#it was a goddamn culture shock for me as well as the word for them in my language is literally 'sleepyhead'

[bellamyroselia]

The fact that dormice were eaten as snacks back during the Roman era is such a weird thing to think of. Heck, that particular species is even known as European edible dormouse.

Yes, I'm absolutely having a mental image of Dark Pit insulting someone by calling them a mouse-eater in the case you're wondering

[wszczebrzyszynie]

Hi! Okay, this is gonna be an emotional message (in a good way!). I am writing to you about your wesołego geja artwork, and to let you know that I am crying with happiness right now. As in, there are actual tears coming out of my eyeballs. The reason? I have never, not once, seen a drawing of a poc polish person. Which isn’t that surprising because polish people are pretty darn white, but I’m not. I’m half Indian and am not white passing at all. I’m also quite disconnected from my culture - I don’t speak Polish very well at all, for example - but I love barczsz more than anything, and my family celebrates wigilia most years. We have been to Poland a few times. And, at my grandparents’ insistence, I got my first communion, and to the ceremony, wore my grandmother’s traditional polish outfit. I am not what people think of when they think of a Polish person. I know that. I have seen how people hide their children from me, how they turn to my cousins to ask what we are ordering in Polish, their shocked expressions when I answer for them. I have been told that I look ‘wrong’ in the beautiful dresses of my heritage. But your art made me feel seen. For the first time, I have seen someone with my skin tone in a Polish outfit. It means the world to me. It means so goddamn much to me. I cannot even convey in words the amount of joy your art has given me. Anyway, this was a long tangent but the point of all of this is to say thank you. May your day be filled with the joy you have given me. - your new follower, @creator-of-calm-queer-chaos

This is so very sweet... Im very happy my art can do that for you and i just want to let you know youre always welcome here

(a quick lena just for you so shes a bit messy but this message made me so very happy. had to draw her at light speed)

[crazychaoticizzy]

Cultural Differences Part 1

You and Armin get assigned to complete a year long project for your Cultural Arts class together. You never thought it would turn into this . . .

WARNINGS: fem!reader, Mexican!reader, fluff, angst, slow burn, eventual smut, college!au, modern!au, Armin is German in this, and they were roommates, trauma revelations sprinkled throughout, slight hints of racism

DISCLAIMER: the reader in this fic is written to be Mexican, however she does not have predominantly Hispanic features described (I think). Y/n can be perceived as anyone since I don’t specify, however just know that she is written to be Latina. This story is also very personal to me, as Y/n is based very heavily off of myself

Masterlist

AOT Masterlist

Word Count: 3.9k

“Theoretically, if you talked to your roommates about it, could I move in with you?” you asked.

Mikasa’s eyebrows furrowed, and she quickly finished her bite of sandwich before saying, “Yeah, I think they’d be fine with it, and it’d be fun for me. Why, though? Is everything okay with your house mates?”

You continued staring down at the Tupperware container holding your food, moving around a piece of chicken with your fork. “Yeah, we’re fine. It’s just a lot. Hitch brings by a new guy every night and tries to be as loud as possible to make Marlowe jealous. They’re also the biggest group of slobs I’ve ever seen, it’s disgusting.”

Mikasa hummed, bringing her water bottle to her lips and taking a sip. “Right, I forgot they were your roommates.” She set the bottle down, tapping the pads of her fingers against it.

“It also happened again.”

The tapping stopped. “Again?”

You nodded. “Floch misplaced almost five hundred dollars.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “Fucking Floch,” she muttered. “And you were . . .?”

She trailed off when you nodded again. “The first one.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Where did it end up being?”

“In his goddamn phone case. Why would you put five hundred dollar bills in your fucking phone case?”

“Because it’s Floch. He’s an idiot.” Mikasa shrugged her leather jacket off, folding it up and placing it in her lap. “I’ll definitely ask Eren and Armin if you can move in. I’m sure they’ll agree, so start getting some stuff together. I’ll talk to them about it later and get back to you, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. It’s fine if they say no, by the way, I’ll figure something out.” You put the fork you were holding down, closing the Tupperware container and pushing it to the side.

Mikasa was silent for a moment before grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m sorry this has to happen to you.”

“Not your fault,” you muttered. Another few seconds of silence passed between the two of you before you said, “I kind of want to cut my hair.”

“Really? I’ve been wanting to do that too, but I don’t know. I’ve been thinking maybe a pixie cut.” Mikasa played with the ends of her hair, running her fingers over them as if to measure how much to cut off.

“That’d look cute. You’d be super pretty with that. What about me, how short should I go? Maybe here?” You held your hand up to just above your shoulder. “Or shorter?”

“Well, you’ve always looked good with shoulder length hair. Maybe a bit shorter this time, though.”

You nodded in thought. “Wanna go get haircuts right now?”

“Absolutely.”

The two of you exchanged a smile, and for just a moment while you cleaned up the table you were sitting at, everything seemed to be just fine.

—

You never talked much to the boy that sat next to you in your Cultural Arts class—a class you had chosen to take purely on a whim. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever exchanged a word with the blond that sat beside you. But when you entered class the next day and took your seat beside him, he couldn’t help but double take.

“You cut your hair,” he observed.

It caught you off guard. You didn’t really talk to anyone in the class, seeing as no one you knew took it and you were too nervous to start a conversation with someone, so it shocked you that someone actually spoke to you.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. You didn’t mean to, but it was force of habit—always talk quietly when meeting new people. You looked up at him, seeing that his eyes were traveling over your profile to admire your haircut.

“You look nice,” he said simply.

Your eyes widened slightly at the sudden compliment.

You thanked him, giving him a small smile before you redirected your attention to the mechanical pencil in your hands, spinning around the eraser.

“I’m Armin.” He continued talking to you. You weren’t complaining, but it suddenly felt like every beat your heart made was amplified. It was distracting.

You looked back up at him and smiled again. “Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

You noticed how pretty he was—how his ocean blue eyes caught the light and the way his golden hair fell over his forehead. His glasses were cute, squareish with a dark tortoiseshell design, sitting halfway down his nose.

His lips curled into a smile, and he nodded. “Likewise.”

He looked familiar. His name sounded familiar, too, but you couldn’t quite place where you might know him from.

Since your professor had yet to enter the class, you decided to attempt a conversation with him. “So how do you like this class so far?”

You’re not sure if you imagined it, but you could have sworn his eyes brightened just a little bit hearing you continue to speak with him.

“I like it so far. I looked over the syllabus the other day and it seems like the class will be going on a couple trips later in the year,” he said. He was facing you in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Really?” He nodded. “Wow, I guess that’s what happens when you attend a really fancy private school,” you reasoned. “Fancy school trips for elective classes.”

“Yeah, I think the trips are more for the people wanting a career to do with culture, though,” Armin said. “What’s your major? You look familiar, maybe I have you in another class.”

“I doubt it,” you said, “but visual arts. Film, cinematography, video, set design, things like that.”

“What are you wanting to get into?”

“I want to be a set designer or producer. I think costume designing would be nice, too, but I know I want to help with movies. It’s always seemed fun,” you said. “It’s not really what Paradis is known for, but the program here is really good. I’ll get some experience in the field before graduating.”

“No, it’s cool. I have a friend wanting to get into the same thing, maybe you know him? His name is Jean Kirstein.”

You thought for a moment, attempting to put a face to the name. “Maybe? I’m not sure, I don’t really talk to anyone to be honest.”

Armin hummed. “That’s fine. I’ll ask him later and see if he knows you, if that’s alright with you.”

You nodded. “Yeah, perfectly fine.”

A smile painted itself onto Armin’s features, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He was about to say something else, but was interrupted by Professor Smith walking through the door.

He apologized for being late, and continued to begin the class by announcing the year long project mentioned on the syllabus.

“You will be working with your table partners,” he said. “The goal is to get to know them and understand their customs. You are meant to learn about their traditions and heritage, as well as their own personal culture and upbringing. I don’t want something that obviously came from Wikipedia, every family does things a little differently. I expect to see that in these projects. At the end of the year you will each be turning in both a written essay and a Google Slides presentation about your partner and what you learned. There will be a rubric on my desk for you to pick up at the end of class.”

Professor Smith gave his students a couple more minutes to silently converse among themselves, most likely so everyone could begin basic introductions with their partners.

You turned to Armin, finding that he already had his head turned and was looking at you.

“It looks like we’re partners,” he said. You nodded as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it, creating a new message box for you to input your number and send something. He handed it to you. “So we can stay in touch better,” he explained.

You took his phone, the dark blue case a nice, matte feeling under your fingertips. You quickly typed in your number and sent a quick hi , feeling your phone buzz in your pocket soon afterwards. You handed his phone back, pulling yours out and changing the contact of his number.

The two of you traded small conversation while you waited for your professor to continue the class. When he started talking again, you tried your best to pay attention to what he was saying (something about Egyptian pyramids, you think), but your mind and gaze kept wandering to the boy sitting next to you.

Little did you know that Armin was in the exact same boat.

—

When Mikasa met up with you for lunch, she started off with saying that her roommates were fine, if not ecstatic, with you moving in. Mikasa hadn’t explained your situation, only saying that you had annoying roommates, and they both accepted almost immediately.

You were practically elated to hear the news. Despite never meeting either of her roommates, Mikasa spoke the world of them to you. You could only assume she did the same with you, speaking to no end about some little thing you did with her roommates.

After lunch she helped you gather your things from your dorm. The two of you were able to fit almost everything into two large suitcases, a smaller one and a backpack. Mikasa helped you carry them to the elevator in the building, and pulled her phone out to text her roommates as you descended.

She talked to you about your room on the way there, mentioning that it was used as a storage room but the three of them had gotten it cleaned out quickly when they came to the agreement that someone else would be staying with them. She also talked about how there was an extra room, something they had discovered behind a wall after they had purchased the house, that they used as a studio for their interests.

“You can set your instruments up in there, if you want,” she said. “They should be fine since Eren doesn’t really go in there.”

Eren, as Mikasa has told you on numerous occasions, was the one constantly up to something. He was stubborn, and only stuck to his ideas with no hope of changing his mind after he made a decision.

You couldn’t remember her second roommate’s name for the life of you, but you knew that he was nice, more reasonable than Eren.

Mikasa soon pulled up in front of a small two story house in a decent looking neighborhood. She parked, grabbing her phone to call someone.

“Get out here and help us,” she said when the receiver had answered. “Y/n’s here, by the way, so don’t be a jackass to her.”

She hung up immediately after saying that. Right as you opened the car door and stepped out, you saw someone with brown hair jogging out the front door to meet you and Mikasa at the car.

He stopped next to Mikasa at the trunk, and helped her pull out your suitcases and place them on the driveway.

You joined them after looking over the house again. It was nice, a blueish-gray exterior with white trim. Nothing seemed like it was about to rot away or fall down, so that was a plus in your book.

“He’s in the shower, he’ll be out in a minute.” That was the only part of their conversation you heard before the brown-haired boy turned to you and gave you a small smile.

Mikasa ended up introducing the two of you, seeing as you didn’t want to initiate conversation and the guy in front of you gave her a side glance. “You should be able to do this yourself. Anyways, Y/n, this is Eren. Eren, meet Y/n.”

Eren gave a curt nod. “Nice to meet you. Uhm, do you have any allergies? I have dinner going in the kitchen and want to make sure you’re not allergic to anything.”

You shook your head. “No, not allergic to anything.”

You spoke quietly again, and you internally scolded yourself for doing so. But then you took his appearance into account and immediately stopped yourself. He was tall, easily one of the tallest people you’ve ever met. He also seemed to carry a lot of muscle under his white long sleeve, and his brown hair was pulled back into a bun to reveal the small tattoo of something you couldn’t figure out behind his ear. His green eyes were piercing, and you couldn’t help but feel he was staring into your soul, learning all your secrets, when he looked at you.

His presence intimidated you, and you silently thanked Mikasa when she told him to start taking things into the house. Eren jokingly rolled his eyes, grabbing one of your suitcases by the handle and wheeling it inside.

“Sorry, he can be a bit”—Mikasa made a motion with her hands, hoping the action conveyed what she was trying to say—“but I promise he’s better once you get to know him. For the most part, at least. Don’t worry, though, he knows you’re one of my best friends and wouldn’t dare pull what he pulls with other girls on you.”

She grabbed the larger suitcase and handed you the smaller one, closing the trunk and locking her car. She gently beckoned you to follow her into the house with a smile, and you followed her.

It was surprisingly put together inside. At least, for a house full of college students. There wasn’t any dirty clothing or dishes lying around, and everything seemed to have a place. It was a bit crowded, but that was likely because of the boxes sitting in the corners.

Mikasa led you to a staircase, where the two of you struggled momentarily to wheel your luggage up before realizing you could pick it up and carry it.

You walked down the hallway to the last door on the right. Mikasa opened it to reveal the sparse room, only being occupied by a bed without sheets.

“This is your room.” Mikasa stood in the center of the room and held her hands out as if what she was showing you was a grand presentation. “It’s a little dirty, but it’s mostly just dust. Eren should almost be done with dinner, so we’ll start putting everything away afterwards, yeah?”

You nodded, reaching behind you to bring in your other two suitcases. You set them in the corner, along with the backpack you had brought with you.

You could hear the shower going; it sounded like it was on the other side of the wall. Mikasa noticed you looking at one of the doors to your right and said, “Oh, that’s just Armin. He’s showering right now. There’s three bathrooms, one downstairs and two up here. The bathrooms up here are shared with the rooms on either side of them, so you’ll be sharing one with him, if that’s alright.”

The name she had said went unheard as you nodded, opening the other door to reveal a small closet with a dresser already inside.

You followed Mikasa out of your room when you closed the closet door for a quick tour of the house.

All the bedrooms were upstairs, you didn’t pay much attention to who they belonged to, but you could tell which one was Mikasa’s—the one across from you, decorated with a Twilight poster and some bookshelves, different knickknacks and book collections on each one. One of her walls was painted black, and had different pieces of paper taped and tacked to it. You spotted a picture of the two of you on her desk, and smiled at the memory associated with it.

She didn’t show you the inside of the other two rooms, saying that her roommates could decide if they wanted you to see them or not.

Downstairs, the dining room and living room were combined, two couches sitting crammed together to make space for the unusually large dining table—rectangular with six seats at it. Half of the table was occupied with unopened mail and other papers, possibly forgotten projects from earlier years, and the other was was completely clean.

It was a rather open house plan. You were able to see into the kitchen from the living room, and saw Eren moving a pot around and grabbing bowls from a cupboard. You followed Mikasa again, and opened the door in the kitchen she stopped in front of to see what was inside.

“This is the pantry. The washer and dryer are also in there, along with, like, other cleaning supplies and things we don’t really use. And then the other bathroom is in the living room,” Mikasa explained.

“Mika,” Eren started, sprinkling some kind of seasoning over the food he had made, “dinner’s almost ready. Go tell Armin.”

Mikasa gave him a thumbs up, telling you something you didn’t quite hear before going upstairs as Eren pulled out a spoon and started scooping dinner into bowls.

You had heard the name, and were trying to figure out where else you knew it from. Obviously Mikasa had mentioned this Armin multiple times in the past, but you swear you knew it from somewhere else . . .

Eren put the big plastic spoon he had been using back into the pot. He lifted a bowl and offered it to you. “It’s fideo. Mikasa said you liked it, so I figured I’d find a recipe and make it for dinner.”

He had pronounced it wrong, but knowing that he had tried to do something to welcome you left a feeling in you that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You took the bowl, bowing your head slightly to thank him and set it at the table.

You turned back towards him. “Do you need help with anything?”

Eren shrugged. “Not really. I mean, if you want to grab drinks you can, but we usually just grab our own.”

You needed something to do—you would feel awkward if you were the only one at the table—so you walked into the pantry and looked around for a moment. You saw a few packs of soda on the floor—all packages of store brand root beer—and bent down to pick up four cans from the only open box.

You walked out and set them down at the table, seeing that Eren had already set the rest of the bowls in their places and was sitting down.

You sat as well, soon being joined by Mikasa. “He’ll be down in a minute. He’s doing his hair.”

You saw Eren jokingly roll his eyes and mumble something that made Mikasa laugh from next to you. You let out a quiet, nervous breath of air in a sad attempt to laugh at whatever joke they shared.

Soon after the three of you started eating, you were joined by a fourth person that sat across from you. You glanced up when you noticed him, noting the familiar blond hair and glasses.

