#its not like what the movie is about or anything but they are definitely odd scenes

[twizz2256]

OK movie over. I in fact did NOT get gotten by the spookies despite my being alone.

[augustinewrites]

your little flower stall is strategically set up a few feet from one of the trendiest restaurants in this area of tokyo. 

it’s a smart spot, one that men like reo can appreciate when he’s already ten minutes late for his date. he’d quite literally just left work, a last minute meeting having forced him to get ready in the back of his car in his haste to arrive somewhat on time. his shirt is untucked and his pants are wrinkled from being left in the trunk for so long.

he winces when he catches his reflection in a window, running a hand through his unkempt hair in a poor attempt to fix it. he definitely can’t show up empty handed when he’s late and looking like this. 

“good evening,” he greets, a little breathless as he approaches your stall. his eyes scan the bouquets available, looking for any safe picks and frowning when he realizes you’re out of roses. so he shrugs and picks up whatever’s closest. some kind of yellow flower.

“yellow carnations?” you murmur as he digs into his pocket for his wallet, prompting him to glance up at you. “an odd choice.”

“how do you mean?”

“it’s an unusual choice for a date, is all.” 

he raises his brows. “how do you know they’re for a date?”

“oh, come on,” you grin, leaning against the counter. “a handsome guy like you doesn’t have someone to buy flowers for?”

he knows it’s probably just a marketing pitch, but his ego swells nonetheless. “handsome, huh?” 

you simply shrug - tease - and place the carnations back into their bucket to grab a different bouquet. you cut a strip of white ribbon from its spool, winding it around the stems. “go with these instead. if your date knows anything about flowers, these will definitely get you laid.”

reo actually laughs at that, as he strongly doubts the wannabe influencer he’d been set up with knows much about the meanings of flowers, but he’ll take your word for it. he hands you his card, not-so-secretly hoping that you’d caught a glimpse of his name on its surface before you swiped it through your machine.

when you return it to him, he pulls a handful of bills out of his wallet and stuffs them into your tip jar.

“oh,” you start. “that’s too much–” 

he flashes you a smile that’s been called ‘swoon-worthy’ before, waving you off as he tucks his wallet back into his pocket. “don’t worry about it! you’re saving my life here.” 

“your sex life, you mean?” you quip, but your eyes sparkle at his praise as you hand him the bouquet. “well, thank you for your patronage, sir.” 

he quickly dips his head in thanks, a little reluctant as he heads towards the restaurant. 

_____

monday mornings aren’t especially busy for you, as bleary eyed office workers don’t have much need for flowers. 

which is why you’re surprised when the man from last friday starts approaching your stall, holding a cup of what you assume must be coffee. he doesn’t quite look like you remember, from the impeccable cut of his suit to the way his hair is neatly pulled back. he’s even wearing aviators that you’re sure would look ridiculous on anyone else, but for some reason make him look like a movie star. 

he pulls them off with his free hand and hangs them off the pocket of his bag, waving at you like you’re old friends. he looks so earnest and excited that you can’t do much else than blush and raise your hand in response. 

“morning,” he greets once you’re close enough to hear. “this is for you. for last friday. i wasn’t sure what you’d like so i just got their special.” 

he holds out the cup, whose logo you now recognize from the overpriced cafe down the street. you take it, smiling. “i take it your date went well then?”

he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers, shrugging. “sure.” 

“did you come to buy her more flowers?”

“ah…i don’t think i’ll see her again.” 

you perk up at that. just a little. “oh?” 

“yeah,” he sighs, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “i, uh, kinda wanna see where things go with someone else.” 

oh, of course there’s someone else. a guy like him probably never has a shortage of options. (and who are you not to capitalise on that?) “maybe some flowers will help.” 

you think there’s something mischievous in his smile. “definitely. what do you recommend?”

_____

reo is running out of places to put his flowers. 

they’re all over his office. they line the entirety of his windowsill and take over the free space on his desk. a small clump of white daisies in an old coffee mug. a single rose in his pen cup. his assistant has to crane her head around a vase of lilies to deliver her reports at the end of each day. 

what can he say? you’re one hell of a salesperson. if anyone had asked him what his favourite flower was before, he’d have no idea what to tell them. in truth, he’d never given much thought to something so impermanent as flowers.  

but you easily become a permanent part of his routine. each day he stops at your stall, utilising the information he’d gathered from the internet just moments before to impress you with an educated floral choice. 

you always smile when you hand him the bouquet, and he wonders how your product isn’t sold out at the end of each day, with a smile as enamouring as yours. 

when his office is overrun by floral accents, he starts bringing them home instead. his neighbours gush about what a great boyfriend he is each time they catch him returning with a new arrangement. they say that whoever he’s coming home to must be a ‘very special someone.’

they don’t know that it’s just nagi, who barely looks up from whatever game he’s playing but comments mildly that he didn’t think reo was a flower guy. 

“everyone’s a flower guy,” he’d quipped as he unwrapped the brand new vase he’d bought to accompany the bouquet of peonies and anemones you’d given him. 

and if nagi noticed he’d come home blushing the day you called him your most important customer, he didn’t say anything.

_____

“hey,” he asks on a particularly slow sunday afternoon. you’re in the process of wrapping - by his request - a bundle of lilacs, which happen to be your favourite flower. “come to lunch with me. i can get us a table—” he points to the restaurant behind you. “—there.” 

you don’t answer right away, allowing yourself a moment to make sure you’ve heard him right. “what would your girlfriend think?”

he looks confused as you hold the lilacs out to him. “girlfriend?”

“yeah…isn’t she the one you’ve been buying all these flowers for?”

he blinks a few times before hanging his head with a chuckle. “no i— i don’t have a girlfriend.”

he doesn’t have a girlfriend. so that would mean…

“you’re asking me out,” you realize, averting your gaze to the counter with all the awkwardness of a kid receiving their first valentine. “i’d love to, but i can’t just close—”

“what would you make in a day?” he blurts. “ideally.” 

“well, ideally i’d be sold out—”

he flips his wallet open and hands you his card. “i’ll take everything then.”

“everything?” you echo. 

he shrugs, shooting you a wink. “what can i say? i’m a flower guy.”

“reo,” you laugh, pushing his card back towards him. “i’m not going to let you pay me to go out with you. just go grab some takeout and come back here. a pretty face like yours is bound to sell.” 

“you’re whoring me out for business?” 

“i’m just being entrepreneurial,” you counter. 

he crosses his arms over his chest, a handsome grin on his face. “alright, but i’ll need to be compensated for my efforts. maybe even with a kiss…”

you roll your eyes (albeit with a smile) as you point at the restaurant. “at least buy me lunch first.”

[inf3ct3dd]

ellie headcanons ..!

warnings : literally none, perfectly sfw 😍😍

content: loser!ellie x reader, more ellie-focused than relationship focused (sorryyyy 😞😞)

authors note: i’ve literally never done headcanons omg 😓 this is js my random ramblings 🔥🔥🔥

pt. 2 ! taglist!!!! masterlist!!

- send you an excessive amount of reels. every 5 seconds. cute cats, random facts about space, stuff she thinks is funny, it all goes to you.

- definitely had a “rock collection” when she was little, but she was so ???? excessive with it??? like every time she saw a rock she picked it up. she walked so weird bc her pockets were just FULL OF ROCKS.

- also, was literally the grimiest kid ever. playing in ROLLING IN the mud, going snail hunting when it rained!!! she was the kid that would go in the bushes and mess w rolly pollies all the time for NO REASON.

- is weirdly good at fishing?? joel took her all the time, and shes a self proclaimed “fishing master”

- WAYYY clumsy. always running into a wall, tripping on air, or missing steps on the stairs (smh its cuz of that damn phone 😒😒)

- im so into the whole “adam sandler” fits cuz its so true. esp during the summer, its some stupid t shirt that says “master baiter” and a pair of old basketball shorts.

- speaking of t shirts, she’s def the type to own an absurd amount of dumb t shirts.

- gets all her clothes from like, walmart and goodwill. she does not CARE!!!

- cuts her own hair too 🤞🏽🤞🏽 shes soooo self sufficient 😍😍😍

- bites. she is such a biter.

- speaking of, i feel like she js has to have something in her mouth constantly. gum, random pieces of plastic, bottle caps, pens, anything 😞

- speaking of mouths (wow sierra so many connections!!!) she def had braces , but she hates wearing her retainer so her teeth are like ever-so-slightly fucked up

- is AMAZING at committing to the bit. she will drag it for DAYSSS if you don’t tell her to stop. once did a (awful) british accent for 4 days until you threw something at her and told her to shut the fuck up

- definitely not shy, just kind of…odd. she’ll talk to anyone that talks to her, she just doesn’t really approach people.

- weird obsession with pickles. has a pickle stuffed animal with a mustache and glasses that she bought from goodwill

- hangs up so much stuff on her walls!!!! tickets, old notes, cards, pictures of people, drawings, old tickets, literally anything she thinks looks cool

- obsessed with rollercoasters!!! she took you to the fair for your first date

- also like- very good at fair games. she’s so cocky about it too, you’ll go home with like 20 stuffed animals she won for you and she’ll carry ALL OF THEM with the stupidest smile on her face

- wears all of joels old contractor-workwear clothes during the colder months

- trys so hard to be “mysterious” but she’s never actually doing anything so she just does stuff like not telling you what movie she’s watching or what she’s eating

- also just texts you 24-7!!! like every time she’s doing something she’s like “i made a quesadilla” “i went to the store” “i took a shower” she just looooves keeping you updated

- tries to raise one eyebrow but ends up just squinting one eye. so funny 😞😞

- really good at solving rubix cubes???

- definitely had a fuck ass bob at one point

- GLASSES. that is all. glasses.

- listens to so much dad rock, midwest emo, indie, she LOVES male manipulator music!! but like she isn’t like thatttt shes so niceeee 😞😞

- mostly calls you babe/baby, she’ll call you really dumb pet names as a joke like “pookie” 😭😭

[megamindsecretlair]

The King and I, Part 1

Pairing: King Ghezo x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. This is more background than anything, so mentions of violence, violence against women, brief mentions of rape, torture, murder, slave trade, and suicidal ideation. Hopefully this will be 3 parts, will lead to smut! Ya heathens, I know what you here for LOL. And you all deserve forehead kisses.

Summary: Raised to be perfect, your father has had it with your disobedience. He marches you to the palace and throws you at the King's feet. You'd rather die than be another person's property. But the King surprises you in many ways.

Word Count: 3,533k

A/N: Couldn't get this idea out of my brain and it definitely doesn't follow the canon in the movie. AH well, LOL. I love it and that's all that matters. Hopefully, my brain continues to cooperate. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Taglist: @planetblaque @browngirldominion

Before you had a chance to be a little girl, you were coveted for your looks. How pretty you were. How nice your hair was. Paraded out in front of many odd, adult people who looked at you with strange things in their eyes. Things you were too young to understand.

As you got older, it only got worse. You were expected to sit there like a doll and let people talk over you or around you, as if you were no more than grass beneath their feet. Wind in their hair. Something always there and easily ignored.

So you made the decision to be seen. You gave opinions when they weren’t wanted. You stayed in other people’s business. You resisted and rebelled. It was nice while it lasted.

Your father made sure to curb you of such habits. But somehow, the punishments never took like they were supposed to. You continued to speak. To use the gifts the gods gave you. If they did not want you to speak, they should have taken your tongue.

At his end, your father gave up his pursuit of a wealthy match for you. “If you will not listen to me, I will give you to someone you have no choice but to obey!” Spittle flew from your father’s mouth.

