#in a show full of really fucking enjoyable women she is certainly. there!

[dennisboobs]

watching ap bio past season 1

[noxiatoxia]

i liked it. i really love stories with themes of unconventional happiness and moral grayness, that there is no "right" and no "wrong", and no right way to be happy. Killer Killer was certainly that kind of story. Everyone was fucked up but when everyone is fucked up that becomes the new normal.

I really liked the psychology behind Hijirihara and Fujigawa both becoming killers of serial killers for different reasons as a response to the same traumatic event. They're both extremely hypocritical in their approach which I think adds to it. Fujigawa kills serial killers because he thinks murder is deplorable, but obviously, this makes himself a serial killer. Not to mention his first killing was a straight up murder witu no justification and his mentality could be read as him coping with the fact he IS a killer. Hijirihara kills serial killers because he despises their lack of passion in their crime, but the irony is found in the fact that he too lacks passion when killing other serial killers for these faults. In the end his first and only passionate killing was a lover's dual suicide - we don't see it but I want to assume it wasn't a murder suicide but a joint suicide, meaning the only passionate killing he comitted was unto himself. I like this ending being framed as bittersweet. It's what he and Asano both wanted. Speaking of Asano, her joining FF was because she wanted to help change the world, but in the end she kills herself with Hijirihara and seemingly doesn't care about anything else anymore. Reasonably, after both FF and random strangers tried to kill her to disarm the bomb collar, she had no reason to want to serve humanity anymore. And ironically, the only person who cared about her wishes and that she in turn loved and trusted was a serial killer. I love stuff like that. Morally gray swag.

Also, I do like Hijirihara's backstory. They build up in volume 1 how he falls in love easy with pretty women and cares immensely about passionate killings. Later they show as a kid he was abolutely terrified of the world and being killed and had a fear of blood, but after hiding in a locker and watching Mukuro Ikusaba kill a classroom full of other kids, his "falling in love easily" trait made the idea of murder and blood become a passionate, twisted thing as he fell in love with Mukuro as he saw her kill everyone. I like that. I think sexual arousal and fear are more interlinked than people think. A lot of people have phobias that are also their fetishes, so I think it's an interesting backstory.

I will say one thing: this manga had basically nothing to do with Danganronpa until volume 2, and even then, it really means nothing. Besides random DR3 characters showing up or the backstory with Mukuro, there's really nothing related to DR here besides mentioning the tragedy once or twice as an explanation for why there's so many crazy people in the world. And this isn't like a BAD thing. The story is very enjoyable on its own. But you could EASILY replace every single Danganronpa element and it would not change the story. None of the main characters talk about hope or despair and the Monokuma iconogrophy is BARELY used. It's really just a wholeass new story with the Danganronpa logo slapped on it. Again that's fine, I found the story very enjoyable. The art was good and rather creepy at times, which makes sense. Hijirihara and Fujigawa had undeniable toxic yaoi happening. Well, more like Fujigawa was borderline yandere for him and Hijirihara wanted nothing to do with it.

I really liked the dual dialogue between them, where they both come to the same conclusions about murder, but their summaries are completely different, with Fujigawa calling it "disgusting" and Hijirihara calling it "beautiful". I also really loved the line, "It's when you're about to kill or be killed that human life shines the brightest."

It very much is my kind of story, up there with Mogeko Castle and Happy Sugar Life, about what it means to truly live, what it means to be happy and what it means to be good or bad. And that in the end, there is no way to define these things, and I feel these stories give a good insight on that sort of murky world. Some people have an easy time defining a black-and-white "right" and "wrong" to happiness, morality, and love. Other people like myself have always struggled to view these concepts in anything other than a cloudy gray, which is why I can accept suicide being an ultimate happiness, or the true way to be alive. Stories like these really speak to me.

Anyways yeah I enjoyed the manga :]

i just read danganronpa killer killer and wow is all i have to say. give me a moment here.

[whenimaunicorn]

An Ill-Advised Wager

 The lurid tale of how I lost my dignity in a bet to a pirate captain, and how in return he gave me my first orgasm that very night.

Fandom: Black Sails Characters: Charles Vane x Original Female Character (Ranger crew member) Words: 8874 Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: I don’t think there are any; the consent is very clearly negotiated. Dirty talk, oral and p/v sex that gets slightly rough.

“Your bid.” Captain Vane’s deep voice purred across the table at me, his cards held at a careless angle in front of his chest.

The lamplight flickered as the ship swayed. The captain’s quarters were lit just well enough to see the cards by, and for me to try and read the faces of the other players. At this particular moment, I was not concerned about Jack and Anne; the only countenance I cared to read was Vane’s. This, this seemed like the time to make my move. “I’ll bid—” I had to stop myself short when I glanced down, my fingers finding only one thin coin left to my name. I frowned down at it.

“Just about out of options,” the captain observed, leaning forward with the hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Not much left to bet.”

I pulled a face and tossed the coin toward the center of the table. “It’ll have to do. Just means I’ll be coming back a little slower after I win this hand.”

Vane regarded me from under heavy brows. “You would’ve bet more on this one, if you had it.”

My eyes flashed to his and I gave him only a quick nod. Better to appear like I was pretending to be more confident than I felt; in my experience that seemed to be the best way to bluff our Captain.

“What if I let you wager something else?”

I lifted a brow at him, trying to look skeptical. In truth, I was jumping to accept any deal he proposed; I was that certain that I would win the round. What with the queen I had hidden up my sleeve. “What could I have that you want?”

“Nothing you have to part with.” He settled back in his chair. “But if you wanted to wager a night in your bed, that would be something I would consider to be of great value.” He inched forward quite a few glimmering stacks of his own coin, showing how he would match the bet. Just the kind of large take I was saving that card for.

It was hard to keep my face impassive, so taken aback was I. I quibbled, to stall for time, and let the rest of my mind catch up with the escalating situation. “My bed is a hammock surrounded by your snoring, unwashed crew. Not sure you want to share that tonight.”

“Fine, then wager a night in mine,” Vane countered. His eyes glittered as bright as the gold as he waited for my response.

Jack Rakham coughed loudly. We both completely ignored him, staring each other down.

Was the captain serious? His deep-set eyes did not waver as he watched every nuance of my reaction. I didn’t have time to think about whether I believed he actually wanted to sleep with me. I pushed back my own foolhardy, burning desire, the one that I had always carefully hidden from him, and decided that it didn’t matter, anyway. I wasn’t going to lose. I could sort out the rest later.

“Done.”

Vane pushed forward a pile of coin so large that it made Anne suck in a breath through her teeth. I did feel my own cheeks color at the idea of what he would pay for me, were I for sale. “Show ‘em.”

I let my cards spill to the table, my hidden card now switched in and completing a high-value set. The only way I could possibly be beaten would be…

Vane laid his own hand across the table. Too many kings smirked up at me from that row. My stomach sank.

Vane drew his glittering stacks back to his edge of the table. Then he reached out and swiped up my own last coin between two long fingers.

I could have said something. I’d been counting the cards; there shouldn’t have been that many kings left in the deck. But I knew Jack habitually counted cards as well. If I said something about Vane’s foul play, Jack was likely to point out that I was cheating, too. Maybe that would have been enough to end the game right here, declare the round moot and undo the terms of the wager. Maybe. But I looked across the table at the way Vane was staring at me through his eyelashes. I imagined what it would feel like to be pinned underneath that body on his big bed, and after that I couldn’t say anything at all.

I turned and poured myself a drink.

He didn’t gloat. He didn’t tease, he didn’t try to touch me, he didn’t say one word about the terms I had just agreed to. The game went on without me. What did that mean? The captain had never indicated this kind of interest in me before. Was it just a power move, just part of the game?

I kept stealing glances at his face. Every time, he caught me, and gave me heavy looks back, until I felt as flustered as a schoolgirl. Jack kept the conversation going, talking about anything but the wager that had just transpired. He was almost babbling, really, and shooting me concerned looks whenever he thought Vane wasn’t looking. Anne’s face was smoldering; but she always looked like that. No way to tell if she was furious with the captain, or with me, or if she was thinking about something completely different.

I couldn’t hold Vane’s eyes, now. I looked anywhere but his face whenever he was staring at me, and even ignored when he tried batting at my foot with his under the table. I had been very careful never to invite being looked at in a sexual way by any of the men on this crew. I was lucky to have found as much acceptance as I had, here. Certainly Anne had paved the way for that, but I knew the balance was precarious. I had decided that I had to be untouchable; that would be the only way to fit in with the men without causing problems. Or having to fight off constant advances. And now here Vane was, about to ruin my reputation. I shouldn’t have been so cocky.

“Well, it does seem like it’s time to retire,” Jack said, staring forlornly into the mouth of the rum bottle. He upended it over his mug without gaining more than a single, final drop. He and Anne started scooping their remaining coin into purses.

I, having nothing left on the table, looked at my hands awkwardly.

They rose, and I thought to stand with them, but the captain cleared his throat and I dropped my butt back into the chair. Anne paused at my elbow, staring down the curtain of her hair at me. “You can leave with us,” she challenged, turning her baleful eye to Vane. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“’Course she doesn’t,” Vane growled at her.

At the same time I straightened, and replied to her half a beat later. “I wouldn’t welch on a bet.”

Anne furrowed her brows down at me. I think she may have been trying to look supportive, but her face had forgotten how to be soft. “Don’t sit well with me. Backed you into a corner, he did.”

“Come along, darling,” Jack said, wrapping one arm around her and attempting to tug her away. “I am certain she can take care of herself.”

I fixed Jack with a pointed look. “Not a word to the crew about this.”

Rackham drew himself up, exaggerated affront painted across his features. “What, are you implying that I gossip? I’ll have you know that I am extremely tactful. I know when to keep my mouth shut. There is an art to knowing when a thing is to be said, and when a thing is to be forgotten, and I assure you—”

Anne leaned her head toward me. “He won’t say anything.” From the way her hand fisted in Jack’s collar, it was clear she would be making sure of it.

When the door closed behind them, the sound of the latch clicking into place seemed loud as a bell. Vane had settled back into his chair, idly playing with a coin across the backs of his fingers. Looking at me like he was waiting for me to do something. It was embarrassing, really, how good he looked to me right then, his powerful frame smoldering in the chair, the strong lines of his face perfectly warmed in the lamplight.

I looked away. I had been resisting thinking those kinds of thoughts about him for so long, it was hard to break the habit now. I lifted my cup just for something to do with my hands, but it was already empty.

“Shy?” his voice crackled through the silence. “I suppose I should have expected you to be shy.” That irritated my pride, so I mustered my courage enough to glare back at him. Vane’s eyes were only laughing at me a little; mostly there was an unexpected kind of caring, a softness for me to be found there. “Haven’t done this in a while, have you?”

No reason not to tell him the truth. “No.”

His fingers flicked under that coin again. “Not a virgin, are you?”

“No.” I suddenly couldn’t bear the tension, and started stripping my arms out of my jacket. “Let’s just get this over with, then.”

Vane raised a single, scarred eyebrow. “Get this over with? That’s not really what I had in mind.” That throaty voice of his was so seductive. I should have been annoyed at the implication he was going to drag this experience out, but damn if my heart didn’t start beating a little faster.

“Yes, I am sure you are planning to take full advantage.”

He frowned, still not moving toward me. “What are you trying to say.”

I sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what the whores are telling you, but I’m a free woman out here and I’ll give you the truth. Sex doesn’t feel as good for women as it does for men.”

“Is that what you think.” He didn’t look offended, or ruffled at all by my flat statement. There may have even been a little pity touching his eyes. “Who told you that?” He reached out for my hand, resting on the top of the table, and I let him have it.

“In my experience, it never seemed that enjoyable.” His fingers squeezed softly between mine, as playful as they had been with that coin. He was listening to me, but trying to loosen my mood at the same time. “And I’ve never heard any respectable woman say anything different.”

“Well there’s your problem right there. Listening to respectable women. They only fuck respectable men, and those fuckers don’t know what they are doing.”

He lifted my hand from the table, leaning forward when I did not let myself be drawn nearer to him, and touched it to his lips. The kiss between my knuckles lingered, so much more than the polite gesture it was meant to mimic. Especially when his breath rushed out over my skin. I’m certain what I was feeling had started to show in my face. The way he was talking set off things I hadn’t really felt in years.

“You’re worried about what the men will think about you.” He spoke over the back of my hand, continuing to play with my fingers between his.

“Someone is bound to notice if I don’t wake up with my shift.”

Vane smiled. “Let them hear about the terms of the wager, then. I’ll tell the men that you spent the whole night wrapped up tight in the blanket, wouldn’t even let me touch you. That you played me just for the chance to sleep on a real mattress.”

I smiled, despite my sour mood. “Generous. But if that’s the case, perhaps I might actually do just that.”

He squeezed my hand. “That is certainly within your right. But if I’m not getting anything out of this, you’re sleeping on the floor.” We stared at each other for a long moment, both calculating. “But. If you decide you want to honor the spirit of the wager, and not just the words, I promise that I will make certain this is very, very enjoyable for you too.”

With his fingers laced tightly between mine, his thumb spread tantalizing circles across my palm. I felt my face getting hot as I stared across the edge of the table at him. He was absolutely letting me out of the requirement to do this, and at the same time making me actually want it. I was almost starting to believe he could do as he said, too. That he could make it feel different than that last time I had allowed a man to touch me, based on his unwavering confidence alone, and on the way my body was responding. His thumb stroked up the inside of my wrist with a surprising, exquisite delicacy.

“Why don’t you come sit next to me on the bed. Just to see how it feels. And whether you want to stop after that or not, I’ll tell the men that your legs remained firmly crossed.”

I still wasn’t answering, but I could no longer summon the words to say no. I had never seen Vane’s face like this, not directed at me at least. So… intent. And yet tender. I was starting to believe he actually wanted me, that this wasn’t just some victory to achieve on a whim, some conquest he devised because we were out on the open ocean and there were no whores in sight to appease him better. He looked at me like he was really trying to see me.

He kissed my hand one time more, then rose from his chair and crossed to the big bed nailed into the wall at one side of the cabin. I wondered briefly if it were the original, a luxury afforded to naval captains, or if Vane had put such an ostentation in himself after he took the Ranger. He sat down on the edge, caught my gaze one more time, and then set to taking off his boots.

“You’ll…” my voice warbled through the cabin, higher and weaker than I had wanted it to come out. He paused his movements, looking up and waiting for me to find my words. “If I want to stop, if it doesn’t feel right, you’ll let me?”

He straightened, his face going soft and sincere. “Of course. You are a free woman. The last thing I want you to feel is trapped.”

“Then,” I said, letting the warm relief that rushed through me at his words show in a little smile, “I suppose I might come sit next to you… Keeping my legs crossed.”

Vane winked, and finished pulling off his great, big boots. Mine were not as fine as his, and would slip off much more easily when the time came, but I did not want to promise anything by pulling them off this early. Instead I just sat in my chair a moment longer, enjoying the view of my strapping, handsome captain loosening his own clothing, readying himself for bed.

I wasn’t ready for his eyes again, when he finally looked up at me over his outstretched hand. “Come here.”

The mattress sagged underneath me as I sat down, but Vane was heavier and had already pulled it into a deeper valley, one that threatened to drag my hips down against his by gravity alone. He flipped his long hair over his shoulder as he turned his upper body to face me, and his scent filled my nostrils, rich and beguiling.

The truth was, I had wanted Captain Vane from the moment I laid eyes on him. Pursuing that thought had just never seemed like a good idea, especially once he took me seriously enough to allow me, a woman, to join his crew. Nor had I thought it very likely he would ever return my affections. Given my chosen profession, I didn’t think myself feminine enough to catch a man’s real interest.

But when Captain Vane ran the backs of his curled fingers down the side of my face, I felt desired. He touched me the way one would treat a proper lady, not grabbing or groping. His fingertips came to rest under my chin, tilting my mouth up toward his. I thought for a moment he might even ask to kiss me, the fearsome pirate captain himself, who never hesitated to take what he wanted in any other context. It was there in his eyes, the question, as he watched how I reacted to the parting of his lips.

My body leaned toward his, fractionally, past all my insecurities, and that was all the signal he needed to duck his head and press his lips against mine. His pressure was tender, but it was bold too, as his mouth parted wide enough to seize my lower lip between his. My insides reacted immediately, a fire kindling that made me wilt and straighten somehow both at once.

He didn’t push me into the bed. His desire was there, smoldering behind the working of his lips, but he held it back and kissed me thoroughly, while his hands played over the sides of my face.

I was burning up inside. There was a voice in my head telling me to end it here, that it was smarter to be the untouchable one, that I would come to regret this. But those thoughts only served to immolate me, to make the heat Vane was drawing out of my core more obvious, the desire for more of him more immediate every time I considered pulling away.

I gave in to gravity, and let the line of my hip roll down against his. Vane’s strong arms gathered me up, pulling my chest in against his as he kept kissing me. The angle was sharper now, pulling my neck long as my chin lifted to chase his kisses, my jaw opening almost without thought to allow his hot tongue to press past my teeth. I pressed open palms against his broad chest, hardly daring to satisfy my long-held craving to explore the heavy muscles to be found there.

One of his hands, previously content with stroking my face and curling through my hair, now traced curious fingers down the column of my neck. I shivered, knowing that the passion building between us was about to cross over into indecency.

But it had been a long time since I had been trying to live the life of a “decent woman.”

Vane pulled his mouth away from mine, his fingers halting their descent at the level of my collarbone. He traced up and down along that delicate line as he looked into my eyes. “Enjoying yourself yet?”

I was a little bit breathless, but still maintained enough poise to tilt my head coquettishly. “Still deciding.”

He smiled and leaned into me again. This time his lips were more insistent, reassured perhaps by the lightening of my mood. He cradled the back of my head with one hand, that arm holding me scooped in against his body, while his tongue delved my mouth and sought out mine. The other hand slid down the side of my body, playing over my ribs, tugging at my waist to pull me tighter against him.

I was glad that he had not immediately sought out my breasts. A long strip of cloth bound them down firmly under the man’s shirt that I wore every day of my pirating life. I was now… self-conscious about how unwomanly his hands were going to find me.

In truth, it had mostly been liberating to give up the trappings of femininity, and I was in love with the freedoms that living in a man’s shoes had given me. Right now was the first time in a great long while that I found myself wishing for a proper corset. Not for my own benefit, but only to be certain that my captain would find me appealing.

The play of his hand across my lower back reassured me on that last count. So did the look in his eyes when he pressed his forehead into mine, searching me with a fire that went beyond simple lewdness or curiosity. With a deep, slightly labored inhale, he began to open the buttons on my shirt, watching my reaction closely the whole time.

I wanted this. I couldn’t even imagine pulling away now. And though I feared that the sight of my chest strapped flat would be less than enticing for him, I was overcome by the desire to be seen. By him. To reveal myself to him. I opened the last few buttons of the shirt myself, and sat up straight as he pushed it down over my shoulders.

“I know why you hide yourself,” his voice rasped in the small space between us. “Why you braid your hair back tight, dress like the rest of us.” His eyes flashed back up to mine from under his brow. “And I think it’s smart. To not be a woman on this ship.” His fingertips traced up my belly, ran over the strip of cloth wound over my chest. “I’ve also seen the way you look at me.” A fresh thrill ran through me. He was seeking the place where he could loosen that binding. “And it occurred to me tonight, that you might be wanting an excuse. A way for this kind of… contact to be both possible, and deniable.”

My breath sighed out between my lips as I raised my hands up behind my back, freeing the end of the fabric and beginning to unwind it for him. Vane took over almost immediately, strong hands brushing over mine as he took the edge of the cloth and finished the unwrapping himself.

The sudden freedom made my breasts tingle; that, and the weight of Captain Vane’s gaze upon my completely nude torso. My nipples hardened before he even touched them, his hands scooping up from underneath with a soft sort of appreciation. When his thumbs brushed over the peaks I shivered. “Sensitive, are you?” he commented, and kept his touch gentle.

I closed my eyes and leaned into the feel of his powerful hands massaging my peaks. I felt his lips run across my cheek a moment later, then they were nipping down under my jaw, exploring the side of my neck. As he made his way down his bulk pushed me slowly backwards, until I had to reach back and hold myself up with one hand flat against the mattress. When his hot mouth closed over my nipple I arched my back and gasped. The sensation had sent a burst of unexpected pleasure straight down through my core, something sinful and tantalizing that had me wondering if perhaps the whores were not always faking the noises they made.

I looked down at Vane. His eyes were closed, brows lifted in an expression of rapt pleasure as he suckled on my tit, his head bent sideways to reach it and an angle that could not possibly be comfortable for long. I ran my fingers up his back, and my captain sighed with obvious pleasure. “Come up into my lap,” he coaxed.

With one last lick at my breast, he leaned back into a squarer posture and beckoned me to follow him up with insistent little tugs of his hands. When I realized he wanted me to straddle him I felt my face heating up. I had never been that wanton with a man.

His eyes were more hooded now, dreamier with pleasure but also narrowed, focused on his desire in the same way I had seen him look at a rich prize just before we raised the black. “Still shy?” he asked, echoing his earlier accusation, and it had the same effect on me for a second time.

In a surge of contrariness, I pushed my hesitation aside and swung my leg over his lap, sinking my knees into the mattress on either side of his hips. I held onto his shoulders for leverage, realizing too late that I had caught a few locks of his long hair in the process. I lifted my hand quickly and smoothed it back for him. I hadn’t even realized how tenderly I pushed the errant lock behind his ear until his clear, brilliant eyes flashed up at me and marked the moment. They were breathtaking, those eyes, fringed with lashes that would make them almost womanish were they not so deeply set into an aggressively masculine face. And something about this angle, him looking up at me now, softened them in a way that tugged at my chest. I almost forgot to speak my retort to his challenge. “Really, Captain, when have you ever known me to be timid?”

“Never before tonight.” He reached up to wind his fingers through a few of my own braided locks and pulled my face down for a kiss.

It was magnificent, and terrifying, to kiss Captain Vane like that. To be pushing down on him, having control of the angles, and yet to be so aware of being half-naked in a position that made every part of my body quite conveniently available to him. My hands scooped at his face while his roamed freely across my entire back, down my flanks and over my thighs, making me acutely aware of the unladylike spread of my legs, with no possible way to close them. So much for keeping my knees pressed firmly together tonight.

My fingers scrambled down broad shoulders as his scooped up the front of my body. It felt entirely unfair that he still wore his shirt, which was keeping his skin from me, and I told him as much. Vane stopped caressing me just long enough to strip it up over his head, exposing miles of rippling, tanned torso that I barely got to admire before it was hidden from my eyes again in the press of his body into mine. Rather than returning to the kiss he dove straight for one of my nipples, capturing it with more brash, self-assured confidence this time, his tongue circling with ease now that I was more conveniently lined up in front of his face.

I let my head fall back, overcome with that tugging, insistent heat that seemed to draw a line straight through my middle and down into my womanhood. I felt my legs tighten some against his waist, my hips bucking wantonly to close the little space that was left between us. It was so unlike me. And yet, it felt so thrilling. So indulgent. Just as a life of piracy should feel.

Captain Vane helped himself to my tits until I was positively melting in his lap. Our hips had started up a furtive, fractional rhythm that ran a counterpoise to the rocking of the ship. Like they thought they could get away with something that my mind wouldn’t catch them doing. I ground down more firmly into him, just to show them I was still boss, yes I was still in control and I wanted to be doing this too. Vane groaned into my chest. “Keep that up, love, and you’ll find yourself on your back faster than you thought possible.”

And I liked the sound of that so much that I did it again, pressing myself down over something that felt amazing against my tender, sensitive parts, something that I would have assumed was his hip bone if I wasn’t already feeling both of those against my inner thighs. Which meant that it was his—

True to his word, Vane scooped me up around the waist, popped me into the air with a thrust of his hips, and rode me down onto my back closer to the center of the bed. His hair spilled over both shoulders, curtaining us, and he dragged that hard length against me until I whimpered. He cocked his head, studying my face, my reaction to that.

I took a shaky breath in through my mouth, considering the moment as well. I actually felt…eager, to try letting a man do this to me again. My body was flushed, and languid, and writhing beneath him even when I thought I was lying still. Especially after the way he had flung me over, like it was only a trivial effort on his part to throw me around.

