#im actually trying to commit every line in this movie to memory- im good at getting the general chunks but im trying to get EVERY line EXAC

[scatterpatter]

HEY YOU SHOULD WATCH THE BRAVE LITTLE TOASTER

Oh nooooo if only there were an easy way to find it tho... if only... oh man... if only- oh oops sorry I tripped-

Oh man if only it were easy to watch... oh man...................

[h-sleepingirl]

“9 Persisting Misconceptions About Hypnosis”

A zine by sleepingirl and GleefulAbandon

(Access the downloadable and nicely formatted Google Doc here!)

Hey, there! Have you been turned on to the wonders of hypnokink? Do you feel like you've just had a bucket of shibboleths and tips and bits of wisdom dumped over your head, and they are now slowly dripping down your back? Are you thinking to yourself, "OK, I am finally getting the hang of this erotic hypnosis thing?"

Not so fast! Odds are a lot of the information you've received is, while given in good faith, mired in assumptions about the nature of hypnosis and the human mind that are not empirically true! And the kicker about a practice that takes advantage of suggestibility is that buying into these can make them more true! How’s that for a mental rut?

Here are 9 myths about hypnosis you are likely to encounter in your freaky journey!

(Full disclosure: We are experienced hypnotic players who are constantly exploring and growing, and we recognize that not everyone may share our perspective on all of these. But when we accept the oft-repeated principles we hear as incontrovertible truth without questioning them, we risk building a wall between us and further learning about the amazing, weird things we can do with our brains! This is not meant to disparage any person for their beliefs or experiences, and we welcome feedback and discussion!)

1. All hypnosis is self-hypnosis.

Yep, and all pain you feel when someone punches you in the thigh is your own brain making pain happen. CURSE YOU, BRAIN!

This tends to be an idiom that can cause more harm than good. It’s clearly not an empirical statement (how could it be?) though it is often taken as one. On the surface, it’s well-intentioned and trying to convey that subjects have agency and hypnosis isn’t mind control like you see in the movies. However, while it's good to know that subjects have the ability to cultivate a real sense of self-sufficiency, it minimizes connection with the hypnotist and the power that can be exchanged. Hypnosis is collaborative, and the hypnotist’s behavior absolutely affects trance, whether positively, or in bad situations, negatively! It takes two to do hypnosis with two, full stop.

When you hear this phrase, ask yourself, what is really being communicated here?

2. Hypnosis is distinctly different than meditation, subspace, etc.

Different how, exactly? Sexiness is not sufficient here, kids.

Well, here's a whole can of worms: Hypnosis as defined by hypnokink practitioners tends to be a wider umbrella than the clinical definition of hypnosis. There is also the concept of hypnosis as an altered state and then the concept of hypnosis as a set of practices. Pretty much any altered state could be called hypnosis when kinksters use it in hypnokink to commit dastardly deeds. Same with the (extraordinarily broad) set of practices that we take advantage of to fuck with brains.

Here’s the thing: hypnosis isn’t just one solid thing or state with one solid set of rules. Trance and brainfuckery are dynamic! We don’t really even have a great way of defining suggestibility, because we know that shoving someone into an altered state and then telling them, “You will experience xyz” is not really sufficient. And of course, a lot of stuff can get done outside of a traditional “trance.” Where is the line?

Spoilers: Any line we make is subjective. Meditation, when you potentially put yourself in an altered state and change the way you focus pretty much fits under that umbrella, too.

3. You can't make someone do something they "don't want to do" or go against "core values" with hypnosis.

We do things we don't want to do all the time, starting each day from when we wake up when our alarms go off. People drink alcohol and do things they wouldn't have otherwise done. People are talked into buying things they don’t want or need, or making complex decisions that don’t always have their best interests at heart. Not to mention that our broad-strokes “core beliefs” are changeable, sometimes with just a simple shift in perspective.

Human beings are dynamic and complex and exciting creatures, and we don't have a black box inside of us with ideas that are immutable to us. Change in belief and behavior is a part of how we function, and that’s WITHOUT hypnosis! Once again, this myth is well-intentioned, but an oversimplification that can backfire if someone is trying to process why they experienced a hypnotic scene differently than they thought they would.

4. Depth is the key to suggestibility.

Here's an idea: A swear jar but you have to put money in every time someone asks if they were "deep enough." Depth is a metaphor, but it's a useful one! It relates to your own subjective trance experience and how you experience intensifying it, which is hugely important self-knowledge. But it is not quantifiable, and there is not a simple correlation between depth and ability to access more trance phenomena. As with many things in hypnosis, it’s different for everyone and can be different at different times based on a huge number of variables.

And on that note…

5. Suggestibility scales are legit.

"But wait!" You might say, "These have been studied! What about things like the Stanford Susceptibility Scale?"

They're bad.

Academics, in good faith, tried to impose objective rules on altered states that run on the subjectivity and diversity of the human mind. People are different. Subjects are different. Alas, researchers at Stanford in 1959 (yes, that long ago) were mystified by this concept. And still, so are some today.

Really, Stanford peeps, amnesia is the most hypnotized a person can get? Some folks lose memories in trance right away but won't take to certain hallucinations. And some hallucinations are easier for some folks than others. Trying to create hypnotic rules for how hypnotizable you are is a losing game.

But speaking of different kinds of hallucinations...

6. Working with someone’s “primary modality” is the key to effective hypnosis.

The idea that of the five senses we each have one primary one that aids in our learning and that is best used to create hypnotic states and phenomena is not only limiting, it’s been debunked time and time again. The concept of “modalities” that is so prevalent in the erotic hypnosis world comes directly from NLP, where Richard Bandler and John Grinder stated that we had primary modalities — a “Preferred Representational System.” However, just like with learning styles, study after study after study has found no supporting evidence of this. In fact, in the ‘80s (yes, that long ago), Bandler himself said that this idea was no longer emphasized in NLP (regardless of the fact that it is still pervasive today).

And beyond this, yeah, you could spend your time using only visual cues and visual words and creating visual hallucinations, or you could actually utilize multiple senses, because spoiler alert that is how human beings experience the world. You're not trying to find a secret code that unlocks a shortcut to being a better subject, you're Dora the Goddamned Explorer and it's not just about finding the thing at the end; it's about chilling with Boots and Map.

7. “iM tOo AnAlYtIcAl To Be HyPnOtIzEd”

Also going in the swear jar is anyone saying they have trouble being hypnotized because they're "too analytical." Bruh. Hypnosis is not a game of chess wherein the hypnotist out-logics the subject to get them to comply. It's engaging your brain and letting you do more with it than you thought possible. This is definitely not downplaying the experience of people who have had a difficult time getting the experiences they are searching for, but more about The System(ic misunderstanding pervading hypnokink culture) getting us all down.

Being “thinky” doesn’t mean someone can’t be hypnotized (hypnosis =/= not thinking or altered thinking), it just means that you both use what you’ve got — hypnotist AND subject. Analyzing something doesn’t make it impossible to trance. Hypnosis should not be synonymous with “letting go.” It’s about changes in focus and engagement, oftentimes really subtle, especially for subjects who have preconceived notions of what it’s going to feel like. It’s dynamic, it doesn’t mean laser focus, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean blank-minded.

Subjects: Learn to love the way you analyze; notice shifts and changes, use it to be open to learning about how hypnosis feels for you as opposed to what you expect it to feel like. Understanding what your real subjective responses are is key to growing.

Hypnotists: While it might be helpful for some people, stop assuming that you necessarily have to overload or confuse them to get to the holy hypnotic grail of mindlessness; utilize their internal responses for the trance!

Here's a secret: If a hypnotist calls someone a "difficult subject," they mean they failed to connect with their partner in a way that they deemed hypnotic enough. This is on them, not the subject.

8. Your subconscious is like a quiet roommate chilling inside your head.

The metaphor of your subconscious (or unconscious mind) as someone with whom you can communicate is a useful one for a lot of people! It can put you in touch with how you're feeling and processing, and create fun surprises no one might expect. But it's just that: a metaphor. Your brain is not a director and an actor; it’s a beautifully complex amalgam of experiences and observations. You can play with treating your subconscious as a person, but recognize that there's not literally a man behind a curtain, and recognize that your interpretation of it might be flawed (i.e., don’t use your “unconscious mind” to negotiate under the assumption that this conscious personification is faultless and somehow knows better than you do).

9. Abreactions.

This is a huge one, and another one where the hypnosis scene has deviated from psychology (sometimes a good thing!). Clinically, an abreaction is a response with some emotional connection, and is in fact often used as a tool to create breakthroughs in therapy. In the hypnokink Scene, “abreaction” has also become a boogeyman, a synonym for "freak out.”

Can folks freak out during a hypnosis scene? Sure! Can they freak out during an impact scene? Of course! Can they freak out in the dairy aisle of the supermarket because the wrong song starts playing on the loudspeaker? Also, yes. But an abreaction isn't technically synonymous with freak-out. Technically, a giggle-fit during hypnosis can be an abreaction.

Here’s the thing: it might even be OK to appropriate the term “abreaction” to mean “negative reaction” in the hypnokink community, but we have to stop making that interchangeable with “unexpected reaction.” Of course a negative reaction is unexpected. But that doesn’t mean all unexpected reactions are negative. They happen absolutely all the time in hypnosis; demonizing all of them is unhealthy and unrealistic.

Well-intentioned practitioners of erotic hypnosis have put all their safety eggs in one basket: Caution against causing an abreaction, end the scene when you do, and you've accounted for the worst. But this is a scene that traffics in suggestibility; when you make out abreactions to be this looming, awful risk, you bring them to the fore, and when both players assume that that means an unexpected reaction is cause for panic, it creates unwarranted anxiety and problems. Not to mention that it greatly hinders the breadth and depth of what you can achieve together.

In short, you can and should learn to navigate emotional vulnerability and be confident and flexible in handling your partners’ responses, no matter how unexpected or intense they are. We're here for those reactions, folks, and not all of them are to be feared and fixed.

Sleepingirl is a switchy writer, presenter, and podcaster who joined the public kink scene in 2012. She’s had a life-long hypnofetish and is way too interested in brainwashing. She did the doodles for this zine, and look out for her Brainwashing Book coming soon! Check out her hypnokink podcast at twohypchicks.simplecast.fm and follow her: Twitter @h_sleepingirl, Tumblr @h-sleepingirl, FetLife @sleepingirl

GleefulAbandon is a queer, submissive hypnofetishist. She joined the BDSM/Hypnokink Scene in 2012, and teaches and writes about hypnosis from the subject’s perspective. She’s a sucker for a pocket watch. @gleefulabandon

[sumeshi-t]

higanbana;

A/N: Okay, a bit late I guess but I started writing this 19th July. Didn't make it in time. Also I forgot which blog I saw the prompts from lmao this is also kinda self-indulgent but hey what’s the use of making self-inserts for your self right

Pairing: OikawaxReader

Wordcount: 3,303 trash

Genre: angst??? try-hard angst yeah im sorry got lost in how to end it i--

*higanbana = red spider lilies. they are associated with final goodbyes, and legend has it that these flowers grow wherever people part ways for good.

tagging some cute lil haikyuu friends :( @floofwrites @akaashit-baeji @sportanime-maniac

•》》》》》》》••《《《《《《《《•●•》》》》》》》••《《《《《《《•

"(y/n)?" Iwaizumi's voice sounded strained, tired even, as he spoke to you through his phone's mouthpiece. You ask what was bothering him on such a fine weekend afternoon. 

"It's been... bugging me for days now, it's such a pain in the ass." 

You hum, taking your time chewing the chips you've put in your mouth. You were binge watching movies on your free day when he called. "Well, you know, that isn't really part of my job. But congratulations on devirginizing your ass, I guess." 

Iwaizumi stutters, and you could clearly see the image of horror and embarrassment on his face in your mind. "T-That's not what I meant!" He clears his throat, before continuing. "Just... I feel like playing again. And I think I've become rusty for the past year."

He hears you gasp, and he wasted no more time in setting a meeting place before completely hanging up on you.

Warmth spreads throughout your chest at his sudden call and the reason why he wanted to meet up suddenly made you giddy. 

You and Iwaizumi go a long way back—way back middle school. By the time you graduated from college, he finally got accepted to play and be part of the National team. So you mustered enough courage and confidence, gathered some experience before applying for the team's physical therapist.

Luckily though, you got hired, and even received compliments from the coach saying that they have never seen the players perform to "such an extent".

It was a fun experience, the team had a great run during those times but one day, Iwaizumi decided to quit. Until now, you never knew why, but soon after he did, you also bid farewell to the team and began working in hospitals or nursing facilities.

So hearing that he wanted to play again set you in a good mood; you even start rummaging through your old files for the training regimen you used to give him, and brought it along with you.

You passed by a convenience store, grabbed two bottles of a light alcoholic drink, the celebratory mood getting to you.

Until you felt utter disappointment, confusion, and even a little annoyed at seeing who was there on the bench, waiting.

"(y/n)-chan~!" 

It was him. 

You suddenly wished that aliens were real so they could just take him. 

"You still call me that? Stop it. Where's Hajime?" You still weren't sitting, tempted to throw the bottles to his good-looking face before he could answer your question. 

Oikawa pouted, scooting over to make space beside him for you on the bench. "First name basis? You two that close already?" 

You didn't even try to understand the underlying tones that statement had. "None of your business. Now if you're not gonna tell me where he is, I'm gonna have to leave. Nice seeing you," 

As you turned around to leave, Oikawa stops you by saying, "I had him call you so we could meet here. So obviously, he's not coming." 

You hesitated, but with a deep sigh, you wordlessly made your way to the bench, placing all the stuff you brought between you and the brunette. He looks down at what you did, and when you weren't looking at him, Oikawa pops open both bottles with a little trick, trying not to smile that you decided to stay. He places your drink next to you, as he holds his own and takes a sip.

Oikawa just looks at you in silence, as your eyes focus on the red spider lilies before you; lined in a straight path, some surrounding the tree nearby. Both your face and his was unreadable, and when you couldn't bear the silence much longer, you took a breath before speaking.

"You didn't have to do that." your eyes narrowed, still refusing to look at Oikawa. 

"Do what?" the way he was feigning innocence got on your nerves a bit but you decided to settle things as mature as adults could be.

"...this whole thing, making Hajime set this up. There's actually, absolutely, no need for it."

"I just need an excuse to hang out with you." He answered immediately, gauging your reaction. Oikawa takes another sip of his drink, "It's been a while since we last talked, (y/n)-chan. I tried texting or calling you but I figured you probably changed numbers."

You bit your bottom lip, looking down on your feet. You take a single gulp of the alcohol and leaned back on your seat, trying to at least relax and feel more comfortable in your own space.

"Why? Felt bored?" You finally spare him a quick glance, and your ex had a long leg over the other, both hands now inside the pockets of his jersey jacket. There was a small flag of Japan by the chest and only then did you remember that he was now also a member of the volleyball National team; perhaps even their captain—you didn't know. Ever since leaving the team, you didn't bother catching up to any news about them. 