As you were marched to the palace, that was the one thing you focused on. Your father was a proud man. Perhaps you had gone a step too far if he was letting spit fly from his mouth with abandon. This was the least of your concern, true, but being cast off on the newly appointed King Ghezo was too big to face head on.

People in the village watched as you were marched there, your father’s grip on your arm near bruising. His thick fingers were wrapped around your upper arm. He set a brutal pace and walked forward whether you were able to keep up or not. You stared at the people. You made them look at you.

You didn’t expect them to do anything to help you. No one ever lifted a finger to help little girls. You were many years an adult by now, but to everyone, you were still so young. Young in the ways of the world. But growing up, weren’t you taught the ways of the world? 

The powerful were in charge with no one to challenge them otherwise. While everyone else was sheep, forced to do their bidding. 

Your feet tripped over rocks in the dirt road. Your father continued marching. The palace gates were not far now. Dread started to inch its way to your heart. You had never seen the King, but you heard how your parents whispered about him. How he was both similar and different from his father and brother.

His father had been a cruel man, living in ways that your people hadn’t lived before. Surely, his son would be no different. When you learned that you were going to be given to the new king, you pictured how ugly he must be. How cruel. 

Your father was handing you over like a piece of meat. Handing his daughter over as if he had no hand in birthing you, raising you, guiding, and protecting you. Now you were nothing to him. You looked at him as he jostled you down the street. His eyes were set forward, a frown on his face.

Did he not feel anything at all? All these years you had been in his care and there wasn’t an ounce of feeling in him.

“Did you ever love me?” You asked. You were out of breath and it was said softly. Perhaps he didn’t hear you. You hoped. You didn’t really want to hear his answer. Hear that despite everything else, he did not share that love for you as you did for him all these years.

“You are an insolent child. I will make more of you. I will instill in them obedience where you had none,” he spat. 

You refused to cry. You had an idea that he didn’t truly love you. Sometimes he’d look at you with such…hate. As if you were a stubborn stain he could not remove. You thought it was because of your looks. Because it was all anyone could talk about. But even when it was just you and your mother, he would still look at you as if he could cast you out with a single look.

At the palace gates, the guards halted your father. The red doors were large, stretching high above you. Anyone who went in, never came back out. You heard whispered words about why the King would need so many women. There was talk of him eating flesh. If he sold it, was there a big stretch to eating it? 

You’d die before you got eaten. As your father argued with the guards, telling how he had a disobedient child that the King could do whatever he wanted with, you made the second biggest decision of your life. You will die before harm befell you. In whatever form that was. 

If the King forced himself on you, you’d kill him and take yourself with him. If he tried to put you in a stew, you’d make him watch as you bled all over his fancy robes. The guards finally opened the gates enough for you to peek through.

Women were engaged in combat. Your mouth dropped open at how fierce they looked. You were not allowed to look upon the Agojie when they returned from their battles beyond the walls of the kingdom. But now you dared not to look away. 

Your father pushed you forward. One of the guards caught you and you turned your head to your father. This was the most satisfied you had ever seen him. He hoped that the King did something awful to you. He was counting on it.

You straightened up behind the walls of the palace. You looked your father in the eyes and you smiled. You spat on the ground at his feet, that smile still on your face. His smile faltered, rage contorting his features. You turned your back on him and walked into the lion’s lair.

The guards handed you off one by one until a young guard escorted you to the front of the palace. In the training yard, men and women walked around with heads held high. It had never been your intention to become Agojie, but perhaps the mad King will let you once he found out how unsuitable for a wife you were. 

The thought of killing anyone made you ill, but it would be better than to be bound to someone who could have you killed with one word. 

The guard took you to the door that led to the inner palace. An Agojie met you there, a tall woman with beautiful features and sharp nails. She looked you up and down and conversed with the guard. You didn’t pay attention. You were marching to your death, what did the particulars matter? 

The woman took possession of you, leading you into the inner palace where it was women only. Everywhere you looked, there were Dahomey women walking freely. They laughed! They trained, they ran, and hugged each other without abandon. There were a few women from other tribes there, but…this sight robbed you of clear thought.

“You will catch flies if you leave your mouth open like that,” the Agojie said. 

The Agojie stalked forward, a hand on the hilt of her weapon. You briefly wondered how you could steal one unnoticed. You searched around you. There were weapons everywhere but there were so many Agojie, you doubted you’d be able to capture one. 

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“Nanisca,” the warrior said. “You’d do well to listen to whatever the King wants.” 

You didn’t need to be reminded of the King’s cruelty. It was all your father taunted you with for days as he made his decision to hand you over. You followed Nanisca to the palace proper. There, a man dressed in bright purple robes greeted you. He was bald with lots of jewelry hanging from his nose, ears, and around his neck. He looked you up and down and then rolled his eyes towards Nanisca.

“I suppose we will have this to look forward to from now on,” he said.

“As long as our King breathes air,” Nanisca said. She left you there with the man. 

“Come,” he said. You followed him, though dread made your steps wooden and your limbs frozen. You were too deep to escape now. But escape to where? Outside the kingdom, you ran the risk of slavers. Rapists. Murderous thugs who would know where you came from and kill you just for being born in the wrong tribe.

The palace was nice, almost peaceful. There was the clank of weapons outside. Grunts and sounds from the Agojie as they practiced. The palace was big but also felt empty. As if there weren’t a lot of people there.

The King must be fat then. Perhaps he ate all the servants and would-be brides. The bald man led you through to a chamber with many chairs. On a raised dais, there was a large throne and a smaller one beside. 

“Wait here,” the man said. He twirled and disappeared down the hall. You took a step forward, looking at the displayed riches and art work. If a king was cruel, did he know anything about art? Or beauty? 

“Is this necessary?” You heard mumbling and turned towards the door, ready to face the King head on. To see what kind of monster your parents have subjected you to. 

A young man walked in, with thick curled hair and light facial hair. He wore robes of gold, his robe split open revealing a well defined chest. He stood in the doorway and gazed at you as you did him.

He certainly didn’t look monstrous. You knew that evil things often came in the prettiest packages, but he was beautiful. Strong. Solid. 

He was still your new jailor, you mustn’t forget. So you stood there and looked him in the eye. You were not a victim and you will not be treated as such. 

“What is your name?” He asked. He pressed into the room further, looking you up and down with desire in his eyes. Your parents taught you well. How to spot it in others. 

You told him your name and he repeated it. As if to savor it around his tongue. He walked closer until he was within reach. Up close, he was even more handsome. You had to fight yourself from getting distracted by his looks. He was still cruel. You remembered all the horrible stories about his brother. He couldn’t be any different.

“So your father has given you away to me.” 

It wasn’t a question, but you answered anyway. “He has, my King,” you said.

“Do you wish to be given away?” He asked.

You gasped and looked at him. You looked to the bald man for help but he was turned away from the two of you. You looked back towards King Ghezo. It was the first time anyone had asked what you wished. For it to come from a king who should not care what you wanted…you weren’t sure what to do with the information.

“N-No,” you said.

King Ghezo nodded. “I wish I could make it easier for you. But you are too beautiful to be Agojie and if I turn you from this palace, you will have nowhere to go.” He reached for your hand and you snatched it from him. He smiled patiently as he held out his hand to you.

He was only pretending to be nice. A stupid, hopeful part of you had thought he wasn’t like the stories. He was worse. Still, he was correct. If he turned you away, you had nowhere to go. Once you had been here, everyone would assume the King used you and not deemed you worthy. Cast you out like a whore. You would be forced to sell your body. 

You took his hand. He gripped it lightly and smiled. He kissed the back of your hand. “Welcome, my Queen,” he said.

The next few days were a blur. King Ghezo’s first wife saw to your preparation for the wedding. The eunuch from earlier saw to your lessons, what was expected of you. No different than what your father had wanted from you. To be on your best behavior and only speak when spoken to. 

You hadn’t seen the King since then, but you caught glimpses every now and then. You were given your own quarters and servant, someone to tend to your needs. It was odd to have someone help bathe you, but the King preferred cleanliness to all else. He was vain on top of a liar.

The feast arrived in no time and you were painted up like a doll. At the wedding, you stood there as expected. If you had smiled any harder, it would have split your face in two. You had stood there like a goat on the pasture, ready to be bought and chopped up. King Ghezo studied you, encircled you, and found you acceptable. You had been tense, near trembling. You hated every second of it.

But now you are married. You sat beside King Ghezo at the high table, while he joked and laughed with his advisors. His other wife sat on your side, quiet and dull. You pitied her. The fight had left her long ago. You were still young. There was still time for you. While everyone smiled and laughed and enjoyed the feast, you hid a knife up your sleeve. It wasn’t that sharp, but it’d do the trick when the King tried to climb in your bed tonight.

You smiled in his face and feigned an innocent routine. You waited for the casual cruelty. When he would hiss for you to shut up, eat more, eat less, sit up straight. It never came. He only gave you brief glances, each always polite. A smile on those plump lips. You couldn’t shake your resolve though. Tonight, you’d be free. Whether free in death or free in life was entirely up to him. 

That night, you lay in your bed. There was a door there that led to a small balcony overlooking the rest of the kingdom. It was mostly the trees in the forest, but they were tall and mighty and more than the view you got back home. You did not spare your father a thought, but you thought of your mother. It had not been her choice to marry such a cruel man. 

It had not been your choice to marry a cruel man either. However, you felt as if you had a child, you would have moved the heavens and the earth to protect it. To not let what happened to you, happen to your own daughter. You supposed that dream was gone now. You’d either die tonight and never have a kid, or face the wrath of the kingdom and bear one without your permission. Somehow death seemed kinder. 

You did not want to die. But how could you live within these walls? With that monster? Admittedly, you did not hear any screams late in the night. His first wife seemed unbothered. Untouched. She had borne him his first son, so perhaps he left her alone. And perhaps goats flew over the moon. 

Men were only interested in one thing from a woman. And it was not her brain. 

A soft knock tore you from your musings. You tensed up, sliding your hand beneath your pillow to wrap around the handle of the knife. Maybe if you pretended to be sleep, he’d come back another night.

The door pushed open, soft feet padded inside, and the door closed again. You lay on your side, turned towards the open balcony. If you screamed, would no one come to your aid? 

“Are you awake?” King Ghezo’s soft voice reached you. You didn’t answer. Your breaths were stalled in your chest. Your hand cramped from holding the knife too hard. 

The King poked at your shoulder before making you roll over. “I know you are not…”

You sat up and had the knife at his throat in one fell swoop. The King’s eyes widened, but he looked at you, not the knife.

“Will you kill me, my Queen?” He asked. 

You pressed the knife into his skin, hard enough to know you meant business but careful not to break the skin. You were already committing treason, but somehow, it was important not to mar the king. 

He stared at you. Those deep brown eyes set in such a handsome face. You looked for the cruel man you heard about. Where was he? You could harm a cruel man. They deserved it tenfold. Why wasn’t he making this easy on you?

“I don’t want to,” you finally admitted. “I have to.”

“Why?” 

What did he mean, why? “Aren’t you angry?” 

“Angry at a scared woman who has no one on her side? No,” he said. He was so calm, so patient. This was at odds with everything you built up about him in your head.

“Don’t pity me,” you said. You pushed the knife in deeper. 

He leaned away and held his hands up. “I do not pity you. I will not pretend to know your life. But I can promise that you’re safe here,” he said.

You scoffed. “I’m not safe anywhere,” you said. You pressed your lips together. That hadn’t been what you meant to say. You meant to throw it back on him, that he could not promise safety when he dealt in the slave trade. When he looked at his people and only saw money from white devils. 