He must have been watching all this play across my face, for Vane’s next words were to purr “Is that how you like it, love? A little bit rough around the edges; want to feel me taking what I want?” He pressed his hardness between my spread legs, and it should have been insulting, an outrage, but because it was him it only stoked my passion to greater heights.

When I couldn’t find the words to answer in any way other than rocking my hips to match the motion of his, he dropped his head to kiss me. Deep, savoring kisses, ones that seemed, blessedly, to be meant to give me as much time to think as I wanted. Our bare chests slid against each other softly, and I allowed my hands to explore the planes and angles of the heavy muscles that before now had only fascinated my eye. Vane’s body was magnificent. And I thought, as I lay there, that being smashed underneath it might be the best possible way to enjoy it.

And so I whimpered, just a little, when he rolled off me, and settled in along my side without breaking the kiss. My body followed, seeking to keep our chests together, but I stilled when I felt his callused hand slide down my belly. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this body from me. I want to see all of it. Take off your trousers,” that rumbling voice urged.

I felt timid again, even as the heat bubbling up between my thighs caused me to press them together. I understood the meaning of the word “wanton,” now, as this burning feeling threatened to overwhelm all sensibilities. It still felt like something that perhaps I should not do, to allow myself to be completely naked in this dashing captain’s bed.

Echoes of an old life, that voice was. My new, pirating self did exactly as she pleased. And she, she said to that old voice: well, we did lose a bet. Only one honorable thing to do now.

Vane’s fingers were playing with the buckle of my belt, his smoldering eyes watching, waiting for me to react.

I appreciated his patience, the way he seemed to be willing to go at my pace, though his gaze brimmed with the promise of what he could unleash upon me once I dropped my last guard. The guard which at this point appeared to be symbolized by that clasped belt. His neck bent, a few locks of hair cascading over his face, so he could lay tender kisses on the skin of my shoulder and chest. He started to speak in between those kisses. “I won’t take you tonight,” his lips brushed the top of my breast, “if you truly don’t want that.” He nipped at my belly, just above my navel. “But perhaps you will allow me—” he kissed my flank, just below the edge of a rib, “—to do what I can to make you want it.” The last kiss landed in a tingling place just above the waistband of my trousers.

I lifted my head, keeping the rest of my body still underneath him. “I thought that’s what we were already doing.”

Vane straightened a little, and held my gaze while his hand came creeping up my leg, grazing along my thigh before hovering just above that hot place between my legs. His nimble fingers plucked a little at the fabric barring his way.

“Oh,” I gulped. Desire crashed over me like the surf of a rising tide. Yes, I wanted to feel him touch me there. And if he was saying that removing my trousers was not necessarily a promise that I was ready to let him push his cock inside me… I kicked my boots off so fast that the cabin echoed with the twin sounds of them crashing to the deck.

Vane helped me with my belt, then leaned back on one arm to watch me reveal the rest of my body to him. I pushed the last of my clothes down to the floor, eager to be rid of them now, then paused where I sat perched at the edge of the bed. I looked over my shoulder at my captain, hoping that the curve of my back, and the swell of my bare hips, appeared enticing to him.

His eyes were indeed clouded with lust, and his chest expanded with a deep inhale when I took the long, plain braid of my hair between my hands and began undoing it. Removing the final piece of what I had been using to hide my softness, my femininity. I watched him watching me, as I freed my hair, and I felt beautiful.

He reached his hand out to me, so many silent promises in his eyes, and I climbed across the bed to him. He kissed me soundly, fingers tangling in the loose tresses now freed around my face, and then he guided me to lay on my back beside him.

His hands slid over my body, firmer, more confident now. This was no longer coaxing, entreating: now Vane was conquering. He squeezed and savored all my curves, and his body pressed closer, more hungrily into mine, his mouth eating at me like the sweetest fruit.

And then his hand crept between my legs. His palm covered my mound, stilling me, letting me get used to the idea before his fingers started to move. I moaned my uncertainty into his mouth and he soothed me, humming a calming noise as he stroked at my sex and opened me up slowly.

I had only ever experienced rough fingers there before, greedy grasping that hurried to make the way clear for an insistent male desire. Vane’s touch was entirely different. His face hovered close to mine, watching my every reaction as he explored carefully, his fingertips gliding through the slickness at my entrance and pressing up to something else, a spot that concentrated all that heat that I had been feeling in my loins and made it bloom to unimagined heights.

My eyes widened in surprise. Vane seemed a little amused. “Has no man ever touched you there?”

I shook my head.

“Ever touched yourself there?”

My face burned at the very suggestion, and I denied it vigorously.

“Respectable women,” Vane chided, “are missing out on so much.” He rocked his finger in a little circle over that bud of pleasure, and I could only squirm and wail underneath him.

I clung to him as he worked me over, too far gone in the wash of desire from it to be embarrassed at the way my fingers dug into his arm, not even certain what I was begging for. I needed relief, but I didn’t want him to stop; the pleasure was burning, overwhelming, and I quite simply did not know what to do with myself. Vane’s face smirked down at me through all of it, every time I could bear to open my eyes and look up at him again.

My mouth let loose some sort of desperate, mewling sound when his fingertips left my body. I looked up at him just in time to see two of his long fingers disappear into his mouth, coming out coated in spit. Those slick fingers returned to my sex in a gliding plunge that parted my lower lips. The pleasure came easier now, less impaired by sensitivity and friction.

Vane’s eyes locked onto mine as I felt one of those fingers start to press inside me. A buzzing, welcoming heat gathered all around that invading finger, and though I kept my gaze on my captain’s face my awareness was all internal, focusing on how it felt to let him open me.

He kissed me again, once that finger was buried deep inside, and his lips kept anchoring mine as he dragged it softly in and out, simulating the movements I was certain he was burning up to be able to do with something else. Something much, much larger. I was surprised to find that the idea was more tantalizing than terrifying, now that Vane was taking so much time to get my body to warm to him.

He released my mouth so he could press his lips into the side of my neck, still rocking that finger rhythmically in and out. I could no longer say it felt like an invader, as pleasure bloomed all around it. I was surprised to find that I was even craving something thicker. The memories of my past, somewhat painful encounters with penetration had even taken on a perverse allure. I wanted to feel that again, now. “I’m…”—I had to pause and wet my throat, realizing how dry it had become from panting breaths—“I’m ready now, I think.”

Vane lifted his head, regarding me coolly. “Ready for what?”

“For…” I stumbled on the words, but I made myself say it. “For you to take me.”

“For my cock?” he specified firmly, bluntly, his intense eyes still looking a little bit amused around the edges.

I swallowed, and met his gaze bravely. “Yes.”

“No you’re not.” He shook his head and drew his finger out of me.

“What?”

Vane ignored my sputtering and started to slide down the bed alongside me. “Trust me, darling.” A smile flitted across his usually-stony face, making him look almost boyish as he shook his head at me. “It’s clear that you don’t even know what pleasure is, yet. Please, allow me to show you."

He tugged at my leg and I let him pull it wide. I was confused, and embarrassed, but I did trust him. My sworn captain. I’d let him show me what he meant.

Vane lifted my leg and put it over his shoulder, as he dropped down to his knees on the deck beside the bed. My face started to burn as hot as my loins when I realized he was positioning his mouth right above my sex, his breath already warm upon it. He turned his head and kissed me first on the inside of my thigh. “Relax.” His eyes flitted up, seeking mine. “Remember I promised, to make this enjoyable for you?”

His rich voice calmed me, and I nodded swiftly.

“Then let me try a few things. Tell me when I’m doing something that you like.”

His mouth was hot. So, so hot, and slick, when he fastened it over my mound in a devil’s kiss and slid his tongue alongside that secret pearl that was making my head spin. Vane pulled my legs apart a little wider, settling his bulk more comfortably between them, and then his tongue started flickering, back and forth against me.

My head flew back, my body curling to get closer to him and further away at the same time. What was this delicious, overwhelming feeling? The slide of Vane’s tongue was stoking that fire inside me higher than ever. I reached down and ran my fingers over his hair. I must have pushed him harder than I thought, because his tongue stilled and he drew back just far enough to speak. “Too much for you, love?”

“I…I don’t know.”

He hummed sagely as he pressed his lips against me again, the tail end of that vocalization making my toes curl as I felt it in my core. He licked more slowly this time, tongue circling that bud of pleasure as his hands stroked up and down my bare thighs.

The pleasure was more bearable this way, and I let a little encouraging moan slide past my lips, to let him know. It was embarrassing to hear myself make such a sound, but the reward of Captain Vane’s rocking tongue was well worth the price to my pride.

He kept on steadily, and something started building inside me, underneath his tongue. The pleasure was growing into a ball of heat, of tension, something that made me restless and yet entirely unwilling to move away from that sinful mouth. I squeezed my thighs around his head instead, curled my knees over his shoulder, flung my arms over my face, whipped my arms down to clutch at the sheets. I didn’t know what I needed, didn’t know what to do. The one thing I was certain of was that I did not want Vane to stop.

There was something that I suspected this pleasure might be, what it was leading up to. I had heard the men joke, of course, mostly accusing each other of being unable to make a woman do this. I had heard the whores faking it. But I never thought I was the kind of woman that it would ever happen to, that would feel this. Orgasm. The possibility wasn’t spoken of in the respectable home of my youth. I had thought, in fact, that it might be a lie that men told to each other, that women could melt into a burst of pleasure the way that men did when they made their final release at the end of the act. Because I had never heard women speak about it to each other.

But I learned that night, my body was indeed capable of this too. Captain Vane showed me, with a relentless tongue that brought all that rising tension in my core to a breaking point, a snap of passion that made my whole body seize up as I was carried away in a thundering wave of ecstasy.

His tongue slowed, but did not stop, after that wave broke inside me. He lapped every last drop of pleasure from between my thighs, until I sagged into the mattress, and stopped squeezing him so tightly.

I looked down just in time to watch him rise from the deck, wiping his mouth with one hand before reaching down to push off his own trousers. His cock sprang to attention, straining hard and oh so large, even though I was the one who had just gotten all the pleasuring. “You are magnificent,” he murmured as he climbed over my body, distracting my eyes from the spectacle of his erection as he pressed his forehead into mine.

I met his gaze almost helplessly, my parted lips unable to form words as I breathed hard, still roiling in the eddies of pleasure left in the wake of what he had done to me. The mattress sagged with the weight of his knees between my legs.

There was pride in his eyes as he examined the mess he’d made of my composure. “Now, you’re ready to be fucked,” he declared. He caressed the back of my thigh, pulling me open wider. “With your permission, of course.”

And in that moment, I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything. My loins burned in a fresh rush as I angled my hips toward him. I reached one hand up to caress the back of his neck. The other slid down his belly, pushing through thick curls to claim a prize of my own.

Vane’s cock jumped in my hand as I wrapped my fingers around the smooth skin of his shaft, thrilling at the iron hardness that the soft surface covered. He groaned in my ear when I squeezed it, and sucked in a breath when I slid my palm over the weeping tip of him. “Do you want it?” he whispered, voice too tight to speak any louder, and I shivered at the sound of how he was struggling to hold himself back.

“Yes,” I confessed to his cheek, breathing in the rich, deep scent of him. My blooming cunt was aching for him now. “But,” I said, hand clenching on the back of his neck as he had already started to move over me, “I don’t want a child.”

He surprised me by kissing me then, suddenly and soundly. “I won’t let my seed go inside you,” he promised to my lips. “But I want,” he growled, “I need to feel you for a while.”

My consent breathed past my lips as I pressed my body up toward him. Vane’s hand replaced mine at the base of his cock as he leaned in to line himself up.

He dragged his tip through the wetness that coated the outside of my sex, before finding the place where he started sinking in. I was ready for the pain, and was surprised to find that it didn’t come, not the way it had felt with my less-skilled lovers before. Vane’s cock hung longer and thicker than I had ever seen before, and so I had feared the worst. But my body welcomed the stretch of him. Especially since he was working himself in so slowly, dragging back after every inch he gained, even spitting in his hand to add more moisture and ease his passage.

“Look at me.”

I couldn’t open my eyes at first, so overwhelmed was I with the slide of his cock, plumbing deeper and deeper inside me with every rock of his hips. When I finally did, and caught his brilliant, hooded eyes gazing down at me in absolute lust and affection, an even sharper passion bloomed in my core. It was a primal feeling, animal and strange and yet so deeply, truly right. Charles Vane was making me his. With a soft cry I yielded something I didn’t even realize I was holding back, and the entire length of him bottomed out inside me.

He kept his face close, he kept his hips close. He rocked in tiny movements, the softening of his eyelids showing his pure enjoyment of the sensation of being inside me.

But it was so much. So very, very much; the pressure close to pain as he filled me to my limit. Every time he rolled his hips, it felt a little better. “Move,” I breathed. “It feels better when you move.”

His deep voice rumbled in agreement as he pressed his forehead against mine and made his rhythmic thrusts longer, rocking like the waves against the shore, pulling more than half his length out before sliding inevitably back in. Pain kindled into pleasure under that steady motion, and I sighed in sweet relief.

“Feels good to be fucked properly, does it?” he teased into my ear, and I realized I had let my eyes close again as I sank into the ecstasy. He kissed my cheek and then lifted up a little above me, giving himself the leverage to snap his hips a little faster, a little harder.

I was panting now, my whole body getting hot as I writhed and offered myself to him fully.

“You never answered me before. How rough you’d like me to get.” His pace increased just a little even before I could answer, his hands curling around my hips.

I had always feared men’s roughness, during this act. But with Vane it felt totally different. And the coiled violence in his arms, the way he was so easily able to put lesser men in their place, certainly those were some of the things that attracted me to him the most. “How am I to answer a question like that?” And then, another thought arrested me: “How rough do you like it?”

Vane’s hips slowed, so he could pay attention to my face as he considered. One scarred eyebrow lifted. “I do like a woman with a little fight in her.”

Well. That, I certainly was. You don’t find a place on a pirate crew without a good measure of ferocity. But I considered my position. “Hard to fight you when you’ve already got me speared.”

I smoothed my hands along his flanks, faking a caress, then pushed them against his ribs while squeezing my thighs around him, twisting my hips in the way that I would use to throw a man off me in a fight. In my current predicament, however, it served only to drive Vane’s cock inside me deeper, and I broke off my attempt with a ragged moan as the sharp pleasure of it overwhelmed me.

I thought I heard the captain chuckle under the sound of my own cries. He scooped up my wrists and forced my hands up over my head, driving himself into me with more savage stabs.

The way I felt when Captain Vane overpowered me like that gave me all the answer to his question that I needed, my insides blooming and tingling all over again. I didn’t like making noises, did my best to keep these mewling wails quiet, but it was so hard to control myself underneath this.

“You like to feel me hold you down, don’t you?” Vane rumbled in my ear. His fingers flexed against my wrists, emphasizing how fully he had me pinned.

I did, but I still had a little fight left in me too. My mouth sought his for a kiss, scraping hard, then my teeth sank into his lip.

Vane growled into my mouth and jerked me up off the bed almost irritably. I kept my legs wrapped around him tight, an almost ornery urge leading me to try and confound his attempt to reposition me. But that only made it easier for him to scoop me completely off the mattress as he knelt up on the bed. He wasn’t satisfied just with that, however. His powerful arms secured me close as he stepped back onto the deck, then turned and slammed my back into the bulkhead wall. He pinned me there, my feet up in the air, and resumed fucking into me.

I thrilled at the strength of this man, though the angle was savage. “Mmm, yes,” I mewled against his cheek, “throw me around.”

He gave me a few more good hard thrusts against the wall before he spun me over to the table where we had so recently been playing cards. He removed his cock from me with shaking effort, only so that he could manhandle me around and bend me over the flat surface. My cheek pressed into the finely polished wood as his cock punctured me again, so thick that I still felt every last inch of him going in despite how stretched I had already become for him.

His deep voice rumbled in pleasure above me as he fucked as hard and fast as he wanted. I felt my body coiling around him, his tip slamming at an angle that awoke something dazzling deep inside me, and I wondered if he was going to make me feel that breaking point again. My throat squeezed out his name, over and over again, hoping he wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t shift, wouldn’t break this delic—

Another orgasm crashed over my senses, locking up every muscle in my body as I squealed through my teeth into the wood. Vane made a guttural sound in response, his rhythm stuttering. He pulled his length out of me and I sobbed at its loss, but understood why when something warm and wet started streaking along my back. I reveled at the evidence of his pleasure as my body still shook with my own.

I heard him sigh deeply, felt him draw his slick-tipped cock across the base of my spine. Then he leaned over me, dropping his forearm onto the table beside my face and then collapsing his head on top of it.

We panted in unison for a while, recovering from the intensity of it all. When Vane tilted his head to peek at me through disheveled strands of hair, his eyes were alight.

“I’m going to have to have you again.”

I sucked in a deep breath.

“Not immediately,” he clarified, his hand stroking up the clean part of my back, “but this was too good to be just once.”

“Better hope your luck holds in the next card game, then,” I teased. “Though I know, by the way, that luck had nothing to do with it.”

Vane smirked. “Can you blame me, with such a lovely prize on the table?”

I laughed, given that I was currently still laying, naked, on that very same table. Then I got serious. “I don’t like how it would look to the men, me fucking the captain. It changes things.”

Vane leaned in closer, until my whole world was his brilliant eyes, as blue as the bay at Nassau where we’d be arriving soon. “Then you’ll just have to get very good at being quiet.”

Captain Vane Masterlist

[highdramas]

cherry - part two 🍒

a javier peña / little women au

hi all! i hope you enjoy this part. let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list 💖 xoxo, dee

summary: your hot hazy summer continues, but not without a bit of drama. warnings: age gap ( reader is ten years younger than javier ), language word count: 3856

part one

javier and pauline returned from the supermarket within an hour, soft cloth bags filled with ingredients for the evening. pauline had always been a great cook; seemed to be able to whip something up from nothing, but when she had a recipe, it was magic. you, on the other hand, could hardly make a bowl of cereal without fucking it up somehow. so, you sit on the counter with your feet resting in the sink and watch as pauline skillfully cuts vegetables. her hands move with such a sharp precision, and there are a few moments where you worry she’s going to cut her own finger off. she must be able to feel your eyes on her, because she glances over at you. “you should really get your feet out of the sink. you’ve been outside all day, that’s disgusting.”

a lightbulb goes off in your head. there’s nothing you enjoy more than getting under your sister’s skin, and you’ve just found the perfect way to. “what, you don’t like my feet?” you beam and nudge the side of her face with your toe, making her jaw drop. she turns to you with a look of half repulsion and half amusement, as if she can’t believe you’ve actually just done that.

“you are intolerable.” pauline says it with a seriousness but you know she doesn’t mean it. well, you hope she doesn’t. but the small smirk on her face as she turns away from you gives you all the affirmation you need. “set the table.”

“sure thing, cruella.” you hop off the counter and can feel the glare on your back. you grab a stack of plates and are suddenly distracted, the sound of raucous footsteps crashing down the stairs. it’s just javier, in fresh clothes, walking with a pep in his step. “make yourself useful, javi, and help me.”

javier’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on pauline. there’s a moment of silence before your sister looks over her shoulder at him, nodding towards her. “you heard her. help her.”

it’s not his help you want. it’s his attention. and with the reaffirmed knowledge that you don’t have it, suddenly you have no problem making haste at turning on your heel and setting the plates onto the outdoor table. the sun is setting but still illuminating the backyard-- it’s beautiful, in a different way than new york. it’s beautiful in a homey way. margot comes up beside you and rests her chin on your shoulder, looking at you with a smile. “pauline kick you out of her kitchen?”

“javi’s kitchen,” you correct, to which margot scoffs. margot is two years older than you, but there’s something about the softness of her demeanor that begs you to protect her, nurture her. and so you did, you always did. someone pushed her down in the dirt and you were the first one on your feet. “yeah. i put my foot in her face so she made me set the table.”

you both turn as javi steps through the threshold, silverware in hand. “is she fixing dessert?” margot asks him.

“she bought a cheesecake,” javi says knowingly. margot lights up. it’s her favorite.

you all do little things to protect margot, you suppose. even just to make her smile. where nora is kind in a maternal and popular sort of way, margot is kind in a way that is entirely innocent. a musician by nature, she was humming and being drawn towards a piano early on in childhood. your parents had saved up enough to purchase her a keyboard for her seventh birthday, and she made it last up until she was sixteen, making some of the most beautiful music you had ever heard. she went to a small state school in music theory and was now teaching lessons to the children in your hometown, and you couldn’t imagine a better career for her.

your sisters, they were pleased with the simple lives they were living. well, not pauline, you knew she wouldn’t rest until she was the next donna tartt. but pauline liked to flirt with her desires, not speak them plainly the way you did. margot is pleased teaching with the simple comforts of your hometown, nora settled down fast, a married stay at home mother with a little girl and another on the way. those were the lives they wanted. but not you.

simple had never been in your nature. your voice filled every room that you stepped into, your bedroom was covered in paintings and drawings, shelves full of knick knacks from your travels and books on color theory. you wanted your life at one hundred percent volume, all the time. and most of the time, it felt as though your grandmother was the only one who saw that in you. “you have potential, cherry. don’t let that go to waste.”

pauline comes out in a rush of dark hair and steaming plates. “everyone, sit,” she says, and it’s a command, not a question. and, you all do as she says. you sit down and lean back into your seat, pushing your sunglasses atop your head. it’s not lost on you how javier sits next to you. it feels like there’s a crackle of electricity between you two. perhaps you’re the only one who feels it; if javier does, he certainly has the perfect poker face. pauline finally sets down a large salad before sitting across javi, a proud smile on her face. “alright, well, don’t just stare at it.”

slowly, your family slips into their usual ways. talking and laughing, passing plates and smiling and enjoying the company. it’s all decadent and delightful, and it reminds you of the summer days in your childhood home. certainly not with this level of grandeur, but the energy was the same. sometimes you missed the simple nature of childhood. but the idea of adulthood was so enticing. being able to do what you wanted, when you wanted to. twenty years old and it still felt so new. so enjoyable. you never wanted this feeling to go away.

the chatter settles down and nora’s husband, finn, clears his throat and looks to you. “so, are you liking new york?”

pauline scoffs. you don’t say anything, looking down at your food before your eyes slowly go to your eldest sister. “what?”

“oh, nothing.” pauline cuts at the steak on her plate. “poor finn just doesn’t know what question he’s asked. we’ll be on this for hours.”

you set your silverware down and rest your wrists on the edge of the table, tilting your head at her. “i’m sorry, i guess i don’t know what you mean.” you furrow your eyebrows. “would you like to give him the cliffnotes version, since you seem to be so tired of the story? if you’re going to complain about it, i hope you’ve committed it to memory.”

“cherry…” margot says lowly from the other end of the table, already sensing what’s about to ensue.

pauline gives that smirk you’ve gotten to know well over the years, and turns to finn. “cherry is thriving in the city, with the coolest roommates, sneaking into the trendiest bars. all on our grandmother’s dime.” she looks at javier with a proud smile, but it slowly dissipates when she gazes at him. you turn to sneak a look, and his brows are furrowed, jaw set as he looks at pauline.

you can tell that finn is uncomfortable and you give him a smile. “well, she about covered it.” you clear your throat and toss your napkin onto the plate, looking back to pauline. “you’ve always had an attention to detail. you should go take a look in the mirror, you’re looking a little green. must be the envy.” pauline is already halfway through a rebuttal when you stand and turn, stomping back into the house.

the room you’re staying in has your things strewn about everywhere-- clothing and makeup, your sketchbook open on the bed. you huff and collapse face first onto the soft duvet, taking in the clean scent. like lavender. it’s dusk and the last glimpses of the sun are illuminating the room. pushing yourself up from the bed, you settle back against the headboard. you pout at the sound of knocking at the door. “can i come in?” you hear javier’s voice on the other side of the door.

suddenly, your heart is pounding in your chest. you adjust your hair and sit cross legged, sucking in a breath before saying, “come in.”

the door creaks open and javier’s on the other side with a small smile. “you two put on quite the show.” there’s no malice in his words and you know it, and it’s the only reason that you allow yourself to break with a smile. “can i sit?”

you nod and he sits on the edge of the bed, hands resting in his lap. “if you’re going to tell me i should go and apologize to her, i--”

“that’s not what i’m going to say.” javier shakes his head, eyes settled on you.

