#i’ve set the bar so low that i’ll be pleased with any positive scenes we get

[nataliasromanova]

i’ve set my expectations so low for the amount of jack/zhao zi scenes this final week that i anticipate 1 minute of their screentime, but then when we actually get 2 minutes of them, i’ll be like

nice

[atths--twice]

Five Times Mulder and Scully Stopped for Gas

During a group rewatch of Dreamland, a comment was made: “From Scully's confused expressions in this gas station scene, I like to infer that M&S have an established routine at gas stations, and obviously Morris Fletcher isn't complying.”

Well... how could I not answer the call? 

So here is a glimpse into five different times Mulder and Scully stopped for gas, and where we find them as they do. 

They pulled into a gas station and up to the pump, their first case together just beginning, and the rental car low on gas. Scully unbuckled her seatbelt, opened her door, and started to get out of the car.

“Oh,” Mulder said, causing her to pause, and look back at him. “No, I got it.” He took his seatbelt off and started to get out of the car.

“I’m quite capable of pumping gas, Agent Mulder,” she said hotly, the conversation she had with Ethan recently, fresh in her mind. That ideas such as taking out the trash or pumping gas was a “man’s job” and how that belittled women. “I can and have done so on my own, I don’t need—”

“Agent Scully,” he cut across her, his brow furrowed. “In no way am I insinuating that you are not capable of doing something as mundane as pumping gas into a vehicle. I was merely defaulting to the arrangement I have had with other partners, in which the driver is in charge of filling the tank. I don’t know how you did it before, but that’s how I’ve always done it.” He stared at her innocently, and she felt her anger abating, nodding at him once before she closed her door, leaned back in her seat, and buckled her seat belt.

He smiled and nodded, getting out of the car and heading inside the station. Coming back out a few minutes later, he laid the items he purchased on his seat - sunflower seeds, two bottles of water, and a chocolate bar - which he handed to her. She looked at him in surprise and took it before he started to pump the gas. Looking down at the chocolate bar, she smiled at the small peace like offering, and put it into her bag to enjoy later.

Leaving Comity, determined to never come back, Scully angrily drove them out of town, blowing through a stop sign. Mulder sighed and then sighed again, before she told him to shut up once more. Silence hung heavy in the car and her anger was palpable. Seeing the gas gauge on empty, it was her turn to sigh, and then shake her head.

A station appeared a few miles down the road and she pulled in and up to the pump. Mulder took off his seat belt as she put the car in park. While they usually did adhere to the long standing whoever drives pumps the gas, more often than not, Mulder would take the role upon himself, regardless of his position in the car. Even if she tried to stop him, he would simply grin and shrug, continuing with the job at hand.

Sometimes she did not mind being the one who paid and collected snacks, but some days, she would blow up at him that this was once again a hunter/gatherer type situation. At his confused look, she would shake her head and explain, again, how for some reason pumping gas was seen as manly, so of course he would jump to do his duty. To which he would then shake his head, and explain to her, again, how that was ridiculous and he never saw them that way.

Well, tonight she definitely did not want his help, not in any way. “I got it, Mulder. Please, don’t trouble yourself.” Taking off her seat belt angrily, she opened the door and slammed it as stepped out.

“What the hell?” She heard and turned around to look at him, standing outside the car.

“What, Mulder? I’m the driver, I get the gas. That was one of our agreements, right?” she asked, seething inside as she crossed her arms and stared at him. She had half a mind to drive away and leave him in that crazy little town, never looking back.

“Jesus Christ, Scully,” he said, shaking his head. “Are you seriously still angry? Everything has gone back to how it’s meant to be and yet you’re still upset. So yeah, what the hell?” He opened his arms, moving around the trunk of the car, walking closer to her.

“Are you kidding me?” she said, raising her voice and stepping closer to him. “You … you degraded me in front of Detective White, repeatedly. You made me feel less than, numerous times and you’re just going to what, blame it on the alignment of the planets? The planets made you act like a jackass? Made you treat me as … your tagalong, the person whom you ditched to hang out with some tall perky “blonde.” None of that was you?” She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms tighter.

“I did not ditch you,” he scoffed and she answered with a scoff of her own. “I didn’t. I … you were checking on Jay’s body and we had been … at odds with each other -”

“Because you kept cutting me down in front of Detective White!” she interrupted, throwing her hands up and staring at him. “Not only was that rude to do to me personally, but professionally … Jesus, Mulder. Do you have any idea how that made me look? I don’t care who else is around, male or female, I am your partner and you treated me like some afterthought who was called upon when needed, but left once something, or someone, better came along. The ‘alignment of the planets’ is a shitty excuse for your behavior.”

“You think I would have behaved that way if it hadn’t been the case? That I really feel that way, like you’re a tagalong?”

“It started the minute we walked into that funeral home, Mulder,” she said, shaking her head “If you detect a hint of skepticism or incredulity in Agent Scully’s voice …” Why? Because I chose to want to look further than the ‘satan is to blame’ fear mongering? The belief that satanic rituals were the culprit was enough, simply because someone said so? Well, then, look at me! I’m the Queen of England! It’s true, I said so!” Throwing her hands up again, she stared at him and he shook his head.

“The eyewitnesses to the kids murder said it was as much, and yes I now know it was a lie, but their stories corroborated each other, why would they not have been believed?” Mulder asked, and Scully walked a couple of steps away, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Mulder,” she said, turning to him with an incredulous look. “Is it so much easier for you to believe in satanic rituals, than two pretty, popular girls deciding one night to kill someone? It’s not as though it hasn’t happened before.” He stared at her and she scoffed again. “Well, I can’t look at evidence that points to a satanic cult ritual story and not try to find a plausible explanation. I can’t accept at face value, something that others believe without question. That is not me … and you should know that by now.” She deflated like a balloon, no longer angry, just hurt by his actions. “I deserved to be treated better than I was by you, in front of others, alone, planets aligned or not.” He looked down at the ground and nodded, before looking up and nodding at her once again.

She sighed and walked into the station to pay for their gas. Watching him from inside, she saw him get back into the car and she sighed. “You okay, ma’am?” the young clerk asked, and she nodded with a forced smile. Taking her receipt, she took a deep breath, and stepped outside and over to the already opened gas cap.

Choosing to let it be a peace offering, even if it slightly enraged her, she pumped the gas. Watching the back of his head as she did, she tried to let go of the past few days, and the argument they had just engaged in, in public no less. Closing her eyes, she stood until the gas shut off and she replaced the nozzle, closed the tank, and got back in the car. The silence a little thinner, they headed out of town, relieved to put it behind them.

________________________

Another chemo treatment with an unscheduled stop along the way, as she was unable to keep her stomach from throwing up what little was inside it. The effort it took left her weak and sweaty, but she tried her hardest not to let it show. She took deep breaths and tried to swallow down the returning bile that threatened to gag her every few seconds. Her eyes closed, she felt the car slowing down, causing her to open them.

“Uh, I’m sorry, I need to stop for gas. I was in a rush this morning and I didn’t have time. I’ll be quick,” Mulder said quietly, and she hummed in response, knowing he must see how weak she was feeling, and she hated it.

As the car stopped, she was determined to not let the cancer or the exhausting rounds of chemo take so much from her. She unbuckled her seat belt and pushed herself up into a better sitting position. Reaching for the door handle, she was easily stopped by Mulder’s hand.

“What are you doing, Scully?” he asked so incredibly softly, it was as if no words were spoken at all.  

“Snacks,” was all she could breathe out, before she broke out in a sweat, falling back into the seat, her eyes closing.

“I’ve got it, Scully. I’ve got it,” he said, softer than before, if that was possible. His hand moved gently from hers, his door opening and shutting softly.

She remembered the sound of the gas cap being removed, the nozzle being placed inside, but nothing after, until he was unbuckling her seat belt and helping her out of the car.

“Come on, Scully, I got you,” he said quietly, bringing her carefully to her feet, letting her try to stand on her own, before putting his arm around her waist and walking her slowly to her apartment.

She was sweaty again and nearly there, when she almost collapsed. He caught her and lifted her into his arms, walking the few remaining steps down the hall to her door. He opened it, carried her to her room, and set her on her bed. He took off her shoes and helped her to lay down, before disappearing.

She heard the front door open and shut once, then again, as she kept her eyes closed, focusing on her breathing. It was quiet for a few minutes, and then his voice spoke softly close to her ear.

“Scully, drink this, but just a sip.” A straw was placed in her mouth and the sweet, cold, bubbly taste of 7-Up filled her mouth. “That’s it, just a little bit. It should help settle your stomach.”

She took slow sips for nearly an hour, before he was satisfied she would be okay, and could hold more down. He gingerly helped her remove and change her sweat soaked shirt, before she laid back down. A soft moist cloth, gently stroked across her face and her forearms, cooling her down. She kept her eyes closed throughout, thanking God for gas stations with little convenience stores and a man like Mulder who was there to catch her when she stumbled and needed him most.

_______________________

“You seriously expect to drive?” Mulder asked, as they walked toward her car on their way to her Lamaze class.

“I do expect to drive. I drove home from the bureau today. I’m not an invalid, I’m just pregnant,” she said, giving him a look.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “You are very pregnant.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, turning to him and placing a hand up to stop him from walking.

“I meant … that’s very true … you’re pregnant." He cleared his throat as he hugged the pillow he had grabbed from inside, a poor item choice to protect his body. She narrowed her eyes at him and he winked at her. “I thought we were in a hurry?” Staring at him a second longer, she moved her hand and continued on to the car.

As she drove away, after exhaling loudly when she sat down, while Mulder wisely kept his mouth shut, she saw the gas tank was empty. Sighing, she headed to the gas station, and pulled up to the pump. Turning off the car, she looked over at him.

“Well, I can’t pump the gas, I’m pregnant,” she said, trying not to smile. He stared at her and shook his head, smiling himself as he opened the door and got out of the car. She smiled as the door shut and she rubbed her belly.

A knock sounded on her window and she jumped. Looking at him, she rolled it down and raised her eyebrows. “Do you want anything from inside?”

“Surprise me,” she smiled and he leaned in to kiss her. Pulling back, she grinned and he shook his head before turning around and walking inside. She laughed as she continued to rub her ‘very pregnant’ belly, and waited for him to come back.

He walked out, his hands behind his back, heading for her door. “Pick a hand,” he said and she smiled. Pointing to the left, he handed her a bag of sunflower seeds and she stuck out her lip. Smiling, he held out his right hand and the package of peanut butter cups. She gasped and grinned as she grabbed it.

Stepping back, he smiled and walked around the car to pump the gas, as she opened the wrapper on her candy. Taking a bite, she closed her eyes, smiling as the delicious combination of peanut butter and chocolate hit her tongue.

A couple of minutes later, he opened the door and got inside, smiling as he did. She wordlessly handed over the other half of her candy and he grinned as he took it and shoved it all in his mouth, chewing it up as she started the car.

“I’m driving on the way back,” he mumbled, nearly incoherent around his mouth full of chocolate and peanut butter. She laughed as she rolled up her window and they drove away.

___________________

The sun was beginning to rise as she pulled into the gas station, Mulder asleep beside her. She shook her head and turned off the car. Grabbing some money from the bag in the back, she looked at Mulder once more before going inside to pay for the gas and some essentials.

There was a doughnut shop next door and she stepped in to buy a few for the road, two coffees, and two bottles of orange juice. Walking back to their car with a tray holder and the bags of items, she carefully opened the back door and set the drinks on the floorboard and the bags on the seat. Shutting the door softly, she pumped the gas, filling their car with the necessary fuel to keep them moving.

Pulling away slowly, she entered a parking spot away from the pumps, as she looked out onto the wide expanse of the desert. Mulder was still asleep beside her and she glanced over at him, before getting out of the car, to grab the food in the backseat.

Sitting back down in the driver’s seat, she took out her doughnut and watched the sun rise. A week on the run and it was already exhausting. The constant moving from place to place was a necessity she knew, but it was hard. A moment of peace in this little corner of the world, was everything to her right now. Taking a sip of coffee, she looked over as Mulder began to stir. Opening his eyes, he blinked at the early light around him.

“Hey,” she said with a smile and he yawned, stretching and sitting up straighter. He shivered and looked around with a deep breath. “There’s coffee and orange juice, plus some doughnuts.” He nodded as he yawned once again.

“I need to pee,” he said, getting out of the car, and heading into the gas station. Scully drank some more coffee and waited for him to come back, the sun slowly brightening the sky.

He was back quickly, shivering in the cool morning air and sat down in his seat, reaching for the coffee she offered. They were quiet as they drank, him just waking up, and her with thousands of worries burning inside her mind.

“You sure this is what you want?” he whispered in the quiet of the car, and she looked at him, staring at his profile, before he turned to look at her. He shook his head and she smiled softly.

“My answer hasn’t changed since the last ten times you’ve asked me that question,” she answered quietly. “This is where I want to be, need to be. Sitting here in some gas station, just like countless other times, together. Mulder, I can’t be away from you anymore, so yes, this is what I want. Is it what you want?”

He frowned at her and shook his head. “Running, always looking over our shoulder, no that isn’t what I want. Especially not for you,” he sighed and looked out the window. “But I can’t imagine being here alone, not again. I ached for you, Scully. Physically ached for you.” He turned to look at her again and she reached to touch his face.

“I know. I did for you too,” she whispered. “So yes, this is what I want. I’m right where I’ve always been meant to be.” He touched her hand that was resting on his face. They stared at one another, the sun casting them both in the early light. He kissed her palm before she moved her hand.

Setting her coffee in the cup holder, she started the car, backed up, and left the gas station. Reaching for his hand, she squeezed when he laced his fingers with hers.

“Did you happen to get any sunflower seeds?” he asked, after a few minutes of silence.

“Mmm-hmm and a couple of iced teas too,” she said with a smile, causing him to grin.

“My little gatherer,” he teased, squeezing her hand, causing her to narrow her eyes. Lifting her fingers to his lips, he looked at her. “Could be love.”

“Oh, it definitely is,” she affirmed, squeezing his hand lightly.

He kissed her hand once again as she turned her eyes back to the road, heading wherever it would take them.

[xxx-cat-xxx]

I walk this lonely road

Characters: Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers

TW: Self-harm references, Coronavirus (but nobody gets infected), Alcohol

A/N: This fic makes reference to self-harm and to the coronavirus. I know the latter is a really sensitive topic at the moment, so if that’s something that might upset you in any way, please be careful. 

The virus affects almost everyone in the world at the moment at some level and this fic is meant to explore one particular experience among millions. I do not claim that this experience is representative in any way, and I definitely do not claim that it is worse than what others have to deal with. Nat is in a very privileged position, but she is still hurting, and that’s what I wanted to write about.

As always, thanks to @whumphoarder for beta reading.

*

They lock down the tower in the second week of the pandemic. 

Steve, while helping to set up tents next to the already overcrowded Metro General, shared his lunch with another volunteer who tested positive two days later. Since tests are hard to come by and none of them were showing symptoms, the team decided against using their influence to get tested through the backdoor and instead are self-quarantining for at least two weeks. 

Bruce and Tony are elbow-deep in research to find a vaccine and wouldn’t leave the tower if an armed battalion tried to force them out. Clint went back to stay with his family at the farm as soon as the first cases started being detected in New York. Steve is keeping busy by exercising, recording PSAs about everything from handwashing to social distancing, and sending uplifting video messages to infected fans. 

Meanwhile, Nat is slowly coming apart at the seams.

Before the self-enforced quarantine, she was distributing essentials to homeless and low-income families, but now, trapped inside the tower, there isn’t really anything she can do remotely to help the population. 

(Except maybe taking out the president with one of his own killer drones, but that’s not exactly in the realm of legality.)

It’s not that she hasn’t experienced being locked down somewhere for weeks at a time before, but that was on missions, with work to do and a goal to achieve. Right now, she has nowhere to go and nothing to do, and for Nat, that is the worst possible combination. 

The first few days are comparatively easy to bear. She runs the better part of a marathon on the treadmill every morning. Brushes up on her Mandarin. Hacks the Pentagon for the sheer thrill of it. 

Anything to keep her from spiralling too far down. 

Five days in, she wakes up at midnight from a nightmare about the Red Room, feeling like there’s a boulder on her chest weighing her down. She scrambles up to open the window and takes huge, gasping breaths of the cool night air, trying to convince herself that it doesn’t make a difference whether she’s inside or outside the window frame. 

Finally, she slides down onto the carpet and digs her fingernails into her bare shins, heart still beating way too fast and too loud in her ears. Catches herself wishing for a task, an attack, anything she can do, eyes the small imprints of her nails in her legs, a few of them oozing blood. The pain is tempting, much too tempting. She tries not to think of the blades under her mattress, in the cupboard, below the bathroom sink.

She knows it’s not exactly pain she longs for, but it’s a functional substitute for everything else. 

Nat swallows. Then she makes the executive decision that she needs to go for a walk.

*

She wears a mask and gloves when she slips into the darkness. Even with the protective outfit, she keeps away from walls, streetlights, shop windows, anything she could potentially contaminate. 

The night air is just the right kind of chilly to feel alive. The city, devoid of people, cars, and pollution, is a different kind of beautiful. The huddled groups of desperate families in front of the downtown hospital are not. 

Nat finds a children’s playground with monkey bars wedged in between two residential buildings. She does pull-ups until her shoulders are on fire. Then she climbs up and lies on top of the climbing frame, her gaze getting lost where the skyscrapers meet the night sky. 

She only climbs down when she can hear the sirens of an ambulance from a nearby street. Then she wipes the bars clean with the hand sanitizer and paper towel she brought along. When she makes her way back to the tower, it finally feels like she can breathe a little easier. 

*

Tony and Steve are waiting for her when she sneaks back in through the delivery entrance.

Tony looks tired, three-nights-awake-in-the-lab kind of tired, but there’s a manic energy radiating from him that almost seems electric; Nat wouldn’t be surprised to see sparks flying off his fingertips. It’s the kind of energy that keeps him up and running until whatever problem he is working on is completely solved, until the world is saved once more. 

Nat would love to say she feels guilty upon seeing him. But the ugly truth is, all she can feel is envy.

Steve looks… not exactly angry. His face is stony, but something else flickers in his eyes. Nat takes off her gloves, the coat, the mask, and that’s when she realises. He looks disappointed. 

“What were you thinking, Natasha?” he says, his voice low and tight. “You know we’re all under quarantine! What, do you think you’re above this or something?”

“I was wearing a mask—” she begins in a weak attempt to avoid this conversation, but he doesn’t even let her finish.

“You know damn well they’re not a hundred per cent.. You’re just tempting fate for no good reason.”

“I don't—”

“What, you don’t get sick?” he interrupts and maybe it’s a good thing because what she was going to say was something else: I don’t care if I get sick. It’s the truth, but it’s nothing either of them want to hear. 

“It’s not just about you, Nat,” Steve continues, ignorant of her thoughts, his voice rising and a vein starting to swell on his forehead. “What if you infect someone else? For god’s sake, Tony’s only got two thirds of his lung capacity left. Did you think of that before putting him in danger?” 

“Calm down, Cap,” Tony interjects. “I’ve lived through worse—”

“No, I’m not calming down!” Steve snaps. “We are so privileged to be able to live here with all the food and money and medical services we could need―all we have to do is endure a few weeks of boredom, which really shouldn’t be too much to ask in exchange for everyone’s protection. And you decide to throw all of that out the window for a stroll?” 

He stares at her for a moment as if waiting for her to defend herself, but there’s nothing she has to say. What should she tell them? I couldn’t bear the thoughts in my own head? I can’t deal with not knowing when I can be out again? It was either that or sitting on the bathroom floor, cutting lines in my own flesh just to fucking feel in control of something?

“I really expected more of you,” Steve says finally, an eerie calm in his voice. Then he turns on his heels and leaves. 

“Well, that was dramatic.” Tony rubs a tired hand over his eyes before looking at Nat directly, his expression sober. “His mother died of TB, you know?”  

Nat feels numb. “Yeah, I know,” she says quietly.  

Tony’s expression softens. He seems to make a decision. “Come on.” He waves roughly in the direction of the elevator. “I guess we both need a drink.” 

“Okay.” Nat takes a deep breath. “I’ll take the stairs.”

When she enters the living room fifteen minutes later—after showering thoroughly and changing her clothes—she finds drinks on the table and Tony on the sofa, working again. Nat sits down on the armrest of the chair across from him, keeping a safe distance. Jazz music is playing in the background, the fake fireplace is lit, and it all just feels wrong. 

Nat takes her time to fill her glass and slowly drain it. When she looks up, Tony is observing her, his dark eyes unusually warm. 

“I get it, Nat,” he sighs when their eyes meet. “Trust me, I do.” He nods at the tablet sitting in his lap. “Why do you think I keep busy with this all the time?”

She gives a tiny nod of appreciation and hopes he gets that too. Tony smiles at her with a bit of sadness and then turns back to his work. 

Nat goes to the kitchen to refill her glass. When she comes back, Tony is asleep, twisted up on the couch as if he just fell over from exhaustion, tablet still in his hand. She goes back to wash her hands thoroughly, and then, holding her breath, takes the device out of his hand and covers him with a blanket.

She sits there, alone with the scotch bottle, Tony’s snores, and her thoughts, until pink clouds start to creep over the sky. 

At 5:35 on the dot, Steve appears in the doorway, dressed in his workout clothes. He stops just outside of the room and leans against the doorframe, taking in the scene. The look on his face makes it clear that it’s her turn to speak. 

Nat takes a moment to weigh her words. “It’s just… I can’t sit in here not knowing when I’m going to be out. Not again,” she finally admits into the fake fireplace that has now grown cold.

Steve doesn’t reply, but he relaxes just the tiniest bit against the doorframe and something in his expression shifts. 

“Are you up for a sparring session before hitting the treadmill?” he asks.

“You want to work out with me?” Nat doesn’t look him in the eyes. 

“That’s why I’m asking.”

This isn’t an apology—not from either of them. Nat isn’t guilty, just sad. And if Steve was sorry, he would’ve said so straight away. But this is not a concession―it’s a I don’t approve of your actions, but I’ll still be here for you. Just like Tony’s glass of scotch, what it means is: You don’t have to go through this alone. 

“So?” Steve asks. 

Nat pushes herself up from the armchair. The residual alcohol in her bloodstream and the all-too-familiar tiredness make her head swim for a moment, but she’s stable once she gets to her feet. “Fencing. Let’s go.”

____________________________

This is part of the Red in my Ledger series.

All my fics

[tomnhaz]

tom getting overprotective and jealous and fighting a guy for you and then you patch him up? maybe heavy angst and some light fluff?

Here ya go love, kinda got carried away, so my apologies…

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of sexual harassment, angst 

Notes: sorry i’ve been inactive, I’ve got a few in the queue so hopefully i’ll remember to post them

Tagging some mutuals to promote… @h-osterfield @hollandharrison @hollandsosterfield @hazthediv @spideymood

You and Tom had decided to go out tonight with a few of his castmates to celebrate the successful release of the trailer for the new spiderman movie. You had decided to wear your new pair of high waisted, dark wash jeans because hey, it made you ass look great; you paired them with a bright floral crop top the dipped low and exposed a semi decent amount of cleavage.

Harrison had picked the two of you up a few hours ago, blasting pump up songs in his car on the way to the bar. Tom had ‘pregamed’ before you left the house, earning him a nice buzz in the car. Despite his tough guy appearance, Tom was a total lightweight. After a couple drinks he was buzzed and got super handsy, a couple more and he was loud and very extroverted, but give him a couple more after that and he became very easily irritated.

But while the three of you were singing along to the bass in Harrison’s car, Tom’s hand were roaming between the sliver of skin along your stomach that was exposed and rubbing circles against your inner thigh. Several times you had to grab Tom’s hand and pull it away, looking up at him with a smirk and shaking your head disapprovingly.

‘What?’, Tom would ask, feigning innocent, his eyes blown wide with lust.

You were sort of relieved once you reached the bar because it meant Tom would roam around instead of clinging to your side. Don’t get it wrong, you loved Tom, you really did but it was difficult to enjoy a night out for yourself when you were constantly worried about him. Instead, you passed him off to Harrison once you stepped through the door and walked straight over to the bar and ordered yourself a drink.