His eyes softened and he slowly smiled. “No man intact can enter this palace. Beyond that, we are protected by the fiercest warriors in the world. Beyond them, there is a first legion still to defend this palace from enemies. Here in the heart of it, you are the safest you’ve ever been.” 

“But who will keep me safe from you?” 

King Ghezo leaned forward, making you choose between cutting him or retreating. You eased up on the pressure. “You can do a finer job protecting yourself than most women can,” he said.

You stared at him. Your arm began to shake from holding the knife for so long. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t kill him. You were weak and would never be accepted as an Agojie. You would never fare well beyond these walls. 

You dropped the knife on the bed and held out your wrists. “I’m ready for my punishment, my King,” you said.

King Ghezo let out a long breath. You noticed now that he wore a deep, royal purple that highlighted his rich, dark skin. He wore minimal jewelry. He was just that magnificent on his own. Especially when the candle light flickered across his features.

“Punishment?” 

“I’ve threatened the King. I am ready for whatever punishment you hand out,” you said.

The King ignored the knife on the bed between you. It was within his right to take it and kill you. Or take it as evidence of your deceit. He could brand it for all to see as he threw you out of the palace. 

He did none of those things. He reached out his hand slowly and enclosed yours in his. You stared at your hands in comparison to his. He watched you as he brought your hands to his lips and placed a small kiss there.

“Plot how next you’ll kill me. If I have not convinced you of my intentions, of my character by then, you may carry through,” he said.

“What? No, no!” You said. You pulled your hands back but he held on. He pulled you closer until your hands were pressed against his warm, smooth chest. 

“Keep the knife, my Queen. This will be interesting between us,” he said.

This was surely a trap. A way for him to play and toy with you while he tightened the noose about your neck. Or gathered wood to burn you alive. Or for the Agojie to sharpen their swords to take your head with it.

“My King…”

“One day, I wish for you to call me your love,” he said. “But I will earn it or die trying.” A cocky grin spread across his face. It transformed him from a king to a man. A man who you were married to, sitting on your bed, with intentions involving you. 

He placed one more kiss on your hands and then retreated from the room. He never gave you his back, but he did smile and bow. Then he was gone from your room. A chill from outside caressed your bare skin and you shivered.

Was the king truly mad? Or were you? And why did he make you want to find out which?

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[cipheramnesia]

This is the process my brain goes through every time I see anything about Netflix Avatar The Last Airbender.

My first reaction is always: Why? The original, although not without flaws, doesn't leave a lot of room to improve. A good remake or adaptation usually involves an updated context or change in perspective that adds to the original work and gives it new meaning. It's a risky undertaking because it usually involves wanting to take on something established as iconic and make it your own. But Netflix is a corporation and seems very risk averse for the most part. Its only investment is in the name recognition of AtLA. It's hard to visualize Netflix deliberately taking a big risk on an expensive show.

My second reaction is: How? The original series is about 1400 minutes over 61 episodes, and it still had to rush the ending. We're looking at 8 episodes of roughly 45-60 minutes per episode for season 1, which would require Netflix to let it run more than 3 seasons, if the series has similar pacing. Historically however Netflix shows have glacial pacing, and rarely make three seasons. Not really sure how they plan to tell the story if the series is anything like the average Netflix series, meaning it either needs to undercut the story or let the series breathe for at least five seasons. But nothing Netflix has done makes me want to watch anything they make as an ongoing series? Why bother, they cancel everything I enjoy. So I wonder how. What's the hook to say "this will be able to provide something new and interesting compared to the original, and will be allowed to tell the complete story."

Which leads me to think, but you can't judge if something is good without seeing it. Except none of this is about whether it's good, I just find myself wondering what are the odds it's worth the effort? They're low, and it has nothing to do with whether or not it's even any good on its own merits.

Following this, I ask myself, what would a good version of this be. Imagine you are making a live action series with eight hour long episodes per season based on a children's cartoon with 20 thirty minute episodes per season. You are trying to encompass a story which was presented over three seasons as a cartoon, and you do not know if you will have more than those eight episodes. It's made for Netflix which, in terms of a company which will protect the hard earned fruits of your artistic labor, is the fox guarding the henhouse. What do you do?

If you are looking to make something good, that respects your audience investment and your own work, you make radical changes to the story. You change the pacing, the character arcs, the plot arcs. You make sure you deliver a complete story in those episodes with as much respect for the original work and as many new ideas as you can.

Except, at that point, what is even the point of a remake. The only way to work with it is either to trust Netflix allowing you to finish the story (which you'd need to be incredibly naive to do), or tell a story so different it may as well be wholly original. And that's where I always end up. Like, it'll probably be fine, but what's the point of it all? Another vanishing digital property to get canceled because of some undefinable failure to return on investment.

I think about it a lot because the two ends of the spectrum seem to be "dunk on every new piece of information" or "wait and see" but the only conclusion I can ever reach is "why even care?" That's been the lesson to take home from digital streaming in general when it comes to series, but Netflix in particular, and honestly for movie series too. If it can't be self contained, the companies who produce and release these kinds of series just cannot be trusted with it, and there are too many good original stories being put out to care anymore about big budget promises that one day they will definitely for sure deliver a finished story, this time for real.

I care enough to think about why I don't feel anything at all about Netflix Avatar. It'll be fine, whatever else. Just fine.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

i rewatched Dune Part Two recently and one of the most striking shots for me was the one of the Fremen attacking the Sardaukar on wormback, while holding the Atreides flag.

Like, we just saw the Sardaukar forming up with their numerous flag bearers, even trying to maintain their flags raised after the nuclear detonation (in a shot that mirrored the famous "Raising the Flag in Iwo Jima" statue to me btw, nice nod to imperialism).

And then the Fremen arrive, but they're not bearing their colors, their flags, not fighting in their own names, instead it's the Atreides colors. The colors of their new, imperially appointed rulers. New pawns in the warfare between Great Houses, soldiers instead of freedom fighters. Urgh. Wish i could make gifsets.

Yeah yeah yeah it's horrifying!! You are watching a national liberation movement get successfully co-opted by a superpower and it's awful!

They did such a good job making it feel creepy and foreboding when the Atreides symbols and motifs start re-appearing in the last hour or so of the movie. The second Gurney shows up he immediately re-introduces the Atreides way of looking at the world, and it's disturbing how easily Paul falls back into thinking like that, seeing the planet and its people as tools to be used in an inter-imperial power play. (It's right after Gurney tells him about the family nukes that Paul has the signet ring out for the first time since the beginning of the second act and we're like OH NO.) This is before he drinks the Water of Life; he is already starting to think like a colonial duke again some time before he declares himself one.

After the opening montage where we see the piles of bodies being burnt, we don't see the stylized Atreides hawk symbol for most of the movie. The next time it appears is on a vault of nuclear weapons, which are never treated as anything but a curse. It's so important that Stilgar and Chani are with Paul and Gurney when they open the vault so we can see their horror at these weapons and the gleeful, casual way Gurney talks about them. Chani is also seeing an aspect of Paul that she hasn't really witnessed before--Paul, the Future of House Atreides--and she does not like it.

And then of course the whole ending battle is making the point over and over again with repeated imagery that Atreides and Harkonnens are exactly the fucking same. All the imagery from the initial Harkonnen attack on Arrakeen in Part One--which at least shows the Atreides as brave in the face of overwhelming odds--gets inverted into something that's supposed to make us shudder. That scene of Gurney hacking his way through the crowd of soldiers with someone carrying the Atreides flag behind him? Nightmarish.

All of this stuff is super important to what the movie is trying to say because it is very very easy for us to buy into the Atreides' propaganda about themselves being the good guys. If we're paying attention to what Chani tells us in the literal first 3 minutes of the first movie, we already know we should be viewing them with a bit of critical distance. And while I think there is plenty in the first movie to make us side-eye their noble image (Leto saying we will bring peace to Arrakis?? fucking yikes dude), it's easy to forget that because Leto generally seems like a good dude to the people close to him, and he dies tragically so we never get to see much of what kind of colonizer he would have become. And I think it's easy to start thinking well if only Leto the more reasonable parent had lived then things wouldn't have turned out this way.

But fucking desert power?? That was Leto's idea. This is Leto's dream being realized. The plan was always to use the Fremen as pawns in the power struggle between the Great Houses. Maybe not quite in the way that Paul does cause he definitely goes off with it, but the end result is just as much a product of Atreides imperialism as it is of Bene Gesserit religious colonialism. The Atreides aren't inherently any more noble or benevolent than the Harkonnens in their intentions, they just have better PR. But the end result is exactly the same: a pile of dead bodies being set on fire.

[141trash]

Every Man has his Breaking Point

AN: *Exhales loudly and screams* I had a mini panic attack because the links weren't working and I realized I hadn't reblogged the post but its fine because I scrolled my thousands of likes for this :) This is inspired by @bleuu-moon's post! I loved it and as I was eating my ramen ended up imagining Ghost in a similar position. unedited full of grammatical errors bc reasons

At first he thought you were a hallucination given that he'd been knocked over the head pretty damn hard during his capture. He woke up on the cold floor of some cell with you leaning over him, pressing a bit of cloth to his forehead. Swatting your hand away from his face, he forced himself to sit up and take stock of the situation.

There was a brief underlying panic when he realized they'd stripped him of his mask and you now knew what he looked like. All his weapons were gone as were his shoes and anything that might have been useful for escaping. Whoever took him clearly knew what he was capable of.

Wincing as he braced himself against the wall he finally turned his attention back to you. Definitely a civilian. Small, innocent, young. There had to be something that he didn't know about you that made you a target because you and him being stuck together in this situation seemed like such an odd pairing.

"What they want with you?" he asked hoarsely, breaking the silence. Your head shot up to look at him, nervously playing with the fabric between your fingers.

"I don't know." you replied shaking your head.

Simon grunted, but otherwise didn't say anything else. His head was throbbing painfully, but he needed to understand what was going on if he was going to get out of there. It occurred to him after a while that you might be working with his captors, placed there to gain his trust and get information out of him that way. If that was the reasoning then it was a stupid idea. A young pretty face wasn't going to get your bosses any answers.

He decided then that until he could confirm that theory he wouldn't interact with you again.

It was two days later when someone finally came in. The pair of you were on opposite sides of the cell. You'd been dozing on and off to keep from letting the anxiety overwhelm you, but when you heard the key scraping the lock to the outer door your head shot up instantly alert.

Across the cell Simon didn't lift his head to glance at the door, briefly though his gaze flitted to you, to see your reaction.

"Lieutenant Riley." a man with a grandiose voice greeted as a guard opened the cell door to let him in.

"I know you?" Simon asked almost boredly, looking at the man and not recognizing anything.

The man's face twitched slightly, hands tightening to fists at his sides, "Perhaps not. But I know you."

He looked at you then, causing you to shrink back from the slimy feeling that went down your spine.

"You don't like your gift?"

You shuddered at the obvious implication in his voice, tears welling up in your eyes.

"You must not know me very well if you thought that would get me to talk." Simon disparaged making a face in disgust. For a brief second you didn't know whether to be relieved or offended.

The man clucked his tongue like a bad superhero movie villain, a greasy smile spreading across his face, "Every man has his breaking point Lieutenant Riley. I'm excited for us to find yours."

[wosoamazing]

Negative Thoughts & Beach Days

Summary: Based of this request.

Warnings: Eating Disorders, R calling themselves fat, RED-S syndrome.

A/N: This took longer than I expected sorry. I hope you like it, might do a part two where R talks to Leah and Jonas etc. I took forever to come up with the title - don't be surprised if I change it.

“She’s so fat” “She’s ugly” “Literal definition of nepotism, search it up in the dictionary and you would find her, she is so unfit and a bad player, screams nepotism.”