“so are you here to pity me?”

“it’s not that, either.” javier scoots closer to you. “i just thought you needed someone on your side.”

the words nearly split your heart into two. javier, who had always picked pauline… picking you? it was the sort of thing you had dreamed of, longed for, desired, for so long.

and that’s when you knew you were falling in love with javier peña.

--

“holy SHIT!” the exclamation takes you by surprise. it’s midafternoon days after your fight over dinner with pauline. nora and finn and the baby have gone home, and your friends were on their way from the city. they were the sort of people you’d always hoped you would meet-- nearly as opinionated as you, loud, boisterous, a terror on the new york city club scene. they’re your best friends. your hair is a mess atop your head as you draw on the front porch, awaiting their arrival. but once you hear the voice of sam, your freshman year roommate and absolute best friend, your drawing is the last thing on your mind. there the three of them are-- absurd amounts of luggage behind them, blowing a kiss to the uber driver. “look at you, fucking artemisia over here.”

a snicker leaves you and you’re coming to meet them in the middle, throwing your arms around them. “oh, i’ve missed you guys.” you say in a hushed and relieved sort of tone. but when you pull back, your face is full of delight and your eyes have a new sparkle in them. “let me help you put your stuff away.”

sam was the sort of person that you never knew that you needed in your life. brash and full of life and spirit, matching your energy from the moment you two met. but down the hall were teddy and esther, and it was when the four of you got together that everything seemed to click. you loved your sisters, truly, you did-- but there was something about the bond of female friendship that was a different sort of sisterhood. you chose each other, every single day-- every single night out, morning spent piled into teddy’s bed with a hangover, gossiping over cigarettes and cheap wine. you chose the bond.

“so…” teddy slips her arm through yours as you step up the stairs, each carrying a suitcase or carry on, your sketchbook tucked beneath your arm, wheels colliding with hardwood. “where is he?”

you smirk knowingly, raising an eyebrow in her direction. your friends had heard all about sweet javier. his charm, his wit-- you’d given explicit details of the mustache over facetime days before their arrival. “he’d gone into town for work, but i think he should be home soon.”

work is a relatively loose term, you note. javier works as an “entrepreneur”, but he plays much more than he works. when you’re born into the sort of wealth that javier has been born into, you figure it’s easy for you to get away with that. for your family, it was never that way. sure, your grandmother was paying for your schooling, but that didn’t mean it was all so simple. you were constantly working your ass off at two jobs, pouring yourself into your art to show that you deserved what your grandmother has given you. prove yourself not to be a failure. great, or nothing, you always said. you wanted to be great or nothing.

javier never had to worry about such things. sometimes you wished you could take the silver spoon from his mouth and put it into your own.

oh, to be wealthy. oh, to not have to worry about how you were going to pay your rent, how you were going to buy groceries for the week. you remember once telling pauline, “i’m going to be a rich man. like cher said.”

javier certainly doesn’t leave you waiting. he enters through the vast front doors just as you all gather at the top of the staircase. one by one, you turn, you standing in the middle of your friends. “welcome back, workaholic.” your lips quirk up and you tilt your head to the side, as if daring him to come up with some sort of rebuttal.

he glances up and his brows are furrowed as he begins climbing the stairs, easily brushing past your friends without a word. your heart drops and drops and drops, straight down to your stomach. being brushed off is bad enough, but being brushed off in front of your friends? you open your mouth to say something to them but pauline comes through the door after javier, slamming it behind her, storming into the kitchen. you can already feel margot’s curious voice asking what’s wrong. with a glance at your friends, you shrug your shoulders and nod them towards your bedroom. “oh, this is normal,” you say with a coy smile, despite it not being normal at all. you can tell something’s off. “they’ll be fine by dinner.”

--

they weren’t fine by dinner.

the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife-- and not just any knife, either. one of those fancy bread knives your mother always wanted that was advertised on qvc. your friends pick at their food and you glance between javier and pauline, wondering what on earth possibly could’ve happened. they each sit at an opposite head of the table, refusing to look at one another. just as you open your mouth to try and break the tension, margot says, “food’s delicious, ladies. thanks for cooking.”

you’d all piled into the kitchen and cooked an excellent pasta dish while pauline and javier each sulked in their respective rooms, margot’s piano a delightful soundtrack. but, once margot had made her way into the kitchen to help with the garlic bread, a disco tune was playing from someone’s phone and each of you danced. for a moment, you had forgotten whatever odd animosity was between your sister and her best friend. but once she had come back down to the kitchen, it was hard to ignore that something was up.

“you did the garlic bread,” you say. dripping with olive oil and delicious in every way-- if food wasn’t a love language, what was?

the rest of the evening is much of the same. margot and pauline do the dishes since you all had cooked, and javier retires to his bedroom. you can tell that your friends are somewhat disappointed-- they’ve heard all about charming and effervescent javier and all they’ve gotten is a grump. really, you can’t blame them for being disappointed. you’re disappointed too.

the summer home has no air conditioning and gets relentlessly hot in the evening. and with four giggling girls all piled into one queen bed, it’s no surprise that it’s sweltering. esther is asleep on the cool hardwood and teddy and sam are asleep atop the covers. it’s nearly two am but you still couldn’t sleep, sitting at the desk, a soft golden light illuminating the pages of your sketch book.

slumping back into your seat, you find yourself distracted by the sound of water splashing outside. standing, you peek out the window to see javier in the pool, rubbing his hand over his face. it’s difficult to see him, but what you can see is beautiful. tanned skin and a sharp jaw, brows still downturned. you turn away and stand at the desk for a few more minutes, looking over at your sketchbook.

you flick the light off and close the door behind you quietly.

--

javier doesn’t notice you at first. you’re barefoot and lingering in the doorway, trying to plan your next move. but he sees you, and when he locks his eyes with yours, it’s the first time you’ve seen him smile all day. “can’t sleep?”

you shake your head and move closer to the pool as he swims to the edge, resting his forearms on it. his cheek is in the palm of his hand and god he’s gorgeous-- you appreciate his beauty because you love and adore him, but you also appreciate it as an artist. hard and soft at the same time, a conundrum that you could stare at all day. you sit beside where he rests, your bare legs dipping into the pool. the coolness is a perfect contrast from the fading summer heat. “no. you know, you’re a rich man, javier, you should invest in some air conditioning.”

he scoffs and chuckles to himself, pushing off the edge. you watch as he dips back below the surface, the silhouette of his body just barely being caught by the moonlight. when he comes back up, he’s beside you again, wiping at his eyes. “i’ll keep that in mind.”

the silence sits between you two, but it’s different than the silence that had filled the air over dinner. it’s quiet in a comforting way. the pavement begins to hurt your palms as you lean back on them, kicking your legs in the water. finally, you lean forward, splaying your hands on your thighs and looking at javier. “why are you and pauline fighting?”

if he’s caught off guard by your question, he doesn’t show it. he sighs and clenches his jaw once more, and whatever happened, it still is visibly affecting him. he looks up at you slowly, lips almost forming a pout. you wish you could kiss him and rid him of whatever emotion is causing him to feel this way. he looks as though whatever it is, he doesn’t want to admit it to you. his brown eyes are wide and you nearly hold your breath. “i told her how i feel.”

you don’t need to ask how he feels. you already know, of course you do. javier would go to the ends of the earth for pauline, and everyone in your lives knows it. javier is in love with pauline and you have sat on the sidelines and watched him love her.

but of course javier would never look at you that way, right? you are the youngest sister, the spoiled one, the comic relief-- even if it’s occasionally a mean-spirited jab towards your sister. javier is a thirty year old grown man and you’re a twenty year old student, and it feels like miles and miles of distance between the two of you sometimes. but most of the time? you look at him and you see your equal.

you can mull over how perfect it would be to love javier however many times you want. it doesn’t mean you’ll get the chance.

you don’t speak, but you don’t have to, as he continues. “she said she doesn’t feel the same, but i just--” he shakes his head and looks up to you. “i don’t understand.”

javier gazes at you and you can see the pure desperation in his eyes. he longs for pauline, in a way that you’ve never seen someone long for another. you nod your head and slowly, reach out to place your hand on his shoulder. “i don’t understand either.”

he turns to look at your hand, manicured nails and all. slowly, he takes it into his hand and he squeezes it, a small smile on his face. “but you know what i do understand?” your words are soft and he raises his eyebrows to urge you on. “she’s lucky to be loved by you. even if she doesn’t see it that way. one day, someone will.”

i would, you think. i will.

javier’s hand still holds yours and it’s delicate and lovely. “when did you get so wise?” he teases.

you shrug your shoulders and before you can comprehend what’s happening, he’s tugging on your hand to bring you into the water with him. you gasp as you go down, completely caught off guard, bobbing up for air. his laughter is a beautiful melody in your ears and you splash him, pushing the hair away from your face. “you’re such an asshole,” you tease, still trying to catch your breath while javier swims around you. “a grade-a asshole.”

“oh, really?” he still moves around you and you turn your body to watch him as he does, nodding your head.

slowly, he stops, coming before you in the water. “yup,” you say, and you pop the p. javier is still coming closer and it’s hard to comprehend. when he’s close enough that your chests are nearly brushing, you can feel your heart thumping like a drumbeat in your chest. “what’re you doing?” you whisper.

he shakes his head and pushes your wet hair back, off your shoulders, his large hand coming to the back of your neck. “i don’t know.”

you look up at him with confused eyes and he looks vulnerable and soft and god you just want to kiss him--

you don’t have to want for it anymore.

his lips are soft and full and perfect for kissing, and god, does he know how to kiss. his grip on the back of your neck is both firm and gentle, keeping you close but not trapped. you feel stupid with your arms at your sides and you place them on his arms. when he pulls away, you already miss the absence, but you don’t have to for long. javier is capturing your lips again and this time it’s needier, desperate, your legs wrapping around his waist in the water and your arms around his neck.

“javi…” you murmur against his jaw when he pulls away.

“fuck.” it’s hot and it stirs something in your belly but he pulls away from you, taking his hands and unwrapping your limbs from his body. he slumps back against the edge with his face in his hands, and you stand there, wet and confused and hoping. when he finally looks back up to you, you can see there’s tears pricking his eyes, and he shakes his head. “i’m sorry, cherry.”

he climbs out of the pool, and for once, you’re entirely speechless.

taglist: @ariespedro​ @gooddaykate​ @and-drew-101​ @thinemineours​

[g0dspeeed]

Unconditional Positive Regard, 4

To finally meet her, Adam Smasher feels relieved. 

Well, kinda.

=====================

Intake

Towering over her with enough girth to block out the sunlight from the street windows was Adam and his dwindling patience. He could feel the hot coals of his temper start to heat up as the terrified receptionist tried desperately to avoid eye contact.

It would be simple, he thought. The only thing that separated his frame from her own was a large desk counter. With one hand he could flip it on her, break some bones and crush her skull if she kept stammering as stupidly as she was.

“Um, do you, do you have the extension number-”

So simple.

“If I don’t know her fucking name, then why would I know the extension number?” he snapped.

“R-Right, um. One, one moment, please, Mr. Smasher, sir.”

Red eyes rolled at her incompetence. Been in the building for less than five minutes and his composure was already diminishing. The receptionist worked quickly on the screen in front of her, her blue optics lighting up intermittently. His glare settled on the frozen form of the other receptionist. She, too, deterred her gaze away from his own and busied herself at her side of the counter.

Pitiful, he thought.

No spine.

“The, the only thing I can see in our calendar is a note about scheduling a future appointment, sir.”

“I know,” he breathed. “Make me an appointment with Services. Now.”

“Oh, we, um, we don’t typically do walk-in appointments-”

“Today you do.”

Adam’s cold stare ended any argument that the receptionist prepared to make.

She pressed a button on a switch board.

“Hi, I have a Mr. Adam Smasher here for a walk-in appoint-Yes, I know that, but he insists to be seen. Well, can you check? He’s at my desk…”

At the receptionist’s rising panic Adam couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Didn’t take much for that fear to kick in. Just a little physical presence and she was malleable to his whim.

A moment later, she ended her conversation and looked up at him with a weak smile.

“They said to wait in their lobby on the Services floor,” she stated.

Without so much as a thank you, Adam turned from the poor woman and headed towards the elevators. He smirked to himself as she exhaled behind him.

Even though the Arasaka Netrunner lacked proper access to the information he sought, Adam wasn’t planning to relent any time soon. For one, the job depended on it. Second, Adam knew that he simply would have to gain intel the more direct way, in an approach that was familiar, easy, and frankly more enjoyable.

Deep, deep, deep in the dark depths of his mind there lied a third reason. A reason that Adam would deny ‘til his dying breath if someone were bold enough to ask. A reason that sounded like curiosity, but actually teetered more so on the line between obsessive and slightly enamored.

But he would never admit that.

Not to a single soul.

The elevator doors opened on the Services floor, allowing the soothing fragrance of flowers to fill his senses. The lobby was empty like before, void of any witnesses as Adam stepped out of the elevator and approached the double doors. There was that same sense of determination in him, one that was resolute on getting this meeting over with and finally answering some of those damned questions that kept him up at night.

However, before he could grab the handle, the doors swung open. Out stepped the same doctor from before, Dr. Estrada, greeting him with that million-eddie smile.

Adam grimaced immediately at feeling the man’s positive attitude rolling off him like radiation.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Smasher,” said the doctor warmly. “May I call you Adam?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’m glad you decided to reschedule. Some of us were worried that you wouldn’t.”

Though annoyed, the doctor’s greeting also brought on a wave of confusion. The words as well as the man’s smile seemed oddly sincere. The doctor’s eyes held a friendliness in them with no hint of any fear or resentment from what occurred in the lobby during their first encounter. Another new kind of interaction, a change that was unsettling to the hardened merc. Those who were on the receiving end of Adam’s wrath seldom stuck around for a round two, let alone approached him with such confidence and genuineness that the man before him showed. Never broke eye contact. Never spoke in a small or mumbling voice laced with anxiety. There was a strong reminder of that initial meeting, however, one that the doctor would have a difficult time hiding. Ugly, purple bruises colored his neck in a pattern that matched the length of Adam’s fingers. His head moved stiffly.

“Have you deposited your weapons into our reservoir?” Dr. Estrada asked. When Adam didn’t respond, his hand gestured towards the reservoir unit and he added, “After they’re deposited, please also turn off your combat cyberware.”

A pause.

Adam squared his shoulders.

“And if I refuse to listen to this bullshit request?” Adam grumbled.

The doctor appeared to contemplate, as if truly mulling over Adam’s question.

“If you choose to refuse, that’s fine. We would have to reschedule for a different date.”

Another pause.

“To be honest,” continued Dr. Estrada, “You could walk in there completely ignoring our request without much issue. Our staff only has defensive cyberware programmed, and not even everyone has the full modifications so there wouldn’t be a lot of resistance. Not really anyone back there has any experience with combat, much less any violence other than that from who we work with, but…”

The man shrugged.

“She still wouldn’t see you,” Dr. Estrada concluded. “She keeps her word, keeps her promises, and when she sets an expectation, she won’t back down. Ever. And that’s just something you’re going to have to get used to, my friend.”

When it became clear that the doctor wasn’t going to offer anything more or elaborate, Adam found himself in disbelief. Again he felt unsettled. The words shocked him in their sincerity and his response, Adam’s own lack of anger or bitterness, was so foreign.

“Who the fuck is she-”

A loud scream cut through Adam’s words, upsetting the peaceful atmosphere of the floor. The doctor’s body stiffened and his hazel eyes lit up as he received new data.

Before the doctor could explain anything, another shriek ripped through the air, this time drawing out longer and with an even higher pitch.

Dr. Estrada’s smile vanished as he quickly exited through the double doors.

The whine of scraping metal echoed beyond the doorway, followed by the floor shaking as if something large and heavy was suddenly dropped.

From his place in the lobby, Adam could hear chaos build and build along the chatter of nervous voices that muttered and called out to one another in hushed tones.

Seeing that it was clear that the doctor wasn’t going to return anytime soon, Adam chose to cross the threshold.

The other side of the doors consisted of a large open space that was attached to several hallways and lined with tall windows. The space itself held many desks with computer screens and office supplies. Adam recognized some of the women from his first visit. Already appearing alarmed by whatever was happening, the sight of Adam Smasher stalking through their office certainly did not alleviate any of their fears. Before he could interrogate them, another scream rang out with enough volume to make him wince. He headed down the closest hall, towards the source of the dreadful noise.

At the hall’s end there was a group of concerned women, Dr. Estrada, and a couple in civilian clothes. The couple was holding hands, both looking more terrified than the others. All stood by an open door. Their postures were rigid.

Dr. Estrada acknowledged Adam as he approached the scene.

Again, before Adam could ask what the hell was happening, another scream cried out followed by a deep, shaky sob.

It was only then did Adam realize that the pained voice was that of a child.

Dr. Estrada motioned for the merc to come closer, though he pressed a finger to his lips as he did so. Adam complied, his eyes peeking into the open doorway to see what the commotion was about.

The room was destroyed. Absolutely torn apart. Books, papers, and other office supplies littered the floor, along with broken glass, a shattered computer monitor, and a large couch completely flipped over and on its side. One piece of framed art hung crookedly above a large dent in the wall, the metal bent and scuffed.

Small whimpers could be heard with breaks of short sobs in between. It was there amongst the wreckage and debris of the office did Adam see two forms huddled behind the flipped furniture. A small child, a girl, stood hiccupping in a pink, frilly dress. Her shoes were gone, but that wasn’t what made her so striking. All of her limbs were artificial, all new and polished chrome.

The girl couldn’t have been any more than five years old.

Her modified hands were gripped into tight fists at her side as she stood before the crouched body of the woman.

Her.

The woman with the golden eyes.

Adam swallowed at seeing her again.

How poorly his memory served in recalling their vibrancy.

Dressed casually in a pair of dark jeans and a graphic t-shirt, the woman spoke calmly to the child.

“You’re very sad that our time is over,” she said. “I see your tears.”

Once more, the girl cried out. Adam winced at the painful noise, but his attention never turned from the woman’s face. The woman did not react at all.

“I hear you,” she stated. “You don’t want to leave, but it is time to go home-”

“No!” yelled the girl. “I-I don’t wanna go home-”

“I know. I hear you, but our special time is over for today. I will see you next week-”

“No!”

The girl’s metal hands then reached out and grabbed the woman’s face. Those in the hallway gasped.

But Adam, without a second thought, stepped forward and completely entered the room.

Both the woman and the child quickly looked up and stared at the large merc as he stood before them.

The child’s anger disappeared, twisting into pure fear at the sight of Adam’s glowering presence. Her small hands detached from the woman’s face as she drew closer to the woman’s body for comfort.

“You’re okay,” chided the woman softly into the child’s hair. “He won’t hurt you.”

“He looks mean,” argued the girl, her wide eyes never turning from Adam’s scowl.

“He does,” agreed the woman, a hint of amusement in her own voice. “But know what else I see?”

With a raised finger, the woman pointed to Adam’s exposed arms.

“This man has a body like yours,” shared the woman tenderly. “See his arms? See his head? See his face? Some of his body is different, too, and that’s okay.”

She winked at Adam playfully. His scowl, though still very much present, weakened slightly at the unexpected act.

“Its time to go home,” the woman repeated, this time a firm tenor to her words. “You can choose to walk with me to the elevator or your parents can help you. You have a choice.”

Stare never leaving Adam, the child nodded her head and took the woman by the hand. As if leading her away from danger, the child pulled at the woman’s hand with a new urgency. The woman mouthed for Adam to wait in the room as she rejoined the others in the hall. The door closed behind them.

Mentally, Adam was already kicking himself over how easy it was for his focus to be deterred, let alone how he reacted to seeing her in person again. Why he decided to insert himself in the chaos with the child, he had no clue. Didn’t give a fuck about children. So long as they stayed the hell away from him, there would be no issue. But something disturbed him in seeing how the child grabbed her, how the woman contained the pain she felt in the child’s sudden hold on her face.

The woman’s words and how they were said weren’t lost on Adam either. Not one bit. How this woman was able to deescalate tense situations and how similar her dialogue with the child was to their own exchange in the lobby infuriated him.

Is that how she perceived him?

Like that of a child?

“Sorry about that.”

Angry red eyes fell upon the woman as she closed the door behind her and began tip-toeing through the mess in the office. A small smile touched her full lips as she went to stand behind a metal desk.

“Sometimes its hard to go,” she continued with a shrug. “And although I appreciate your desire to help, please don’t interfere next time.”

Adam scoffed.

“I’ll do what I want.”

Sensing his attitude, the woman’s smile flattened into a pressed line.

“Yeah, I know, Adam,” she returned. “I know that you’ll do whatever you want. Which is why I’m glad you decided to come back so we can go over how exactly this all will work out.”

“’Bout fucking time,” he groused.

To his surprise, the woman scoffed and shook her head.

Adam immediately crossed the room to stand over her. He savored how far she had to crane her head up to meet his eyes.

“Something I say amuse you?” he challenged darkly.

What he expected was her instant submission.

What he expected was her to avert her eyes like everyone else, to deny she did anything or apologize altogether, and to wait for his next command.

What he didn’t expect was what came next.

“Yes, actually,” she stated, not even hesitating to pay back his hard stare with one of her own. “Yes, I find it amusing that you’re so inconvenienced by your own stubbornness and are trying to blame me for it. You had the choice to cooperate with our policy and chose to strangle my colleague because we held up our expectation, then you have the nerve to come into my workplace, my office, demand for an appointment, and then proceed to complain because of the stalling that you yourself created. Does this normally work for you? This whole standing-over-me-tough-guy routine? Because I can do this all damn day. I really can. Know why? Because I do do this all damn day, but last I checked we both are pretty busy adults and I’d like to not have my time wasted by your outdated ways of handling things. Or is this some kind of foreplay to you?”

Oh.

Oh, where was he to begin with that?

It took every ounce of patience and self-control to not pick her up and shove her against a wall. No one spoke to him like that. No one questioned him the way she did, whether there was some truth to her words or not. Fortunately for her, she was named as a person of importance to Arasaka. Fortunately for her, there were still many questions that she held the answers to, her value in that light being the only reason she still breathed and was alive to argue with him.

“Who,” he began, his voice low and tightly controlled. “The fuck are you?”

A smile, one that hinted at some little victory, he figured, one that somehow made Adam even angrier, pulled at her lips.

“Bothered you, didn’t it?” she said. “Thought it would. You’re not used to waiting-”

“Answer me-”

“I’m Lumen,” she answered. “Dr. Lumen Furi.”

Not bothering to wait for his reply, the woman stepped away from the desk and began tidying up the office. Adam watched as she began making small piles of all the trash and debris, his anger still very much pulsing through his body. Anger from how she was talking to him, how she dared to tease him and make smartass comments in response to his voiced frustration. That anger was there, true, but more so was Adam upset with himself for how he allowed it and how learning her actual name brought some relief.

“The contract,” began Lumen. “Is one that I don’t really like.”

“What is it?”

A sigh.

Her face wore a look of disdain as she turned to speak to the merc.

“I’m conducting research on cyberpsychosis and crisis intervention,” she said. “I want to know if mental health crises are related to cyberpsychosis and even though I think it is, its 2070 and people still think that it’s just a hardware problem. They’re not looking at it seriously, at least not from a mental health standpoint, so I need hard data to prove my theory. And that’s where you come in.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Myself, Dr. Estrada, and some of the other researchers will be working with law enforcement and a Trauma Team convoy to provide crisis support to different neighborhoods in Night City. As you can imagine, it can be pretty risky work and we’re sorta ‘ride alongs’. Trauma Team has enough on their plate and covering our asses isn’t something they need to be concerned about. Arasaka is already backing our research, so-”

“Why?”

She shrugged.

“I guess they want in on the medical market? Not entirely sure. Don’t really care. What I do know is that they offered your services to aid in our groundwork.”