When Oikawa didn't answer your question, you mumble, "I heard... you were doing good." 

He shrugs, "More or less... and you?" The brunette sighs, scratching the back of his head. He turned to you with a  slight pout, which you couldn't tear your eyes off of. "Why are we talking like we have sticks up our asses? Iwa-chan sure is rubbing off on you real good." Oikawa whines, his nose stuck in the air after grunting. 

You didn't know why but you found it ridiculous, that you were reminded of the times when you were younger. A chuckle escapes your lips, making his brows raise at your sudden reaction. "God, are you six or something? Trying to be all cute and whiny?"

Oikawa smirks, "So first it's 'nice seeing you'; and now you're saying I'm cute? (y/n)-chan, I'm very flattered. But there's no need to tell me what I already know." He even had the audacity to wink at you and stick his tongue out.

You lightly punch his shoulder, rolling your eyes at his display of narcissism. "Hah, some things... really don't change." 

Oikawa's short burst of playful attitude came to a progressive stop, his calm demeanor slowly resurfacing. "Yeah... guess you could say that."

He then rummages through the files you brought along for Iwaizumi, and he hums in acknowledgment. "So you did become a PT." Oikawa was mumbling to himself, and you didn't even try to take back the folder he was holding. 

'It's better to have minimal physical contact as much as possible.'

You notice his brows scrunching together, and assumed that he was trying to read through the small fonts you used, as Oikawa wasn't wearing his glasses. But what you didn't know was that he was actually glaring at Iwaizumi's photo.

He returns the folder to you, "Think you can be my therapist?" Then, his other hand pats his bad knee thrice.

The question caught you off-guard; just as quick as the good memories flashed by, the bad and painful ones that replaced it were the hardest to ignore. It triggered the memory that began the downfall of your relationship with Oikawa.

See, you and him had made the relationship work through  some similarities and despite of your differences.

You were understanding and supportive of his passion and commitment to his volleyball career. You went to his games and cheered him on no matter the results were; when you had free time, you'd wait until night for him to be done with practice. Meanwhile, he never felt as though you were dragging him down; he even learned to appreciate classic rom-coms because of you and had some of your favorites next to his sci-fi stash; and of course, he fueled the drive you had for achieving your dreams of becoming a doctor.

The amount of selfies you've taken with him is unreal; your gallery also full of memes you both send to Iwaizumi even during dead hours of the night. You hated his gut sometimes, and he doesn't like it when even you nag at him; you were both stubborn, had a little pride here and there—but you knew you felt the happiest when with him, and he always told you that he felt the same.

College came. You were in different universities, but was in the same one as Iwaizumi's. When you were still a freshman, you still had some time to spare; meet up after practice, or him waiting for your class to end. 

It was interesting: you knew one way or another, a match between your university and his would be inevitable.

And Oikawa's team always won. 

But as the semesters went on, both of you spent less and less time together, talked more on occasion than how it used to be. 

For you that was fine, you understood that careers must be prioritized than relationships because both of you were at that age which would decide your individual futures. 

Sometimes you'd get jealous at some of your friends when they're gushing about their own adventures in the romance department that you even mockingly ask yourself if you're actually single.

The relationship just came to a point where you felt like you were the only one trying, making it an effort to meet or hang out.

You had to admit to yourself: it was tiring. And all these, you had no choice but to rant it all out on Iwaizumi—which was part of the reason why you two became much closer. It was completely platonic for you though, no doubt about that.

There was a particular match, you finally had some spare time from your busy schedule and brain-draining program, that you managed to watch it. Though, you were a little late, having arrived halfway through. 

Every step you took closer to the stands, the more you became eager to feel the rush of adrenaline through your veins, of having your throat going dry from screaming and cheering—

But you didn't expect that you'd instead have to swallow a lump in your throat and push back tears. 

When you arrived, the first thing you saw was your boyfriend, Oikawa, lying on the floor of the court, clutching his knee, teeth gritted, sweat and probably some tears on his pained face. And Iwaizumi, on the other side of the net, frozen in shock at what was happening to his bestest friend.

Next thing you knew, you were in the hospital.

It was a bad fall they said.

Probably the court was too slippery. A little misstep.

The worst was that maybe it was the beginning of the end of his career. 

The following days, weeks, weren't really the best. You could say bad things turned to worse things. 

The doctor was a bit too pessimistic for your liking, saying that Oikawa might never be able to use that knee again for volleyball, post-surgery. 

"Since when did you know about this? Was it after the Karasuno match? Or during your freshman year in college? Tooru... please..." you asked him, as he stared ahead at the wall, the usual cheerful dork now seemed to have aged ten more years at the hurtful words of his own doctor. 

Oikawa didn't answer. He didn't know how to answer and he felt that everything came crashing down as he began building his walls higher, keeping everything and everyone out—even you.

You reached out to caress his knee, and you noted the flinch he made under your touch. "Hey... I know it's hard right now, but... trust me, I don't think what the doctor said was true." You pursed your lips; still no reaction from him. 

"I mean... this is why rehabilitation medicine exists! I believe that this could still be worked on and you'll be in your best state in a few month's time, Tooru." You were speaking from your little therapist-to-be heart, the passion, the blood, sweat and tears you've shed so far serving as fuel to strengthen your resolve in wanting to help heal your boyfriend.

You pulled your hand away when Oikawa let out a scoff. 

He gave you a ridiculing look, "What do you know? I don't see you having any problem with your knee."

"T-Tooru... I—"

"Why? Just because you're a student now, you honestly think you could be my therapist?"

Were you hurt? Very. But then there was a voice in your head saying that Oikawa was in much more pain than you could imagine. And so you waited. Patiently. Diligently. 

You didn't want to let him see you crumble at his mere words that only stemmed from his self-loathing. This isn't him, this isn't him. It was your new mantra. 

You could only take so much. 

You still end up crying it out on Iwaizumi. He was able to provide you with the head space you could breathe in. You didn't realize that Oikawa could sense this. That was your mistake, you knew that but only after the split.

"Why don't you leave me alone? All I see from you now is pity. Guess what, (y/n), I don't need any of that from you. Right? I don't make you happy anymore right? You think I didn't know you've already found someone better?" 

This was his mistake. 

The memory of your tears, of your trembling hands, and voice breaking—still stung in his mind. 

"Not once did I pity you, Tooru, because that's not what you need. All this time, I've endured every word you hurled at me like I'm your least favorite person in the world." You sniffed, swallowed. 

"But if that's what's going to make you better, make you happier—then I'll go. I hope you understand how much I've exceeded my limits, only for you to throw me out over and over again."

You gripped hard on the doorknob, and said your final words. "And leave Iwa-kun out of this. I didn't think you would actually doubt a friend and your own girlfriend." You bitterly smile, causing the tears that pooled in your lids to fall.

"Maybe I was wrong to assume that I could become your stronghold through this. I'm sorry for disappointing you, Tooru. Get well soon,"

"And we never talked after that." he murmured, eyes reddening, jaw clenched in an attempt to fight his own tears from falling. 

And you?

You've downed half of your bottle in one go. 

You refuse to look at him because you knew your heart's wounds would reopen and be like onions to your eyes. You let the alcohol spread to make you numb. More, more, you said.

"It's embarrassing but... since you left I have no one to talk to. The days I spent in the hospital was a lot bearable when you used to visit me." 

You took another swig of the alcohol. Another bitter smile  on your lips more bitter than what was burning your throat. "Then don't talk to me now like you're coming back."

"Don't you want me back?"

Your heart ached at his question. You bit your lip, sniffing, trying to find the right answer—your heart wanted yes, but your mind wanted no. "Did I even mean anything to you? Was that all I was to you—just another person you could talk to?"

Oikawa winced at your words. "(y/n), I—I... of course not! You're worth more than that to me!" there was a shaky exhale, and a quick intake of air right after. You figured that he was choking on his own fought back sobs. "I... I'm sorry but I just miss you so, so, so much."

This time, you tried looking him in the eye—and all you could see was a mirror of your own pain. His ears were already red, indicating the emotions he was holding back on you—a trait of his that you can't seem to forget.

"There's a difference between missing someone and missing having someone, Oikawa." He flinched at how much you tried to put distance between the two of you for calling him that way. Oikawa tried to answer but you continued, "I, for one, miss you because I..." you gasped, letting the tears stream down your face. "Because I never stopped loving you, Tooru."

Oikawa was frozen in his seat, watching you as you harshly wiped tear streaks from your face, finishing your drink then gathering your things and standing up to leave. You quickly walked away without looking back, and that was the only time the brunette finally found how to move his limbs. He was so at a loss that he forgot his own unfinished drink on the bench.

"W-Wait, (y/n)-chan! (y/n)," Oikawa chased after you, unable to control his own strength once he grabbed your arm, making all your things fall to the grass. You pull your arm away but he holds you by the shoulders.

"Why are you leaving? I'm not going to push you away anymore, (y/n)." His grip on you got tighter, as if he was restraining himself from pulling you close to him and capturing your body in his. 

You look down, avoiding his stare, seeing red spider lilies once more by your feet where your things were scattered. 

His hands slide down to grasp your hands in his. They're still as warm as I remember them to be. 

"...Real feelings don't just go away."

"So why did you let me leave?" Your lips trembled, voice coming out in a whisper, voice cracking in the end. 

"(y/n), I know that what I did and said was wrong. I let my pride get in the way between us; I let my sadness eat me away." His hands were shaking now, a bit sweaty too. He sniffed, "You saw the messed up parts of me and stayed. But I was a jerk, a big asshole, for pushing you away. It was selfish of me... I... I didn't see that my in-actions would cause us to fall apart."

To your surprise, he pulled you in, burying his face near the crook of your neck. You could feel something wet seep into your shirt. "My biggest mistake was thinking I could live without you."

"But... I can see you're doing well now without me. Because you only waited this long to try and reach me? Why now when you could've done it before?" 

Oikawa hugs you tighter, shaking his head. "I just don't want to lose you; not again, not anymore. I love you (y/n), I never did stop."

Soon, he pulls away, eyes searching yours. You look up at him, and he wipes the tears from your face. "Can I be selfish one last time? Please give me another chance—I'll make it up to you."

You all but gently removed his touch from yours, and suddenly the air around you grew cold. 

"Tooru, I... I love you, I miss you, I forgive you. It was nice meeting you but... I don't think I'm ready to open my heart for you again. Maybe not now. Maybe not ever. Because I've made up my mind long ago to love you from afar."

You smiled softly and used the back of your hand to wipe his tears. Then, you stood on your tiptoes and placed a peck to his nose before turning away. 

Oikawa could only watch in silence at your retreating figure, wondering if this was the best thing for one or both of you. Everything now was even more unsure for him; except for the fact that a new-found determination sprang in his chest. 

Oikawa Tooru was going to win your heart back, no matter what it takes.

[luthienebonyx]

Author interview

Tagged by: @seaspiritwrites

Name: Luthien. My real name also starts with L. I answer to L as well, so then I don’t have to think about which me I’m meant to be at any given moment.

Fandoms: At the moment, Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire, in the sense that I’m glancing at it sideways while the torrent of words continues. In the past, many others.

Where you post: AO3, these days.

Most popular oneshot: In this fandom, As Sunlight Drinketh Dew, which is probably the most explicit thing I’ve written for this pairing, and was also my first attempt at writing Jaime POV.

Across all the fandoms I’ve written in, and keeping in mind that a good chunk of my fanfic pre-dates the AO3 so this answer is really only in relation to the stories I’ve posted since around 2010, my most popular oneshot is, surprisingly, A Night to Remember. This is a Phryne/Jack Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries fic, which is also on the explicit side. (I think I’m sensing a pattern.) It’s one of those stories that just doesn’t die. I can never pick which ones those are going to be.

Most popular multi-chapter story: In this fandom, More Than a Memory. This was the first story I wrote for this fandom, apart from a couple of drabbles years and years ago, and it just came pouring out of me after the finale aired. I was very surprised that it had any real following at all, because I was a completely unknown writer in this fandom and the story is canon compliant right up to the end of Season 8, with everything that that means for this pairing.

In my fandoms on AO3 overall, the most popular multi-parter is A Fine Romance, which is an unfinished Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them newtina fic. I had to stop writing it for a while because my health crashed in mid-2017, and then the second movie pretty comprehensively jossed my plans for the rest of the story, but I think it captured the fandom vibe at the time it was being posted.

Favorite story you wrote: Right now, it’s probably Beloved, part of my After Everything fix-it universe (written partly to make up for writing More Than a Memory) because it’s a very ‘me’ story, and also because even though I finished it a few days ago, it’s still hanging around in my head. Once I get back to working on my Regency AU, You I Know, that will be the favourite, because that’s the story I’ve wanted to write for YEARS.

So far as past fandoms go, I’m still very fond of my Once Upon a Time rumbelle AU Plain Jane. That’s another one of those ‘me’ stories.

Story you were nervous to post: I feel as if I should say More Than a Memory, because I really honestly expected that hardly anyone would read it, but it was one of those stories that wouldn’t let me NOT write it, so it wasn’t like I had a choice about it. I just threw it out there.

I think probably As Sunlight Drinketh Dew was the one I was actually most nervous about, because it was my first time trying out Jaime POV, and that sort of thing is always nerve-racking.

As for stories from past fandoms... I can’t really remember? Except that I always HATE my stories right before I post them, so in that sense they all make me nervous.

How you choose your titles: On a wing and a prayer? Titles are the bane of my existence. Sometimes, if I’m really lucky, the title will come to me very early on, which is a huge relief. Other times, I’ll have a story finished and edited and ready to go - except that I don’t know what it’s called. Then I get out my big book of quotations, and google lyrics, and just hope to god that something jumps out at me. 

Weirdly, I haven’t had my usual titling trouble for most of the stories I’ve written in this fandom, but that might be more just my attitude. A vaguely appropriate title will cross my mind and I’ll just seize it and decide that “That’ll do!” It’s nice not to have to deal with these little title-related stress-outs.

Do you outline: Hahaha. I’ve TRIED to outline in the past. I just end up with scene drafts instead. 

My usual approach is to have a list of bullet points of the main plot beats, plus any other reminders to myself of details that I’m going to need further down the line. For my longer stories, I think of my list of bullet points as making up the skeleton, and then the flesh and blood of detail happens as I write. But no, I really wouldn’t dignify any of that with the description of ‘outline’. Outlining is something that happens to other people, I’m afraid.

Complete: In this fandom, 23. However, 18 of those complete stories belong to series that are still on-going, so their storylines are not yet complete even though the stories themselves are.

Overall? I have 122 complete works on the AO3, but that doesn’t include every fic I’ve ever written, so the actual answer is... I don’t know?

In-progress: In this fandom, two actual stories and two series. I need to get back to my Regency AU, You I Know, very soon. It’s currently at Chapter 8 of... many. I’m also partway through writing the second and last chapter of the latest Aussie Coffee ‘verse fic, On the first day of Christmas (my true love gave to me). In terms of series, obviously Aussie Coffee is still not finished - I still have another five (hopefully) short instalments to write once the Christmas fic is done - and After Everything still has at least one more story to go (which I’m currently working on).