Leah had always told you there are two main rules to being a professional sports person. Number one do not read the comments on any posts about you, and number two if you don’t listen to number one and do read the comments don’t let them get to you. But these three comments weren’t alone, they were three of millions, it had been going on for a month, its hard not to let them get to you, you open social media, and they were plastered all over your screen. You tried to ignore them, block them out of your head, but they always managed to find a way to wiggle in and eventually they were all consuming thoughts.

The girls first noticed an odd change in your eating habits one morning at breakfast, you didn’t stop at your routine stop in front of the cereal instead you continued over to the fruit picking up a fruit salad, you also had decided to have wholemeal bread instead of white bread this morning for your toast, these decisions received a few confused looks from the girls as you sat down, no one knew why, they just thought maybe you wanted to try and be healthier, so no one thought much of it and just shrugged it off.

You were 16, turning 17 in 2 months and had never had your period. Leah said you were lucky, that you didn’t have to deal with it. RED-S syndrome was what every single doctor you ever spoke too yapped on about, along with exercising less, which they all regretted saying the second after, exercising was your job, you couldn’t really stop it, plus it kept you skinny. You didn’t really listen to what anyone said, nor did you care, in your mind not having a period meant that you were skinny enough, you were thin enough, you were fit enough. This was far from the truth but in your distorted reality it was the truth. So, the day you got your first ever period your whole world collapsed, in your reality you were now classed as fat. In reality you weren’t, you were insanely skinny. But you weren’t in reality. You stopped eating snacks, you thrived off snacks or at least that’s what the girls said, but you had stopped eating them, that did concern them, but you were still eating your three full meals a day so no one was too concerned, well except for Alessia, she would always ask “You sure you don’t want some?” in regards to popcorn on movie nights, or “What happened to your snacks?” you knew somewhere deep down that she was concerned and just trying to help but you didn’t take the comments that way, it felt like she was having a go at you, and one day you snaped, “Alessia, why do you even care, it’s not like you’re in charge of me, you’re not my Mum, my Dad, you’re not Leah, you don’t fucking get to constantly nag me about food, you have no fucking idea what is going on. Just leave me alone” she stood there in shock that day and so did you, before you ran up to your room and locked it, she did know what was going on which is why she was trying to say things lightly, however she forgot that you wouldn’t have taken them lightly she had been in your position a few years ago and felt so bad that she forgot what it felt like when someone said something like that, so she stepped back.

You also started to wear obviously baggier clothes after your first period, you loved to wear anything with spaghetti straps that’s coverage stopped at your ribs, Leah referred to your clothes as ‘non-clothes’ saying you may as well just wear your underwear. But now you would always be found in a baggy overside hoodie or shirt and a pair of sweats, to be fair it was winter, however even in winter you would wear your Nike Pros and a cropped hoddie or cropped rugby jumpers, so the girls were confused and they didn’t really understand why you started wearing trackies and hoodies but the one day they had discussed it Alessia told them to just leave it be and she would deal with it. She wasn’t sure how she would deal with it, however the moment arrived on your team trip to Ibiza.

_____

It was the fourth day of your holiday trip with the team and today it was decided that you were all going to the beach, you had managed to suggest other activities, and avoided the beach for the previous three days. The girls were slightly confused as to why you were avoiding the beach as usually you were the one to suggest it and you always jumped at the idea. You loved to wear the skimpiest bikini Leah (or your Mum – depending on whether it was a team or family trip) would let you get away with, lounging on the sand for half of the day getting a good tan before turning into a four-year-old and splashing everyone in the ocean. You even once filled up a bucket of water and tipped it over Katie’s head when she was sleeping on the beach, it was safe to say you regretted that one.

“Come-on, Y/N lets go to the beach.” Alessia said as she pounded on your door, she waited a bit “If you don’t come out in the next minute, I will assume you’re sick and I’ll come in, whether you are dressed or not”.

“I’m still getting ready” you told her.

“How? Just choose the aquamarine bikini set, the side tie and triangle bikini ones, as I’ve told you before it definitely has the least coverage and Leah lets you wear it, and you always wear it, it’s your favourite, every time after I tell you to put it on you thank me, just chuck it on and let’s go” for some reason these words caused a tear to roll down your cheek, as you stared down at the bikini set that was laid out on your bed in front of you, the exact set Alessia said to put on, however there was one problem, it didn’t fit anymore, you tried it on last night and it didn’t fit, you had developed slightly since the last time you wore it and now it would be considered inappropriate to wear, you didn’t see it that way though in your mind you were too fat to fit into your own bikini.

“Less, just go down and meet the girls I’ll be like 5 minutes, I promise,” you said trying to get Alessia off your back, you felt as though you would break any second and you didn’t want Alessia there when you did.

“No, I’m waiting, why aren’t you ready yet though? You’ve had all morning, quite literally. Are you okay?” Alessia said back, she had some idea of what might be happening behind that door, she could feel it in the air, you were going to break, and she promised the girls she would help you and that they didn’t need to worry.

“I just can’t find them, I-I’m fine ” You said whilst your voice broke a little, ‘shit’ you thought to yourself, she will know something is not right and she won’t leave.

“Well, I hope you have pants on because I’m coming in,” she said half-jokingly, half seriously, whilst flinging your door open. “Um… what are these?” She said as she picked up the bikini set off the bed. Tears started streaming down your face as she looked over to you, you were caught. “Hey, what’s up?” She asked in a soft tone, you didn’t reply and slid down the wall, your knees were up near your chest as you hugged your legs, your head placed on your knees, your body started shaking from your sobs.

You heard Alessia’s footsteps, and then the creek of the door, then her footsteps stopped, maybe everyone was right, maybe no one actually liked you, Alessia just saw you start sobbing and left, maybe you were just a burden, maybe no one cared about you, maybe they wanted you gone, maybe …. “Y/N” your thought train was interrupted, Alessia was back, she sat down next to you and pulled you into her lap, at first you resisted but you gave up, she lightly pushed your head into her neck, and immediately you let your body relax against hers, you were still shaking from your crying and Alessia just let you sit there while she held you tightly rubbing your back. “Hey, can you drink some water for me?” Alessia said, her voice laced with concern, it had been at least five minutes, and you hadn’t calmed down, reluctantly you took the water bottle of her and took some small sips. “Thank you, now I think we both know what is going on here, but I would like to hear it from you,” she said, you knew this was coming honestly you expected this conversation weeks ago when you snapped at her but it didn’t mean you were prepared for it at all, you let out a sigh, “I promise I’m here for you, I won’t leave you alone, I’ll be here for you every step of the way, I’ll help you, your like my little sister, I care about you and I want to help, but I need you to tell me what’s up,” she said, a tear rolled down her check she knew the pain you were feeling and wished she could make it magically disappear but she couldn’t.

“I’m f-fat,” you cried out.

“That’s not true, you know that”.

“Yes, it is, I got my period, I don’t fit into my bikini and I-”

“Oh baby girl,” Alessia cuts you off pulling you in tighter, she didn’t need the rest, she had seen it, they girls had seen it, but they had hoped you hadn’t but obviously you had, “I promise you, you are most definitely not fat, getting your period just means that you’re getting healthy, and maturing and every girl grew out of their clothes at one stage, I grew out of multiple bikinis at your age and I still do but that doesn’t mean I’m fat does it? I promise none of us think that your fat, or unfit and I swear on my life that every single girl in this team would do anything for you, we all care about you so much and we all love you so much,”

“Okay, I-I’m sorry” you replied to her, you had slightly calmed down but tears were still streaming down your face.

“For what?” Alessia asked confused, “Being a burden”.

“Baby, you know you’re not a burden, this isn’t your fault, we will get you help okay, I can talk to the girls, to Leah but you will also have to talk to her yourself, I’ll help you, I can come with you to see Jonas, we can make a plan with Leah, and I promise every single girl on the team will also be with you every step of the way okay?”

“Okay, can we stay here for a bit?” You ask.

“Well, I think the girls are getting a little worried, what if we go down to the swimwear store and I buy you some new swimmers, whatever you like and then we can go to the beach, and you don’t have to swim if you don’t want to, I can stay with you if you want, but I think we should at least go down to the beach.” Alessia said as she dragged you up, she grabbed you both towels, hats and she grabbed her sunnies. You followed her down to the swim store and bought a nice set of bathers.

You made your way to the beach, Leah stood up and walked over to you, “Are you okay?” she asked as she gave you a hug, looking at Alessia for an answer as to why your face was puffy and tear stained, “She will be okay, we’ll talk about it later, let’s just enjoy our beach day first” Leah’s brow furrowed but she nodded her head, Leah trusted Alessia, so she decided to leave it until the end of the day. You were nervous for the conversation that was to be had at the end of the day but for now you decided to enjoy your beach day, but it was a bit more relaxed today you sat and talked with the older girls rather than messing about with the younger girls, you even fell asleep while tanning, you woke up to Leah reapplying your sunscreen and as promised Alessia stayed with you all day.

[wolfintestinez]

ADAM STANHEIGHT HEADCANONS : 📼

hi hi ! here’s a few of my headcanons ! it’s not all of them but it’s the ones i have down, at the very least. 🗡️

- religious wendys / burger king eater.

- also a huge pepsi drinker, he rarely drinks anything else.

- as before, i am a tongue piercing truther, but it’s the only piercing he has. he’s scared of needles and it was a stupid thing that scott convinced him to do, he barely made it out of the healing process.

- it’s often he is rolling it around in his mouth without even realizing it, like he’s fidgeting.

- if he’s not listening to his ‘obscure’ hardcore bands, he’s listening to shit like oingo boingo. he will NOT admit it.

- he sticks around scott because he didn’t make too many friends in highschool, and he can’t stand the idea of having to start anew when it comes to the whole social scene. besides, being friends with scott has its perks (even if it means dealing with the toxicity). for example, there’s always something to do on a friday night.

- he didn’t drop out of highschool, but he did drop out of community college. he couldn’t be motivated to actually decide on what to do with his life, so he chose the only hobby he really enjoyed and made a career out of it. needless to say, his parents were not happy.

- speaking of his parents , he’s only close with his mother (kind of). his parents weren’t married, and have an odd relationship. his father is negligent, and pretty much just an asshole, while his mother cared about him enough to try and help when she could. but most of the time she stands by his fathers side, trying to play mediator.

- he only hates his father more as he sees his temper in himself. he’s angry, but he’s not sure what he’s ever exactly angry at. if anything, he’s an all around emotional guy, he just doesn’t know how to display them. he tends to blow up when overwhelmed.

- awkwardly charismatic, we can see this in the deleted ‘rockstar’ scene. it’s the weird bouts of confidence he gets, but it can so easily be torn down and his sarcastic self defense mechanism gets kicked in.

- undiagnosed autistic IDC IDC !!! his special interest is photography and biology. weirdly enough, he always had the highest grades in his biology classes.

- when he drinks he’s a lot more social, but he can get out of control really fast. an impulsive drinker if anything. he can get stupid and start fights that he definitely cannot win.

- sort of insecure when in relationships, but he doesn’t ever have the guts to speak about until he’s making snide remarks and blowing up a few days later.

- has way too much knowledge over b-list horror movies, it annoys anyone who’s watching one with him. he really enjoys killer klowns from outer space.

- a cat person, he feeds the strays outside of his apartment complex. if he knew that he could support a pet financially, he would take on in.

- very blunt with his opinions, which will also get him into a lot of trouble. if he thinks your favorite movie of artist is bad, then he’s gonna say it.

- a touch starved loser, but he’s not good at initiating it. but as soon as he gets the go ahead, there’s no boundary doubting him.