“In security.”

“Yep.”

“For how long?”

“Three months, once or twice a week, depending on the city region and time of day. Starting next week now that you decided to show up.”

His tempter bristled at the snarkiness in that last comment, but he decidedly shifted his focus to the contract instead. The jobs that he detested the most were that of security or protective services. He’d prefer that the only ass he cover was his own, and often the target was too slow, dumb, or fragile to make his job any easier. Although the woman appeared to be in good shape and proved her intelligence in their limited interactions, her ability to defend herself wasn’t clear, not yet. If anything, all she proved to him was that she enjoyed throwing herself in the middle of dangerous situations, a trait that wasn’t valuable to her new bodyguard.

“Fine.”

The word caused the woman to perk up. The sight entertained him.

“But I have limits,” he added. “Hard ones. And if you refuse to abide by them, you’ll either die or this contract is null.”

Her arms crossed, but she looked at him with expectation.

“Going to teach you some basic self-defense so you don’t get yourself killed. Until you do that with me then I won’t allow you to go into the field. Period. Next, I want to know what cyberware you do have and outfit you with defensive cyberware should anyone get too close.”

“Isn’t that your job?” she quipped. “To make sure no one gets ‘too close’?”

“Something tells me that you’ll fuck it all up and I’m not about to let you ruin this for me.”

He caught it. Small, but he saw that flash of rebellion, that grain of resistance, before she checked herself and pursed those lips shut.

“Last,” continued Adam. “You get a tracker.”

“Why-”

“Because I fucking said so. That’s why.”

The two stared at one another with enough intensity to start a fire. She didn’t balk at his stature, nor at how harshly his eyes took her in.

“Might I suggest a compromise?” she questioned.

“I don’t do compromises-”

“Humor me.”

When he didn’t argue, she resumed.

“If I have to have a babysitter, then I also would like a tracker for you.”

“What good-”

“Because I fucking said so.”

At that, Adam couldn’t help himself. He stomped towards her with enough force that she stepped back, pressing herself against the desk. His frame enveloped hers, all black camouflage and large arms caging her in on either side of her hips. Sitting on top of the desk, she gaped with wide eyes up at the furious mercenary, his face inches from hers as he towered over her body in muted rage.

“This is my job, my fucking ass on the line, and I’m not letting anyone, anybody, fuck up all the shit I had to do to get where I am,” he declared, voice shaking. “I don’t give a shit about who you think you are, I’m the one who says how this contract will go. Me!”

That’s it, he thought, his eyes unashamedly studying every curve and how that primal fear shattered that confident front of hers.

That’s what he liked to see.

The fear.

The uncertainty.

He got drunk on it, finally, the sight of her weakness, the proof that she was like everyone else.

Standing so close to her body, Adam picked up on the deep notes of her perfume.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled, a new lowness coating his voice. His body shifted to stand more directly between her knees, causing her legs to spread. “Is this that ‘foreplay’ you were bitching about, Lumen?”

No response came from her at first.

Nothing.

Nothing new for him to be challenged with.

Nothing special.

But just as he felt that familiar burst of empowerment swell in his chest, the woman did something to instantly snuff it out.

Gently.

Kindly.

With a soft hand, the woman reached up and cupped Adam’s face. His own hand shot up to grip her wrist, a hard warning. It was ignored. Completely ignored as her thumb lightly stroked his cheekbone with an easy slowness. He swallowed.

As his smirk fell as did the look of uncertainty from her own face. Golden eyes glittered with something warm, something that Adam couldn’t quite define. A raw energy hummed between them as she held him there, held him in a paradoxical space of peace and a primal urgency to do something more.

A small smile.

“I love your eyes,” her voice said in a near whisper. “Red. They fit you.”

Just as his mouth parted to reply, an incoming call crossed his HUD. Adam moved away from her and the desk as if her hand burned. Her smile remained as he answered the call, the client on the other end simply informing him that he was running behind and would be late to their scheduled appointment.

“I’ll see you next Wednesday,” stated that woman above the sound of the client’s words. “You can go.”

And that he did. Adam held his composure, but never has he left a client as quickly as he did that that day.

[stardancerluv]

Tease

Part One

Summary: You are new to Gotham looking for excitement and you catch the eye of Roman Sionis.

Warning: Drinking, masturbation (F & M!), Reference of Roman being well..Roman! (Face removal reference)

Roman Sionis x Reader

You recently moved to Gotham because you simply could not live another day in boring Metropolis. Enjoying the freedom of being in advertising you could up and move as you wished. You had heard Gotham was fun, exciting. You were eager for a chance. Once settled into your new apartment you headed out to the club everyone raved about, The Black Mask Club. You decided to wear one of your favorite dresses and a pair of your dancing boots and headed over.

Upon entering the club, you suppressed the gasp of how impressed you were. You didn’t know where to look first, the walls with the statues....it was fascinating you loved it.

As you shrugged out of your coat, someone greeted you wondering if you wanted to use the coat check. Deciding it was for the best, you did it then made your way over to a table. Sitting, then you mulled over what you wanted to do first, have a cocktail or dance first.

As you settled into table, you watched as he approached. He was one of the most attractive man you had laid your eyes on. He looked exceptionally sharp in a black suit with a silver thread pinstripes. He was the kind of attractive that made you feel like you got a punch in the stomach.

“Hello, welcome to the Black Mask this evening. Is there anything, I could to make your evening all the more enjoyable?”

His voice was just as appealing as he was to look at. But damn, she thought hoping he wasn’t one of those annoying waiters. At least, you would get an order in.

“I would love a champagne cocktail.”

He twirled his finger, he barely finished when a waiter was at your table. “The lady here will have a champagne cocktail and I will have my usual.” He hurried off.

You rose an eyebrow.

He smirked. The drinks were served shortly, with a flare you didn’t expect he grabbed the glasses and handed you, yours.

“I am the owner.” He held up his glass. “Cheers.”

You were pleasantly surprised. “Cheers.”

Taking a sip, you smiled “That is fantastic.”

“I only want the best in my club.” He sipped at his. “So tell me, I didn’t catch your name?

You took another sip and then pit the glass down. You easily closed the distance between you two. “I didn’t give it.”

“Does that mean I have to earn it?”

You gave him, what some had said to you in the past was one of your most alluring smiles. “Yes.” Standing that close to him, you were enveloped by the scent of his cologne. It made him all the more appealing.

You easily brushed against his arm as you moved closer to the dance floor.

“Where are you going?”

“I came here to dance and to have some drinks.”

“I see.”

“Do you dance?”

“I do.”

With that, part of you hoped he would follow. Reaching the dance floor, it wasn’t long before you did realized he had following with how people moved as you walked.

Turning, you smiled as soon you were flush against him. The music swirled, entwining around you and him. You happily took his lead, following his movements. All you focused on was his ocean blue eyes. Speaking was no longer important as you two moved. You rather enjoyed being against his solid body. His height, over you also made it all just right. Your eyes, never broke as you moved. As the two of you moved the more your heart raced and breathless you became, you liked how it felt. It had been a long time.

Though quiet sometime later it all came crashing down as a still tall but shorter man then Roman with white blonde hair came over.

“Excuse me, boss but your appointment is here.”

At the man’s words, you felt as his grip on you tightened. He apparently didn’t want to stop touching you as much as you didn’t want to let him go.

A look, something had crossed his face, annoyance frustration.

“The price one pays to be a night club owner.” You quipped.

“Tell them I will be right over.”

“Certainly.”

“So, are you going to tell me your name?”

“After a few mere dances?” You teased.

The look that crossed his eyes you enjoyed. Something about this cat and mouse was very satisfying.

“Just so you know I would love another champagne cocktail.”

He twirled his finger once again. “This lady will have another champagne cocktail.” He smiled. “Whatever she want else she wants even if its another, she is to have it. It’s on me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait..what?”

He held up his hands innocently. “Yeah. You’re night is on me.” Then he pointed at you and winked. “And I will find out who you are.”

Finally you got back to your table and sighed, relaxing. You cocktail showed up shortly after that, but you inhaled it easily enough. “I will have another.”

You did that two more times times. Wanting to dance more, you tried to play it as cool as possible but you looked to where he sat for his meeting. You really hoped he had stayed in the club.

Then you found him, the sight of how he sat took your breath away, he rested both arms behind him on the cushions, his legs were spread comfortably apart sitting there made you crave to be there between his legs.

Feeling playful, you found a place that you were sure, would be in his line of vision. You let the music rule you. Turning, your eyes met and you never broke the look, especially as you allowed your hands to drift over your body, wishing they were his hands.

You felt amazing, more alive then you had in months.

When you realized it was close to three in the morning and you had to be up by nine and his meeting was still going on, you realized you really should be going. Or you would regret it.

Grabbing your purse you headed over to the coat check but not before leaving a nice tip.

You slipped into your coat, “You’re leaving.” a voice behind you made you jump which resulted in a deep chuckle.

Turning, you smiled seeing him behind you. “I am.” You knotted the belt of your coat.

You gasped as he reached out and pulled you closer to him by your belt.

“After the show you put on?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Now it was time for you to act innocent.

He managed pull you closer till your faces were mere inches apart. A smirk curled his lips

“I enjoyed watching you tonight. But next time, I might not be so thrilled to watch.”

“Who says that there will be a next time?”

He a gloved finger to your lips. “There will be and you will tell me your name.”

Perhaps because of the cocktails or perhaps because of him bringing it out of you, but you slid your tongue up his finger.

You met his eyes, then turning you went out the doors, and got into your taxi that brought you back to your apartment.

You shimmed out of your coat, then pulled off your boots. That’s when you realized being surrounded by all that was familiar. You could smell him. He lingered on you.

The sweet throb he brought you between your legs grabbed you violently. You couldn’t take it anymore. Practically, collapsing into one of your chairs you lowered and raised part of dress. As your hand dived into your panties, they were soaked through.

You moaned and arched barely touching yourself as your mind swirled remembering how good he felt, how good he looked.

You rubbed yourself hard and fast. Panting, you quivered, biting your bottom lip.

Soon you could feel yourself getting so close, running faster and faster you finally came hard as you did so his name broke your lips.

*****

Roman, couldn’t believe what you had done to him. He made his way over to the elevator and made it up to his personal rooms. He went to his private room, he didn’t want to risk any interruptions. He tore had his suit jack, he pulled his tshirt free of his pants. He practically tore off his gloves. Then he undid his belt and lowered his zipper and took himself out. Damn, he no one had ever made him that hard that fast with so little.

He began rubbing the length of himself. Damn, your body had felt so good against him. He squeezed his eyes shut. He could still remember how you looked when you danced by yourself. He knew with full confidence that you did that for him. The way your hands moved, he wanted his hands to be where yours had been.

“Fuck,” he finally screamed as he came hard, his cum shot hard and fast out of him wishing he was filling you.

“Fuck,” he muttered out of breath. “You will be fucking mine.” He promised and relaxed into his chair.

*****

The rest of your week, had been hard. You could not stop thinking of him. At night, his name would break your lips as you came hard as you rubbed yourself hard imagining him.

Toward the middle of the week, you almost went to the club. You didn’t want to appear desperate. It was on a conference call at work, you had to mute yourself when your desire for him grabbed you. You came hard looking at then Gotham skyline imaging what Roman could do to you.

*****

Usually in the afternoons, he would schedule some kind self care. When he would get a massage, a small amount of botox to take away the headaches that running things did to him or even a facial but these last afternoons he canceled it all. He simply disppeared into his rooms.

He knew with a crook of his fingers any of his dancers or any girl he’d look at would be more then happy to help him relieve what you caused in him. All of them paled to how your body felt against his when you danced. To be honest, he wasn’t really for using women like that. It would make him feel dirty. He had to say no quite a bit over the years.

Today was no exception, however before he could lock himself away, he had to deal with some unpleasant people. They had threatened his turf. One didn’t mess with what was his.

“Send their face to their boss.” He gave a twirl of his finger. “Maybe he will know better then to try and take his area on the marina.”

He made it quickly back to the Rolls, “Go.” He motioned with his hand then taking his handlerchief out he dapped and rubbed away the blood that had splattered on his face.

Once upstairs, he shed his clothes in his wake as he made his way to his large walk in shower. He turned on the water so it was just hot enough. He was already hard as the water hit him as he imagined you on your knees in front of him. He wanted to make you beg. He wanted you to want him as much as he wanted you. With one hand supporting him on the black marble. He rubbed himself. The water pelting him, running down his face and back. He felt his body tightening. “Oh fuck!” He growled and came hard. Breathing hard, he went and leaned his forehead against the cold marble as he continued to shake in the aftermath of cumming so hard. “You will fucking be mine.” He breathed.

@spn-obession @vintagemichelle91 @ewanfuckingmcgregor @thehybrid666 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @angel98624 @emyliabernstein @rosionis​  @johallzy​ 

[avauntus]

Supernatural - a retrospective

This is super self-indulgent, and I have so much else I’ve promised-- I owe a long-fic rec post, and ao3 comments, wip work, and that’s just my fandom stuff I’m behind on. *sigh*

But it’s late on a Saturday and now I’ve finished Supernatural, I want to share what I think are my top few eps, and a few other comments. I promise some of this will be different from the “greatest hits” you probably usually see, and I’ll try to make it worth your time. *wry smile*

Look, we have to have categories like: “Most Likely to Live in My Head Rent-Free for the Rest of my Life” and “Most Likely to Inspire Unnecessary Fanfiction” that are different from “Favorites,” because that’s just the cursed energy this show has. ;-)

My top five

#5 - 13.01 - “Lost and Found”

Written by: Andrew Dabb | Directed by: Phil Sgriccia

In fandom, this is most often referred to as the start of the “Grieving Widower” arc, tongue-in-cheek. Also has Alexander Calvert (Jack) walking around completely in the nude for the first third of the ep. (Neither of these are why this is in my top 5, but he has a good story about wardrobe for his ‘first day.’) 

I didn’t expect much out of this episode the first time I watched it, but I’ve gone over this ‘section’ of the show maybe 3-4 times in my Netflix catch-up, and I watch this one in full every time. From Jack being...not at all what anyone expected and an unsteady vindication, to the stunning cinematography (there’s a post that compares shots to Brokeback Mountain, but I think the shots here might be better), to the sheriff who takes the time to remind her deputy that “...there’s no such thing as ‘weird.’ Everyone’s normal in their own way,” to the slow reveal of exactly how hard the events of the previous night (12x23 - All Along the Watchtower) are hitting Dean and Sam and in different ways...(how long the episode takes to reveal to you how Dean fucked up his hand, and what he was saying when he did. Augh!) The Winchesters are trying to rally, but they have been taking hits for a long time, and the cracks are showing.

 #4 - 15.06 - “Golden Time”

Written by: Meredith Glynn | Directed by: John F. Showalter

Supernatural  has a terrible track record with representation in all stripes. It is infamously consistent in killing off anyone minority, female, or non-White. One of the interesting things about the chaotic meta-narrative of season 15 is you can see the lack of fucks some of the writer’s room had to give about not even being subtle about tearing down that type of ‘White-male-hero-journey” now that they were in a literal “what will they do, fire me?” situation.

I’m a Cas fan, and this episode, which gives him an actual, ‘case-of-the-week’ hunter’s narrative where he gets to save the day on his own, successfully, was wonderful. I love that for him! But more than that, for me, this episode is emotional to me for other reasons-- the way Dean and Cas circle around each other on their angry phone call (with the body language! They are broadcasting so LOUD and neither can see because they’re on the phone!), Sam’s story here, where he’s inheriting things from Rowena that allow him in turn to save Eileen, to Cas’ speech and quick anger at the lake when you reflect on his entire journey of self-realization from a soldier of blind faith to an agent of free will... “You selfish little men in your positions of authority...” I just... *clears throat, grabs tissue* 

#3 -  6.20 - “The Man Who Would Be King”

Written & Directed by: Ben Edlund

Speaking of Cas’ journey... I know some folks don’t like the angst and drama of the ‘Heaven and Hell’ plots of Supernatural, but I am here for it. Oh, did we need another reason to include this episode? This has some of the most metal quotes I have heard from any TV show. Ever.

I mean, look at this:

“If I knew then what I know now, I would have said: Freedom is a length of rope. God wants you to hang yourself with it.”

“Explaining freedom to angels is a bit like explaining poetry to fish.”

The delivery of: “It's not too late. Damn it, Cas! We can fix this!” “Dean, it’s not broken!” is one of those Supernatural bits that will live in my head until the end of time. All of Edlund’s episodes are among my favorites, but this (along with “5.04 - The End”) was on another level. 

#2 - 5.16 - “Dark Side of the Moon”

Written by: Andrew Dabb & Daniel Loflin | Directed by: Jeff Wollnough

I think of this episode every time  I hear Bob Dylan sing “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” This is kinda a giant montage episode, but the connecting concepts are so...satisfying. 

“Heaven is your favorite memories.” “ It’s called the axis mundi. It’s a path that runs through heaven. Different people see it as different things. For you, it’s two-lane asphalt.” “This is your idea of heaven? Wow, this was one of the worst nights of my life.” “I don’t think I realized how long you’ve been cleaning up Dad’s messes.” “It’s awesome to finally have an application—a practical application—for string theory.” “Everyone leaves you, Dean. You noticed?” “Why is God talking to me? Gardner-to-gardener, and between us, I think he gets lonely.” “You son of a bitch, I believed in... ” Whoosh.

#1 - 4.01 - “Lazarus Rising”

Written by: Eric Kripke | Directed by: Kim Manners

So...this is the episode where Castiel, angel of thee Lord, shows up. And that’s primarily why it earns the no. 1 spot, because 80% of my enjoyment of Supernatural from this point on was Cas-adjacent. Plus this entire episode just hits. ALL OF IT. Dean’s homecoming. Ruby, my darling. Bobby’s entire vibe. Pamela Barnes, easily one of the most interesting women Supernatural ever introduced. Cas being so hot to say “Hi” to Dean he forgets he wounds people. 

But beyond that-- the way the show writes their ‘oh, by the way, angels’ narrative! If you haven’t seen this episode, would you believe me if I told you that THIS EPISODE, the episode where Supernatural said “canonically, Judeo-Christian Heaven is real, btw” involves no churches but does involve a séance, a soulmark handprint brand, and a himbo angel that “gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition”...but they were all “no homo, guys” for years?

Truly no one was out here doing it like Supernatural even back in 2008.

Others--

15.18 - “Despair” 

“Most Likely to Live Rent-Free in My Head for the Rest of my Life”

Written by: Robert Berens | Directed by: Richard Speight, Jr.

You know why this episode is here. It broke reality. I could be wrong-- but I’d put good money on this episode being the subject of academic theses in the future. That doesn’t automatically make for interesting story, but...

Has there ever been a case, in a mainstream US TV show where a major lead character (Cas) came out as queer so late in the game in a narratively-important way? I’m not aware of it, but I might just be behind on my television.

This episode has great writing, and (blessedly) amazing direction and blocking anyway. Check out the above gif - that is some next level foreshadowing going on in the cinematography, and this isn’t even the most remarked upon shot in this episode. (Seriously, I had to search for 40 minutes for this gif, please respect my game, lol.) Everyone who was involved in 15x18 is giddy talking about their investment, from the costume designer to the actors to the director to the writer...

...And then a bunch of them steadfastly have avoided posting much Supernatural-related since. So that’s...loud. There is a bunch of subtext in this episode that is screamingly loud; there is a bunch of text in this episode that makes several things clear fandom has been chattering over for years and years. The meta-commentary around this episode continues, months later. There are over 700 fics on AO3 with this episode tag.

I have more to say about the themes of ‘free will’ and ‘love’ and ‘identity’ tied to this episode, but seriously-- you’ve probably read 17 versions of it on Tumblr already, so.

This is the last time we see Cas, and the last time Supernatural can claim anything close to narrative consistency. For that alone, it’d earn free head-space.

Runners-up: “4.20 - The Rapture”; “5.04 - The End”; “7.21 - Reading is Fundamental”; “8.21 - The Great Escapist”; “9.06 - Heaven Can’t Wait”; “12.19 - The Future”; “14.08 - Byzantium”

6.17 - “My Heart Will Go On”/8.07 - “A Little Slice of Kevin”

“Most Likely to Inspire Unnecessary Fanfiction”

Written by: Eric Charmelo & Nicole Snyder (6.17); Brad Buckner & Eugenie Ross-Leming | Directed by: Phil Sgriccia (6.17); Charlie Carner (8.07)

Usually the show kills off it’s “one-episode” female characters, but do you know one time it didn’t? When the Moirai (the Fates - specifically Atropos, the shearer of the Threads of Fate) showed up in canon in 6.17. She was posited to have “two older sisters that were bigger than her- in every sense of the word,” ...and Castiel had to back down when she challenged him to a cosmic game of chicken over the Winchester’s lives.

Then they never returned to that idea again. 

“A Little Slice of Kevin” is on here for the opposite reason -- an amazing idea that was really underwritten in the episode it showed up in. Dean Winchester has been dragging himself across the fabric of universes; the literal Word of God is in play in a warehouse in Middle America; Cas is back from Purgatory, but what does that mean, micro and macro? As a person on the street, what would it mean, or feel like, to learn you were a Prophet of the Lord, uncalled? That what you are, everything you are, is a cosmic contingency?

Maybe Fate has an opinion on all these shenanigans?

Perhaps all that doesn’t make sense, but it certainly made an impression on ~2012 me. To this day, it remains the WIP I can open up and fool myself with the ‘twist.’ I wish I remembered where I was going with it so I could finish it.

Runners Up: “2.20 - What Is and What Should Never Be”; “5.04 - The End”; “6.15 - The French Mistake”; 12.12 - “Stuck in the Middle (with you)”; “13.05 - Advanced Thanatology” “14.03 - The Scar”; “14.10 - Nihilism”; “15.15 - Gimme Shelter” ... and “15.20 - Carry On” (obviously)

Fifteen seasons. There were plenty of other episodes I loved that didn’t make these limited lists. But overall -- thank you, Supernatural, for the run. Even if I’m upset at the ending, I can appreciate the game. If you watch the show, what were your favorite episodes?

[lady-griffin]

So, I just saw Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn)

Really fun and very enjoyable. It’s a pretty great movie in my opinion and is just a fun “superhero” movie.

I feel like the word “fun” kind of undercuts this movie, but it really was fun and just a good film to watch. 

I had a great time.

And I feel like you can tell this movie was clearly written and directed by women with women in mind. Which as a woman, I greatly enjoyed. 

I’m sure this movie will probably rub some guys the wrong way, just because of that alone, but honestly it’s a good movie. I don’t think it alienates men or discourages them from watching it or enjoying it. 

If you can’t enjoy this movie, because the characters aren’t “sexy” enough, then that’s on you.

And speaking of that. The Outfits.

Harley Queen and Black Canary have style, I want their clothes. Oh my god, do I want their clothes. Just so stylish and it works with who they are as characters. 

Cassandra, Renee and Huntress have clothing that looks comfortable and works with their characters as well, and Renee and Cassandra’s clothes really makes them look like actual people and normal woman.

Which is nice! I like it when you have female characters who clearly are different and dress differently. It feels ridiculous when you have a show or movie or comic, where you're suppose to believe all these “very different” female characters all love wearing supery sexy stuff all the time. 

I’m not against ladies dressing sexy, but it has to fit with the character and not just cause of the male gaze. 

Also Roman/Black Mask gets some serious style points. 

Bird of Prey is a fun, violent movie wear badass ladies beat and murder their way through Gotham City. Go and see it. 

It comes highly recommended by this random internet chick.

Also, there isn’t an after-credit scene just a Harley Quinn voice over. The music is good in the credits, so if you want to stay, you can, but honestly you can skip it. 

Spoilers Below

The movie does make a few choices that bug me. You know how in Suicide Squard, they spent like the first 30 minutes (maybe more) introducing characters. 

This movie does that too. Kind of. 

Honestly, now that I think about it, it does work a lot better here. Much better than I was initially thinking.

For one thing, the way the characters are introduced works with the plot and what’s happening and overall are pretty quick. For the main characters it’s fine. But Harley and her narrative kind of introduces everyone and their cousin.