In other fandoms... I think I’ll just sweep a few stories under the rug and pretend that they don’t exist.

Coming soon/not yet started: Coming soon: A Sansa bystander POV fic from right at the beginning of After Everything, when the ‘after’ bit hasn’t started yet - I’m not writing that series in chronological order. Also, the rest of the Christmas Day fic from Aussie Coffee, and FINALLY a new chapter of the Regency AU.

Not yet started: I have an idea for a musician AU kicking around in the back of my head, but it’s right at the bottom of the priority list, and probably will be for some time.

Do you accept prompts: I do sometimes, if I’m in the mood, or if I don’t have anything more pressing to write. (So yeah, not so much with the prompts right at the moment!) Usually only drabble prompts, though. I have two writing modes: drabbles of exactly 100 words, no more and no less, and “who the hell knows how long this thing will be?” I’d rather not get into anything in the second category by accident.

Upcoming story you are most excited to write: Regency, Regency, Regency!!!! I have SO MUCH planned for this story. I’m going to stuff every last Regency detail and plot point that I can think of into it - and I’ve been reading about and researching this period for decades, so I can think of A LOT. I’ve wanted to write a novel-length Regency AU through several fandoms, but I’ve never been well enough to commit to it before. But now, for some reason, I am well enough to just keep writing most days, and so I’m not losing writing momentum, and things like this are finally possible. AND I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT EVERYTHING ABOUT IT!!!!!

But the rest of the Aussie Coffee ‘verse is also going to be fun to write. The path it’s going to take isn’t the one that might seem most likely right now...

Tagging: @nire-the-mithridatist @woodelf68 @firesign23 @it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined @ladyem-fandom and anyone else who wants to do it.

[romancingromanoff]

My idea is about Cersei (preferably post-S6 finale, 'cause I love that look) somehow coming into a hot young M-or-GU!Reader's apartment, and them ending up becoming fuckbuddies/roommates who fuck. Like she's confused and wants to go home, the reader is also very confused and promises to help find her way home, then time skip to like six weeks later, and she's just hanging out around the apartment in sweats, watching Netflix with the reader and sucking their cock whenever the movie gets boring.

WARNING: SMUT AHEAD, NSFW (Cersei x reader with a penis)This is the first fic I’ve ever done (or attempted for that matter) from the pov of a character that has what is traditionally regarded as male genitalia so I’m sorry if it’s bad but I had fun playing with this prompt and Cersei.A Game of Thrones drinking game hadn’t sounded that bad. Take a shot every time Hodor says “Honor”, every time Cersei drinks some wine, and finish your drink any time there’s magic or dragons, et cetera, et cetera. But maybe yesterday was hitting you harder than normal because you hadn’t eaten all day or maybe it was simply because they had jam packed the latest episode with shots of Cersei sipping wine at her window incredulous to what an actual human’s alcohol intake capacity is. For whatever reason, you woke up with the worst hangover headache and your eyes pounding like they were going to swell and fall out of their sockets. Pulling on some shorts, keeping the lights off, and staying far away from the windows you began to try and feel your way to your kitchen using just your hands to search for anything that might help your stomach. So to say that you were completely blind to what happened next probably wouldn’t be an exaggeration. “You!” a sharp voice and the jostling feeling of having the sharp end of a carving knife right at your throat caused your hands to go up immediately and you froze with fear. You attempted to open your eyes to look at your attacker and hopefully defend yourself as well, but the lights were killing your head. “Who are you and where am I?” the person demanded. From the sound of their voice and their distinctly British accent, you thought you knew who the person was. You supposed that would make sense given that a lot of crimes are committed by individuals the victim already knows, but personally, you didn’t know anyone that was British. “Okay, what the hell? I’m sorry, I have no idea what’s going on but if you want anything just take it,” your plead dribbles out of your mouth and is probably only half understood. The knife pokes deeper into your skin making you scared to even breath. “I am the queen and you will tell me where I am right this instant!” First, through a very small squint you can make out what looks to be short blonde hair. Then you see the piercing green eyes and everything just seems to come together at once. It’s Cersei. Fucking. Lannister. The realization has your brain swelling even more and it feels like it’s about to overflow from your skull. “Uh, could you put the knife down, please?” you plead and wonder if smiling would help ease her at all but then you remember that she’s a vicious cold-blooded woman that just blew up the entire Sept of Baelor and everyone in it. “Your Grace?” you try saying. “I just think there’s been a huge mix up of some sort.”Thankfully, she pulls the knife away but her words are just as sharp and she says, “A mix up? You idiot, this is no ‘mix up’ this is obviously a plot conspired by my enemies who wish to take my throne. And as far as I’m aware, you might just be one of those enemies so you better start giving me explanations before you’re of no use to me!”“I have no idea what’s going on. Honest!” you panic and take the chance while she has her guard down to grab the television remote and try to replay the episode you recorded last night. “You’re just a character in a tv show, you’re played by an actress, and I’m starting to freak out right now because I know this is a prank and I’ve just about shit my pants so why isn’t it over yet?!” “You im-“ she starts to lunge for you with her knife in hand before she’s stopped by the image on screen. It’s of her from last night when she was casually enjoying the sight of wildfire killing hundreds of innocent people. The scene shows her smirking as she looks out from her window, satisfied with her work. But having to see that very clear memory play out in front of her like it’s a mere show gets the best of the usually poised and formidable lioness. Her face turns a sickly pale white color and it looks like she’s trying to expel something evil from her body as her face contorts into a silent scream. “It’s not possible,” she whispers in pain and her knife drops to the floor.“I’m not waking up, am I?” you say at the mercy of the feet of the universe itself. “I want to go home, I want to go home,” the queen wraps her arms around her stomach like there’s a pain inside that’s making her physically topple over. She begins to fall away from the couch behind her but luckily you’re able to catch her with whatever of your strength is left. Clueless as to what to do, you just sort of awkwardly pat her back as she heaves in and out just pleading to the gods to end the nightmare she’s in. Her words are indecipherable by the time you decide to rush to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and you run back as quick as you can without letting it spill and tell her to drink it.The only thing keeping you calm is knowing that if you were to freak out like she was (which you definitely wanted to) was the fact that you were still pretty sure that she would kill you. So you just awkwardly shuffled closer on over to her hunched over crying figure and gently put your hand on her back and she sobbed uncontrollably.“I’ll get you home, I promise,” is all you say but it seems to make her feel a bit better.Six weeks later, things are definitely nothing close to normal but the two of you have some partial understanding of what’s going on and have slowly gotten into a routine. The unfortunate news was that Cersei wouldn’t be able to return back to her world until the next new episode of Game of Thrones which wasn’t coming for another year. The good news was that she hadn’t killed you. Or, at least not yet.You’d gotten used to sleeping on the couch as you thought it would be pretty rude not to let her sleep on the only bed in your apartment. She was a queen and all, but had actually turned out to be a lot less high-maintenance than you initially expected. She mainly kept to herself or listened to you talk about random things in your world while she sipped on some wine (which she said tasted horrible) but the two of you weren’t anything too much beyond cordial. So the day that she randomly stands in front of you blocking the tv screen as you’re trying to watch Black Mirror you’re not quite sure how to react. “Turn that off,” she says and you silently reach for the remote and press the power button. You make sure to keep her in your line of sight though just in case she was planning to lunge at you with another knife. “I have not properly thanked you for your hospitality,” she states almost meekly and you don’t know how to respond. “Uh-““And as you know, a Lannister always pays his debts,” Cersei says beginning to descend to the floor on her knees right in front of where you had shamefully just been man-spreading your legs open in your sweats. That’s exactly where her eyes seem to be aiming too and she slowly pulls the waist band down to your knees so that the erection beneath that flimsy little piece of boxers you’re wearing is very evident. You remain absolutely silent as that slowly disappears as well, revealing your cock to the cold air and the eyes of this real life character you’ve lusted after for years and only ever fantasized about. It stands at attention for her and her smirk is relieving as she takes a good look at it. You’ve been told in the past that you’re rather well-endowed down there and also that your thickness is towards the bigger end of the spectrum too. Seeing the look of intrigue and surprise on her face makes the blood pump to your cock even more intensely and soon the head is swollen red like a juicy, plump vegetable. Looking back up at you for a few tense-filled seconds, she never pulls her eyes away while she’s also leaning in further and further down to your shaft before lightly licking the top and making you shake a little too much than you would have cared to just by being brushed over by a tongue, but then again, it’s also the tongue of Cersei fucking Lannister. You feel the vibrations calling for her lips once more as she lifts her head up ever so slightly and you’re begging for her touch. Luckily, she responds quite quickly and soon lets her entire mouth take in as much as she can of your swollen length. You can’t help but close your eyes as she begins bobbing that cute yet dangerous mouth of her up and down on your cock. The fact that she’s having a bit of trouble taking in something so large makes it even cuter and you make the move to grab a small fistful of her short hair to help guide her movements. There’s nothing but throbs of ecstasy flowing throughout your pleasure rod as it keeps pushing in and out now of Cersei’s mouth. At first, you try to hold back your moans but then soon stop caring when you hear her responding in return. From what you can gather, she likes the taste of you which turns you on even more. Lifting your hips up slightly every time to go deeper and deeper into her mouth surprises her at first, but she persists with taking as much as she can in and she’s doing a hell of a good job at that. Her tongue is curled around your shaft and holding it perfectly and neat inside her mouth and throat which is making you almost lose all control.“Fuck, yeah Cersei,” you moan and try to give her more and more; as much as she can take. She certainly has stamina as she only keeps sucking with more intensity the closer and closer you get to your climax. “Oh, God,” you let out as you feel the first spurts of your semen projecting itself up and out of your cock into what glorious paradise lies behind those skilled pink lips. You’ve never had one that’s lasted this long and she’s swallowing all of it as it comes along. “SHIT!” you scream as the last of it finally leaves your body and renders you completely exhausted. Cersei looks more than content with her work as she quietly gets up and leaves you panting almost on the floor. You could definitely get used to her paying back her debts.

[filmtrash]

going to just do some quick brutally honest reviews of films i’ve watched recently which nobody asked for 

the favourite - the more i think about it the more i liked it. was too long for my liking. all performances were award worthy. loved how it was shot and the dialogue was crazy good 

what we do in the shadows - have wanted to watch for so long. honestly so funny. wish i could commit it all to memory and quote it always. feel like more people should watch it!

disobedience - wanted to watch this for ages too. wasn’t anything sensational but worth watching anyway. performances by both rachels were very strong and very believable and you really felt the desired emotions they were portraying 

eighth grade - didn’t love this as much as i thought i would but another one of those films i liked more the more i thought about it. very honest and truthful to a 13 year olds experience and touched on some very serious topics although glazed over in this sort of ‘awkward teen’ way. i still liked it a lot 

welcome to marwen - disappointed. very messy and too much was trying to be achieved that just didn’t land. carell’s character was hard to build a relationship with and i still don’t know if i liked him or not. an interesting story and could be powerful at times too but maybe would have been better with a different director 

roma - one i must immediately watch again. in put this off even through the hype but im glad i’ve finally watched it. very different to what i normally watch. heartbreaking, beautiful, powerful

the nice guys - had the urge to re-watch my favourite comedy movie and im glad i did. i wish gosling played more of these roles because his comedy timing is impeccable. i just love all three performances from the main characters and idk it just kills me every time 

la la land - honestly IN LOVE. my second time watching but felt so different to the first. i could talk about this one for ages so i’ll stop but its 100% worth all the praise it got

the place beyond the pines - yes i watched 3 ryan gosling movies in a row. it’s called self care. this was fairly disappointing to me although i didn’t have high expectations anyway. i only really cared about it when gosling was in it. bradley bored me and reminded me of why i was never a fan of him before a star is born. would skip this one. 

the blind side - of course this is problematic but it was nice to watch an uplifting film for once. that’s all i have to say about it really

the silence of the lambs - ya im a film student that had never watched this before but boy did i love it. y’all probably know how great it is. not one single flaw and worthy of the 6 major oscars that year

the big short - i knew the performances were good but i didn’t understand what was going on 

the devil wears prada - yeah i’d never seen this classic either. so many amazing lines in here. i love the notting hill, love actually era. i see why it’s truly iconic. also i loved emily blunt in this haha 

my own private idaho - was so disappointed. skipped through most of it because i just didn’t care

wildlife - better than expected. beautifully shot, heartbreaking to watch. all performances were so strong and subject matter was very well portrayed. felt like i’d experienced it although i hadn’t

[sweet-xoxo-thatcares]

I remember when dad couldn't pick me up after our 2nd transfer bus got pulled out from dropping me and the other kids in my neighborhood. It was bus 130.

That whole end of my 7th grade year, I walked the way home by myself. I cut through northern high parking lot and around that big ol' man made water basin that they had there. It stood across the view of a gas station and a Publix. Man, did they have some good ass chocolate chip cookies, not too hard and not too doughy. It was like a soft, hard cookie dough cookie that barely browned in the oven, but just enough for the thick chocolate chunks to melt in your mouth with that buttery dough. I never walked over there though because...mom wouldn't have allowed it...and I was way too scared and nervous to run across the street with those cars there. (Vs now, I do that as a fun, little escape running super speed as soon as the walk light comes on lol 😆 mom and dad think I'm nuts for doing that cause they're afraid I could get hit. But when you blast Jasiah, Denzel Curry, and Suicide Boys in your Ear you feel like you can do anything. So I kick in nitro)

Anyways, the walk was about two to three miles, and at the time that was the longest mom and dad had ever let me walk by myself. Mom wasn't there because she had already moved to Mississippi for her new job. I wanted to help out Dad, since he had to pick up my sisters from school at the same time I got to our base for school bus dropoffs. It was so fun back then to ride the school bus. I always sat near the window, or at least tried....I hated sitting by people I didn't know because I was afraid people were gonna make fun of me for being big or having sweaty armpits. I have noooo idea why, but even my sisters went through it to around their puberty time. It's like our glands produced so much more sweat when we were stressed, working out, or just barely even sweating in Florida. Like all of my shirts always had this itchy, cracked, dry spots in the armpits because I had to swipe sooooo much deodorant on it was crazy. I remember counting it out, like 16, 27 times I would whip cream my damn armpits because kids make fun of you for being fat, now everytime they saw my sweaty, funky pits and yes they used to get that bad it was annoying as hellll. And Bighead used to make fun of me for that. I used to call him all types of names cause he was such an asshole to me and my friends, practically tortured me for fun all through out middle school until we later on had to move to Mississippi too from Florida.

I walked that walk because I never wanted to put my pride to the side and just ask Bighead, the idiot who lived in the same neighborhood as me, like I literally stayed about 10 min walk away...and I could see him and his mom and his sister, who I was friends with...drive pass me each and every day. I would listen to music on the radio with my earbuds in my turquoise mp3 player. They kept playing "There goes my baby" by Usher alot at that time.

I even remember reading The Giver on the walk home, because I really didn't wanna miss my favorite home TV shows like iCarly, sometimes Arthur or whatever cartoons on Cartoon Network.