[chillinglyadventurous]

Spooktober Day 11 - “That wasn’t there before.”

Sorry this is late too

It had been a long day and all you wanted was a quiet evening with Stan. The two of you had fallen into your usual routine, sitting side by side on the worn couch in the living room as the soft glow of the TV flicked across the room. Some cheesy horror movie played in the background, but neither of you paid much attention to it. Stan had an arm lazily slung around your shoulders, and you felt the familiar warmth and safety of being in his strong arms.

You leaned against him, the scent of his cologne mixed with the ever-present hint of old books that hung around the Mystery Shack. The occasional grunt or sarcastic comment from Stan about the absurdity of the movie brought a smile to your face and everything felt just right.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, something caught your attention. You squinted, your eyes narrowing as you stared at the far wall. There was something hanging there, just out of the TV’s light, that hadn’t been there before.

It was a small, dark shape, a shadow almost. Your heart skipped a beat, but you told yourself you were just tired. It was odd, though. You shook your head and leaned into Stan a little more, trying to ignore it, but you couldn’t. It felt wrong.

You sat up a little straighter, squinting again at the spot on the wall. It was definitely something. A framed object, hanging crookedly. You nudged Stan with your elbow. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice catching slightly. “That wasn’t there before.”

Stan glanced down at you then followed your gaze to the wall. His face, normally so calm and collected, tensed for just a second. He blinked. His brows furrowed as he stared at the object.

In a brief illumination from the scene in the TV, you could tell it was a picture frame, old and weathered. Its glass was smudged and cracked at the corners. Inside the frame was a photograph, but the faces in it were too blurred to make out. However, the longer you stared, the more it felt like those faces were watching you. Cold dread crawled up your spine.

Stan, always the skeptic, leaned forward, rubbing his chin. “Weird,” he muttered, standing up and walking toward the wall. “I don’t remember putting that there.”

As he reached up to touch the frame, something in the room shifted. The air grew heavier and the TV, once loud and distracting, seemed to dim as though the room had swallowed its sound.

“There’s no nail,” he said, his voice low, confused. “How the heck was this hanging here?”

Before either of you could react, a sudden bang echoed from the hallway behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You and Stan both whipped around, eyes scanning the darkened hall leading deeper into the Shack.

“What the hell was that?” You whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Stan set the frame down on the nearest table, his usual bravado faltering just for a moment. He glanced at you, his expression serious now. “Stay here,” he murmured, grabbing the nearest thing he could find, a heavy flashlight, and heading toward the hall.

You wanted to protest and tell him not to go, but the words stuck in your throat. The feeling in the room had changed entirely, the once warm and familiar space now cold and threatening.

As Stan disappeared into the hall, you stood frozen in place, staring at the frame. Something about it unnerved you deeply. You hadn’t seen it before tonight. You were sure of that. Your mind raced, trying to remember if you had ever seen anything like it around the Shack.

Then, without warning, the TV shut off completely, plunging the room into darkness. Your breath caught in your throat as you fumbled for your phone, the tiny screen casting a faint glow in the room. You leaned further back into Stan’s recliner, eyes wide, the eerie silence pressing down on you.

“Stan?” you called out, your voice shaky.

Silence.

[moronkombat]

johnny cage nsfw alphabet? love your work <3

god i love johnny. i need to write more of him

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

After sex, Johnny is feeling on top of the world. After all, he was just on top of you and you are basically his world. He likes to lounge against the headrest of the bed wit his arms behind his head and you cuddling against chest. He'll whistle and tell you how great that was and how he can't wait for the next time which may come sooner than later

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Johnny is extremely confident in his physique and appearance. He thinks all of him is perfect but if you really pressed him for an answer he would say his nose. When much younger, he was often teased about it but has come to accept it as his most attractive feature and is really proud of its shape. He'll never have work done on it

There's a lot Johnny loves about his partner but its your waist that he adores the most. He loves locking his arms around it and squeezing you. He gets a real kick out of

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

On your body. To see you so painted in his essence really gets him going. His favorite places to finish on you had got to be your face, tongue and chest. He wishes the moment of you so soaked in him can last forever. Good thing he has a camera nearby

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wants to film a sextape with his partner and "leak" it online. It's exhilarating to think about him fucking you in front of thousands of viewers. How jealous they will be watching him ravaging you. You're all his and no one else's. All those viewers can look but not touch

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

In terms of sex, Johnny is exceptionally experienced. He was something of a tramp during college and he's learned the arts of pleasure through and through. He does not hide that fact and is very boastful that he is a great lay. Is Johnny perhaps a bit over confident? Well maybe but he definitely makes every bedroom experience a performance to die for

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Johnny's favorite position is with your head pressed into the pillows and your ass flush against his hips. He believes he can feel himself deeper that way. Plus, Johnny loves watching your ass bounce and jiggle when he slaps it. He also loves when you ride him. Johnny smirks the entire time and just enjoys the show you give him. Sometimes he'll have one hand on your hip lazily while the other rests behind his head. He quite likes watching you come undone when fucking yourself down on him

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Extremely humorous and playful. Sometimes you can't get him to shut up with the taunts and movie quotes. Johnny especially loves bringing movie references in the bedroom. One would think that may be an odd place but Johnny's execution with them is impeccable

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Well groomed but not entirely shaven. He keeps a tasteful amount of grace between his legs and a rather taunting path that begins just under his naval. He keeps that there very purposefully so he can tell his partner to follow his treasure map

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As much as Johnny can be playful he can be romantic. He knows how to wine and dine his partner and can go bit over the top with it as well. He's definitely the type to fill the room with lavish flowers and rose petals and book out a private villa for his partner. Though his playfulness never truly leaves, he makes it a bit more romantic. Johnny is very adaptable to the situations he finds himself in and to what his partner wants

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He is a deviant when it comes to masturbation. He always does it to a photo or video of you. Talks extreme filth while he pleasures himself. He says how hard he's going to fuck you or pretends you're giving him head. He can be very nasty with those words of his when stroking himself to climax.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Hair pulling- Is turned on when his partner pulls his hair or laces their fingers within those dirty blond locks. He will groan and bite his lip before telling his partner how he'll have to punish them for being so naughty

Video recording- Johnny records almost every time the two of you have sex. There's either a camera set up or he's using his phone. Loves watching his cock enter you again and again through the lens of a camera. He'll watch them back with you or will have one playing while he fucks you. He just can't help himself. Johnny loves the camera whether that is behind it or in front of it

Degradation- He is downright horrid with how he can talk to his partner during sex. He'll tell you just how good you feel and call you a little whore or slut for his big and heavy cock. Gets off on talking dirty to you like nothing else

Daddy kink- This one is discovered accidentally. It was during a particularly rough love making session when he was just driving himself into you that he spontaneously commanded you to call him "daddy" and when you did, Johhny just about orgasmed right there. Now he'll use the term in and out of sex much to your embarrassment

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Somewhere in a large space, like his bedroom or living room. He enjoys using the space and fucking you in various positions all over the room. Bonus points if there is a television or a place to put on music. He'll either have one of your filmed escapades on or some loud and exciting music

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Just about everything regarding his partner turns Johnny on. He is what some people call a horndog. He sees you dressed to the nines? Yeah he wants to tear off your clothes. Your in something loose and baggy? Johnny wants to sneak under those clothes with you. He finds his partner incredibly attractive and can't keep his hands off of him

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Johnny is turned off indifference and disregarding him and his beliefs. Even though his ego is rather high, he appreciates when his partner supports him and believes in him. A partner that doubts him has him feeling uncomfortable

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Definitely a receiver rather than a giver. If it were up to him, you'd be between his legs 24/7. He loves watching you choke and gag on his length while giving you backhanded playful praise

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Johnny can enjoy both without issue but prefers the intense pleasure of rough and fast sex. He just can't hold himself back when it comes to you. He wants to lay himself into you again and again and loves changing positions throughout it all

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Loves them and will be the one to initiate them. His hands will start to roam your body while his lips find your neck. His whispers find you ear and he says could you two could sneak away for a little bit and have some good fun together. Johnny almost always convinces you

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Johnny is very open to trying new things and experimenting as long as he and partner are both comfortable with it. Has a "bad" habit of seeing a trend and wanting to try it out with his partner.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Many rounds can be anticipated when tangoing in the bedroom with someone like Johnny. He's hardly satisfied with finishing once and always wants to keep going and pushing the limits of his stamina. His partner is in for a long and wild ride

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Johnny owns an arsenal of toys and readily uses them on his partner and even on himself. It wouldn't a fun experience if he and his partner kept things too vanilla

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Extremely unfair and teasing. Johnny can't help but tease his partner and edge them repeatedly. He loves to hear them whimper and beg for him, it fuels his confidence and ego. Loves to boast about how only he can make you cum because you're his personal slut

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud. He's panting, groaning, moaning and touching pure filth throughout the encounter. If Johnny is quiet then something is wrong or bothering him

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Has definitely thought about having you walk around in public with a vibrator nestled inside you while he controls just how intense it is. Johnny hasn't suggested this to you yet but he his mind runs wild with the possibilities

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Johnny is fit and athletic. He is well defined in muscle tone but not carved from marble nor is his overly large. His waist his thin giving him a very delectable upside down triangle figure that he is rather proud of. His legs are the most powerful aspect about him with well toned thighs and calves. If we're talking a big more intimate, Johnny is girthy and thick. His length is just above average and it tends to curve slightly upwards with minimal visible veins

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Significantly high sex drive. If it were up to him, he'd be having sex with you all day but life doesn't allow that so he will settle for at least once day. If he goes more than a couple days he gets whiney and needy

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Johnny likes to close to his partner after sex but he doesn't fall asleep. He is actually energized despite going multiple rounds and even suggests continuing. His partner will need to tell him they need rest and he'll settle for some good cuddling

[steviewashere]

Soothed

Rating: General CW: Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Minor Discussion of Bullying Tags: Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Hurt Eddie Munson, Injured Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson, Protective Steve Harrington, Worried Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, And Gets One

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is a warm hug."

💕—————💕

There was a knock at Steve’s front door.

Which is unusual to him. If somebody from the group—teenagers, adults, and preteens alike—then they’d use the spare key in the potted flower on the porch. Just barge right in, announce themself in the foyer, and let Steve find them first. They were told to be respectful, so that’s the least thing they can do.

But a knock? Unheard of. Steve pauses the movie he’s watching in the living room, stands from the couch, pops his back, and shuffles over to the front door. He turns the lock, twists the knob, and pulls the door from its jamb. On his porch: sopping wet, shivering, and down right miserable…is Eddie.

It’s late May, which means spring is in full swing. Which also means that there’s been forecasted rain. And, for some odd reason, Eddie hasn’t taken note of that. At least, that’s what Steve can gather.

Eddie’s hunched into himself. Hands gripping to his elbows. Dressed in a plain grey t-shirt and dark blue Levis, the same Reeboks he always wears. His hair, which was shaved back in March for surgery, is flat to his skull, frizzy from the rain. But, what scares Steve the most, is the dark purple bruise cupping a terribly swollen left eye. The eyeball itself is glazed over and bloodshot. His bottom lip is slightly puffy, sluggishly bleeding down his chin. And his nose, well Steve doesn’t think it’s broken, but it definitely is bloody, too. If the oddball patch below his right nostril has anything to say about it.

Steve moves to drag Eddie inside, but drops his hands when Eddie flinches away, nearly stumbling down to the concrete. He lets go of his elbows, which are now decorated with fine small crescents, and shields himself. There’s a couple smaller, red bruises decorating his wrists. As if somebody grabbed him. Steve fumes at the sight.