You turned around and leaned against the counter of the bar and surveyed the room, flashing smiles at people you knew. You scoped out a group of people across the bar who you knew, and turned back around to pay for your drink. As you handed your credit card to the bartender, you felt someone move up against you.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see a tall figure with his back leaning on the bar, his large, hairy hands clutching a drink. You turned your attention back towards the wall behind the counter, but you could still feel his eyes on you. You tried to focus on the bottles of alcohol sitting on the shelves in front of you, and you smiled weakly at the bartender as he came back with your card. You moved to put your card back in your purse, grabbed your drink, and moved to turn around, but you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your throat as you felt the man’s arm wrap around your waist.

You could feel the man’s pungent breath against your ear as he whispered, ‘Hey, darling. I know you can see me.’. His arm pulled you closer into his chest, so your back was pressed against his chest, his hand traveling down to your hips, pulling your body flush against him. ‘What do you say we get out of here?’.

You could feel his arms wrap around your waist and tears brimmed around your eyes. A burning feeling trapped in the back of your throat; you wanted to scream, to shout - to do anything, anything to get someone’s attention.

From across the bar Tom watched a man move to stand next to you. He felt his jaw clench and his grip on his drink tightening. Tom knew you were tough and that you pride yourself on being independent, but when this strange man wrapped his arm around your waist his patience was gone. He thrusted his drink into Harrison’s chest, the blonde startled and confused as he watched the brunette shove his way through the crowd of people in the club. His eyes wandered towards the counter until he spotted you and your unwanted company, he muttered an ‘oh shit’ under his breath before he set the drinks down and chased after his best friend.

The first tear fell from your eye as your body tensed, you attempted to struggle in his arms, small pleadings falling from your lips, wishing for anything that would make this stop.

‘Hey pal’, you heard someone shout behind you, and a sigh of relief left your mouth as Tom’s voice sounded behind you.

The man dropped his hold on you, and turned around, ‘Look, buddy I’m just trying to have a good time here. Why don’t you-’ he started, but he was cut off by Tom’s fist connecting with his jaw.

A shocked scream escaped your mouth as Tom tackled the man to the floor. ‘Tom!’ you shouted in surprise as he continued to deliver blows to the guys face. ‘Tom, please, stop!’ you begged, tears falling freely down your face at the sight of your boyfriend beating this man.

Harrison was quick on the scene, reaching down and pulling Tom off of the stranger, whose nose was grabbing at his bleeding nose.

‘Tom! Mate, stop. Come on, calm down. Come with me, let’s go.’ Harrison muttered, struggling to keep Tom from swinging out at the man again. You watched silently from the bar as Harrison dragged you drunk boyfriend from the club. The man on the floor looked up at you with a glare, wiping the blood off of his face. You cringed and turned to follow close behind, reaching up and wiping the tears from your eyes as you walked out of the club.

When you got outside you stood there for a minute, letting the cold air flush over your body and wash away the burning feeling from where the man had touched you. You closed your eyes and tried to erase the thoughts of the event from your mind, but the feeling of his hands on your body brought tears to your eyes as a choked sob escaped your throat.

Tom watched you walk out the door of the club, and he watched as you stood in the entryway of the club, your eyes squeezed shut in pain. His own eyes pricked with tears as he watched tears fall down your face, and he lunged towards you to catch your fragile frame as a sob slipped from your perfect lips and you stumbled forward.

‘Y/N, love, it’s okay.’ Tom’s hands grasped ahold of your waist, trying to hold you up but the feeling of touch against your exposed skin sparked that familiar burning sensation and you pulled back abruptly. Tom looked slightly taken aback, ‘Y/N, darling, it’s just me.’ he said calmly, his arms stretched out in front of him defensively.

You looked up at him in anger, ‘You didn’t have to do that, Tom’, you whispered, crossing your arms to shield yourself from the world - from Tom.

Tom face scrunched up in confusion in anger, a little caught off guard by what you had said, ‘Done what? Protected you from that piece of shit? Yea, I did, Y/N. You obviously couldn’t handle the situation yourself.’ He scowled down at you, not comprehending how you could possibly find anger for him at the moment, given how he had just saved you from potentially being assaulted by that guy.

‘Tom-I’ you started, but Tom was quick to cut you off, the alcohol he had been consuming at a quick pace all night beginning to have an affect on his mind.

‘No, Y/n. Why the fuck are you mad at me right now?! What did I do wrong here? Forgive me for wanting to protect my girlfriend from that fucking creep!’ he shouted back at you. You couldn’t tell if his cheeks were red from the alcohol or his anger, but you pushed that our of your head as you felt your own cheeks begin to flush.

You just stared at your boyfriend. Yes, you knew he was drunk, and yes, you knew that if he was sober he wouldn’t be saying any of this, but that didn’t make his words any less hurtful. You could feel your heart tighten in your chest as the love of your life stood 3 feet in front of you, his chest heaving as his breathing quickened, and his typically shining brown eyes blown wide with anger. Your gaze traveled to his hands, which were still stretched out in front of him from when he reached out to you, and you saw the blood drying on his knuckles.

You didn’t know if the blood was his or the other guys, but at this point you didn’t care, you just wanted it off of him. You took 3 steps forward and grabbed your boyfriend by the forearm and all but dragged him into Harrison’s car, who was sitting in the driver’s seat anticipating your departure. You pushed Tom into the back seat of the car and climbed in after him, looking up briefly at Harrison who gave you a knowing look and pulled the car out before heading towards home.

In the backseat, you leaned Tom’s head gently against the headrest and reached over him to grab the seat belt before wrapping it across his body. You could feel Tom’s gaze piercing into you, but you refused to say a word. Once his seat belt was buttoned you sat back down in your seat, your gaze falling on the passing buildings outside your window. You found your mind wandering back to earlier, and the burning feeling returned, but you snapped back at the feeling of Tom’s fingers intertwining with your own.

You gazed up at him briefly, a look of concern and love resting on his tired face. You wanted nothing more than to reach over and brush his long hair out of his eyes. He had been saying for weeks how badly he needed a haircut, and yet he never went; you were beginning to think it was because he knew you liked it longer. You gave him a small smile in return, rubbing your thumb against his and shifting slightly in your seat so that you were resting against his shoulder.

The two of you remained in this position until Harrison pulled up in front of your shared home. You unbuckled yours and Tom’s seat belt and helped him from the car, before turning around and saying a quick thanks to Harrison for driving the two of you home.

‘No problem, love’ he responded, his blue eyes shining bright, but something else you couldn’t quite place was lying just beneath the surface. ‘Hey, Y/N?’, he called out just as you were turning around to help your drunk boyfriend up the stairs to your apartment.

‘Yea?’, you answered. Dread began to pool inside you as you knew exactly what he was going to ask, the look of pity on his face revealing everything you needed to know.

‘He was just trying to protect you, Tom.’ he glanced behind you at the brunette, who had plopped down on the second stair, his head leaning into his hand, his eyes closed; the sight made your heart flutter and swell with love towards the young actor. ‘He loves you, Y/N. More than he cares to admit, and he’d rather die than watch any harm come to you.’

Tears were building behind your eyes once again, and you nodded fondly at Harrison, knowing that everything he had just said was one hundred percent accurate. Tom was absolutely, head over heels, in love with you, and he told you almost every opportunity he could get.

You smiled at the blonde in front of you, ‘Thank you, Harrison.’, before closing the car door and turning around, walking towards your now sleeping boyfriend. You shook his shoulder lightly, rousing him from his nap on your front porch, ‘Tom, baby, let’s go inside.’, you suggested, smiling down at the dazed brown eyes below you.

Tom stared back up at you from his seat on the porch. He raised his hands up, an indication that he wanted to hold yours, and you were more than happy to oblige, reaching down you placed your hand delicately in his. He carefully brought his lips to your palm, keeping his eyes locked on yours, before placing gentle kisses along the inside of your hand and up your wrist. He pulled lightly until you were standing in between his knees, your hands resting lazily against his back and playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

Tom’s arms wrapped gently around your waist, and this time the burning sensation was kept at bay because you knew you had nothing to fear. You brought your hand around to trace along his jawline, tilting his chin up to look at you once again. ‘I love you, Tom.’, you whispered, placing a light kiss against his chapped lips. He was slow to respond, but eventually his lips pressed back against your own, his arms wrapping tighter around your waist pulling your body closer to his own.

He pulled away, bringing one hand out to rest upon your hand on his cheek, he leaned into your touch, turning his face to press a kiss to the inside of your hand, ‘I love you so much more, my love.’ His arms pulled you closer to him, his head burying itself into your stomach causing you to chuckle slightly as one of your hands rubbed up and down his back, the other finding its way to his curls. ‘I promise I’ll always protect you.’, he muttered faintly against your shirt.

Tears welled up in your eyes at the pure love expressed in his tone. The all too familiar burning sensation was once again creeping through your veins except this time it didn’t hurt; it calmed you, it completed you, and it loved you. In fact, the burning sensation didn’t burn at all, it healed you.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

PROMPTATHON: Obi goes looking for his mother, and Shirayuki (of course) comes with. Shirayuki gets some tastes of Obi's past. Obi's not sure what he expected to find (or not find), but it sure wasn't this.

Prompts are currently closed while I catch up. I will announce when I am open! :)

A/N: I decided to tease this scene from future Noble Lines chapters because this prompt has gone unanswered for far, FAR too long and I am determined to clean out my ask box.

Content warning: Mentions of abuse. Everything kept below the cut not so much for explicit content, but spoilers.

The carriage clatters around them, cobblestones testing the workmanship of hinges and Shirayuki grips her hands together tighter. Each bend in their journey brings a crash of stone to wheel to box, rattling her teeth and the possibilities flitting around in her brain so fiercely that one conclusion is just as elusive as another.

What if he was taking her to his house? Did he have one here? If not, was he taking her to an inn? It wouldn’t be so untoward to assume. Just because he didn’t come to her room to make his claim last night doesn’t mean he… couldn’t. Whenever he wanted.

Shirayuki glances at him out of the corner of her eye, assessing, and he’s- he’s very large. Not just in height but the broadness of the shoulders, his clothes doing little to hide the lean strength that would be much greater than hers should he test it.

Shirayuki unclenches her hands, smoothing them down the folds of her skirt.

Zen had- he had promised that Obi was a good man. A kind man. A man that wouldn’t… press his advantage just because the law said she belonged to him. But back in Tanbarun, she had known far too many men called “good” and “kind” by their peers. They were the type that sent their wives to her apothecary in the middle of the night. A fall down the stairs here, a run in with a cabinet door there - each and every limp and bruise and sprain shielded by a bashful smile and a claim of clumsiness.

Shirayuki has no way of knowing if Obi is of their ilk. Or if Zen was capable of telling the good men apart from those with only good faces. All she knows is that she upset him. Somehow. Someway. And she wishes to make it right, but each second lived in uncertainty clutches at her heart, grabs at her throat until she cannot breathe. 

“Where are we going?” she finally asks out loud.

Obi’s face is illuminated only through the slats between window and curtain, bars of light keeping him more hidden than not and she- she should be nervous, being in a closed carriage like this with a man she knows little of. She is nervous. But he’s- he’s her husband. This stranger is as close as family now, and there’s no one - no Prince nor King nor common man - that would find fault in their closeness, their privacy.

He turns towards her and her eyes drift up to the scar that touches his forehead.

“I wanted to show you something,” he says, voice strange. “About me.”

That does nothing to calm her. If anything, it makes the space feel tighter. “You could just tell me!” she laughs, voice high. “I’m a good listener!”

A smile twitches his lips, lopsided and bordering on fond. “Zen told me.”

The cabin lurches suddenly, the carriage coming to a stop, and she yelps, tumbling forward. It all happens so quickly: Her hands stretch out before her, too little too late, wide eyes latched to bench opposite as she falls towards it. Her body coils, flinching already, preparing for the blossom of pain of her face meeting the sharp edge-

Only for it to not come.

Warmth grasps ahold of her forearms, firm and gentle, and in the stillness of the moment, it takes her a couple of seconds to realize that she is no longer falling. Heart still pounding, body still half expecting the crack of skin to wooden base, her eyes flutter open slowly, tentatively, to reveal golden buttons and black wool mere inches from her face.

“Uhm,” she manages, breathless, the warmth flexing against her, and oh- Oh. Those are. Obi’s hands. Holding her.

Face burning, half wanting the world to swallow her whole, her eyes drag up the row of buttons to the peek of skin above the tie of his cravat. Past the chin and lips and well-shaped nose, she finally meets eyes wide and round as two gold coins.

“Are you-” his voice gives out a little - maybe he needs a lozenge? - and he coughs to clear it. “Are you alright, Miss?”

She stares mutely for a beat too long before their closeness registers. Jolting, she pulls back, Obi’s hands dropping away so quickly that he might have been burned. 

“Uhm,” she says again, so intelligent. “Y-yes. Just fine. Thank you.”

She’s not looking at him, so she cannot match the expression to make sense of his voice when he replies, “Anytime, Miss.”

Swallowing, Shirayuki looks around the carriage, confused. “We stopped,” she says, and really. She’s smarter than this. One day she’ll prove it to him. “What- what happened? Why have we stopped?”

He’s peeking out the window when she feels brave enough to look at him, and the grin on his face doesn’t exactly look… happy. “We’re here.”

Before she can ask where ‘here’ is, the driver opens the door, letting bright midday light pour inside. 

“Come on,” he says, already halfway out. “This should answer your questions.”

Frowning, Shirayuki watches him jump down, turning towards the carriage with a fools grin and hand extend.

Against her better judgement, she reaches out. Takes it.  

And ignores the way her arms still itch maddeningly beneath her clothes. 

~ ~ ~

The neighborhood she spills out into is quiet, idyllic. As close to the peacefulness of nature as one could get in the midst of a Capital. Little trees dot the side of the road, the walkways free of debris and overgrowth. Narrow townhouses press up tightly against one another, each painted in more festive colors than the next, curtains pulled open wide to reveal scenes of ladies taking tea or bent over embroidery. A few seem empty, windows open only to let in the early spring air after a long and hard winter, but Obi is not leading her to any of those.

The house he approaches is a few seasons past due for fresh paint, all the curtains closed up tight against prying eyes. And all at once, Shirayuki’s heart knocks hard against her ribs once again.

“Is this yours?” she asks.

Obi glances over his shoulder, his mouth trembling like she said something funny, and doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes hold of the knocker and raps three times.

Not his, then.

It doesn’t take long before the door shudders, opening by half to reveal the confused face of a girl slightly older than herself. She’s dressed simply, black dress accented by a starched white apron, and Shirayuki doesn’t even get the chance to catch her eye in greeting before the girl’s mouth goes slack.

“I’m sorry for not sending word ahead of me. Everything has happened so quick,” Obi begins, his voice soft with the admission, and this- it is definitely not his house. “But I was hoping that she would see me without notice.”

“Of- of course!” The maid stutters, eyes drifting from him to her then back again. Maybe aware that she is gaping, her gaze drops like a rock to the ground. Opening the door wider, she says, “Please. Come in.”

The house may have some veneer of faded beauty on the outside, but on the inside, it is as if it has been lost in time. Fine paintings of flowers and little fruit shaped figurines wilt under the weight of dust, long abandoned cobwebs floating from fine glass lamps. The silver tea set and silverware, too, has turned, unused and unkempt for too long on their displays, and the intricate wallpaper depicting a garden party in the midst of summer peels a little in the corners.

Shirayuki sneezes.

Obi glances down at her, frowning, and Shirayuki casts him a little apologetic smile. “It’s the dust,” she says, voice low in case the lady of the house is close enough to hear.

His frown deepens, glaze sliding off her and to the maid gesturing for them to take a seat on a mouldering sette. Shirayuki takes it, and sneezes again.

“There certainly does seem to be an unseemly amount,” he says pointedly.

The maids shoulder round in a wince. “The lady of the house says she prefers it thus.”

Shirayuki’s forehead wrinkles, glancing around them. Somehow, she doubts it.

Obi presses on, voice dropping to a low hiss. “Just because she has no room to complain doesn’t mean it should be kept in such a state.”

“It is only me and the lady, my lord,” the maid replies, her voice thick with apology and a hint of weedling. “We were going to do a thorough cleaning now that Spring is here.”

Throat working like a dog chewing down a growl, Obi asks, “Has he not been sending allowance?”

There’s so much going on that Shirayuki doesn’t understand. So many words that are passing over her head and she- she doesn’t like it. She doesn’t know why, but she is filled with the strange desire to be angry with him. To be filled with the comfort of righteous discontent and set on the path to fix it.

“He sends enough to keep the lady in comfort,” the maid finally responds.

Obi’s lips are pressed tight and there’s a rage along the line of his shoulders. “I’ve taken a position as a messenger to the second Prince,” he says, finally, and the girl starts. “I’ll ensure more funds be sent soon. In the meantime, I’ll come when I can. I look forward to this house becoming more… habitable.”

The maid starts. She shakes her head, sputtering a protest. “My lord!“

“Lylette!” a voice floats from somewhere up the stairs, halting their conversation. The words are stilted, carefully carving Clariness from an accent Shirayuki cannot recognize. “Lylette, who is it? Has someone come to call?”

Shirayuki’s eyes drift over to her husband, but Obi has gone stock still, eyes frozen on the stairwell. 

At the top of it, a woman, rail thin and wrapped in a dressing gown made of patterned silk hovers like a ghost. There’s something strange about her, something sickly that has nothing to do with the way her black hair hangs unfashionably loose and glossy down to her waist.

“Yes, my lady! Just a moment!” the maid calls, rushing up the stairs with a strange sense of urgency. When Lylette reaches her, hand taking the small fingers that just peak from beneath the lady’s heavy sleeves and leading her down the stairs, Shirayuki finally sees it. The way that the white of her eyes never end, instead of enveloping the iris and pupil in a milky film. “We have guests-”

Her smile is a beautiful thing that is hidden away mere moments after it bloomed, her free hand raising from the railing to shield her mouth. “Oh my,” she breathes, navigating the stairs with a graceful ease. “It’s been such a long time. Who is it?”

Obi hasn’t spoken, hasn’t moved. So much so that Shirayuki had temporarily forgotten he was even there, but he does now, his voice gentle but loud enough to be heard. “It’s me.”

The woman stops on the steps, her painted lips parting in shock.

“It’s Obi, mother.”

[hardyimagines]

Nerve

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Helloo can I request an Alfie proposing fic?! Maybe he realises he doesn't wanna do life without the reader so he decides to make it permanent, maybe he's nervous that she'll say no because he's old. Idk write it however you want I'd just love to read it! P.s please defs put Cyril in it 😂 thanks love x — ?

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“It’s a sexy language.” You muttered, sprawled out on the torn cushion. There was a gaping hole in the center beside your head from where Cyril had absolutely mauled the furniture. He was trying to hide the bone his father had given him two nights ago and instead of tucking the treat away beneath the couch, he decided to just bury it inside. “Pet, it’s not sexy.” Alfie grunted, shifting on the arm chair to the left of you. The wooden legs creaked quietly, showing just how old the furniture was. “Fucking boring it is, you’ve-“ You sat up quickly at his words, turning fully to face him. You knelt up on the cushion, small fingers sinking into the arm of the couch. You cut him off. “You only think it’s boring because you understand it.” You muttered before rolling your eyes. Alfie adjusted the ring on his left hand, eyes unmoving from the wide silver that curled around his middle finger. He didn’t direct his blue orbs toward you until you spoke up, effectively silencing him, he squinted. “Right, well, there’s where we fucking disagree then, yeah. You don’t speak it, that’s why you’re fucking-.” “Well, you don’t speak it either.” You cut him off again. Alfie growled loudly, his cheeks reddening slightly from the irritation at his inability to finish a single sentence. “Right, what are you playing at, girl?” Slamming the red-colored book shut that resided on his lap, it briefly settled on his knee before he tossed the hardcover on to the glass surface of the coffee table and slunk forward. His forearms pressed to his knees and he directed a pointed finger toward you. “Are you tryna piss me off, lass? I think you fucking are. I haven’t been able to finish a single fucking sentence Y/N.” You smirked to yourself before giving him the most innocent look you could muster. “No.” You pouted. “I’m sorry, Alfie.” His eyes flashed visibly with a look of apology for his shouting before he shrank back, getting comfy once more. “Don’t apologize.” He muttered as his back sunk further into the soft cushion as he fixated his curious orbs on the window.

The rain had been relentlessly pouring for hours, soaking anyone who dared set foot outside for even a second. The water droplets raced along the glass, fogging it slightly. He wasn’t pulled from the scene until your quiet voice filled the room again. “Alfie?” He looked toward you. “I do speak it, by the way. Not fluently, right, it’s difficult for me to remember all them Russian words, yeah, but I do know them.” You lifted a brow as he drew the previous topic back up. “Oh, you do?” This time, you revealed your smirk to him. “Well let’s hear something then.” You rose from your position on the sofa and sauntered toward him. His legs were spread, eyes lifting to yours as you approached him. “I don’t know what to say, pet.” He grumbled, shuffling his boots against the recently swept floorboards. “Oh, come on, Alfie, don’t be like that.” Your smirk fell. “I wanna hear!” Your small hands met your waist, gripping it gently as you stood right in front of his opened knees. “Right, what’s wrong with my English?” He slouched, head tipping back to rest against the chair. “It’s not sexy enough for you?” A breathy sigh escaped you. “Your voice is sexy in general, Alfie.” You laid your hands on his arms before placing your knee beside his hip. Lowering yourself down and on to his lap, you shifted repeatedly to get comfy, though it was just causing repeated pressure to his groin so he let out a soft grunt followed by a low mumble of warning for you to be still, so you did. “How’s my voice attractive? It’s just a deep fucking sound.” You smiled lazily before wrapping your arms around his neck and drawing him in close to you. “Mh, but it sounds awfully good when it goes all husky and you’re turned on.” The man lifted his brows simultaneously. “You, yeah, you are the horniest girl I’ve ever fucking met, you know that?” You scoffed at his accusation. “Sorry, how does that make me horny! I was only talking about your voice.” Shrinking back a little more so you could see his face fully, amusement danced in both of your gazes before you both leaned in for a soft and slow kiss. Alfie wasn’t finished messing with you though. “Sex is always on your mind.” He sighed against your lips when you began to part. “It’s so unhealthy.” He continued. Your mouth opened wide, staring down at him with a glare now. You knew he was playing around and you loved every second of it. “I’m not the one who comes home from work, begging for oral. You’re the horny one, I’m just the occasional-.” You rose up from his lap, but he pulled you back down instantly, cutting you off as he’d done to you. “That was one time.” He pointed out, matter of factly. “One time, a hundred times, it doesn’t matter, point is it happened.” You wiggled your brows before rising again, continuing to talk. “I’m talking about your voice and you moved the topic to sex.”

This time you made it off of his lap, but when you made your way out of the room and toward the kitchen to get a snack, you could hear the pop of his knees and then the sound of his boots thudding along the floor as he followed. “Pet.” He growled lowly. “There’s a huge difference! If I asked all the time, your jaw would be fucking useless, wouldn’t it?” You smirked widely as you drew open a drawer. Pulling out a silver spoon to use for whatever you decided to eat, you halted, turning to face him. “Hang on, how do you know a woman’s jaw is sore afterward?” You sent him an accusing look of surprise. “Oh, Alfie. Have you sucked a-“ The man stepped forward, loud boots thudding harsher against the floor. “No!” He barked. “I’m a bit too busy with you, aren’t I? I think I give you the royal treatment much more than you give me.” He grunted before watching you intently as you turned away. That damned smirk was still on your face. “You’re a hungry man.” You pointed out before stepping around him to retrieve the bread from another cabinet. Alfie scratched the back of his neck. He really wasn’t complaining. He loved giving, and receiving.