“Armin.” You’re not sure why you’re surprised, you really should have put together that the blond boy in your Cultural Arts class was the same blond boy Mikasa spoke about. Despite that, you didn’t put together until that moment that they were the same person.

Armin glanced up from his phone, which he immediately turned off and put the the side face down. He took the sight of you in with intent, looking over your gestures as if he was trying to commit them to memory.

His blond hair was still damp, sitting on his head flatter than it had been earlier. His skin seemed to be glowing, and the white T-shirt he was wearing hugged his torso and arms in all the right places.

“Y/n.” He said your name in the same tone you had said his, with genuine surprise and wonder. It might have been your imagination, but you think you saw him sit just a little straighter. “So you’re our new roommate?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I guess this’ll make our project super easy.” You smiled at him, and he immediately returned it with his own, one so bright it would have lit up the world if everything went out.

“Oh, so you two already know each other?” Mikasa asked. She wasn’t oblivious to the way Armin straightened his posture after seeing you, the way your eyes unknowingly lit up after realizing he was your third roommate.

She suddenly felt an abrupt protectiveness over you. Mikasa has only ever seen you seem so interested in someone from the very start once, and that didn’t end well. Despite knowing that Armin was a nice guy, that if you two theoretically entered a relationship he wouldn’t hurt you on purpose (even if he ever did hurt you Mikasa knows he would apologize as soon as possible with the most personal apology you would ever see), the thought still made her uneasy.

She trusted your judgment, of course, and in that hypothetical situation where you and him were dating she trusted that Armin would be the best boyfriend you could have, but she knew your past. She knew your habits and little quirks. She knew how you acted and was worried that if anything grew between the two of you, you would just run from your feelings.

She just didn’t want you to get hurt again.

“Yeah,” you said. “We have the same Cultural Arts class. We’re partners for our project.”

“What’s the project?” Eren asked. He was usually unknowing to emotions the people around him felt, but any idiot could see the spark between you and his best friend. He didn’t know you as well as he knew Armin, but you shared the tell-tale signs of interest through the way you were sitting.

He, for one, was rather excited for what might conspire between you and Armin. Since his best friend’s previous girlfriend broke off the relationship, Armin hadn’t searched for anything romantic, saying things like, No one likes me anyways, why would I look for someone that’ll half-ass our relationship?

“Just to learn about each other, really,” Armin said. “We’re supposed to learn about our partners customs and traditions.”

Mikasa hummed, half-way through chewing a spoonful of soup. When she swallowed, she motioned to you and said, “You should tell him about your Quinceañera.”

“What’s a Quinceañera?” Eren asked.

“It’s kind of like a sweet sixteen,” you said. “Kind of. More like a wedding, really, at least that’s what a lot of people describe it as. It’s just a birthday party Hispanic girls celebrate when they turn fifteen to commemorate becoming a woman.”

“There’s so much symbolism behind everything,” Mikasa said, knowing you wouldn’t elaborate further unless asked the right questions. She knew for a fact that Armin and Eren didn’t know the right questions, so she ended it by telling Armin, “Her sister’s having one later this year, so be sure to ask her about it after she comes back from the trip.”

Armin nodded toward Mikasa, silently thanking her for the continuation of conversation. “Definitely. You have a sister?” he asked you.

You nodded. “Rosalina,” you said. “She gathered her court of honor earlier this year and asked her boyfriend to be her main chambelan.”

Armin had not a clue what any of the words you were saying meant, but he knew that he would love learning about the traditions you celebrated.

He was suddenly more excited for this project than he had been.

Ngl this is me writing for the fun of it. This is basically a shameless self insert so…

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Tag List: @kellzyy @slishyrats

<3

[some-complete-idiot]

You know what I find weird?

That femboys are the most common queer men to be in the alt right, at least online. And you think these groups would reject them as well but no!

Like, how many of you have seen a butch lesbian supporting or dressed up like a neo-nazi on a hate forum? What about a trans man who’s in a KKK discord? Little to none right?

Now tell me, how many times have you seen a dude in thigh highs or programmer socks while wearing a fake tactical vest and a skull bandanna? More than should be reasonable.

But if I were to make an assumption as to why an alt right femboy is even a possibility is where the term femboy got popularized…

Here’s an excerpt from the Wikipedia article on the word femboy,

“Femboy culture began to take shape in the United States in the 1990s. After the term was appropriated on the Internet, femboy communities began to form. Around 2018, the term femboy was found almost exclusively on 4chan, especially on the /lgbt/ forum.”

You see that? That little website sticking out like a stop sign in the middle of the fucking desert? That’s probably the reason I’ve seen alt right femboys. It’s because the term was popularized through goddamn 4chan.

I can’t say on how edgy 4chan still is. I only went on there once and was basically shown a shock image right out the gate in /b/. I only know of 4chans culture through watching Wang! on YouTube.

But I do know that 4chan is a very easy way to be radicalized. So it wouldn’t be a reach to expect that some femboys who had other social medias obviously would bring that hate with them.

I don’t really see it much now, but there’ll still be a clip that might go around that has some dude in stockings and tactical gear do something funny. But I don’t know, all I know is that at least current femboy stuff ain’t usually rooted or associated with some hateful rhetoric.

[leuenbergeria]

Ayashi kaitems

I'm fucking frenzied tonight let's fucking gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Like do you understand how much do I want to OBLITERATE basically everyone who comes my way???? I want to have everyone on this goddamn shithole country fucking sewer swamp awful stinking mudpit shot and buried and executed like a dog. I want to run over everyone like I'm getting my inheritance and a slug fucking comes across me on the road.

I am the car, I am the bus running over this fucking walking and sliding slime and I am crushing it until it's squished into nothingness and sent into another geometric dimension because it doesn't fit anymore into this place of existence because I fucking SLAMMED IT DAMMIT

This place is getting on my nerves and on me and basically destroying everything I hold dear, grinding me down cell by cell bone by bone muscle by muscle neuron by neuron until I'm worn down into yet another victim of the gray concrete flat this goddamn mess of a city is. That's leaving aside the complete and fucking disaster destruction of the absolute highest caliber that this country is and has ever been like have you fucking seen anything??? Like anything of this caliber???

Well I'll tell you, it all fucking sucks raw dog mad fucking pulsing like it's a RGB LED in a gamer's computer when he's launching a fucking rave like it's 1987 Berlin and he's discovered what techno music is and also everything is in the sky and it all comes down to the same thing oh yeah oh yeah

Do I even want to see this place to completion to see if I can get even the slightest bit of relief well no but you get the idea but not really but it's all the same to me since every small and negligible increase is so fucking small like I can barely tell and that's maybe it's because like seeing the same person over time you can barely tell the changes until it's really obvious but if you have not seen them in a while then basically anything becomes shocking but the only shocking thing about this place is how much I wish I could leave and I'm not the only one because otherwise how can you explain the fucking mass emigration rates like everyone wants to fucking leave and I can blame absolutely not a single person like we're so fucking cooked broooooooooooooooooo

And leaving is what I will do one day but too bad there's absolutely nothing good waiting for me outside since everything is being crushed into absolute despair and I can't believe how everything is trending down, trending down like it's the stock market crash except the only stock is livability and how free we are to be ourselves and all it's doing is trending to the whims of those who despise us and those who want to see us dead. I don't even know if I fit any label myself but what I know is that I want to see them all dead because we're all the same to them so we should treat them the same way back when we're in power, making no excuses for the terror since they made zero concessions or mercy to us.

If only I could cry across the land and have it liberated, extricated from these pests, these absolutely biblical pieces of excoriated shit whose only purpose in life is to cause endless, multiple disasters of suffering and making suffering the only lofty and worthy goal in life, both to cause and to experience. Well you know what, if you want suffering you get suffering 'cause only thing you're inviting is absolute hatred beyond the confines of human imagination and by god you will fucking get it one day. One day I will be able to set you ablaze and set this whole world on its head until every single one of you is set to the stones and sent to oblivion and destroyed until every single last speck of dust is nothing but the words of a bygone era which we are all glad is gone

The only alienation I feel is both caused by my own hands but also by the way the cultural climate has shaped me and how everything has led to this point and I think that's an important point to make

Good night anyways or something idk

[misterbitches]

since i've been watching more "acclaimed" “television” and “films” and doing more “film work”, i feel myself moving ever on from this genre of bl and now, gl...but in the literal sense of these tv series as a different market. when i'm bored or need to de-stress, i watch, but my attention can’t be held much anymore. maybe because i recall when every component was meant to be seen and every scene was thoughtful, even if escapist or comedic. that doesn't mean i haven't found good shows, artists haven’t made good work, or i haven’t found pairings to like (obviously) or that there aren’t things to say or even that i haven’t changed my mind a lot about what i like and why, gone back and seen merit. that they aren’t people who have things to say, and say it well, it’s just that most of it is....same. rote. unchanging. static. maybe it’s also because i’m stressed and my hair was falling out and it didn’t slow down that process?!?!?!? like hello!

anyway lowkey feel nothing for the girls in gap and i guess it's my age and the fact that the girls are 19-21 and teensy. i also didn’t like scoy at all (minus like daisy and som but god the accusations people lob at others for not liking it) and there are other adult or serious queer women stories to see. is it the hype? is it how people describe these shows and the genre? the new gmmtv gl looks beige as hell like in a very becky-esque way (not the lil mixed girl actress! who is decent enough and completely adorable, but becky-esque as in basique) but i felt...something? for gap i might clock in when they become physical because that's what the girls (me) want and i’m her for them (the girls), but  rn i'm unengaged. 

(talking abt capitalism tv and qu**rs for abt 50000 minutes under here)

(also go see tar for some crazy queer shit! do it go go do it only if u want to tho and only if u r in the mood 4 some fucked up shit lmao not romance)

i think these shows have a lot of pressure to reflect a community when they can't, when bl can't even do that (thank fucking god) and doesn’t want to. and to make money. mostly that. we've always been part of a market, no matter our sexuality; we buy and sell stuff, sell our labor, alienation and all that but when it's marketed to you (girls, and here especially queer girls), it feels like another box.

i forget that these shows are mostly pure romances or romcoms, taking from the well of romantic clichés in all cultures, heterormative or not, based on mostly masculine, often fetishistic or racistesque tropes/ideals embedded (think thinness or attractiveness of one’s body, one’s social capital). those of us who know and share these feelings and/or are in relationships with women create them (sometimes), but we have our own internalized difficulties, too. it's a common language that doesn't change with sexuality because desire is invisible (which is why it's vital to call out our internalized and externalized concerns). when i'm shocked, i start to expect more, therefore the word queer in the loosest sense (which is overused and over-categorized yet misunderstood) doesn't apply because it's about relationships (and sex) first and life, being,  second. if you're not matched up, you stop being a "queer person" and there's no story. that isn’t to say that escapism or whatever doesn’t work or isn’t an okay function to have, that romance as a driver isn’t the most common story we have in our lives—my point is that to eschew that categorization as such makes it seem like it isn’t, giving the work an inflated sense of itself when it is. even the specific productions rely on your knowledge of: the genre, knowledge of the work if it's an adaptation, investment in the actors, the studio or corporation (and now even the producer, which is insane to me!)  but evenn then....why can’t i feel that??!?!?!? make it happen already without all this previous shit!!! it’s like a fucking oscar campaign which i cannot goddamn stand. just let it stand on its own but it CANNOT DO THAT!!!!

so while i don't feel bad for not liking this, and having other queer stories with women that i prefer (from other countries), i feel that people's responses are, if one enjoys it, an assumption that because it's two women (in this case just out of teenhood lmao god i'm old) people won't like it or that we should give it more of a chance because bl had a rocky start. i think giving things more of a chance is fair, not everyone does or should, but it is fair and a good ask, seriously media literacy is great; and i understand the impulse as one thing being “the first of its kind” (though the first is never the first, iykyk).  i don't think bl should be at this level at. all. anyone who knows me knows that and why i feel that way. it's crazy to have such a congested market, and the money they're making is outrageous. it's not revolutionary and one of the most frequent and dull media markets next to tiktok shows. i criticize the shows' competency because, except from indies, the companies are begging for money, fucking foaming at the mouth for it.

i hope the "gl" market doesn't get too crowded, but whatever. not necessarily a good thing because it doesn't level things out in the actual world or in the hands of capital, which repackages, mainstreams, and sells it to ruin and profit the most. but i can see how it moves a marginal needle, like anything else: i.e. more of this type of (one note) love can be seen and made, and the absolute best outcome, one i will always support, is people getting more work and being able to make things they like, or, most importantly, artists being able to support themselves with work in a hopefully good work environment (but lbr...probably most times not)  good work environment. the point is people have to unfortunately work to eat, and if they get to contribute while doing something they love (filmmaking)? good. even if its’ bad, or boring, or whatever like....at least? that?

then again a lot of it is trash but...that’s also fine. things can continually fucking suck, not everything is on an artistic scale. so maybe gap sux, and the few gls that will be shown may sux, and maybe it's worth it to keep an eye out for things not on a big platform or poured into by a big company or a big name, and not just romances since that's not only in our lives, because none of this is authentic but i feel like i'm being asked to think it is? and that’s when it gets weird, meta, cringier and what makes people more annoying.

ironically, i watched all the queer stuff with women before i got into bl (wonder why lmao), and a lot of it is on film, but i think this specific genre in these specific countries came into my life at such a specific time and emerging from that time, being even more of an adult, i feel like i'm coming out of it. i'm not sure what i've learned...probably nothing. is it entertaining? did it stop being entertaining? i am, however, getting sick of men’s poor decisions and even though it’s annoying when women or other people make them my gOD we’re a lot less fucking pussy about it.

[callmearcturus]

i love backloggd, it enables me to unleash my ultimate pretentiousness

Metal Gear Solid (1998): ★★★★★

This game made me pretentious and queer, and I owe it a lot.

Metal Gear Solid 2 (2001): ★★★★☆

I don't know how this got made to be honest. So when people talk about Kojima as a brand all his own, I think it's important to understand that somehow, this pop culture philosopher military nerd got a triple A budget and used it to make art games. If you strip out the precision and polish and hours upon hours of voice acting from these games, the Metal Gear franchise would be most at home on itch.io with the other Esoteric Weird Games.

MGS2 is the pinnacle of that. Konami said "hey Kojima, here's an enormous budget and huge team, make a sequel to that game everyone likes" and Kojima said, "Sure but its going to be a game about how none of them really want a sequel to MGS1 and how such a thing is intellectually impossible," and Konami went, "whatever dude so long as it sells."

And boy howdy did it sell. And singlehandedly define the PS2 generation and its capabilities.

Anyway, four stars. BTW Snake and Otacon's handshake is the konami code.

Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater (2004): ★★★★★

Despite not having Otacon, this still manages to be the best Metal Gear. Shocking, I know. But this one still feels genuinely affecting and like it's trying to say something profound. Like many Metal Gear games, MGS3 is a conversation, but its like the person talking to you is trying desperately to explain something just can't quite get the words to line up right. But you feel it! Emotionally, you understand.

Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots (2008) ★★☆☆☆

This game is one prolonged creator tantrum from Kojima. I can metaphysically feel Kojima sitting beside me and sighing as I continue to play. He's such a pissy little fuck with this one honestly. This game is a conversation, but it's a lecture. I love it. It's fucking terrible.

Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker (2010): ★★★☆☆

This one is so solidly an emotional precursor to the actual trauma of MGSV, it's hard to measure it on its own story merits. I enjoyed it greatly, however a lot of it just feels like Kojima Productions flexing how much they can pull off with the PSP. The fact this game exists, that it's functional, that it pulls off everything it does, that the multiplayer works so well, that there are literally so many fucking mechanics the game is still lightly tutorializing you hours and hours into the story, it's incredible. How did they do this?

Like here's the thing about Hideo Kojima, is that in an industry that hemorrhages talent, Kojima has been actively making games since before 19fucking88. And it shows. Give him a talented team and he can make absolute goddamn magic. That is what really sets him apart.

And MGS:PW is not my favorite Metal Gear but it is the apex of that talent. This game is a flex.

Metal Gear Solid V: Ground Zeroes (2014): ★★☆☆☆

ay yo hideo what the hell

Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain (2015): ★★★★★

I have no idea if I want to rate this 5 stars or 2, because it's flawed as hell. We have here maybe the apex of Kojima's weird uncomfortable sexism. We also have the apex of his gamecraft. It has sequences that are unearned and dreadful and make me frustrated, because Kojima, you asshole, I know you can do better! You gave us the Boss for god's sake, I know you got it in you!