I used to think about Bighead alot when that song would play at the same time his mom drove by. I still hated his guts though, always picking on me, being a hassle...it was a honest waste of a crush to have even liked him. He never changed as I found out later on in high school when we both reached back out to each other, on and off. Total jackass. Probably a narcissist...

Speaking of books, Ms. Simmons gave us this book about the holocaust called Night by Elie Wiesel. It was a good book and Im shocked crazy earring Ms. Simmons thought it was ok for us to read about kids and people getting hung, but I was glad she did. It had an audio book that cams with it, I almost wanted to watch it if they ever made it into a movie.

I think Ms. Simmons might have inspired me to wear different, quirky earrings like that. Cause she was the 1st white woman I ever seen wear them like that or even asymmetrical earrings. She loved alot of color and if she wore cherries, she had cherry earrings, sorta like that. Matchy-matchy. She even had a candy cart after school so I sorta liked her for being creative. That was until she pissed me off about a test,

And I don't play about my tests.

My ass was on the line, that's why.

I hated getting bad grades at home, because who do you think starts checking up on you more??

Yea, and I hate being micromanaged...if I even got a C or a low B, dad would lecture me on doing a better job cause he didn't want my grades to fall 😒 I always tried to explain myself when I felt like it was an unfair grade cause some people put trick questions or essay sections. And I used to hate those. Now I double check everything and I have alot more to say, instead of being afraid that I'll get it wrong, fucking up my chances to get a closer chance at an A or a B. Daddy said to always go for A's, always do your best. But that meant cramming my short term, photographic memory with alot more papers and notes.

Boy did I used to hate taking notes. Now after everything, I see I need notes to keep up on knowledge and bullshit from misinformation given to me by other people.

I used to actually be so innocent, only caring about not disappointing my parents and not making them look bad when we go to school or go out with them in public. And of course kicking Bighead in the nuts everytime he made me feel like the ugliest girl in school just because he made a comment about my fat rolls popping out in my bright, tight, stretchy cotton tshirts or from me not smelling good from being sweaty 🙃 he had a whole bunch of people I didn't even know, just laughing at me just because he made it seem like it was ok for them to laugh at me because he was. He started it. And it kept going 6th and 7th grade...it followed me all the way until I....well until I realized Darius wasn't my person either 😑

Fairytales and movies blew up these love scenarios, and even in anime or Korean dramas (based on Japanese anime) where the quiet, shy girl ends up falling for the aloof, emotionally unavailable guy who's cute and he's popular, "but oh, he would never talk to me or look at me that way" sighhhh, babygirl feeling.

Then at the end he reveals his true feelings and it turns out he made her suffer and wait for him for so long, just because he was too shy to tell her or too ashamed because he didn't want to be made fun of by his friends. And then they kiss and live happily ever after.

That's what the old me in middle school and high school used to think of love in high school was like. Boy, was I stupid 🤣 that's the most dumbest shit I ever heard. People wtfff???!! Why the fuck is it expected for us to be submissive, take this boy's bullshit and commital issues to just you, as if him showing you any kind of attention is worthwhile the wait as if he's the best thing in the world, letting you into his circle like he's vip. Which is not true. Because when you look at somebody like that for so long and then you let them get away with treating you like shit, just because you like them...is so not cool and you deserve better. Looks can only last so long.

And maybe that's why I had to look at that lesson again from somebody like Jay, chubby, but cute, but still not as masculine as Bighead, where at home in Florida, boys who didn't care about you as much, athletes, and mixed/black/white/Asian skinnier people were popular and you weren't....because of your clothes, shoes, your big hands, big feet so you had to wear boy shoes, your thick, strong legs, your height, your double chin, your sweaty gland disorder from puberty, your fat rolls on your back, and even your backpack....was not cool or even popular.

You were different so you just didn't fit in with everybody. But it made me feel alone, cause nobody new looked at me, talked to me, or even asked me where I got my new Adidas (cause I actually did like Adidas).

After awhile I stopped caring and didn't care to give new people a try. I'd rather eat by myself than to eat with people who made me feel unwelcome with stares, stressing me out because I don't know what they're judging me on or was gonna comment on me next. It was so aggravating for me just to speak to someone random unless we had to because of class. I really don't remember nobody was calling me ugly, but just for them to comment on anything little thing or how my hair looked like momma did, really hurt.

And it was mindfucking me. Because the people I ended up running away to, did the same thing as them. Reminding me of home in Florida, where comments felt like mom's pinches. Reminding me that I'm not doing a good enough job of representing her, or just looking good enough to be liked or told I looked great today. Because I rarely got compliments until I got a perm redid, or I got braids. I'm glad I rebeled against perms because my ends kept breaking off and I would hate how rough the texture would get and I wore bonnets/wraps that kept falling off because I'm a wild sleeper, always kicking and moving around. Maybe that wasn't a good mattress match for me idk....but taking care of permed hair was so frustrating. They said don't use too much heat to flat iron or flat iron too much, but your hair don't look good as is, not being straight and I hated how that Florida humidity would poof up my hair because our school was not an all indoor school. There was only the 7th grade hallway and the gym in AC, but everything was fucking outdoor, concrete style. So you was always hot, always sweaty. So not the same in Michigan. I always thought I looked like Dora with my orange tan and black Bob hair. I never liked taking pictures in middle school because I felt so ugly just because no boy at school had asked me out, and the boy I wanted was a little ass, scrawny, bony bully, picking on me at school for how I looked and how I dressed, and my sweaty, funky pits and even my boobs. He made me hate my big boobs. He always made fun of them in how I ran when he would pass me on the track with his friends. It was hard enough to have older boys say something when you got DD's at such a young age....I hated them. I would have donated mine to the girl with A cups because I hated them being made fun of or being commented on. It was embarrassing for me when ppl would ask me what size are they and I felt pressured to say what size. I hated when a group of people would come up to me to say something, I would go defensive, excited, anxious, tense, and then almost ready to fight if they said something I didn't like to hear cause constant criticism made me not wanna hear any of it. And mom didn't make it no better "do you want people talking about you?" It was just a hassle to please her and she almost always bought clothes that either felt uncomfortable to wear, but was cute for her, so she made me wear it, or she just wanted it because of the patterns she liked. I rarely had a choice or say in anything. And that I didn't like too, because it's my body. But to them, it belonged to them and I had to do what they said. Wearing clothes that felt unreal, unmanageable because most of it in my closet weren't really mine, they were hers.

I guess she got the memo, so she started doing gift cards. I can't believe I used to wear fuchsia or hot pink so much and my skin color down there looked like a browned, golden-orange. We used to wear alot of orange and bright green too. Green and gold used to be mom's favorite colors. It reminded me of Christmas 🎄 which I also miss too.

Christmas in Florida used to be the greatest because we had a house full with aunty and uncle and the cousins. Flint used to feel the warmest because when we visited got the holidays, everybody was there. All in one place. We were together, celebrating, eating homemade country style, traditional food all night long, with the kids in my other grandma's basement watching movies and playing games, and the adults upstairs. I always felt like the baby and later on the middle child between both, child and adult.

And I'm kinda seeing now I got stuck this way, people pleasing towards both sides, between the adults and the kids because I was so used to being the middle man, the negotiator, the even-steven, fair and square, Charlie Brown in my family as being the oldest. I always felt the need to keep both sides on one accord, because sometimes we misunderstood each other. Cause that's the way dad brought it to me, he was Mr.negotiator between me and my mom growing up. He got to have fun and play games and sports, watch cartoons with me as a kid, and then at home with mom he would do romantic, adult stuff for mom like drink out of these expensive looking wine glasses and chocolate strawberries 🍓

[stilinski-jpeg]

The Preacher’s Daughter: Part 2

Author: @stilinski-jpeg

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long to post, there was a second there that I wasn't sure if I was going to go forward with this series, but I am and here’s part two. I really own @minhosmeanhoe for keeping my motivated and pushing me, she’s my soulmate and I love her. I was going to wait for her to post this, but I know you all have been hungry for some Mitch so I’ll post mine now and Camile will post hers later. Also, the rest of the series is going to be in the readers POV.

Warnings: Cursing, Smut (NSFW 18+).

Word count: 6,085

Parts: 1

I was warm when I woke up, my phone buzzing violently at me from somewhere unknown. I hadn’t remembered falling asleep, the after effects of the alcohol from the night making my brain fuzzy. I cracked my eyes open a sliver, only to see a white wall in front of me. ‘Where am I?’ I thought as I tried to get my eyes to open further. The morning seeped into the room through the windows, trying desperately to wake me up. My phone buzzed again, but I still couldn’t tell where the noise was coming from. ‘Where am I?’ I said again in my head, trying to remind myself of any memory from last night. A groan sounded next me, followed by an arm enclosing around my waist and pulling me in towards a warm body, was what finally woke me. I felt a layer of stubble, scrape across the upper part of my back as the stranger nestled into me. I became increasingly aware of my naked body as I willed my mind to bring back something of the previous night.

My phone buzzed again and I lifted my head to see where it was coming from. Looking around, I could tell I was in a hotel room. Although nice, the room was small with a dresser topped with a TV down by the foot of the bed. There was a table and chairs in the corner of the room, big enough for two people to sit at comfortably. Near the front door was another door that I could only assume lead to the bathroom. The entire place was scattered with clothing, bringing back subtle memories of the guy's hotel room I’d stumbled into last night.

I wiggled out of his grip before sliding to the edge of the bed and sitting up. I rubbed my temples as I finally regained some more recollection of the night before. His face flashed across my mind and I smiled. He was tall, lean, and a bit brooding and I remembered him arguing otherwise. His smile was beautiful, although I could tell he didn't use it often. He watched as Camile and I danced, his eyes beautiful even from a distance. I wasn’t a stranger to men staring at me, it's what I lived for, but he was different.

When she suggested we go get another drink, I didn’t fight Camile. She knew the bartender very well, so well he would serve us drinks even though he knew we were underaged. Our fake ID’s also helped with that. He liked to call us the troublesome twosome, because we were always doing something we shouldn't be. Like drinking at bars and catching the eyes of men without any regard to the fact that they were thinking dirty things about us. That was the whole point though wasn’t it? The danger of it all? I wasn’t always so chaotic, not up until recently.

The thing is, I grew up painfully religious. My mother and father met at a church that my dad was a deacon at. They fell in love, got married, and soon after my father became the Pastor of the very same church they met in. Not too long after, my mother had me in the same church. It wasn’t purposeful, I don't think, she just happened to go into labour and couldn't make it to the hospital in time. So there I was born at the altar of the Lord. Ever since then, my parents drilled religion into me. Constantly telling me about how it was by God’s grace that I was born at the altar and I was destined to be a servant to the Lord. Don’t get me wrong, I was honored they thought so highly of me. I was a good kid, anytime the church was open I was there, I sang in the choir, helped out in the nursery. But the more my dad preached about the sins of the world and how unholy they were, the more I was intrigued by them.

When I was sixteen, I talked Camile into going to a party that some college boy had invited us too. I’d met him at the mall and lied to him when he asked me how old I was. Camile was my conscience, telling me how much trouble we’d both be in if we were caught. I could only agree with her, but I kept thinking about all the things I’d miss out on if I didn’t go to this party. So the night of, we told my parents goodnight and went off to bed only to sneak out of my window thirty minutes later.

The party was a rager, boys bellowing and drunk and girls flirting with any boy that’d give them attention. The music was loud, the drinks flowing, and the atmosphere electrifying. I had my first drink at that party, knocking back six shots in a row like a pro and still able to ward off any guy getting a little too handsy. It was also when any boy looked at me with /that/ look, you know the one. Their eyes are dark and sinful, their mouths salivating at the sight of your body spinning and twisting to the music. The obvious bulge protruding from their pants. All signs of pure unadulterated lust, and I was addicted immediately.

From then on, I craved to be looked at that way all the time. But being the Preacher’s daughter and daddy’s little girl didn’t always provide an opportunity to get laid. Couple that with the modest clothing and the sweet girl act, and I as doomed to a life as a nun before I even had a chance. Which is why Camile and I got fake ID’s and started clubbing on weekends. This however was the first time I’d ever gone home with someone, well technically. I’d fucked in cars, made out in back alley ways, gave blowjobs in bathrooms, but I hadn’t actually ever gone home with someone.

I glanced over my shoulder at the guy, his name was lost on me and I wasn't even sure he'd ever told me. He looked so different as he slept, his features softer. I swivelled around to plant a kiss delicately in his cheek. He stirred but otherwise didn't move as I permanently removed myself from the bed and began collecting my clothes from the floor until I heard my phone buzzing again. I followed the sound to my red dress and lifted it to find my phone with a picture of my best friend flashing across the screen. I picked it up, pressing the large green accept button before hauling it up to my ear.

“Hello.” I whispered as I found my other black heel and attempted to redress myself.

“Where the hell are you?” Camile’s voice screeched out from the other side of the line. I swiveled my head over to the bed making sure the sleeping man hadn’t been woken by my best friend’s voice.

“I’m… actually I have no clue where I’m at.” I said in a hushed voice, trying to zip up my dress and hold my phone with my ear with my shoulder at the same time.

“Well, are you okay?” She questioned, her tone filled with worry.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just had too much to drink and can’t remember the name of the hotel.” I had wedged on my shoe and was on my way to the door, when I realized I wasn’t wearing my earrings.

“Good, because when I get my hands on you - I’m going to kill you.” She spat.

I rolled my eyes at my best friend, knowing she couldn't see me. She was the worrier and no matter how many times I told her worrying turned your hair gray, she still did it. I spotted my earrings on the bedside table and rushed over to them. “Will you just come and get me, I still have to change for church.”

“You’re lucky I love you enough to have grabbed you a change of clothes before we left your house last night.” She said as if she had done me the biggest favor in the world. Which she undoubtedly had.

“Thank you, now hurry your ass up.” I hissed, walking purposefully towards the door and exiting it, making sure not to wake up guy’s name I didn't know. I hung up with Camile, promising I would send her my location when I did. As I waited from my best friend outside of the hotel. I let the memories of last night roam my brain. The feeling of his lips on mine was so prominent still, like they were embedded there forever. In all the nights I’d spent with random guys, something about this one was different. Something about how his touch made me nervous or the way he stared into my eyes made me blush, giving me a feeling that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Before I could give anymore thought to it, Camile pulled up in her car. I could see her scowl even through the tinted windows, but I choose to ignore it as I plopped into the car.

“The only way you’ll make this up to me is if you tell me every single detail.” She said seriously, before pressing on the gas and speeding off.

When my father preached, it was beautiful. It was like he was reciting his own words and not the words of the Bible. It always had the power to make me momentarily rethink my sinful choices. That is until he started spouting off words about the women in the bars only dressing so as to entice the men there, getting drunk off the devil’s water and committing acts only wedded couples should. At some point, I hated my father telling me what I could and couldn’t do. I hated how I couldn’t read a current book or watch a current movie because there was kissing in it. I hadn’t even seen The Notebook up until a few months ago.

