewed by Chris Compendio

7.5

GOOD

Strong and undoubtedly has an viewers. There may very well be some hard-to-ignore faults, however the expertise is enjoyable. How we rating:  The destructoid opinions information

        from SpicyNBAChili.com http://spicymoviechili.spicynbachili.com/review-mid90s/

[wolf-skins]

Jesus, four hours later and I only just finished the prologue mission. Like with most newer games, I have to tweak the graphics and video settings a couple hundred times to get the best fps I can. awduihoawd took me a while.

By the way, my Ryder is stunning and her brother is also awesome but his eyebrows are shit. It’d be nice if they let us choose eyebrows smh.

As for everything else? The anims actually aren’t that bad at all. I think the defaults were just ugly. They have quite a bit of expression, more than we’ve seen in previous games. There’s still awkward moments but that’s what games are about. 

The gameplay is really fun, though I kept fucking up bc I couldn’t memorize the buttons dawoiadoji. I really like how there’s different responses based on previous dialogue choices. In one gameplay video I watched, their Ryder joked about their sibling placing a bet. My Ryder, with the same option, joked about adventure. Idk if it was basing off of which Ryder you are playing, but if it’s not it’s quite cool. Lots of more dialogue as promised. Your companions talk all the time which I love.

It’s actually quite fun. The exploration aspect wasn’t irritating, though again I’ve only played the beginning. The scanner thingy that was added is actually really interesting, and I like using it. 

Kind of funny that the dad kept calling Ryder by her last name though bc I customized the first lmaoo.

All in all it’s not as bad as everyone made it out to be. Still fuckshit about qr rep and phobia, but in most areas it feels a lot like a Mass Effect game.

Liam is awesome and I am so anticipating meeting Vetra.

[thegloober]

Mid90s

One glimpse of teenager Ian’s bedroom in “Mid90s,” Jonah Hill’s first feature as a director, and you don’t even need the title to place you in a specific time. Carefully organized CDs line the shelves. Source magazines sit on the bedside table. There’s a poster for the Wu-Tang Clan on the wall, and immaculate Air Jordans in the closet. This is the detritus of an era, not too far past, but far enough it’s like an archeological dig into the world right before the Internet connected all of us, for better or worse. The objects have a sacral glow, especially since Ian—played by Lucas Hedges, who is proving an extremely versatile young actor—guards his room so ferociously. Ian is the older brother of the central character, middle-school kid Stevie (Sunny Suljic). Stevie, abused by his brother on a daily basis, raised by a mother (Katherine Waterston) too self-obsessed to see what’s going on in her own home, drifts into the company of a group of older kids whose lives revolve around skateboarding. The strength of “Mid90s” lies in its small observations about a very tight sub-culture, and what that sub-culture provided its most devoted adherents. 

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Stevie is first seen being beaten up by Ian. We don’t know why. Throughout the film, variations of this scene repeat, giving the brothers’ fights a ritualistic aspect. Ian, wearing a Bill Clinton mask, ambushes Stevie, chasing him through the house, punching and pummeling him. Stevie doesn’t question this. Ian is practically non-verbal. Mom doesn’t notice something is “off” in her sons’ relationship. One day, Stevie catches a glimpse of a group of four rowdy kids holding skateboards, sassing back to a storeowner. Something about the boys attracts him, and he wanders into their group, trying to get closer. These boys, in their later teens, around Ian’s age, sit around in a ramshackle storefront skateboard shop. Their dynamic is a closed system, but they accept Stevie’s presence, and let him hang out with them. Stevie doesn’t know how to skate so he practices at home in the driveway, falling constantly. The older boys are fluid on their skateboards, flying up stairways, careening along railings, and thinking up different tricks to do to prove their own skills and daring. 

The leader of the group, Ray (Na-kel Smith), is the only one without a nickname, and he seems more mature than the others. He has dreams of “going pro” with skateboarding, something that started to become a real possibility in the mid-’90s. Ray’s best friend, with long blonde Twisted Sister curls, is nicknamed Fuckshit (Olan Prenatt) because he prefaces every comment with a drawling, “Fuuuck. Shit.” Fourth Grade (Ryder McLaughlin), nicknamed because that’s about his level of intelligence, films their skateboarding exploits with a little camcorder. And finally, there’s the insecure Ruben (Gio Galicia), closest to Stevie in age, who takes Stevie under his wing, giving him very bad advice (“Don’t thank people because they’ll think you’re gay”), and rolling his eyes every time Stevie makes some social gaffe. Fear of being “gay”—or being perceived as gay—even through something like good manners—is a given. The unquestioned ruinous rules of “manhood” already dominate these kids. There are barely any adults in the movie. Besides Stevie’s mom, and one girl Stevie meets at a party, women are nonexistent, in both the larger world, and in the skateboarding world. (Earlier this year, the wonderful “Skate Kitchen” highlighted the girls in the skateboarding scene, a nice and necessary counterpoint.) 