But it also has maybe one of The Actual More Affecting Sequences In Metal Gear, with The Hospital Sequence. Not the opening one, the other one. Yeah.

There is so much here. To me, this feels like the final draft to MGS4's original conceit. The hugeness, the refinement, the emotional growth, the maturity of the themes. I said that MGS4 was like a creator tantrum. With MGSV, I feel like I'm in perfect sync with Kojima and the pathos he wants to lay out. In the same way MGS4 made me roll my dang eyes out of my head, MGSV works. For someone who has been influences by Metal Gear for most of my life, MGSV feels like… a moment of mutual respect.

Screw it, five stars.

[mooni-bunni]

AOT with a Black S/O

A/N: There are SO many characters I want to do so this is definitely going to be a part one. Please know that I’m going off of MY ✨black experience✨ so if I mention something that you don’t do or experience, then idk, write your own. 🤨

CW: Modern AU, Black!Reader, Reader is female oriented,

TW: some light racism mentions.

Eren Jaeger

I’m going to start this off by saying Eren is completely into ethnic women.

If it’s not the way your skin glows under the summer sun, it’s definitely the goddamn brown eyes that are just BEAUTIFUL MAN.

He won’t say it, but he is such a nerd for learning more about your culture. Learns a lot about black history and excitedly tells you the new stuff he learned. He gets so happy when he learns about inventions by black people too.

He gets really mad about a lot of social issues though. He’s a really good listener when it comes to you voicing your feelings about something that’s happened in the community. Definitely an unapologetic activist.

Take him to a predominantly black church, watch him be all awkward but tapping his toes. He’ll tell you after that he really enjoyed it and had a lot of fun. He may not be feeling the Holy Ghost, but he is definitely going with you on sunday just to enjoy it with you

Over all, he just loves you so much, he gets to experience so,etching new every single day and he loves it. Especially when it comes to music, food, and clothing. Dress him up please, he likes it. Use him as a wig stand too.

Armin Arlert

Please, he was doing research on black culture before you were even dating. 🤨🖐🏾

When you started dating, you were definitely surprised by how much he actually knows about black culture. It’s all because he wanted to make sure he never says anything to you that makes you upset. If he has questions about something, he is going right to those books and the internet. He’s also not afraid to ask you questions but he would prefer to not burden you with the responsibility of educating him.

If you grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood, he tries his best to make you feel comfortable about being your most authentic self and not washing yourself down for him. He doesn’t like it when you hold yourself back or fix your speech so that he can understand you better, he’ll fight you to be yourself. USE YOUR AAVE AND TEACH HIM.

He really likes the way you talk. He takes note of any little inflectional accented letters in the words you speak. He will use words like “bussin” and “Chile” in the wrong way, so please just… stop him, he’s trying his best.

He’s also really into African American protective hairstyles and why they are important

Definitely sits down with you and helps you with your hair. He’s not the best with it, but he is definitely helpful. Like he’ll at least hold stuff for you or let you use his hand as the pallet for the grease or gel. If you’re a wig wearer, he likes being the model while you shape it. If you’ve got an Afro, he’s buying you the cutest bonnets to wear at night.

Mikasa Ackerman

The thing she loves so much about you is how she’s able to swap cultural experiences with you. 🥺

She grew up in a half Asian household and has a lot of things to share. The fact that she gets to mix her culture with yours is incredible to her. Especially with food because traditional Japanese dishes with traditional African American foods is fun to combine

She is really into r&b music, too. Swapping music with her is so much fun because she finds some new artists she’s never heard of before. She really likes Destiny’s Child

Asks you a lot of questions, too. It’s always light hearted and she means so well. She wants to know more about your family, the dynamic, what kinds of struggles you went through, the celebrations.

Bring her to parties and family functions, she is a visual and hands on learner.

Calls you beautiful every single day. There’s not a single thing about you that she doesn’t love.

Jean Kirschtein

Jean definitely gets quite the culture shock when you first start living together.

Mainly because of the food. He is not used to any cuisine that as a little spice in it. The first time you cool all the fixings for him, he is overwhelmed. It smells so good and some is familiar, but he’s never had them in this way.

He’s eating all of it anyways honey. He’s telling you it’s BUSSIN. Every fuckin meal, bro, he is saying it. Y’all can’t even go to cookouts because he says it so loud, tell him to STOP. (But don’t because it sounds funny and he’s just trying to express his love for soul food.)

OH AND DANCING. BRO. He learns a lot about how dances were ripped off from black people and he asks you to teach him the correct way to do it, if you know how. If not, he’ll happily teach you. He loves the history of it, too.

He is very active as an ally and does a lot of work to make sure the community you guys live in is accepting and safe for you and everyone else.

It really does take him a minute to get into the swing of daily life, but he is so happy he met you and that you let him in.

Sasha Braus

You already know I’m going to say food with this girl.

The way she is tearing up a plate the first time you cook food for her is a little animalistic. She licks that shit CLEAN. Some soul food at a party is going to be nonexistent if you bring her.

She may not be the brightest girl, but movies are definitely her thing. She likes it when you show her some movies directed by black people like Jordan Peele or Tyler Perry. One of her favorite movies is Dream Girls.

She also asks a lot of questions. (Ahem, her with Onyankopon…) It’s always her trying to learn more but they sometimes come off as a little uhhhhh… you know…. Like that. Don’t worry though, explain things to her and she is immediately apologetic for even asking.

You might have to teach her a few things though, I’m not gonna lie.

Take her to a family reunion or a Juneteenth celebration party, trust me she’ll enjoy herself.

Levi Ackerman

Surprisingly the thing he enjoys the best is the music.

You’d think with his classical tea loving ass, he’d be a little weary with the music, but no! He actually really likes old hip hop and rap. New age is not his favorite, but he likes artist like Tupac, Biggie, Jay Z, Old Kanye. Don’t be surprised to see him rapping randomly. I’ll stand by this.

He’s also really good with hair. Like surprisingly good with it. Like, he could actually just do your hair and you will probably never have to go to a salon ever.

He saw you struggling with yours one morning and noticed how expensive it was for you to get yours done, so he literally went out to any black owned salon and asked if they could teach him how it’s done. For weeks he just spent his free time learning how to do textured hair, which products were good, which ones were harmful, how to style, all of it. He came home one day and saw you booking an appointment to get yours done and told you he could do it. Success.

He also learns your favorite soul food meals. Spends time with your family to learn how you like it.

Overall, Levi isn’t great with words but he shows you he loves you by doing these extravagant things for your that’s how you know he cares about you and how important your heritage is.

A/N: this was so cute wahhh. Idk why I’m worried about being canceled when I’m black- also sorry for any typos I miss.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Sovereign Talks (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil Genre: Bit of angst sandwiched between two pieces of fluff Rating: T for language Notes: Another partially/selectively mute reader story! Again, this is somewhat self indulgent, essentially being a self-insert story with edits to make it better for a wider audience. PS Daniela says some stuff that's kinda insulting, though it's out of misunderstanding rather than poor intentions, and she tries to make up for it. Also, some of the descriptions of the reader's muteness might not make sense to everyone, as I'm essentially describing how it feels for me, personally. Summary: Daniela's favorite servant is sweet, charming, eager to please, all the things she wants from a romantic partner. But there's one detail she's never quite understood. An argument, a discussion, an inevitability.

Try as you might, it was nigh impossible to please your employer. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong, and Daniela Dimitrescu was more than pleased to point it out to you. At least her intentions weren’t severe. It didn’t really bother her if you missed a spot while dusting, or if you accidentally stumbled upon a ‘private’ conversation. What mattered to her, at the end of the day, was having material to tease you with, or ‘bargain’ with. She’d approach you slowly, musing out loud about your chores. Then she’d point out a flaw, smirking ever so slightly, before placing a finger beneath your chin. You’d make awkward eye contact, desperate to get out of the situation.

And then she’d tell you exactly what she wanted from you.

Most days it was simple enough. Or at least it had been at the start, when she first sought you out. ‘Carry these books for me’, she’d say, beckoning you to follow her. ‘Make a copy of this poem so I can return the book to Duke’, she’d command. Every single time you were powerless to refuse. Hell, you couldn’t even say anything if you wanted to. So you did as she asked. In time, you came to realize the truth behind her actions, the center of her motivations: She wanted to spend time with you.

You had been baffled, at first, to connect the dots in such a way. But Daniela made no attempt to hide her feelings, letting her touches linger on your skin, smiling without any cruelty when you were near. Once, she had even covered for you after you broke a vase. When you had tried to protest, hands waving, mouth refusing to speak, she had shrugged you off with a simple ‘you are worth the price’. Ever since then, the two of you had been rather close. Sure, she had never officially asked you on a date, but she had held your hand while the two of you read. And she had held you, swaying back and forth, as music played in a distant room. Then there were the times she caught you in the corridor, pressing you against the wall for a quick kiss… or a long one, that is. Certainly that meant something? Otherwise you’d look quite silly, blushing as hard as you tended to.

Eventually your concerns subsided considerably. It took a long, difficult conversation, however, and an argument you’d never forget…

-----------------------------------

“Have you read Crier’s War yet?” Daniela asked, looking at you over her own book. The two of you were in her personal study, near the library, lounging in peaceful quiet. Well, it had been quiet. At her question you glance up, ensuring you made eye contact before shaking your head no. “I think you’d like it. Impossible love between two people from vastly different cultures, who start out opposed… sounds familiar, hmm?” This time you nod, laughing a little under your breath. Then you’re returning to your novel, oblivious to the way your partner is watching you, her eyes narrowed. When she catches your attention once more, it’s with a question you had hoped she would never ask. “Why don’t you talk?”

Trying to hide your discomfort, you practically bury your nose in your book, refusing to look up at Daniela. In response she grabs your notepad, slowly sliding it closer to you. For every second of silence she moves it another centimeter. With a slight groan you give in, snatching it from her hands, but sending her a glare as you do. Quickly you grab your pen and scrawl her a note. Not an answer, rather a question of your own.

“Why does it matter?” Clearly that wasn’t what she was looking for, as she leans back and gives a groan of her own.

“Seriously? I’m just curious. You can laugh, groan, make other, nice little noises… I just want to know how you work,” Daniela explained, frowning all the while. Admittedly, you understand where she’s coming from. But that didn’t mean that you were terribly comfortable with this conversation. In fact, it’s a subject you’ve been dreading ever since the two of you started ‘dating’. How exactly were you supposed to explain your condition? Especially without being able to talk directly through it?

“It’s complicated,” you write, angling the paper so Daniela can read it from her side of the table. But she only spares it a quick glance, before staring hard at you again. “Fine, babe. My mouth feels like static. My tongue is heavy, and trying to talk is like walking when both your legs are asleep. There’s never not a lump in my throat.” Now she’s reading attentively, frown vanishing, replaced by a confused expression. Shifting awkwardly, you internally pray that she doesn’t have any follow up questions. Alas, there are no gods on your side this day.

“Did something happen? Or were you… born like this?” Daniela asked, watching you closely. Frustrated, you give her a pleading look, hoping that she’d get the message and back off. Instead she doubles down. “We could arrange for a doctor to come out here, if that’s what you need. All you have to do is tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t expect you to understand. It’s a multifaceted issue, and-” you have to turn the page to continue writing at this point- “a very personal one. But if you must know, it has to do with my anxiety.” There’s a pause, and for a few seconds you think the conversation is over. The relief that floods your chest only lasts a single moment. Then you’re face to face with Daniela, who’s leaning across the table, eyeing you with an expression you can’t make sense of. Now your heart is racing, leaving you trembling.

“So… it’s not a matter of whether or not you can talk at all? It’s a choice?” Daniela questioned, sounding aggravated. Instantly you’re shaking your head, scowling at her interpretation of your words. “What, you’re saying you can’t even relax enough to talk around me? Your fucking girlfriend?” This was exactly the sort of thing you had been worried about. How could you expect Daniela to understand the way your mind locked your jaw in place? How could she ever realize how terrifying the whole castle was?

“Calm down and let me elaborate, please,” you write, as fast as you can. But Daniela yanks your notebook away from you, tossing it to the side. All you can do is stare at her in shock. This was more than just a misunderstanding, this was her actively sabotaging your only reliable method of communication.

“You want me to calm down? Can’t you see why I’m upset? I just found out my partner isn’t comfortable around me. We could have been talking all this goddamn time! Why haven’t you told me this before? Why haven’t we worked on this?” Daniela was practically yelling now, and both of you had risen to your feet. You’ve backed away a meter or so, only for her to close the space between you, one hand cupping your cheek. No matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to look her in her eyes. “C’mon, please,” she whispered, voice barely audible. Tears are starting to cloud your vision. “Say something. Anything.”

Wordlessly, you pull yourself from her grasp, too overwhelmed to do anything other than let your feet carry you out of the room. Half to your relief, half to your misery, Daniela doesn’t lift a finger to stop you.

-----------------------------------

Two weeks. That’s how long it had been since you ‘talked’ to Daniela. Ever since, she had been avoiding you, and you her. Hell, for three days you struggled more than usual to communicate with anyone because you hadn’t dared to go back for your notebook. In the end someone had found you a new one. It didn’t quite feel the same though, considering your normal one had been a gift… a gift from the very person who had taken it away from you. For two weeks it had felt like every single thing was another reminder of your loneliness. You wanted desperately to fix your situation, but had no clue where to even begin. Until an irritated Cassandra hatched a devious plan, that is.

You weren’t privy to the specific details of her scheme, and could only guess as to her motivations (presumably being annoyed by Daniela’s sulking). All you really knew was that one moment you were following the middle child, supposedly to assist her with organizing something, and the next you were being shoved in an unfamiliar room. Inside, Bela was trying to stall Daniela, making up a ridiculous excuse for her to be there. As soon as you entered, the eldest daughter made a beeline (flyline?) towards the exit. Before either you or your girlfriend could process what was happening, the door had been shut and locked, trapping the two of you within.

“What the fuck?” Daniela asked, temporarily ignoring you in favor of pounding on the door. It didn’t budge, unsurprisingly, but someone outside did yell in response. Not that you could make out what the muffled voice was saying. “Ugh, I swear I am going to kill them for this.” Unable to get out, she finally turns to look at you. In an instant the anger drains from her face, replaced with a bittersweet smile. There’s enough tension in the room to weigh the corners of your lips down. It’s getting harder to breathe, and you can’t quite look Daniela in the eyes. “Hey. Hey, c’mon, if they’re going to be assholes, we might as well make the most of it, right?” She asked, voice a million times softer than you would have expected, considering your previous conversation. With that she moves to sit down, gesturing for you to join her.

“Mmm?” You ‘say’, really just making a confused humming sound. For once, you do want to talk. More than any other time you’ve wanted to. But your tongue was caught in the bear trap your teeth represented, preventing almost any sound from escaping. Still, this is a side of Daniela that you do not often see, with how prideful she tended to be. All it takes to get you to move is for her to pat the spot next to her. Then you’re shifting, blushing hard as you lower yourself onto the couch. Not quite ready to meet her gaze, you stare at your thumbs, twiddling them like an anxious child.

“Bela seems to think that I’ve made a fool of myself in front of you,” Daniela mused, more to herself than to you. One of her hands slides towards you, however, eagerly intertwining her fingers with your own. After two whole weeks of isolation… it’s an amazing feeling. “I said something stupid. It’s been driving me mad, and I have no clue what to do about it. Fuck-” she flinches as she speaks, eyes clamping shut- “I just want to fix this. I want you to feel good around me. I want you to feel the same way I do. More than anything, I want to be your safe haven.”

Your eyes meet, finally, as warmth floods your chest. Words fail you, as they are wont to do, so you leave them behind. Instead you reach for your stars- the body of your girlfriend, pulling yourself into her arms. Even as tears drip down your cheeks, you are smiling softly, overwhelmed by the embrace. Soon enough you can feel Daniela rubbing soft circles into your back with her fingers. She presses a gentle kiss to the side of your head, enjoying the hug too much to pull back even the slightest bit.

“Is there anything I can do? Anything to make you more comfortable?” She asked, for a moment not even realizing the difficulty you would have with responding. Finally connecting the dots, she changes the position of her arms, ensuring that you could stay in her lap while still being able to gesture with your hands. Instead of replying, your first concern is to gently cup your girlfriend’s cheek. Then you place a kiss on her forehead. “You’re my everything, you know that, right?” Daniela whispered, sounding almost in awe. Suddenly you’re possessed by a rush of courage, clearly bolstered by her affection, and you move without thinking. You lean back in for another kiss, hand moving to the back of her head for stability.