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, “why don’t you come inside?” He steps away from the door, letting it sit open and waiting. On shuffled, hesitant feet, Eddie comes in. His eyes dart around the room before they land back on Steve. Immediately, some of the tension and fear in his big brown eyes falls away. Instead, a layer of relief and gratitude seems to fill him. Enough that his eyes brim with tears. “Oh, Eds,” Steve can only coo.

Sniffling, mumbling, “They hurt me so bad,” Eddie says. He’s shivering. Whether that be from the cold or anxiety that’s surely swimming in Eddie’s stomach, Steve can’t tell. He inhales a wet gasp. Almost choking with it. “I just—I was trying to help this girl—And then they screamed at me and they—They hurt me,” he sobs. One of his hands flies up to his face, roughly wiping away the tears that try to travel down his cheeks. He presses too hard on his bruise and hisses.

“Okay, Eddie,” Steve mutters, “you’re safe here. It’s okay. They can’t get you here.” He doesn���t know who They is. But whoever they are, Steve knows he can rely on old reliable to do a good job. (Old reliable sits at the back of his closet, still crusted with blood, more nails than wood at this point). He hesitantly steps closer, palm out, ushering for Eddie to follow him to the downstairs master bathroom. There’s a part of him that hates treating Eddie like he’s a spooked little animal, defenseless and wrecked on the side of the road, one that’s been hit by a car, one that’s too afraid to realize they’ll live. But, what else is he supposed to do? Getting too close in his space seems to make Eddie freak, which is the last thing Steve wants.

Without any other words, just some wet sobs and aching cries that crumble Steve’s heart, Eddie follows on his heels. Head down to the floor, arms loose at his sides, his fingers flexing as if to press into the soft flesh of his palm. He settles over the closed toilet seat while Steve rummages through the cabinets, coming out successful with a red first aid bag in his hands. It’s heavy between his palms, overstocked and readily loaded for any and all emergencies. This feels like something detrimental, Steve hates how he’s shaking, too.

He grabs necessary first aid. Just a little bit of rubbing alcohol to get the dried blood off of Eddie’s skin, a half used tube of Neosporin, and a wad of toilet paper to hold to the wound. His nose seems to have stopped bleeding many minutes ago, so Steve’s not worried about that needing to be plugged up. But he still stands in front of Eddie—Well, actually, he crouches down onto the tiled flooring. Hard on his knees, but that puts him at eye level with the poor guy. He sets out his supplies on the lip of the bathtub, just to his right. And sets his palms softly on Eddie’s knees. He’s shaking there, too.

“Alright, Eds, tell me where it hurts. I gotta make sure you don’t have anything broken or anything that requires stitches, that’s all,” he coaxes.

Instead of speaking, Eddie displays his wrists. Turning them slowly so that Steve can see every dark splotching of bruises. He points to his eye, which was all too obvious to Steve. At his lip. The bridge of his nose. And then, he splays his left hand over his heart. Bunching the fabric of his t-shirt there. His eyes are mournful, still at the floor, not exactly looking at Steve. More like he’s looking through the floor. There are tears cascading down his face. His skin a blotchy, red and white mess, puffy from injuries and emotion.

Steve sets his own right hand over Eddie’s left. “Your heart hurts?” He asks, thumb swiping over his soft cotton shirt. “What did they do to your chest, Eds?”

Eddie shrugs and shakes his head. “They didn’t—Nothing physical.”

“Oh.” Oh. “Eddie,” Steve breathes. His own eyes are burning.

Eddie’s shoulders shake with the onslaught of new sobs and tears. But he reigns himself in quickly. His eyes finding Steve’s in a dizzyingly fast twitch. “Please help me, Steve,” he quietly pleads. “I’ll tell you, but I—I can’t—“

Steve hushes him. He grabs for the wad of toilet paper and guides it gently to Eddie’s lip. The bleeding has started anew, faster and steadier. With the press, Steve whispers, “I’ve got you. Never have to beg for my help, Eddie. Never, ever.” He holds it there for a few silent minutes. And when he takes it away, the bleeding has soothed. “I’m gonna put some Neosporin on your lip, okay? It might sting.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie lowly whispers. Still though, he winces with the small swipe of cream to his lip. Hissing minutely behind his teeth. Steve runs his other palm down Eddie’s right arm.

Once his lip is taken care of, the other areas follow easy. Wiping carefully at the tacky areas of drying blood on his skin. Underneath his lower lip, dipping a little into his right nostril, the underside of his chin. And when the first aid is done, Steve settles back on the bathroom floor, hands pressed warmly to Eddie’s knees. “Let’s get you a change of warm clothes,” he starts, “and some ice for that bruise. Do you need any ice for the ones on your wrist?” Eddie just shakes his head. “Okay,” Steve mutters, nodding. “The good news is that nothing’s broken. Just some gnarly coloring and swelling that needs remedied. How about you follow me upstairs and we can hang out in my room?”

They don’t speak as they ascend the stairs. Or as Steve hands over a small stack of clothes: green sweatpants, white long sleeve undershirt, thick grey socks. Neither of them speak as Eddie changes in the ensuite bathroom or when he slithers back into the bedroom, still hunched, still small. As they clamber into Steve’s bed, sitting up at the headboard, legs stretched in front of them, hands to themselves.

The silence is almost suffocating. Hates the small sniffles coming from his left. Hates how one of his closest friends has been reduced to the skeleton of a boy, surely somebody that Wayne met many years ago. Hates it all. Hates it.

“Do you want to know what happened?” Eddie finally croaks.

“Only if you want me to know,” Steve easily replies. Because, sure, he loves his gossip. Loves the drama that swirls around Hawkins. But Eddie’s business is his own, and if he’s embarrassed by what happened, Steve won’t force. Fuck, he knows what it’s like to get your ass beat and then want to remain silent in the aftermath.

Eddie nods slow, eyes at his folded hands, searching for the words. His tongue rolls over his top teeth. And he sighs through his nose. His voice is raspy and small when he speaks. Steve instinctually leans closer. They’re both warm, or at least, Eddie’s nearing that. “I was eating lunch in the cafeteria today,” he begins. “I ate alone because I didn’t—It’s not worth dragging attention to the rest of Hellfire. Not anymore. Didn’t even want to do one of my stupid speeches, y’know?” Steve hums.

He continues, “This girl—probably a sophomore, I don’t know—had walked behind my table. But she tripped over something and fell straight to the ground, her lunch was spilled all over the place, down the front of her shirt. She was crying. And I—“ He huffs, closes his eyes, and roams his teeth again. His head falls back, hitting the headboard with a soft Thud. Opening his eyes up at the ceiling, it’s all too obvious that they’re filling with tears again. “All I did was stand up from my seat and offer my hand to her. That’s all I did. But…Fuck,” he softly swears. His hand coming up and swiping at his eyes. “Jason’s stupid buddies saw me. Shoved me down to the ground. Scared off that girl. That poor girl. And they just beat me,” he rushes out, unwavering, though congested. “Beat me in front of all my fucking peers. So I just ran, Steve. Ran away like I always do. Back to my car and then I—I didn’t really know where I was going. Ended up here, I guess.”

Steve rests the side of his head on the board of his bed. Just looking over at Eddie. “I’m sorry, Eds,” he states sincerely. “For what they did.” He wishes there was more he could say. Could do. Eddie definitely won’t allow him to go on a rampage in his honor. But, Steve weighs the consequences in his head.

“It’s not your fault,” Eddie whispers after a moment. Sighing with the sentiment.

“I can still be sorry on your behalf,” Steve shoots right back. “I’m glad you came here, though. I’d probably worry otherwise.” He rests his left hand over Eddie’s right. Squeezes. “Is there anything else that I can do for you right now?”

For a moment, Eddie hesitates. Seemingly mulling over whatever it is he wants. Until, his head drops down and his eyes are set on Steve. Big and wet. They dart between Steve’s, searching. With whatever he found, he softly requests, “Can you hug me?”

Without another thought, Steve scoots as close as he possibly can. Their thighs hot on each other. And he scoops Eddie up between his arms. One over his shoulder blades, the other resting on his lower back. His hands splay over Eddie’s warm body. Head tucked to the side of Eddie’s. 

And Eddie, he wraps back enthusiastically. A hand going to Steve’s head, the other to his right side. Fingers simply toying with the ends of Steve’s hair. He goes boneless in the embrace, sighing into it. Shoving his forehead into Steve’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Steve shakes his head. “No need.” And it’s true. Because, gosh, Steve would do anything for Eddie. If it means ridding him of all the hurt he’ll ever experience, taking it on as his own, he’d do it. In a heartbeat. “Does your chest still hurt?”

“No,” Eddie whispers, his own head knocking into Steve’s neck. “Think you fixed me. Think this fixed me.” He squeezes Steve’s torso. And then he goes quiet again. His breaths heavy, relaxed, deep into Steve’s soul. The frizzy bits to his hair tickle against Steve’s jaw with every small shuffle, like he’s trying to burrow deep between them. Steve almost wants to open up his ribcage and let him in. Then, Eddie sighs completely sated. He whispers, “Reminds me of my mom.”

“That a good thing?”

“It’s the best, Stevie,” Eddie swears. “Her hugs were like sunshine. Like just one touch and suddenly my day would just—“ And he makes a soft “Poof” noise near Steve’s ear. It warms his chest, the way Eddie animates things. “—No clouds.”

Steve nuzzles closer. “You can always come to me,” he promises. “I’ll hug you even if you don’t have the words to ask.”

I’d find you in the dark, anywhere, anytime, he almost wants to say. I’d find you by touch alone.

Eddie’s content sigh is enough of a response. It’s enough for Steve to remain pressed to him. It’s enough to make his heart beat molasses slow and comfortable.

It’s enough to make him say, “I’ve got you.” What he truly means: “I love you."

💕—————💕 Okay, I am so sorry for how long it took to get to the hug. But I literally couldn't think of a hugging interaction without a lot of information leading into it. Hope this is good, though!

[badchoicesworld]

i hear you requested requests! ive got one!!

hobie x masc reader that's gwens older brother (ik its not canon, but the canon can fuck itself) (sorry miggy)

i dont really have anything in mind for reader's personality or whatever (so thats up to you!) but id like if reader liked to draw (thus ended up drawing hobie and got caught by him hahaha cliches i love them)

where hobie meets gwens older brother (you !)

hobie x masc!reader

this actually gave me hella ideas, im gonna link it to what happened in the movie (sorry it took a while, life fucked me)

didn’t specify if it was platonic or romantic (WHICH IS FINE ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥) so i’ve just done general shit for both lmao

warnings: none

pairing: hobie brown x masc!reader

requests: open, i cant let the demons catch me

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

when you first meet hobie you’re so very thankful to him for taking care of your little sister

if gwen managed to hide her being ghost-spider from your guys’ dad, then she likely hid it from you, too

but obviously, your dads gonna have to tell you why gwen didn’t come home one day

you’re crushed, naturally. likely furious at your own dad for literally firing a warning shot at her

might have ran away yourself, maybe hobie comes to your rescue too

or maybe you two meet while hobie’s dropping off his homemade gizmo for gwen, and you’re so unbelievably thankful for him and his generosity when you meet him

of course you will be, he took your sister in while you couldn’t do anything to help

hobie’s probably side-eyeing yours and gwens dad but is happy to get along with you if you’re gwens bother

he cant stay for long at that moment in time, got a multiverse to save and all that

but the brief interaction opens doors to many opportunities in the future

hobie gets to hear about the brief reunion between you and gwen from her, after she went back to her own dimension before it was show time

he becomes very intrigued by you

next time you two meet is likely after they save the multiverse (WHICH THEY WILL WITH ZERO CASUALTIES UNLESS ITS MIGUEL.)