Most of these kids have almost no film or television credits to their names, making Suljic the veteran of the group. But their dynamic —free-wheeling discussions, razzing each other, talking stuff out—really makes the film, immersing us fully into the skateboarding world as experienced by this specific group. They seem like they’ve been friends since kindergarten. Hill has always used improvisation in his own work as an actor, and trusts that process with the actors here. Nobody “gives a performance” in the self-conscious sense of the word. Hill leaves them alone, letting them be onscreen, not trying too hard to build conflict. Ray’s seriousness about skateboarding starts to drive a wedge between him and the more easygoing Fuckshit. We are seeing them in the moment before they all part ways. In one sense, the character of Ruben—young and yet old from experience, insecure, terrified of not seeming “cool,” embarrassed by Stevie’s openness—is central to the film’s apparent subtext. The boys are teenagers, yes, but this is when things start to go wrong for people, when they start to build protective armor they won’t be able to shed. Ruben is trapped by the attitudes about manhood, and he doesn’t even know it. Ray is unhindered by the same attitudes. More could have been made of this dynamic and the script is repetitive: there are one too many Stevie pep talks, for example, making you wonder if Ray has nothing better to do with his time than talk this kid through his problems. 

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Sometimes what has been left out of a story is as important as what has been left in. Here, Hill leaves out explanations (What the hell is going on with Ian?), and doesn’t psychologize. Clearly many of these kids come from bad situations. One is virtually homeless. Why they put up with Stevie tagging along is also not really explained. He can’t skate, he can be a drag because they have to look out for him, he hurts himself pretty badly because of his high tolerance for pain (he’s been trained well by his brother). But Hill’s withholding of easy explanations is why the film works when it does work. 

There are a couple of moments of pure beauty, the boys weaving on their boards down a busy median strip, like graceful pilot fish backdropped by a pink sunset. Other than that, the film has a no-nonsense almost lo-def look. Along with a score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, the soundtrack is populated by hits from the mid-’90s, a vibrant time in music, when the Top 40 rules were broken, ushering in new voices and energies. Hill’s touch with the material is light, almost gentle. He doesn’t push for universal relevance (the title notwithstanding), and he doesn’t push for catharsis. It’s clear that Stevie will move on from this scene and these people. He’s a visitor, not a resident. While it’s refreshing that Hill avoids some of the cliches inherent in the material (Stevie does not suddenly become a star skateboarder, find self-confidence, gain the admiration of his peers/girls/mother), the film’s rough edges sometimes feel like a first draft.

Source: https://bloghyped.com/mid90s/

[mrmichaelchadler]

TIFF 2018: Mid90s, Her Smell

At times, Jonah Hill’s directorial debut “Mid90s” feels like a studious attempt in not screwing up an opportunity. Following the coming-of-age of shy observer Stevie (Sunny Suljic) as he befriends a group of skaters—leader Ray (Na-Kel Smith), party animal Fuckshit (Olan Prenatt), bottom-of-the-pecking order Ruben (Gio Galicia), and filmmaker Fourth Grade (Ryder McLaughlin)—“Mid90s” is a solid film that frequently tries too hard to be modest and unassuming. Hill wants to evoke the laidback style of Larry Clark’s "Kids," as tied with the contained formalism of early Scorsese, but it often comes across as a belabored attempt to capture the meandering, aimless nature of hanging out. When “Mid90s” eventually tries to tie up the loose ends previously designed to remain loose, you can see the clumsy attempts to conceal the seams that keep Hill’s film together.

However, when Hill relaxes and “Mid90s” just observes the gang of friends, the film reaches a Linklaterian ideal that’s admittedly difficult to achieve. The scenes of talking shit and skateboarding that aren’t tied to a narrative function are funny and honest, and I suppose it counts as an act of bravery that Hill isn’t afraid to portray how these kids would actually talk in the year 2018, i.e. they say “faggot” constantly. All of the performances are stellar, with a special shout-out to Lucas Hedges who plays Stevie’s asshole older brother and nails the behavior of a bully hiding behind a thin veneer of strength. 