The service dragged on and my head was practically throbbing from the loud music and voices booming over the speakers. I was relieved when my father stood from his spot next to my mother and announced the picnic, him and my mother had worked tirelessly to put together. Indicating church was over and I could go outside, drink a lot of water and soaking up all the vitamin D I could. We stood next to him when everyone was dismissed, shaking hands and giving hugs to the congregation before they excused themselves to the festivities outside. As the last few people exited, walking up the aisle way I spotted one of my fathers old family friends, Stan Hurley. My face lit up instantly as I rushed over to him.

“Stan!” I half yelled, as I embraced him into a hug. He hugged back tenderly, lifting me off the ground slightly and making me feel like I was a little girl again. When he finally put me down, I smiled up at him. He was like an uncle to me, often showing up unexpectedly and bringing me treasures from all his worldly adventures. I was far too old from such childish things now, but there was a part of me that still hoped that dear old Stan had brought me something.

“I got this one from Istanbul.” His rough voice spoke, pulling a small golden box out of his pocket and handing it to me. My eyes twinkled as I looked up at him with childlike wonder. I took the box out of his hand, opening it delicately. A beautiful necklace with a blue stone dangling from it sparkled up at me. My mouth dropped open and I tried smiling through my amazement.

“Oh Stan! You spoil her!” My father laughed from behind me as he walked up to greet his old friend.

“Someone’s got to.” He teased back as him and my father collided in a huge hug. I could hear the loud back slapping through my daze as I assessed my new treasure. Their laughter came a second later until a question interrupted my thoughts.

“And who is this?”

I had barely notice the person lying in the wake of Stan, but I could only make out his long sleeve black shirt and dirty jeans from where I stood. I knew my dad was mentally shaking his head at the attire of person hidden behind his old friend. Stan rolled his eyes, turning to make the person behind him visible.

“I was hoping he’d go unnoticed,” Stan practically groaned. “But this is Mitch Rapp, my partner.”

I instantly dropped everything in my hands when my eyes finally gazed upon the person Stan was talking about. He looked completely out of place, standing in the middle of a church dressed like he’d just come from a biker club. His eyes were only on me, an unreadable expression on his face. I gulped, frozen in place, not knowing what I should do. Run? Hide? Did he even remember me? Was the way his eyes raked over my body just my wishful imagination taking over.

“Sweetie, are you going to pick that up?” My mother’s voice brought me back. It was then that I noticed everyone's eyes on me. I could feel my face redden as I bent down to pick up the box and necklace. The rest of my family proceeded to greet Stan’s friend as I stood back, my mouth still hanging open slightly. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t the same guy, that I was just being paranoid. Which I very rarely was, but for the uncanny resemblance to the guy I was just in bed with three hours ago, gave me every right to be.

“This is my daughter.” My father introduced me, spreading his arm out and coaxing me forward. I smiled sweetly, walking as slowly as I could without seeming suspicious until I was standing before him. This was definitely the guy from the club and the hotel room. He had the same brooding expression he had on his face last night and for some reason that made me smile.

“Nice to meet you - Mr.Rapp, was it?” I asked, extending my hand for him to take. He cocked his brow at the sight of my smile, but shook my hand anyways.

“Just Mitch.” He answered, the warmth of his hands spreading into my body. The familiar feeling I got when he looked at me returned, his honey colored eyes melting me without even trying. It was something I wasn’t used to. I recoiled my hand quickly, turning to look at anything but him. Even though I could still feel his eyes on me.

“Mark, If it’s okay with Nancy, I have to talk to you about something privately.” Stan said, slapping his old friend on the shoulder.

Both men looked over at my mother for approval and she laughed, her smile lines ever apparent, nodding before ushering herself and my brother out to the lawn where the picnic was being held. When I looked back at my father, him and Stan were already walking away toward his office leaving Mitch and I alone. We stood there awkwardly with each other before it became too much and I thought I better take my leave.

“I better go see if my mom -”

“You look different in white.” He cut me off, a rye smile on his face.

I blushed, looking down at my pure white dress. “Everything’s the same underneath.”

“I can only imagine.” He chuckled slightly. Despite the lighthearted conversation, the awkwardness still loomed in the room.

“Well, like I said I should go see if my mom needs any help.” I said shyly, fiddling tirelessly with the box still in my hand.

I wasn’t normally this nervous around guys, literally ever. But this guy had the ability to ruin the saintly reputation my parents had of me. He was a living, walking, breathing example of my sins. Not to mention he looked at me with those same bedroom eyes he looked at me with last night. It made me squirm in a way I wasn't used to squirming. He only nodded in reply and I turned to leave when a thought came to me.

“Can you not tell my parents about last night? Like any part of it?” I asked, turning back to face him.

“What do you think I’m going to say, ‘Oh hey, I fucked your daughter senselly last night. Please continue with your sermon’?” He teased, but I didn’t laugh. I felt like a child asking her babysitter not to tell her daddy that she broke the vase.

“We’re in a church.” I said, tisking him for cursing in God’s house.

He looked cautiously at the ceiling like God would send down a bolt of lightning to smite him any second. I laughed at him and smiled before attempting to leave once again.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were eighteen?” My stomach lurched at the question. I wasn't sure how I was suppose to answer, or what his intention was concerning the question.

“Why does it matter, I’m legal. It’s not like you committed a crime.”

“Expect for buying alcohol for minors.”

“I’m not a minor, I’m just not suppose to drink.”

“Still illegal.”

I smirked, wondering if that’s what was really bothering him or if it was the fact that I left this morning without saying goodbye. He had that brooding expression still on his face again and I took a daring step closer to him filling the gap that was between us only leaving inches of room.

“Well next time, I’ll be sure to let you in all my secrets.”

“I think I know them all by now.” He said in a hushed voice, looking curiously over my face.

“I might have a few more up my sleeve.”

I watched as his adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes flickered from my eyes to my lips rapidly. He began to lean in like a make out session was about to happen right there in the middle of the pews, but I leaned in slightly before flashing a quick smile up at him and pulling away, finally exiting the slightly less awkward but more so sexual tension filled room.

I sucked in a huge breath once outside, letting my lungs fill with fresh air before exhaling the sin I was breathing in by just being near Mitch. I knew when I woke up that morning I wanted to see him again, but I never imagined seeing him this soon and here. My mother spotted me and rushed over to me with her fake smile she only wore when something was happening and she didn't want anyone else to know.

“There you are!” She said through her smile. “I need you to play host while I go help Brother John refill the lemonade pitchers.”

“Okay Mom! I’m on it.” I reassured her as she bustled away from me. I shook my head after her, wondering how refilling the lemonade pitchers was a crisis. I started my rounds to the group of tables, saying hi to everyone and making friendly conversation. I had just made it to the table where all the elder ladies of the church could be found. They were the ones that sewed and knitted and their idea of a crazy night was playing Phase 10 until nine instead of eight thirty. Suddenly, they all burst into laughter which was strange for them and when I was close enough, I saw Mitch sitting between Mrs. Meyers and Ms. Sheldon. He wasn’t laughing nearly as hard as the rest of them, his eyes catching me as soon as I was in sight. I eyed him skeptically, subconsciously thinking he was telling them about our escapades last night.

“Hello Ladies, gentleman.” I said in my sweet preacher’s daughter’s voice. “I see you all made a new friend.”

“Oh yes, Mitch here is such a charmer.” Mrs. Henderson said, taking my hand and squeezing it.

“Well thank you Ethel, you’re too kind.”

I had to try really hard not to let my mouth fall open for the second time that day. Mrs. Henderson never let anyone under the age of 45 call her by her first name. Yet Mitch was spouting it off like it was her only she had. I wasn't sure why, but it irritated me that these old hens thought he was so great. It made me wonder what he had told them about himself. Because I, admittedly, knew nothing.

“I’m sure he gets all the ladies from — hmm, where is it that you said you were from again?” I challenged. Mitch open his mouth to talk when he was cut off.

“Oh, don’t pry dear. You’ll scare him off.” Ms. Sheldon said, her eyes fixed lovingly at him.

I rolled my eyes as Mitch soaked up all the attention he was getting, taking that as my queue to walk away. It was clear I could do nothing to tarnish the spotless reputation he'd built with them in such a short time. Just as I did, I heard Mrs. Henderson say something far too loud to be a whisper. “The girl is such a prude. She’s not worth your time, son.”

I looked over my shoulder at the group that had already forgotten my existence, glaring. Mitch was looking at me like he hadn’t taken his eyes off me even after I’d walked away. He was smirking, something dark crossing his face for the faintest of seconds. “I don’t know ladies, anyone can have a dark side.”

“Oh, not her. Her dark side is when she doesn't pray before bed.” The gaggle of ladies all cackled. I frowned, wishing the the older women could know the real me, the secret me. Something like rage boiled up inside me and I stormed back to the table, circling it until I reached Mitch.

“I need to talk to you.” I hissed, grabbing his by his bicep and pulling him up to a standing position. He tried to say something, but I ripped him away before he could.

“Woah kitten, slow down.” He chuckled, but I snapped my head back at him warding him off. Those old hens wanted a dark side, they were about to get one. I lugged him over to the side of the picnic where no one could hear us talk before releasing my grip on him.

“What the hel - ” I stopped for a second, looking up at the cross on the church and remembering where I was. “heck, was that?”

I folded my arms over one another, my eyes burning a hole into his brain. I could tell that I wasn’t the least bit intimidating by the smirk on his face, but I didn’t falter on my anger. There was no way I was letting his charm wear me down.

“I was just making friends.”

“Oh, really? Seemed like you had ulterior motives.”

“I’m the one with ulterior motives?” He asked presumptuously.

I understood what he was talking about, but I chose to ignore it. He was trying to get under my skin and exposing me wouldn’t work. I simply smirked back at him, biting lightly on my bottom lip.

“All my motives are pure.”

“As pure as your virginity.” He retorted, chuckling softly when I squirmed. I was losing and he knew it. I could feel my cheeks growing redder as silence set between us. I couldn't think of a witty enough comeback to counteract what he has just said.

“Love bug,” My mom chimed, adding to the embarrassment I was already feeling. She was about a yard away waving frantically at me for my attention. I smiled awkwardly at her and she finally ascended upon Mitch and I.

“There you are, dear. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I need you to go and get the boxes that are in the backseat of my car.” She dangled her keys in front of me with a sweet smile. I smiled back weakly, taking them from her. I started walking away when my mother spoke again, causing me to stop and look back.

“Do you mind helping her?” She asked Mitch with the same sweet smile. “With your help, I know the two of you will dominate this.”

She gave him a small squeeze of the shoulder before someone called her name and she was off without getting an answer from Mitch. He watched her leave and when she was out of earshot, he looked back to me his devious smirk returning. “Dominate, huh?”

He arched an eyebrow and I rolled my eyes before I walked away. Swallowing the annoying lump in my throat and ignoring the wetness forming between my legs. He trailed after me as I lead the way to my mom’s car, the whole time trying to ward off the memories from last night that kept surfacing in my brain. My body buzzed as I remember the way he whispered ‘kitten’ into my ear as he pounded into me, cumming almost instantly. I knew this was not the place to be recalling those things, but I couldn't stop it. This man was different from any I’d ever met before, he had the ability to break me and that scared me.

The parking lot for the church was across the street, the church being so old and never building it’s own parking area. I got to the edge of the road and crossed the street without even checking if Mitch was behind me. The more distance I could put between us, the better. I weaved in and out of the parking slots until I spotted my mom’s white Jetta Volvo. I clicked the unlock button on the key fob and a small chirp indicated the command was successful. Pulling open the driver’s passenger side door, I slipped my head inside to assess how many boxes I would be lugging. To my relief, there were only two. Making me think that I didn't really need the help after all. A second later, the opposite door opened and Mitch’s face appeared. I huffed in frustration, grabbing the box out of the car roughly and ultimately causing some of the contents to fall back into the car. I groaned aloud, again in frustration, that nothing seemed to be going my way today. I dropped the box on the ground and climbed into the car, searching the seat for what had fallen. Mitch had already pulled himself and his box out of the car, but popped his head back in to check on me.

“Want some help?” He asked, placing his box on the ground.

“It would help me if you weren’t here.” I snapped, reaching under the seat and feeling around for any objects.

“That’s not what you were saying last night.”

“Can you, just like, stop for two freaking seconds? God, we fucked last night, I get it. You don’t have to keep reminding me of it.” I hissed, glaring as he inserted himself in the car too.

“I haven’t said anything about us fucking, gorgeous.” He had that stupid smirk on his face again and his eyes were glowing as he looked into mine. I could feel myself slipping and I knew how easy it would be to just give in to him.

“Yes, you did.” I pointed out, but I know he knew. He knew I couldn’t get last night out of my mind. He knew that I wanted to reenact a few of the things we practiced last night.

“Why are you even here, Mitch?” I asked, out of sexual frustration.

“I’m helping you with boxes.”

“No. Why are you /here/? You could be eating the free food or socializing with old ladies. Yet here you are, helping me with boxes. Why?” I challenge, genuinely curious of his answer. He seemed to think about his answer, but it didn't take him long to respond.

“I’m here for the same reason you are, kitten.” He said, his voice an octave deeper. His eyes had suddenly turned dark, lust taking them over completely. I knew he was right. I could have told him to get lost at any moment, or ignored his very existence but I couldn't hide from the truth. I wanted him here, I wanted him around me, I wanted him.

I didn’t hesitate before I lunged toward him, grabbing his face and pulling it towards my own. Inserting my tongue into his mouth, right away, as we both climbed into the car. He didn’t let my dominance last for too long before his tongue was the focal point of the kiss. It collided with my own, swirling around and over it while his hands went to my waist pulling me closer to him. It was incredible how easily the same carnal need for him pooled at the surface, making me throw everything good I knew out of the window.

“Close the door.” I said into our kiss and we both pulled apart to shut our doors only to be pulled back together again. I weaved my fingers into his hair and hoisted myself up as I climbed on top of him. His hands moved to my thighs, sliding up and down them and every time scooting my dress up higher and higher up on my waist. Our lips stayed connected as I blindly fumbled with his belt and jeans, trying to undo them quickly. I was eager for him to fill me again, my core ached for it. I got stuck on his zipper and I pulled out of this kiss to focus on my task.

“You were quicker at this last night.” He teased, as he finally slid his hands up high enough to reveal my ass. He kneaded and squeezed it before landing a smack on it. I jumped, letting a small moan slip from my lips. Still I continued to mishandle his pants, trying my hardest to free his cock.

“Do you want my help?” He asked, smacking my ass again. I hissed, letting the harsh sting fester until it turned into a pleasurable burn. I looked at him with seduction in my demeanor, finally undoing his button and zipper in one quick motion. I reached into his pants, pulling out his hard swollen cock. I could feel my mouth water at the sight of it. Precum glistened from his tip, begging to be licked clean.

“Come throat daddy’s cock, kitten.” He rasped, landing another blow to my backside.

Somehow the blow gave me a surge of confidence and I brought my hand up to his mouth, covering it. “I need you to stop talking.”