The cupboard slammed shut audibly behind you as you traipsed along the floor and toward the drawer to get a plate. Laying the bread out on the dish so you could make a sandwich, you hummed softly, eyes briefly dropping to the floor as you heard Alfie stepping up behind you. Pretending to be oblivious, you began to sway lazily, singing a quiet tune as you smothered the bread with some grape-flavored jam. Alfie hovered behind you, his chest mere centimeters away. “Speaking of hungry,” you glanced over your shoulder, noting the hunger that now decorated his features, though it wasn’t food he craved. You’d gone and done it now. Lifting your brows, you slowly turned around to face him. “Do you want a sandwich?” You really tried not to push him any further. You were still recovering from the sex the pair of you had just had thirty minutes prior to this little game you’d been playing. “Alfie.” Your hand pressed to his chest firmer, halting him as he attempted to move further forward. “Honey, I’m still a little sore.” That was not the reason you didn’t want to do it again. You’d gone one afternoon of never-ending love making and you knew the second you said that, Alfie would be questioning you. “Sore?” He pried. “What do you mean sore?” You licked your lips. “Not sore, honey, but my legs, they feel like jello.” Smiling shyly as you turned away from him to continue making your sandwich, you could feel his hot gaze, burning every inch of your skin that it ran across. “I can be gentle this time?” He offered. You smiled slowly before turning around to face him once more. “After I eat my sandwich, okay?”

You’d never seen a man look so much like an excited child, but Alfie was beaming from your words. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before you noticed him look toward your sandwich. “Go sit down and I’ll make you one.” You instructed, finally, turning again, to finish the first sandwich. This ten second job was turning into a ten minute one. Closing the bread, you licked your lips before moving to the table. Settling the glass down on the surface, it created a soft clink before you stepped away to make yourself one. “I could’ve waited, pet , I didn’t need the first one.” He grumbled, eyeing you as you moved around. “It’s alright.” You giggled quietly. “Just eat your sandwich.” Alfie obliged the second you told him it was okay. Practically devouring the food, his eyes were unmoving from the little sway of your hips. Your movements were innocent and you were simply dancing to the tune in your head, but your actions seemed to drag Alfie away from the present and to a long while ago when he’d met you.

—————

It was winter, two years ago. The sun had set a little while earlier and every club in town was coming to life at this time. Alfie had many many options on which one to attend, but he found himself lured toward the most vibrant one. Ollie tagged alongside him, twisting an unlit cigarette between two of his fingers as they moved in time with one another. The door to the club was slung open and held that way with a large rock. The music was loud, deafening almost, and the second the pair stepped into the building, more or less just for a drink, Alfie had locked eyes with you. You were stood beside the bar, clad in an outfit that resembled lingerie. Every other woman in the club, who worked there, wore the same thing. Most materials were solid black or white, he noticed some pinks and one blue, but yours was ivory and violet, lined with beautiful lace. Your hair was pinned but you allowed some loose curls to stray free from their updo. He briefly ogled the fishnets that embraced your thighs and then your boots, entirely too tall for anyone to walk in. But you managed, and you managed well. He’d requested you to be the waitress for Ollie and himself when the manager had passed by and since the club owner knew exactly who Alfie Solomons was, he wasted no time before assigning you to the man’s table. You’d been confused since your tables were on the opposite side of the room, but now, the most important job you had was to take care of the man with the beard and the lad beside him. You crossed the room with a tray in hand, two drinks propped up neatly on top. “Hi, welcome to Bliss.” You smiled. “I’m Y/N.” Though you were addressing both of them, you couldn’t help but stare down at Alfie. He was very handsome and although the boy beside him was probably closer to your age and a more suitable gent for you to be flirting with, Alfie looked more your type. “Alfie.” He spoke up gruffly. “This here’s Ollie.” He ushered to the boy beside him with his curled pinky. You briefly eyed the seemingly permanent broken finger before directing your gaze back to the man. “What’ll you be drinking?” You asked before lowering the tray and setting two waters on the tabletop. Ollie licked his lips before requesting some rum and Alfie shook his head lightly to your words. “Water��s fine, pet, thank you.” He shrank back. You studied him briefly before turning to retrieve some rum. You could feel the man’s eyes, locked on to your retreating form.

Alfie looked to Ollie with a light hum. “She’s pretty, yeah?” Ollie arched a brow. “I wasn’t really looking.” The boy spoke quietly before looking toward his boss. “Quit staring. You’ll make her uncomfortable.” The lad pointed out before looking toward you briefly. “Nah, she, yeah, she knows what she’s doing, lad. Keeping her back toward us. She’s not fucking doing nothing.” He ushered toward the bar. “They’ve probably got six bottles of rum opened back there, yeah, it’s a frequently ordered drink. Yet, she,” He watched you, tipping his head down slightly. “She’s opening a new bottle, mate, she’s putting on a little show.” Alfie sat back, eyes roaming your form briefly before he looked toward Ollie when he spoke again. “And is that bad? She could just be doing it for a tip.” Alfie cocked a brow. “And if she fucking is? I’ll be tipping big.” The smile on Alfie’s lips told Ollie all he needed to know. Just because he found you pretty, didn’t mean he was interested in you. Well, maybe in your body, but not in you. Ollie heaved a quiet sigh before watching alongside Alfie, but his boss hit the table lightly. “You watch someone else, yeah, don’t be sending her mixed signals. You don’t know how to fucking flirt with your eyes, now,” He pointed toward a blonde who was within perfect range of Ollie. “Go talk to her, yeah, leave me alone with this one.” Ollie shifted slowly. “I’m not a flirt, Alfie.”

The boy didn’t have time to say much else before you approached again. Setting the freshly opened bottle of rum down on the table, you poured him a glass, up to the brim, before sliding it across the table toward Ollie. “There you go.” He barely caught it. “And you,” you fixated Alfie with a curious look. “You’re sure you don’t want anything else besides water?” Your lashes, coated with a thin, but noticeable, layer of mascara fluttered before you laid your hand on the back of his chair. Flirting was what got you money around here and flirting was easy to do. Especially with a handsome man. Your fingertips grazed his shoulder and Alfie could hardly restrain himself from yanking you down on his lap. He wasn’t use to the little teasing and flirty touches. He was use to communication and then fucking. Straight to the point. You watched the way he lifted his glass to his lips before you directed your attention to Ollie. “Well then, I’ll be on my way.” Ollie’s eyes widened. “Hang on, Miss, my boss, he thinks you’re a looker.” Alfie had never been so embarrassed so quickly. His features, though composed and calm, tinted a dark shade of red. You, pretending to be oblivious to his shyness, tilted your head to the side before licking your lips. “Well tell your boss I said thank you.” You told Ollie though Alfie could hear you very clearly. “I think he’s very handsome.” Smiling kindly, you took a small step back before tearing your eyes away from the boy to the man. He was rubbing his teeth together. “If you need anything, I’ll be at the bar.”

The second you retreated, Alfie leant over the table toward Ollie. “I should put my whole fucking fist down your fucking throat, Ollie. Why the fuck, yeah, did you go and say that!” The boy, oblivious to the inner turmoil he’d caused Alfie, shifted with a flush. “I-I thought you were too nervous to say anything!” Alfie growled, hands curling as they rested atop the table. “Mate, that’s why you flirt with your eyes! She would’ve been looking over here all night, wondering what the fuck I think about her if you hadn’t gone and-“ he lifted his eyes away from Ollie when he noticed you approaching again. The man licked his lips before staring at the boy in warning. “Shut it.” He whispered before looking to you as you halted at his side. “Right, well, I thought I’d just come over and ask if you wanted to dance.” Your cheeks were red from shyness but you wore it like blush you’d purposefully dabbed on your cheeks. Alfie stared up at you, dumbfounded. No woman had ever had the guts to flirt with him in this way. This was brave. The man shifted slowly. “I’m not a dancer, pet.” Ollie kicked Alfie harshly beneath the table, receiving another warning look. “My- fucking hell! Ollie, get, go on somewhere else while I talk to the lass, yeah?” Your small hand moved to the man’s arm. Ollie grit his teeth before slowly rising. Alfie did not know how to flirt. He lifted his glass of rum before shyly slipping through the crowd and, accidentally, toward the blonde.

Alfie watched the boy run into the girl, splashing his alcohol along the front of her body. It was still loud, raging, booming, nobody stopped to help her. Nobody apart from Ollie. Alfie tore his eyes away from the scene to instead look back to you. “Right, what I was saying, yeah, before the boy decided to go and kick me, is that I don’t fucking dance. I’m no good at it, yeah, but you,” He eyed you. “Look like you know what you’re doing, right, so if you lead and don’t let me make a complete fool of myself, I will.” Your small hands slid along the lingerie you wore before you leaned in and cautiously took his hand. He seemed like he had a temper and you didn’t usually mess with men like that. But he was attractive and you felt daring. “Come on then.” You urged. His hip bumped the table lightly as he stood, nearly knocking over the bottle of rum, but you smoothly caught it, small hand moving away from his hand and instead to his forearm. Leading him backwards, along with you, you noted how tall he was. The dancefloor was slammed. People were jumping, bouncing, dancing hideously along to the music and although it wasn’t a slow song, the pair of you slow danced. Your body wrapped slowly around Alfie’s and he welcomed the touch. No woman had ever been so willing to push herself into his arms and when you did, he wasted no time before locking his arms around you as best as he could. The height difference made it a bit harder, but the pair of you managed. “I’ve never seen you here before.” You had to speak against his ear otherwise your words would’ve been swallowed by the music. Alfie smiled lazily, hands remaining on the middle of your back. “Was just coming by to check it out and you caught my eye the second I came in.” You pulled back slightly, small hands tracing his large shoulders. “Is that why you forced me to be your waitress?” You smiled lazily as he blushed once more. “You weren’t meant to be told. I thought they just told you to switch tables because you were short on staff-“ you laughed breathily, head shaking. “No, Mr. Solomons, they told me you insisted on having me as your waitress.” Alfie grunted, eyes rolling to the ceiling. “Well, that’s fucking embarrassing, innit?” You shook your head. “It’s awfully flattering, you shouldn’t be embarrassed.” The man closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down before he looked back to you. “Alfie? Alfie?”

—————

“Alfie?” He was pulled from the memory. You stood, one hand on your hip and the other on the table beside his empty dish. Studying him as he finally seemed to realize where he was and that you were talking to him, you frowned. “Are you alright?” Lifting your hand to the back of his head, your fingers slid through his hair, caressing the lengthy locks. Your sandwich was nothing but crust now, which meant whatever you’d been saying while Alfie was lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard. He looked at you intently, watching the way you stared at him with the same doe-eyed, adoring, head over heels in love look you’d been staring at him with for the past 768 days. Your love for him hadn’t, faltered. If anything, it had grown. Your hand continued to brush through his locks, studying his expression curiously before you smiled. He was still thinking about something. “Alright, when you decide to re-join me, let me know.” Leaning down, you placed your dish on the floor. “Cyril!” You called out softly, ears twitching as the sound of the mastiff racing down the steps filled the house. You’d just straightened up when Alfie caught you off guard, arm slipping around your hips to tug you into him. Gasping loudly, your small hands gripped on to his arms, trying to ensure you didn’t fall over as he dipped you. Giggling loudly as he leaned in and pressed his lips to your own, your small arm hooked around his neck, kissing him back with an eagerness you didn’t know you possessed. You whimpered softly into his mouth, laughter subsiding so you could focus on the kiss.

Cyril slipped past the both of you so he could gobble down the crust that was left for him, but he had to maneuver himself between your legs in order to get to the dish. His chomping was the only other noise in the house, apart from your lips smacking gently against Alfie’s. The man drew back, situating you in an upright position before he smoothed down his shirt. “What was that for?” You laughed happily, licking your lips to savor the feeling of his scratchy mouth on your own. Your eyes were droopy and your heart was beating loudly against your rib cage. “Just because I love you.” He lifted his plate and then leaned over to retrieve the one Cyril had licked clean. Approaching the sink, he washed each one thoroughly, ignoring your stare. He knew how much you cherished it when he told you he loved you. It was a daily thing, always said between the two of you, but because it wasn’t said in a quick, careless manner, you knew he really meant it. Usually, he took the time to kiss you or hug you as he told you. He was a very passionate man and you loved that you had him all to yourself. You moved up behind him so you could wound your small arms around his waist, mouth pressing against his clothed back. “I love you too.” You hummed breathily.

“Alright, I’m going to have a quick bath.” You spoke softly before looking up at him as he craned his neck. He hadnt forgot about the sex he’d just been so eager to have, prior to the memory, but now, he just wanted to think on his thoughts for a bit. “Okay.” He smiled softly. You squinted. What the hell was he thinking about? You leant up on your toes and pressed your lips against his own. Kissing him sweetly, your hands fell away from his body before you moved out of the room and up the stairs to the bathroom. Alfie tipped his head south, staring down at his boots before he looked to Cyril who sat, tail wagging happily. “What am I gonna do, mh?” Alfie sunk his hand into his pocket, finger tracing the ring he carried at all times of the day. His pinky curled around the diamond, eyes closing. He knew you’d say yes. The pair of you had talked about being together for eternity, so he knew, for a fact, you’d say yes. But he still felt pressured to make the proposal perfect. He felt pressured to make it romantic, to make it special. He knew you weren’t picky. You’d settle for anything, even if he just barged into the bathroom and asked the question without the ring. You’d cry. He knew that. Cry tears of happiness even if he had no ring to present to you. He’d listened to the wishes you had when it came to a wedding over the last several months of being together and he’d make sure to fulfill every single dream you had. “Fuck me.” He sighed before settling down on a nearby chair. What if you’d changed your mind though? Marriage had been discussed many times a while back but now the two of you didn’t talk about it much. Did you think he didn’t want you? Did you no longer want him? His head fell to his hand, breaths heavy. He was overthinking. “Right, come here, boy.” Cyril tilted his head to the side before moving toward his owner. “You’re gonna help me, yeah.”

—————

The water had decreased from its scalding temperature to a more barable one. Your skin was burned red, but you knew the color would fade in a while. Your feet bounced lazily against the rim of the tub, fingers tracing the chain that hung around your neck as you sat in the silence. Life was so good. Your boyfriend had changed your life for the better and you were eternally grateful. At one point, he’d just been a customer, the gangster that never stopped coming around to see you. You’d offer him some liquor, he’d turn it down. You’d offer him a dance, he’d stand instantly. He had always stayed till closing, dancing with you long after the music had stopped playing. Girls headed home as their shifts came to an end and you found yourself always offering to lock up because Alfie was always there, waiting to walk you home. He’d helped you clean up a few times, had even swept the sticky, food-covered wood floor, which was quite the sight. You could still remember the first time he’d kissed you. He’d been coming to the club for a month before he’d worked up the courage.

—————

You were stood by the bar, eyes rolling playfully as Alfie babbled on about how booming his business was. You cradled a dirty cloth in your hand, breaths soft as his loud voice drowned out the silence. Finishing up cleaning the countertop, you stepped down and on to the man floor before moving toward him. “It’s enjoyable? Being a gangster?” You asked him softly, hip brushing his lightly as you leaned over the table he was cleaning to retrieve empty beer bottles that were left behind. “Mh, it’s stressful, but enjoyable.” He smiled, ocean-colored eyes falling on the shimmering depth of your own. “Everything in life is stressful.” You broke eye contact to move around him and tuck the bottles away in the basin. His eyes followed. “Not everything.” He pointed out. You, curious to know what he could find that wouldn’t be stressful, turned to face him. The pair of you were at least four feet apart. You folded your arms and sent him a challenging look. “Okay, name something that isn’t stressful.” Alfie straightened before briefly directing his eyes to the ceiling, thinking. “Music?” He offered. “That’s an opinion.” You pointed out. “Some people don’t like certain sounds and that can irritate them.” The man grunted before squinting. “Food?” He chuckled. You shook your head. “Food makes me think of weight. Next.” Alfie scratched the back of his head. “Kissing.” He’d said it so seriously, your ears twitched from the sound. “Are you kidding?” Pushing yourself off of the wall, you moved toward him to grasp the rag from his hand and continue with the cleaning. “It is stressful. You’ve got to think about what kind of kiss your partners going to do, how long, are you good enough.” You tugged on the rag gently again, but he didn’t release it.

“Kissing isn’t meant to be stressful, pet. What the hell are you on about, right, you’ve been kissing the wrong people, a kiss is natural, you just, yeah, fucking go with the flow.” You laid a hand on your hip, tugging once more on the rag, but he tugged harder and you, not expecting it, stumbled forward and toward him. Frowning at his little game, you pushed him. “I’ve had enjoyable kisses, Alfie, I’m just saying, the moment leading up to them is very stressful.” Alfie arched a brow. Staring down at you, he licked his lips slowly before smirking. “You seem stressed.” He pointed out. “Is that because you’re thinking of kissing me?” He took a small step toward you and you fixed him with a look of surprise. “Oh god, Alfie.” The stress you’d felt seemed to double up and fade simultaneously. You weren’t sure how to feel. Was he about to kiss you? Right now? He wanted to obviously? Didn’t he? He brought it up. You backed up slightly, but when your leg hit the back of a chair and you nearly fell over, he caught you smoothly. His large hand slid to your lower back and he’d pulled you into him, breaths soft. “Do you want me to kiss you?” He’d asked and you’d froze. How was this not stressful! You swallowed quietly, ignoring the burn in your chest. Yes. You did. You very much did want him to kiss you. “Do you want to kiss me?” You turned the situation around so the decision was up to him. He’d answered by doing just that. Closing the space between the pair of you, he had to lean down and you leaned up on your tiptoes. Well. Maybe the actual kiss wasn’t that stressful. Or maybe Alfie was just an amazing kisser and you couldn’t focus on anything apart from that. Your small hand held the back of his neck, clutching on to him securely as your mouth moved shyly and curiously against his own. Alfie’s hands were gliding along your body and when they’d fallen to your ass, you’d jerked back in surprise, a deep blush on your cheeks. He went to pull them away, mouth opening to apologize, but you’d resumed the kiss and reached back to hold his hands in place. What the fuck was this man doing to you? He lifted you up and on to one of the tables that hadn’t been cleaned yet. Your legs parted widely, letting him step between your thighs so he could get as close as physically possible.

—————

The door to the bathroom opened with a click and you sat up hurriedly. Your breaths were shallow and heavy, hand sliding along the side of your neck shyly. The color on your chest matched the color in your cheeks and you felt guilty for some reason, like you’d been caught thinking of some filthy scenario, but you’d simiply been caught, by Cyril, thinking of Alfie. “Scared the shit out of me.” You moaned softly to the animal, not looking toward him more than the one time. “Where’s Alfie, mh? Go on, go get him.” Cyril sat down beside the tub, staring at you, though you still didn’t look toward him. You were busying yourself with washing up. “Go get daddy, Cyril.” You finally lifted your gaze. The pup sat, tongue hanging out of his mouth and one paw resting on the side of the tub. Clinging to his collar, was a chain. Alfie had looped an old unused chain through a loop in the pup’s collar and on the chain, attached, was a beautiful diamond ring. Your wet hand lifted, moving to grasp ahold of the beautiful jewelry. You cupped it as it dangled, studying it in question. “Oh my god.” You whispered breathily, scrutinizing the diamond. This was far too expensive. Was Alfie kidding? You would’ve like to think the diamond was fake, but Alfie had a knack when it came to jewels and this one was definitely real. “Fuck me.” You sighed before slowly unwounding the chain from the dog so you could inspect the ring more closely. Rising from the bath only seconds later, you climbed out, body soaking wet. “Alfie!” You shouted, not bothering to grab a towel or anything. The water droplets raced along your skin, sliding along the length of your form without a care in the world. “Alfie Solomons!” Cyril barked, following along close behind. You were careful not to slip on the stairs as you climbed down them almost angrily. “Alfie!” You tried again.

In the living room, Alfie was sat on the armchair, newspaper clutched in his hands as he pretended to be very invested in the stories. His eyes didn’t lift when he heard you calling his name, he instead continued to ‘read.’ You turned the corner sharply and when your eyes fell on him, you began to cry. It wasn’t an ugly sob or an overdramatic display of affection, but you cried. Your eyes watered visibly and when you blinked, the tears ran along your cheeks, similar to the water that continued to run down your body, creating a puddle of water on the floor which Cyril happily licked up. “Alfie.” You whispered. This time, he did look. You stood in the doorway, one hand on your hip and the other dangling by your side, clutching on to the chain which carried the engagement ring. Smirking lazily, he moved to stand, but you crossed the room in an instant. Your small body scrambled to be on top of his own, crushing the newspaper. Your arms wound around his neck, greedy lips pressing against your fiancé’s. His arms locked around you in a tight embrace, holding you against him as he cuddled you, lips moving continuously against your own. You wanted to kiss him until you suffocated, but the itch in your lungs was too unbareable so you pulled back. The man beneath you cleared his throat. Though he couldn’t get down on one knee, he didn’t think you’d mind. “Will you..” his eyes fell to the ring. “Will I What?” You whispered, playfully nibbling on your bottom lip. You watched him swallow harshly before he placed his hands on your hips. It took him a moment, a lingering moment, before he did finally ask the question. You knew it was had for him and you didn’t mind the wait. “Marry me, pet. Yeah, right, I want to fucking spend the rest of my life with you, so,” he hesitated again. “will you marry me?” You unclasped the chain and slid the ring off before smoothly slipping it on to your finger. It was a very nice fit. Not too snug and not loose at all. Your small hands, new jewel glimmering, lifted to his cheeks. “Oh, god, Alfie, I promise I’m going to make you so so happy.” You whispered before moving your head to his. “You already have, pet.” He whispered. “You already fucking have.”

He didn’t budge from his position, holding you against him, almost protectively and when your naked body began to shake from the cold, he’d wrapped you in the blanket that was draped over the sofa. His clothes were wet because of you, but they would dry, and his thumbs were slightly sticky from wiping away your tears, but overall, this went way, way better than he could’ve ever imagined. He was sure you had a different scenario in your head, but he’d surprised you. He’d 100% caught you off guard and that was really what he wanted to do. Your body curled up closer to his, breaths deepening as you studied the jewel. Cyril laid down on the floor on top of Alfie’s boot-covered feet. This was your little family and one day the two of you would expand it. Your lips pressed to Alfie’s neck softly, snuggling up. You hadn’t known, two years ago, that things would turn out he way they did, but god you were thankful. This was everything you could’ve asked for and life would only get better from here.

—————————————————————

Tagged: @thatsamegirl @peakyhoegh @ihclipse @callisen @hardygal69 @centerhabit @favouritereadings @goodiesintheclosetlove @buckypetal15 @kitcatimpala67 @captstefanbrandt @meer0rauschen @crldrr

HI ALOT OF MY REQUESTS ARE GONE FROM MY INBOX SO I CANT SEE WHO REQUESTED WHAT. IF YOU REQUESTED THIS ( NOT ON ANON ) LET ME KNOW AN ILL TAG YOU IN IT IM SORRY. THIS HAPPEN TO LIKE 15 OTHER FICS.

[praphit]

Batman, Cults, and me in Red Latex

Getting back to my roots of writing here! No movie to speak of; just pure rambling!

I started writing way back in the MySpace days. I'd get insomnia, and so stay up and ramble about stuff while drinking rum - which in retrospect is prob a lil reckless:) I found that was the way to go for me - maybe that could be the way for some  of you as well, if you ever struggle with such a thing. 

Writing and rum, baby! 

And if you're under the legal drinking age, just tell your parents that the praphit says it's ok. 

And if the police somehow get involved, tell them... 

Nah, wait, don't mention me... say some random, rambling, black dude said it was ok. And if they ask "Was this "random black dude" the rambling praphit on Tumblr, tell them "Noooooo, he actaully said to... NEVER DRINK... EVER. And that you officers are doing an ok job out there."

Writing and rum!

It works!

Like I said, I don't have a movie this time around; I'm not even sure how I started writing about movies.

I guess I could have gone with "The Lion King"

Which btw can we talk about this scam Disney is running? - telling the same story in a live-action package. And with this one it's still animated; it's not like it's done like one of those "Planet Earth" type shows - THAT would be interesting. I remember watching a clip of a lion eating a zebra, while the zebra was STILL ALIVE! The zebra wasn't even fighting back or crying out anymore... it had totally given up, as if the lion was devouring the zebra's soul and will to live with each juicy, bloody bite. Hey, Elton John, sing a song to that. #circleoflife

What if they followed real wild animals around in Africa, and watched the true circle of life. You could have the actors/team improvise the script depending on what's happening, and due voice-over. I feel like with real animals,  the "Hakuna Matata" scene might go differently.