Both of you are smiling now, even as your kiss gets more intense, the two of you pressing against each other as best as you can. One of Daniela’s hands runs itself through your hair, before taking it in a loose grip. All you can think about is how right this feels. Your heart is racing, especially as your girlfriend switches to an open mouth kiss, letting her tongue slide across your lips. It catches you off guard, and you need to pull back to catch the breath she had so eagerly stolen. Even then you swear you can feel her pulse pounding just as hard as yours is.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” Daniela murmured, embarrassed, worried that you had stopped for a very different reason. In response you shake your head a little, then practically smother her face in tiny kisses. She’s giggling at that, grinning, all of her anxiety fading away. Most of yours does too. Everything feels perfect. So much so, in fact, that you feel something you haven’t felt in almost an entire year: The loosening of your jaw muscles. Clarity unstiffens your tongue, making age-old static clear up. Can I…? You wonder, wanting so desperately to use this opportunity as best as you can. After all, who knew when you’d ever be this comfortable within the castle again. Hell, the thought alone makes you more nervous, and you struggle to think of something, anything, to say.

“L-l… Love,” you stuttered, barely getting the syllable out, mouth feeling incredibly dry, mind racing, hating how it sounds because holy shit you haven’t talked in a year and was Daniela going to hate your voice and forget all about what you were saying and ruin the moment or worse was she going to hate you or thoughts thoughts pounding in your head like a hurricane, because because because-......................... Anxiety, above all else, was an asshole. One that had prevented you from hundreds of conversations, and limited a thousand more. Now, moments after finally speaking, your mind is on the brink of a tear-worthy breakdown. But you’ve said your piece, and by God has it been received.

“Yes, absolutely, fuck baby, I love you so much!” Daniela cried, equally overwhelmed, for a far different reason. She’s holding you as close as she can, burying her face in your neck. Likewise you rest yourself against her, letting your eyes drift shut, happy beyond description. There were still things you had to talk about, yes, and you would once more have to rely on your trusty notebook. Daniela had a lot to learn, to understand, but this was a start. More than that, it was the first step after the mending of a broken bone. Everything to come would be far, far easier, a labor of love done fearlessly.

-----------------------------------

“Should we open the door now? Or at least unlock it?... How long does it take two idiots to stop being mad at each other?” Cassandra asked, leaning against the hallway wall. Meanwhile Bela had her ear to the door, straining to hear what was going on within. Sure, she had gone along with her younger sister’s plan, but she hadn’t been entirely convinced that it wouldn’t end in disaster. Then again, so far so good. No yelling, no (loud) crying, just some quiet words from Daniela. Maybe they’re working things out, Bela thought, starting to smile. And then she heard something she’d never forget…

“Yes, absolutely, fuck baby, I love you so much!”

“We are not opening that door,” Bela replied, suddenly, her ears burning red. She didn’t know how things had gone from so quiet to so potentially dirty in such a short amount of time, and she did not care. Without even a hint of an explanation, she turned to leave, desperate to get certain mental images out of her head...

[starshipsofstarlord]

Okay rockstars, settle down

rockstar!bucky barnes x assistant!reader x rockstar!loki laufeyson / masterlist

summary; having previously worked for loki, it causes a heat to burn within bucky’s already accumulated hate towards the musician / warnings; threesome, smut, mxf and mxm sex, mentions of sex with other characters, oral sex (male and female receiving), creampie, unprotected sex, double penetration, degradation, swearing, orgasm denial, cum eating

“Can’t believe you worked for that wanker.” Snarked Bucky as an image of the well known, musically spread, and acoustically acclaimed, Loki Laufeyson was shown on the screen of the dressing room television, as the other artist stretched his clothing bare arms across the back of the couch. “Come here sweet cheeks.”

At his command, you dismissed the paper work for a moment, trailing over and straddling the inked hunk’s chain belted lap, digging your manicured set of nails into his shoulders, as you seated yourself over his crotch. “I’m happy I work for you now Buck, you treat me so good.”

Punctuating your words, you pressed your teeth into your bottom lip, giving it the appearance of being more plump, as you batted your dark eyelashes up at your employer. “I do, don’t I?” He rhetorically asked, skimming his fingers across the length of your arms, before moving them to sloppily cup your jaw, ensuring that you would not look away from his wild and dilated pupils. “Tell me what I do better than the lead singer of the god of mischief.”

At his words, a small yet peaceful contortion of uncomfortableness split a skin grafted line through the centre of your forehead, stating that you had no wish to do so. And thus, as punishment for your self aversive silence, Barnes braced his knuckles into your skin, causing you to keen out, and tap his shoulders in verification for surrender.

In turn, you lowered your hands, dragging the tips of your nails, absentmindedly running them down the expanse of his waxed chest, conveniently passing the silver hoops that were attached to his nipples on the trail to a less dominant ground. “I prefer the way that your songs have a heavier bass and-“

“Uh uh uh, not the music. Think of something that has you, let’s say, screaming, but definitely not in a crowd. Though, we may have to try that one sometime; show the world how hungry you are to assist me.”

“You, James Bucky Barnes,” he loosened his grip to your relief, which lead to you hugging in spite, “are the best fuck I have ever endured. Loki has nothing on you, he deems himself a god of the arts, but he doesn’t see how you paint me so perfectly with your cum, nor how you bend my body to your whim, as though I am a tool in the midst of your creations, useful, but disposable.”

“I like the sound of that doll. Disposable, now that really does you make you sound like my personal cum dump.”

“That’s was certainly interesting to listen to...”that voice had your body jolting in shock, and it appeared that Bucky too was surprised by the presence, though, he steadied his well versed hands on your hips, claiming you to the intimate spot.

“What the fuck are you doing in my dressing room you greasy haired weasel?” Bucky sneered, his nose turning up at the sight alone of his competition in the lyrical world. Loki, he had graced you with his presence, and you had to look away; he admittedly looked good.

His shirt was open chested, leaving you with the memorable impression of all the times that you had left crescent marks upon that particular surface, a few times you had even drawn blood, but that had only fuelled his mission to fuck you into a propeller of urgency.

“Our new album Laufey has just been released, I can confirm my dear, you shoulda stayed around and knelt in our success. The records are certainly going to have more sales than what was it called again? Ah yes, the red star. I could tell it was about this one, so much passion, a sultry tune, that did little to justify what it means to be with her.”

Loki’s hands waved around as he spoke, and you could only picture the past whence he penetrated your with those long and talented fingers of his. He had drawn orgasm after orgasm out of you, resulting you to be nothing more than a withering mess, as he digressed the option to simply stop. There was nothing simple about him, nor the time that he demanded that he shared you with his brother.

That thought alone had you mindlessly grinding upon Bucky’s covered cock, plucking at your lip with the keys of your teeth, though Bucky’s voice brought you back to reality, causing you to pause your movements embarrassingly, venting a clear out of your head to process the situation that was before you. The two were bickering like two teenage girls, and it was quite exhausting to listen to.

“Answer the question trickster, else I’ll have you fed to the infamous black panther, and let’s just say that he is the best bodyguard I have ever hired. So, are you going to speak, or will I have you dragged out of here like a damned serpent with a noose around its neck?” Bucky threatened, gritting his teeth together, his nose straining in frustration, drawing more attention to the small stud on the right side of his nose.

“Looks like she needs me Barnes, perhaps your reputation does not proceed you. But to answer in full, my band have made quite the rise, and I thought it would be... fitting to pay you a visit. Though I had no idea that this wonderful woman would be here, pining on your lap like some feline in heat. I see she’s fucking you now, after all my suspicions are never wrong. Or we’ll, Heimdall’s train of thought always ends up at the right station.”

“Can the pair of you stop, for one goddamn minute!” Your hands obscured a path into your hair, as you glared back and forth between the pair of rival rockstars. “I am here, dammit! Stop talking about me as though I am not here, a part of me wishes that I wasn’t so I didn’t have to listen to your bitching.”

Without any thought, you clambered from your perch on Bucky’s lap, walking towards the raven haired gentleman, pointing your finger in his face as you accused him. “You’ve got your point across, but I’ll tell you something. If you don’t leave, Heimdall will see me putting my foot up your ass.”

“Does she speak to you like this Barnes? I thought she had loosened up in more ways than one when I allowed Thor to stretch her cunt, but it appears that that mouth of hers has gotten a little out of hand also. You should do something about that, or else you’ll lose her to someone else like a did. Who knows, could be Romanoff, heard she has a thing for brats.”

Natasha Romanoff, a diverse woman in her ways and songs. She was the queen of the rock culture, tormenting her workers with her verbal abuse and it would undoubtedly be no different for her assistant. If you were to be under her employment, it was certain that you would not get out alive, nor work for another talented person for the rest of your life. To cross her, was a vow to sign your own death certificate, it was plain stupidity, yet people still hustled with her and her limits, resulting in their chances of ever getting hired for any job, vastly slim to none.

At the lack of defence that Bucky provided you, you felt small, your shoulders slacked as you were tortured with Loki’s cold and silky gaze, more so when the man stood up, pressing his bare chest against your back. You could feel the rings that hung off the buds that adorned his chest coil and dig into your back, shrouding your demeanour substantially.

A part of you wanted nothing more than for Bucky to abuse Loki’s face with his fist, specifically the right, since it was the bearer to a chunky silver ring. It’d leave quite the print, however, the unexpected unravelled as his enquiring tone was aimed not at you, but Loki instead.

“You let your brother fuck her, hmm. Maybe she should learn her manners by being shared, that way her retrospective spattering of bullshit may be contained, to a limit of course.” It was unbelievably, you could not believe that Bucky was conferring with the enemy! And not only that, they were talking about experiences of having you literally become speechless from their unprofessional administrations upon your body. “I’d get T’Challa in here, but I know she’s already fucked him. Can’t quite fire him for it though, because who could ever say no to those pretty eyes, and that mouth, god, it is definitely one of her most persuasive attributes.”

“Bu-“ you didn’t even get to finish imploring his name off your lips, about to defend yourself and your previous actions, though, you were interrupted, starved from the opportunity of coming up with an explanation.

“No.” Loki told you, the roles now reversed as he was the one with his index finger aimed at you. He tapped your nose with it, as he began to pace in the room, his wild locks remaining in their place as he spun, before facing Bucky, a sly tranquility of a truce veining out from the pools of his evergreen orbs. “You don’t speak a word to me y/n, not whilst I’m having a conversation with James here.”

James. It was too far a polite way for him to address your boss. They were all hot and ready to tear out each other’s throats a moment ago, and now here they were, having a silent conversation without your inclusion. It had you reeling your mind as to why, until Bucky gathered your hair in his hand to the side, sliding you y/h/c locks over your shoulder, and finally deemed it acceptable for you to hear his voice.

Though, he still was not directing his tensive words in your direction. “Since you had dealt with this subordinate behaviour from her, perhaps you’d like to join us; help me train her to become more...” His breath fanned your the top of your ear, making your skin crawl by not only his warm and inviting breath, but also the offer that he had supposed to the other man.

“Obedient?” Loki asked in turn of his wispy ended offer of optimism, his leather, sharp tipped boots taking a prominent, heart clenching step towards you. He reached his finger out, grasping a loose strand that had fallen out of Bucky’s grip and before your face, tugging lightly on it, as his lips came dangerously close to your own. “Rules aren’t your forfeit, are they my dear? The best assistant I ever hired, with all those unique ideas floating around in that independent head of yours, but you’ve always been troublesome. I remember the time that you bit my cock that day you had attitude. I reckon Bucky here could do a better job.”

“Then why doesn’t he?” You hissed as said man tugged on his handful of your hair, instantly making you regret your phrase in the moment. To a halting surprise however, Bucky released you, lightly shoving you to cause you to fumble forwards, and away from him.

“Maybe I will.” He dared, earning a nod from Loki, whom seductively began to unzip his loose trousers, as Bucky descended to the ground, his hands running up his rival’s thighs, as the material dropped around Loki’s ankles. It would seem, that he had gone commando, and as Bucky grasped Loki’s shaft, you felt a pull in your chest inherently demanding that you play some part in this fornication.

“Wait.” Your hand shot out, as though you had some force to stop them from continuing with their war path to exact all of their developed spit onto you. “What about me?” You were ss

“Oh no doll, you are not pulling any strings here, if you wanna do something useful, come here and warm my cock, you can watch me blow your old associate.” A slither of a whimper fell from your lips, it wasn’t exactly what you were prying towards, but you sure as hell were not going to refuse the contact that Bucky was obliged to give you.

Thus you wandered towards him, your pinkies curling around one another, as you sashayed to the ground beside him, watching as he paid Loki no mind for a moment, ruthlessly in a desperation fuelled motion, unbuckled his thick belt, and shoved the material of his leather trousers to be held accountable against his lower thighs, just above his tense knees.

He too, as their exteriors supposed, had forgone the extra layer that kept his cock tucked away, though it was exposed as he tugged those tight trousers down, and the sight of both his and Loki’s cocks bobbing in the same vicinity had you close to quivering.

It was somewhat of a dream portrayed in the viscous space of reality, the two men half undressed in then proximity of yourself, it was something that you had always imagined, even before you had left Loki’s side, and opted to work for Bucky, but the idea was definitely short lived. They hated each other, but apparently they were willing to put all their issues aside to prohibit you from freely running your mouth.

Bucky’s cock twitched as he patted his own thigh, ordering you without the aid of his voice to commence it as a servant’s throne, or in your case, a stool for you to rest on as he tended to intimate needs of the man that you had once worked for. Finally, with the decision of better judgement, you allowed your grey jumper dress to slide down your body, leaving you nude, and the aspect of the two men’s unforgiving and locked gazes.

“No underwear, and you wonder why your men have no difficulty in her allowing them to fuck her.” Bucky took ahold of his cock, squeezing his cock with one hand, whilst his other aided you in sitting on his muscular legs, as he lightly growled up at the opposing rockstar.

From the stiff grip that Bucky affirmed around his sceptre, Loki gasped, his pale lips instantly shutting once the sound wantonly abandoned him. The last thing that he wanted was for Bucky to see him in vulnerable poise, though with that said, it’d be rather difficult considering the smutty circumstances.

Bucky took Loki’s long, alabaster prick into his mouth, starting from the primrose tip and descending down, reciprocating the action that you did yourself as you sheathed yourself onto his cock, but instead with his lips. A grunt rendered along Loki’s length as the man bit back a whimper, the vibrations running through his veins like a transpiring pulse of sorcery.

Bucky opted for bobbing his head, as you endured the liberation of his very slightly gyrating movement inside of you. Though, despite him being almost completely still and leaving you full to the brim with his thick length, his balls resting against the partition where he was delved into you, you remained transfixed.

The motion image, recording first hand through your own eyes, of him blowing Loki was sinful, but you were drawn to it. If that made you a sinner, one endorsed by the graphic scene, licking your lips from the sight of Bucky running his studded tongue up the length of Loki, dipping the ball of silver metal into his slit, then so be it.

Your heart raced as you were met with an opportunity. A globe of saliva, strung by the lapping muscle of Bucky’s tongue dropped down; you practically saw its fall in slow motion. It was done before you could register your actions, you had leant forwards, catching the trickle of spit in your mouth, thinking not for a moment as you gulped the subjective liquid down.

Bucky’s pace increased, he gagged lightly as he jolted him further down his throat. Loki hummed, harshly grabbing Bucky’s dark brunette locks, biting his lip as he reimagined your little catch. It had him feeling close, and just as he was about to finish, precum furiously pooling out of his tip, Bucky pulled back, a smirk marking his features.

“You’re not cumming in my mouth, I don’t mind sucking dick, nor swallowing, but I have to practically listen to you jizz over your own talent, and prowl over my girl.” The name he labelled you with had your heart fluttering, but not nearly as much as when he lightly pulled out of you, infuriating you with the lack of any pleasurable esteem. “Don’t you worry babes, you can finish with me inside of you, like always.”

That used to be him, Loki thought with a brewing rage in his chest. Though he instead shrugged out of his dull patterned striped shirt that was already loose on his shoulders. The fabric hit the floor, leaving all of you barren to the subject of nudity.

“Always doesn’t suppose the past Barnes.” Loki stated, referring to all the various times that he had found refuge in your spongey walls, you willingly clenching around him, and pleading for him to hit a deeper spot within you. “And I do not prowl, I don’t need to. The evidence is there between her legs, coiling in juices surrounding her ever so willing folds, that are prepared to endure the harshest of penetrations.”