With my other hand, I position his erection so I could easily slide down on it. We both sighed when my slick walls encompassed his hard member. I clenched around him, easily remembering the feeling of him inside me. The feeling of him stretching me felt so perfect and I finally began sliding myself up and down on him, never moving my hand from his mouth. As my pace quickened, the car was filled with groans and muffled moans. I could feel the car rocking as I grinded against him. His hands remained on my ass, smacking every now and again to coax me on. I looked down at him and he was watching me, watching how much I was enjoying riding him. The intense look in his eyes as I slammed down on his lap and rose back up was rejuvenating. I knew I would cum easily like this, I felt in charge as if I had all the power. He muttered something into my hand and I removed it, allowing him to speak for the first time in minutes.

“I think I’m going to cum.” He growled, using my ass to guide me along his cock.

“Already?” I teased, clenching around him.

He sighed, not even trying to bite back. I got the sense that this was something that was new for him, not being in charge. From the looks of it, he was enjoying it. What he didn’t know, is me being in control of everything turned me on even more. I was used to being dominated, but the tables were turned and it was a whole new experience.

“You can’t cum until I do.” I breathed, kissing him softly on the lips.

“Fuck, I don't know if I can.”

“You’ll have to try.” I said, quickening my movements. I could feel trails of fire, coursing through my bloodstream and pooling in my abdomen - cumming wouldn't be hard for me. The very atmosphere between us mixed with the utter lust painted on Mitch’s face was enough to make me orgasm, but add in the car fucking, the way he was looking at me like I was the sexiest thing he had ever seen, and the last good smack on the ass and I was thankful we were in a car where I could scream without being heard. My walls tightened around him, my legs growing weaker as I came mercilessly around his cock.

“Oh shit.” He grunted, before pulling me up off his dick, cum shooting out of his slit and covering his shirt. He stroked himself, finishing himself off while I leaned back awkwardly trying to reach the napkins my mom kept in her center console. His head was resting against the seat, sweat dotted over his forehead when I turned back around. I climbed off of him and he lifted his head suddenly. I smiled, before tossing the napkins in his lap and scooting out of the car. There was an attempt at a protest of me getting out that was silenced upon shutting my door. I pulled my dress back down properly before resuming with the task that brought me to the car in the first place.

I was halfway back to the picnic when I saw Mitch emerging from my mom’s car. I giggled to myself before walking a little faster to ensure he wouldn't catch up. My dad and Stan were exiting the church through the front doors just as I was passing them and they stopped me.

“Hey Lovebug,” My dad smiled, pulling me into a side hug as I cringed at the pet name that I wished my parents would forget.

“Hi dad. Hi Stan.” They both smiled but seemed less than involved with talking to me as they both surveyed the guests at the picnic.

“Love, you haven’t seen Mitch by chance have you?” My dad asked.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to hold back the smile that was so close to being let out. “You know, I think I saw him cleaning up around here somewhere.”

“Hmph.” My dad sighed, “I guess we’ll just have to tell him later.” The words weren’t directed at me, but Stan who nodded at him agreeingly.

“Tell him what, daddy?” I said, knowing full well that cozying up to him would get him to tell me anything he wouldn't normally.

“Stan and Mitch are going to be staying with us for a few weeks.” He said without faltering, because it wasn’t a secret.

My stomach fell to my ass as I tried to process the news. I thought that Mitch being there that day was a one off. That it was God’s way at saying my slutty ways would catch up to me one day. That I would just have to get through that day and I would never have to see Mitch Rapp ever again. But he was now following me home, where it was going to be hard to pretend that the past sixteen hours didn’t happen. As Mitch came into view, carrying his box,I bid farewell to my dad and Stan so I could bring the box I was still holding to my mom. As I walked, I knew what we had between us couldn't continue. There was no way I could keep up my good girl act with Mitch living down the hall from me. So as I set the box down next to my mom and began to unload it, I promised myself that no matter what — I would not fuck Mitch Rapp.

[benjvmins-blog]

[ taron egerton ] — meet benjamin mercer, the twenty-five year old male known as the hedonistic. he is a rich kid that used to be an actor / model, but now is a mixologist at the nightwing. he is charming & intelligent, but also reckless & cocky. a song that describes him is don’t threaten me with a good time by panic! at the disco, and he is in carmel because his parents found out about his drug & sex addictions and sent him to carmel in hopes of him getting clean.. 

hello hello, i’m caitlyn, i’m 22 and i live in the CST and tbh i am so, so SO excited be able to open this thanks to ya’ll and i’m also pretty excited to bring this this trash can of a man for ya’ll to see!! i’ve got some more bullet points n things like that for him under the cut and a connections page up right here !! if you’d like to plot with ben, please just IM or like me because i’m super hype to plot w ya’ll!! ( i will be taking a nap for a bit so I won’t be here right when interactions start but i will be shortly after that! )

( tw: mentions of alcohol & drugs. )

BIOGRAPHY.

benjamin was born in wales, however, this was just during a visit home, his parents had moved to the US YEARS before that

his parents are VERY well known actors ( like…. they have a good 30 emmys between them… if not more ) not to mention the fact that his distant relatives was one of the people that funded captiol records…… so they’re all really well known ??

he grew up w/o having to ever lift a finger to literally do anything?? like he never had to do a damn thing which made him extremely spoiled.

however, he wasn’t the only one in the mercer clan, meaning that after he started to get older, the attention was taken off of him and was placed towards his siblings, something he didn’t fully understand and it was something that upset him.

but, even then, he loved his parents and his siblings alike and would do anything for them.

due to his parents having long movie shoots, they were never at home, meaning that ben ( and the many nannies they had ) had to raise his siblings while his parents weren’t around and for that, he resented them. he wanted to go back to the old life oh him not having to do anything.

but as he got older and went to school, he realized that maybe he wanted to do the same thing his parents did.

so he too began to pursue acting and because of his parents having many, many ties to the industry, ben had his first acting gig at the age of 9.

he quickly began to let the spotlight go to his head, causing an ego issue to rise in him even at that age.

however, even if his name was famous, his parents still made him go to school like a normal person and do things that normally people would and that leveled him ever-so-slightly.

there was a few movies that had come out within the last four years one of them being a popular action movie ( think kingsman… of course. ) and a more romantic movie ( think the notebook or la-la land. ) that skyrocked his fame to the point he’s constantly doing press for those and other things that he’s been signed for.

those movies caused a very cocky side of him to come out and he quickly gained the title of “party child” by going out every weekend, having new hook ups every other day, drinking and partying his life away while he had as much fun as he possibly could.

not only did he start partying, he also got into some pretty hard core drugs because he liked the way it made him feel..

and the tabloids quickly caught on to this behavior and addiction and started following him non-stop just to try and make him look as bad as they possibly could

now, normal people would have dropped that lifestyle the second the tabloids began dragging his name through the mud, but not ben.. in fact, he got worse.. going out almost every night, bringing a different hook up home most of those nights, going to strip clubs, regular clubs & bars… anywhere he could get his next “fix”…. it didn’t matter if that was from alcohol. drugs or sex.

after a while of this, his parents had had enough, trying to get him to change via an intervention, which only pissed ben off even more and caused him to become even worse.

so his parents gave him two choices: rehab or carmel, he chose carmel… knowing for a fact his parents wouldn’t follow him out there and that he could probably still get away with most of the things he was doing now.

PERSONALITY.

hides behind a wall of sarcasm, cockiness, anger and lust and doesn’t really care to get to know people. however, if someone were to break past that wall, he’d let them.

wears glasses sometimes but tbh he hates them a lot ???

loves suits… and wears them all the time when he has to do press and whatnot but if he’s out doing anything like that, he wears the hell out of ripped jeans, v-necks and motorcycle jackets more than anything in the world but will also rock tf out of sweats sometimes.

has a motorcycle that is literally his baby and he NEVER lets anyone else touch it when he’s not around like he’s …. a mess when it comes to that thing.

highkey hot mess. h i g h k e y.

fluent in a lot of languages… like a lot

terrified that people will figure out that the’s not the cocky asshole he plays so well because then it would bring up memories from the past that he doesn’t want to talk about.

will flirt w everyone, no matter what. and probably tro to sleep w them as well…

will also try to get people 2 go party w him bc that’s him in a nutshell tbh.

is actually a highkey nerd, like owns 382423 comic books and LOVES to play video games, reads books n is actually v intelligent.

because of his failing relationship, he’s found out that he rather enjoys having the company of hook ups because it’s better than being alone & having to commit to ONE person… aka he a hoe

literally…. is willing to try anything and everything if it means making himself numb to the world for a while..

cares, a lot, but pretends that he hates the world because it’s easier than letting people in.

full of horrible puns & pick up lines …

might be a higkey dom…….. like……. yikes but u know… he likes to be in charge… w everything.

can be extremely cocky ….. most of the time, esp when it comes to his line of work

can be pretty damn persuasive and manipulative when he wants to be.

likes to box, keeps him in shape all while making him look tougher ( ps: he’s probs always got bruised knuckles because of it )

is actually extremely chill once you get to know him, but doing so is a challenge not a lot of people have beaten before.

drinks……. a lot… like….. probably bleeds whiskey

STATS

BASICS

Full Name: Benjamin Reid Mercer. Nickname(s): Ben, Benji. Age: Twenty-five. Date of Birth: October 31st. Zodiac Sign: Scorpio. Place of Birth: Cardiff, Wales. Ethnicity: English  American. Nationality: American. Gender: Male. Sexual Orientation: Bisexual. Romantic Orientation: Bisexual. Religion: N/A. Occupation: Actor / Model / Mixologist. Language(s) Spoken: Romanian, Gaelic, Welsh, Russian, Japanese, Spanish, French, Italian & English. Accent: None.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Taron Egerton. Hair Color: Brown. Eye Color: Blue. Height: 6′ 0″. Weight: 231 lbs. Build: Fit. Tattoos: too many to count. Piercings: None.

PERSONALITY

Label: The Hedonistic. Positive Traits: Charming, Intelligent, Adventurous. Negative Traits: Reckless, Cocky,  Hedonistic. Fears: Acrophobia, Aphenphosmphobia, Claustrophobia, Aerophobia. Hobbies: Playing video games, playing guitar, reading comics / books, watching movies, boxing, cooking, gambling. Quirks: Believes in karma, carries a “lucky” item with them at all times, fights for animals rights, fights for gender equality, fights for human rights, fights for the legislation of marijuana / other drugs, fights for marriage equality, wears mismatched socks, counts stairs, boxes, enjoys hiking, loves board games, plays a musical instrument, plays with fire, uses pet names for everyone, tells the truth / is brutally honest no matter what, uses bad puns whenever possible. Likes: Rain, cars, shoes, boxing, baseball, football, nighttime, fall, traveling, partying, adventures, swimming, art, astronomy, greek history, tattoos, whiskey. Dislikes: seafood, heat, hugs, cuddling, staying in.

FAMILY

Father: Graham Mercer. Mother: Marie Mercer. Sibling(s): Two younger siblings. Pet(s): One husky named Balto & one tuxedo persian cat named Lucifer. Financial Status: High Class.

TESTS

Myers-Briggs: ESTP-A Enneagram: Type 8 ( The Challenger. ) Temperament: Choleric. Hogwarts House: Slytherin.

[thatgirlwhoworksforwhatshew-blog]

tarak,

lets not beat around the bush, i miss you. like alot.

im not even going to get into what are the things that keep reminding me of th time we had, because thatd be me listing out my every minute of the day. yes, there are times when i remember you not for the good-reasons, but mostly i end up wanting to think of you instead of living in such a denial of ‘im over you’.

i know you must be going through alot, im not trying to compare us here, on who is feeling it more deeply, quality and quantity- how much ever of a utilitarian i claim to be, i want to be stupidly selfish enough to say i feel it hit me very hard. especially when i see people around me claim their relationships to be like the epitome of perfection and love, i just cant help but think of the beautiful masterpiece we could have made together. 

they say ‘chaos brings art’., that, time will tell. until then, ill just sit around and feel things like how its supposed to be.

i hope its not that hard on you.whom am i kidding, how much ever i convince myself that you will get over me, by pouring alot of ‘hate’ like how your friends wanted you to, im still silly enough to hope that you wouldnt be that harsh on me. gosh, this is never going to happen is it? im only going to die in dissapointment of letting things go this far, and getting nothing in return(when i now have the chance) or do i?

i know you, i know the charm, i know how you effect people, and how much ever stupid and goofy you get around me, i know what you are- or atleast i knew. why did we let things go this recklessly? i was immature, but why dint we sort things out then and there. gosh, i just cant look at the word jodhpur without a little guilt., i cannot look at any word starting with a T, and has both R and K. 

do you have any idea how many songs have the word tara, taraka, in them? its like some stupid prank someone is pulling on me. my mom also began to ask me how youre doing, she out of everyone, made an assumption that my mood is practically proportional to my time on my phone and phone calls, which basically is only with you. so she goes like “oh, tarak dint call today” after few days, she began to wonder if things were fine with you, and i burst out angrily, that ‘you should be fine because youre avoiding me’. please be true! anyway, i dont care where this questioning is coming from, but i reasoned out how this equation of my good moods being equated with our calls, was a little irring in the beginning, because i dont think i need some ONE person to keep me happy. it was a troubling thought which i used to hold a grudge on myself for depending on you for what ever greedy reasons. but i began to realise how first, that wasnt the case. i wsnt greedy on this reason, i was just looking for a support and a person to share my happiness with. i was greedy maybe when it came to things like, eventhough i knew it was hard for you, i was still there poking things and making it harder for you. TO THE EXTENT THAT YOU NOW BLOCKED ME. WOW. im not blaming you, maybe you did the right thing. maybe if you dint do that, we could have pulled each others hair out in this menace. but did we really do the right thing if i am feeling this way right now? whats the point tarak?

its 10:10 right now. wow. 

honestly, there are times when i thank myself for this space, because i really enjoy doing things for myself, but by the end of the day, i really hoped that youd call or email, so that i could tell you about all the amazing things i read, watched, discovered and i desperately want to share them with you, but i cant!

i got back to my bubble, my day basically revolves around reading and arranging my library. i still hold heidi close to myself when i sleep every night. i really regret not finishing it for you. but i dont know how much meaning she hold to you anyway. shes my world, she is the first thing i was obsessed with, and i thought she’d bring you similar joy, but now we never know i guess.

ive been doing philosophy for NET, although i havent started in serious mode, illl get there soon. i applied for an internship navdhanya, and have made plans of what to do with life., quite roughly. i even made a bucket list, of things i should try, filled with things that fascinate me. sample, fireflies. i never saw them in real life. and now i feel bad just by that thought. but yeah, i was pretty serious wheni made that list, and i keep adding things into it every now and then. i dont know why i mentioned this now, but i felt like it. ohh, since im updating about life, i should mention how i spoke to dad(basically, a mail) about most of the things i could never say to him, mostly stressing on how now i should be left unbothered. 