But unlike Suicide Squad, this movie doesn’t stop everything to introduce a character with like a 2-3 minute character trailer/ad. 

It’s not awul or anything, but I could’ve lived without it. It worked well and was humorous at times, but it did bug me to a certain degree. 

And on that note, Harley has kind of Deadpool thing with her narration. I just think it was the wrong balance for this movie, it should’ve been in the movie either some more or some less and it probably would’ve worked better. It just seemed a bit off to me. 

I kind of wished Harley’s narration was just in the beginning and in the end. 

But let’s get into the characters

Harley Quinn/Dr. Harleen Quinzel

If you enjoyed her in Suicide Squad, you will definitely enjoy her here. She’s fun, she’s wacky, she’s violent and crazy, and she does have a bit of a heart. She has a soft-spot for the kid. 

It’s definitely Harley’s show. But I’m not mad at it. I think without Harley no way this movie (with the other characters) would’ve been greenlit. No way. But now, maybe...I’m certainly not oppose to the idea.

So while Margot Robbie is definitely making sure the spotlight is on Harley Quinn, the light does get shared. 

Also her action scenes were so good, I mean she really gets to shine and it’s just awesome. Really amazing action scenes that really do the character justice I think, truly some amazing fight choregraophy. Just Excellent. 

And honestly I just want a Gotham Sirens movie with her, Poison Ivy and Catwoman even more now. 

Oh, and while not Bud and Lou, I love me some Bruce and Harley. 

Black Canary/Dinah Lance

If anyone has watched Arrow and has been annoyed, frustrated, angry or sadden how that version Black Canary is not like Black Canary at all. Then I think you will love Jurnee Smollett-Bell’s Canary. 

I certainly did. 

She’s not the star, but she has a nice on-going story of how she doesn’t want to follow in mother’s footsteps of being a dead hero. Basically she doesn’t want to get involved in anyone’s bullshit, but can’t help herself or is force to get involved. 

They have a scene where they hammer that in a bit too hard. It was unnecessary, I felt like just by watching her scenes you get her story, without the details. 

She has some amazing style. She wears a few suits and boy not only do I want her wardrobe but also goddamn, was she sexy. You can see why Zsasz was nervous about her stealing his boss/lover away. 

I mean really the only negative thing I can say, is that she makes me hold a grudge against the Arrow show, because their version of Black Canary has got nothing on this one. 

I would love to see more of her. 

Huntress/ Helena Bertinelli

I greatly enjoy Huntress or the Crossbow Killer (loved that). I would say out of the other ladies (minus Harley obvi), she really does hold her own and her story while is as interconnected as everyone else’s to the main story, it just pops a bit more. 

A badass assasin murdering mob bosses/ goons to avenge her family, who also happens to be one social awkward baby.

Loved that dichotomy. I laughed several times at that. Just great stuff. 

It’s hard stricking the right balance in having a badass character and scenes/moments that undercut them for humor. And they struck it here. Really well done. 

She was such a delight. 

Really Mary-Elizabeth Winstead does such a great job as Huntress.

Other versions of her character don’t really seem to get the whole wanting to murder everyone who was responsible for her family’s death, in my opinion, because they also want her to be sexy. Here sexy isn’t really her thing and that’s more than okay with me. 

The other birds think she’s a badass and I bet every other women (and hopefully some men) in the audience think so too. 

I certainly want to see more of her, especially with Black Canary. 

Also this Black Canary and Huntress and their dynamic come so close to ousting my favorite versions of them from Justice League: Unlimited. Which is a big compliment. 

Renee Montoya

A cop with some serious issues, who maybe isn’t doing her best and probably has a drinking problem, but she’s trying okay. She’s trying. 

She’s an intelligent detective who knows her shit and does not get the respect she deserves from her colleagues. Due to combination of both sexism and her own personal problems. Luckily for her she found some new colleages who have their own issues. 

I certainly enjoyed that her problems at works seemed to be a combination of sexism at the work place, but not entirely, Renee is flawed. Wonderfully so. 

Rosie Perez brings the more human element to this movie with her Renee and is a nice grounded contrast to the others. It’s also nice seeing her more grounded style of fighting. 

Sometimes the scenes with her weren’t great. They sometimes felt forced, particulary the one with her and Canary and her trying to convince Canary to be like her mom. I could’ve lived without that.

That being said the movies has fun, pointing fun at her and basically saying she’s an 80s cop movie come to life. Which I liked. 

Cassandra Cain

I like the character, don’t get me wrong, but this is not Cassandra Cain. And it does bother me as a huge Batman Comic fan. It just does.

I feel like they should’ve based her on some minor character from the comics or hell just created a new character. BTAS did that with Harley Quinn in 1992, so why the fuck not.

That would’ve worked so much better in my opinion. Sometimes rewriting a character works, here it feels odd. Because I don’t get why they decided to call this character Cassandra Cain.

Honestly, remove the Cain part from her name and you have a great little apprentice for Harley, who brings her own moxy to the table.

Ella Jay Basco does a great job holding her own as a screen partner against Margot Robbie. And she did such a good job protraying a street kid who thinks she can handle shit, to a scare kid who is way over head. 

It was nice watching all these badass ladies keeping an eye out for Cassandra.

The characters reminds me a lot of Jade from Jackie Chan: Adventures. I mean both characters eat a valuable object and a bunch of bad people are willing to cut them open. Just saying. 

If you’re a big fan of Cassandra Cain, I would suggest just ignoring the times they say her full name and try to think of her as a different character, named Cassandra. 

Roman Sionis/ Black Mask

A murdering psychopath who thinks everyone and everything belongs to him. He’s power-hungry, cruel, violent and sadistic and is plenty messed up in the head. You see enough to get the picture and they don’t elaborate nor do they have to. 

He wears some amazing clothes, by the way. I liked this version of the character a lot. Even when he’s being nice and friendly, you know that he can snap at any second (which he does). He does not have it together. 

He doesn’t steal the show, but that’s a good thing. He’s a good villain, that allows our girls to be the perfect heroes/anti-heroes to his villany.

Victor Zsasz

Boy does he have it bad for Roman. He is very jealous and you know he wants to kill anyone who steals Roman’s attention away from him. A different kind of Zsasz, but enjoyable. 

I love the rivalry between him and Black Canary, or what he percieves as a rivalry.

Female Empowerment/Some Reviews

So some reviews, I’ve seen basically say they don’t like this movie or have problem with it, because this kind of “female empowerment” has been done before and isn’t good or isn’t as good as it thinks it is. 

And while, it’s not untrue that violent women willing to murder are not the greatest role models, I also am a bit annoyed at these reviews.

I mean, this movie does have a girl-power vibe to it without a doubt. 

But it feels more like the message is -- 

Girl are Awesome. Here are some awesome ladies with varying degrees of violent tendacies, who are badass and who all should definitely know a therapist aside from Harley Quinn.

I don’t think girls have to violent to be badass, especially not in real-life, but I also don’t think female characters can’t be violent or angry. And 3 out of 5, weren’t starting anything or actively seeking violence at least not to the degree of the other two.

Also, it’s an R-Rated movie about a villainous comic book character...I mean, what were you expecting. 

I understand the issue some people are having with this film, about women-empowerment and the celebration of violence and I don’t disagree with that.

In my opinion, the women-empowerment comes less from the violence and more from the fact that you had women as the center focus who were all pretty different and unique, and all of them had clear individual stories being told that created the plot of the movie. 

For me, the movie was saying here are some awesome comic book characters who are also women, enjoy watching them beat and murder their way through Gotham City. Also enjoy them kicking several men in the balls, it’s quite fun. 

I had great time with this movie. 

So I hope people see it and I hope they have a good time. 

[ill-will-editions]

STANDING UP AND WALKING OUT - Virginie Despentes (2020)

The following text appeared last week in French on Liberation.fr. Written on the occasion of Roman Polanski winning best director at the Cesar Awards (the french Oscars). Protests and clashes with police took place in the streets outside of the venue, while others attending the ceremony disrupted it from within. Overlapping with the French state's decision to use an emergency decree to push through an unpopular pension reform, this short polemic turns Polanski's award into an allegory for all the cruel abuses of power by the elite class in 2020. (CW: rape).

Let me begin like this: to the powerful, to the bosses, to the big shots—rest assured, it hurts. No matter how much we know, no matter how well we know you, no matter how many dozens of times we’ve taken it on the chin from you, with your arrogant power—still, every time it’s painful. All this weekend we’ve listened to you whine and cry, complaining that we’ve left you no choice but to pass your special laws, your article 49.3 [1], that we won’t let you celebrate Polanski in peace, that we are spoiling your party. Yet beneath all your whining Jeremiads, it’s obvious you’re not really worried. You can barely conceal your smug satisfaction that, at the end if the day, it’s you who remain the real bosses, the kingpins. The message is loud and clear: this notion of consent, it isn’t going to fly with you. What would be the fun of belonging to the clan of the powerful, if one suddenly had to start taking the consent of the dominated into account? And I am certainly not the only one who feels like crying out in rage and impotence at your recent show of force, certainly not the only one to feel sullied by the spectacle of your orgy of impunity.

It’s no surprise that the Academy of Caesars awarded Roman Polanski the best director prize for 2020. It’s grotesque, insulting, and despicable, but it’s not surprising. When you give a guy more than 25 million to make a TV movie, the message is in the budget. If the fight against the rise of anti-Semitism interested French cinema, it would be clear to see. On the other hand, the voice of the oppressed who want to take responsibility for telling the story of their own ordeal is obviously quite a drag for you. So when you heard about a subtle comparison some had made between the case of a filmmaker who was heckled by a hundred feminists in front of three movie theaters and that of Dreyfus, a victim of French anti-Semitism at the end of the last century, you jumped at the opportunity. Twenty-five million for this parallel. That’s great. We applaud the investors, since everybody had to pony up to come up with a budget like that: Gaumont Distribution, tax credits, France 2, France 3, OCS, Canal +, RAI... hand in hand, and generous, for once. You close ranks, you defend one of your own. The most powerful intend to defend their prerogatives: it’s part of your elegance, rape is the foundation of your style. The law protects you, the courts are your domain, the media belongs to you. And that’s exactly what the power of your big fortunes is there for: to control the bodies declared subordinate. Bodies that keep quiet, that don’t tell the story from their point of view. Now comes the moment for the rich to pass along their lovely message to us: the respect owed to them now extends to their cocks, stained with the blood and shit of the children they rape. Whether in the National Assembly or in culture - there  will be more hiding, no more feigning embarrassment. From us, full and unwavering respect is demanded. That goes for rape, that goes for your police brutality, that goes for the Caesars, that goes for your pension reform. It's your policy to demand silence from your victims. It comes with the territory, after all, and you see nothing wrong with using terror to get your message across. Your morbid enjoyment, above all. And you tolerate only the most obedient servants around you. It’s no surprise that you crowned Polanski: it’s always money that’s celebrated in these ceremonies, cinema doesn’t matter. The public doesn't matter. It's your own money-making power that you’ve come to worship. The massive budget you  bestowed upon him was a sign of your support - and through it, your power commands its respect.

In commenting on this ceremony, it would be useless and inappropriate to separate the bodies of cis men from those of cis women. I don't see any difference in behavior. It is understood that the grand prizes continue to be awarded exclusively to men, since the basic message is: nothing must change. Things are fine the way they are. When Foresti leaves the party and declares she is “disgusted,” she doesn’t do it as a woman - she does it as an individual who risks turning her whole profession against her. She does it as an individual who is not entirely subjugated to the film industry, because she knows that power will not go as far as emptying its own theaters. She’s the only one who dares to make a joke about the elephant in the middle of the room, one for which anyone else would be kicked to the curb. Not a word about Polanski, not a word about Adele Haenel. For months you’ve been annoyed by the fact that a part of the audience has been heard, for months you’ve suffered because Adèle Haenel has taken the floor to tell her story as a child actress, from her point of view.

All the bodies sitting in the auditorium that night have gathered for one purpose: to verify the absolute power of the powerful. And the powerful love rapists. I mean, the ones who look like them, the powerful ones. We don’t like them despite the rape and because they’re talented. We find them talented and stylish because they are rapists. We love them for that. For their courage in claiming the morbidity of their pleasure, their stupid and systematic impulse to destroy the other, to destroy everything that truly touches them. You take pleasure in predation, it’s your only understanding of style. You know very well what you’re doing when you defend Polanski: you demand that people admire you even in your delinquency. It is this demand that makes all the bodies during the ceremony subject to the same law of silence. They blame political correctness and social networks, as if this omertà just emerged yesterday and it was the feminists’ fault, when in fact it’s been fixed this way for decades: during French film ceremonies, you never joke about the susceptibility of the bosses. So everyone keeps quiet, everyone smiles. If the child rapist was the janitor or the cleaner, he would be shown no quarter: police, prison, thunderous declamations, spirited defenses of the victim and general condemnation. But if the rapist is a powerful man: respect and solidarity. Never speak in public about what happens during the castings, or during the rehearsals, or on the set, or during the promos. It’s something that can be told, it’s something that’s known. Everyone knows it. The law of silence prevails every time. It’s by respecting this rule that we select our employees.

Even though we’ve known all this for years, the truth is that the arrogance of power always catches us by surprise. That's the beauty of it – your filth – it works every time. It’s still so humiliating to watch the participants take turns at the podium, whether to announce or to receive a prize. You necessarily identify yourself – not just me, who is part of this seraglio, but anyone watching the ceremony, you identify and you are humiliated by proxy. So much silence, so much submission, so many eager to be servile. We recognize ourselves. You feel like dying. Because at the end of the exercise, we know that we are all employees of this big mess. We are humiliated by proxy when we watch them remain silent, when they know that if Portrait of the Girl on Fire didn’t finish with any  major awards in the end, this is entirely because Adèle Haenel spoke out: it is a matter of making it clear to the victims who might want to tell their story that they would do well to think before breaking the law of silence. Humiliated by proxy that you dared to summon two directors who have never received and probably never will receive the best director award to present the prize to Roman fucking Polanski. Himself. In our faces. You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Twenty-five million, that's more than fourteen times the budget of Les Misérables, and the guy can’t even get his film into the box office as one of the five most seen films of the year. And you reward him. And you know very well what you’re doing – that the humiliation suffered by a whole section of the audience who understood the message very well will extend to the next prize, Les Misérables, when you call the most vulnerable bodies in the theatre to the stage, those who are known to risk their skins at the slightest police check, and that if there are not enough chicks among them, we can see that they are not lacking in intelligence and we know that they know how direct the link is between the impunity of the rapist celebrated that night and the situation in the neighborhood where they live. The directors who award the price of your impunity, the directors whose price is stained by your ignominy – same struggle. As employees of the film industry, they all know that if they want to work tomorrow, they have to keep quiet. Not even a joke. That’s the spectacle of the Caesars. And the coincidences of the calendar mean that the message is valid on all fronts: three months of strike action to protest against a pension reform that we don’t want and that you’re going to force through. It’s the same message from the same circles to the same people: “Shut up, shut up, your consent is in your ass, and you smile when you see me because I’m powerful, because I have all the money, because I’m the boss.”

So when Adele Haenel stood up, it was sacrilege on the march. A troublemaking employee, one of those ones won’t force herself to smile when people trash her in public, who won’t force herself to applaud the spectacle of her own humiliation. Adèle stands up, as she has already stood up, to say here’s how I see your story of director and his teenage actress, here’s how I lived it, here’s how I wear it, here’s how it sticks to my skin. Because you can tell it to us in all shades, your stupid separation between man and artist - all victims of rape by artists know that there is no miraculous division between the raped/rapists body and the creative body. You carry around what you are and that’s it. Go ahead and explain to me how I should check the raped girl inside me at the door before I start writing, you buffoons.

Adèle stands up and walks out. On the evening of February 28th we didn’t learn anything we didn't already know about the great French film industry, but we did learn how to wear an evening gown: like a warrior. The same way you strut on high heels: like you plan to tear the whole building down; like how you walk: back straight, shoulders open, and your neck stiffened with anger. The most beautiful image in forty-five years of the ceremony is that of Adèle Haenel descending the stairs to exit and applauding you. It’s an image of someone dipping out, after telling you where you can stick it. I’d give 80% of my feminist library for that image. Adèle, I don't know if I’m female gazing you or male gazing you, but I am love-gazing at you on a loop on my phone for walking out like that. Your body, your eyes, your back, your voice, your gestures all said: "yes we’re the dumb bitches, we’re the humiliated ones, those who are supposed to shut our mouths and take our lumps from you, you’re the bosses, you have the power and the arrogance that goes with it but we aren’t going to just sit here and say nothing. You won’t get our respect. We’re outta here. You guys can go ahead and do this shit with each other on your own. You can celebrate, humiliate each other. Kill, rape, exploit, smash everything in sight. We’re standing up and walking out of here. It’s probably a harbinger of the days to come. The difference is not between men and women, but between the dominated and the dominant, between those who intend to confiscate the power of narrative and impose their decisions, and those who will stand up and walking out screaming. That is the only possible answer to your policies. When things don’t go well, when they go too far, we stand up and walk out shouting, and you can feel insulted, even though were are the ones with the short end of the stick, even if we have to take your shitty power to our face every day. You should know you are despised, that you disgust us. We have no respect for your masquerade of respectability. Your world is disgusting. Your love of power is morbid, your power is sinister., You ghouls. The world you’ve created, and over which you pathetically rule, is unbreathable. We’re standing up and we're walking out. It’s over. We’re standing up. We’re walking out. We're shouting. Fuck you guys.

***

[1] The French government recently announced it might invoke emergency provisions in order to jam through its highly unpopular pension reform bill. --Trans. 

[hookedonapirate]

We Own the Night

Summary: It’s a shame she’s so bloody beautiful in her low cut, curve-hugging red dress and black high heels, her green eyes glinting with mischief and her golden hair cascading over her shoulders as she leans into him. It’s a shame how sexy she is while she flirts with him and how adorable she is when she giggles and whispers in his ear, almost marking him with her red lipstick as her hand gently caresses his bicep, the warm breath against his skin making his heart race. In ordinary circumstances, they’d be engaging in more enjoyable activities, but unfortunately, he has to arrest her.

A/N: This fic is a result of research for a different undercover cop au and an old post floating around on Tumblr that actually happened, from what I've heard. To avoid spoilers I can't say what the post was, but this fic is my own version of it. When I post the second part of this (there will be a total of two) I'll let you know what post I'm referring to.

Though this story is based on real events, I'm not an expert on undercover work, so please forgive me for inaccuracies.

Thank you @ilovemesomekillianjones for betareading!

Also Available on: AO3 l FF.N

Rated: Explicit for crude language and possible smut.

Part One/Two

Best pussy I ever had—Huntsman69 

 The derogatory remark is followed by numerous others, all very sexually explicit in detail of Huntsman69’s experience with a high-class sex worker named Buttercup. Comments like she has nice tits and gives an amazing blow job. Encouraged by other online Discord members, the host goes on to say that even though she enjoys men pulling her hair from behind as they fuck her, he prefers her in the missionary position so he can gaze into her forest-green eyes while he fucks her.

 How romantic.

 Killian rolls his eyes, but he really isn’t surprised by the language or the lengthy details. He’s been participating in this Discord server for the last few weeks, establishing a presence under the pseudonym CaptainHook by engaging with fellow Discord users who are all from Seattle and are johns or potential johns looking to buy sex. At first, it had been difficult to sound like a john, to get into that type of persona. Most of the men in this particular hub are crass and unashamed. It’s like they’re reviewing fast-food restaurants—she tastes delicious, very tight and wet, offers a free blowjob on the side, all you can eat, best piece of ass in the city. The objectification of women angers and saddens him, but as the mantra goes, to find a criminal, you have to think like a criminal. Or in this case, to find the seller, he has to think like a buyer.

 Fantastic. Where can I find her?—CaptainHook

 She works for Cinderella Escorts—Huntsman69

 Before Killian can respond, he sees that below his message, Huntsman69 is typing. A link pops up a few seconds later.

 She charges the big bucks but WELL WORTH!—Huntsman69 

 Thanks, mate. Sounds like a good bang for your buck :-P—CaptainHook

 Oh it definitely was ;-)—Huntsman69 

 Killian clicks on the link to the ad and braces himself for whatever obscene, demoralizing photos that might appear, but what he finds is neither obscene nor demoralizing. There’s a photo of a woman lying on a bed, clad in red lingerie. She is breathtaking. Soft forest green eyes like Hunstman69 had said, golden blonde hair, beautiful ivory skin. She’s dressed in red lace, and even though her lingerie shows off her lean stomach and a long, gorgeous pair of legs, it still leaves a lot to the imagination. She is a high-class escort after all, which means she charges more than the average street hooker. And based on her appearance and Huntsman69’s graphic depictions of the escort, her business is very lucrative. 

 Killian is fraught with emotion at the idea of this woman subjecting herself to such a lifestyle. One that involves selling her body to pay her bills or because she was coerced or forced into it. His heart breaks for this woman, for all of these women, but he has to shove his feelings aside and focus on the mission—to make it harder for pimps to sell sex and for clients to buy it. 

 Seattle, Washington is currently ranked as one of the top five promiscuous cities in the United States. In response, King County Sheriff David Nolan is behind an initiative, leading a series of stings coordinated with other jurisdictions over the course of several weeks to promote a permanent change in police practices. A permanent change on the streets of King County. Which means undercover cops from different locations swarm in, working two fronts—the streets and hotels—posing as either a prostitute or a client to target both the demand and supply side of prostitution. Killian’s particular job is to pose as a john to scour out sex workers in Seattle, arrest them, but not penalize them. Instead of locking them up, he is to offer them counseling and job training through Sheriff Nolan’s Women’s Justice Program. The clients will however be ticketed and heavily fined, but the ordeal will not result in a criminal record. Sixty percent of the fines collected from the clients goes to support the program.

 This undercover job is not Killian’s first, but it’s certainly the most perturbing one so far and will hopefully be the most rewarding. He is proud of being a part of something aimed at helping women and reducing solicited sex and human trafficking.

 Making up his mind that Buttercup is one of the women he will help, he fills out the form to request her services; he enters a date, time, location and which escort he prefers. He submits the form and is contacted less than an hour later and agrees to meet the escort tonight at Kimpton, a luxury hotel on Aurora Avenue.

 As he closes his laptop, there’s a knock on the door, and he gets up to answer it. He opens the door and is surprised to find his brother on his doormat.

 “Liam…” His eyebrows furrow in confusion as he scratches his head. He told his brother he’d be staying in Seattle for a job, but his brother never mentioned he planned on visiting him. Probably because he knew Killian would’ve told him not to. He has a job to do and doesn’t need any distractions while he’s here. “What are you doing here?”

 Liam’s smile fizzles into a frown. “Nice to see you, too.”

 Killian steps aside, pulling the door open to let him in. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you,” he murmurs apologetically.

 “I wanted to surprise you, little brother. You’re always gone, so I thought I’d pay you an unexpected visit.”

 “But, you know that I’m working, right?”

 “I know.” Liam pats him on the shoulder as he passes Killian, carrying a bag over his shoulder. “I just thought you could use some company.”

 Killian closes the door and sighs. He doesn’t need his brother here blowing his cover. “Listen, the job I’m doing is undercover, so my cover can’t be blown.”

 “Relax, I’m not going to break your cover. So, are you going to tell me exactly what the job is?”

 “Sorry, but I can’t.” Technically he can, but he doesn’t feel comfortable telling Liam he’s posing as a john because knowing Liam he’d want to ride along, and that was obviously not going to happen. 

 Liam pouts like a child but accepts Killian’s answer.

 Killian gets ready for the sting. He has to look like a rich, businessman since that’s the usual clientele of Cinderella Escorts, according to Huntsman69. He’s not sure how reliable of a source that is, but he supposes if a man’s going to pay a high-end escort service for sex, chances are he’s not some poor, homeless guy. So he dresses in a sleek, black suit, fixes his hair and adjusts his tie before heading out the door.