“What are you trying to do, write a fucking song about this?” Scoffed Bucky, rolling his crystallised orbs at the guts that this man had. If he so much as wanted to, he could stop this passage into a three way all together, but he did not, at least he had yet to. He was enjoying the way that you were squirming to yourself, thinking that he didn’t notice, squeezing the sides of your thighs together in an aroused matrimony.

“A fucking song would’ve the correct term - literally.” Was the affirmed words of Loki, as he shoved Bucky to be sat beside you, tilting his messy brush of crazed hair, his untrustworthy eyes drifting to you. “Who’d you want to fuck you, you fangirling slut?”

It was truthfully a difficult decision. “Both.” You admitted, your bones jumping as Bucky pinched one of your erect nipples, continuing to hold a sturdy clasp of his pads around the sensitive flesh; you couldn’t jut choose one of them. Not when they were both in such close range, bore in nothing more than their birthdays suits, talking about your quivering and diversely accepting cunt.

They knew that you couldn’t possibly refuse one or the other. You were vastly too hungry to be filled like you had never been before, shagged by two of three most well known artists in the industry, earnestly and mindlessly earning yourself a title within the circle of uptight yet simultaneously chill performers.

Perhaps, if Bucky we to ever potentially fire you, there would be another pursuer for your articulating talents on standby, awaiting for the moment that you walked out of his complex door to swoop you up as though they were a predatory falcon, flying off into a stationed sunset, those around seeing you as nothing more than a shadow of the ambient orb, but the one who had employed you finding you to be a sufficing inspiration.

Large hands swallows your hips, firmly controlling their angle as they grasped you in their strong, almost super human hold, lifting you so that you were tentatively tucked in a reverse cowgirl position on Bucky’s lap. It was the third time that you had been this close to him, it would almost be intimate, if your legs weren’t strewn in an open, all revealing splay, so that Loki could see your boss tease his tip around your entrance before sliding you down his length, extracting a strong wail from your churning throat.

Your own hand resented down, applying swirls of pressure down on your clit; it appeared that they were willing you to continue without interruption. Bucky lightly, despite the power that he was promoted to in this position, began to bounce you on his shaft, spewing small mewls out from your agape mouth.

Fisting his cock, Loki approached, Bucky reachin this seen hands down to spread te lips of your pussy, so that the other man was guaranteed a crude glimpse of you being stufffed. Though, you weren’t quite filled enough, for Bucky raised a brow and prompted Loki to allow himself to be pulled closer by your axed and whining aura.

He brushed his tip languidly against your buzzing clit, dragging through your slick and jab i at your delicate fingers before probing at the base of Bucky’s cock, and pushing inside, right along his rival’s length, the pair moaning out in a pleasured union. On the other and, you had tears falling from the crescents of your eyes, the stretch so much that it was a blistering pain to your cunt.

“Don’t go all meek dear, you and i both know this is far from the first instance where you’ve had more than one cock in this nasty, betraying cunt of yours.” Loki taunted, gripping the vulnerable expanse of your throat from behind, his icy glazed skin sending provocative shivers down your spine, making your pussy pulse from the chill that ran through your body.

And then, i a split instant, both cocks began to piston into your walls, as though you were nothing more than a rag doll, meant o be thrown around and handled in a disorderly fashion. They ere ruthless, groaning out symphonies in the cursive air around you, as your walls engulfed their pricks more than snugly.

You felt so wide down there, they were taking a pirating toll on your body stealing every breath that dared wither from your lips, tweezing their nimble fingered around various parts of your body, all in due retrospect or coerce you into fucking them back, making all actions in the mass of bodies a mutual effort.

Loki lowered his head down meeting Bucky for a sloppy, brash kiss. It was clear they were simply doing that part to fulfil a greedy desire in your stomach, but you were not one that minded. It was, like the rest of their frenzy of collaborations, a competitive mess. They nipped harshly at each other’s lips, ravenously all in the meanwhile ploughing your body with their har girths.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Your tongue dribbled, earning satisfied, lust induced smirks from both parties that were currently penetrating you, making you writhe harder against their lengths a new flow of moisture weeping out from your hole, lubricating their movements further, it encouraging them to do nothing more than continue what they were doing, despite their better judgements.

The truth was, they were rockstars. They had no better judgement, which is why everyone like them needed someone like you. Their thought were clouded with one mission, and for once in their spent lifetimes, it was not to beat the others, at least not to a certain extent anyways. It was their assignment, delivered by their own hands, to bring you to the edge, and that’s physically what they reformed to do.

One of them were groping your nipples, whilst the other confined the same treatment to your ass cheeks. Loki found your Rocky enables of positive feedback to be icicles and they were beautiful, he stared at them, as though they were divine ploys extracted from the mythical kingdom of Jotunheim, their residence in the realm to be the peacemakers of all bountiful creatures, much like himself and Barnes.

A rich euphoric groan exuberated from Bucky as he allowed himself to spoil, but he tutted whence he watched Loki’s features suppose that he was to follow shortly behind. “Not inside of her.” Bucky growled, sufficing Loki to roll his eyes, and pull out, the man behind you furiously replacing your hand, rolling our clit in his grasp until a sinful scream enveloped the air, commencing them all to the fact that you had just came.

Loki found the show to be unfair, and instead, spilled his priceless seed onto the huffing skin of your stomach, you eyes fluttered shut at the warm feeling pooling onto you. You leant back, drawing your neck into a crooked angle as you swiped your tongue wordlessly over the piercing on Bucky’s right nipple, metal providing a relief to the heat that your body was and had been swarmed with. “ Last chance you’re gonna have t taste her sweet cunt.”

“You do certainly have some faith in this one Barnes, but I do doubt that it will be the last instance in which i am todo so.” His silver tongue pried at your cum soaked flesh, drinking up all the essence that you had to offer, onshore the flavour that Bucky had brought to the table, i the form of a succulent drizzling of Snow White cum.

As Loki finishes swabbing his tongue over your cunt, Bucky adoringly kisses you, much sweeter than he has before. It was sort, and almost chaste, but his blue eyes roamed your face, delicately observing the high points of your face, that were covered with a sheen of great force making you as he would put it, glow.

The pair of you weer exhausted, there was still some swollen was to his lips from where he had sucked off Loki. His hands cradled you around your waist, his feet kicking Loki back as you whimpered from opaque sensitivity. “I guess that was you bidding me a dew.” Sneered the trickster, fishing for his clothes, as he spared you a spark filled glare, to which you ignored.

Once he was situated back into his attire, he left the sex scented room,a hollow smirk chapping his lips as he strutted th a purpose out into the hallway, taking a left instead of a right, and creeping into barnes’ studio to see what the man was working on in the midst of his enduring tour/ He was always the trickster, and nothing different was to ever be expected out of him.

“That was good.” You mumbled, rubbing your ode lovingly across the scruff that coated his jaw. His fingers made small circles upon your tummy, humming contently as he remained sheathed inside of you. He had to admit, he preferred it when it was just him, but his lonesome, sheathed within your walls, feeling the small trembles of your walls around him. It was practically heaven, and he would say so if he believed in such a place.

A deliberate knock ruined the moment, as the man entered,he quarrelled with himself where her to casually look in the direction of the pair of you or to avert his sight around, and blankly at the all. “What is it T’Challa?” Grumbled the man inside of you, quirking a thin brow at the timing of his presence.

“Loki; he managed to get into ur data, and he’s leaked a whole bunch of your music.” Of course, Loki would not come here to simply gloat, there was alas something extra up his green sleeve, and now it was revealed.

“Son of a bitch!” Bucky made a move to stand, but instead prohibited a whimper out of you as hi ships jutted angrily tip on instinct. “Get Odin on the phone, we’re going to have a little chat about his slippery hands son!” Barked Bucky, prepared t do anything to bring his greatest threat down, compiling him into the put of hate industry, until he was forgotten about, unable to ever produce new music again.

“Talk to Sif.” You whispered, becoming the image of his assistant once more, even if his cum lathered cock was prevailing within a rut of required stress relief, growing in the conjunction of your wall with his body guard there. “She loathes him, and rightfully so. He got her kicked out and she has dirt on him that nobody else has ever heard. If you want to take I’m down, she is your in.”

The strict tone grammatically supported by your logical information was definitely turning Bucky on again. He could handle you more than fine without Loki’s aid, he was just a means to an end, as it was clearly shown in his priorities.

[ashes-in-a-jar]

And I Owe it All to You

Hello! This is a fic I wrote based on @speakerunfolding 's wonderful Jonmartin scottish cabin comic which I couldn't stop looking at.

I wrote this while watching Dirty Dancing for the first time in many years. Quite an experience xD

Summary: It's a night in for Jon and Martin in the cabin and they decide to pop out the wine.

Rated: T

Word count: 2.2K

Tw: alcohol, drinking and being slightly drunk, minor injuries

Maybe it was the fact that neither of them had gone out much in the past few months. Maybe the Fears prefer their avatars lightweight. Maybe Scottish alcohol tended to be stronger than English alcohol. But the sparkling wine they bought on a whim at the village store shouldn't have had the effect on them that it did.

Having emptied two cups each (Jon was actually drinking out of a mug, since they found only one wine glass, and he conceded the honor of feeling classy to Martin) they have already become giggling messes over some dumb joke regarding one Peter Lukas and a computer that refused to boot.

It wasn't even that funny. But there they were, acting like complete fools leaning against each other on the couch, legs propped up in a completely uncomfortable position on the small living room table (dangerously close to the now nearly empty bottle), holding their cups precariously in one hand and holding hands with the other.

And enjoying every moment of it.

The giggling subsided. They took a moment of comfortable silence to regain their breath and enjoy another sip.

"Can't believe he didn't know he could just u-unplug and replug the whole thing. Even I know that." Jon's speech was ever so slightly slurred, his leftover wine sloshing in his cup.

Martin hummed and then snorted.

"Jon, you barely know how to do that either. I had to teach you how to open new tabs in the same internet window for christ's sake."

"It was a new laptop! All of the buttons were in the wrong p-place." Jon protested weakly, starting to hiccup.

"Sure."

"Prick." Jon nudged him fondly. "You underestimate my vast knowledge of 'modern' things."

Martin snorted again. "Modern, you say?"

"Yes Martin, what do you take me for?"

"An old geezer." Martin tousled his hair gently. Jon leaned into the touch. Then, the words sunk in.

"Hey! Why do you and Georgie keep thinking that? I can know pop culture!"

"Oh yeah? Tell me, what do you know?"

"Uh..." Jon struggled to straighten himself, which resulted in actually sliding further off the couch. "Um...I know S-Star Wars! And uh, Matrix? I think. I've seen it once. Oh! That, that dinosaur movie! And... Titanic?" He finished unconvincingly. 

Martin looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Really, Jon? You're just naming movies now.  And not even new ones. Did you actually watch any of those?"

Jon avoided his gaze "I... I may have fallen asleep during uh, during some of these?"

Martin gave him a long look. 

"Yes alright, I fell asleep in all of them."

Martin huffed "Thought so". 

Jon gave up trying to salvage his dignity, taking a final long gulp from his mug, a small drop trickling down his chin. Martin swiped it away, absent-mindedly licking his finger, not noticing as Jon hiccuped, his face heating up considerably. 

"I-I did like the Princess Bride though— that was a nice film, if a bit sensational." 

"Hang on. You watched the Princess Bride? And liked it?" Martin asked, incredulous. 

"I'm allowed to like things, Martin. B-besides, Georgie made me watch it. Said it was a- a core staple of cinema history o-or something."

"Oh yeah? Did she make you watch those other movies as well?" Martin asked casually, swirling the liquid in his cup. 

"Unfortunately yes. She would cruelly  shake me awake when I finally managed to get some shut-eye for once in my life. I-it's not my fault the only times I could sleep normally were during those, those damn films! She woke me up for that ridiculous scene with the, uh, the bullets in the Matrix. And that lifting scene in that unseemly dancing movie."

"What lifting scene?" 

"That movie with all of the dancing? Th-the one where he lifts her at the end in the middle of the crowd with that song? At least, uh, at least I think there was a lot of dancing, I wasn't actually, hmmm... Focused at the time." 

"Oh my god Jon, do you mean Dirty Dancing? You fell asleep during Dirty Dancing?" Martin's delighted incredulity was plain on his face. 

Jon scrunched up his nose. "That's the name of the film? Good thing I fell asleep then."

"Jesus Jon. That's incredible, good on Georgie! Heh, at least you woke up for that scene. It's iconic, you know." 

"Yes, yes." Jon waved at him dismissively, reaching unsteadily for the wine bottle. Martin gently took it away from Jon and with a much steadier hand, poured the remaining bit of wine into his mug.

"Thank you Martin," Jon mumbled into the cup. 

Another warm silence fell on them, lulling Jon into a half drunken stupor. He nearly threw his cup in the air when Martin's words startled him back into awareness. 

"I can do that scene you know, that lifting part." He was looking intently at his glass. 

"R-really?" Jon hiccuped. "How?" 

"I… I had a boyfriend who wanted to try it. So we did. Turns out that I'm good at balancing large things that aren't stacks of paper."

Jon hummed. He suddenly imagined very vividly Martin lifting someone else in that way and felt a pang in his chest. What was that?

Another beat of silence. 

"Do. Do you want to try?"

"W-what?" 

"Do you want to do that lifting scene with me? I'm sure I could lift you." Martin suddenly sat up, his tone excited and anticipating. He looked at Jon. 

Jon shifted. "Uh, I-I guess it's fine? Sure."

"Okay! Let's do it then!" Martin got up on his feet, swaying ever so slightly. 

Jon looked up at him surprised. "W-wait, now? Shouldn't we wait? You know, to be less uh, inebriated? Don't you need to see the scene again for a reminder?"

"Mmm. We don't have reception so I can't exactly watch the scene again. But, but I'm pretty sure I can do it now, definitely sure! Come on." He held out his hand expectantly. 

Jon took it, stumbling only a bit as he got up. Martin took out his phone . 

"I might even have the song saved. Let me check."

A moment later he gave a whoop of success and the song began to play, filling the main space of the cabin with its soft, if slightly tinny sound. 

Jon stretched, releasing the tension in his muscles. "All right Martin, where do you want me?" 

"You need a bit of a running start, and then you need to jump high right as you reach my arms, so stand over there." He indicated towards the door of the bedroom. 

"Right." Jon stumbled only once as he made his way towards the designated spot. Martin moved across the room stopping right near the kitchen door. 

The song kept playing calmly in the background, slowly building up towards the upbeat chorus. 

Jon looked at him again "I dunno Martin. A-are you sure?" He suddenly felt a bit more fuzzy than he did sitting down. He hiccuped again. 

"Please Jon, you're thin as a rake. Have a little faith." His face wore that determined look that Jon couldn't help but love. 

"Alright, as you wish." He grinned, proud of his clever reference as he took his stance. 

Martin rolled his eyes as well as his sleeves. "Steady on Westley, this is the part."

Jon felt a rush of excitement as he caught Martin's enthusiasm. "Ready?" He asked, bouncing a little on his feet in preparation. 

"Ready." Martin crouched a little, holding out his arms. 

As the chorus neared Jon, with a wild drunken energy, took his running start, jumping up as he reached Martin, grabbing on to his shoulders for support. Martin firmly gripped Jon's hips, bent his legs and with a strained grunt lifted Jon in the air as the song reached a crescendo. 

Jon was flying. 

He laughed giddily, stretching out his arms in elation. 

As Martin continued holding him in his strong grip he looked down at his beautiful boyfriend. Despite the exertion, Martin looked up with the softest expression as the song kept playing for them in the background. 

For a moment everything was perfect. 

And then Martin leaned backwards a bit too far. 

In hindsight, they should have known this would happen. While Martin was better at hiding it, he was as drunk as Jon. And Jon's already impeded balance certainly didn't help. 

As they went down, Jon idly wondered if they could also recreate the rest of the dance if they practiced. And then he hit his nose on the floor. 

After a moment of stunned silence the pain rushed in and Jon grunted. 

Turns out that while most of him was protected from the fall by Martin's soft and sturdy body, his knee also missed the mark and crashed into the floor as well.

Muffled by Jon's body above him, Martin squirmed. "Ugh, Jon, are you okay?"

When Jon didn't respond, Martin groaned and picked himself off the floor, lifting Jon in the process. 

"Oh my god, Jon! You're bleeding!" 

Jon's face throbbed. And so did his knee. His hazy drunken state began fading away as the pain sharpened. 

"I-I think I hit something." 