since i couldnt give rockstar another chance, sorry boss, the thought of having to go through that actress’ bad acting for three hours was itself torturous., i found the screenplay/script of the movie., and let me tell you how good i felt after reading it. i had better actors in my mind, and i dreamt about it for a couple of nights. it was a rollercoaster. i think screenplays do that to you. its like reading the book instead of watching the movie, but rockstar has to do with the songs, and since i had a clue about them, i can justify now. and i think i understand you better now, but i dont know, my timing of watching the movie is like another satire. not just this one, many more. gosh, i have like an entire saga of things i could use to cry over to. the other day, i cried while reading tagore poetry, although that was a worthy reason, its crazy how i dont know what little thing could be a trigger.

but how much ever i might try to romanticize all of this, tarak, i really think apart from the happy and goofy times we spent, which dont actually matter as much if we look back(except for nostagia purposes) id say we both needed a better versions, and both of us seperately too needed to be honest with what we are.. not just in showing the other person. im talking about myself mostly. and, for what ever we had, id hate to call it, but because of the lack of a better word, lets admit, we were toxic. and i have to say, how much ever you tried to get over your ego and wanted to be a feminist, looking back at minute details of the interactions we had, plus from the ones you talk about to others, i realised how often there were times when you basically preached something and failed to follow. im slightly ashamed to admit this, but i have gone through a phase of man-hating when i realised the things i have seen around,  thats basically when i realised how these could be the things you failed to see, (and prolly reasoned out for good enough reasons) but somewhere deep inside, i know its not so.like i read it in some book, (which bt the way, i should say felt like i was reading line by line about you) because it talks about how men who seem woke, but still choose to do the same thing, although for different reasons(or so they claim) is another result of the system. and i just cringed at this thought. because im sorry, but i felt it multiple times in our stay together. 

tarak, honestly how much ever im loving reading and researching, im afraid im getting very theoretical. now i cannot stop myself from pin pointing mistakes in everything, and am clearly missing out the beauty in things. if i learned one thing, love is for people who want to give up reason. if you are too calculated and stubborn, you can never love. im not saying im getting calculated and all brains-no-heart, but im slanting that way, and im just afraid i might never find redemption because i like this more. id choose this over love. for now. im sure time will prove me different, but let me tell you how much i value reading and art.

i guess we never spoke about this, why did we not? 

you know the whole ‘books are my bestfriends’? this is literally my life summarized. in my entire time at indus, i basically spent most of the time in the library, or in the washroom- where i used to sneak in, to bunk science classes. i had a reading tree also. under which i used to read in the sports period. prajeeth was a science guy, and the labs were right opposite to the library, so he used to keep a check on me, i often got late to catch my evening bus, so he’d make sure i dint. not to forget the music room. that was another room i spent some quality time in. while the library was in the first floor of the new building, the music room was in a circular room, on the terranc. the whole terrace was for music and art. we had a lot of empty open area where we were given assignments in. i love that place. id want to take you there one day, if, you know... 

so as i was saying, i just prefer reading and listening over anything. at this point, it feels like i know nothing apart from these both. i know you wouldnt agree with me being a good listener, but i know me, and i know im good.

well, now about us, i dont know. i really dont. i may say id be happy if you move on, and find yourself a woman, but i dont know if i can say it at this point, when im clearly meaning it. so, i can only hope for you to become a stronger person, collecting yourself from all of the past. and if you’re moving on, good for you., but id like to take my own sweet time with my memories of you,us, and laugh cry cringe all at once slowly. im not sating im attempting to get over you, because somehow that is making me think about you even more, and its actually making me want you for a whole different list of reasons. ill stick to this natural flow, and ill see you when i see you, years from now, or maybe more. somehow in the midst of some really stupid portions, there are some things you set a high limit in, for men to fill in- who might enter my life. so its going to be a big deal if i commit to someone tarak, and id still want to share about it with you, i dont know if that comes out from mere friendship or more, but i dont mind either ways.

i want to say this one last thing, because ive been wanting to say it for a long time, after the phone call.

it might be years later that we meet,and finally talk, when ever it is, how ever long it has been, if you turned out a good man, not just rational and responsible but realist and a romantic., id love for me to fall for you all over again, or maybe fall correctly* this time, until then ill wait.

 i want to wait. 

that’s me. there are surely many more things i want to say, but i will wait, like i said, and its not like youre going to read this, so its fine. ill look forward for what is coming, i hope you are healthy and are fine (at the least). i miss akbar, i hope aunty is not having a hard time seeing you break down anymore, i hope thats not the case, dont cry tarak! did you stop smoking? i was thinking about it on the 26th, i hope youre sticking to your resolution. i miss the smell of it, i sometimes open my specs-case to smell it, and it reminds me alot of you and red rum. its amazing. i miss it all, i miss you guys alot, i miss you babu. take care. 

xo

raaga.

[writingguide003-blog]

'A total blast': our writers pick their favorite summer blockbusters ever

New Post has been published on https://writingguideto.com/must-see/a-total-blast-our-writers-pick-their-favorite-summer-blockbusters-ever/

'A total blast': our writers pick their favorite summer blockbusters ever

As the season heats up on the big screen, Guardian writers look back on their picks from the past with killer sharks, mournful crime-fighters and time-traveling teens

Face/Off (1997)

Photograph: Allstar/Cinetext/PARAMOUNT

Madman bomber Nicolas Cage stole John Travoltas dead sons life. So gloomy FBI agent Travolta steals Cages face. When Cage steals his face and his wife and freedom John Woos Face/Off becomes the biggest, wackiest and most operatic summer blockbuster in history, a gonzo combustion that flings everything from pigeons to peaches at the screen.

Hong Kong cineastes might applaud a script with roots in the ancient Sichuan opera genre Bian Lian, where performers swap masks like magic. Popcorn-munchers, of which I am front row center, are here to watch whack job Cage and soulful Travolta, two actors who love to go full-ham, play each other and go deep inside their iconographies. Call it hamception. Or just call it a crazy swing that hits a home run as Cavolta and Trage battling it out in a warehouse, a speedboat and, of course, a church. As Cage-as-Travolta gloats to Travolta-as-Cage, Isnt this religious? The eternal battle between good and evil, saint and sinners but youre still not having any fun! Maybe hes not, but we sure are. Bravo, bravo. AN

Edge of Tomorrow (2014)

Photograph: David James/Publicity image from film company

Theres been an increasing sense of desperation clinging to the majority of roles picked by Tom Cruise in recent years. Outside of the still shockingly entertaining Mission: Impossible series, he was miscast in the barely serviceable Jack Reacher and its maddeningly unnecessary sequel, his awards-aiming American Made was throwaway and his franchise-starting The Mummy was a franchise-killer. But four summers ago, he picked the right horse just maybe at the wrong time.

Because despite how deliriously fun Edge of Tomorrow was in the summer of 2014, audiences didnt show the requisite enthusiasm. It was a moderate success (enough to warrant a long-gestating sequel) but it should have packed them in, its combination of charm, invention and sheer thrills making it one of the most objectively successful blockbuster experiences in memory. The nifty plot device (Cruise must relive a day of dying while battling aliens over and over again) allowed for some dark gallows humor and a frenetic pace that kept us all giddily on edge while it also contained a dazzling action star turn from Emily Blunt whose fearless Full Metal Bitch wrestled the film away from Cruise. Blame its relative failure on the bland title? Cruise fatigue? Blockbuster over-saturation? Then find a digital copy to watch and rewatch and repeat. BL

Back to the Future (1985)

Photograph: Allstar/UNIVERSAL/Sportsphoto Ltd./Allstar

Back to the Future very nearly wasnt a summer blockbuster. The reshoots required after Eric Stoltz was booted off, then the fact Michael J Foxs Family Ties commitments meant he could only shoot at night all meant filming didnt wrap until late April. Robert Zemeckis and Steven Spielberg duly pencilled in an August / September release.

But then people started seeing it. Test scores were off the scale. Said producer Frank Marshall: Id never seen a preview like that. The audience went up to the ceiling. So they bagsied the best spot the year had to offer 3 July hired a squad of sound editors to work round the clock and two print editors with instructions to get properly choppy. They did, and those big trims tightened yet further one of the tautest screenplays (by Bob Gale) cinema has ever seen. The only bit of fat they left was the Johnny B Goode scene: sure, it didnt advance the story, but the kids at those test screenings knew we were gonna love it. Back to the Future is a pure shot of summer cinema: grand, ambitious, insanely entertaining. Deadpool, Avengers, take note: a blockbuster can be smart as hell so long as it wears it lightly. In the end, by the way, the film spent 11 weeks at number 1 at the US box office. Thats essentially the whole summer. CS

Teminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

Photograph: Allstar/TRISTAR/Sportsphoto Ltd./Allstar

The first film I ever saw at the cinema was The Rocketeer. We drove into Bradford city centre, bought our tickets at the Odeon and sat through the 1991 tale which followed the fortunes of a stunt pilot, a rocket pack and a Nazi agent played by Timothy Dalton who sounded like he was from Bury rather than Berlin. The way into the multiplex there was a huge poster for Terminator 2: Judgment Day. Arnie sat on a Harley with a shotgun cocked and ready. My dad was a huge fan of the original but he still couldnt swing taking a seven-year-old to see it. It wasnt until I borrowed a VHS copy that I finally got to see what was behind that image. Skynet, dipshits, T-1000s, a nuclear holocaust and a motorbike chases on the LA river.

Blockbusters dont usually have that edge: theres a more brazen mainstream appeal. But Judgment Day was and still is an exception. It did huge numbers at the box office (more than $500m), was a rare sequel that was arguably better than the original and introduced really odd bits of Spanish idiom into the Bradford schoolyard lexicon. I probably would have been scarred for life watching it as a seven-year-old, but as a teenager it gave me a story I doubt Ill ever get tired of revisiting. LB

The Dark Knight (2008)

Photograph: Allstar/WARNER BROS.

The summer of 2008 was a busy one: Barack Obama emerged from a contentious democratic primary to become the first ever black presidential nominee of a major party. The dam fortifying the entire global financial system was about to burst. China hosted its first ever Summer Olympics. But somehow, and not exactly to my credit, what I remember most from that summer is the uncanny, ridiculously over-the-top publicity blitzkrieg that preceded the release of The Dark Knight, which has since emerged as not just an all-time great summer blockbuster, but an all-time great American film, period.

There were faux-political billboards that read I believe in Harvey Dent; a weirdly nondescript website of the same name; Joker playing cards dispersed throughout comic book stores, which led fans to another website where the DA was defaced with clown makeup. Dentmobiles, Gotham City voter registration cards, a pop-up local news channel: the marketing campaign might have seemed excessive had the movie not so convincingly topped it. Ten years later, as films like Deadpool and Avengers: Infinity War try to reach those same heights of virality, The Dark Knight remains the measuring stick by which every superhero movie, and superhero villain, is measured. JN

Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)

Photograph: Jasin Boland/AP

In many ways, Fury Road is summer: arid, scorching, bright enough to be squinted at. The driving force behind all the high-impact driving is scarcity of water, the essence of life in a desert where death practically rises up from the burning sand. Even in the air-conditioned comfort of a multiplex auditorium in Washington DCs Chinatown, watching George Millers psychotic motor opera left this critic sweaty and parched. My world is fire and blood, warns the weary Max Rockatansky (Tom Hardy) in the scripts opening lines. Staggering out of a theater into the oppressive rays of the sun, it sure can feel that way.

Millers masterpiece fits into the summer blockbuster canon in a less literal capacity as well, striking its ideal balance of dazzling technical spectacle and massively-scaled emotional catharsis. There was plenty of breathless praise to go around upon this films 2015 release, much of it for the feats of practical-effects daring, but the hysterical extremes of feeling cemented its status as a modern classic. I cant deny that Ive watched the polecat sequence upwards of a dozen times, but Millers film truly comes alive in Furiosas howl of desperation, and in Maxs noble disappearance into the throng. CB

Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)

Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo

Its the music, its the giant boulder, its the Old Testament mysticism, its the whip, its the Cairo Swordsman, its Harrison Fords crooked smile, its the bad dates, its Karen Allen drinking a sherpa under the table, its the melted faces and exploding heads. Its all these things plus having the good fortune of seeing this at the cinema at a very young age, therefore watching most of it through my terrified fingers. (Indy tells Marion to keep her eyes shut during the cosmic spooky ending; way ahead of you there!)

The modern blockbuster as we know it was created by Steven Spielberg with Jaws and George Lucas with Star Wars, so the hype was unmatched when the two collaborated in 1981 with Raiders of the Lost Ark. As a kid I had no idea this was a loving homage to cliffhanger serials from the 30s and 40s, I took it as pure adventure. The seven-and-a-half minute desert truck chase (I dont know, Im making thus up as I go) is probably the best action sequence in all of cinema (John Woos Hard Boiled does not have a horse, sorry), but watching as an adult one notices a lot of sophisticated humor, too. (Indy being too exhausted to make love to Marion, for example, is something that didnt connect when I was six.)

Its strange to think I watched these cartoon Nazis on VHS with my grandparents who had escaped the Holocaust, and no one benefits when you do the math to figure out how young Marion was when, as Indy puts it, you knew what you were doing. But for thrills, laughs and propulsive camerawork (though a little mild Orientalism), nothing tops this one. JH

Independence Day (1996)

Photograph: Everett/REX/Shutterstock

Short of actually calling their film Summer Blockbuster, rarely can a films height-of-summer release date been so central to a films raison detre. This being the mid-90s, when po-mo and self-referentiality was all the rage, brazenly hooking your tentpole film to 4 July was seen as a pretty smart idea.

Fortunately, all the ducks did line up in a row for ID4: a game-changing performance from Will Smith, Jeff Goldblum at (arguably) his funniest, a rousingly Clintoneque president in Bill Pullman and most importantly in that run-up to the millennium physical destruction on a gigantic scale. Much comment at the time was expended on the laser obliteration of the White House (an early shot from the Tea Party/Maga crowd?), but I personally cherish director Roland Emmerichs signature move of detonating cars in somersault formation. Like many other huge-budget films then and since, Independence Day was basically a tooled-up retread of cheap-as-chips format of earlier decades though who these days would roll such expensive dice on what is essentially an original script, with no comic book or toy branding as a forerunner? We shall never see its like again. AP

Aliens (1986)

Photograph: Allstar/20 CENTURY FOX/Sportsphoto Ltd./Allstar

An Aliens summer is one for moviegoers who prefer to sit in in darkened rooms when the sun is shining; the brutal confines of the fiery power plant make an excellent subliminal ad for air conditioning. In 1986, James Cameron took Ridley Scotts elegant, iconic horror template and turned it into an all-out action blockbuster, forcing Ripley once again to face down her nemeses in a breathless fug of claustrophobia, sweat and fear. Its relentlessly stressful and unbelievably thrilling.