I'm not shaming anyone for going and enjoying these movies. I had a plan to see "Aladdin", but somehow ended up seeing "Child's Play" instead 

(funniest movie I've seen all year btw). 

I might still go see Aladdin. BUT, it's still a scam. Toss in a lil controversy every now and then with the casting to inflate numbers... that mouse knows what he's doing. It's a good scam! What's next? - telling the same stories, but using puppets... sock puppets; that would be a new low.

But, somehow I feel like we'd still flock to the theatres. We love that Mouse!

I don't blame him. Kinda makes me want to run some type of scam within in music (my industry). What would be the music equivalent of what Disney is doing? I don't think that there is one. Anytime you change a song a lil bit, it's totally changed. 

If I decided to do a cover set of Miley Cyrus songs, exactly the same way that she did them, it would still be totally different. Btw, if I ever do that, please stop me. It'd be clearly a cry for help. Imagine if I started mimicking every vid she ever did as well - same choreography and outfit. 

Don't imagine that.

I guess artists put out remastered stuff sometimes, but I feel like those never sell.

...

...

Sorry, I'm distracted... still thinking about redoing Miley's vids.

I DO have a wig that matches what she has going on there (you don’t need to know why:) , and red sunglasses.

And how about me rockin some red latex??! Yeah! 

Nah, I wouldn’t do it. Only cuz I think that the chafing would be too intense, OR maybe I’ll like the way it looks and feels too much, and decide that’s simply going to be my regular look from now on... making everyone around me uncomfortable... with my intense sexiness. Don’t imagine that either; it may be too sexy from some:)

Ugh... is the fact that I'm even joking about it a cry for help?

The industry for an artist is the real scam. The music industry always wins. The game is rigged. That's why I've been thinking that we musicians should all go on strike. Everyone in music would have to be in on it though. 

Imagine your life with no music:

- no playlists (though that would have to involve some serious hacking, but imagine road trips without them) - no music in movies or shows - no sexy music to get into "the mood" - y'all would have to sing to each other -  Though I guess Aladdin and Jasmine got down like that, so y'all might be ok. New mating ritual.

- no background music anywhere you go (festivals, restaurants, strip clubs:) - we won't even sell any instruments NOTHING! Gotta go extreme sometimes to make people listen.

Maybe we'll toss people a song every now and then out of mercy. But, we'd only allow annoying songs - "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls

"My Humps" by BEP :)

It would take true power to make that happen.

I had thought about ruling the world once. I had a plan to take over the world; it was actually in motion. Yep! It would have worked too, cuz no one would have seen it coming. You would no longer call me your rambling praphit, but OVERLORD!

Like I said, no one would have seen it coming. 

Thanos... and whoever tried to dominate in Justice League in that movie. What was his name? Idk, no one cares, he was terrible. Those guys went too big. You've gotta Keyser Soze it! Play chess, not... Idk, professional wrestling.

I stopped my plans because I figured that I'd just get bored. I get bored easily. Ask anyone I work with - there are times when I'll just leave and go to the movies, or the mall, or the bar, or... on some sort of quest:) Sometimes, I'll dump a project all together cuz I'm simply not feeling it anymore.

Now, DESTROYING the world, THAT seems like it'd keep my attention. Don't worry, I wouldn't hurt the people... unless they stood in my way.

I'd make sure to ship them off to... Saturn or something... can we live on Saturn? Hmm... maybe I'll need to get help with that part of my plan. So, maybe I WILL still take over the world. Once I'm bored ruling after like a week, I'll get my man Elon Musk to ship y'all off to a planet safely, and then the fun begins!

I imagine that there'll be some resistance, though Idk why. Let's be honest, this planet is doomed anyway. We can fight about how and why, but... c'mon we all know it'll eventually burn out. So, just let me have my fun! I'll make sure that there's plenty of big screens wherever Elon sends you to for my big show:)

But, if people want to fight their first and last Awesome Master Overlord on it (I think the "Awesome Master" in the front is better, don't you?), then we can go.

You won't stand a chance though. I'll have all of the best action stars fighting by my side. That's right MY SIDE. They're used to winning; what you think they're gonna fight with you? Psssh, I'll have all of the weapons and tech... plus I'm sure I'll be some type of cyborg, mutant... wizard as well.

But, I'll also have Keanu, Statham, Denzel, Liam, The Rock... I'm realizing that the action hero world is very male dominated. I'll fix that once I'm your Awesome Master Boombastic Overlord. Which woman can I put on my team?

How about Rihanna? 

Yeaaaaaah...

I know what you're thinking - that I could have found a more... suitable pic. Annnnnd you're right.

JUST LET ME HAVE THIS! I mean look at her... DAMN!

FINE!

Scratch that. Rihanna’s not really an action hero anyway, I guess... at least not that type of action. Ooooooh! Haaaaaaa!

No?

C’mon, that’s funny

Whatever. I’ll move on.

The strongest woman in many respects that I can think of off the top of my rum filled brain is Serena Williams. So, we'll say her,

Amanda Nunes ( who doesn't get enough credit for how awesome she is btw)

Megan Rapinoe? I don't know if she can fight or not, but she's tough. I feel like if I put the arsenal of Rambo at her feet, she could save the day all day!

Annnnnnd Alyssa Milano? Idk her stance on violence or guns (though I'm sure she'd have no problem letting me know:) So Idk about her fighting, but she's resourceful though... maybe use the power of sex strikes or something.

(She’s like “Keep on joking and see what happens.”)

Where was I??

I don't remember.

I did want to address those chants from a week ago though "Send Her Back!" I’ve actually been thinking about this for a while, but those chants brought it back fresh to me.

Don't worry, I won't be getting into the politics surrounding it. - I mean what's the point? We never listen to each other anyway. I just want to say this, I have a lot of experience when it comes to cults (I know this seems like it's irrelevant, but stay with me) -

I know cults (don't ask, why let me horrify you:)

But, there are a handful of things that are foundational in cults. I'll bring up two of them:

1) Having a leader (or leaders) who is more concerned with their vision than they are about their people. So, the individuals pain, loss, abandonment, etc means nothing in comparison to their plan.

2) Having people who are all in on a person, ideal, or cause, to the point that they no longer care about the details of what leaders say, do, or sometimes don't do.

Now, the people described above aren't always meaning to be malicious. For example #1 - I've known many pastors who are good people, pure hearted, I might even call them friends in some respects, but they're blinded by their own vision (or "God's vision for them"). They're not trying to hurt others, but they do.

And #2 - they're are certainly people of admirable zeal in a variety of areas (ex. patriotism). They might not be "bad people", they might even think their position is righteous, but when we start to ignore facts, harmful behaviors... when we make ANY person (all of us being imperfect) a symbol of our "righteous cause", we've lost our way.

It's scary (especially being a minority) to see a whole nation exhibit these tendecies. And this is me being gracious (prob due to the rum I keep drinking).

BUT, enough of that... there's something else that is heavy on my heart - BATMAN (our next one that is)

Cuz... I mean... really?

Robbie P?

That's a damn shame! Nobody else wanted to play Batman? We've got the pretty boy, emo, glittery, vamp? What has he done since then? What has he done that has ever been intimidating? Even as a vamp he was lame.

And the Winter Soldier wants to play the Riddler? I don’t think that’ll happen or if the Riddler will even be in the next Batman. But, let’s say that it did. Wouldn’t it feel like they got those two roles mixed up? 

I don't even think Robbie P is intimidating enough to play The Riddler honestly. Sebastian Stan (Winter Soldier) is kinda ripped right? 

He's gonna have to lose some of that muscle before he goes up against Robbie P. I can see right now - The Riddler planning out an elaborate puzzle/trap for Batman, then seeing that it's Robbie, and being like "what do I need theses riddles for?" and then beating the living snot out of Batman. It'll be a worse beating than Bane gave him. 

Filled with rage cuz he knows HE would make a much better Batman.

Now, to be fair, I was wrong about Ben Affleck. I actually liked Ben's take on the role. It made me long for a more old, grizzled, out-of-touch Batman - hear me out:

I'm thinking old Batman, but kinda hulked out. Is Stone Cold Steve Austin still around and kickin to play this Batman?

  Gimme a hell yeah!

But, this Batman I'm envisioning is stuck in the old wmindsets of misogyny and racism - stay with me, cuz this will be an awesome Batman... well, movie... and awesome Batman MOVIE:)

To balance Batman out and keep the angry Twitter mob away from him, he'll have a team of "wokeness". Batwoman will be played by AOC.

Robin will be played by Jimmy Kimmel (you know you want to see him in those tights).

And Alfred's last wish in his will (after being mauled to death by a pack of bunnies... in the first scene of this movie) was to have his brain put inside of the body of a black woman. And that black woman will be Beyonce (cuz this movie will need a kick ass soundtrack).

Think about THAT sitch!

Annnnnd Ben Carson will play himself - he'll be Batman's token black friend/informant.

Already, the best movie ever.

I could see a scene going down like (Bats and the Woke Gang are in a bar... cuz my Batman will be an alcoholic... this Bats has a lot of problems, but he'll be real and raw... YES!)

Batman (after having the waitress bring him two more shots of whiskey, slaps her on the butt and says "Thanks, Sweetness.")

WokeTeam: "Batman! You can't do OR say that!"

B: "What?! Why?!"

WT: "It's ...just awful."

B: "What? If I don't smack her on the butt, how will she know that she did a good job? I'm being helpful!"

WT: (lots of arguing)

B: "Ok, ok, I won't do that... or call her that I guess... how about lil lady? is that ok? or Sugar Plum?"

WT: "Her name is Lisa"

B: "I got it! BIG BOOTY"

WT: "What is wrong with you? - that's ridiculous! Look, we'll deal with that later. Let's hurry up and get to the crime scene. And on the way we want to talk to you about the confederate flag on the Batmobile...annnnnd the Kaepernick sticker that calls him a Son of a Bitch"

B: "Why? He hates America. And there's nothing wrong with that flag!"

WT: "Bu, Batman..."

B: "No, no, I know there isn't, let me call Ben."

Sooooo, there are scenes like that, BUT he's also out there kicking major ass! It'll be like "Matrix" action meets "Sin City" action. And we'll update the villains -

Bump N Grinder

Fyre Man

 and his side kick “The Sucker”

“The Comedian?” (that question mark is part of her name)

Keep the classics of course

Annnnd his arch nemesis Iggy Azalea 

- ruining Hiphop wherever she goes.

And in the end asses are BRUTALLY kicked, sure, but Batman also learns some important lessons... or... or simply blows his brains out. Cuz let's be honest, some of us would rather blow our brains out than try to change.

Hey, DC... call me.

My next movie will prob be "Once Upon a time in Hollywood" 

cuz of my main man Leo! - though idk about the premise. Now, if they were making "Fight Club 2" with this cast, then definitely! What if Leo and Margot Robbie (who’s also in this) are also in Edward Norton’s head; duking it out. YES! Imagine if Quentin Tarantino directed Fight Club with his typical bloody style; we’d all still be horrified). 

So maybe "Hobbs & Shaw" 

 - those two of course, but Idris Elba is in that too! I love him!

He would have been a great Batman! I bet he could have gotten that role if he had tried. He def could have gotten that James Bond role if he had tried. But, nope, instead he decided to do "Cats"

I'll leave y'all on that thought.

[bluephoenixdruidicprincess]

Shadowhunters 3x20, City of Glass -- Review

Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m super late on this. Really, I’ve been really bad for all of 3B on doing these in a timely manner but can you really blame me? 3B sucks. It’s easily the worst season of Shadowhunters. While previous seasons of Shadowhunters have never been shining examples of great story-telling but at least things were happening and I didn’t hate the main characters.

As always, this is a critical review of Shadowhunters. I’m not a fan of this show, have never pretended to be. If you stan this show, that’s perfectly fine, we like what we like. I’m not going to stop you from reading this (I can’t, really) but I will caution you against it. These are my opinions. They may be unpopular. There will also be spoilers for the episode and possibly for the books. Read at your own risk.

So there were a couple of moments in this episode I didn’t hate. It’s still a bad episode of TV but there were moments where it engaged in some more ridiculous bits that made me remember why I decided to keep with the show. The show can be so ridiculous it’s funny and that’s what I enjoy about this show. If this show would learn to not take itself so seriously while being ridiculous, this would actually be a pretty fun show.  But ultimately, this episode does this thing where it executes things in the most non-epic way possible and it’s just really boring to watch for the most part.

The Dark!Clary I Never Wanted

So we got dark!Clary which was ultimately pretty boring. Most of the things she was just doing were cliché things and being evil just for the sake of being evil. Dark!Clary is really only here for the purpose of shock value and it’s not actually meant to develop her character in any way. The show tries to retcon their bad story-telling in that regard but they’re a couple of seasons too late trying to build up that Clary chose to let the mark take over because she wanted a family so badly and she couldn’t tell that her family was the friends she made. Considering Jocelyn has barely had a mention since her death and it’s never been noted that Clary feels alone with little to no family left, I have to call bull shit on that, writers. It would’ve been a nice character arc if it was developed but the way they tried to execute it in this episode is lazy and indicative once again that they never want Clary to be seen as anything less than this ideal and perfect creature of pure light (and as I’ve said time and time again, Clary is not a character meant to be portrayed that way, there is darkness in her and Clary would be such a fascinating character if the show would just let her be the flawed, selfish, self-centered creature she really is).

But it is a nice sentiment that the people who love Clary band together to try and save her although how that all happened was really just non-epic. Clary and Izzy twirl swords and kindjals around for a little bit and Clary brags about how she’s grown to be a better fighter than Izzy and I fail to see what’s new about that. Clary Sue has always been ridiculously over-skilled when it came to fighting, anyway. It’s hardly news that of course she would surpass Izzy because the narrative demands that she does. Like I said, it’s a nice sentiment that everyone is showing up to try and help free Clary but ultimately it’s kind of pointless for them to be there since none of them are able to break her free from the influence of the mark. Only when Jace stabs her in the shoulder severing the link is when Clary breaks free. From a character development standpoint, having everyone there is really just pointless. They’re not really doing anything impactful. And I just wish we had gotten more of a high-stakes approach to stabbing Clary with that sword. A very similar scene occurs in Book 5, City of Lost Souls when Jace is the one in Clary’s position and Clary is faced with the conflict of Jace being controlled by Jonathon. She spends most of the book unable to let him go and is obsessed with trying to save him and refuses to acknowledge that she may not be able to break Jace free and refuses to even consider killing Jace. But by the end of the book, she’s faced with the consequences of letting Jace run around under Jonathon’s control and how it’s now having very serious repercussions on the world. She’s armed with Glorious but she has no idea if Glorious will kill him if she stabs him but she ultimately decides to take that risk because she realizes that the real Jace buried underneath that control wouldn’t want to live the rest of his life being controlled like this and helping to destroy a world he vowed to protect. So she stabs him. In the show, we don’t really get any mention of the consequence of stabbing Clary with Glorious. Even just a scene where Jace has a conversation with Alec about how he he’s afraid to do this to Clary would’ve been enough to give some stakes to this situation but alas, Shadowhunters and high stakes with consequences? Please. But Glorious gets rid of the mark and Jonathon for some reason, grows wings. Yeah, I don’t get it, either. Because we just need to further demonize him, I guess? Subtlety, the show’s achilles heel. And the Morgenstern sword conveniently can open rifts to and from the hell dimensions. But honestly, at this point, I really didn’t expect anything better from Shadowhunters. This show has always been super ridiculous and convenient with the abilities of its historical relics. But it does beg the question. Jonathon is only ripping holes in the dimension because Clary reverted back to her original self. So provided Clary hadn’t changed back, what on earth was their plan? What was their endgame? How can we go an entire season without the villain actually having a villainous plan?

Glorious also explodes and shrapnel gets embedded in Izzy’s back while she’s trying to protect Simon so of course, cue the obligatory Sizzy scene.

Malec Gets Back Together

I think I said in the previous episode that surely Magnus couldn’t be so stupid as to not even consider that Alec breaking up with him and Asmodeus’s presence isn’t a coincidence. Well, I was wrong. Magnus really is that stupid. And even worse, it takes Maryse pointing it out to him before he figures it out so this kind of implies that without Maryse, he was never going to figure it out. And this show also does this really irritating thing where no conversation can occur between two people without a third person prompting it. Simon can only make a move on Izzy because his sister tells him to. Magnus can only talk to Alec about this break-up because of Maryse opening his eyes.

But by the end of the episode, Malec gets back together and having learned absolutely nothing from their conflicts this season. They just pick up right where they left off. Magnus doesn’t acknowledge how his actions while being without his magic made Alec feel like crap. Well, Alec does learn that Magnus can’t function without his magic and that he’ll always be second-place when it comes to Magnus’s magic but guys, it’s all okay because Magnus has his magic back so there’s no point in talking about that anymore. Explain to me why it’s a good idea for these two to get married when they can’t go through a single conflict without ever actually dealing with it? I really hate drama for the sake of drama and it doesn’t lead to character growth. But that’s Shadowhunters for you. These writers are above character growth, after all.

And Magnus banishes Asmodeus back to Edom with his WonderWoman powers, so aside from the fact that I don’t understand how he could overpower a prince of hell, it was a cool special effect, so I’ll give the show that.

More Bullshit With Maia

So after choosing to be with Jordan (a very poor choice to begin with but whatever) Jordan eventually dies. How messed up is that? Jordan asks to continue their relationship knowing he didn’t have much time left. Who does that? Oh right, an abuser who doesn’t respect their partner does that. And Maia gets through this by claiming she’s an alpha. Which you know, I would be living for except she’s done absolutely nothing to prove that she’s worthy of the alpha position. She’s had moments when she questions leadership but she’s never once done anything that shows she would make a good leader which is why it was so important for her character arc that she have that fight with the alpha but instead the writers chose to just kill off the entire pack? So while I’m all for Maia calling herself an alpha, it’s also something that leaves me feeling empty because Maia hasn’t proven herself at all yet to be a capable leader. But then again, she’s learned her leadership capabilities from Luke, so that’s already setting the bar pretty low (Luke was a terrible alpha, there, I said it).

City of Glass

So that epic scene in the third book where demons attacking Idris is finally here. And I don’t hate aspects of these moments. Finally, we get something with actual consequences and stakes. And for once, our “heroes” are faced with a conflict that they don’t know if they can overcome. This is also when the ridiculous parts of the episode starts coming in. I could not take those cannons seriously and I loved it. I missed being able to laugh at this show.

But in these moments is also where it’s shown that our “heroes” are just kind of the worst. We have dragons attacking in every direction in Alicante, people are being slaughtered left and right, and all our heroes can do as this is happening all around them is to give grand sweeping love proclamations. Entirely too much time is spent on Helen and Aline expecting they were totally not making out (even though we all know they were and I don’t even know why I’m supposed to care, these characters are barely characters). Your city is on fire, I think you have bigger issues. Then we have Clace exchanging cheesy lines in the middle of everything on fire. And Malec makes up and also proposes to each other while everything is burning. Sheesh, priorities people. But the episode leaves off with Magnus travelling to Edom to close the rift because he conveniently has the power to do that.

And just as a sidenote, I didn’t particularly enjoy Magnus’s entrance in the City of Glass fight. It just really devalued Izzy and Alec taking their stand. At least let them get a few kills in before Magnus saves them. Alec makes this grand sweeping statement about them being Lightwoods and that they can handle this and then Magnus swoops in and saves the day and it’s just like, “why?” They were having a moment. I was looking for some epic Lightwood sibling bad-assery but, nope. Shadowhunters has no concept on how to execute an epic scene, I have no idea on why I possibly thought they would.

There were a couple of fun ridiculous moments that I enjoyed in this episode but ultimately, we just got more of the same bland writing we’ve been getting throughout season 3 and I am so glad this showis about to end. Character development continues to be something of a myth on this show. This show gets a C. Just kinda average, I guess.  

But on to the final two episodes. I cannot tell you how anxious I am to finally be done with this show. Season 1 and 2A was fun and trashy but now this show is just dull and empty. It’s for the best it was cancelled and I can only hope it’ll fade away into internet obscurity.

[therandomfics]

Coffee’s For Closers: 10

Austin was taken in on his own volition for questioning, an act that would have shown good faith if he wasn’t so disturbing. He was released sometime later, again of his own free will, and was scheduled to be back at work with you the next day. While Sonny couldn’t give you any information regarding the interrogation and what kind of alibi Austin had, you knew something wasn’t right when you showed up at his apartment later that night. 

Sonny stood in the doorway and blocked your back, leaving you standing on the carpet of the hallway. 

“What’s wrong?” you inquired and tried to push past him with no luck. “Will you let me in, please? My feet are killing me.” 

He looked down at you and finally slid out of the way, pointedly slamming the door behind you as you slipped your shoes off and sat on the couch. Still, he said nothing. 

You let the silence resonate and stared at him with a look of confusion. After a few long minutes, you looked down and let out a small frustrated sigh. “What? What is it? Obviously it’s something so you may as well get it off your chest. What did I do wrong?” 

“Who said you did anything wrong?” he said almost immediately; so quickly he nearly cut you off. 

You shrugged dismissively. “The fact that you didn’t want to let me inside was a good clue.” 

“I know about him.” 

Your face contorted into a scowl. “Who is he?” 

“Don’t play stupid, Y/N, you’re no good at it.” He rolled it eyes and kept his distance, crossing his arms in a stance of irritation as he leaned against the bar in the kitchen. “I heard it all in interrogation.” 

“You heard what Sonny?” you demanded and sat forward. 

He exhaled loudly and groaned in annoyance. “You’re his alibi, did you know that?” 

Suddenly it dawned on you. “Austin? How am I his alibi?” 

“The night that Emma was raped, he was with you. Claims you met a few months back and dated casually. He said you even got him his job at the cafe after Emma left so suddenly,” he explained with brazen anger on his face. 

“That’s a load of bullshit,” you spat and stood up. You didn’t know where you were going, but you knew that you needed to get up and move, even if it just meant to pace. Why was Sonny being so difficult? 

“He said that you guys were together, Y/N. I know he’s a shitty guy but I don’t see why he’d have a reason to lie about that of all things.” He sat down at the bar with a huff and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. “He said that you two went out to dinner and then he dropped you off at your apartment after you spent some time alone at his place. I just thought you were different, Y/N. I didn’t think you were like the rest of the girls I know. I wanted so much for you to be the right one for me and you’re just another...” 

“Another what, Sonny? Whore?” 

He looked up at you and shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

“Sonny, please -” 

He laughed bitterly and cut you off. “Please, what? Please don’t state the obvious? I’m sure you eat his attention up.” 

You fought the urge to cry or to yell at him, and instead bit your lip and slipped your shoes on, heading for the door. 

“Good, leave. I’m sure you’ve got some catching up to do with your boyfriend,” he muttered childishly, not bothering to stop you as you left his apartment. 

__

Whatever had possessed Sonny and forced him to believe Austin’s story over your own truth was yet to be known. All you knew now was that you were angry and offended, and had no where to go but back to your apartment. Emma was moving back in soon, so you’d been told, so it would be a solo act until she returned. Your apartment was dark. Eerie, even, you’d say. You flipped on lights and adjusted the thermostat so that the heat would stay on long enough to warm the frigid air that chilled you. What else was there to do now? Sonny was angry with you and you had no way to prove that it wasn’t true; you’d just thought he would have been more reasonable than that. Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought that you did. 

Maybe you didn’t know anyone at all. Emma, Sonny, Austin... the list could go on, but it was better not to dwell. 

__

When Emma finally returned to the apartment and settled back in, she was an entirely different person. The wild child she had been was gone, now replaced with someone who had clearly been broken. She didn’t speak of the incident, but she left her door open all of the time now - as if she wanted company but didn’t know how to ask. 

You’d been busy yourself, taking your teaching position back at LCC and working more at the Cafe. Austin was still around, and though you desperately wanted to confront him for what he had done, you knew if you got another complaint you’d have to work full time at LCC and postpone your degree again. It wasn’t worth it. Until they found whoever attacked Emma, you had no choice but to lay low. 