"I'm so sorry Jon! God, where are the tissues?" Seemingly having sobered up considerably, Martin picked Jon up and carried him bodily into the bathroom. Jon allowed all of this to happen as the shock of the fall dissipated. He let Martin easily lift him onto the sink counter as he shoved a towel into his hands.

"Hold it against your nose while I... Jesus, your knee too?" He stepped back now hurriedly lifting the stained pant leg to reveal the damage. 

"God, Jon I'm so sorry. Hold still, I'm going to find the first aid kit. We shouldn't have done this. This was a complete disaster." 

He kept muttering irritably as he walked away. Jon sighed and pressed the towel to his throbbing nose. His foggy mind still felt as though it was trying to catch up to the recent chain of events. He spoke slowly, attempting to convey himself with clarity. 

"Martin, it's fine. Honestly, I think we both know I've had worse-" 

"You nearly broke your bloody neck! God, where's that goddamn kit." He shouted from across the cabin as Jon heard the rattling of drawers being forcefully pulled open. 

"Martin, please I-I'm okay. It's just a little bit of bruising. It honestly already feels better." 

And it actually did. In the chaos after the fall, they both forgot Jon's... situation. Jon watched as the cut on his knee slowly closed up, leaving only the drying stain of blood behind. The pain in his nose was slowly vanishing as well. 

By the time Martin came back holding the bag, Jon already put down the towel and was tentatively poking at the previously bruised spot. 

Martin stopped in front of him, looking at him with a mixture of emotions Jon couldn't parse out. He smiled at Martin hesitantly. 

"See? Good as new. No harm no foul, I say."

Martin let out a long suffering sigh and took the towel out of Jon's hands. He quietly dampened it in the sink and stepped closer to gently pat at his face. 

Jon looked at him. This close he could practically count his faded freckles, follow every line and trace every mark that was so beautifully Martin. He let himself smile. 

"I must say, I'm quite impressed by your strength, if we weren't so inebriated, I'm sure you could have kept me up there for quite a while," he said quietly, enjoying the fluttering touches. 

"It wasn't because I was drunk." Martin muttered. 

"Pardon?" 

"I said it wasn't because I was drunk that I dropped you," he said a little louder, oddly flustered. "I was looking at... At you. You just looked... I dunno, happy, I guess? I just never seen that expression on you before and it..." He trailed off, concentrating intently on Jon's knee, finishing up cleaning up the blood. 

"M-Martin, look at me. Please look up here." Jon gently tugged at his shoulders to pull him up. At this height, sitting on the counter, he actually came face to face with Martin, seeing his blush and ruffled expression right in front of him as opposed to slightly above him like he normally did 

He lifted his palms to bracket Martin's warm cheeks. 

"There you are," he whispered and leaned in for a quick kiss. He then leaned back slightly. "You know that I'm perfectly happy. Here with you. Y-you know that, right?" 

Martin looked at him for a few moments, then smiled. "Yeah, I do."

"Good. Now, help me down so we can clean up the wine stain, which I'm sure is growing on the carpet right now."

"Wha- oh," Martin said as he turned to see the fallen glass that apparently toppled during the mayhem. 

"Yeah. Let me down?" Jon said again, holding out his arms. 

Martin turned back to him, a teasing expression on his face. "As you wish." 

Jon groaned and allowed himself once again to be pulled, secretly enjoying Martin's burst of giggles as they both walked back into the crime scene that was their drunken night in. 

All things considered, it was a pretty good night. 

[bokunosimpfiction]

Kidnapped Yandere!Heisenberg x Reader Pt.5

Summary: You feel emotions other than rage and sarcasm oh my god 

A/N: The reason I took a break from this series was because I had no idea where to take it from that cliff hanger, and I felt that character development needed to be done before we dive head first into the plot. This is part of that, but keep in mind it’s not filler like Chapter 2 became. I think it’s funny that this was SUPPOSED TO BE A FUCKING ONE SHOT BUT APPARENTLY FUCKING NOT. I’ll be posting another chapter for this series soon. Also feel free to send me asks about this series. I’ve been getting comments on my ao3 that are a) genius b)hilarious and c)heartwarming. Talk to me. Please! Ask and anon should be open right now let me know if they aren’t!

Masterlist link for previous parts:

Link to this chapter on AO3:

Taglist: @localdepressedvampire​ and one person recieving updates via email

The fresh cold late-autumn air made your lungs sting. And the layers of clothes didn’t help fight the chill you didn’t know you were facing. Has it been that long since you’ve been outside, to see the sun? You stick your arms in your armpits under your outercoat. Well, Heisenberg’s spare trench coat. It was much too big, the cuffs of the sleeves going well past your fingertips and the bottom half an inch from the ground.

You were so used to the fluorescent lighting and the warm dry air of the factory, that your body went into some type of culture shock. It felt like an allergic reaction to the outside world itself. Adjusting to it once you escaped would be hard.

“You’ve clearly become less fit since you started living with me,” Karl says in a matter-of-fact tone. You’d be insulted if you didn’t hear him say weird stuff about the other lords or the occasional brain-washed villager who brought up offerings. One had sewed you a wool and fox-fur dress and brought it up in September, in preparation for the winter. He’d thought it dumb at the time, but it protected you from the November chill better than anything you’ve ever worn.

Did they think you were a woman? Whether they were right or wrong, it didn’t change the fact that it was comfortable, warm, and made you feel better than the clothes you’d been wearing before in the factory or even before. You felt safe.

“Of course, I have, I’ve been sitting on my ass,” you retort.

“Still see that sass is intact.”

“It’s something that’ll never leave me.”

“You’d make a terrible house-spouse.”

“That’s the point,” you sigh hard, and you can see the cold air in front of your face, “I had a whole ass college degree before I came here and got my ass kidnapped.”

Karl whips around and looks at you, tilting his head down to peer at you from above his glasses. “You have a college degree?”

“Why are you surprised? Did you think I was that stupid?” Even if the question is sarcastic and witty, you felt a pang of hurt reverberate in your heart. Did he really think you were that stupid? Apparently so.

“I have two masters. One in aerospace engineering and one in mechanical engineering. Double majored in those fields for my bachelors at Oxford on a full-ride scholarship of robotic engineering.”

His mouth drops open. “And I didn’t know about this because?”

“It never came up.”

He pinches his nose, “you could have been helping me this whole time in the shop, and I let you sit on your ass and play care-taker.”

“More like forced me.” At this point, you’ve stopped walking, and you’d be able to see the manor of Benviento if it weren’t for the fog.

“Besides the point.” He looks stressed. His eyebrows are furrowed, a deep frown is on his face and his whole disposition makes him look genuinely conflicted and upset. “Let’s just go.” He gestures for you to follow him and stomps up the path.

You follow him, trying not to slip in the mud. Converse doesn’t have great traction, you realized. Maybe you should have worn hiking boots. “Listen, dirty Dr. Doofenschmirtz-“

“I don’t want to listen to your dumb nick-names right now.”

You stop again, and your fists ball up at your side around the fabric of the sleeves of his coat. Your coat. The coat you’re wearing.

“Why the hell are you so mad at me!” It’s not a question. It’s an exclamation of emotion. For some reason, it hurts. Even if you despised him, hated him with all your being, having someone love you unconditionally felt nice. He was toxic at best, sociopathic at worst, and yet he loved you so strongly it tore the both of you so part. To feel that admiration has gone missing, even if for a second, sent you reeling. You can’t explain why you softened towards him.

“I’m not.” He keeps walking before he realized you stopped. He turned around to look at you. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just…” He looks for the words. He’d never been good at expressing himself, you realized. Better through actions than words. But you didn’t want him to act on whatever he was feeling.

You wait in silence, eye-watering, trying not to cry.

He sees and rushes over to you. His left arm wraps around you and his right hand gently grabs your chin, his index finger underneath to lift your chin up to look at him. “Don’t cry, you know I hate it when you cry.”

You struggle to take a deep breath, choke on it, and the world feels so much more dangerous. A million malicious eyes gazing into your soul, whispers of panic fill your brain, and flashing thoughts of running right now, of hurting him or you flash through like lightning in a foggy storm. Every damn thing feels hazy and thick and you’re choking on the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to. I don’t want you to be mad at me, I don’t want-“

“Take a deep goddamn breath.” You feel his tobacco-scented breath on your face. You can see panic flash through his eyes for a moment. You hate the smell, and it suffocates you even more. “You need to breath.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, and your breath shakes like a wasp nest about to fall from the highest branch. “Why are you mad at me?” This time you genuinely ask. You don’t want a reason, but rather a reassurance that he isn’t at all.

His lips form into a snarl that doesn’t come out before he presses them in a tight line. As he thinks. It makes you even more nervous. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the fact that I had an opportunity that went to waste.”

You look up at him. “Okay.”

He wraps his other arm around you and places his chin on your forehead. “Let me know when you’ve calmed down.”

You rest your forehead on his shoulder and breathe.

In. Out.

In.          Out.

In. OUT.

In… out

In.

Out.

 In.

 … out.

“Do you feel any better?”

You wait a moment. “Yeah, I think so.” You ponder for a moment. “I think I had a lot of pent-up anxiety from everything.”

He stays quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He places a kiss on the crown of your head, his beard ruffling your hair. “Are you not going to forgive me?”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t know yet. It’s…” How do I phrase this? “I worked hard for this anger. This anger to love me, to know I didn’t deserve this, to be kidnapped, to have my head ready to be mounted on a stick.” You continue, “if I stop feeling angry, if I forgive you, I’m afraid I’m losing that. That’s why I tried to escape because I loved myself, I wanted better for myself.”

“Was I… Was I not providing enough for you?” His question strikes you like an arrow.

“I-“ You stumble on you’re thoughts for a moment. “It’s less of you not doing enough, but more of the rough foot we started on.” You sniffle. “When I gave up, I felt like I lost a part of myself, all that I worked for. That degree included. I felt all my efforts, all my struggles that I faced outside this goddamn village had gone to waste. That it wasn’t worth it. That I wasn’t worth it.”

You had promised yourself to keep him at arm’s length, to not give him clues to manipulate you. But you poured your heart out into his. You felt him shake and squeeze you tighter.

“Never. Ever. Feel like you aren’t worth it.” You feel something wet on your scalp. “You deserved better than each challenge that you faced, and each bit of hurt you felt along the way.” It’s his turn to choke on his words. He takes a shaky breath above you, and you can feel his heart pound faster. “You, darling, are worth everything.”

Something small inside you breaks. He’s just as human as you are, you realize. In this desperate attempt to escape, to fuel this hatred that’s worn you down, you’ve villainized a man that’s felt even more pain than you. A broken man, who thinks you’re the glue to put him back together. You shouldn’t feel any obligation to, but you do, because you’ve felt a fraction of the pain he’s felt, that he’s currently feeling, and it’s made your mind and bones ache far after the situation ended.

“And so are you, Karl.”

He unwraps his arms from around you. “Come one butter-cup, let’s go. Ugly-ass-psycho-doll is waiting for you. Says she wants you for a fitting and some tea party with her demented child, Angie.”

“Angie? Who’s she.”

“Well, you’re about to find out.”

[mythicamagic]

“Would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!”

AN: ...yeah so I'll post part five in a few hours and THAT will be the ending to this Ex Sesshoumaru saga. Smh. I wrote too much of this. Read the other chapters - here.

----

She can't recall how it started.

It wasn't as though either of them had woken up one day and decided to pursue something. They'd become 'companions' of sorts- not quite friends, not casual acquaintances either. Kagome spoke with him while sitting on the grassy hillside, wearing full miko garb and explaining about future technologies.

Talking turned into meeting up regularly. Meetups turned into secret rendezvous.

Kagome wagered she'd been a source of intrigue for the demon lord. A window into the future. He listened with rapt attention and intelligent, sharp eyes. His questions were short and to the point- humour dark and smirking. Kagome found him endearing, in an irritatingly proud kind of way.

She learned about demon culture and his shining, unblemished heritage. How his ancestors had created magnificent weapons that could cut through stormy skies and block out the sun.

Kagome really couldn't say how it started.

He still hadn't been keen on humans, deeming them weak. A few were the exception to the rule. Kagome had figured that was enough. To be counted amongst those few meant she was 'special.'

She felt special, kissing him. Being loved by him made Kagome glow golden, radiating power and contentment. He encouraged her to train, to build up her reiki to new heights so that she might shock and amaze like no other miko before her. To go beyond the title of 'Shikon Miko.'

But centuries of bigotry didn't just 'go away' overnight, nor was it cured by love. He still thought of humans as beneath him. He loved her despite her humanity, not because of it.

In hindsight, Kagome shouldn't have been surprised by his reaction to her hypothetical question.

"If we ever have kids, do you think they'll be recognised as heirs?"

"What?"

Kagome shifted atop a pillow within his room at the Western Stronghold, setting down her book. "I'm just saying, I know your court is still pretty old school with how they feel about Hanyous. Think it'll impact our kids being able to take over the Western Lands?"

What a naive question. She'd been so wrapped up in how he made her feel- Kagome hadn't stopped to consider the possibility that he hadn't changed enough. Not enough for such a question. She'd asked hoping to be assured. That he'd comfort her with the knowledge that any children they had would be respected.

They wouldn't end up like Inuyasha. Ignored. Cast out.

Sesshoumaru had looked at her with such a perplexed, complicated expression. He spoke slowly, as though breaking the news to a child.

"A Hanyou will never rule the Western lands."

The surprise had set in- like she recognised the handle of the knife buried into her gut, but the pain hadn't registered yet. She'd questioned him, of course. His explanation wasn't any more encouraging.

"Hanyous only live a few centuries. I cannot entrust something as important as the longevity of these lands to one, nor can I guarantee they would mate a demon to extend their lifespan."

"Why don't you just say what you mean?" she uttered coldly, betrayal simmering in her blood as she stood. "You don't want one. You don't want an imperfect kid with me."

"That is not what I-"

"You don't have to say it," Kagome glared. "It's there, behind every word you just said. When were you gonna clue me in on this, huh? And what the hell is your plan?- because if you intended to keep me as a fucking mistress all this time while you play happy families with a pure-blooded bitch then-"

"No-" he snarled, terrible and thundering. Sesshoumaru got in her face, large hands curling in her hair, thumbs stroking the shells of her ears, trying to soothe. "I would not have you be Izayoi. You would be my mate. I would make you my Lady. We may have pups."

"That's very considerate of you," she sneered, flashing blunt teeth. "And where's this pure-blooded youkai kid coming from, hm? Because I sure as hell can't give you one."

Golden eyes slid away. It was as though a part of him knew, recognised that his duty would put him at odds with what they'd created together. He looked young, suddenly.

"I will create an heir with an inconsequential demoness."

"Inconsequential?" Kagome stared, hysteria bubbling up inside her. She broke away from him, his touch feeling unwanted, cold. "You'd use some poor woman just for that?"

"You are attributing human emotion to this," Sesshoumaru uttered, gaze flicking back to her. "She would be honoured by it. Her family would want for nothing-"

"Would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!" Kagome burst, tears blurring her vision. "Can't you hear yourself? You'd still have to sleep with her, with a stranger. She'd carry your child for months, only to be torn away from them? Or would she live here? Would I have to see her every damn day and know- be reminded that I and my child weren't enough for you?!" her voice broke, a wave of emotion slamming her in the gut, only just registering and truly feeling the implications of her words.

His expression cracked, eyes widening, recognising he'd hurt her. Long claws unfurled.

"Kagome-"

"No! No, I'm done," Kagome backed away.

Years of sadness and mistrust loomed over their relationship suddenly, where before there had only been lazy mornings or evenings spent resting her head on his thigh, listening to long claws plucking the strings of a koto and inhaling rich, spicy scents of smoke from an ornate pipe.

"Don't talk to me. Don't even look at me," blue eyes swimming with tears glared. "Thank you for clarifying everything, Lord Sesshoumaru. I just wish you'd told me this two years ago."

He tried to touch her again- only for the miko to slap his attempt away with a crackling hiss of holy energy. Sesshoumaru was forced back, his hand steaming, narrowly avoiding being burned as Kagome backed away.

She'd never seen the look of pure, unadulterated surprise and distress contort his regal features before. But Sesshoumaru was proud. Sesshoumaru was a being carved from stone, who could not be moved by the words of a mere mortal.

He let her go.

Kagome didn't so much as grab her bag. She hitched a ride on Ah Un and made for Kaede's village. It wasn't long before she'd said her goodbyes, propelled by distress and anger into a hasty decision.

She jumped through the well, never to return.

It was a terrible, disappointing end to her feudal fairytale.