BUT GENERALLY SPEAKING NOW

miguel definitely doesn’t approve of hobie using his watch to travel dimensions just to see you or gwen, still does anyway if he doesn’t just build his own

probably came to see gwen, pick her up to bring him to his own dimension, whatever

sees you instead, target acquired

hobie’s heard plenty about you from gwen, likes to think you aren’t strangers so is super friendly, overly even

catches you in your room, drawing in a well loved sketchbook

definitely does that thing where he just fucking appears behind you, he’s that quiet when walking despite the accessories

he’s looking over your shoulder while you draw silently, you might be too distracted to notice or you’re immediately started by him

smug asf when you finally catch on, is especially entertained if he’s caught you drawing him, god forbid

wouldn’t be surprised though, he likes to make people stare so is honestly complimented if you’ve been trying to draw him since first seeing him

doesn’t just snatch ur sketchbook and start looking through it though, unlike someone

as an artist, he gets it

you’re probably super protective over ur sketchbook actually because of gwen, smh

will probably banter a little bit about that, tease something about gwen that you’d both be victim to, like her tendency to borrow things without permission

find common ground yknow

“ain’t it a pain when she [gwen activities]” but you’re not being mean ur bonding it’s fine, we don’t slander gwen (i do however have some strong words)

starts hanging out with you on the odd chances gwen isn’t home, just casually in your room at first

starts off talking about your guys’ interests, seeing if you have things in common

probably listening to music together

the closer you get, he starts to actually travel dimensions just to see you

casually waves to gwen before ducking into your room

is happy to just kick back there, but is also happy to go out and do things at that point

the more you hang out, the more your dad and gwen begin to tease you- which is nothing in comparison to the shit hobie faces

gwen easily told everyone else about you two hanging out, he never hears the end of it now regardless of dimension

hobie starts using the front door instead of just appearing in your room “son, your boyfriend’s here” ur devastated why would ur dad say that

THENN hobie starts to come to your dimension for you more than gwen, has probably already invited you back to his once or twice but now he’s a lot more frequent with invites, wants you to consider his place a second home (in case you ever wanna run from home, cough)

say something does blossom between you two, obviously you don’t label it cause hobie’s not about that

you get promoted from “gwens brother” to “hobie’s boyfriend” at some point even if you don’t use labels- that’s only if ur not like too close to the rest of the friend group, but i imagine you’ve gotta be

hobie probably talks more about being spider-man relatively early on considering the topic, but since you know his secret identity it doesn’t really matter to him

the closer you are, the more into his stories he is

is ready to reenact the whole thing for you now so it’s like you were there

draw each other, i dare u

make playlists for each other, perhaps ?

there’s a lot of gwen snitching to each of you

and then you two do with that information together what you will later

like if you’re just being gay for each other it’s wild how fast gwen goes to the other and is like “guess what he said” she is not slick about it

hobie can be found at ur place more often then not, your dads a little more iffy about you going to a different dimension

still, very grateful to be welcome in your home but hobie definitely prefers to kick back at his

hobie loves to bother gwen about your whereabouts, if you are a thing or not “where’s your brother at?” he’s pretending to be cool about it

does your dad approve ? who cares

but nah he’s way more open minded after the incident, thinks hobie is a peace of work and probably his own son too if you’ve got a similar personality, in that case you’re perfect for each other

if not he’s just happy you’re happy, that’s all he cares about

obviously gwen supports it, likes to claim she introduced you guys and you owe your relationship to her when she tries to win in an argument/conversation

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

[maverick-werewolf]

Daily Werewolf Thoughts - Days 10-16

More not super prettily formatting werewolf thought posts that I've been doing daily!

Day 10- You don't really love werewolves if you don't enjoy terrible werewolf movies. Which the vast and overwhelming majority of them are terrible, at least if you ask me. But I just love werewolves so much I am driven to watch them (I also love movies with all my heart and soul), and even if the film is beyond terrible - again, as most of them are, even the ones people say are good - there's going to be a few moments that make it worth it, because werewolves are so badass, and I absolutely love studying how they created the werewolf for any film. Here's a bit of a rant for today...

One such film and series is Underworld. I hate the Underworld movies. Yes, stone me. They're terrible. The only one I enjoyed in its own right at all was Rise of the Lycans, since it had a far more compelling story than Selene's tight black leather (I understand why men enjoy this, in their defense) and absurd motivations that only extend as far as what the director wants for the next action sequence - and it was set in the Middle Ages, which is way better as a werewolf story, imo. Anyway, regardless of how I feel about the movies, I LOVE how they handled the practical effects on the werewolves.

The Underworld werewolves are unmatched. I'm not crazy about the design of the main "lie-kans" - I will never forgive the movie for the "lycans" thing btw - because they were specifically designed to be more "cat-like" or even more like a pitbull. For some reason people like to use things like cats, bears, etc to design something called a "werewolf." So I think those initial ones, like in the first film, frankly look pretty stupid. But the "feral" lycan "breed" or whatever they're called that have the more wolfish heads are a very cool design, and ultimately what I'm talking about here is how they were created and put to film. Sidebar: I'm not one of those people who thinks that the instant a movie uses any CGI, it should be condemned; CGI is a tool like any other filmmaking tool, and it can be used to achieve things we otherwise could never film and that are artistically beautiful and creative; but yes, I do prefer practical effects where they can be used.

The werewolves in Underworld were created using bodysuits, animatronics, and creature actors. They wore leg extensions, got big guys in the first place, and had extensive work for muscle, hair, and especially the faces and facial animations. The entire face is created using servos that respond to controllers held by workers off-camera to animate the werewolf costume in real time, while it's being worn by a person. The entire face, eyes, mouth, lips, etc were fully animated using a complex system of animatronics, and a comm system so the actor can be given instructions from the lead puppeteer so everyone can properly sync their work - and the final effect is such a step beyond anything we've seen from werewolf designs of this size in film before - or since.

There are better videos of the later films that had more advanced technology, like Underworld: Evolution (terrible movie but great werewolf effects), but here's one on youtube that has a lot of what was involved: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jWIF8lSlxg&ab_channel=IsaacKoo

*: "feral" by definition most often specifically refers to domesticated animals that have gone wild again and sounds very odd when used to refer to something like a wolf (but it always happens anyway because people don't care about the English language; ask any video game about their "feral wolves")

**: "breed" specifically refers to controlling the birthing of animals to produce a desired outcome, as in domesticated animals, such as dogs, cats, sheep, etc., and it makes me want to become a hermit living alone atop the Himalayas when I see people use it for werewolves

Day 11- I've often wondered what exactly set me down this path of being completely and hopelessly obsessed with werewolves. I've never really had an answer. I've speculated it was just Halloween itself, seeing the very rare and occasional werewolf around, since that's always been my favorite "kind" of werewolf. I have distinct memories of a little werewolf statue in a Hallmark; I really loved looking at that thing (never got it, though, sadly). I've occasionally wondered if it was watching Scooby Doo at my grandma's house - but in retrospect, the werewolves in Scooby Doo of that era weren't much to write home about, so that probably wasn't it. I do know for a fact I've been obsessed with them for as long as I can remember, certainly by age 6, so whatever it was, it started early. I was reading Sabine Baring-Gould's The Book of Werewolves when I was 8, searching for werewolves in video games forever, and I'll never forget the first werewolf figure I got to decorate my desk.

If you ask one of my favorite professors, who sat on the committee that passed ultimate judgment upon what became my book The Werewolf: Past and Future, she would tell you I was led to love werewolves because of "dream visions" (she is a professor and lifelong student of Old Norse, Old English, and the cultures, many sagas, and histories thereof). I told her about how my earliest memories of werewolves and the start of my obsession with them were actually long series of dreams and nightmares I had - a white werewolf would always crop up in them, sooner or later. Sometimes he was on my side, sometimes not. My dreams and nightmares are... very detached from reality in the first place, but the white werewolf became consistent for a long time. What put the idea of a werewolf into my head in the first place? I'm really not sure.

Some of my favorite experiences with werewolves come from playing as them in classic RPGs, including ones where you aren't technically supposed to be one. I loved playing a werewolf in Neverwinter Nights using character editors, cheat codes, and scripts on the big roleplaying server I played on. Now THAT was fun, but that's a whole separate story.

Anyway, I really don't even know. All I know is, I've loved werewolves for as long as I can remember, and I always will, no matter how silly that might seem.

Day 12- Remember when video games called RPGs had actual roleplaying elements in them? Some of the only games that have ever let you play as a proper werewolf are the Elder Scrolls series, specifically Daggerfall and Morrowind: Bloodmoon, the latter being my absolute favorite werewolf game ever. Why? Because you actually played as a werewolf - and all that came with it - instead of lycanthropy being a cool thing and/or awesome button.

In Bloodmoon, if you are a werewolf (having either become one from surviving a werewolf attack - werewolves spawn with INSANE rarity, trust me I found one naturally and it took me weeks, in the wild of Solstheim or you can become one through the main Bloodmoon questline), you will transform each night. You must devour 1 humanoid (playable race) NPC or suffer from hunger and exhaustion the following day, lowering your stats. The transformation will break any armor you have equipped. If someone witnesses the transformation, word of your true nature will spread, and you will be hunted. You are also attacked on sight - but NPCs will often run away rather than dare attack you. Your stats are insanely boosted, you run like the wind and leap to the point of almost flying, and you can destroy nearly anything in your path. It is one of the single coolest things in all of gaming and nothing like it has ever been recreated (I have biases).

Being a werewolf became part of your character and changed your entire gameplay experience rather than just being an "ability" or "race."

Many of these systems were also in place in Daggerfall, Morrowind's predecessor. But Morrowind was the last game of the ES series to incorporate proper werewolf mechanics. In Oblivion, we got exactly nothing, which left me crushingly disappointed as a child. In Skyrim, you have an awesome button werewolf mode wherein you must continually devour enemies in order to maintain the werewolf form. It's cool and it's fun, and I'm very glad Skyrim had werewolves playable at launch, but it doesn't have anything approaching the same feel as "being" a werewolf in Bloodmoon, where it is a curse. It can be an inconvenience, it can be an advantage, and it's something you have to plan your gameplay around - and something you must hide from everyone around you. That is what playing as a werewolf should be. I'm likely to make another post soon talking about that some more, because it's a favorite subject.

Anyway, therefore, Morrowind's expansion pack Bloodmoon is easily one of my favorite games ever made. It is really the only game where you can really play as a werewolf instead of a reasonably cool and fun but ultimately far less interesting alternative.

I also recently wrote a big ol' article about the best video games that let you play as a werewolf: https://maverickwerewolf.com/werewolf-facts/werewolf-articles/werewolf-article-play-as-a-werewolf-video-games/

Day 13- A werewolf's transformation sequence is one of the single most important things in any werewolf story. It might even be -the- most important. After all, the crux of werewolves is that even a man who is pure at heart (etc) can become a monster - and back again - and the sequence undergoing such a traumatic change is quite a thing to tackle.

I've seen it approached many ways. Painfully (obviously), painlessly, slow, fast, as something undesirable and as something desirable, as something controllable and uncontrollable - I swear this isn't innuendo. Anyway, personally, my favorite will always very easily be the most classic concept of the werewolf transformation: painful, traumatic, and very, very bad. I am not here for cuddly or happy werewolves. I'm also a fan of the werewolf not remembering what happened, but I'll ramble about that one later.

This also actually has basis in legend, as well. Even in antiquity, witnessing a werewolf transformation would potentially bring one to madness. This is mentioned in several stories, including but not necessarily limited to Niceros's story, in which witnessing the werewolf transformation freaks him out beyond reason. When he realizes the soldier he'd traveled with was a werewolf, he swears never to go near him again: "I couldn’t have eaten a crumb of bread with him, no, not if you had killed me!"