From Point A, where Sonny had accused you of cheating on him, to Point B, where you were at the present moment had a time span of nearly a month. Sonny had called you a few times but you hadn’t been bothered to call him back. His morning coffee was served by a girl named Laurel who had been working there since she was of age to work. His charms were useless on her, though you’d noticed he hadn’t tried. You were thankful for that, but you didn’t want him to know how much he’d hurt you, either. It was better to just remain neutral. Yes, you missed him, but you couldn’t let go of how easily he had taken someone else’s word over yours. 

“Y/N, can you help me get these tables wiped down?” Austin called out as he set a bucket down on one of the tables. 

You said nothing and joined him, taking a rag and cleaning off the rings of coffee and crumbs from the tables near you. The clock read 2:20PM. You’d be off in ten minutes and were less than thrilled, considering you had nothing to do after other than finish up some chat boards for one of your classes; boring, to say the least. 

“Where’s your boyfriend been at?” he asked casually, smirking at you from two tables away. 

You rolled your eyes and pushed a chair back under the table. “Really?” 

He shrugged and kept cleaning, staring at you as you continued your work. “He hasn’t been in here talking to you in a while. Did you guys break up?” 

“We did,” you replied flatly. 

“Why?” 

You paused and thought about your answer. On one hand, it was smart to stay quiet. But, the other hand’s option was much more appealing. “Because some fucking asshole decided he was going to lie to him about something and he believed him. Don’t ask me why, because the guy isn’t credible at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s a sexual deviant who gets off on harming women and trying to kill them,” you snapped and threw your rag at Austin’s face. It hit him with a wet slap and fell to the table he stood at. “Too bad for him, he’s such a miserable little shit that he can’t even successfully finish a job he starts, ever. In other words, I’m sure you won’t get this done but give it a try, won’t you? Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re a piece of shit.” 

Austin glared at you and started to walk towards you, but thought better of the situation and stood still. It gave you time to walk to the back and grab your things, clock out, and leave. The cafe wasn’t busy, but there were just enough people that you knew you could get out without a scene. 

The only problem now would be going home to a catatonic roommate, and no way to protect yourself in the event that Emma’s attacker - who you were sure you just outraged - came back. 

You dialed Sonny’s number and waited. It rang six times and went to voicemail. 

“Hi, Sonny. It’s me. I need to talk to you - not about us, so don’t worry. It’s about the case. Call me when you can, please. It’s 2:45. I’m heading home, and I’ll be there the rest of the night. Ok. Bye.” You sighed as you slid your phone back into your pocket and headed down the street, hoping that you’d feel the vibration of your phone ringing any moment now. No such luck, however; your phone remained quiet even as you entered your apartment and saw Emma on the couch with Kenny, her ex-boyfriend. 

“What a surprise,” you commented dryly as you walked in and shut the door. 

“Kenny was just checking on me,” Emma replied with a pleading look - don’t be rude she seemed to say. 

“I won’t hold you up. I’ve got a lot to get done. Nice to see you,” you muttered and walked into your room, shutting and locking the door. You didn’t trust Kenny, or Austin for that matter - but you had to admit there was some false sense of security in Kenny’s presence. How false it was, though, you were soon to find out. 

[dacres-koala]

“…but I’ll punish you anyway.”

A/N: This for my heartbroken babe @50-shades-of-boredom​ who deserves the world and nothing less. Hope you’re feeling better my little buttercup ❤️ Thank you for blessing me with all these gifs and posts about Dacre ❤️ 👙💦This is not a good imagine. I was eating banana bread and I got carried away. P.S: @hargroveshurricane I love ya too❤️ Pairing: Jealous!Dacre x Reader Warnings: Smut, swearing, spanking, poorly written  Word count: 2,300+ words

He was mad. His knuckles were holding on the wheel so tight they were turning white, he was also slightly shaking and driving with a hand near his mouth, looking everywhere but you.  You sighed and leaned on the seat, hugging yourself, bothered. It annoyed you that Dacre was like this. It was still early, but the party for both of you dropped when he grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the bar. You knew the party was over. “You’re not gonna say anything?” You asked, playing with the hem of your shirt looking down. He shook his head, huffing and puffing his chest out. You groaned, annoyed. “Dacre Kayd.”  You were coming back from Joe’s birthday party, and you were having the time of your life up there. Natalia was there along with Charlie, and you were really enjoying your chat. Dacre was playing pool with his friends and everything seemed perfect. “Oh no, guys…” you said, making the couple stop and look at you. “I’m gonna grab another beer. You need anything?” “I’ll have another, thanks girl.” Charlie said. Natalia lifted her beer, motioning she was good. You walked over to the bar and handed the empty beer bottles to the barman. “I’ll be right back. This fridge broke down, I need to grab them from the one in the back.” He said and disappeared.  Suddenly, a tall buff man walked next to you sitting on the stall. He started talking to you, trying to grab a conversation. You weren’t the kind of girl that flipped guys off like flies, so you kindly declined any invitations. Your beers were ready, you waved the man goodbye and walked away. As simple as that was, Dacre had seen it all, and a few minutes later you were out the door, making a scene.  And that send us back to the car. Dacre had been driving in a perfect straight line for the past few minutes, as you looked out the foggy window. Irritated, you groaned and sighed, turning to face him and crossing your arms. “You’re overreacting, Dacre. I already told you what happened, I can’t do more.” He played his tongue inside his mouth and shook his head. “Maybe fucking stop talking to every random man that talked to you.” You scoffed. “What were you thinking, (Y/N)? Jesus.” “I already I did nothing wrong. Maybe if you stopped being such an insecure little fuck you’ll just trust me for a change.” You blurted out and looked out the window. “If you stopped being such a flirty tart, I would trust you for a change” He said right back, out of blind rage and hurt. The mere thought of you leaving him was driving him insane since he saw you talking at the bar with another man.  You looked at him and started kicking his seat, making him frown and battle with the car. “You stupid insensitive fuck! How could you?!” You said, hurt that he assumed you would do something like that. “I did nothing wrong, you fucker! How could you think so low of me?!” You screamed again, slapping his chest, frustrated. “(Y/N)!” He screamed, not being able to be in full control of the car when you kicked and slapped him. “Stop, woman, you’re gonna get us killed.” You kept yelling, throwing kicks and punches at him. A dark part of the road and Dacre decided to stop the car  suddenly and abruptly. You were shocked and almost fell off your seat. You were both breathing heavily when you stared at each other. You went at him, slapping him across his chest and trying to reach for his face. Dacre avoided you, the car being filled with grunts and slaps, the Australian god grabbed your hands and held them still. “(Y/N)…stop it.” He grunted. You were both turned on out of rage.  You stared at him and couldn’t help yourself. You leaned closer, climbing over the gearshifts  and wrapping your arms around,his neck as his strong hands set you down on his lap, the recliners doing their work. Dacre grabbed your ass cheeks giving them long and hard squeezes when your mouth explored his as if you hadn’t been together for 3 years already. You could feel him get hard under you and that turned you on even more; You broke away the kiss, running your hands through his soft dirty blond hair. You pulled yourself up and let yourself down roughly, making Dacre moan and squeeze your ass again. “You’re a jealous little fuck, aren’t you?” You asked, voice full with lust. He nodded, closing his eyes. “You’re a paranoid bastard, aren’t you?” you were grinding on him now, biting your lip and licking over the bite. Dacre moaned out on the low, nodding, pleasing you. “You’re sorry, huh?” You asked again, paying special attention to his cock on your clothes covered ass, grinding against the bump. He hissed, biting his lip. “You know I only want your cock now, don’t you, sir?” You asked as he moaned out in pleasure, hearing the chorus of angels. “Yes. I’m so so sorry, babygirl…but I’ll punish you anyway.”  He said, lifting your shirt and feeling you up from under your clothes. You moaned out and quickly removed your blouse, throwing it at the back seat, leaving you in your black lacy bra. Dacre slide his hands up your sides and onto your breasts, finding it pleasing how the filled their hands just perfect, not too small, not pouring out, perfect. He played with your nipples a little bit and you were still grinding on him, pushing your ass and wiggling on to his painful erection. “Let’s drive home now…I can’t wait to punish you. I’m looking forward to see you cry, honey. ” he hissed and positioned you back in your seat.   Dacre gets rid of his black leather jacket you loved so much, and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. You’re standing in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do exactly. The atmosphere has changed, in the blink of an eye. Dacre is all disappointed and displeased, his facial expression is stern, expectant and severe. You step in front of him, arms crossed behind your back, your gaze on your feet. “Yeah?” Dacre asks, and you see his finger pointing on the floor. You get the hint, sinking on your knees, feeling the arousal growing with every second. Your pussy tingles in anticipation, your inner muscles clenching like they would expect a cock in a few seconds. “I tried to be a good girl,” you whisper, “but I failed. I made you jealous and I talked back to you despite the fact that you’ve told me so many times not to.” “And?” He lifts his eyebrow, watching you kind of bored, which makes you feel insecure and unsatisfactory. "I’ve earned punishment and I beg you to discipline me, in a way that’s appropriate for my misdoing. I need to be taught a lesson. Please, Dacre, discipline me.” “Uh, I like that,” Dacre smiles, “You’re a truly natural.” Then the harsh, severe tone is back: “Get up, take your clothes off.” After you’re naked you’re told to face the wall, which you do. Dacre’s hands caressing your body, slipping between your legs. "So wet already,” he whispers, “begging for being disciplined makes my little one all hot and bothered, right?” “Yes,” you sigh, trying to lean into his touch. "I wanna see tears, little, wanna hear you sob and pleading for forgiveness. "You nod and take a deep breath as the first slap from his hand hits your skin. He’s spreading slight pain and warmth all over your bottom. Your pussy is tizzy, nearly dripping of horniness. “Now we start,” he announces and the first slap with from hand burns on your skin. It’s not too bad, you can manage this. After the tenth stroke you change your mind – he stopped being more or less gently and now you have to work to … cope with the pain. Loud moans escape your throat and you body trembles, trying to avoid the crop. But you can, you can. After the 15th stroke you start sobbing feeling tears in your eyes. It’s too painful, too humiliating. At 20 you start crying and he gives you a short break, feeling with his fingers at your pussy, flicking over you clit. “Even wetter than before. You’re dripping, greedy slut. Can’t wait to fuck you in a few minutes, watching your luminous, hot, red ass.” You’re pure, in a way. Small, submissive and all his. Nothing but him is important anymore. It’s just him left. After the last stroke he leads you to the bed and pulls you in his arms, giving you the perfect to relax a bit. “You did so well, you are so perfect.” He whispers gently, caressing your back and your hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you, baby. My good, brave girl, such a natural. Seeing you processing the pain was the fucking most beautiful thing I’ve ever watched. Good girl. Such a good girl. But I’m not done with you yet.” He held you tight in his arms and kissed your shoulder. “God, I want you so much.” Dacre whispered in your ear, turning you around and attacking your lips, his rough hands intertwined in your hair, biting your lips. “God…” You whispered, finding yourself being thrown at the bed, your old man already on top of you. “What am I going to do with you?” Dacre was not a bad lover, not a chance. But most of the times he was sweet and slow and tonight you felt the most delicious pain in between your thighs. Dacre laughed a little, spreading your legs and arching his back, staring into your eyes.  “Look at you..” he said, lustfully. “You’re so wet…so, so wet.” He pointed caressing the low of your stomach and going under, his thumb attacking your clit and rubbing painfully slow circles on it. You arched your back, caressing your own breasts and smiling up at the feeling. Dacre dropped down his boxers and kicked them away. “Stand up, baby, would you?” he asked, in a husky low voice. You nodded and kneeled on the bed, in front of him, wrapping your arms around him and kissing him fiercely, your hand reaching in between both of you, pumping his cock up and down, loving how hard it was, making you proud. He groaned, and pushed you on the bed, making you gasp as he turned you around, making you lay on your stomach. You smirked, biting your lip, loving the dominance. He grabbed a piece of your ass, massaging it and grabbing it hard, making you whimper and wiggle under his touch. He slapped your ass hard, refreshing the red prints on you, as you arched your back, he grabbed your hips and pulling your hair, lifted you up, your back against his chest. “It’s simple.” He said. “Don’t hold back on me, (Y/N).” He whispered, pumping himself. You nodded, out of yourself, feeling pure energy in your pussy, aching as you needed him now. “Please, Dacre.” you moaned. “Beg.” He demanded pumping himself faster, breathing heavy. “Beg for it, you little slut.” “Please, sir.” You begged, leaning yourself against his hard shaft, desperate for some action, for his touch. You knew he was already leaking, you could feel it. “Please…” You bit your lip, crying out on pleasure as he pinned you on the bed, in all fours and he got closer to you. “Please what?” he asked, pulling your hair harder, snapping your head back, earning your moan. “Please fuck me hard.” You said in a low moan. “Please fuck me, baby, I’m begging you. I want it.” He teased your entrance, biting his own lip. “Please Dacre, please fuck me.” You wiggled your ass against his leaking cock, desperate for some release, some friction; Anything.  You felt him enter you from behind and a whole new wave of emotion washed over your whole body. “Fuck!” You groaned feeling so full and complete, as he grabbed your hips hard, making sure he left even more prints from his rings tomorrow morning. The bed started rocking, his hips knocking on you, skin slapping sound filling the room. Your moans poured out of your mouth as he groaned. "God, baby, you’re so fucking tight.” He thrusted harder, and harder, making you grab the bed sheets and bite your lip, almost dragging blood. Your eyes went to the back of your head as Dacre hit your G spot with every hip thrust he gave.  You could feel yourself so close already. “Dacre, fuck!” you yelled, hurting your throat, making him go faster out of excitement. “Dacre…” you whispered, out of breath. He wrapped one hand around your collarbones, bringing you closer to him, still taking you from behind. “Baby, I-I’m…” “Let go…” he whispered in your ear, biting your neck as you came all over him, making both of you moan out loud. Blushed, you let your head hang low, the Australian boy still going at it. “God, baby, yes.” “Fuck, fuck babygirl. Y-Yeah…” You bit your own lip and rolled your eyes out of pleasure. “(Y/N), baby, you feel so fucking good around my cock.” “Dacre…” You breathed out and started pushing yourself back, meeting his trusts. “I’m fucking yours, Dacre, come for me, baby, please…” That was it for him, after two more erratic hip knocks, he came inside of you, a mix of your juices running down your leg.  Trying to catch his breath he got out of you slowly, making sure he didn’t hurt you. You both stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before you got up. “Where you going?” He asked, lifting himself on his elbows. “I was gonna find a shirt and some shorts.” You explained. He shook his head. “Still not done with you..” 

[lowdenfordays]

Settle Down With Me, Part Two

Part One

Your phone buzzed lazily beside you, as you sat waiting for the scene to be set up. You looked down to see the screen illuminated with a text.

Jack: Fancy comin for a drink in the hotel bar wi me tonight? x 

You gave a soft sigh, contemplated for a second whether to reply, and picked up the phone.

Y/N: Who else’ll be there?

His response was instant.

Jack: What if it was just me? ;)

The groan that escaped you then was not so soft. In the few weeks that you’d been filming you and Jack had gotten close quickly. He was sweet and kind, but mostly he knew how to make you laugh like no one else. The number of times he’d been in your room late at night, making your sides split and tears stream down your face, as you bit your hand to keep the laughter at bay. At times, you’d catch yourself staring at him, watching the way his lips moved when he talked or how he ran his fingers through his hair when the floppy bits at the front were bothering him. It was those moments when it occurred to you that you might be falling for him – the thought was terrifying.

Perhaps it was just his nature, but you couldn’t help but feel he was being flirtatious with you, especially since he found out that you were Chris’ goddaughter. Everyone else had backed off a little, seemingly worried you were spying on them for Chris or something silly. They’d warmed to you again quickly, but Jack… it seemed to make him more provocative. He would tease you incessantly, and then turn around and give you the most heartfelt compliment; he would touch you often, be it brushing his hand past yours, leading you by the small of your back, tucking strands of hair behind your ear. These were not the actions of a friend who was only looking for a platonic relationship, and as the days went by you only became more and more certain that he was trying to seduce you. Honestly, you wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and finally get a response to the thought that popped into your head often; ‘I wonder how his lips feel’. But you couldn’t let yourself do that, and with every advance, each less veiled than the last, it was getting harder to say no.

You simply could not allow yourself a relationship with Jack, for your own good. You were suspicious of his affections. The timings, his ambition, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had a hidden agenda, and was using you to get to Chris. The very fact that he was interested in you, when we would have a world of beautiful women falling at his feet as soon as the film came out, made you sceptical. Plus, even if he was genuine, you had to be professional. Chris had trusted you with a position on his most ambitious project yet, you couldn’t betray that by dating one of the stars.

 Your phone vibrated again. 

Jack: Don’t worry, I’m jokin, the lads are comin too

You waited a few moments before typing,

Y/N: What time?

 That evening you got ready, putting a bit of effort into your appearance even though you knew it was a very casual drink, just to let off some steam and relax together. Against your better judgement you put on a pair of black skinny jeans, and a sheer blouse with a bralet underneath. You knew you were dressing up for Jack’s benefit, and were angry at yourself for it, but in your heart, you wanted him to like you. Was it teasing? Were you trying to lead him on? That would be completely the wrong thing to do given that you had told yourself you couldn’t date him, much less sleep with him, but your hands were dressing you before your head knew what was happening. You knew you had to level with him and make it clear that nothing was going to happen, but somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to do that either.

 You went down to the hotel bar, it was fifteen minutes after Jack had told you to meet, and as you walked in you saw everyone huddled around a table, pints in hand. Jack’s head snapped up and he spotted you instantly; you watched as the smile spread across his face like warm butter on toast. Sod’s law, the only empty seat was next to him so, in an effort to avoid contact for a few moments longer, you walked right past the table and went straight to the bar for a drink. You were waiting for the gin and tonic you had ordered when you sensed someone walk up behind you. For a single second you felt his breath hot on the back of your neck, before he hooked his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, hugging you from behind. Jack. You could smell it was him.

He smelled of forests, and old books, and just the slightest hint of citrus, of which you often wondered about the origin.

After that initial inhale, taking in the scent of him, you forgot how to breath. Your chest was inflated, your naval cinched back against your stomach, your lips pressed tightly together. He was warm against your body. You felt the undulations of his chest against your back, and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing that you failed to mimic. His arms were solid either side of you, both protecting and dominating, and you supressed a shudder when his hair brushed against the side of your neck. You wished it were his lips.

 “I haven’t see ye all day,” he lilted, his voice caressing your ear so gently in the bustling bar.

“I was filming with Fionn, Ni, and Harry,” you managed to croak out before your oxygen supply got low and you started feeling lightheaded.

You were saved when the bartender presented your drink, and Jack let go so you could go back to the table. As his hands dropped, they skimmed your hips. You took the empty seat beside Tom Snr (as he had been dubbed since Glynn-Carney was much his junior).

“You look very lovely tonight, Y/N. Dressing up for someone in particular?”

“Myself,” you lied effortlessly. But he gave you a knowing smile as you stiffened when Jack sat beside you and draped an arm over the back of your chair. He quickly engaged in a conversation with Barry across the table, apparently oblivious to you, and Tom continued yours.

“You know how much he likes you, right?”

You huffed, “He hasn’t exactly been subtle about it.”

Tom stole a glance at Jack to check he wouldn’t hear and said, “You would rather he was, then?”

Before you could respond, Jack cut in grinning, “What are you two muttering about?”

“You, of course,” you half teased, half groaned. You instantly regretted it, however, as he smirked smugly. His eyes skipped to yours lips and your heart skipped a beat. You lowered your gaze to your lap, to your wringing hands, and tried to ignore that Jack’s arm was now touching your back.

 In fact, you spent the whole evening trying to ignore Jack’s touches, and glances, and the occasional wink. You tried to ignore the fluttering in your stomach every time he smiled at you, and you spectacularly failed to convince yourself, and him, that you didn’t have feelings for him. He made you laugh and your whole world lit up. If he was ever to make you cry, you were fairly certain you’d thunderstorm.  When Jack got up to get another round of drinks, Tom took the opportunity to question you again.

“Y/N, you clearly like him, why don’t you let it happen?”

“Yeah, he talks about you all the time, he’s not going to let you go,” Aneurin chimed in. You were reminded that there were other people present, besides Jack, when he was gone.  

“You two would be great together, and it’s going to happen eventually,” Harry said.

“So you’re all in on this, are you?” you objected, exasperated.  

“Come on Y/N, give him a shot,” Cillian coaxed.

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint, but I can’t. Chris did me a massive favour by getting me this job, and he took a gamble to do it, so I won’t let him down by getting myself involved with one of the cast. It would be unprofessional, and worse it would be a betrayal. I won’t do it.”  

You looked around the table, all eyes on you, and felt extremely vulnerable through your confident facade.

“There’s no rule against dating in the workplace,” Harry commented. You loved that boy, of course you did, but there were times when you felt he could be quite childish.

Jack came back over to the table, beers in hand, and sat down again, placing your drink in front of you. You looked down at the glass, the liquid fizzing irrationally, a slice of tart lemon floating on top, condensation dripping down the outside, and couldn’t bear it any longer. Everyone’s stares of confusion, surprise, even condescension, made you feel sick. You abruptly stood, announcing, “It’s getting late, I’m going to bed.”

“It’s no even 10 o’clock, and I just go’ ye another drink,” Jack queried.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want it. I’m tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You started to head towards the door, and got halfway before Aneurin tugged on your arm.

“He just wants to be near you. Look at him, he’s like a sad puppy.”

You did as he bid, and saw he was right. Jack’s eyes were fixed on you, filled with longing and dejection, the blue irises giving meaning to the colour’s melancholy connotations.

“There must be something else,” Ni continued, “You wouldn’t deny you both happiness just because he’s a colleague. Loads of people meet their partners at work. What else is going on?”

You looked to Ni, then back to Jack, before setting on Ni again. You sighed and relented, “I don’t trust him.”

The shock was clear on his face, “Don’t trust him? Y/N, I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”

“He’s an actor!” you exclaimed, “And a fucking good one. He lies for a living.” You brushed an agitated hand through your hair, before continuing in a calmer tone, “Look Ni, I’ve been hurt before. I’d rather not go through that again, so please just leave it.”

“It sounds to me like you’re hurting yourself,” he sassed.

Biting back your anger you simply said, “Goodnight, Aneurin,” and left.

The next day you were filming on the Moonstone, and constantly being around the guys had you agitated. You were still angry after the night before, and having Tom and Barry constantly making eyes at you whenever you spoke to Jack (and when you didn’t, for that matter) was only souring your mood further. If you were honest with yourself, you were frustrated that you couldn’t get the thought of him out of your head, that you couldn’t stop daydreaming about what it would be like to kiss him, how it would feel to be held by him. When you sensed him come up behind you, you couldn’t bear to turn and face him, instead opting to look out over the vast expanse of water.

“So, Miss Y/N, what’re ye up to later?”

“Getting off this damn boat and having some time to myself,” you replied to Jack, a little more curtly than you had intended. You sighed, and turned around to apologise for snapping, but as you did you found Jack towering over you, only inches away. Taken aback, you stumbled and Jack reached out a hand to grab your arm.

“Whoa there lass, I dinnae know ye were tha’ keen te get rid of me,” he chuckled.

You blushed, “Sorry, I’m not. I guess I’ve just got a bit of cabin fever.”

He leaned down, close to your ear, his hand still wrapped loosely around your arm, and whispered, “Well, I think anyone would have trouble being in such close proximity to Barry and Tom all the time.”

You smiled, letting him lighten your mood, and headed below decks for some solitude. Little he knew, it wasn’t Barry or Tom causing the problem.

 You found Mark already sat in the cabin, humming quietly to himself. Everyone else was above decks, waiting for a set piece to be put into place. You contemplated leaving Mark to what appeared to be his alone time, until he noticed you in the doorway and smiled.

“I fancied getting away from all the hubbub too,” he said, in that calm, paternal voice he always used, “Would you like to sit with me?”

You sat on the bed beside him by way of reply, and allowed your shoulders to deflate.

Silence lingered in the room, that you knew you ought to fill, but as you searched for the words they evaded you, bouncing off your tongue before you could articulate them.

“It’s that young Mr Lowden, isn’t it?” Mark finally said.