---

Rising slowly, Kagome blinked tired lids open, coming to a silent conclusion in the cold light of day. Picking up the phone, she called Natsuki and scheduled a meetup.

Promptly breaking up with him.

He didn't seem terribly shocked by the news.

"So… are you going to him after this?" He asked point-blank.

"What?"

"That silver inuyoukai I sensed on you last week. Figured you had something else going on."

Stiffness rendered her shoulders tense. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "for making you feel that way. I'm not going to him, but I have been thinking about him."

"Heh, you've been thinking about him but not going? Sounds difficult."

"It is," she smiled, reaching over the table and squeezing his fingers. "Goodbye, Natsuki."

The way he'd eyed her hand, just for a moment- warily- as though wondering for half a second if she'd taken her pills, only strengthened Kagome's resolve.

She knew what she wanted now.

---

Dressing up that night, she wore her best things. The nicest pair of earrings, shoes, right down to her dress and underwear. She did everything to allow herself to relax, soaking in a tub with candles littered around the edge beforehand.

Glancing at her pills on the nightstand, Kagome grabbed her purse before leaving, having not taken them all day. The effects should've worn off by now. Walking down the stairs, she experimented with a light flex- pink static racing over her skin in a faint crackle.

Dark hair fanned out, soon settling about her shoulders. Kagome took a long, indrawn breath. Life flowed through her veins. Her heart pumped, alive, healthy. Too long had she soaked herself in misery and settled for any half-decent demon cock willing to tolerate her power. Her species.

No more.

Kagome headed straight for the youkai bar.

She slipped in, a known regular by now. Unlike usual though, after grabbing a drink she didn't content herself by sitting at the bar until a tall dark and handsome stranger approached her. Kagome downed it to ignite a fire in her throat, hissing quietly and setting down her glass before easing around grinding bodies on the dance floor.

Standing in the centre, with speakers booming, vibrations thrumming through her- multicoloured lights flashing overhead in the much too dark room, with sweat and youki plastering to the air like heady vapour, Kagome took a breath. Beefy hands met her waist, intending to 'dance' with her - before she let reiki flow.

Younger demons immediately backed off, spooked by the mere suggestion of power. The hands left her body as she met their gazes. If they wanted to touch her, they'd have to reach her.

Dark eyes turned to the miko, intrigued. Some started to approach, but she gradually turned the facet of her holy powers higher. Bigger, more arrogant males kept moving closer. They could match her, tame her. She was just a priestess, after all. They hadn't been anything substantial in centuries.

Kagome held her head high on the half-empty dance floor, pink energy now static and visible, racing over her body like a live wire. And still more poured into her aura, seeping out like a huge barrier. She wasn't done. Not by a long shot.

Even the bravest stopped, all demons now pressed back against far walls, snarling at her, some evacuating the bar.

Kagome's heart shuddered. Her shoulders fell. All that, and she still hadn't let everything out. Maybe she was supposed to make herself smaller. Maintain the air of an unassuming priestess by a big strong demon's side. Settle. Accept it. What had she been expecting?

Feeling foolish and a little selfish for spoiling everyone's night, Kagome stepped back with the intent of recalling her energy.

A palm met the pink barrier, a sharp sound ringing out like the crack of lightning. Youki -familiar, dominating, unique- crashed against her aura, creating a plume of sweeping mists. Through the pink haze, Sesshoumaru stepped forward.

Unlike his usual modern look, the glamour was absent this time.

Kagome's eyes widened, oxygen briefly freezing inside her lungs. His markings were on full display. Seeing him again, really seeing him, awakened a strange feeling inside her.

Kagome grit blunt teeth, refusing to soften. She allowed another wave of her reiki out, creating a blazing inferno that licked along the wooden floors and sent every other demon fleeing.

Golden eyes narrowed slightly, but Sesshoumaru kept his palm raised, long hair whipping around him.

As reiki slid through the gaps of his fingers, he took a step closer. Followed by another. Red youki buffered its natural opposite, creating sparks and wafts of charged steam. He walked around the room, slowly tightening the circle around her like a predator closing in, though not without effort.

Kagome had never felt anything like it. She'd never let so much loose before. She could even keep going, she could-

Sesshoumaru's hand closed over her wrist, eyes hazed red. He panted, face lingering close. "Enough. I can withstand you, dear one," he said in a rush, light burns dotting his cheek and forehead. "But those outside cannot. You could obliterate every demon within a 5-mile radius if you wished, but I know you do not want that."

Kagome blinked, shaken. Catching her breath suddenly, she trembled, holding onto him.

His presence stabilised something, allowing Kagome to slowly begin reeling blistering power back. Her body weakened, forehead finding his shoulder as pink power receded back inside. Wild youki died down not long after.

And that was how Kagome Higurashi was barred from the only youkai establishment in the city.

[flowers-creativity]

Fic: The One Bed Job

Fandom:  Leverage

Characters: Eliot Spencer, Parker, Alec Hardison

Warnings: None

Summary: A rainstorm forces Eliot, Parker and Hardison to take shelter in a cabin in the woods. There is only one problem ...

Notes: Written for Spud (@callipygianspud) for the @leverage-secret-santa-exchange with the prompts “Parker/Hardison/Eliot, oh no one bed?!?!, slice of life bickering”.

There are a lot of firsts in this story for me, most notably that it's my first Leverage fic ever! It was a lot of fun working on it - thanks to the mods of the Leverage Secret Santa Exchange for organising this 😊.

I’m late in posting it because I missed that the authors had been revealed but finally, here it is on my blog, too.

AO3 link

Eliot threw the truck into park and stared out the windshield at the desolate view: a cabin in the middle of the woods, looking small and forlorn in the wind that had been picking up speed over the last hour. Rain was driving diagonally across the picture, and he didn't want to make any bets on how long it would be until it was going fully horizontal. “Damn it, Hardison, that's the best you can do?”

“Hey man, you wanna try finding a place to stay in the middle of nowhere during a rainstorm, with no advance warning?” Hardison twisted in his seat and stabbed a finger at him. “I'm not freaking clairvoyant, couldn't have known it woulda hit so hard!”

“Yeah, well, always actin' like you are,” Eliot growled as he unbuckled his seat belt. There was no use arguing, they were out of other options. Not that it would stop him from doing it anyway. “C'mon, let's look at that rat's nest you found for us.”

“No appreciation, man,” Hardison mumbled. He took off his seat belt, then twisted around and nudged the lump that was Parker on the backbench, just a shock of blonde hair peeking out from under the blanket she'd wrapped herself in. “Hey mama, we're here. Time to wake up!”

The lump protested sleepily but finally uncurled to reveal the thief who stretched and yawned mightily. “Where's here?” she asked.

“Cabin in the woods,” Hardison said. “Storm's getting pretty bad, so Eliot wanted to stop driving. Never mind that we're in a Faraday cage,” he added, raising his voice so the hitter just about to close the driver's side door could hear him, “but apparently the only thing frightening big bad Spencer is some lightning. Can't hit that, eh?”

“Hardison,” Eliot said grumpily, pulling the door open again, “you wanna wrap the car around a tree 'cause you can't see with the rain comin' down so hard, be my guest.”

Parker snorted and leaned forward to give Hardison a quick peck on the nose. “He's got a point there,” she pointed out.

Eliot flashed her a quick look of thanks, fighting down the incongruous urge to have a corner of his mouth tick up. It wasn't a smile; it wasn't. And it wasn't a problem that his face constantly wanted to do that around those two lately. He finally slammed the door shut and switched on the heavy-duty flashlight he kept in the truck's cabin at all times. He more sensed than heard the passenger side's door opening and the other two hustling after him as he made his way towards the cabin, the rain soaking him down to the skin within moments.

The door was locked; he contemplated it for a moment, then stepped aside. “Parker, do your thing,” he commanded, directing the beam of light onto the lock. She gave a quick sound of delight and dove forwards with her lock picks appearing in her hands like magic. That lock wouldn't take her more than five seconds, he knew, but even that was probably a treat for her after an exhausting job that had her do most of the grifting. No matter how much she had grown and learned since they had become a team, coming into her own in both the grifter and the mastermind role, she would never love it as much as she did the jobs where she could be what she really was, a cat burglar and safecracker.

It was maybe eight seconds until the lock clicked and Parker stood back up. She frowned a bit at the door as she pocketed her lock picks. “Sorry, I'm off my game,” she said.

Hardison huffed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Don't be ridiculous, babe, you're fine. A bit tired, that's all.”

Eliot nodded and gave her a quick pat on the back before he pushed open the door and went ahead into the cabin. “Stay here,” he told them as he swept the flashlight's beam through the room.

Hardison rolled his eyes so hard Eliot could hear it even though he had his back turned. “No need to unpack the guard dog routine, El,” he said, and another flashlight beam joined his. “It's a cabin in the middle of the woods. If there's anything dangerous, it'll be a bunch of spiders or a raccoon at best. C'mon, I wanna get inside and get dry.”

Eliot flashed him a nasty grin over his shoulder. “You're the geek, tell me how many horror movies there are that look just like this,” he said. “And how the black guy usually does in them.”

“Damn, man, don't you use pop culture against me, that's just wrong,” Hardison complained.

Parker snorted a laugh, still leaning against Hardison's side. “We'll protect you, Eliot and I,” she told him earnestly, then slipped from his arm and had his flashlight in her hand a blink of an eye later. “I'll help him make the security sweep, and you find out if there's electricity.”

Hardison sighed in defeat and waved them off, shaking his head. “Then go do what you gotta do.”

“Nice to know we have your approval,” Eliot said with a smile that was all teeth and very little warmth (no matter that he wanted to put a lot more into it). Nevertheless, he didn't further protest Parker's joining him and sent her off to check one of the two doors leading from the main room while he finished sweeping its meager contents – a small table with two rickety chairs, a wood stove and an old cupboard that held a little bit of crockery, a battered pot and a few cans of soup. He left Hardison to poke around near the stove, mumbling to himself about barbaric conditions and using his phone as a flashlight, and headed for the second door.

It didn't take much time to determine that this was the bathroom, such as it was, and little more to check the shabby toilet and sink – they worked, which was probably the best they could hope for. When he emerged back into the main room, he found that Parker had just done so, too, and was now perched on the table. For once he could not fault her for her propensity never to sit on a chair like a normal person; the table looked like a much safer bet.

“That's the bedroom,” she reported immediately once she caught sight of him coming back, pointing at the room she had checked. “Nothing there but a lot of dust and spiderwebs.” She grinned brightly. “Only one bed, though. We'll have to snuggle close, it's not very big.”

“Wa---” Eliot was vaguely aware that he was standing there gaping like a moron but his mind was stuck on Parker talking about snuggling in one bed.

“Huh, what was that, Eliot?” Hardison had abandoned whatever he had been doing with the stove – couldn't have been lighting a fire, he severely doubted Hardison could do that – and came over, leaning against the wall next to the table with Parker on it, both of them weirdly illuminated by the display light of Hardison's phone.

Eliot finally marshaled his thoughts enough to grind out: “I'm sure you'll be fine for one night. I'll take the floor.” Parker must have been talking about herself and Hardison anyway, no reason to assume that she wanted to snuggle with him – even if his traitorous heart had done just that.

Parker frowned. “What? No, you won't,” she said with a shake of her head. “Not when there's a bed and no reason for you to be on watch. We'll fit in there the three of us.”

“Wha-- Dammit, Parker, you can't just get into bed with any man!” Eliot protested.

“Fine, then Hardison and you can take the floor.” She folded her arms over her chest and stared at him, the challenge more conveyed by her tone than by her expression he couldn't see too clearly in the gray light on her face. Next to her, Hardison made an outraged sound, just as Eliot sputtered:

“What? No, why should Hardison sleep on the floor?”

“Well, if I can't get in bed with any man, then I can't get in bed with you two, since you're both men,” she said with a shrug, in that tone that clearly said that she thought she was being perfectly reasonable.

“But he's not any man,” Eliot pointed out, “he's your boyfriend.”

“Okay,” she said, cocking her head to the side in one of those moves that made her look sort of like a bird, “but you're not any man, too. You're Eliot. My--” she broke off, gave a short sideways glance to Hardison and then continued: “Our-- You're Eliot. So you can come, too.”

Eliot sputtered again, and how did she always manage to have that effect on him? He was Eliot goddamn Spencer, he was always in control, but she stole it from him as easily as pick-pocketing a watch was for her, with nothing more than a few words and looks. He desperately looked to Hardison. “Back me up here, c'mon, man!”

Hardison, the son of a bitch, just shrugged, his teeth white in the dim light as he grinned. “You heard the lady,” he said, “you're not any man, so you can get in bed with her, I mean, with us, any time.”

“I-- But--!” Eliot raked his left hand through his hair, casting around for the right thing to say, to make sense of these words in a way that didn't make warmth spread through his chest and … somewhere else that had made a very specific sense of it and was sitting up and taking notice. In the back of his mind, another part was busy pointing out that in a way, any man was probably better to have in your bed than Eliot Spencer. It was surprisingly easy to disregard this voice, though, just as Parker and Hardison disregarded his words whenever he pointed it out to them. He had told them so a hundred, a thousand times, even had shown them glimpses of it a few times – the swimming pool, probably even the warehouse, despite Nate's promise not to tell anyone – and they had always sailed past it without the slightest worry despite what he had been, what he still was. And he knew it was true: whatever danger he presented, it never was a danger connected to his past. Only to a present that he held sacred in his heart like a talisman, like he had held preciously little since he had lost faith in God and the American flag and whatever else he had believed in once upon a time.

“Helloo-ho!” Hardison suddenly loomed up in front of him, his face just inches away from him. “Earth to Eliot!”

Eliot honest to God flinched and took a step back. “Dammit, Hardison!”

The hacker raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You back with us, man?” He looked him over seriously. “Honestly, I'm starting to think you're getting sick. You're usually more with it than that.”

Eliot took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. “I'm fine,” he gritted out. He let his shoulders slump down. Sleeping in one bed it was. “You had any luck with that stove?” he asked Hardison in a bid of hopefully redirecting the conversation.

Hardison shrugged. “Not really, there's some old ashes and half-burnt wood in it but I don't have a lighter. I'm sure you can get it going, right? Don't tell me you haven't been a Boy Scout, too.”

“Nope.” Eliot hoped the relief and eagerness with which he fell into their banter was not too obvious. “Army boot camp's better than that, anyway. Plus, y’know, spending lots of time in the actual wilderness, not some parent's backyard.” He dug into one of his pockets for a lighter and wandered over to the stove, angling the flashlight beam into the open compartment.

Parker had her chin in her hands as she watched him with her usual Parker intensity. “Backyards sound boring,” she agreed. “But you should take us camping some time! We can throw Hardison off a cliff instead of a building!”

This time it was Hardison who was sputtering, and Eliot couldn't resist, he laughed, a bark that reverberated deep in his chest. “That's a great idea, darlin',” he drawled, grinning at the hacker.

“Now that's just unfair! Two against one! And no one's throwing Hardison off any cliffs, are we clear? Are we clear?”

Parker pouted at him. “Aww. You went on that fishing trip with Eliot, didn't you? I want to do something like that with you, too, with both of you.”

Eliot scowled at the reminder of how their fishing trip hadn't happened after that stand-off with a white supremacist militia. “Not exactly like that, preferably,” he growled under his breath. Louder, he said, “I think Hardison had a problem with the cliff thing, not with going on a trip with you, Parker. We can keep that in mind, okay? For now, just let's get through the night.”

In the meantime, he had kept working on the stove, pushing the old ashes to the side and rearranging the partly burnt wood into a neat pile. He looked around for some old paper to start the fire, then reconsidered. The small fire would be pretty useless to heat or light the room.

“Any of you hungry? There's some soup in cans.”

Hardison and Parker exchanged a look, then shook their heads.

Eliot sighed and stood up, brushing off the knees of his jeans. “Then we don't need to bother with the fire. We'd need some candles or a torch for some real light. Don't think it would produce much heat to get the room warm, either.”

Parker shrugged. “I don't have any candles.”

Hardison grinned. “I guess if we're cold, we just need to snuggle close in our bed,” he said, and Eliot's belly did another backflip at the thought of the three of them in one bed together.

Parker laughed and dropped down from her perch on the table, grabbed Hardison's hand, then lunged and did the same with Eliot's. “Come on, I'll show you,” she said brightly and pulled them over to the door she'd discovered the bedroom behind earlier.

“Parker, that's --- Parker, I can walk on my own,” Eliot protested but it was halfhearted at best. He turned towards Hardison but found little sympathy there.