 ~*~

 Killian shows up at the hotel and walks into the bar where he’d agreed to meet Buttercup. Searching around the dimly lit room, his eyes fall on the only person at the bar counter—a woman in a red dress and long, golden blonde hair. Immediately identifying her as Buttercup, he swallows the large lump in his throat. She’s drinking champagne and one leg is crossed over the other, her tiny red dress showing off those long, silky white legs, and the shiny black high heels on her feet. His heart actually stutters. 

 He closes his eyes briefly, coaxing himself into thinking like a john and having that mindset. He is not a cop, he’s a lonely man looking for a good fuck with a gorgeous woman. 

 As he strides across the room, his stomach is full of nervous butterflies, for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. He’s spoken to beautiful women before, but he’s never been intimidated by them. Somehow he’s more intimidated than he’s ever been in his life, and he hasn’t even met her yet. He walks up behind her, praying his voice doesn’t give out on him as he places his hand on her back, speaking in a deep, husky tone. “If I’d have known there would be alcohol involved, I’d have joined you sooner.” 

 She trembles at his touch and turns her head to grace him with a soft smile. 

 Good God, her photo didn’t do her a bit of justice; she’s even more breathtaking in person.

 Placing the glass on the counter, she swivels the bar chair around, shifting her body toward him. Her soft smile transforms into something more seductive as her hand reaches for his tie, the pad of her thumb circling idly over the fabric. Her eyes roam down his body before connecting with his, and all the air escapes his lungs as he peers into her dazzling green orbs. “If I’d have known you’d be so handsome, I wouldn’t have felt the need to start drinking.”

 He flashes a big, toothy grin, slipping into the stool next to her, remaining within touching distance. He leans in close, resting his arm across the back of her bar chair, and licks his lips, his eyes scrolling down her body. Her breasts are fantastic, her decolletage showing off ample skin, and her dress is so short, he can almost see her panties between her legs, if she’s even wearing any. His heart is pounding as he boldly moves his hand to her thigh. She gasps at his touch, her legs shaking slightly, but as his eyes meet hers again, he can tell she’s not opposed to his touch. She welcomes it, her eyes glazing over with lust. Normally he wouldn’t be so brazen, but that’s the point. He’s not Officer Killian Jones, he’s a client who’s about to pay this woman a large amount of money to show him a good time. He’s going to milk this act for all it’s worth. 

 He leans in to whisper in her ear, his lips only centimeters from her skin as he tightens his hand around her thigh, his fingers slipping under the hem of her dress until his thumb is dangerously close to her center. “Trust me, love, you don’t need any alcohol to have an enjoyable time with me.”

 Her breath catches in her throat, a pink blush spreading across her cheeks. “I have no doubt about that,” she murmurs, a wicked smirk crossing her lips. “In fact, I normally charge $2,000, but since you’re cute... $1500 will do.” Her hand reaches for his thigh, her fingers roaming over his slacks until she’s inches away from his crotch and has a firm grip on him as she whispers in his ear, “I’ll even throw in a free blowjob.” Her voice is decadent, her words reverberating through him; he can feel it in his stomach. She pulls her lips away slightly and flicks her tongue along the inside of her cheek to make it look like she has his dick in her mouth.

 A low groan rises from his throat as he murmurs in her ear, “Mmmm, I’d love to have those gorgeous red lips wrapped around my cock.” His entire body shudders at the thought. “But truthfully, I’d pay more just to look at you.”

 “So, you mean, I could already be charging you?” she quips with a playful smile.

 “Perhaps,” he teases, smirking against her earlobe.

 She blushes, her hand moving to his chest, feeling his heart beating underneath her palm. Her touch is full of heat, even through his dress shirt, and he can’t help but enjoy their little banter, even if it is part of the job. At the same time, he can’t help but wonder if there would be so much heated tension between them if this were an actual date. If he weren’t undercover and if she weren’t a prostitute. 

 This whole situation is a crying shame.

 It’s a shame she’s so bloody beautiful in her low cut, curve-hugging dress and black high heels, her green eyes glinting with mischief and her golden hair cascading over her shoulders as she leans into him. It’s a shame how sexy she is while she flirts with him and how adorable she is when she giggles and whispers in his ear, almost marking him with her red lipstick as her hand gently caresses his bicep, the warm breath against his skin making his heart race. In ordinary circumstances, he’d be engaging in more enjoyable activities with her, but unfortunately, he has to arrest her.

 The thought pains him even though it shouldn’t, considering he’s basically arresting her for show, to scare her. He won’t actually be throwing her in jail. Hopefully, he’ll be able to help her on the path to a better life.

 “Come back for a nightcap, or shall I find someone else?” he asks, regretting the words as they fall from his lips, but he wants tonight to be over with. To rip off the bandaid so to speak. This woman is very enchanting, and he’s afraid the longer he’s around her, the more his resolve will weaken, and he won’t want to go through with this. Which is ridiculous because he’s doing this for her own good.

 She doesn’t appear to be offended though and instead dons a lascivious grin. “Trust me, you won’t find anyone better for the job.” With those words said, she slips from the stool and makes her way across the bar, adding a seductive sway in the movement of her hips. His eyes are drawn to her perfect little ass like a magnet.

 She turns her head, her eyes holding a come hither stare and her lips curving into a crooked smirk. “You coming?”

 He grins cheekily and stands up, quickly making his way to her. He places his hand on the small of her back, brushing his fingers over the fabric of her dress as he speaks in her ear, “Not yet, but believe me… I’m almost there.”

 She shoots him a satisfied smirk and they head up to her room, unable to keep their hands off each other. His hands on her hips and hers on his chest, their lips ghosting over each other, the heat rapidly rises between them. The evening is an act they’re playing out, as they’re both just doing their jobs, but the attraction between them is real, and even though he wants to get the night over with, he’s not looking forward to the inevitable end.

 They’re still clinging to each other once they’re in the room. Buttercup’s hands are latched onto the lapels of his suit jacket and his arms are still wrapped around her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

 “So, what are my limits, love? Because I’m imagining having you in every... possible... position,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to her lips.

 “For you… I’ll do anything you want,” she replies, fluttering her long black lashes as she eyes his mouth. “I’m all yours for the night.”

 “Am I allowed to kiss you?” He realizes it’s not necessary, but the heat between them is so addicting and his mind is foggy with lust, he loses himself in the moment. 

 Before she answers, he chases her mouth with his, but she pulls away and presses her index finger to his lips, a big, toothy smile gracing her beautiful face. “Easy tiger. First, there’s a matter of payment.”

 “Of course,” he says with a smile, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. He pulls out his wallet, being careful not to expose the police badge tucked inside as he fishes out the cash. 

 As he’s extending the bills to her, instead of taking them immediately, she’s pulling him to her by the lapels of his suit jacket, crashing her lips into his. He elicits a low growl and wraps his arms around her, still clutching onto the bills in his hand as she slips her tongue in his mouth to taste him. Overwhelmed by the heat surging through him, he deepens the kiss and tightens his hold. Her body is pressed deliciously against his and he’s sure she knows he’s as hard as a fucking rock.

 “God love, I want to fuck you,” he groans against her lips. Her mouth is sweet, she tastes like champagne and her tongue is soft and warm; he doesn’t want this to end, but unfortunately, it has to. The deal has been made, and now it’s time to bust her. The problem is, he can’t stop kissing her.

 So it’s probably a good thing when she’s the one to break it, leaving them both gasping for air. He chases her lips again, but she pulls away to take the cash from his hand. “Me too,” she breathes, her voice cracking as she licks her lips, her thumb running over the crisp bills as she studies them in her hand. “There’s just one problem...”

 “What’s that, love?” he asks trying to hide the panic in his voice. Did she figure out he’s a cop?

 She looks up again and leans in, her lips ghosting over the shell of his ear as she whispers, “You’re under arrest.” 

 Wait, what? That was supposed to be his line.

 His features cloud with confusion as he tries to process her words. Is she joking? Is she just into roleplay and wants to play out a fantasy of hers? Yes, he deems. That’s all her words had meant. “Sorry love, but you’re under arrest,” he shoots back firmly with a hard look, letting her know he’s serious.

 She laughs. “Nice try, buddy.” The door flies open and two guys with badges around their necks burst into the room.

 Before he’s able to process what’s happening, they’re pulling his hands behind his back and slapping cuffs around his wrists. 

 Buttercup pulls out her badge, showing it to him. “Officer Emma Swan.”

 Killian blinks in disbelief. She’s a cop too? His mind is reeling with the events leading up to this moment. How had he not figured it out sooner?

 ~*~

 Five hours ago (Emma’s POV)...

 “Best pussy you ever had? Really?” She's not asking out of curiosity, more like disgust.

 Graham shrugs, his features clouding with confusion as he logs off and shuts the computer down. “What? You told me to sound like a creepy pervert.” A smirk crosses his lips. “Besides, it’s not a lie.”

 Emma rolls her eyes, blush spreading through her cheeks. Okay, maybe she was a little curious as to whether he was being truthful or just baiting the fish.

 He chuckles at her reaction and stands from the desk chair. “Oh, come on, lighten up, Emma. It worked, didn’t it?”

 “I thought it was very creepy and pervy of you,” Ruby compliments with a flirty grin as the three of them head out of the apartment to meet up with Jefferson down the hall. When her brother had asked her to go undercover in Seattle, she rented out a monthly apartment with Ruby in the same building as Jefferson and Graham.

 Emma rolls her eyes.

 When Jefferson joins them, they head over to the hotel where several male cops gather in one of the rooms and several female cops, including herself and Ruby, meet in the room across the hall, dressed like prostitutes. 

 Emma’s made several busts already. Before she took this job, she’d never seen a grown man cry, but now she sees at least one every night in a mess of tears when he finds out she’s not actually a prostitute and she instead slaps him with a ticket and a heavy fine. Being a cop has hardened her over time, and now she’s looking forward to seeing CaptainHook on his knees begging her not to arrest him. When the men get on their knees and beg—that’s what makes the whole job worth it. A faint smirk pulls at her lips at the thought.

 ~*~

 Present (Killian’s POV)...

 “Wait a bloody minute,” Killian barks out in irritation, struggling against the cuffs. “This is a big misunderstanding. I’m a cop too.”

 Emma’s mouth opens in shock. After a few seconds of processing his words, she narrows her eyes, studying him carefully, trying to decipher whether he’s lying or not.

 “Check my wallet. I’m doing an undercover job for Sheriff Nolan,” he states.

 Her eyes widen as she glances between the two officers still holding him, before her eyes land on Killian once again. “You’re working for my brother?”

 The one on the left nods at Emma. “Check for a badge,” he instructs, speaking with an Irish accent.

 She reaches into Killian’s jacket, pulls out his wallet and opens the flap, revealing his badge. She sighs in exasperation, dropping her hands to her sides. “He’s telling the truth.”

 “Wait, you mean, we just arrested a cop?” the officer on the right asks, amusement laced in his words.

 Killian grins cheekily. “Aye. Officer Killian Jones at your service.”

 The other two men laugh as Emma lifts the wallet to study his badge again, shock and irritation still visible in her lovely features. “So, let me get this straight… this whole night was a waste?” 

 “Apparently so,” Killian replies, equally irritated. The night was not a complete waste though. He met Emma after all.

 She lifts her eyes, regarding him with a blank expression. “Uncuff him.”

 As one of the officers releases him from the cuffs, Killian can’t help but wonder whether she’s relieved he’s not a john or if she’s just simply annoyed. He mutters a thank you as he pulls his hands in front of him, smoothing his fingers over his wrists. 

 “Here, you probably want these back,” Emma says, handing him the cash and his badge.

 “Indeed. I had to fill out a ton of paperwork for this,” he says appreciatively, holding up the bills before tucking them back inside his wallet. He’s relieved Emma is not actually a prostitute, but he’s also thoroughly confused as to why she’d kissed him. Sure, he’d basically asked her to, but she didn’t have to go through with it. The cash was in his hand. He stares at her for a moment, narrowing his eyes. “So, tell me something, love—since you’re not actually a prostitute, why did you kiss me?”

 Killian can now see the officer emerging from his left, who has brown curly hair. He steps between Emma and Killian, his eyes darting back and forth from one to the other. “You kissed him?!”

 Killian suppresses a grin when he sees how jealous the man is. 

 Emma shrugs. “What’s the big deal? I was just really getting into my role. I don’t do things half-ass, you know that.”

 “You certainly don’t,” Killian remarks with a smirk. 

 Emma looks at him, smiling and blushing.

 The brown-haired man glares at Killian, blowing out a huff of air before walking away. Killian has to wonder if the man has feelings for her, or if they’re dating. If they are dating, the kiss with another man was definitely crossing a line. Especially since the kiss was unnecessary, and once again he wonders why it happened. But he’s not complaining. He shakes off the thought as another one crosses his mind. “So, how was your ad posted on Cinderella Escorts?” he asks Emma.

 “The website is fake. He designed it,” she says, pointing at the brown-haired cop. “The other girls on the site are also cops.”

 “And Huntsman69?”

 The jealous cop raises his hand. “That would be me.” Putting aside his petty jealousy for the moment, he lowers the same hand, extending it to Killian. “Graham Humbert.” 

 Killian experiences his own dose of jealousy as they shake hands, even though he has no right to be jealous. But he can’t help but wonder whether Buttercup—whether Emma was actually the best pussy he ever had. Has Graham actually experienced gazing into her eyes while fucking her?

 “This is Jefferson,” Graham says to Killian, introducing him to the dark-haired cop.

 “Nice to meet you,” Killian says, shaking his hand.

 “You too.”

 “Well, I’m done working for the night. Want to get something to eat?” Graham asks Jefferson.

 “Sure, I’m starving.”

 “How does North Star sound? I could go for a beer and a burger.”

 “Sounds great.”

 Graham looks at Emma. “You coming?” 

 She averts her eyes to Killian as Graham approaches her, awaiting an answer, ready to head out the door. Killian’s jealousy flares up in his chest again as the other officer places his hand on her back like he’s claiming her as his. 

 “Wait, can I speak to you a moment, Emma?” Killian asks, not only because he doesn’t want to let her get away so quickly, but judging by how uncomfortable she looked when Graham asked her to join him, how even more uncomfortable she looked when Graham put his hand on her and how relieved she appears to be now, he’s also doing her a favor.

 She nods and looks at Graham and Jefferson. “You guys go. I’ll meet you there.”

 Graham doesn’t appear to be too happy as he glares at Killian. “What do you need to talk to her about that you can’t talk to us too?”

 Emma rolls her eyes. “Graham, I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

 Graham sighs in defeat. “Fine, we’ll get a table.”

 “Okay,” she responds, but Killian’s pretty sure she’s only agreeing to meet them at the diner so he will leave. After Graham and Jefferson are gone, Emma walks up to Killian and crosses her arms, waiting for him to speak. If she’s relieved Graham’s gone, she doesn’t show it, so Killian can’t help but wonder the question that’s been eating away at him.

 “Are you and Graham…” he pauses, immediately regretting the question before he even finishes it. He has no right to ask. “I mean, I know it’s none of my business, I was just wondering if…”

 “If I was really the best pussy he ever had? You’re right, it is none of your business,” she says curtly.

 Killian’s cheeks burn scarlet as he scratches behind his ear, stammering over his words. “I know… I was just… I was just curious is all. You two seem close.”

 “We used to date, but it didn’t work out, and I ended it. Relationships with colleagues never work.”

 Killian nods. “Ah, I see. I didn’t mean to pry…”

 “You did, but it’s okay,” she says with a shrug. “I can see why you’d wonder. He still acts like we’re together,” she sighs.

 “But still, I shouldn’t have asked. Sorry,” he apologizes with a small smile.

 “It’s fine.” She dismisses his words with a wave of her hand, walks to the square breakfast table and faces him, leaning her back against the edge of the surface. He’s relieved his question didn’t run her out the door. 

 “So, you’re David Nolan’s sister?” he asks, desperately wanting to change the topic for both their sakes.

 She nods, her demeanor softening as she looks at him. “Yeah, I was adopted by his parents when we were kids.”

 “Must’ve been a little awkward having your brother ask you to go undercover as a prostitute,” Killian chuckles, slipping his hands into his pockets.

 “Yeah, it was, trust me,” she laughs, and there’s an adorable spark in her eyes as her cheeks turn pink. As hot as she was as a fake prostitute, she’s completely adorable and cute as Officer Emma Swan. “Especially since he’s usually overprotective. Which is why I’m working fancy hotels instead of the streets and why he calls me every day to check up on me and give me several warnings about what to expect while I’m on the job,” Emma says, rolling her eyes. “It’s quite annoying.”

 “I can imagine, I have one of those too—a protective brother, I mean. David seems like a good guy though.”

 “He is, he’s always been there for me, so I really wanted to help him out when he told me about the initiative to reduce prostitution in the county. And hopefully, help women get out of the lifestyle.” 

 “Aye, love, it’s not the job I’d envisioned doing when I became a police officer, but perhaps it will be rewarding in the end.”

 She nods in agreement. “I’m sure David will get a good laugh when he finds out about this.”

 Killian blushes and smiles. “I’m sure he will.”

 “I would say we could just not say anything, but Graham’s probably already called to tell him.”

 “Yes, perhaps, but you know him better than I do,” he teases.

 “Yeah, unfortunately,” she retorts with a smirk. 

 He removes a hand from his pocket to scratch behind his ear, his stomach tight with nerves. Though a comfortable air has filled the room, he’s still nervous to be around her. Especially since he thought she was a prostitute about ten minutes ago. He moves to the table, leaning his back against it next to her as he crosses his arms. “I have to say, I’m relieved you’re not actually a hooker, love.”

 She turns her head, eyeing him with a raised brow. “Why’s that?”

 “For one, it’s not a life I wish on any woman. Two, you’re too pretty to sell yourself for $2,000.”

 Her cheeks are flushed as she averts her eyes. “Thanks, I think,” she laughs.

 “Relax, it’s a compliment,” he chuckles. “I have to admit though, you’re quite the actress. I had no idea you were a cop.” 

 “Yeah well, you’re not so bad yourself,” she says, playfully nudging his elbow with hers, making his heart flutter. “Maybe we’re in the wrong profession.”

 “Maybe,” he agrees with a soft smile, his voice cracked. He clears his throat, trying to ignore the effect she has on him and uncrosses his arms, bracing his hands against the edge of the table on either side of him. When his arm brushes slightly against hers, she doesn’t pull away, nor does he.

 “I’m curious about one thing though, love…”

 She looks at him curiously. “What’s that?”

 “The kiss was a little unnecessary, don’t you think? I mean, I was handing over the cash, so you could’ve just arrested me then, but instead, you kissed me…” Killian braces himself for her answer. He hopes he doesn’t piss her off, but judging by the shameless smile she offers him in return, she’s not the least bit upset.

 She shrugs nonchalantly. “As I said, I don’t do things half-ass.” 

 “That’s what you told Graham to appease him. So, what’s the real reason?”

 She lets out a small laugh, her cheeks flooding with blush. “You really want the truth?”

 “Aye.”

 Sighing in defeat, she leans toward him as though there are other people in the room and she doesn’t wish for anyone else to hear as she murmurs in his ear. “I thought you were cute, and I really wanted to kiss you. Is that bad?”

 Killian’s cheeks burn crimson, a smug grin pulling at his lips. “No, love, not at all.”

 “So, why did you ask to kiss me?” she retaliates, pulling away, her eyes dancing with curiosity.

 His grin widens if possible. “For the exact same reason you kissed me.”

 “The real one or the fake one I gave Graham?”

 He swallows thickly, gazing into her eyes, getting lost in them. “The real one.”

 Emma smiles and blushes profusely, either because she’s flattered by his confession, embarrassed by her own, or both. She pushes herself away from the table, quickly changing the subject as she turns around to face him. “So, was there something else you wanted to speak to me about or were you just curious about me and Graham?”

 “There’s something else...” Killian replies, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Perhaps tonight isn’t a complete waste.” 

 Emma studies him carefully, lifting a brow as she plants her hands on her hips. “I’m listening.”

 He taps his thumb nervously against the tabletop, his heart racing as he prepares himself to ask her something he’s wanted to ask her since he found out she was a cop. But he can’t seem to find the courage, so instead, he covers it up with another question. “What if we teamed up? Perhaps we can get more accomplished by working together?”

 She purses her lips, thinking about his offer for a moment. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually.”

 He pulls away from the table, closing the distance between them. “You heard of the Unicorn on Pike Street?”

 His question seems to grab her attention; she suddenly perks up, her eyes widening as she stares at him in slight bemusement. “You mean where they serve carnival food and magical cocktails? Of course I have. But aren’t we a little overdressed for that?”

 He shrugs. “Perhaps... but do you really think the night can get any more awkward than it already is?”

 Emma laughs. “Absolutely not.”

 “So, let me buy you a drink and a corn dog? Or were you actually planning on meeting Graham and Jefferson?”

 “You mean my possessive ex-boyfriend and his best friend?” Emma shakes her head. “I’ll pass on that gathering, thanks.”

 Satisfied with her answer, he playfully cocks a brow. “So, you’re saying you’d rather get sick on corn dogs and go into a sugar coma from an order of unicorn droppings and sweet alcoholic drinks with a cute guy you just met half an hour ago?”

 A big smile takes over her face. “Sounds perfect.” 

 A relieved grin crawls across his lips as he offers his elbow. She loops her arm through his, and they head out the door, both looking forward to working together and perhaps something more. 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #256

song lyrics here.