And you collapsed. Your shoulders slumped and your head fell into your hands, dejected and exhausted.

“I can’t stand this anymore Mark, it’s doing my head in.”

Resting a kind hand on your shoulder he said, “Perhaps if you told him what’s going on in your head, it wouldn’t feel quite so full.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t lead him on, it’s not fair,” you lamented.

“Who said you’d be leading him on?”

You looked up at Mark, uncried tears glistening in your eyes.  “I owe so much to Chris, if I was unprofessional, if I compromised the shoot-”

“Has Chris ever said you can’t date one of the actors?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then where’s the issue?”

“What if he’s just using me!” All your fears rose to the surface, and the tears finally fell, tracing tracks down your cheeks. Mark pulled you into a tight hug, stroking your hair and letting you weep. After a few moments he pulled back, looked you in the eyes and confided, “I’ve been around for a while now, and I know what love looks like. It’s genuine, and pure, and kind, and I see it in Jack’s eyes every time he looks at you. He doesn’t want to use you, he wants to love you.”

You knew Mark was wise, but his words in that instant made you see the world anew; he made you see what an idiot you had been.

Part Three

[convivialcamera]

The Time Before, Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

“Tell me about your research.”

Dr. Randall and I strolled along Regent Street, my arm warmly enfolded in his. It was a suffocatingly hot night, most uncharacteristic for London, but I still relished feeling the heat of his body radiate into my side as we walked together. I was a bit chastened after being chased out of the Paradise Club, but I knew from years of experience that the best way to start conversation with a scholar was to ask about his studies.

“I did most of my graduate work on the Huguenots in France.” Dr. Randall was pleased, and I had to stop myself from smirking at him, blushed with my success. “But now with my new position I’m shifting to into the 18th century — the Jacobites in Scotland and France, the rebellions and all that.”

“So, you’re interested in religious conflict during the Enlightenment?”

“The French Wars of Religion were really before the Enlightenment, but yes,” he gently corrected. “Although, my new work on the Jacobites was more a natural progression than a plan, and the dean at the University of London was excited about it.” He shrugged. “And there’s some personal interest. I had an ancestor who fought...”

“For the Jacobites?” Frank Randall was as English as they came, a Scottish rebel ancestor would have been quite incongruous.

“Oh no, for the English. An army captain.”

“I’m sure he served with great distinction,” I said gravely, with great amusement. I was sure my teasing ruse was on verge of being discovered.

“I don’t know much about him, other than what is on the genealogy chart,” Dr. Randall replied seriously.

“Avenues for future research, I’m sure.” I felt my dress cling lightly with sweat to my sides. The street was still bustling, but the heat made everyone’s movements seem languid and slow. I felt my own heartbeat, slowing after the excitement of fleeing the nightclub but strong, as it pushed blood through my veins and into my fingertips.

“Why don't you wish to attend university?” He asked me.

“I've never been to proper school before,” I said serenely, but my heart started thumping harder in agitation. “There’s no reason to start now. Uncle Lamb wishes me to be married, and thinks dumping me at uni in London will, as they say, do the trick.”

“But you think you’re going to find a husband in the jungle whilst digging up artifacts with your uncle?”

“You’d be surprised,” I said, absently thinking of Helmut and a few other liaisons I'd had whilst digging up artifacts. Dr. Randall watched me curiously, but didn't comment further. We rounded a curve through Piccadilly Circus, and I nudged Dr. Randall towards crossing onto a side street.

“You must know where we’re headed,” Dr. Randall commented dryly.

“Oh, yes. Do you like the blues?” I asked, trying to be a little mysterious.

“The blues? Are they a new football team?”

I giggled. “No, it’s music. From the American South?” He looked at me doubtfully, but with the air of a man who was about to humor me. “New experiences are good for developing character,” I told him crisply.

The Shim-Sham Room was smaller than the Paradise Club, but packed with even more people, all of whom had a decidedly bohemian flair. Dr. Randall, in his conservative, if rumpled, suit and hat seemed positively square. The slow heat of the night gave way to the slow heat of the music; dancing couples filled the room, moving closely to the slow heat of the beat. I felt the rhythm tremble in my bones and travel down my spine. Dr. Randall stiffened beside me as he took in the scene — in fact, he looked rather alarmed, although he was quickly working to hide it. I pulled him into a corner near the entrance and inquired, “What’s wrong?”

He peeked over his shoulder, his hat low to hide his gaze, and then turned back to me. “We’re rather,” he hesitated, but then pushed on with a breath, “outnumbered.” I stared at him, my mouth open in puzzlement. I could perhaps guess at what he meant, but didn’t wish to presume. Dr. Randall gave me another meaningful look, and then, exasperated, almost quietly spat out, “By negroes.”

I widened my own eyes in exasperation, but looked over his shoulder to take my own look at the crowd. While a good deal of the patrons were African or colored, there were plenty of other races too — including whites like us, all engaged in the music or in sprightly conversation. I put a hand on his arm in reassurance. “Hardly,” I said, not unkindly. “Everyone’s having a good time.” I pulled him out of our little alcove and headed toward the bar. Parched from our flight and the walk, I was in need of a drink myself.

The song ended as I got the barkeep’s attention, and after a small round of applause the room fell into the quiet chatter among patrons. He, like many of the patrons, was African, with dark skin and eyes; when he spoke it was with a proper London accent. “What will it be, miss,” he asked in a low, velvet voice.

I smiled at him, considering. I then glanced back at Dr. Randall, who was still looking a bit stiff and uncomfortable, and decided to give him something to really worry about. Feeling mischievous, I said to the barkeep, “Absinthe, please, the usual way.” He gave me a long look, which I matched, and then reached behind him. Returning with a bottle and placing it on the bar, he turned to Dr. Randall and raised his eyebrows in question.

“Whisky,” Dr. Randall said shortly. The barkeep nodded in affirmation.

I watched as the barkeep poured a good measure of green-tinged liquor into a short glass, placed a slotted spoon with a sugar lump over the top, and then poured water over all of it, dissolving the sugar into the absinthe and giving the liquor a milky glow. He pushed the finished cocktail across the bar to me, and then quickly served Dr. Randall a generous pour of whisky. I took a sip and smiled brightly at Dr. Randall. “It’s delightful.”

“I’m sure,” he said, still not amused. The band was striking up again, and he sat down at a small table near the back, as everyone on the crowded dance floor seemed to condense together, coupling up for the next song. It was a faster, brighter tune, and my foot started tapping, but I sat down next to Dr. Randall. He leaned over and nudged my shoulder, nodding towards the dance floor, where folks were enthusiastically moving to the beat. “I never learned the Charleston,” he said, almost apologetically.

“No. You couldn’t have.” I said, flabbergasted. “I’ve been dancing it since I was a girl — I learned in Paris, you know.” I positively gulped down my drink and lept back up, grabbing his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Dr. Randall — athletic, suave, and proficient at a basic box step — turned out to have two left feet. We were laughing hysterically in eachothers arms as I tried, once again, to show him the step. “It swings a bit, you see, and then…” We smacked our legs together as we both moved forward at the same time. “Why are you trying to follow?” I asked.

“You’re teaching,” he gasped between laughs. “Aren’t you leading?”

“I’m the woman. You lead.” He took me into his arms again. “One, two, three: back, forward, forward, back… ouch!” Our ankles again smashed into one another, and I reached down to soothe my foot. “It’s really more like a tap than a step!”

He pulled me back to my feet and the grabbed me by the waist, lifting me up and spinning me around. I flung my arms about his neck and felt my knees bend behind me. I laughed into his shoulder, smelling the masculine scent of him, the whiff of cologne with a musk of sweat underneath. The music, and then the spinning, stopped. Dr. Randall set me down, sliding me against him; I felt a distinct hardness against my belly when my feet touched the floor. “Another drink?” he inquired.

“Why Dr. Randall, I do believe you’re trying to intoxicate me,” I teased.

Three absinthe cocktails later (the last was bubbly; I was sure champagne was involved) and I was pleasantly lightheaded, and perhaps just a bit tipsy. Dr. Randall had his arms about me as we danced a slow, heated blues number, somehow even hotter than the song the band played when we had first arrived. He was down to his shirt-sleeves, and had even removed his tie; I felt the heat of him move through me. We were hand-in-hand, chest-to-chest, pelvis-to pelvis, and nearly stuck together, our sweat mingling with our breath. I rested my chin on his shoulder; I liked the way I could tuck my face into his neck, where the slight roughness of a re-growing beard was beginning to come in. I liked the way we fit together; I liked the way he felt; I liked him.

Dr. Randall ran his fingers down my spine and rested his hand on my back; this time it was definitely lower than strictly proper. I grinned into his neck and he must have felt my lips move because he chuckled low in his throat. “You are so lovely,” he said in my upturned ear, so softly I almost couldn’t hear him over the music. We still swayed slowly, just barely enough to keep up the pretension of dancing. I felt his fingers in my hair, and closed my eyes, wanting to gently float away on the sensations. I lingered in the moment, longing for it to go on forever.

And then it was last call, and my reverie ended. The music stopped, fading away from my consciousness, and Dr. Randall released me from his grasp. “We should go,” he said. “It's over.”

It had been boiling inside the Shim-Sham Room, and it wasn’t any cooler as we stepped outside onto the street. The heat was like a suffocating blanket. It was unfathomably late, and the streetlights shined pools of yellow across the city. We turned our feet toward a main road, in hopes of finding a cab.

“You forget, you know,” I whispered, almost to myself. “The lights. The people. The noise. The cars and buses and trains…”

“Do you miss it?” Dr. Randall asked softly, curling his arm around me as we walked. “When you’re away?”

Did I? I was so rarely in London — or in proper civilization for that matter — that I wondered if I could properly miss something I had no claim to. “It’s not really home. I don’t have one, I suppose.”

“You haven’t a home? Am I not escorting you to your Uncle’s flat?” He chuckled.

“You haven’t done a good job of it so far,” I teased, and then sighed. “We’re hardly ever here. Nine months in Peru was the longest I’ve been anywhere in years.”

“Do you ever wish to stay?” He whispered to me, his nose caressing my ear and his cheek in my hair.

It didn’t take much. I turned my head and grasped at his shirt, pulling him to me and finally — finally — he kissed me and the world fell away. I could feel the thump of his heart, and my own heartbeat fell into time with his. His hand on my waist tightened, pulling my hips into his like we were once again dancing. I wanted...

“Oi, mate! Snog her, don’t swallow her!” A leering voice from across the street hollered at us; I spotted a group of young men who were now laughing and acting rather pleased with themselves as they ran down the street.

“Bugger off you bloody voyeurs!” I yelled after them, flashing an obscene gesture in their direction.

“Claire!” He pulled on my sleeve, regaining my full attention.

I laughed. “Yes, Frank?”

He smiled at me, a bit chastened by my tone. “Do you always use that sort of language with riff-raff?” Frank was overcoming his initial objections, and trying to be amused by my shocking and uncouth outburst.

“Only when they deserve it.” I took his hand in mine, and gestured with my head down toward the main square. “Come on, they may be cabs down there.” I hadn’t been to Trafalgar Square in years, and it was quite different at night — empty and all lit up. There wasn’t a soul in sight; no cabs either. My shoes (with rather sensible low heel and rounded toe) were meant to withstand the tribulations of travel but a night trapspaising around town, drinking, dancing and running from gamblers was pressing the limits of my comfort.

I plunked myself down on the edge of the fountain and leaned back to dip my fingers in the cool water. It felt heavenly. I looked around again; there was no one else around except Frank and myself. It was a moment’s impulse, and I quickly kicked off my shoes and then reached up my legs to unhook my stockings, pulling them off.

“What on earth are you doing?” Frank asked, astounded yet again.

“Going for a swim. You should take your shoes off.” He looked at me like my head was on fire. I pointedly ignored this look, stepped up onto the ledge of the fountain and hopped in with a splash.

“You’re insane. Do you want to get arrested?”

“It’s lovely! You should join me.” The water wasn’t very deep — it barely reached halfway up my calf — but it was cool and refreshing.

“I’m not at all amazed you’ve never been to school,” he said, teasingly sarcastic. “Some discipline would do you good.”

I sat down, and began to splash at Frank, who was looking around frantically to see that we weren’t observed. I crawled to the edge of the fountain and kneeled by the ledge. I tilted my head up and, as if he couldn’t resist, Frank bent to softly kiss me. “Don’t be a fuddy-duddy,” I whispered, cajoling him. “The water’s fine.”

I could see his intransigence breaking. “How can I resist a siren’s call?” He asked, and then bent to pull off his shoes. He removed his jacket and tie, making a neat pile on the edge with his hat on top, and then stepped into my arms. We fell together into the water, and a splendid splash echoed through the empty square. The both of us now drenched and laying in the fountain, Frank rolled onto his back and propped himself up on his forearms, while I rolled partially onto his torso, kissing him enthusiastically. “It’s the first time I’ve been cool all evening,” he whispered into my neck as his lips wandered deliciously.

“Not too cool, I hope,” I cooed back, suggestively sliding the leg I had thrown over his up towards his loins.

“Never,” he growled. He came back to my lips with ferocity. The water was cool but I suddenly wasn’t; I was on fire, every warm shiver and sensation I’d felt all evening was back with a vengeance. His hands were on my bum, pushing me up and over so I sat more squarely on his hips and I began to squirm in earnest. I rubbed against his hardness and one of his hands moved to my breast, pinching the hard nipple and making my vision blur. I was sure the water should be turning to steam. I kissed Frank hard with want, trying to reach for that final sensation that would...

A rather stern voice interrupted us: “Miss, could you please, ahem, dismount?” 

Damn. The bobbies had found us.

End part 3

Part 4

[tessatechaitea]

Darkstars #8

Worst homecoming theme ever.

This is the last issue of Darkstars I own. I'm a little bit sad that I own this one because this cover is poo on fire. I suspect that Past Me, much like current me, never looked at the covers of the comics as he bought them. He just saw the title and grabbed the magazine, adding it to the pile to take to the register. Usually when the cashier is ringing up my comics is the first time I'll really look at the covers and I'm not the type of person to grab the cashier's hand as they pick up a comic book to ring it up and yell, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not so fast! This comic book looks like runny diarrhea! I'm putting it back." No, I'm more the kind of person who notices how awful the comic book looks and simply lets out a nearly inaudible, haunting moan from the deepest part of that part of me my old friend Soy Rakelson would probably call a soul. I just call it the part of my brain that's going to get the skewer first when I finally decide none of this Goddamned pain is worth it anymore. Look at this fucking terrible cover. This 90s art is the kind of art that was (and often still is) hailed as dynamic by critics and fans who never seem to know the difference between "dynamic" and "posed." This doesn't look like a shot of these idiots having just finished a battle with a mechanical bull. It just looks like they stood in line with their prom photo tickets until they were waved over and told to look at the camera and smile before being hustled off the stage for the next couple's chance at a shitty memory. It's been a few days since I wrote a comic book review because I've been busy with my other project. I set up an Artificial Intelligence program to come up with new names for Xanth novels. These are some of my favorites: Centaurs Can't Masturbate The Boner Tree Titillating Minors Makes Money The Word Bosom Fifty Thousand Times in a Row No Matter How Many Naked Women are Described, Never Mention Their Genitals Whoops! That Scene Was Too Sexy In This One, A Dragon Fucks a Duck The Human Nickelpede Seriously Though. They Can't Fucking Masturbate! Seventy Unfunny Puns and Sixteen More That Don't Make Any Sense This Book is the Merriam-Webster Definition of Chauvinism Convicting Somebody of Rape is Embarrassing for Both Parties So Maybe Just Forget About It? Whoops! I Gave a Ten Year Old Female Centaur Huge Boobs. Can We Fix This in Post? If You've Read Piers Anthony's Other Books and Enjoyed Them, Maybe You'll Like This Book That He Put Way Less Effort Into Magic Doesn't Recognize Same-Sex Relationships But a Human Can Fuck a Goat and Produce a Mutant Offspring

Oh no! Are they planning on destabilizing a region so they can send in the military and take control of its oil?

Eight issues in and I haven't discussed the Darkstars uniform. Ignore the one on the cover; the artist completely fucked that one up. Just check out the one on the panel scanned above. What's with the piano keys theme? Will we eventually learn that they're powers are tied to music in the same way the Green Lantern power is tied to emotion? Did Grant Morrison ever use the Darkstars in his Multiversity lore as the movers and shakers of the harmony of the spheres which allowed for the different universes vibrating on different musical frequencies? But most importantly: can you play Chopsticks on a Darkstars' chest? Another great (?) aspect of the Darkstars uniform is the huge arrow pointing at the crotch. Whenever I wear super tight material that hugs my junk and exposes my intimacy, I love to call attention to it. "Hey hey hey! Ladies and Gents! Have you ever wondered exactly what my cock and balls look like? Check it out! Also this isn't vulgar because you're looking at cloth and not my skin even if the cloth hugs every wrinkle and vein. So please stop trying to have me arrested." It turns out "The American Way" isn't destabilization of countries who have resources that Americans want but don't want to pay for; "The American Way" is advertising jobs for needed positions. Man, that's so boring. And yet, it's the most interesting part of this comic book series so far!

In 1993, what does "some familiarity with computers" mean? That you've used Koala Pad and wasted tons of meat by killing bears on The Oregon Trail?

I know, I know! By 1993, people no longer even remembered Koala Pad and The Oregon Trail. It's just I don't really remember what was big in 1993. AOL Chat and Myst, maybe? You might also be wondering why Carla is dressed like a lunatic. Turns out, she's taking the Darkstars to a Country Western Bar. Yee haw! I'm pretty sure the first bar I ever went to was a Country Western Bar, The Saddle Rack, in San Jose, California. It was my 21st birthday and we were there because my friend Bob and I had made a pact when we were ten that when we turned 21, we were going to ride a mechanical bull. Bob turned twenty-one 23 days before me and he also remembered that stupid pact for eleven years. I also opened some presents that night and the woman I was dating gave me a Lobo t-shirt.

Geez, we get it, Darkstar. Your entire race was murdered. Don't make us feel guilty about having fun just because your people "used to have fun too."

What a dumb question, Carla! Obviously he knows what music is. He's got a fucking piano painted on his chest. While Darkstar hits the bar, Homeless Mo hires an office manager and K'lassh destroy's Darkstar's ship in orbit. Also, I should probably stop calling Mo Douglas "Homeless Mo." He lives at the office now!

Ugh! What's with all this political correctness and virtue signalling?! Why can't this old comic book be more like, um, older comic books and just stick to bank robberies and punching bad guys? I mean super villain bad guys bent on taking over the world and not white supremacist bad guys intent on taking over America! I mean, well, you know what I mean! Just have the good guy punch the obviously bad guy who doesn't need to espouse terrible social beliefs that I might also espouse! We know he's bad! Just make him generally bad or you're going to alienate your readership! I know racism is bad! But shoving it down my throat like this just makes me think, "Maybe it's not so bad?"

That previous caption was satirical and not actually my personal feelings. See, the thing about writing is that you can write whatever you can imagine and it doesn't make the thing you've written some secret insight into the truth of the writer. It's just shit that was typed in half a second without any thought at all behind it. Except, I mean, there was a lot of thought behind it. And a lot of that thought was less about Comics Gaters types currently spouting a lot of that kind of garbage and more about comic book fans writing letters to old comics that were saying the same kinds of things twenty and thirty years before it got a stupid "Let's append -gate to another word!" name. Also, it did not take half a second. Mostly because my brain is broken and it took me forever to pull the word "alienate" out of it even though it was the word I wanted to use and I knew the definition and could almost hear the word in my head but my brain was all, "Fuck you. Why should I give you this word you're seeking? You know how many hits of LSD you rammed through me, you careless asshole? Get fucked!" Darkstar takes an interest in the mechanical bull and is all, "Aw, that doesn't look so tough! Not like this space mechanical bull from this place in space I know!" Some drunk and tough cowjerk hears Darkstar's comments and simply assumes, like I assume he always assumes, that Darkstar is emasculating him with his words.

Beau is the Lobo of the Country Western Bar.

Darkstar decides the best way to calm the situation is to ride the mechanical bull. Beau watches him and yells, "He's the best I've ever seen!" It begins to look like Darkstar's plan is going to work until some other rube tells Beau, "That guy ain't human!" Beau goes full redneck and is all, "Yeah! He ain't! That means I have a duty to try and get him killed!" He then throws the switch on the mechanical bull to "Do Not Attempt This! Dangerous! Why Did We Even Add This Setting?!" Carla cold cocks Beau to help save Darkstar even though he doesn't need help. Wasn't she listening when he told his story about the space mechanical bull in space and how it was way harder than the Earth version? Darkstar breaks the mechanical bull with his crotch and will now have to pay for the damages. It's a good thing he's saved all that gold by firing Flint last issue. I don't know if it ever happened because this was the last issue of Darkstars I ever read but I hope Beau came back as a villain and called himself Low Beau.

Dammit. Now I want cake.

Carla writes a check to pay for the damages to the bar just as K'lassh arrives. Carla decides to keep her checkbook out. Darkstars #8 Rating: B+. I don't know if this issue was better than the rest because I knew it was the last issue I was going to read or because it objectively was better. At least I didn't have to suffer through Travis Charest's 90s art. This issue was done by guest penciller Patrick Zircher! Basically that meant it looked like 80s comics which I never mean to defend when I say 90s comics art was terrible. There was a lot of 80s comic art that was fucking awful as well! But it was standard awful! 90s art was unbearable because it was objectively terrible in so many ways (anatomy, asymmetry, overuse of specific tropes) but people proclaimed it the greatest art they had ever seen. I wouldn't have minded so much if everybody was all, "Well, this isn't great but it's different. Let's see what happens with it for awhile!" Anyway, in my world, Darkstar was murdered by K'lassh and there was never another issue.

[thetribalmoth]

the Victoria in my head by Janelle Milanes

This book would be pretty good for someone who likes close to real-world teen stories. If you feel any connection or relatability to the main character it's worth the read. Now this review is coming from someone who experiences maladaptive daydreaming. The back of the book frames the main character as if she has maladaptive daydreaming herself and that's why I was drawn to reading the book. Further this book has characters that are LGBTQ+ and alternative, I myself am both these things.

Now this particular genre is one I don't read and I wouldn't have read the book if it hadn't been free. I strongly stick to fantasy, horror, supernatural and sci-fi. I did enjoy this book but I wouldn't buy it. This was me giving this genre a chance and I'm satisfied but not impressed and I've got little desire to read more. I'd recommend this book as a preteen/tween novel, around 11-14. I'd class it as being better suited to the children's (9-12) section than YA section if it wasn't for the alcohol consumption and point blank sex mentions. 

A book summary is pretty straightforward as not a whole lot happens. Basically the main character (Victoria) lives a boring life where every day is the same but this makes her parents happy. She dreams of being a singer and loves to make oddly specific playlist. Eventually these dreams get a chance to be reality and on top of that she falls for the sight of two boys. She also has a best friend named Annie who is far too tight laced of a person. The book also delves into dealing with parents wants and child's wants clashing. That's pretty much all there is to the book. Frankly the book is at least 20 chapters too long for the material and there's tons of filler. 

World building is bare minimum which is unsurprising since the world it's in is just the real world basically. 

Characters: All the characters are simple straightforward and cookie cutter Victoria is your shy "please the parents" girl who learns to break the rules for her own happiness. Annie is your school obsessed neat freak that learns to loosen up Levi is your work before everything unattached boy who really learns nothing. Strand is your bad boy womaniser who learns to be a little less of a creep. Krina is your edgy alternative badass lesbian who gets some genuine love (honestly this is the highlight of the book). A note in Annie's character: she's framed as this supposed happy positive good influence character. But she's actually painfully depressing. Whenever she thinks she's rights she just forces people into stuff, by whatever means, it's to the point of being cruel. A note about Victoria's character: She is for a lack of better words (plus this suits the book which attempts to be "edgy" and "vulgar") a whiny bitch. 