There’s a lot to admire here even if it’s housed in a shoddy frame: The period detail (clothes, posters, vernacular, etc.) is mostly on point. The soundtrack is full of canon favorites (Hill clearly had an enormous music budget), and while one can expect tracks from many obvious, great artists of the era, I appreciated that Hill employed a Bad Brains track that felt somewhat out of place from everything else. 

What Hill really nails is the complicated dynamics of hanging out with a group of older kids when you’re way too young to hang. When Stevie first approaches the group in the skate shop where they work, he just watches them, absorbing their wisdom and bullshit. But when he’s tasked to fill up a jug of water, he jumps at the opportunity because it means he’s beginning to belong. His earnest, self-effacing nature organically allows him to ingratiate into the group, as well as his willingness to sustain injury skateboarding, despite the enormous gap in experience between him and the rest of them. It’s rare you see a film about kids threading that line between trying to be cool and acting like they’re not trying at all without undue judgment on the part of the writer/director. The best thing I can say about “Mid90s” is that Hill gets what it means to want to be cool. It’s ironic that this is his debut’s greatest liability.

Since “Her Smell” is written and directed by Alex Ross Perry, I’m obligated to begin my very positive review with a few caveats: 1.) Its abrasive style and caustic dialogue, part and parcel with Perry’s filmography, will not appeal to everyone; 2.) The film's first hour, which features plenty of shrill, obnoxious bad behavior, will test the patience of many, as it did plenty of the audience who attended my Press & Industry screening Monday afternoon; 3.) Even if you’re familiar with Perry’s work, it’s possible that watching rock star assholery propelled by severe substance abuse might not be your bag.

With that said, “Her Smell” bowled me over in a completely unexpected way. Though I’ve seen Perry’s entire filmography save for his 2009 debut “Impolex,” I’m not exactly the biggest fan of his work. Most of his films have left me cold or merely curious, with the notable exception of “Listen Up Philip,” which still feels like a potent exploration of a certain strain of male pathology. But “Her Smell” features Perry in a different mode than before, submerging his audience into the noxious psychology of his main subject Becky Something (Elisabeth Moss, her best non-“Mad Men” performance by an enormous margin), riot grrrl rock frontwoman of the band Something She, as she falls hard from grace, before bringing them up for air to witness her redemption. Rest assured, there’s plenty of casual cruelty and inflicted pain befitting his style, but there’s also a gentle kindness that he hasn’t exhibited before. “Her Smell” not only illustrates Becky’s sickness but radiates with sympathy for her condition and hope for her recovery.

Perry’s film is split into five acts, broken up by home video footage of Something She at work. The first three feature Becky as she spirals into addled mania, aided by booze, drugs, and a fraud of a shaman that only feeds her paranoia. Her bandmates (Agyness Deyn and Gayle Rankin, both very funny) are through with her self-destructive behavior and poor musicianship, while her ex-husband Danny (Dan Stevens) merely wants her to take some responsibility for their child. Something She’s manager Howard (Eric Stoltz) desperately tries to keep everyone happy and everything on schedule to no avail. Becky is headed for a deep, deep bottom and no one can stop her until she finally hits it. 

Rest assured, these three acts, which constitute the first hour, could potentially grate on those who are unprepared to watch a turned-up-to-11 emotional hurricane. It helps that a lot of it is funny, both the behavior witnessed from afar and the dialogue, which has a song-like rhythm. Plus, unlike Perry’s other films, in which his characters’ cruelty feel like an ingrained, sober personality trait, here it’s definitely the product of addiction. It’s difficult to make much of a strong moral judgment on people who are acting on behalf of their disease, even when it’s irritating at best and violent at worst.

Perry’s filmic style gets its best workout in “Her Smell,” with his frequent use of extreme close-ups employed to great effect, capturing the pain and excitement of artists living on the very edge of sanity. “Her Smell” is a true rock ‘n’ roll film, and it understands that selfish, destructive behavior is not only a part of the persona, but also a part of the fun. Perry structures the film’s acts like suites, containing different movements that function in various emotional registers in order to demonstrate how and why Becky is exciting and dangerous. She’s a magnetic presence until she becomes a problem for anyone within five feet of her.

The film’s last two acts shouldn’t be described in detail, but suffice it to say they feature Perry working in a softer, more understanding mode, and the results are quite moving. I’m a sucker for redemption narratives, and watching Becky do the work to crawl out of the gutter despite no guarantee of success, let alone fame, really struck a chord with me. All of the music featured in “Her Smell” is fantastic, covers and originals alike, but the film’s final musical sequence had me in tears because it really does feel like a hard won victory after a long journey through hell. This isn’t an easy film, but if you’re on its wavelength, it contains numerous, immeasurable pleasures. 

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