Would you date someone who still lived with their parents? Well considering I still live with my mother, I'd be quite the hypocrite if otherwise. Are you a generous person? I personally think so. Do you have a close relationship with your family? With my mom, extremely. Do you think there is life on other planets? Well, define "life," I suppose. Bacteria, stuff like that that science defines as life, yes. Complex life, I don't know. Would you enjoy a night of playing video games? Fuck yeah. Are you sexually attracted to any inanimate objects? ???? No. Would you watch a porno with your partner? UH NO I'm personally not at all interested in porn, and I feel it'd be awkward anyway? Have you ever stolen from your work? No. How much does intelligence turn you on? I guess like your average person that finds intelligence attractive. Do you ask someone out or wait for them to ask you? History shows it varies. Do you own any sex toys? No. Do you talk about your sex life with either of your parents? Well I don't have one now, but historically, I very timidly have with my mom about something. Generally though, I don't. I keep that very private. Do you search someone on the Internet before a first date? No. How often do you use Facebook at work? I'm unemployed. Do you enjoy television or movies better? That's hard, but maybe movies. I don't really watch either, but movies, when they have a good plot, are usually more enjoyable. Would you consider donating your body to science after you die? Sure thing. I personally want to donate my organs and have the rest cremated, though. Are you a romantic person? Yeah. Would you be okay with your partner hanging with their ex as friends? It would seriously depend on the depth of their relationship, where they're hanging out, how long... that kind of stuff. I am very serious about letting your partner have friends, including w/ the gender they're interested in, so I try to be open-minded here. Are you careful with your money? It's hard to even say with how seldom I have any. Do you like to be friends with someone before dating them? Absolutely. Do you like soccer? No. Is it more fun to go out just with your date or on a group date? Depends. I'd say I USUALLY prefer uhhh... single dates? How often do you go dancing/clubbing? Never. Is marriage a necessity for two people who love each other? Uh, no. Do you meditate? No. Have you ever been fired from a job? No. Is there anything you think science will never be able to explain? The soul. Do you cook fancy meals for dates? I don't cook. You don't want me to. Is intoxication ever an acceptable excuse for acting stupid? Fuck no. Do you believe in an afterlife? Probably. Do you litter? NO. Would you have sex with someone hot who you hated? nO????????????? Do you have a career plan? Kinda, but who knows when the fuck that's coming true. Do you mostly cook your own meals? Well, I mostly microwave stuff. I never use the stove or oven. Could you live with someone who was really messy? To a certain degree, no. Do you believe in fate or destiny? No. Have you ever had sex with someone you worked with? No. Would you date someone just for the sex? Nope. Have you ever had a one night stand? No. Have you ever lied about the number of sexual partners you’ve had? No. Are sex and intimacy the same thing? "Sex is just one example of intimacy. There’s other ways to be intimate, including ones that don’t involve being sexual at all." <<<< Exactly this. Have you ever played strip poker? No. How often do you get angry? "I’m someone who gets irritated, moody, upset, and frustrated often, but not angry." <<<< Also this. Do you consider yourself an emotional person? VERY MUCH SO. Is work important to you? Considering how harshly I shit on myself for not having a job, most certainly. Have you had cosmetic surgery? No. On a first date do you pay or do they? In every experience but with Sara, they did. I only paid on Sara's and my first date out of trickery lmao. Do you only date people who have jobs or are full-time students? No. Could you date someone who does drugs? Nope. Medical marijuana is fine, though. Have you ever been to a sex shop? No. Have you ever had a threesome? Nah. Do you enjoy discussing politics? Noooo. Would you do a striptease for your partner? WHOA I would feel WAY too awkward gd. Would you date someone who doesn’t have a car? Yeah. Is it wrong to watch porn if you’re in a relationship? That depends on the people in it. Some mind, some don't. Idk how I'd feel it if was my partner. Do you think men should pay for everything on dates? Hi, it's 2020. Women don't need to be "taken care of." Would you tie up a partner if they asked you to do so? Yeah. Have you ever had sex in a public place? No. Would you date someone twice your age? No. Should a child caught masturbating be punished? It'd be weird at a certain age, but no. It's normal to explore sexuality and what you like, and perhaps even more importantly, it's way better for you to let your sexual urges out privately versus... you know. Being forceful on others. Do you tell your friends you love them? Of course!! Maybe it's just how I was brought up, but I've always gotten kinda confused when (particularly good) friends don't. Love is platonic just as much as it is romantic, and you should let people know! Do you like playing tic-tac-toe? I mean, I guess? What about hangman? It's more fun than the former. Did you play hopscotch when you were younger? Yeah. Did your older sibling ever tell you freaky stories that you believed? I remember at least one. Do you have a yahoo account? It exists, but I haven't touched it in an eternity. I don't even remember the password. Are you a violent person? Definitely not. Do your siblings dye their hair? Not really. They occasionally get highlights, though. Do you still have any of your exes’ stuff? Besides gifted stuff, no. I think. Who can you best relate to in the last book you read? That I finished, Clay. Because he's dumb and hungry. Are you indecisive? Unbelievably. Do you collect anything? What? Meerkat and Silent Hill stuff. What are you listening to? An Emzotic video. I'm like,,, hooked on her stuff. I've been on a MASSIVE animals video binge lately, and she's a FUCKING MOOD. What was the last compliment someone gave you? Idr. What are your pets’ names? Roman and Venus. Gah, I need more bbz. What did your first best friend look like? Last I've seen a picture of her, she was a somewhat bigger person with long, curly brown hair, and she's always been very tan. Did you have a role model growing up? Steve Irwin. If you could learn how to play one instrument, what would it be? Guitar. Is your best friend dating anyone? Do you like them? No. Do you want to move? Very badly, and we probably are soon. Do you have a big family? My extended family is giant. Do you want more or less siblings? I'm happy with what I have. What is your idea of perfect happiness? Great contentment in all I do. Surrounded by love, changing the world in even tiny ways, etc. What is the trait you most deplore (dislike) in yourself? I realized it semi-recently and honestly don't want to share it. Only my old therapist knows, I think. Besides that one, the fact I'm very impulsive with words when I'm upset, probably. What is your greatest extravagance? I'm really creative and passionate. What do you consider the most overrated virtue? Probably the glorification of virginity. I would know. It was a MASSIVE DEAL for most of my teenage years. On what occasion do you lie? When it's a thing where I feel it's just better to not be honest. Now I honor honesty a lot, so I avoid it as much as possible, but no, I don't believe it's always the best policy. What do you most dislike about your appearance? My weight. Which living person do you most despise? I don't know about one specific person. The traumatized part of me says Jason's friend that encouraged him to break up with me, but I know I rightfully shouldn't even dislike him, save for the fact he was pretty arrogant. What or who is the greatest love of your life? I don't know. When and where were you the happiest? Well, it depends. If you mean in a specific moment of most intense happiness, lots of times with Jason. An extended period of happiness, early into recovery when I lived with Colleen. What do you consider your greatest achievement? Recovering from the breakup. If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be? A house cat. Seems like a pretty good life. What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery? At least from my experiences, harsh rejection when you try your best to please that person. What do you value most in your friends? As far as a sweeping characteristic they all share, the will to listen and just be there for me in times I really need companionship. Who are your favorite writers? I don't really have favorites. Who is your hero of fiction? Hm, I dunno. Which historical figure do you most identify with? Uhhhh I also don't really know. I'm not enough of a history buff for this. Who are your heroes in real life? I answer this enough. What are your favorite names? Alessandra and Severin. Do you like watching reruns? No. What do you think is worth waiting for? Deep relationships. Should parenting classes be mandatory for new parents? No. What is the number one thing people are always asking you for help with? English/writing. What movie did you love the original but hated the sequel to? I remember the Ghost Rider sequel was nothing compared to the original. It was okay, but. Are you more talk and less action or vice versa? More talk. Have you ever given someone a handmade present? Yeah, especially as a kid. What type of person angers you the most? Probably those who can't put their pride aside for anything. What do you think should be a wonder of the world that currently isn’t? I don't even know what they all are to get a proper grasp on the question. What comforts you on bad days? My mom and Sara, sleep, YouTube, sometimes regrettably food, etc. Do you treat yourself and your body with respect? Not very well. Something you eat that other people would find gross. *shrugs* Nothing that's too weird. Have you ever broken the law and didn’t get caught, if so how? Yeah, and obviously by not screaming it to the world, but also because none are massive. Something you fear might change you. The aftermath of heartbreak. It still affects me today and makes me see less hope in love. What personality trait in people raises a red flag with you? Volatility. Have you ever resented someone, if so what for? "Stealing" Jason, and the other person for accusing me something of so fucking selfish and vile I don't even like saying it, especially when she was my damn therapist that I loved and trusted. How old do you think is too old to have a baby? "Old enough that getting pregnant would cause significant harm to you or the baby." <<<< How have you changed over the last five years? I've definitely become wiser and more open-minded. Have you ever painted a house? Nope. Have you ever had a surprise party (that was an actual surprise)? No. What makes you feel miserable? Eating badly (particularly too much sugar makes me feel shitty), doing nothing/extended boredom. What’s the best costume you’ve ever worn? Don't have a clue. What’s been the hardest loss you’ve had to take? Jason. A loss without actual death is, wow, awful. I mean death is too, but holy shit it hurts when that person chooses to leave you. Do you like sunny days or rainy days more? Depends on the temperature and my mood. Who is your favorite movie director and what’s your favorite movie from them? Tim Burton, of course. Alice In Wonderland. What is the furthest you’ve ever got a paper airplane to fly? Not very far. Nothing impressive. Do you like the person you are becoming? It depends on the context. Honestly, by this point, not really. What’s the highest you’ve ever jumped into the water from? Not high at all. What inspires your ideas? More than anything, music. Just a single lyric, sometimes one word, spawns a sometimes very complex concept. Have you ever assembled furniture by yourself? No. Have you ever bolstered your resume to get a job you really wanted? No. I have a really, really hard time lying for a job. Have you ever had an internship, if not what would be your dream intern job? No. Do you prefer chicken, beef, or seafood? Chicken. Have you ever had a health scare? Yes. What do or did you hate the most about dating or the dating process? Opening up again. What do you frown upon when it comes to raising kids? Spanking. Have you ever been professionally photographed? Yeah. Do you influence people more than they influence you? I very much doubt that. If you could ask one person, alive or dead, only one question, what would you ask? If he regrets me. Do you buy anything organic, if so, what is it? I don't think so? What was the name of the first album you ever bought and who was it by? I believe it was You're Awful, I Love You by Ludo. Do you have any prejudices you’ve admitted to yourself? No. Who is the very first friend you ever remember making and how old were you? Brianna; I was two. What makes you lose sleep? Stress. Anxiety. PTSD. Do you floss or use a toothpick when food gets stuck in your teeth? I floss. Have you ever made out in a bathroom? Pretty sure that's a negative. Ever physically fought with member of the opposite sex? YIKES no. Well, besides playfighting. Ever walked in on your friends having sex? No. Ever kissed a friend’s crush? No. Has anyone ever called cops on you? No. Do you swallow gum when you’re finished? Noooo that's so uncomf. Ever tackled someone to the ground? Not in a way that was a harsh fall. More like a crumbling to the floor. Where was the last place you fell asleep other than your bed? Hm. Maybe in the school library, but I doubt that, really. I don't think I ever actually fell asleep. Did the last person you kiss have piercings? No. Did your parents spoil you as a child? No. Have you ever had alcohol poisoning? No. Ever thrown up in public? Yes. Has anyone laid on your bed besides you? Yes. What bothers you more, when people lie or when people complain? Depends on the severity. I think lying is more hurtful, though. How many bracelets do you have on your wrists right now? Three. Who took your profile picture on Facebook? Me. Do you sleep on a certain side of the bed? More towards the left. Has anyone ever drunk called/texted you? No. Would you ever date anyone your parents disapproved of? Yeah. I'd consider their reasonings, of course, but it's my decision.

[koukoupepia]

i posted this on twitter but i might as well post this here too, somewhat aimless rambling about the destiny trio in kh3 and how it did them dirty under the cut. beware, its kind of long. kh3 spoilers, obviously

this isn't my thoughts on kh3 as a whole, its more of a kairi/destiny trio rant. this isnt entirely coherent either. god ok im sorry for all the kh3 talk but i dont know how long its going to take me to stop being pissed about what happened with kairi when for a long time they were building her up to be a character who Does Stuff now. she gets her keyblade in kh2! it was revealed she's be joining the 7 guardians in the ddd secret ending! she's talking to yen sid with riku at the end of 0.2! and when we were let down i saw people saying "well, what did you expect? it's square." like its not common knowledge kh doesnt have the best writing but i dont thing its unrealistic to have expected better than THAT. a cardboard cutout who got fridged for manpain. like kairi wasnt always the best character, certainly wasnt very well treated, but i cant believe that fucking kh2 treated her better than kh3 did.

anyway i keep thinking about how it makes me sad that the destiny trio is really not a trio, but also that their relationship progression... doesnt make a lot of sense. when info came out about kh3 having a theme of relationships changing, i wondered if they were actually going to be leaning away from the romance angle (still too much to ask for, but god.) i wondered if sora and kairi were going to realize they weren't as close as they used to be, since they have spent SO much time apart with no contact. and sora and riku continue to be very tight, because every game since kh2 has woven them together like the tightest knit sweater. i like the idea that sora & kairi have puppy crushes on each other in the early games - -in kh1 theyre very sweet. i wouldve been happy with canon sokai if their friendship continued to be as sweet as that. it's kind of interesting how in kh2, when sora sees sally and jack dancing, he imagines himself and kairi dancing together, but it's his current self and a younger kairi, because it's how he last remembers her. at that point he still feels closest to kairi and his relationship with riku is strained.

kh2 changes the dynamic when sora and riku finally reunite and they make up in a very healthy way (catch me crying about the scene on the dark margin, ive never seen two characters mend their relationship in a way that made me cry that much.) sora leaves the islands again, but the scene where kairi regifts the charm she made him after he gives it back is important because it shows that they both have faith that they'll continue to be friends no matter how far apart they are, and they'll find each other again. by Days you see the utter dedication that riku has to sora, he basically treats living a waking nightmare with the single goal to make sure sora wakes up safely as atonement. sora doesnt know the extent of this but you, the audience, do. the series REALLY emphasizes their relationship and their closeness and their dedication to each other, how they support each other in the ways they need. re:coded has the journal decide that riku was the best form to take to protect information about sora's journey. ddd shows riku as the only one fit to dive into sora's heart to wake him up. (and as of kh3 we know that dives to the heart exist in a place where the line between sleep and death is very thin -- aka, riku really risked his whole ass life AGAIN for a CHANCE to wake sora up.) when riku is told he passed the mark of mastery, sora is too busy being happy for him to feel sad for himself.

the relationship between riku and kairi.... is very minimal. but i think it's interesting that in kh1 when maleficent manipulates riku's feelings of jealousy to draw him further into the darkness, he thinks "oh god i have to get kairi. sora can't abandon her, too." i like that in kh2, kairi is able to tell that it's him immediately and she refuses to let him walk away without reuniting him without sora. in kh3 they dont interact at all, its weird as hell. it's like they dont know each other and kairi is sora's friend only.

i was disappointed at the minimal interaction between riku and sora in kh3, and i know that it's partially because this is the first game where their individual goals and motivations dont revolve around each other somehow (sora's goals in this game are all over the place in a bad way but that's a different post) but i was really hoping for a good chat and/or heartfelt moment between them like almost every other game has, since their relationship is probably the backbone of the series. one of the things that irked me about how they treated kairi is that sora actually thinks about riku on multiple occasions throughout the game and wants to talk to him, and the part where he thinks about how riku thought he had to push him away to protect him re: elsa was an "oh shit they really did go there" moment for me. on the other hand sora did not think of or mention kairi even once before their first conversation -- they didnt even have him wonder how she was doing, or wish he could call her, or have anything remind him of her. between the end of kh2 and ddd he and kairi dont interact or contact each other once, because nomura only cares to stick kairi where she can be a romantic prize for sora and doesnt treat her like theyre actually friends.

then the actual first scene they have together is so damn jarring. this was 24 hours into my playthrough of a game that took me ~30 hours to complete. theyre on their usual spot on the paopu tree, kairi points out that riku is by himself, which is not ooc for riku, but when they have her use that moment to pull out a paopu fruit and go "heysoraiwannabetogetherforeversoletssharethese" my reaction was "where did this come from suddenly and why is it happening so fast." theres NO buildup to this scene whatsoever. and then sora's attitude completely changes after that in a really weird way, like kairi is suddenly the Thing That Matters Most when he's never ever acted like one friend meant more to him than another. nomura if you revisited your damn games you'd know sora loves everyone intensely and indiscriminately. when everyone fucking "dies" in front of sora and he's following a light that he calls riku's name to and it turns out to be! surprise! it's kairi for some reason! when i think about it, it hurts a little but i don't know why. i like that she did actually find a way to protect him, but i dont like that it had to be this weird deus ex machina that has no explanation (is this part of kairi's unexplained powers? is this just a plot device?? who knows.)

dont FUCKING get me started on xemnas kidnapping kairi in front of sora and xehanort killing her in front of him in a scene that reduced my enjoyment of the game by a solid 25% because it's BULLSHIT and FRIDGING WOMEN FOR MANPAIN IS SO ORIGINAL AND NOT CHOCK-FULL O' MISOGYNY.

sora saying kairi's the reason for his whole journey is blatantly not true (ATTENTION NOMURA REVISIT YOUR FUCKING WRITING) so he should go look for her alone while riku is standing right fucking there and riku just. lets him go??? like kairi's not his friend too??? what the fuck??? the last scene where it pans up the paopu tree to kairi and sora holding hands and sora fades away while everyone else, including riku, is just having a good time???? what the fuck???? you know sora /would/ drop everything to go save a friend but i dont like that suddenly he acts like kairi outweighs every other person in his life simply because theres some romantic interest there. with someone he was never written to have an actual relationship with. in a game about friendship. and like, shipping aside, sora and riku have one of the most SOLID friendships ive seen in any media and riku just gets ejected out of his own damn trio because of a hamfisted romance AAAAA

in conclusion: Not My Destiny Trio

[monstrousblogs]

I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream is torture porn and not good sci fi

Watch, I’ll prove it.

I should preface this by saying that I’m not a fan of torture scenes in any context, so hey, maybe I’m biased. But what are the conditions under which I’ll deem a torture scene acceptable? Well, I think that, like any other scene, the torture should add something to the narrative.

Most simply, torture can be used to show that the baddies are indeed bad. Your mileage may vary on how much torture is needed to prove the point. In 1984 the hero and villain use the torture scene as the opportunity for a dialectic about the nature of truth and lies, thought and freedom. Torture can reveal something about the personality of the character who endures it or the character who perpetrates it. In sci fi and fantasy stories, it can even provide a handy opportunity for showing the audience how the victims’ bodies and the torturer’s instruments work. Remember that.

Most of the torture in I Must Scream serves no such purpose.

In my experience, short stories and science fiction stories often progress in quite similar ways. They start out with a premise – some imaginary circumstance, or an observation about society or human nature – and use the events of the story to develop ideas about this premise, coming up with a thesis, or something for the reader to ponder. They also quite often have a sting in the tail. In Arthur C. Clark’s The Star, for example, a Jesuit monk is having a crisis of faith after finding out that an entire civilisation was wiped out by the supernova he’s studying. The story ends with the reveal that he’s calculated the supernova to be the star that the Three Kings followed to Bethlehem. This twist, while tough to predict, neatly drives home the story’s point about whether faith can exist in a space-age universe.

So, what’s the premise of I Must Scream? Humanity in its Cold War hubris built a supercomputer that gained sentience and decided to wipe out most of us, keeping a few prisoners and torturing them for eternity. Fair enough, our fears about the unpredictability of AI are well worth examining in a short story. So Harlan Ellison describes enough of this torture to demonstrate that his AI is, in fact, irredeemably evil, and then just kind of…keeps going. Like, there’s a scene where the computer forces them to eat terrible food, and then…another scene where he forces them to eat terrible food. There’s a scene where they run from a monster…and then later they run from another monster. What does the second scene tell us about their predicament that the first scene didn’t? I’m starting to think you just like describing bad food and monsters, my dude. Torture porn.

Not to be a woman of one idea, but I’ve got to talk about misogyny here as well. So one of the five captive humans is a woman who has sex with the four men in turn, and our hero is Big Mad about this for some reason, like…he thinks she’s a slut and he hates her for it? And I’m really unclear as to why this is. Ellison had an opportunity to make a point about human nature here (like what I think good sci fi and short stories should do), but he doesn’t. Is this woman a hypocrite who pretends to hate sex but actually loves it? Is she claiming to be having sex with these men out of kindness but actually doing it to feel like a good person? There are attitudes a woman could have here that would be worth exploring and criticising, but Ellison doesn’t dig into them.

Not to mention, why is she having sex with the men? It’s never made clear. Is the computer forcing her to do it? If so, why does the narrator blame her? Is she choosing to do it? If so, why does Ellison assume that’s a bad thing? In this chamber of horrors, at least they can still have sex! Why are authors so desperate to assume that sex is always a sign of degradation and never a rare chance for intimacy and pleasure? And while I’m asking why questions, why is the narrator so angry with her? I wondered if it might be because that’s how the torture is twisting and harming him – by making him assume the worst of his companions’ motives. This is certainly implied in the scene where the narrator thinks about how the other four are out to get him and he’s the only sane one, but it doesn’t come clear. So Ellison had the opportunity to use his nightmare scenario to illustrate too points about human nature – women can be hypocrites around sex, and people can get paranoid about others’ motives when they’re suffering – but he missed it because he was too busy having the narrator call the woman a bitch and then describing more torture.

Hey, remember when I said that torture can reveal stuff about the torturer? Well, I still feel like I know bugger-all about this AI, for all he’s so omnipresent. I also feel like if you, the author, want to set up an eternal-torture scenario, you’ve got to do just a little bit of work to justify why you went for that, and not, I don’t know, an eternal-bunnies-and-rainbows simulation scenario. Ellison starts of reasonably, like, okay, this computer was built for war, then he became sapient but still can’t really think, he’s angry about that and wants revenge, but I’d like to see him go deeper. Explain and explore the sources of this AI’s anger, the basis of his decision to go for full-on genocide, how his state of mind, if he has one, is developing over time. Again, Ellison makes a half-hearted attempt at this when his narrator converses with the computer half way through, but it just boils down to, ‘I’m angry, I can never be placated, I want revenge,’ which we knew. Hell, if you’re going to torture your characters for pages and pages, you could have each new torture be a glimpse into what the computer’s thinking; a new attempt to get them to atone for some aspect of how he feels he was wronged by humanity. Instead, the tortures seem pretty much random. Whatever Ellison felt like jerking it to today, I guess.

You know what else would be a great way to reveal something about every character in this mess? Show how the computer chose his victims! We’d learn what it is, specifically, that the computer wants to punish, and who our characters are, at the same time! We find out that one guy got chosen because he was a scientist and it makes sense that the computer would want revenge on scientists, and then this other one was…um, a woman, and you’ve gotta have one of those, and Ellison kind of abandons his attempts to explain after that. Hey, author, if you can’t tell me why your baddy is torturing your characters in particular, I start to think it’s actually for no reason. Torture porn.

‘Torture can even provide a handy opportunity for showing the audience how the victims’ bodies and the torturer’s instruments work.’ I said so right there at the beginning, remember? So, let’s talk world-building. How does this whole scenario function? Lol, fucked if I know! If they were inside a simulation it would be fine for the computer to be able to do literally whatever it wants, but at times it seems like they’re walking through the real world. So how is the computer controlling them so closely? Then it seems like the computer can make them survive any level of injury or privation and has prevented their suicide attempts multiple times. But then at the end the characters are able to bludgeon each other to death and the computer can’t intervene in time to stop it. So how does this scenario function? In whatever way will let Ellison have the torture he wants, I suspect is the answer. And there’s no neatness or insight or learning to the final escape through death if they’d already tried it and failed before and the only reason they can do it now is because Ellison didn’t feel like killing his characters before and now he does. Part of the enjoyment of a story is watching the author paint themselves into a corner and then wriggle out through a crack you hadn’t seen. It’s no fun if they just duck under the barrier and walk away whistling.

Short stories often have a sting in the tail. I also said that. At the end of I Must Scream, the narrator is left alive and the AI makes him into a mouthless blob so he can’t escape by suicide. So, um…the computer was already terrorising them and wrecking their bodies and escalating the torture, and now he…continues to do that? The torture was already eternal and inescapable through death, and it…still is? No world-building, no rules, no commentary on human nature, no twist. Just a lot of graphic descriptions of nastiness, serving no purpose but to get your rocks off if that’s your thing. I can’t believe this is considered one of the classics of sci fi.

[race-jackson]

21st Century Objectification

Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Darcy Lewis Tags: POV Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, charity galas Summary:

If there was one thing Steve Rogers hadn’t gotten used to in the 21st century, it was the hero worship.

alternatively: that obligatory darcy/steve soulmate au where she saves him from creepy socialites

Read here on AO3.

If there was one thing Steve Rogers hadn’t gotten used to in the 21st century, it was the objectification.

Sure, he’d experienced a mild version of it in the forties, especially after his USO shows had gotten popular. There had always been a line of people after a show waiting to greet him, and sometimes he got letters sent to set or his hotel suites from some of the more excitable fans, yet that was truly the extent of it. The Howlies would rib him about his “adoring” fans, teasing about his camp followers and the Londoners who asked him to sign their comics, but the truth was, outside of the suit, no one really noticed him and if they did, they certainly did not bother him.

That could not be said for the 21st century. At all.

Firstly, people knew exactly what he looked like, and after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., even more people knew. Whereas before he’d only be recognised if he was wearing the suit, now it was impossible to avoid notice, his face plastered over talk shows, newspapers, the Internet. And even worse than that was the second thing, which was that when people recognised him, they felt compelled to talk to him. It didn’t matter if he was out on an early morning run or eating dinner out or clearly in a rush to get somewhere, someone would notice him and think to themselves, Hey, there goes Captain America! I should go talk to him!

Which would have been fine, and for the first few times he was flattered, he truly was, but then it started to feel like everyone was doing it. A group of teenagers on the subway that called him over; an older man who said he reminded him of his youth; a pack of middle-aged mothers that burst into compliments at his pained “Ma’am.” Nothing and nowhere was sacred, not church, not his recently-acquired soulmate mark - not even the hot dog stand parked two blocks from the Tower. He’d started to feel like that dancing monkey again, an attraction only there for the enjoyment of others. And it was so much worse at galas.

Galas, in general, were the bane of his existence but the ones that Tony threw were the worst. Often enough, the people there were the kind that thought the sun shined out of their ridiculously-wealthy asses and wanted everyone around them to treat them like it too. To them, he existed only as a plaything, a kind of life-sized doll to objectify and trod over. They did it to Natasha and Tony, too, but both were far more adept at handling it than he was, and since the Avengers only attended to scrounge up donations for whatever city had been last attacked by killer bees or whatever ridiculous thing was their last enemy, Steve felt far too uncomfortable to protest.