In Ovid's Metamorphoses, oft hailed as one of the "first werewolf legends" (that we have recorded, anyway), we also get our first proper werewolf transformation ever in the form of the legend of Lycaon...

"[Lycaon] howled his heart out, trying in vain to speak.

With rabid mouth he turned his lust for slaughter

Against the flocks, delighting still in blood.

His clothes changed to coarse hair, his arms to legs—

He was a wolf, yet kept some human trace,

the same grey hair, the same fierce face, the same

Wild eyes, the same image of savagery."

I've always found it interesting to note that his clothes became coarse hair, rather than him tearing his clothes off. Just a little difference there between this and many other legends.

Lots more on the ancient Greek tale of King Lycaon here: https://maverickwerewolf.com/werewolf-fact-66-the-legend-of-king-lycaon-of-arcadia/

There are a few legends, of course, that don't make it quite this dramatic. But popular culture carried over the painful transformation sequence for those with the werewolf curse, by and large, and it's incredibly effective. Everyone remembers seeing the first transformation in An American Werewolf in London (as much as I think the movie itself frankly just sucks), and likewise no one was exactly taken by a guy jumping really high and painlessly CGI'ing into a wolf in like .3 seconds.

I obviously have a lot of opinions on werewolf transformations, just like every other werewolf thing. The best and most memorable werewolf transformations are painful, dramatic, and traumatizing - because, after all, being a werewolf is neither a fun thing nor a good time... not for anyone involved.

Day 14- There's something I deeply hate in media, and it's when someone says "a werewolf scratch can turn you!" What on earth?

I have a lot of thoughts about all of this, obviously, and I'll get more into the whole werewolf bite thing later, but let's entertain if you will this notion that becoming a werewolf is like rabies. This is an extremely Early Modern concept, following the rise of scientific thought and the dismissal of all things mystical, religious, magical, mysterious, and allegorical, but even then, a werewolf spreading lycanthropy (in itself an Early Modern concept, as it was viewed as a disease, not a curse) via bite has no basis in folklore already. Does that make it bad? Nonsense, a werewolf bite is a classic storytelling element - that, once again, almost certainly comes from The Wolf Man (1941). It's so classic that for some reason zombies later completely lifted it and now everyone acts like it's a zombie thing, which is completely unfair.

But a werewolf scratch? Really? Even if we're equating it with rabies, that still doesn't work. And how stupid is it for someone to be like "oh no! the werewolf SCRATCHED you!" When I hear "scratch," I think "my cat got a little too excited about the tummy button," not "I've been mauled by a giant twisted man-beast and now I will inherit its curse." How does a werewolf even "scratch" someone without taking an entire limb off or raking red rivers through your torso? Are we sure it was a werewolf, or is it a chihuahua*?

I really wish this "werewolf scratch" thing would stop. It's just bad all over. Bring back werewolf bites exclusively.

*: what pains me is that some people would find this hilarious and make this their exclusive takeaway, because werewolves have just become jokes

Day 15- I love a wide variety of werewolf designs. If the werewolf is presented well, the design doesn't always matter that massively, as long as it doesn't look incredibly dumb and/or doesn't even resemble a man or a wolf. Unfortunately, it's amazing how often this happens.

Many monster design classes do actually say, when designing a werewolf, absolutely don't use a wolf as a reference. Artists are told by everyone under the sun, including filmmakers: use dogs, cats, bears, mandrills, hyenas - I've even seen mules, foxes, bats, badgers... and above all, they are told explicitly: whatever you do, don't use a wolf as inspiration. That'd be like, expected or cliche or bad or corny or something, because it's a WOLF monster. And we can't do anything "expected."

Werewolves are two things: human and wolf. If you're drawing the majority of your inspiration from a bear or a cat or a fox or hyena or whatever else, why even call it a werewolf? Why not make a different creature entirely, like the Beast of Gevaudan?

(more on that remark here: https://maverickwerewolf.com/werewolf-facts/the-beast-of-gevaudan/ )

I can understand the desire of some to have some particularly "memorable" or "unique" design (although I have never been taken by any of these attempts, nor do I remember them fondly), but ultimately, it baffles me that someone would choose to draw more directly from animals that aren't wolves for a werewolf design. Then again, you can also go too far in the opposite direction and just end up with fluffy wolf-people, and those can look far too cuddly (at least to... modern audiences; no one thought the werewolves in Dog Soldiers were cute even just a few years ago).

It's a careful balance to walk. When I was very young and innocent, I hated that many designs removed the tail from a werewolf (which they have in legend and I think it looks cooler), but I completely understand now. I also understand wanting to change the head shape, ear shape, etc, but all of this can be achieved without making the werewolf look like some other animal or like nothing in particular. There's a reason the Underworld werewolf design that became ubiquitous for so many werewolves afterward - Skyrim, for example, and World of Warcraft: Cataclysm, just to name two - was the one with the wolfish muzzle and head shape, not the "cat pitbull" design from the first film.

Call me old-fashioned (I am), but I want a werewolf to look like what it's called. Note: I'm also not knocking the quadrupedal but still part-man looking designs, although those are far from my favorite, but it should still have wolf features. At least a few.

Day 16- Another werewolf folklore lesson! How about "curing" lycanthropy? What was that like in folklore - lifting the werewolf curse?

As per usual for my discussions, I have to mention that being a werewolf was not considered a "disease" until relatively recently; it was a magical curse, not an illness that could be "contracted" or "cured," and individuals were not "infected." Likewise, there weren't exactly a lot of examples of a werewolf curse - as per traditional "transforming between man and beast on a regular basis" definition of "werewolf" - being lifted in folklore.

There are some examples of more unusual variations of the curse being lifted, however, namely with those who end up stuck in a more seemingly permanent wolf form. Removing a magic item that cursed you to become a werewolf is fairly common, such as the magic skins donned by Sigmund and Sinfjotli in the Volsunga Saga; when they wore them, they were wolves, and only returned to human form when they managed to get the skins back off again. Another example is Melion (titular character of a British lai), who was trapped in the form of a wolf when he put on a cursed ring.

And in at least one story, that of Guillame de Palerne, the werewolf returns to his human shape when the one who cursed him is killed. This is a special case in that the werewolf never actually returned to a human form and was in fact stuck as a wolf, so it's not quite your typical werewolf example, but it is still from a French story whose title was translated as William and the Werewolf - and it's a good story.

However, in the vast majority of cases, especially with the werewolves that are more in line with what we think of as proper werewolves (transforming back and forth, instead of stuck in a wolf form), either the werewolf stayed a werewolf and it wasn't really that big of a deal (such as in several ancient Greek tales and some medieval tales, for example)...

Or else the werewolf was killed. Popular culture sometimes insists the only cure for lycanthropy is death, and that also often held true in many legends. It's also quite fun and dramatic, of course, although I do get tired of the werewolf predictably getting wasted.

There is, of course, a Werewolf Fact for this: https://maverickwerewolf.com/werewolf-facts/how-to-cure-lycanthropy/

[aihoshiino]

Knowing that the end of Oshi no Ko is just a few chapters away, what do you think the odds are that The 143 Kiss will go remotely acknowledged or addressed?

I would not be SURPRISED if time was taken to address it but at this point the story has had multiple very specific scenes in which to even acknowledge that it happened but seems to be going out of its way to ignore it - 157 literally has Aqua and Ruby spending an entire day together having a flashback episode about all the prior arcs but even though Ruby literally talks about filming the movie and we see the in-character HKAI kiss, neither of them so much as mention "oh yeah, remember when ruby confessed her love for gorou and then stuck her tongue down her brother's throat". Even in 162 which is about bashing us over the head with a rock re: the twins' relationship doesn't reference it.

Unless these next four chapters go in a really different direction, I feel like (as I've speculated previously) 150 + 157 are supposed to serve as a halfhearted resolution/closure to wtfever was going on with Aqua and Ruby in that regard. 162 especially feels like a nail in the coffin for romantic AquRuby (or rather romantic Aqua -> Ruby) because it's a whole chapter basically about how deep and important and special their relationship is but it's never described as anything more than a sibling relationship with no reference to the romantic tension underlying it.

also. if i can be mean. given how much of a stink a certain annoying genre of aquruby fans have been wafting around the fandom for like a year now i think it would be the funniest possible resolution for the kiss to be so definitively a nothingburger. woe. egg on your faces be upon ye.

[artist-issues]

How to Stick to the Point About Rachel Zegler and Snow White

"Rachel Zegler is just an actress doing her job, Disney is the one to blame for the Snow White changes!"

Just because she didn't write the changes doesn't mean she's not responsible for the words that come out of her mouth and the tone in which she says them. If anything, her skills as an actor, which usually include control over intonation, make her even more responsible for tone and attitude, not less.

Disney didn't write her a script for her interviews that said "now include a childhood memory that insinuates a negative opinion of the original Snow White!"

If you want to make it about how well she's doing at her "job..." She's not being professional: if her goal is to promote the new movie, alienating fans of the original is the worst way to accomplish that goal.

"Why are you attacking her just because she doesn't like the original? Lots of people don't like the original!"

The problem isn't that she doesn't like the original. Harrison Ford didn't like Han Solo, and he did a great job playing Han Solo anyway: because he understood the character, even if he didn't like him. Zegler is demonstrating that she doesn't understand the original movie, and doesn't like it based on that misunderstanding.

"You're just criticizing her because you're racist!"

Not really, because the point of Snow White as a character is pure love and pure innocence: and that point has been retold across all cultures. Rachel Zegler's skin color takes very little away from the role: it has nothing to do with her comments. Why are you making everything about a person's race? Kind of racist of you.

"You're just criticizing her because you hate women!"

If I hate women, why am I defending one of the greatest female characters of all time?

"Snow White is a movie where the Prince has to save Snow who does nothing but sing and dream of being rescued. It SHOULD get an update!! You're just worshipping the old one because you hate empowered women."

You don't understand the original movie. Snow White is a movie where the main character has faith that pure, innocent love will find her even when the odds are impossible.

She is the only character in the movie, contrasted with Grumpy and the Queen, who is genuine and doesn't hide what she is, because she's not afraid. She has several lines in the movie pointing that superpower-of-character-strength out. The Queen is afraid everyone will see how ugly she is in the inside if she's not Fairest of All. Grumpy is afraid his tender heart will lead to heartbreak so he hides it with grumpiness. Snow White hides nothing. She's the strongest character in the movie for that reason.

Again: Snow White IS an empowered woman: she's empowered with strength of character that can't be broken or twisted by circumstances even as a child. My definition of power is just different (and truer, and more powerful) than yours.

The Prince has two scenes: one where he falls in love with Snow White and promises to give her his heart in one meeting because that's how amazing she is, and the other where he fulfills that promise. His "effect" of waking her up wouldn't have happened without her "cause" of being a worthy enough woman to love.

They're not just "reimagining" the old version: they're replacing it. They're claiming to fix what's "broken" about the original. Therefore attacks on this movie are not attacks against the patriarchy or attacks against bigotry: they're attacks against the previous VALUES of faith, innocence, and the worthiness of pure love. Love that doesn't have to fight because it's powerful enough on its own. Faith that isn't corroded by circumstances. Innocence that doesn't turn bitter and inspires others. That's what they're saying is "broke" and trying to fix.

Do not let people derail the actual argument. Stories matter because they represent values. Values shape a culture. Rachel Zegler isn't a target: she's an example of what's happening in the culture, and makes a good entryway into talking about it. Don't get it twisted.