Stereotypes: (yes I had to make a section just for this because the amount of stereotypes in this book is physically painful) The Book can't even go two pages without throwing puppy dog love at you. Plus the boy is "unobtainable" and a "bad boy jackass" talk about a stereotype. On top of this there's instalove with a totally different boy. Not even two chapters after the onset of puppy dog love for Mr.bad boy. Queue stereotypical good guy geek vs womanising bad boy love triangle. And of course, it turns into quite nervous shy sheltered girl makes a loyal decent man out of the bad boy. Plus good guy geek being Nice Guytm. Heavy emotions are mentioned to be always premenstrual which is a massive incorrect stereotype that women are bloody sick and tired of hearing. The book is wholeheartedly unable to sperate romance from sexuality. Apparently not kissing somehow equals "sexually stunted" (what? O_o). Feeding into the stereotype that relationships need the sexy stuff. The Mohawked alternative girl Krina is a walking stereotype. Fake id to get into bars, drinking pigs blood, being a "sexual deviant", scary, rebelling against society, hates beauty standards etc if you're going to do an alt girl do it right instead of low key insulting any alt folks that might read the book. But at least the author had the sense to make her a left-leaning feminist. As most alt folks actually are left-leaning feminists. Making the alternative feminist a lesbian was pretty stereotypical even if alt folks have higher rates of being LGBTQ+. Thankfully this stereotype is offset by the two other LGBTQ+ girls. However queue Stereotypical cute girl prep dates stereotypical edgy alt girl. (Not sure how much I can trash this stereotype tho as cutesy pretty girl is exactly my type). However Krina being a lesbian doesn't feel like an attempt at brownie points and neither do the other LGBTQ+ character. Victoria's father was a ladies man who "knows what boys are like", hello stereotypical overprotective dad. Her parents overall are stereotypical "we know what's best for you" "your friends need to be good kids" "rock music is a bad influence". But they truly appear to care and have heart felt-ish conversations with her. As soon as the Victoria is introduced to alcohol she practically becomes a drunkard and regrets everything she does whenever drunk. Hello stereotypical demonisation of alcohol and being drunk. Lastly, There's the "cats are cold distant pricks" stereotype thrown in for good measure. 

Some stuff that's simply wrong or ridiculous to reality or to me: Again with the Author chalking up emotional behaviour as "premenstrual", that's not how that works at all. Someone being emotional doesn't equal them being on or near the period. The Book can't wait even 4 chapters before shoving it that the main character is vegetarian. Which I just have a personal issue with as no minor should be intentionally having an unbalanced and less healthy diet. The author throws in a "veal is baby animal and makes you vomit" scene just to guilt trip the reader/meat eaters, it's very rude and is shitty vegan/vegetarian agenda/propaganda. Thankfully Victoria drops the whole vegetarian thing and the entire book would have been far better off without the vegetarian thing thrown in. Plus removing the vegetarian thing would have removed an awful lot of the filler. Victoria is a total mess yet is also day in day out the same. It's illogical. The character can go from freaking out to the point of near vomiting to being good to go in two sentences. Real people aren't like this. The book summary makes it sound like the main character has maladaptive daydreaming, she very obviously doesn't. Daydreaming is rarely mentioned and even then it's nothing more than a mental scene to go along to music. I'll give the author slack for this tho seeing as the author and book never directly says Victoria has maladaptive daydreaming. However when you literally describe the main character as "living inside her fantasies", further to book title is a very unapologetic nod to living side your own head; the author might as well have said maladaptive daydreaming. As mentioned earlier the book can't sperate sexual from romantic. In real life no ones relationship (especially a minors relationship) has romance and sexual behaviour so heavily tied. This will be extremely off-putting to any asexual readers or really anyone who understands romance without sex. 

Some other things: The quotes at the beginning of chapters are unfitting and just don't belong. Tossing cheerios into Krina spiked Mohawk was freaking adorable. "Cutlet-related violence" is actually pretty hilarious. And I like that it becomes a running joke. The book does a decent-ish job at points for making you feel bad or relate to the main character even if every attempt is covered in tons of stereotypical stuff. The 40's chapters do a great job of making the main character totally soul crushed almost to the point of being full blown depressed. Annie and Krina are adorable together and the book sets them up for perfect chemistry. The last 10-ish chapters are actually fantastic and do a great job at surprising and satisfying the reader. The cover is somewhat creative, has an old-timey feel (which I know is popular with hipsters *sigh*) and is a nod to the book being predominately about music. 

Overall the book was passable but would qualify as good if you like the specific genre. However, it is filled to the brim with stereotypes and unnecessary attempts to be "edgy". It feels like an adult trying to pass as a hip teen. The representation of LGBTQ+ teens is nice and done decently. The representation of subcultural/alternative teen is nice to see but done quite poorly. I'd say give to book a go for cheap.

[koganphrancis]

Season H8 Episode 2 Recap

TV Guide’s review of this ep begins thusly:                                                            I don't want to write this story. Can I start by saying that?

I hear that-there’s so much just truly AWFUL in this episode that I’m not sure I can do it justice.  

An important point I want to hit right away is that what really gets to me the longer the show goes on is how nothing that happens to Ian is advancing his story.  In this week’s episode I can’t even begin to count how many splats of poop plop onto him, and by the end nothing has changed.  He’s still in grief, he’s still pretty dumb, he’s still “with” Terror.  What was the point of any of it?  

I’ll try to summarize the other storylines as quick as I can-Fiona continues her nowhere near reality building manager life.  She’s battling tenants for the rent (??? this is the first month she’s collecting rent even tho Monica died months ago?) and SOOOOO much time is wasted with her yelling at people we don’t know.  By the end of the ep, she’s slapping an eviction notice on a door and warming that if the family isn’t out the next day, she’s calling the marshals.  I know this show isn’t a documentary, but that bit was so far from the way things work I wanted to cry.  I’m stuck working in the next cube over from a woman who owns a couple of small apartment buildings with her husband, and I’ve had to hear how hard it is to evict someone more than once.  It takes months, and lawyers, and court appearances, and if there’s little kids involved-like the family they showed on Shameless-it takes even longer.  There are no branches of “marshals” sitting around waiting for landlords to call and tell them to kick people out, same day service.  Also, it’s already getting to me how unrealistic it is for Fiona to even own this building.  Who is taking care of cleaning the common areas?  How does she pay anyone to fix clogged pipes, broken heating, etc?  She’s still working at the diner too, so she’s not rolling in cash.  The show just handing her this enterprise to run is too hard to believe (or get interested in, but don’t let me digress).  It’s so soap opera-y, they might as well have said she was suddenly running her own fashion design firm or cosmetic company or something.

Lip continues to be a dink.  Mooning over Snore, wanting to come up with a way to show her her ex is no good.  He takes advice from fucking Frank and has a pizza guy come to the diner so he can order a special pizza to be delivered to the ex-why does Lip know his address?  The pizza has a bag of coke on it, and the ex runs to a meeting to resist the temptation.  Now, I don’t know if he’s also an alcoholic also, so he goes to AA meetings too, but in an incredible coincidence, Lip and the ex are at the exact same meeting!  Fancy that!  While he’s talking about trying to not snort the coke, he conveniently mentions it’s still sitting in his house.  Lip tears out of the meeting, breaks into the guy’s house and gets his leg chewed up by a guard dog for his trouble.  Too many coincidences PLUS the shitty idea it was to begin with make this storyline pretty unbearable.  We also learn, in passing, that Lip is 23 now, so that makes Ian 22, Debbie 18, and Carl 17-he could totally be charged as an adult for dealing that meth, not that the show is going to go there.

Debbie got her hair washed.  That’s it.  That’s what we see now on this show.  

They continue to push the poverty vs the 1 percenter life style with Liam.  I’m sorry, I can’t get into it.  We all-including the Gallaghers-have TV, we know that rich people live differently than most of us.  Can we move the fuck on, please?

Carl was barely in this ep-all he did was sell Ian’s meth and set Ian off at the end of the episode. 

Frank is, as usual, not really worth talking about-we all know it’s just a matter of time before he’s back to his old ways.  However, in his job interview scene, the other character got to sit there and tell the story of his past relationship and cry about it-so, another scene Ian should’ve had long ago where he talked about Mickey like that, grrr.  

Now Ian, eye roll.  The “here’s what you missed” went to him this week-he’s on the job, running from the EMT ambulance to a victim and he says, “Shit, I’m out here saving lives...” and I couldn’t help but think, “and looking to push my meth.”  

Ian shows up for breakfast that Carl’s making, and Lip is at the sink with a plate, filling his face.  Ian teases him, asking if he’s eating for two, and oddly rubs Lip’s stomach for an unnecessarily long amount of time.  It made me realize how little those two have physical contact-they never even clasp each other on the shoulder or anything.  This OOC rubbing from Ian was wicked weird, but of course it’s setting up the fact that Ian is very aware of BMI and how much a low one means to him. Lip says he’s trying to fight the urge to drink with extreme nausea, Ian answers, “Sounds healthy”, foreshadowing the other theme the show will hit hard this week-trading one unhealthy thing for another, sort of a lesser of two evils thing.  

Carl says he can finally move Ian’s meth, so he runs to get it, but when Ian goes to hand it over, he gets weird about it-not because it could kill people/ruin lives, but because it’s the last (I would say “only”) thing Monica gave them, and “when it’s gone, she’s gone”.  Carl couldn’t care less, and says he’s going to take a bigger cut from Ian than he did from Lip since Ian’s being a pussy or whatever.

Ian’s at the youth center, outside, taking care of a couple of kids and he’s all mopey and doesn’t even acknowledge Terror.  Terror, of course, can’t have Ian not hitting on him, so he asks Ian if he’s okay.  Ian says he got “kinda sad about Monica today”, Terror says that’s not weird (who said it was weird?  Him not hitting on you is the only thing you think is weird, you rapey idiot), she hasn’t been dead very long.  Ian sadly says, “I guess.”  Terror tells him when he’s sad he goes to Bear Back.  Ian is incredulous.  “The chub bar?  You’re into chubs?”   The bigger the better,” says icky T.  Ian says, “How do I not know this about you?”  Because, Ian, you know almost NOTHING about this little asshole-there’s nothing to know and the writers haven’t bothered with anything other than he’s trans and he’s annoying.  

I’m not going to bother trying to describe the disdain on Ian’s face and in his tone with everything that had to do with this part of the story-suffice it to say it was there, and it made me very sad that they’re painting Ian as this shallow, callow person who only cares about a guy’s body type not being big.  Line up Mickey, Faileb, Terror, Kash, and Ned-none of them even have the “same” body type, but none of them were overweight.  I guess that’s the only thing that bothers Ian.

Ian says he doesn’t get it, so Terror finally, after all this time, says they should go get a drink and Ian will “get enlightened”.  “Or smothered,” Ian says-oh ho, that’s a great joke!  

Cut to them at the bar.  They have the following conversation:

Ian: This is seriously your type?  Terror: Sometimes. I: What’s the attraction? T: They like to please.  They’re tender. I: (to the bartender) Two shots of well whiskey.  (What, no “please”?  What a prick!) (to Terror) These guys? T: It’s not like I go for them all the time.  It’s just when I need someone really nice in my life.  Like let’s say there was this guy that I really loved (I screamed while watching this when he said that, Ian just sort of made a dismissive face-it’s not like he was hurt thinking that Terror truly loved him.  Terror knew him for what-18 days before Ian ran off with Mickey?) and he deserted me (why are you being such a drama queen?) for three days to go to Mexico with his escaped convict ex.  (I think you mean love of his life, asshole) I: Um-hm... T: I would come here, find a chub to worship me. (Get the fuck over yourself!!!!) 

Terror tosses back his drink, leads Ian over to meet some guys at the pool table, they say Hi all interested, Ian sucks down his drink, looks like he’s not into this at all.  Hello scene with the girl on the train all over again.  

Next thing we know, we’re watching Ian have an orgasm-something we never got with Mickey-as he sits on a couch getting a blowjob from one of the big guys who is on his knees in front of him.  In the background, about 15 feet away, the other big guy is on a bed facing the room Ian is in while Terror plows into him from behind.  Seriously?  Ian and Terror are this type of fuck buddies now?  Ian’s wanted to get back with Terror since getting back from Mexico (allegedly), but he’ll put up with the two of them having sex in basically the same room?  

Ian’s guy finishes him off and sits on the couch next to Ian and says, “Oh, you’re such a good boy.”  5 years with Mickey and we never got to see them talk after sex, but this rando gets to compliment him?  Ian makes a face and says thanks and gets up-to leave, I hope, and not to go join in on the bed with Terror and the other guy.  Ian’s guy asks where’s he going, Ian looks over at T on the bed and says, “What?”  The guy says “Come here,” and lies down on the couch.  Ian immediately gets in the little spoon position for no reason we can see whatsoever, but then Nancy pulls a little fan service and has him cry lying on his side, just like that scene from yesteryear.  Ian doesn’t say anything, so it’s not like we can think he’s crying for Mickey, or because he’s flashing back to when he had meaningless sex with too many strangers to count before or because he feels bad about using this guy-it’s all supposed to be about Monica.  

Next time we see Ian he’s in the hot tub and Fiona comes and joins him and he  tells Fiona “other than crying in some fat fucking furry stranger’s arms tonight” he’s great.  They have a boring talk about her day, and then Fi says she wants to know what’s going on.  Ian says it’s embarrassing, Fi says, “Okay”, Ian tells her, “Terror said that hooking up with a chub would make me feel better about Monica but it don’t-it made me feel worse.”   Fiona: Really?  You’re upset she died?  (This is why you never go to Fiona for advice about interpersonal relationships, Ian!  She’s not wired like you!) I: Yeah.  I know you guys have all moved on and I haven’t.  (Shit, Ian, you really are all alone in this world now, aren’t you?  You really should’ve gone to Mexico with the one and only person who cares about you!) F: Moved on while she was alive. I: Well, I guess I’m the family freak for not wanting to forget about her. (yeah, you should just forget about her-you could do it with Mickey, and he actually had your back!) F: I don’t think you’re a freak cuz you don’t want to forget her.  I think you’re a freak cuz you cried in a fat dude’s arms.

They splash each other and the next day I’m reading posts about how great it is that Fiona’s acting like Ian’s sister again-huh?  Did I miss when she said, “I’m sorry you’re hurting, I’m here for you, what do you need”?  She told a fat joke and didn’t look the least bit worried over Ian’s suffering-or what he did to try to alleve it.  And what about her worrying/saying that fucking Terror will set a match to Ian’s sweet life that he’s worked so hard to achieve?  Shouldn’t any big sister’s response to “Trevor said...” be, “If Trevor told you to sniff glue would you have done THAT?  That’d make you forget your pain over Monica for a while too, but IT’S NO FUCKING SOLUTION.”  

Also, this whole thing just proves that Terror has no credentials whatsoever.  He’s probably just a volunteer at the youth center-they let him drive kids around without a valid license and now his advice to someone who’s had bad sex almost his entire life is to go have some more to feel better for a while.  Fuck this noise.  There’s no way he’s ever had formal training to be a counselor working with at risk kids.

At least this time the hot tub had steam rising off it.

You’d think that’d be enough bad for one ep, but no!  We still have the tattoo to get through!  Ian’s already getting inked when the scene begins, and the artist asks if he’s doing okay, and Ian says yeah, he’s digging the pain.  The tattoo guy says a lot of people say that especially if they’re going through a hard time.  Ian asks why is that and the guy says, “Emotional pain has no location.  Physical pain does-you can name it.  So it becomes a little more manageable.”  Um, Nancy?  Did you just sign off on self-harm?  That is NOT good or reasonable advice!  What is it with this episode pushing Ian into destructive behavior?  

Anyway, Ian asks how’s it looking, the guy says, “Your girlfriend’s gonna love this one, bro.”  Ian says, “It’s not my girlfriend, it’s my mom.”  The artist says, “Your mom?  Oh you shoulda told me that before I started working on these titties.”  

So, what, exactly, was the conversation when Ian got there?  “I want a woman’s headless torso tattooed on my back-I’ll explain the significance of it later”????  As with everything on this show, their complete lack of research and respect for the work people do in the real world is non-existent here.  

Next time we see Ian he’s drinking a beer shirtless in the Gallagher kitchen and TERROR is there-all my earlier hopes while I was watching that the dueling sex scene was going to be a deal breaker for Ian, at least for a while, has flown out the window.  They don’t even say why he’s there-if those two assholes are back together and Terror’s settling in there again, I’ll riot.  

Carl comes in from the front door with a random girl we never see up close.  He walks all the way to the kitchen leaving her in the background and says Ian’s “lost it” when he hears the tattoo is supposed to be Monica.  Oh, that reminds me-when Ian gets his money from Carl, he asks what Ian’s going to do with it and Ian says he’ll use it to do something to memorialize Monica-so, Carl gave Lip 9 grand, even if he kept an extra thousand from Ian, you mean to tell me that tattoo cost Ian all his money and he couldn’t pay the guy to cover it or turn it into something else?

Ian flips out when he recognizes Monica’s jacket on the girl.  Carl said he gave it to her for some beers and a blowie.  The whole time he’s drinking the beer, Ian’s acting like he did the day at Mickey’s when he wanted to go after the protesters at the serviceman’s funeral.  Are we supposed to think he’s getting manic again?  That would certainly explain a lot of shit/bad decisions that have gone down in this episode, but they showed him with his pills in the first episode and the writers have said they “dealt with” Ian needing to be medicated-although then they did cave and give us that brief look at Ian needing to get his dose adjusted last season.  I hate how the show cares so little about anything, that you just don’t know if there’s reasons for Ian’s behavior or it’s just the indifferent script writers trading off week to week.  Anyway, Ian insists Carl bring him to Monica’s storage unit since there’s still some of her stuff there, and Carl calls him “Psycho” but says he will. 

The next day Ian’s wearing his bright red Nike high tops, out on the stoop shooting daggers from his eyes as the snooty rich mother of Liam’s sleepover friend is waiting.  I assume there was some dialogue that got cut, because why is Ian so hostile towards her?  Is he hurt because she’s judging him for living in a bad neighborhood-looking down on him?  Isn’t that how this hypocritical fuck was about the big guys in this episode?  Why does this show suck so hard now?  

The woman’s kid and Liam and Carl come out, and Ian and Carl go to the storage unit and discover a big bad meth dealer there.  He figures out they’re Monica’s kids and that she either gave them his meth or they stole it and either way he wants his $70000 back.  Setting up the next pointless episode...

There was one scene with a kid playing Yevgeny in it (bring the Henckels back!), and Kev’s cancer scare that I had already read in a spoiler was going to be just that-only a scare.  And Kev gets to join a cancer support group but we can’t send Ian to grief therapy because Gallaghers don’t do therapy.  

The show is going nowhere.  To Cameron after his rant this week I can only say, “Fuck me for giving a shit, you prick.”  

[bluephoenixdruidicprincess]

Shadowhunters Season 2 Review and Thoughts for Season 3

Alright, it’s that time again. It’s time for me to give you all the low-down on Shadowhunters Season 2 as a whole. My thoughts, my feelings, and improvements I would like to see made in Season 3. Season 2 was definitely an improvement over Season 1 but trust me, it still has its issues.

This is going to be an honest review of my thoughts and feelings regarding this show. If you’re the kind of Shadowhunters fan where you only want to hear positive things about the show, this is not the place for you. If you decide to stick around and get offended by what is said, then that’s on you. I warned you. Just know that if you send me any rude comments or messages, I will 100% ignore you. I find that’s the best way to deal with bullies. I work 14 hour days. Do you really think I want to waste my incredibly valuable free time dealing with derogatory comments? Hell no. This review will consist of my honest opinions. Opinions are never right or wrong. I’m not telling you how to think and feel. I’m telling you what I think and feel. So please, let’s discuss with dignity and respect. If I’m critical about the show, it’s only because I want it to get better. There is, in fact, a difference between hating a show and being critical of it. I do not hate Shadowhunters; I am being critical and analyzing the flaws as I would with any other show. There are positives but there are also negatives. It’s great if you want to promote positivity with this show (and I encourage you to do so) but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t acknowledge the things that are legitimately wrong with it. Also, keep in mind that despite the fact that I do love the books, me being critical of this show has nothing to do with my love of the books. I don’t really care if the show deviates from the source material as long as it’s good and it makes sense. My problems with this show are problems that I would have with any show or book for that matter. I think it’s perfectly reasonable to take issue with a show that has plot holes, shoddy world-building and inconsistent characters. There will be spoilers for the books and movies.

I want to preface this with I am neither PRO nor ANTI Shadowhunters. I see it as neither a good or horrible show. It’s serviceable. That’s really what this show is. Ultimately, as far as tv shows goes on their own, it’s nothing all that special. It could be -- it certainly tries -- but at the end of the day, it falls flat. It’s a show where it’s interesting to watch and see what’s going to happen, but I also don’t find myself all that excited to watch the newest episode. This show has never gotten me to the point where I was counting down the days until the next episode airs. Usually, I’ll watch an episode and then I’ll be like, “Ok. That was alright. I’m ready to go watch something else now.” There’s no, “OMG! That episode was insane. When is the next one coming out?” That has never happened to me with this show. This is going to be spread into two different sections. The show’s storytelling and the characters and their relationships. So let’s get on with this.

The Storytelling

If there is one good thing I have to say about Shadowhunters in its sophomore season, is that compared to Season 1, vast improvements were made to the writing. Granted, the bar wasn’t set all that high considering how nonsensical and ridiculous Season 1 was but hey, it was an improvement. It was an improvement in the sense that at least now, the episodes are arcing properly. I may not have been a big fan of how a lot of the actual story was being told, but at least it was arcing. But, I do have to say that overall, Season 2 had a very clunky feel to it. There were a lot of different plot points going around and most of them were dropped without having any real resolution. Izzy’s drug addiction was completely dropped, her insecurities toward Alec were dropped, Aldertree served absolutely no purpose in the overarching plot in season 2, Jocelyn’s death did absolutely nothing for the story. It didn’t drive Clary in any way which was actually the idea behind it. While under a spell, Alec attempts to commit suicide because of the guilt he has for the part he played in Jocelyn’s death and then that’s completely dropped. The demon-shadowhunter baby plot point never shows up again. Trust me, I could go on and on. I haven’t even hit 2B yet. But I don’t want this post to end up being 15 pages long so I’m going to stop here. Let’s not get me started on the dumbness and pointlessness that is Azazel. I’m sure you guys get the point. I do feel like Season 3 is probably going to be written a little better than Season 2. For Season 2, we had new showrunners and I think ultimately, they were using Season 2 to filter out a lot of the weird plot writing that Season 1 had going on. With a lot of those weird plot points closed out now, Season 3 is probably going to arc much better. Or at least one can hope. I am definitely going to use Season 3 as a factor in deciding whether or not I’m even going to stick with the show.

I’ve talked about the show’s issues with arcing, dropped storylines, now let’s talk about elements of writing that drive a show. Let’s begin with pacing. Pacing was a HUGE problem with Season 1. Now, Season 2 episodes were a little bit better paced but there were still points when characters jumped to conclusions about something and you’re just like, “Wait, how did we get from Point A to Point B?” If I have one critique to make regarding this show’s pacing, they need to stop having 3 or 4 plot points going on in a single episode. This show has so much potential to be really awesome if they could focus on the characters and their interactions with each other. The characters, their actions, their motivations is what should be moving the plot forward but it’s the other way around in this show. And that also adds to the clunkiness of the storytelling. An episode should have an A plot and a B plot and that’s it. But sometimes we’re getting C, D, and even E plots at times in a single episode. All of these are characters are super interesting. Let’s spend less time with the plot and more with the characters.