“Just go with the flow,” the hacker told him. “Relax.”

Eliot bit back a retort and instead just took a deep breath, his feet automatically following where Parker led. Relax. As if that was a thing he could do when he was about to get into the same bed as his two best friends. As the two people he-- He-- His thoughts kept stalling but he knew the word that should go there.

In the small bedroom, Parker let go of his hand, and he took in the room and the furniture occupying it, which was just one more of those rickety chairs, with Parker's flashlight on it casting a beam through the shadows, and the bed itself. It was small indeed, and short enough that Eliot guessed Hardison's feet would hang over the edge. Parker and he should be fine – for a certain measure of fine when he was intruding where he didn't belong. Never mind that they seemingly didn't see anything wrong with it, even though they were the couple…

Meanwhile, Parker had taken possession of the bed, pulling back the covers. She looked back at the two men contemplatively, then shrugged and quickly pulled off her shirt, sending it flying toward the chair. At Eliot's spluttered “Parker!”, she shot him an annoyed glare. “What? It's wet,” she explained as she unzipped her pants and shimmied out of them, then threw them after the shirt. Eliot averted his eyes and prayed for strength.

When he looked back, she had slipped under the covers, and Hardison was sitting at the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes and socks, his phone on the quilt next to him. Hardison looked up at him, and his dark eyes were soft in the beam of Eliot's flashlight. “Eliot, man,” he started, then stopped, then started again. “Look, man, you don't have to if you don't really feel comfortab-- Ouch, Parker!” The thief had straightened up and slugged him in the back of the shoulder. “C'mon, he should only do it if he really wants to!”

“But he does!” she hissed at him, then turned towards Eliot. “You want to, right? You want to be with us. Like, here with us.” She gestured between the two of them and then the bed as a whole, and Eliot's heart constricted in his chest. Yes, God, how he wanted to.

“Because we want you, too.” She looked at him hopefully, not bothered in the least that the blankets were pooling in her lap and she was only wearing a simple black sports bra in the cabin's cool air. He tried to look away but couldn't, not when her eyes were holding him captive like that. They wanted him? Just for snuggling in a small, unheated cabin in the middle of nowhere? Or… for something more?

Eliot pushed that thought way back in his mind. He needed to stay in the here and now. And maybe, just maybe, he could just be selfish tonight and take what they were offering. If that was all it was, he would deal with it. Would it be better or worse than never having had any of it? He didn't know.

Hardison was looking at him steadily. “Your decision, El,” he told him, “but we're here. Whenever you're ready, we'll be there.”

And that—that did actually sound like this was more than just a night of snuggling close for warmth. Eliot took a deep breath, closed his eyes and released it. When he opened them again, he nodded. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Yeah, I'm--” He stopped and decided to give up trying.

Instead, he put his flashlight on the chair next to Parker's, then bent down to untie his boots and quickly stripped off his jeans and his soggy outer layers, leaving him in a mostly dry T-shirt and boxers. A few more steps brought him to the bed where Hardison had joined Parker under the covers, his torso bare. Both of them were looking at him with so much hope that it was the easiest thing in the world to lift the edge of the covers and slip in after them. He smiled at them and said softly, “Hey.”

“Hey you,” Hardison said and as if it was nothing, he put his arm around Eliot's shoulders and pulled him close. From his other side, Parker put her arm across Hardison's body until her small, strong hand rested on Eliot's chest. “I'm glad you're here,” she told him. Then she gave him a short whack. “So now, snuggling and sleep,” she ordered. “The rest can wait until tomorrow.”

Eliot felt his smile grow into a grin and turned it into the crook of Hardison's neck. “Yes, ma'am,” he replied seriously.

And as he crowded closer to Hardison and reached for Parker with an arm across the other man's stomach, Eliot did as any good soldier would do and followed the order given by his leader. It was probably his favorite order of all time.

[forthegothicheroine]

Opinions on Into the Dark Movies

I’ve seen a lot, though not all, of the Blumhouse series of Into the Dark, direct to Hulu horror movies themed around various holidays.  Some of them suck.  Some of them are surprisingly good!  Most are mediocre.  Still, I keep watching.  Rather than try to rank these movies, I’m just going to give a few of them awards.

Favorite Movie: Pooka Lives

If you were there for the height of Slenderman blogging, this will hit you hard!  The first Pooka movie was a psychological thriller and definitely interesting, but the horror-comedy sequel was the thing that touched my heart.  It’s all about how the internet creates memes that completely change from where they start by the whims of each new viral art piece.  While watching it, I said “according to Twin Peaks, this would be a a tulpa” at one point, and then Felicia Day said “I’ve got it, it’s a tulpa!”  She heard me!  Rachel Bloom kills Whil Weaton in the opening!  All you really need to know going in is that Pooka is a stuffed animal bear-rabbit-monster who repeats words in a “naughty” or “nice” voice.

Most Effective Horror Movie: I’m Just Fucking With You

Somebody on the Bloody Disgusting website said the stuff in this movie is worse torture than Saw or Hostel- but the kicker is, the torment is mostly mental and emotional.  An unlikeable internet troll checks into a sleazy motel, only to discover that the guy in charge of the place is a nastier troll than he’ll ever be.  This bespectacled, southern-accented slacker just keeps pulling pranks, each one more mean-spirited than the last, until they escalate to murder and the total destruction of our hero’s remaining humanity.  The constant neon-lit look of the motel is super intense, but the most important thing about this is that it shows you how really fucking annoying the Joker would be if you actually met him.

Sexiest Villain: Pilgrim

Look, I dunno.  Brother Ethan is just the sexiest evil Puritan you’ll ever find, as small as that pool may be.  He’s totally invested in what he’s doing, he fully believes in the lessons he’s teaching, he’s maybe a ghost or a trickster spirit or something, he has a great accent, he has a great laugh, and he has great piercing eyes.  Also he has this ongoing dynamic with the final girl that’s maybe sexually charged or maybe isn’t, but the whole thing is definitely a battle of wills and beliefs between them and that is hot.  Honorable mention goes to the hitman in The Body, but he only looked hot, he didn’t actually act hot, and there’s a difference.

Most Believeable Villain: New Year New You

Maybe the murders aren’t all believeable, but “Get Well” Danielle is!  Once a loathesome high school bully, she has now found fame and fortune as a loathesome social media influencer, and a culture that supports vapid self-promotion is one she thrives in.  Are the others in the movie any better, though?  They hate her, but isn’t it partly because they want to be her?  Don’t we all kind of want what she has, even while disdaining every part of her that got her where she is?

Movie I Could Have Written Better: Uncanny Annie

This movie about an evil board game sucked, but it didn’t have to!  There’s so much a horror comedy could parody about the modern board game scene.  It could have been an incredibly complex game with mutliple expansions where you’re two hours in and still haven’t gotten to using all the mechanics.  It could have been a super artsy Euro game with stunning evil art but instructions that are very poorly translated into English.  I work for a book and game store!  Give me a chance, I could script a greatdark parody of the the Arkham Horror franchise!

Movie That Might Have Been Scarier Without the Supernatural: Pure

I actually really respect the whole setup of this movie.  The notion of a “purity camp” father-daughter celebration is stunning and sickening, the fathers are holding their daughters to impossible standards and threatening to remove their love if they ever fair, the girls can’t trust that anyone they meet won’t reveal their secrets to the Reverend, and the camp itself looks like if that Midsommar farm was just No Fun Allowed.  Anyway, I don’t think they needed a weird rewriting of Lilith.  It’s a psychological cult horror, so let it stay that.  The girls can kill their dads at the end without any supernatural power.

Best Cheese: School Spirit

As soon as I saw the trailer and realized this was a Breakfast Club pastiche, I was in, baby.  You’ve got the prep, the class clown, the stoner, the nerd, and the delinquent all in for detention.  They resist the mean disciplinary teacher, they bond, they share secrets, they get high, they see beyond their cliques, and a masked slasher murders them one by one.  The villain reveal is ridiculous but kind of charming, a fun riff on the Norman Bates archetype, and the final girl’s speech to the killer at the end should be on all those “Good for her!” female character gif compilations.

Best Villain Outfit: Midnight Kiss

I love that giallo-killer-meets-gimp-suit look!  So creepy, yet so believeable for a club scene!  (Or at least, it would fit in with my memories of Folsom Street Fair.)  The movie itself isn’t super interesting as murder mysteries go, but it’s not bad, the whole thing is super stylish, and it is neat that almost the whole cast of characters, from heroes to villains, are gay.  But yeah, great costume, great party scenes, great beach house, shame about all the murders.

Movie I Wish I Hadn’t Sought Out Spoilers For: Culture Shock

I was trying to decide if I should see these movies and looked at lists of which ones were the best and then I looked into this one and...I spoiled the entire reveal.  It’s a great reveal!  I’ll try to avoid spoilering it here, but in this Spanish and English language movie, our heroine goes from dodging cartel men while trying to cross the border to existing in a beautiful, multicultural suburban town...where they dress like it’s the Tranquility Lane part of Fallout 3, and nobody will let her hold her infant son.  One of the more serious attempts at making a good movie, and I think it succeeds.

Movie That Does a Plotline Better Than Hannibal Did: Flesh & Blood

This movie, while following a pretty typical “Lifetime Movie” style plot (she says, never having seen a Lifetime movie), it understands one important thing: a story about a girl struggling to escape the influence of a pseudo-incestuous serial killer father figure is her goddamn story.  This will have to be my Abigail Hobbes fix fic.

Worst Movie: Tree House

Man, of all the horror movie characters not to get killed...

[clueless-content-creator]

Never Count On Me Again

Genre: NCT Mafia AU, Angst, Tiny bit of fluff

Warnings: Swearing, Heavy Uses of Sarcasm, Use of pet names, Mentions of Blood, Killing, Not Edited!

Word Count: 1.3k

Inspired By This FMV

"Why me? I went on a large ass mission two weeks ago!" Taeyong chuckled, "Yeah, two weeks ago Y/n! Listen to yourself. You know there are people in this base like Doyoung and I that go on almost every mission, right?" You sighed in defeat, “That’s a personal choice that you make every day that I, for once have nothing to do with!” He rolls his eyes and then decides to continue, "Anyways, Renjun, Jeno, Lucas, Johnny, and I will be accompanying you on this mission. Renjun and Jeno will be bystanders in the club to make sure everything goes smoothly, well.. as smoothly as a mission like this can go.” He mumbled the last part. “And for Lucas... he will be hacking into the system, so if something goes wrong and Woo-Seok calls security then Lucas will be able to delay the call so you can eliminate him before security gets to you, got it?" You dejectedly sighed again then nodded nonchalantly, "What are you and Johnny doing then?" Taeyong smirked, "I will be a sniper from afar, and Johnny will be accommodating Lucas in the car. Once the mission is complete, they will be waiting outside in the car to pick you, Renjun, and Jeno up after the mission is finished. Any questions?" I blinked a few times before replying, "Who will be driving you home then?" He pondered before responding, "Ah- my chauffeur, so no need to worry about it. Oh! And I almost forgot. The rules of this mission are to NOT drink, smoke, or interact with any strangers other than our target. You are to be completely sober. And that's about it!" He smiled. "Yeah, totally not restrictive at all." You said sarcastically as you rolled your eyes. Taeyong cracked a little smile but tried hard to contain it. "Y/n, I'm serious when I say that you can't drink or smoke. Your life is at risk when you do these missions. I know I send you on dangerous missions that could kill you, but I still care for you. So please do be careful." You rolled your eyes, "Wow, so the guy that sends me on deathly missions actually cares about me?" You ask sneeringly. Taeyong shakes his head, "Y/n I don't-" "Woah, Woah. What's going on here?" Johnny shows up with Lucas and Renjun following behind him. Renjun looks around the room a bit before he looks back at you and Taeyong. "Y/n is just being a little sassy right now because of the mission, nothing new but you guys all know that she is not to drink, right?" They all nod their heads in unison, "Oh whatever! I'm going to get ready for this stupid mission..” Taeyong suddenly grabs your wrist, "Let go." You say through gritted teeth. "Not so fast missy, this is the dress you'll be going in." He showed the dress to you, it was a short black dress with long sleeves and a sweetheart neckline paired with black ankle strap high heels and a Louis Vuitton black and gold bag. You nodded in agreement, "Thank you, it looks.. pretty." Lucas turned to you, "It'll look even more beautiful on you." Lucas smirked at you but then his face turned into dismay because Johnny hit his arm, "Bad timing?" Lucas turned toward Johnny. "No, just a cheesy comment," Johnny replied. Lucas says, "You're lucky I love you, if I didn't, you would've been dead already." Johnny rolls his eyes in response as he dragged Lucas away. Taeyong then shoos you and Renjun off to start getting ready for the mission. You look at your watch, "8 pm, Neo Crackhead Culture Technology Underground Club." You sighed, "I just damn well hope that this goes smooth..” "That's what I'm hoping for as well," Lucas added. You jumped, "Jesus Lucas! Where the hell did you come from!?" Lucas scoffed, "Your door obviously!" You rolled your eyes, "You know, you could've knocked like a half-decent person." Lucas chuckled and caressed your cheek, "I did cutie, like 3 times." You pouted, "Oh, yeah, my bad." You rolled your eyes once more, before starting to get undressed. Lucas just stood there, pretty much drooling over you. "Like the view fuckboy?" You scoffed. Lucas started to blush, "Yes actually.. you look amazing" You giggled, "I'm not even wearing anything." "Exactly my point, baby girl." Lucas then came closer to you and grabbed your waist. Just as he leaned in to kiss your cheek the door flung open. You and Lucas both jumped in surprise, Taeyong and Johnny stood there in shock. "Oh, hey,” you said while covering your face, "I didn't realize anyone was home." You laughed out loud at Lucas’s excuse. "You literally talked to us 10 minutes ago!" Johnny exclaims. Either way, you pushed Lucas away and covered your body with the bathrobe that Taeyong got for you. "Aww there’s no need to be shy princess, your body is perfect." You cringed at his comment before replying "I mean, you're not so bad yourself Lucas." Johnny sighs, "We don't have all day to just talk! If you guys are that desperate just fuck now and get this tension out the goddamn way!” Taeyong is quick to interrupt Johnny. "-No! That is not allowed here!” He clears his throat, “Anyways.. the mission starts in 2 hours, get it together you two! I mean seriously you can fuck on your own time if you really want." Taeyong mutters the last part under his breath. You and Lucas laugh at Taeyong’s frustration with the two of you. You're trying to get him to crack. He lets out a little giggle but tries hard to resist it. "Please Y/n I need you to get ready. We need to be there by 7:30." The three of you nod. Then, the three men leave you to get dressed in your outfit. You put the black dress on with no struggle at all. 'Hm, Taeyong really does know the clothes that fit exactly right.' You then put your shoes and accessories on, grabbing your bag last before leaving your room. You walk downstairs and pass by the living room to be greeted by Renjun. "Hey Y/n, we'll be ready to leave in 5," He says as he puts his shoes on and then walks towards you. "Oh wow, you look gorgeous!" You chuckle a little, "Thank you, you look handsome too Mr. Huang." He smiles at you before a familiar voice interrupts you two. "Y/n, have you forgotten anything?" You think for a moment before replying, "The handcuffs! Oh my, I forgot." Just as you went running back to your room, Taeyong grabs your wrist, he then holds the handcuffs up. "I was just joking; I know you have everything already." He chuckles. "Ugh, why would you do that?!" You groaned. "It was just a joke, I wanted to see your reaction." You rolled your eyes but smiled a little, "Well good one, you got me." You replied being incredibly sarcastic. Taeyong smiles a little before being interrupted by the other members. Taeil and Mark appeared, "Woah, little missy surely is dressed up tonight! Where are you guys going?" Taeil smiles, ruffling your hair. You pouted as you tried to comb your fingers through your hair to make it look nice again. "Come back safe?" Mark asks as he takes your hand in his. "I can't promise anything, I don't know if I'll come back alive, so you guys are just going to have to wait for that answer." You reply with a smirk. Taeyong sighs, "She's just being overdramatic guys, we’ll be fine." Taeil and Mark then nod, "Thanks for the little visit." You lightly smiled at them, they nodded in response. "Well, we hope you come back home as safe as possible!" Mark says before ruffling your hair again and high-fiving Taeyong. “I swear, the next person that messes my hair up is getting their fingers cut off.” You say straightening your hair out once again while the guys give you scared looks and shiver. ‘This is going to be one hell of a night, I can tell.’ You think to yourself.