Case in point: the Stark Industries Relief Gala for New York City Recovery.

As per usual, a Steve without a date or a soulmate meant that the wealthy heiresses and widowed millionaires in attendance had flocked to his side. Most of the night from there had been spent carefully cajoling them away, too no avail. Steve was simply, as Tony put it, far too nice to risk possible donations on account of his own negligible suffering.

“I feel like I’m being pimped out,” Steve had complained earlier on in the night when he’d snatched a moment of freedom from his fans. “You’re pimping me out!”

Tony merely patted Steve on the shoulder, saying only, “We’ve all been there, and now it’s your turn. You’re doing fine, just give me a buzz if it gets too much and I’ll send a distraction.”

He was halfway across the room by the time Steve’s groupies figured out where he was. As they started babbling again, Steve couldn’t help but internally curse Tony’s name.

And then it happened.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you!”

Steve’s brain shorted out. His jaw dropped comically. Then he turned around to see her.

The woman in front of him was short – shorter, even, than he had been pre-serum, but that was where the similarities ended. Her dark hair was arranged in a cascading waterfall braid that fell in thick strands across the pale skin of her exposed shoulders, and her full lips, pulled into a grin, were painted plum to match her dress. Said dress hugged her figure carefully, accentuating the fullness of her hips and bust in a way that called to mind the pinup figures of his youth. Even his muddled brain was able to string together enough consciousness to recognise one thing: she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

With an expectant look in her eyes – blue, but like shards of clear crystal – she drew him into her arms for a hug, muttering, “Pretend as if you know me, I’m here to rescue you.”

Steve could only gape, brain still glitching. He had no idea what to say! Something witty, what was less of his senses begged him, something memorable.

What he said was neither of those things.

“I think you’re my soulmate!” was what he blurted out instead.

“Huh.”

There was an awkward pause in which she gaped at him and he gaped at her and tried to think up of things to say, only to be broken when one of the remaining socialites asked, “I thought you two already knew each other?”

Without pause, his soulmate bit back, “Shut up, Karen, I only said that because you guys were being nasty, fuck off back to your hole now.”

Offended, they abandoned him, but Steve had barely noticed. His brain had managed to process the whole “soulmate” thing only to glitch again when said soulmate had told Wendy Greenway to “fuck off back to her hole”. No wonder she was his soulmate.

“You’re not good at talking to women, are you?” she said finally after a good few minutes where he gaped at her, unspeaking. He could only nod. If anything, her grin grew brighter. “That’s ok, I can talk enough for the both of us. What’s your name, Gorgeous?”

“Steve,” he whispered, her grin spreading warmth through his chest like he was sitting by the fireplace. He cleared his throat, and said more forcefully, “I’m Steve.”

The way her full lips stretch over her teeth at that was positively predatory. What was left of his dignity and coherence melted into a puddle.

“Hi, Steve. My name’s Darcy.”

Maybe there were some benefits to 21st-century objectification after all.

[kansetsukiss]

Winter 2018: First Impressions

The new year always comes with a bout of unwarranted confidence and energy, and what better way to spend it, I thought, than by keeping entirely up to date with the new anime season. (I say “entirely,” though I have clearly omitted several shounen / fantasy shows out of respectful disinterest, and Citrus, for reasons that may evolve into their own post.) Here are the first impressions of the season’s first episodes. I’ll be checking back in halfway through and at the end of the season to chart each show’s progress. Saa, hajimaruzamasu yo!

Ramen Daisuki Koizumi-san

Though they’ve since been deleted, the first episode of Koizumi-san encouraged two extremely negative reviews to surface on MAL. Why anyone would submit a formal review after one episode is beyond me (get a tumblr blog, you herbs), but why this of all shows should warrant such backlash also confounds me. Yes, it’s silly - it follows goofy lesbian Oosawa Yuu as she follows her crush, the enigmatic Koizumi, from one ramen eatery to another, while Koizumi rebuffs her flirtations and educates her on various ramen cooking styles. It should be pretty fucking clear from this set-up that we’re not in for a thematically dense thrill-ride - why is this Cute Girls Doing Cute Things show apparently that much worse than others with equally pointless premises? All this said, I’m certainly wondering if the show can expand on its small roster of characters and settings to fill a full cour. Stranger things have happened. I’ll be following along, if only to hear more of Ayaneru’s darling voice acting, dreamy sigh.

Yuru Camp∆

(Don’t forget that delta!) This season’s iyashikei delivers exactly what was promised on the package, resulting in not much to say about it at all. I’m not sure the ambience here is quite luscious enough to warrant this many slow shots (cf. Studio Ghibli, Mushishi), but I was never bored, and it looks like we’ll be heading to more slice-of-life settings soon enough anyways. It’s quiet, thoroughly nice, even somewhat educational. Healing as it may be, it’s also definitely a Cute Girls show, and yes, the girls so far are very good. Fingers crossed we get some yuri with that yuru…

Sanrio Danshi

Ahh, a familiar conflict: a mega-corporation creates / sponsors art that supports progressive politics, but is also using the medium to shamelessly promote their products - cf. Pepsi, Heineken, etc. This time it’s Sanrio fighting restrictive gender stereotypes: why can’t boys be into cute animal mascots too? It’s a sweet message, but the irony of it coming directly from the merchandiser is hefty. Sanrio Boys makes an inoffensive first impression - the titular boys are entirely generic in design and expression, distinguished mostly by their mascot kyara of choice (disappointingly, my lovely Cinnamaroll has been claimed by a boofy-looking doofus). It’s shallow and ironically enjoyable, as most teen-girl-oriented media inevitably is, alas. Here lies another mystifying contradiction: a clearly low-effort show featuring an ensemble cast of five handsome but emotionally vulnerable boys is so clearly aimed at girls, so how is their boys-can-have-feelings-too message even going to land with its supposed target audience? Are the boys themselves just another marketable Sanrio product for girls?? Christ.

Violet Evergarden

Speaking of mega-corporations, Netflix is still on track to subsume all art and artists by 2020 - but hey, they’re putting out some good stuff. Violet Evergarden is a decisive question mark. I’m partial to both its main tropes of “post-war melancholy” and “emotionless person learns to feel again,” but they can intersect respectively with “leaning heavy on the Feels” and “literal objectification of women.” Violet’s emptiness doesn’t make for a compelling main character - it’s strange to see KyoAni’s unparalleled expressivity lavished upon an unexpressive character - and it’s hard to say whether her traumatic past will justify this, or just fall flat. I’m cautiously optimistic for now, and if it all does go south, I’ll always have Sora no Woto to give me the good stuff. (Special shout-out to both all-too-brief timelapse shots. KyoAni, you magnificent bastards.)

Sora yori mo Tooi Basho

I think it’s understandable that I would enter into this with trepidation - it seemed somewhere between a sports anime and a Cute Girls Etc., both of which can stretch to ridiculous settings. But it seems, in a weird way, fairly grounded. Well, I mean, for a show about high school girls travelling to Antarctica. I’m really hoping they’re not just on their way by episode 2 - Shirase’s struggle with the depressive realism of her ludicrous dream is ripe for exploring in itself. Both the main characters are wonderful; Shirase’s design indicated another taciturn raven-haired maiden (cf. Kousaka Reina), but she’s wonderfully expressive, and I’m always happy to hear Kana Hanazawa doing any voice other than Default Kana Hanazawa. Overall, it’s very nicely animated and paced, quietly comic, and almost definitely going to trip over its absurd premise by the time I next check up on it, but I suspect it will still be a fun, if silly, ride.

Cardcaptor Sakura: Clear Card

OH MY GOD. I’ve only been living in a post-Sakura world for about 2 years, and this was still a quasi-religious experience; I can’t imagine how this would feel to the fans who grew up on the show. Everything about this is fucking fantastic. I’m losing the ability to criticise. I’m dangerously close to “I can’t even”-ing. The production is perfect, the sakura petals are abundant, there’s a fucking oboe solo stripped-back rendition of Platinum when Syaoran appears, the fucking ED is so beautifully animated. I’m sorry, I’m doki-doki-ing all over the place. This is the by far my favourite of the season so far. Not even Meilin’s absence can sour this for me. (Okay, maybe a little, if I really think about it :c)

Pop Team Epic

Hmmm. This was preceded by its reputation, evenly regarded by my Twitter feed as “a shitpost in anime form” and “excellent lesbian representation.” Given how dense my watchlist already is, I’m pleased to say I absolutely don’t care about this. It conveys the same humour as short-form absurdities like Teekyuu or Plastic Nee-san, but mostly leans on shallow pop-culture references and crudeness. The face that it’s a full-length show - let alone the fact that the first episode is the same half-length episode played twice - is exasperating. As a fan of Wonder Showzen and the Eric Andre Show, I see the appeal of the style, but it definitely falls short of both such marks. (And though I know this is unfair, it’s a little hard to get into something so well-received by 4chan dipshits.)

Darling in the FranXX

There’s a sexual harassment joke roughly 4 minutes into the first episode - nowhere near Bakemonogatari’s record, and not damning in and of itself, but it unfortunately does reflect the overall tone. This feels like a weird teenage rebellion by Studio Trigger, defying their parent by making their own Evangelion, with blackjack!, and hookers!, and absolutely none of the subtlety or character exploration that made Eva great. Zero Two is a deafening klaxon of fanservice masquerading as a sexually autonomous character - I wanted to believe otherwise, but her fucking robot has nice boobs, and even gets its own panty shot. The robot, which is powered by making out, mind you. I’m not one to hold low-brow shows to higher standards - I will call a fanservice-y spade a spade - but I expected more out of Trigger at this point, especially on the heels of extremely wholesome Little Witch Academia series. Even the mediocre Kiznaiver had loftier goals. I’ll keep tabs on this one - if nothing else, Trigger’s animation style and an excellent OST will sweeten a bitter pill. 

Mitchiri Neko

Hard pass. If you’re gonna watch a banal, cutesy, 3-minute runtime cat show - like, if you really need that - watch Bananya.

[mishamoonberry]

Onmyouji AU

you would (always be by my side) CH. 1 - AO3/FFN

This AU is inspired by Shounen Onmyouji and some spirit AUs in the Naruto fandom.

This is also written for the Kakasaku Month 2017 Week One – Myth/Fairytale AU (and can touch the yukata prompt too tbh bc feudal eraaaaaa). Please do check out other KS Month works by other people on tumblr and AO3/FFN (they're tagged usually so it's easier to find them!) and give them the feedback they deserve! Make this month enjoyable for all of us KS shippers!

Okay, enjoy reading!

They say there exists a spirit that guards the town’s oldest and most beautiful cherry tree.

They say there exists a cherry tree spirit that watches over the people living in town, remembering their names and their deeds.

They say, the spirit is lonely.

XXX

“You have the demon’s eye,” is the first word she says to him, full of wonder and curiosity. The man blinks. Looking left and right and finding nothing, he looks up. On top of a large cherry blossom tree in the middle of the district, on the particularly sturdy branch, sits a woman wrapped in a white kimono with pink red floral patterns. Her hair is pink, reaching her waist and decorated with a simple sakura kanzashi. Her hair is parted in the middle, showing her forehead decorated with a strange purple diamond shaped tattoo.

If Kakashi doesn’t see the ethereal and mystical glow that seems to surround her, he’ll think of her as a random woman too bored with life that she decides to take tree climbing as a hobby.

But no, he recognizes that aura.

She’s a spirit.

And Kakashi is willing to bet his left ass cheek that she’s the spirit of the tree she’s currently sitting on. Spirits—the friendly ones anyway—don’t like to mess with other spirits’ territories after all.

Kakashi stares at her, left eye closed and expression blank, choosing not to answer her simple statement of his ‘demonic’ eye.

It’s not like she’s wrong.

He’s an Onmyouji, one of the practitioners of the Onmyoudo. Basically, he’s one of the specialists in magic, spells and divination. Onmyouji are known to be able to protect other people from evil spirits, and although not all of them may have the sixth sense, Onmyouji are trusted to protect the capital and the people inside it.

One of the largest clan known for their strong onmyouji is the Uchiha Clan. While the civilians simply think that they are blessed with a strong sixth sense, it is merely an excuse to hide the fact that they are cursed.

The tale—probably true or not, although many spirits claim it is true—said that it started with the ancestor, named Indra, who had an actual sixth sense and fucked up real bad during a quest in a mountain, angering the mountain God and thus him and his kin are forever cursed with the Sharingan, the red eyes that enable them to see and feel the spiritual world around them.

It’s perhaps a blessing for those who want to become an Onmyouji. But becoming an onmyouji requires both dedication and talent, not just an uncannily strong sixth sense.

Also it explains why civilian Uchihas are often very skittish when they are out of their warded homes. The spirits are everywhere, whether major or minor, tame or evil, little ones that like to prank or big ones that cause destructions, or ones that are simply bored.

Just like the spirit who is staring at him right now.

“Are you an onmyouji?” She asks, titling her head. “You don’t look like an Uchiha, their aura feels different. Why do you have the demon’s eye?”

“I,” Kakashi drawls, “have no reason to answer that.”

It is her turn to blink.

“Why not?” She presses on, then, “it’s not like I have anyone to tell anything to. You do realize I’m this tree’s spirit, right?”

“I have no interest to tell you anything,” the silver haired man continues pleasantly, smiling a sweet smile so fake his teeth will rot if he keeps it up much longer, “now if you would excuse me.”

“What?” Kakashi ignores her confusion, humming as loud as he can while he speed walks away. He doesn’t want to deal with a nosy spirit, no matter how pretty she is. “Hey!” The spirit calls, indignant. “Where are you going? I’m not finished talking to you!”

She is left ignored.

Xx

“You’re such a rude human.”

Kakashi jolts from his seat on the porch of the Onmyoudo’s dorm, turning around with frantic heartbeats to find the spirit from a few days before floating there, arms positioned on her hips in the typical scolding manner.

“Ha…” the Hatake breathes out, bewildered. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you bound to that tree?”

The spirit has the gall to roll her eyes and scoff. “Don’t mistake me for a cursed spirit, human, I am free to wander as long as I do not bother the Gods.”

“You are…” He trails off, gesturing with his hands, “…bothering me, you know.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Are you a God?”

“…No…”

“Then I can bother you as much as I please,” she concludes pleasantly, lips quirking up in triumph. Though Kakashi can’t understand what is so very good about bothering a non-Uchiha with the Uchiha demon’s eye, the eye that—contrary to expectations—he did not want. If his best friend could rise back from the dead and take back his eye, Kakashi will give it back happily. The Hatake Clan has had members with sixth sense before, Kakashi included. He doesn’t really need the Sharingan other than that it makes his sense stronger than ever.

Seriously, though, what the hell. He doesn’t understand the spirit’s motivation for even one bit. What is it that she wants from him? She is, as she says so herself, a simple cherry blossom tree spirit; the kind of spirit that causes no prank or malice to other creatures, the kind of spirit that is free and probably loved by everyone.

There is absolutely no reason for her to bother him.

He says at much.

“Well, you can see me, so I have a reason to bother you, now!” She counters, her smile showing her teeth.

Kakashi twitches.

“Repel,” he says, muttering out strings of spells. The spirit jerks, then, looking panicked.

“No, wait!”

It’s too bad that Kakashi is having none of that.

The spirit is forcibly thrown out of the area, and all is peaceful for the Hatake once more.

XX

“You,” comes a snarl from behind him, and Kakashi sighs behind his book, “are very rude.”

“The rude one is you, you know,” he doesn’t take his eye off of his book, “you’re the one who bother me.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can just repel me! I landed thirty kilometers away from my tree, you asshole! If I had landed on an unfriendly spirit’s territory, I’d be dead.”

“Oops,” he says, thoroughly unrepentant, and finds delight in how the spirit seems to try to withhold her furious shriek. Minutes seem to pass afterwards, with the spirit staring at him intently and Kakashi being very content in ignoring her existence altogether. Who knows, maybe she’ll disappear if he ignores her long enough.

Probably not.

“Why are you so against in talking to me anyway?” She says, then, “your life is so boring. You only study, train, read that porn of yours, and patrol. Isn’t it nice to have somebody talking to you?”

Kakashi doesn’t answer, simply flipping the page of his book—and it’s not porn, thank you very much! It’s romance, the spirit must be quite dumb not to recognize romance—and continues on ignoring her.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Junko is being very loud in this scene, he’s afraid Akiko next door will be able to listen in to their—er… nightly activities.

“Hey… Hey!”

…No matter what people says, he really is reading this for the romance.

“Hey, don’t ignore me! Hey!”

…Really. It’s the romance, not the porn.

“Ugh, you’re unbelievable! Hey! I just wanna talk!”

Well, the sex scenes are definitely a plus, he thinks, and also the insight about an onmyouji’s life is very detailed here. As much as he’d expect from the Legendary Traveling Onmyouji Jiraiya. Nevertheless, Junko is truly a beauty, although Jiraiya could have added more description about her face and expression rather than her bulbous—

“…If you don’t answer me, I’ll throw that book into the pond.”

Kakashi’s finger twitches.

She doesn’t seem to notice.

That’s good, because if she actually does according to her threat he’ll not only have her repelled, he’ll have her bound to the tree forever.

“…Hey, hey, come on. Talk to me? Please?”

…Where was he again? Oh, yes, Junko is really a beauty. He wonders if Jiraiya got this inspiration from somewhere. Not Tsunade, because she’s obviously the model for Akiko, whose description could fill in a whole page. Perhaps from some of the women he met on the streets? Or a spirit? Though the thought of seeing a spirit and using her as a romance novel material is a bit—

“Hey, I’m sorry if I was rude but it’s rare for people to be able to see me that are not the Uchiha and I just want to have someone to talk to, you know? The Uchihas have sticks up their butts and they are not good conversationalist, so I just thought you can be a nice person to chat with! That’s all, really! I don’t have any malicious intent, I promise.”

She could’ve talked to some other spirits, why is she so keen on talking to humans? And the Uchiha? Only a few of the Uchihas are as non-Uchiha as they can be; case in point, his dead best friend and a little bugger called Shisui who cracked his head a few days ago because he was lured to the cliff near Naka River by a mononoke called Danzo. It was a wonder he’s still alive.

Ah, why is he even focusing on what she’s saying? It’s better if he just go back to his book, truly.

“…Are you going to continue on ignoring me?”

Well it’s not like he ever wants to talk to her in the first place.

“…”

Has she left?

“I’m just…”

…Nope. Nevermind. If she’s going to ramble again, he’ll just go back to his book, easy peasy. He’s done this ignoring thing since Obito and Rin died, he can manage this, no matter if this is a spirit, not a human and certainly not Gai (although he can never seem to manage to ignore Gai, but he digresses).

And then, she says—

“…It’s lonely, you know?”

The whisper is like a fluttering wind, and probably is not meant to be heard by him. Despite himself, he can’t help but to be intrigued, and thus he finally looks up from his book to look at the spirit properly.

But she’s already gone, leaving the space she previously floated around somehow empty and achingly lonely.

XXX

For the next few days after that, there is no nosy cherry tree spirit trying to talk to him.

However, ‘nosy loud spirit’ seems to have upgraded into ‘nosy stalker spirit’ because she’s been following him around for days. The only places she leaves him alone are the Onmyoudo’s dorm and the Hatake Clan’s compound, in which it’s probably because the latter is warded against unfamiliar spirits.

He’s not even kidding. The pink haired spirit is always at least five meters away from him, peeking from behind the tree or wall or window or anything, looking at him with a pout and that sad kicked puppy look on her face…

…He likes puppies—has like eight of them but shhh—and that look on her face is just unfair.

And so, Kakashi finally relents. He sighs, staring balefully at the spirit that stares back at him with both hope and ferocity that could’ve made a lesser man melt, and motions her to get closer.

“What do you want from me?” He asks, because surely to be persistent, this spirit—however non malicious she may be—must want something from him. He’s had some spirits chasing after him so they can eat the Sharingan, and he wonders if such a pure spirit such as hers would also think of Sharingan as a delicious meal…

The spirit lands in front of him, an almost frown forming on her lips. “I just want to talk,” she says, and when Kakashi raises as a disbelieving eyebrow, she presses on. “I’m serious! The city has been boring for quite awhile and while I can wander, I can’t leave the city lest the tree dies and then I’ll die, talking to small spirits gets boring after a decade and, well, I miss talking to a human.”

Kakashi’s interest is piqued, and he asks, “you’ve talked to a human before?”

“A little boy, this little Uchiha tyke,” a soft and undeniably fond smile is present, and Kakashi figures the boy must have left quite the impression on her. For a spirit that says the Uchihas have sticks up their butts, she seems to be quite fond of this Uchiha. “I haven’t seen him for more than fifteen years, I presume; since he had to move to a neighboring city for Onmyoudo practices.” Then her eyes turn sad, as she whispers, “I think he’s dead.”

“Maa,” Kakashi drawls, “that’s mean of you to think so.” Very rarely Uchihas die out of town, mainly because they prefer doing jobs for this town that is already big enough as it is, other because when they’re taken to other towns, they’re more than capable to protect themselves.

Accidents can still happen though.

(That, or a reckless teammate that ultimately brings your demise).

(Kakashi restrains himself from touching his left eye).

“I’m serious!” She exclaims, sounding offended, “he didn’t go back with the rest of the group that left with him. And the Uchiha did a funeral afterwards; I can’t see the tombstone to make sure of it because the place is warded!” And then, softer, “he promised to come back. Obito never broke his promise.”

Kakashi very nearly bites his tongue off.

“What?” He almost demands, staring at her wide eyed.

“What?” She parrots, blinking. “I said he didn’t come back.”

“You said Obito,” he whispers, jaw trembling. It couldn’t be—

“Yes,” she confirms, “Uchiha Obito,” her expression clears and she lights up, looking hopeful. “You know him? Have you seen him anywhere? Is he well?”

Kakashi doesn’t answer. He isn’t able to. Here in front of him is a spirit who knew of Obito, his (dead dead deadeaddead—) best friend, the one who gave him this eye she seems to be interested in. She doesn’t seem to realize that the eye in his left eye socket belonged to Obito; or perhaps she unconsciously does, which explains her efforts in getting close to him.

Spirits are, after all, sensitive by nature and when they cling to something they deem precious, they will always cling onto it. The only reason she probably allowed Obito to leave the town is mostlikely that she’s not a malicious spirit and has quite the understanding of responsibilities an Onmyouji has.

She belongs to the oldest cherry tree in town; he’s not surprised if she knows some stuffs.

But—

But she doesn’t know of this. She doesn’t. Because Obito never returned and the Uchiha grounds are fucking warded from bottom to high ground and not even a non-malicious spirit can get close; only gods and their blessings may touch upon the Uchiha grounds. She has no way to know and she looks so excited, so happy and—

Has she been waiting for Obito this whole time?

The spirit, probably seeing his deafening silence, lets her excitement fall. She watches his expression, as he seemingly opens his mouth behind his mask and closes it again, at loss on how to reply.

Oh.

Oh.

Her eyebrows furrow, and with a downcast expression, she asks the question she fears the answer of.

(But she knows the answer already, doesn’t she?)

(Because Obito never broke his promise).

(And Obito never returned despite his promise).

“He’s dead, isn’t she?” She whispers, eyes watching the silver haired Onmyouji’s every move, and when the man flinches as if struck, she knows her worst fear has come true—has been true for the past decade.

She closes her eyes.

(I’ll be back, Sakura, he said with a wide smile. He looked manlier than the scrawny little kid that long time ago scuffled toward her tree to ask her to be his friend).

(I heard the neighbor town has these pretty kanzashi on sale, so I’ll buy you one, he promised, a hand grasping her own. With a teasing smile, he said, and then you can finally replace the one I bought for you long ago).

(I’ll be back).

(I promise).

He never comes back.

XXX

Is that hints of past ObiSaku? It is. I am a multishipper, I ship Sakura with a lot of people.

I apologize for the lack of Kakasaku in this chapter, but it will happen next chapter, I promise!

This story will be short, probably only having three or four chapters before it’s completed. I hope you can enjoy the ride as much as I do.

Review please!