Another issue this show has is payoffs. This kind of goes along with pacing. The show isn’t always evenly paced in its plot which is why we sometimes have moments within the story that kind of come out of left field. If you have an idea of where you want your character to be at a certain point in the season, you need to pace that character development out. So when that character has that really epic moment, it completely “wows” your audience. This is what’s known as a pay-off. If you don’t pace it well, the pay-off is very bland and uninteresting. A good example of this is in the Season 2 finale. That moment when Clary was about to be executed and Jace manages to break free and save her. The pay-off could’ve been amazing but I found myself asking, “Why didn’t he just do this in the tent?” All throughout 2B, Jace has never been depicted of having problems using his angelic superpower and yet now, he’s only willing to use it to break free of the chains when Clary’s about to be killed? This would’ve worked fine if throughout 2B, we’d seen Jace having issues using this power and then in this moment, when he sees Clary about to be killed, that’s when he’s able to turn it on. That is what’s known as a pay-off. And it could’ve added something to the Clace dynamic. Then, of course, the other big thing I’ve talked about is Clary’s fighting skills. This is something I wish they had paced out a little more evenly so when she killed Valentine in the finale, it would’ve been far more impactful. Everyone likes to talk about how Clary was so bad-ass in that moment but for me, it was a “whatever” moment. I’ve lost count of how many Circle members Clary actually killed without pause through the duration of Season 2. And I’m supposed to be impressed that she killed Valentine? What would’ve been far more impressive is if throughout the series, we see her learning how to fight, stumbling through at times (because that is far more realistic), her mother’s death driving her to be better and then finally in this moment after watching Valentine kill Jace, knowing Valentine’s actions led to her mother’s death and the destruction of her brother’s soul, she’s able to call forth everything she’s learned to exact her revenge. To finally destroy the man who took everything from her. Once again, that’s a payoff. But instead, it just falls flat. Yes, it’s great to see a girl be a bad-ass but at the same time, it’s nothing I haven’t seen her do before. Why should I care? Because it’s Valentine this time? In Season 3, I would definitely like to see a greater emphasis placed on character motivations and payoffs.

This show has a huge subtlety issue as well. Now this pops up in various forms throughout the writing. Sometimes, it’s through character actions or sometimes it’s over-explaining things through dialogue. Either way, it leaves the audience with the impression that the writers think their audience is stupid. Now, my most hated scene in the Season 2 finale is that moment when Alec was given the specific job to take care of the demons while Magnus closes the rift. And Alec takes one shot and misses and then decides he needs to abandon the mission and go to Magnus pleading for help. Alec would never do this. His job was to keep the demon off of Magnus and instead he leads it directly to Magnus? It makes no sense particularly since earlier in the episode, Alec took multiple shots to slay the demon that was flying around Manhattan and it never phased him when he missed. He was chillin like a melon. And it goes completely against what we know about Alec to begin with. He is not afraid to sacrifice himself to save the people he loves. He would not have retreated back to Magnus. He would’ve continued fighting until he killed the demon or the demon killed him. Because in Alec’s eyes, the life of Magnus and his sister is far more important. I get what this scene was going for. They wanted to showcase that Magnus still cared about Alec but there are hundreds of ways they could’ve done this. But I guess the writers were afraid that it wouldn’t have been clear that Magnus still cared about Alec if it wasn’t this big huge moment of Alec pleading Magnus to save him? If you don’t have subtlety in your story telling, you also lose a lot of the impact. The dialogue also needs some work in this as well. The show has the tendency to spoon-feed information that can be inferred by the audience. I feel like this show is trying to gain the early to mid-20s audience. If this is the case, how about treating us like we’re intelligent 20-year-old adults? Exactly how bad do they think the public school system is that we can’t infer what something called “a Kill Tree” does or that Edomi are demons that come from Edom? The dialogue at times gets a little clunky because of this need to over-state everything.

I also have a problem with how this show deals with conflicts. And this stems from the arcing as well as the pacing problem. This show resolves conflicts within the story alarmingly fast. There are conflicts that can’t be resolved easily and every time the show does, you lose the impact of these characters feeling like real people. It also hinders the plot because it makes the plot feel very disjointed. 

Now let’s talk about the adaptation part of the story-telling. My problem with this show has never been them not following the books. My problem is them following the books, then not following the books, and then going back to following the books again without keeping with the changes they made. Let me better explain this, as I know it’s a little confusing. This show will make changes to a particular plot or character point that doesn’t exist in the books. And that’s fine. I don’t have a problem with that. My problem is that they’ll make those changes and then take another scene 100 pages down the line out of the book and use it nearly verbatim. When you made that original change, the context has changed as well which means that scene isn’t going to work the same way. You have to change that scene to fit the new context. An example of this is the infamous Seelie Court kiss scene. Previously in Season 2, the writers had made the change that Clary was really enjoying this new-found romantic relationship with Simon. Or at least, there weren’t any hints that she was secretly coveting Jace in episodes prior. She had even told Simon that despite knowing Jace isn’t her brother, she had no plans to break it off with Simon. She wanted to be with him. And this change would’ve been alright but the show still tried to keep the Seelie Court kiss scene more or less verbatim as it is in the books. In the books, this scene and how it plays out makes sense because the reader could always tell that even though Clary didn’t overtly hate her romantic relationship with Simon, it didn’t make her feel the same way she felt when she was with Jace. None of that is applied in the show. The show goes on stating that Jace is the kiss that will set them free as it is the kiss Clary most desires but there was no set up to this revelation so the pay-off of the kiss scene doesn’t work. Because you were never really led to believe that while Clary was dating Simon she wanted to be with Jace. As I said, they made a change and as a result the context has changed so the future writing also needed to change…which they didn’t do. When authors write certain things at certain points in their books, it’s for a very calculated reason. Everything more or less has a purpose. When you adapt a book to any kind of film, it’s a given that changes are going to have to be made and that has never been my issue with the show. It’s always been them making a change and then not having the rest of the story change along with it to support that change. Ultimately, at the end of the day, I wish Shadowhunters had taken The Vampire Diaries or the The 100 approach to their writing. I wish they had taken the bones of the source material and then told their own story and created the characters and their personalities in their own way. When Shadowhunters was first announced, initially, that’s what I thought they were going to do. I can’t help but feel like maybe this show might’ve been better written and executed if it weren’t for them being so bogged down by the source material. As much as I love the books (and trust me, I do), this show could have really benefited from a Kevin Williamson level of adaptation. For those of you who don’t know, he was the one who developed The Vampire Diaries for tv adaptation and I was always really impressed with how it was adapted. And I will never apologize for liking Vampire Diaries. Yes, it got a little convoluted in later seasons but seasons 1-3 are fantastic. I am more or less excited for Shadowhunters Season 3 because we are starting to delve into the second half of The Mortal Instruments series and I feel like the second half is going to work much better for adapting. Shadowhunters made the decision to create the show with an ensemble cast in mind however, the first half of The Mortal Instruments isn’t very conducive for an ensemble cast. You pretty much follow Clary and Jace and that’s about it. But the second half starts focusing much more heavily on the other characters. And I feel like it’s definitely going to be easier to adapt. Season 1 and 2 were bogged down by the fact that in the source material, there isn’t a whole lot that characters like Alec, Magnus, Izzy, and Luke are actually doing. Clary and Jace are the ones that are driving the story. And it’s very clear with the storytelling in the show, that the writers didn’t really know what to do with them. This is definitely something I think is going to be improved in Season 3.

Season 3 also needs to work on their world-building. More specifically, their use of magic systems. I continues to grate my nerves that there are no rules to their magic system. As I’ve said before, rules are so important in a fantasy and most importantly in the magic system within that fantasy. If your magic system has no rules then you can do anything with magic. If you can do anything with magic, what makes it compelling? All it does is become a convenient plot device. And I love magic systems. I don’t want to see a magic system be used as a cheap plot device. I want magic to be its own character in a way.

So there are certain themes I’d like to see explored in Season 3. Well, really only one theme. And that is, “consequences”. This show has a huge problem with it’s characters never facing any true consequences for their actions. In the finale, it was laughable to me that when Jace mentions to Clary that she can’t just bring someone back from the dead without a consequence and she’s all, “not this time. This time there won’t be any consequences.” This line is funny to me because it actually implies that Clary has faced consequences for her actions before, which she has not. I really hope the show goes into this theme in Season 3. That they really bring to the fore front that Clary’s selfish nature is the root cause for these horrible things that are going to happen. I really hope the show has the guts to go this direction. They probably won’t considering how much they love to paint Clary as this Mary Sue who is beyond special and could never do anything wrong because she’s so selfless and wonderful (ugh, I just vomited a little in my mouth writing that). But as Season 3 hasn’t aired yet, I’m going to hope for the best. It’s not just Clary that has this issue either. It’s the show’s story-telling as a whole. Their inability to have any truly impactful consequences. The best example is how Max played out in Season 2B. Now, I’m not saying that Max should have died, as he does in the books. I’m saying something resonatingly impactful should’ve happened to him. My own dark theory was that Jonathon hurt him so bad that it put him in a coma that he would never wake up from and that was the driving force for Izzy to go after Jonathon. And it kind of sort of happened. Max does go into a coma but then he gets a miracle treatment from the Silent Brothers and he’s perfectly fine now. It has no lasting impact. Essentially there was no consequence for anyone letting Jonathon into their lives besides a couple of nameless dead shadowhunters. Max recovers and then they go after Jonathon. Yes, they’re mad about what Jonathon did to Max but ultimately, it’s not going to leave a lasting impression on their psyche. It definitely felt like the writers chickened out. There are a lot of different directions the theme of consequences could take Season 3 and I hope the writers are brave enough to take it because at this point, they really need it.

Characters and Their Relationships

Let’s talk about these characters and their relationships now. How these characters are depicted gets very uneven at times. And this show has an issue with slow-burn. They do not know how to do a slow-burn. It stems from their pacing and subtlety issues. They want people to like this show so badly that they’re forgetting why people cling to fandoms in the first place. It’s not that two people are in a wonderful relationship that leaves you in a pile of goo everytime you see them together on screen, it’s how they got there, how their relationship developed, how they as characters develop. That’s what leaves you in a pile of goo. And I haven’t had that experience with this show yet. Yes, I love Malec but there are so many problems with the writing that prevents me from having that gooey feeling. This show is by no means bad but i wouldn’t call it good either. The times it leans closer to the good spectrum are when the characters are driving the story. Let’s start talking about these characters.

First up is Clary. Oh boy. I’ve made no secret about my distaste for Clary. And it’s really difficult to pinpoint exactly what it is about her that grates on my nerves. There’s a lot of little things that bother me. Ultimately, it’s the Mary Sue-ness of her character. As I said earlier, it’s her doing really selfish things but everyone else ignoring it because they think she’s so selfless and wonderful. Now, I don’t have a problem with Clary being a selfish person. At her core, that’s what she is. She follows her heart and that leads her to doing selfish things. It’s perfectly human. Humans are selfish beings. Even when we go out of our way to help others, there’s still a selfish undertone – for a lot of us, it makes us feel good knowing we helped someone, it benefited us in some way. But the fact that no one calls Clary out on her crap any more is what I dislike. Clary does these selfish acts because it’s a way to push the plot forward but it’s never used to push her character forward and that’s the issue I have with her. If the show didn’t tote her around as this perfect being and just own up to the fact that she is selfish, I would have no issues with Clary. Dare I say it, I may even like her. Which is why I mentioned earlier when I talked about the consequences theme for Season 3, I would like to see her selfish nature be called to the fore front. For Clary to really be held accountable for her selfish decisions. For her to really look at herself and be like, “oh, no. I’m causing this. Everything bad that’s happening is all because of me.” Really, I just want the show to do something that will make this audience think, “Yeah. She’s not perfect. She makes mistakes.”

On to Jace. I fluctuate a lot on my feelings for Jace. Dom Sherwood does a fantastic job of portraying him. That’s never been my issue. He is fantastic at bringing this very angsty feel to Jace. Which is important because Jace is quite angsty. And I do love it when male characters show their vulnerable side. However, sometimes the writers take Jace’s angst to an absurd level. Just how easily this guy gets moved to tears, I find a little ridiculous. This guy is more emotional than I have been in my entire life. And I say that with the time period I went through puberty in mind where getting a B on a homework assignment was enough to drive me to tears. It’s really hard for me to believe that a 20-year-old, whether they be male, female, unspecified gender, whatever, would be crying over some of the things he cries over. My feelings might be hurt a little but I don’t think I’d cry over some of these things. But I’m also a really sarcastic person and sarcastic people usually don’t let too many things bother them. We believe in hiding our insecurities through jokes. It’s probably why I like Book Jace so much. A lot of the fandom thinks Book Jace is mean. I don’t know where they get that. I think he’s really funny and whenever the fandom says that he’s mean, I really have to question how they, as a person, functions in the real world. Trust me, there are some genuinely mean people in the real world. Some of them are located right here in this fandom. If you think Book Jace is mean, how do you deal with those people? But don’t take this to mean I hate Jace. I haven’t genuinely hated Jace since Season 1 Episode 6 when I changed his name (temporarily) to The Douche. I like him much more in Season 2. His motivations and his character development as a whole is super interesting. And I love it when he gets snarky. Doesn’t happen nearly as much as it should, though. I live for the moments when Jace gets sassy. I really like what Christine from polandbanannasbooks said about the kind of person Book Jace is. He’s a more sexy and angsty version of Chandler Bing. I’d like to see that guy pop up more in the show.

With Clary and Jace talked about now, let’s take a brief interlude and talk about Clace now. Clace is definitely an example of a couple they rushed when they didn’t need to. It’s not that Kat and Dom have bad chemistry, They have this fun, breezy chemistry about them that works super well when they’re just hanging out. However, when it gets to the point where they’re being forced into having a romantic, epic moment, it’s just that. It feels forced. The show also doesn’t do them any favors by making them so generically YA at the same time. They fall for each other simply because “they were meant for each other.” No work has actually been put forth into developing their relationship, what it is about each other that they like so much. It’s just bland, cheesy, YA tropes. And not the good kind of YA tropes. My hopes for Season 3 is that we’ll get moments where they’re start actively learning about each other on an intellectual level.

For Simon as a character, I’m not really super interested in him. He’s super funny. The show clearly gave all the Jace snark to him. But at the end of the day, even though it felt like he had a lot to do this season, it also feels like he didn’t really accomplish that much. For me, as a character leaving an impact on the season, he didn’t really factor all that much. I am very interested to see how his character is going to progress in Season 3 as it looks like they’re going completely off-book with him. Like I said, I almost prefer that the show would go off-book.

I guess we’ve got to talk about Izzy, now. Izzy has always been a character that routinely falls on the wayside for me. A lot of the fandom seems to really like her but I find her kind of dull at times. And she is a bad-ass but she never contributes a whole lot. The show never really knows what to do with her. They like to tell us she’s a bad-ass but she has very few character moments that actually lend to that. She seems to only serve as a support function for Alec and Clary. I was super excited when they started introducing this drug addiction for her character. A lot of people say this ruined her character. In my eyes, it’s hard to ruin a character who was on as shaky foundation as she was to begin with. She has no real consistent character foundations. I liked the drug addiction plot because something interesting was finally being done with her character. And no one comment saying, “Oh but Izzy is so great because she’s the best pathologist in NYC. That’s a contribution.” I hate the whole “Izzy is the best pathologist” angle. First of all, it is such a Mary Sue angle to make her the best. Second of all, what exactly makes her better than all of the other pathologists? Third of all, I find it insulting that this 19-year-old is the best pathologist in NYC when you have people who spend 10+ years receiving their medical training. At what age did she begin her training? When she was 6? Not to mention, there are so many plot holes with the pathologist angle that I don’t even want to get into right now. Basically, for Izzy, I hope that she gets written better in Season 3. They were going an interesting angle with the drug addiction but then she got a miracle cure and it’s never mentioned. There was absolutely no point to that plot at all.

I’m very much on the rocks about whether or not I want the show to go the Sizzy route. The Sizzy that I love is from the books. And Izzy’s personality has changed so much that we’re not going to get Sizzy from the books. Now what the show is currently doing with Simon and Izzy could lead to some really interesting foundations in their romantic relationship IF they keep it a slow-burn. But this show also sucks at slow burns so I don’t know how optimistic I should be.

Next up is Alec. My favorite character in both the books and show. He was already pretty good in the books but the show did a really great job with figuring him out as a character in the show. I just really enjoy him. He is a little inconsistent with his logic. And like with Izzy, I wish that he would do more in the fore front of the story. He fares much better than Izzy does in the story telling but his plot points always feel like they’re just kind of added on and then subsequently dropped. He has all of these great B plot ideas that never really seem to affect any of the main story and as a result, they’re usually dropped. And then of course, a lot of the fandom doesn’t perceive Alec as his own character. They see him as one half of Malec. And if he’s not doing something that’s going to forward the Malec plot than it’s automatically trash.  I definitely wouldn’t mind seeing Alec spend a bit more time away from the Malec plots and really give us a chance to see more of him as a person.

As I made in my previous point, we can’t talk about Alec without talking about Magnus. I am very off and on about Magnus as a character. Honestly, this guy’s motivations and his changes in motivations were starting to give me whiplash. I care about Magnus in the sense that he’s a really interesting character and when he’s allowed to be snarky, he’s great. But the way that he reacts to situations, it doesn’t feel real. And I’m not talking about the acting. I’m talking about the writing. He reacts to things in a very childish and vindictive way.

Which means I have to stop beating around the bush. I have to talk about Malec this season. Oh boy. This is going to be long. Malec in this season was great…when they have absolutely no conflict. When they’re hanging out and having fun, supporting each other, you love them as a couple. However, when they’re in a fight, Malec grates on my nerves. I had gotten to the point in 2B where I straight up didn’t care about what was going on in their relationship. I became apathetic to Malec. The world must truly be ending. Now, this is not me saying I don’t want Malec to ever fight. This is a dig at how poorly written the Malec fights are. Here’s the thing, the ideas behind the Malec fights are actually really good but the flaw is in their execution. There’s a very childish tint to it. I hate what happens in these Malec fights and I hate how they’re resolved. Here is the specific formula on Malec fights:

1) Alec does something that angers Magnus

2) Magnus tells Alec to get out (because that’s a totally healthy way of dealing with your problems)

3) Alec apologizes and Magnus forgives him but Magnus (in his eyes at least) has nothing to apologize for

Rinse and repeat. It happens this way every couple of episodes. And I hate how unequal this relationship is. And this is not me being mad that my favorite character is the one at fault in his relationship, this is me being mad that it’s being written like everything is always Alec’s fault and Magnus never does anything wrong. Even though it’s not true. He also adds to these fights but it’s never called to attention in the writing. This is not a very healthy way to approach a relationship. And with it always highlighting that Alec is at fault, this could very easily be interpreted as an abusive relationship. You have one party believing he’s at fault for a conflict, he apologizes, and the other party gets to continue thinking he’s the perfect one in the relationship and can proceed to blame his lover for anything that goes wrong. Because that’s the way it’s always been. Now I know that’s a little extreme. Granted, Malec isn’t quite there yet, but if this formula keeps up, it won’t be that big of a stretch to call this an abusive relationship. A relationship is all about equality. You cannot have a successful relationship if one person holds all of the power. I really hope Season 3 is going to address this. I really hope there’s a reason for why Malec conflicts were written this way and not just because the writers really like Magnus. I’m hoping Season 3 is going to explore Alec noticing these tell tale problems in his relationship with Magnus and starts questioning it. Maybe this will lead to them breaking up for a much longer space of time because he doesn’t truly believe that Magnus respects him or his position in this relationship. I really did not like how Malec got back together in the finale. I believe the exact words I said in response to Alec saying “I can’t live without you” was “oh, please. Come on.” Seriously, they had been broken up for barely 1 episode. At most, it was a couple of days. You need to be broken up a little longer than that before I’ll accept that sort of declaration.

Not only do I have a problem with Alec always being the bad guy in the relationship, I also have a problem with how Magnus deals with conflicts. Essentially, when a relationship conflict crops up, he responds with, “You’re making me mad. Get out. I don’t want to deal with you.” That is not a healthy way to deal with relationship woes. Why does a character who has 500 years worth of relationship experience behave like a 16-year-old yet his partner, a 20-year-old is far more willing to stick it out and compromise right off the bat. And I have to ask, is this how he’s always going to deal with these relationship conflicts? Is this how he’s always dealt with them? If that’s the case, no wonder he’s had 7,000 relationships. He’s probably never made it past the first fight. He probably tells each of his lovers when they have a fight to get out and leave him alone and they’re probably all, “You know what Magnus? You’re a cool guy and all but I need someone who who’s going to behave like an actual mature adult so I’m going to peace the fuck out.”

When this guy gets his feelings hurt, he becomes ultra vindictive and childish. I mean, just in the last 2 episodes of season 2, he was absolutely horrible. He was actually willing to let NYC be destroyed because he didn’t want to help Alec. As much as I do like Magnus – and I really do, don’t misunderstand me – but Alec deserves better. Like I said, I hope the writers are going for Magnus’ behavior to be called out in Season 3 but I also know better. Hope for the best but prepare for the worst.

Well, I think I’ve ranted on Malec for long enough, let’s talk about Luke. Luke has the potential to be a really great character but he also suffers from much the same things that Izzy and Alec suffer from. The story not really knowing what to do with him as a character. I mean, there are long stretches of time where Luke just kind of disappears. Hopefully, this will change in Season 3 and he’ll become a much more active agent in the story. I also hope he quits his day job as a detective because he is the worst detective ever. I don’t even know how he still has a job. He never seems to be working.

And a little side note. I’m also low-key shipping Luke and Maryse. I think they could be really interesting as a couple. 

Now we’ve got Maia. I actually really like Maia but for whatever reason, the show just cannot write her in a decent, consistent way during a finale episode. In the 2A finale, they had her automatically jump to killing Clary with no real development into her making a decision like that and in 2B she’s all damsel in distress in the Seelie realm. Never mind the fact that she’s been depicted as a bad-ass werewolf in earlier episodes, but in the finale she was just really quiet and meek. It was very strange. Definitely for Season 3, they need to make Maia more consistent with her character development and not just change her personality whenever it suits the plot.

Will Tudor was also amazing as Sebastian/Jonathon. I’m not a fan of the burnt blob he turns into. I find Jonathon a much more threatening villain when he’s Will Tudor being creepy as fuck as opposed to the burnt blob the show decided to add. I’m really hoping he returns as Will Tudor and not the burnt corpse.

Not a whole lot to say about Valentine. Ultimately, I’m very disappointed with where he went as a villain. I always found Valentine to be moderately interesting in the books and the show just took away everything that was interesting about him and left us with a Disney villain. Alan Van Sprang did the best he could trying to humanize Valentine but the script wasn’t doing him any favors. Hopefully the next super-villain this show has will write their villain in a less cheesy and cliché way.

In my Season 2 Finale review, I had also had this theory where I was hoping Maxim Roy will come back to play Lillith in the form of Jocelyn. I think that would be really interesting. And no, I don’t keep up on the Season 3 spoilers/behind-the-scene stuff. I want to be surprised when it airs. So no one tell me that Maxim Roy isn’t returning. I’d prefer to be disappointed on my own.

One more thing I want to mention is the Jalec parabatai bond. The show has taken a lot of steps to improve the parabatai bond and I love that they have. However, they seem to only highlight the angsty parts of it or to use it as a plot device. The parabatai bond is super interesting in both the positive and negative effects it leaves on those who have it. The show loves to talk about the negative effects of it. I would like to see the show start to show the benefits it has. They also need to make this bond more consistent and equal. A lot of times, it feels like Alec experiences the effects more than Jace. It was beyond weird to me in Season 2 Episode 3, that Jace finally makes it off the ship but yet can’t tell that there’s something wrong with Alec. And then Jace cuts his hand, and Alec has no problem feeling that? If there’s one thing I’d like from the parabatai bond in Season 3, it’s the consistency.

At the end of the day, this show tries really hard to be epic. It really wants to be on Vampire Diaries caliber but the writing just isn’t there. The acting is. That isn’t the issue. I love the actors, I love the way they portray their characters. Even the ideas the writers have are actually really good ideas. It’s just the execution that they have a problem with. Once the writing catches up to the actors’ talent, I think we’ll have a truly amazing show on our hands.

Well, that’s about all I have about Season 2. Again, I am neither PRO nor ANTI shadowhunters. In my eyes, it’s neither a good or bad show. It’s just bland. What I’m doing here is just looking at this show and telling you what it makes me think and feel. Do you have to agree with me? No. But you should still respect it. So, with that said, I would love to hear your thoughts and feelings about Season 2. Are there changes you think could be made that I didn’t mention? I’d love to hear how other people interpret this show. This is why fandoms are so much fun but they’re horrible places when can’t people can’t respect each other’s opinions. So please, respect make the dream work.

And with this blog post out of the way, I am now going to go see American Assassin and proceed to fall in love with Dylan O’Brien’s talent to create strong but vulnerable characters.