I first saw Aliens many years after its initial release. Owing to its sizeable and long-lasting legacy, it was at once immediately familiar, yet also brisk and brutally fresh. I understood that it was a classic, but I wasnt prepared for just how good it is, for the pitch-perfect management of tension, the pace that never really lets up, the emotional pull. The maternal undertow of Ripleys protection of Newt, and the alien mirror of that, adds a level of heart unusual in most blockbusters, and her frustration at being a woman whose authority must be earned again and again, and then proven again and again, remains grimly relevant, 30 years on. Its also a total blast. Now get away from her, you bitch. RN

Jaws (1975)

Photograph: Fotos International/Getty Images

It is the great summer blockbuster ancestor the film that in 1975 more or less invented the concept of the event movie. And unlike all those other summer blockbusters, Steven Spielbergs Jaws is actually about the summer; it is explicitly about the institution of the summer vacation, into which the movie was being sold as part of the seasonal entertainment. It is about the sun, the sand, the beach, the ocean and the entirely justified fear of being eaten alive by an enormous shark with the appetite of a serial killer and the cunning of a U-boat commander. And more than that: it is about that most contemporary of political phenomena: the coverup, the town authorities at a seaside resort putting vacationers at risk by not warning them about the shark. The Jaws mayor has become comic shorthand for the craven and pusillanimous politician.

A blockbuster nowadays means spectacular digital effects, but this film is from an analogue world. It bust the block through brilliant film-making and an inspired score from John Williams, summoning up the shark with a simple two-note theme which became the most famous musical expression of evil since Bernard Herrmanns shrieking violin stabs in Psycho took the place of actual knife-slashing. I still remember the excitement of the summer of 1975, and the queues around the block at the Empire, in Watford, round the corner from the football ground. The inspired brevity of the title meant the word was repeated over and over again to fill the marquee display: JAWS JAWS JAWS as if they were screaming it! PB

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/us

[thelifeofro]

what is love/ baby dont hurt me

03/01/2019

im missing j so much more recently. maybe its because im moving back to dubai. i wonder if he thinks about me at all or if hes moved on completely. i have this hope that i might get to see him again. i think that's part of the reason i didn't try very hard to get a job. I obviously want him back. i will always love that boy. i have never known anyone  like him, or known anyone the way i know him. But there is a lot of internal conflict/ cognitive dissonance. it would be very selfish of me to ask him if he still has feelings for me or to try to reconnect even in a platonic manner. i don’t think i could ever think of him as my friend. he will always be my baby. although i have lost my right to be called his. the facts are that i have been horrible, and i am just a negative impact on well to be fair in general i am a burden to everyone im close to. Jordan deserves so much better than me. he has a beautiful soul. i’ve seen people take advantage of his kindness. i never thought i would be another person to hurt him and make him trust the world less and less. 

it was always supposed to be team rojo vs. the world. i have ruined that. its a shame. every time i think about him, i am overwhelmed with negative feelings. i mostly feel guilt for cheating on him, but i also feel like i wasted our time together and i should have cherished him more. I was definitely blinded by love, but i genuinely believed we would be together until either of us died. I really dont know what to do. i know i shouldn’t contact him. he needs to move on and i think he might have already, with another girl called ro. well i say already but it has been 9 months. i am toxic and bad and i need to stay out of his life. I just have to keep saying that to myself. i have already been selfish with him i don’t deserve to be with him again. I don't think he wants me to contact him either because he’s blocked me on everything and i don’t see him on runescape. 

i really need to work on myself and try to be a better person and believe that im a better person and actually love myself too before i can think about getting back together with him. Like with ethan, hes cute and sweet but its really just a distraction. i just want jordan. i lied to ethan too. i told him that i was over jordan and that i like him too but im not and i dont. i feel a little less lonely when im being cuddled and the sex is good but id want jordan over him or anyone else really any day. what i did was wrong and terrible and also i want to say FUCK matthew. ‘comforting’ me when i was emotional and fighting with jordan the prick knew exactly what he was doing. makes me sick now hearing his name. how could i have been so stupid? reckless!! thrown away everything i had with this boy that i love. but its true he didnt have commitments to anyone - i did and i broke it. and for that i deserve every negative emotion i feel in relation to jordy. 

its a shame that all i think about when i think of my baby is the bad parts. we have so many good and happy memories. i hope he remembers at least some of the good ones. 

i  might be being childish. i dont know. i dont know what is real and what is a fantastical ideation. i didnt even really believe in ‘true love’ like the movies. but i do now. i love jordan. and i cant really explain this feeling like we were SUPPOSED to be together, like its not even our choice - even though we chose to be together. it was like we HAD to be together like we were two lil dominoes in one of those elaborate set ups aand we had to be positoned exactly together in this specific position, and even tho were just like 2 pieces in thousssssaaands...if we were’nt positioned like that then the dominoes wouldn’t go off like theyre suppposed to. its frustrating that i cant explain this feeling. you know that line in movies where they go ‘this is bigger than both of us’ i think i understand it now. or misunderstand it with this feeling. 

i remember meeting him on the first date and it went so well we just kept it going until  i had to leave before the metro closed. we went to the bowling centre in MOE, it was so cute and then we went to hummingbird bakery and had cupcakes, and then to dubai mall to watch that movie which to be honest i was looking at the screen but ii was not paying attention at all. we were holding handss and i was nervous and excited like fuckkk. the butterflies were crazy and my palms were probably sweating and i was embarrassed bout that too. i remember he was holding my hand and put them to his chest. what a cutie. after that we had our first kiss... not exaggerating i slowly started falllingg in love with him from then on. i had butterflies the whole way home could barely gett to sleep with all the excitement. i have to get to sleep it’s 3:50 am but i will write again soon. hopefully tomorrow. i hope to have sweet and pleasant dreams about us 

[recentnews18-blog]

New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/the-love-song-of-dril-and-the-boys/

The Love Song Of Dril And The Boys

I have not read dril’s book. I cannot read dril’s book. 

Dril Official “Mr. Ten Years” Anniversary Collection compiles 1,500 of the pseudonymous Twitter user’s greatest tweets, and it is simply too funny for me to read for more than a page or two at a time without laughing so hard, I feel physically ill. Ask my family if you don’t believe me. Ask the patrons of the West Babylon Public Library, who have been shooting me dirty looks since I began writing this essay. Every time I crack the book open, I’m seconds away from hitting something like this … 

“hello 911 I need a moat dug around my house immediately” “sir this line is for emergencies only” “Thuis is an emergency moat”

— wint (@dril) May 18, 2014

 … or this …

koko the talking ape.. has been living high on the hog, wasting our tax dollars on high capacity diapers. No more. i will suplex that beast,

— wint (@dril) September 7, 2014

… or this … 

where do girls live

— wint (@dril) October 20, 2010

… and that’s it. Show’s over. “Goodnight Irene,” as Gorilla Monsoon would say. (“I will suplex that beast.”)

Dril’s blend of fist-on-the-table bluster, abject confusion and burned-toast syntax — the style of humor he pioneered, which became the lingua franca of Funny/Weird Twitter in toto — has my number. Like Monty Python’s run-on sketches, non sequiturs and Terry Gilliam animation; like the endless awkward pauses, omnipresent electrical humming and recycled animation of “Space Ghost Coast to Coast”; like Tim and Eric’s garish colors, glitchy video and non-actor stars, dril’s tweets are a new way to be funny, with a rhythm and vocabulary all their own. I love it.

But dril? Dril loves the boys. 

A recurring collective character in dril’s oeuvre, the boys occupy a unique place in his taxonomy, which, thanks to the book’s arrangement of tweets by topic, is easier than ever to get the hang of. For example, girls are mysterious sources of intermingled awe and terror, like the monoliths in ��2001.”

ah, So u persecute Jared Fogle just because he has different beliefs? Do Tell. (girls get mad at me) Sorry. Im sorry. Im trying to remove it

— wint (@dril) November 1, 2015

Brands are icons of integrity, as admirable as they are untouchable.

just deleted 23,000 tweets at the request of Sbarro. feeling Purified

— wint (@dril) July 5, 2015

The trolls are contemptible pests, an implacable obstacle.

will no longer be livestreaming foreskin restoration process; the trolls who attempted to summon [インプ] (Imps) into the chatroom are to blame

— wint (@dril) February 3, 2012

And then there’s rival Twitter user @DigimonOtis, a class by himself: He is nemesis, the anti-dril.

(reading my latest death threat ) “from the desk of DigimonOtis…” this is bullshit. digimonotis has never owned a desk

— wint (@dril) November 6, 2014

But the boys are on dril’s level. The boys welcome dril with open arms. They share his hopes and fears, his loves and hates. He’s one of the boys.

Just met w/ Boys Lunch Club. Seems to me, That we are very pissed off that teen girls would rather kiss, “Soldier Boy,” than Actual Soldiers

— wint (@dril) May 16, 2016

pleased to report my custom beer tap that makes a dramatic diarrhea noise while filling the glass is a hit with the boys at the fondue club

— wint (@dril) October 16, 2014

best 90s memory is gathering around the old oak tree with the boys and passing around trading cards featuring all of our dads #DamnGood90s

— wint (@dril) April 30, 2013

Crucial to the boys’ appeal is their exclusivity. Like any clique, they’ve invested their aesthetic preferences with moral weight, and those who violate them do so at their peril.

darknet 2002: pics of dead guys in bath tubs, warez darknet 2017: discussions amongst the boys as to which of our acquaintances aren t funny

— wint (@dril) August 11, 2017

me & the booys are riffing on 78 hours of stolen walgreens security cam footage. this guy on here just bought a toilet brush. bitch!! bitch!

— wint (@dril) December 8, 2014

me and the boys have decided that the least gay way of wiping your ass is to dump a quarter bottle of Palmolive Spring Sensations back there

— wint (@dril) September 17, 2016

Dril may be a member in good standing, but membership brings responsibilities as well as privileges.

the boys held an intervention about me “Going hollywood” because i;ve been buying plastic toothpicks now

— wint (@dril) June 1, 2018

THE BOYS: were watching the mr bean episode where you can see his ass. get over here ME: cant. wifes making me watch mr beans holiday (2007)

— wint (@dril) June 14, 2017

If the boys function as dril’s superego, instilling and policing values, they are also his id — an embodiment of his most voracious physical drives.

pussy log 12.29.11: justin unscrewed the knob from the door to the ladies’ room and now the club boys all take turns cradling it

— wint (@dril) December 30, 2011

“Ah!! Lunchtime, Boys!” i snort several lines of Hamburger Helper, tilt my head back and shake with unbearable agony as my head turns purple

— wint (@dril) May 15, 2013

The comedy and tragedy of dril is that he is a man without ego, the mediating force that balances the needs of id and superego. He is perpetually out of balance, careening from excess to shame. He requires the intervention of the boys, the example they set, just to function.

This is why the saga of dril and the boys is a love story — conditional and occasionally unrequited though that love may be. It is poignant because it is impossible to imagine dril living without them any more than Juliet could live without Romeo.

When the lovers are in harmony — when the needs of id, ego and superego are aligned at last — the result is a thing of beauty.

going ape shit at the gym. rotating in full 360 degrees with the boys, flawlessly synchronized

— wint (@dril) November 28, 2017

The boys can be peers, contributing to the good posts for which dril is best known at a level beyond dril’s own imagining.

cant wiat to see what devilish thanksgiving scenarios me and the boys of twitter can conjure up. “The turkey was taken by spiders? ? Whua??”

— wint (@dril) November 24, 2014

Together they can be silent guardians, watchful protectors, dark knights, defending boys both within and outside the circle from the depredations of rival groups.

me & the boys will be holding hands., forming a Covenant Ring, to protest girls who only want to fuck the main pirate from the pirate movies

— wint (@dril) June 4, 2017

the epic shit of 2017; is the boys getting TheSegaPimp fired from his job at The Red Cross for not wishing me a “Happy Halloween”

— wint (@dril) January 2, 2018

the boys are enjoying their fave jukebox when ths sarge steps in SARGE: TURN OFF THE DAMN JUKE BOX! ITS WAR ME: Fuck u sarge. The armys crap

— wint (@dril) July 7, 2015

Not every tweet about the boys made it into the book. This is fitting, as when they’re operating at full force, nothing can contain them. 

thje opening riff of “Life In The Fast Lane” repeats over and over forever while me and the boys shoot at a septic tank with airsoft rifles

— wint (@dril) August 1, 2014

me N’ the boys eating messy sandiwches, sneaking around with big binoculars looking for girls & letting every one know who runs this TJ maxx

— wint (@dril) July 21, 2016

So we come to the crux of the matter. Dril and the boys are the great love story of our time because their insecurities, their mania, are our time’s prime motivators.

Dril and the boys wallow in the same miasma from which all our era’s reactionary movements have emerged — the MAGAs and Pepes, MRAs and incels, GamerGaters and ComicsGaters, Sad Puppies and Proud Boys and all the other doofuses with unwittingly infantilizing sobriquets.

With “the boys,” the humorist behind dril has tapped into the overall vibe in this country that there exists, somewhere out there ― perhaps in a TJ Maxx ― a lost masculine ideal. No one agrees on what it is, least of all dril, whose psyche is as piecemeal as his punctuation. It could be yelling at NFL protesters to stand for the national anthem or screaming at Disney for committing white genocide in the “Star Wars” films. It could be having sex all the time or having no sex at all. It could be respecting the majesty of the law or flouting it or both, depending on whom the law is meant to penalize. It’s the nightmare superego-id hybrid, 10 pounds of Blue Lives Matter shit in a five-pound “Live free or die” bag.

When men fail to live up to the puritanical amorality of the boys, they’re less than men, which is to say — as women have a lifetime to learn — they’re less than human. Such men earn sexualized insults like “betas” and “cucks.” They’re reduced to contemptuous acronyms like “SJWs” and “NPCs.” They make the soy face. They listen to dad rock. This blend of macho aggression and childlike vulnerability cannot be resolved in the real world, where it results in a racist, revanchist, minority party controlling all branches of government and installing sexual predators in every available position of power yet still acting like the David to the Goliath of Me Too, female gamers and the theoretical casting of Idris Elba as James Bond.

me and the boys watching james bond morph into a black guy before our very eyes , and braying at the movie screen like distressed cattle

— wint (@dril) September 4, 2018

Dril and the boys reside in this all-American astral plane where the Large Son–Libtard civil war rages, where misandry is real and must be guarded against with magic spells. We recognize our own reality in their incoherent but nevertheless militant search for reasons to hoot and holler. As such, their romance presents us with an opportunity to convert the problematic into the pleasurable, just as surely as antihero dramas or even halfway decent kink.

In the world of dril and the boys, all the pride and greed and wrath and lust and envy and sloth and gluttony of the movements that have fouled the entire adult lives of multiple generations of Americans can be boiled down to a gaggle of morons screaming about toilets. It’s a beautiful fantasy, and like all fantasies, it’s as romantic as it is remote.

Sean T. Collins has written for The New York Times, Rolling Stone, Pitchfork, Esquire and Vulture. He and his partner, the cartoonist Julia Gfrörer, are the co-editors of the art and comics anthology Mirror Mirror II. They live with their children on Long Island in New York.

Source: https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/dril-and-the-boys-twitter_us_5bb66529e4b028e1fe3bfd71