#jackie is violent for once

[jackie-mae]

https://www.tumblr.com/jackie-mae/775978232280383488/it-was-jelly-fish-wishes-who-commented-about-pure?source=share

Great now I need to see the gentle rocking in action because now I can't get it out of my head that when pure vanilla starts growing more attatched to him...instead of violently shacking the hat, he just starts gently rocking it to either get shadow milk to calm down or straight up fall asleep lol...

Main weapon against lies at first: rapid shaking!

Main weapon against lies once pure vanilla catches more feelings and affection for shadow milk: calm down rocking/nap time!

Can already slightly imagine:

Shadow milk: *lies or is getting fussy or something*

Pure vanilla: oop! Looks like someone needs nap time/oop, looks like somebody needs a nap.

Shadow milk: wait-

You get me,

and to add to that I think PV instead of comforting Smilk like a baby but instead comforting him like his sheep (Completely oblivious to the well-known fact he treats his sheep like his own children) Is also just as fluffy and/or hilarious.

PV is so genuine and sweet it makes me want to vomit- me but also Smilk at some point

[anyfire]

still thinking about the two realities conversation between mari and ben and how it works into the ongoing "debate" on whether or not the supernatural stuff is real, or if it's all just happening in their heads. to me the show is at its best when it's saying two things at once, ie "we brought it back with us". "it" being It, but also "it" being trauma. like, "two versions of reality" is an inherently supernatural statement. but it's also a very real one.

it comes after ben detailing his life as a "completely normal guy" before the crash, and how in a world where the crash never happened or he never got on the plane, he would still be that guy. we've already seen glimpses of what that life could have looked like when ben dissociates, and we see it for the girls when lottie hallucinates the shopping mall. we also see versions of "different realities" in jackie's death dream, as well as the dream shauna has after giving birth. and all of these visions and dreams become more warped/horrifying the longer they continue -- cabin guy in jackie's dream, ben's final vision being in the cabin with paul leaving, the snow coming down on lottie in the middle of the food court, and finally the rest of the team eating shauna's baby. the other reality, the "bad" one, the one infected by the wilderness and everything that's come about because of it, just "hiding, or waiting".

mari also talks about watching a cartoon in the hospital room when her cousin dies, and going out into the waiting room afterwards where the same cartoon is playing. to me, those are two different realities as well. but the world where her cousin just died next to her and the world where she's just in a hospital waiting room, as if it never happened, are tethered. sometimes only your world ends, and for everyone else it's just another day. we also see THIS echoed in the adult lives of all the survivors. they're paranoid, misunderstood, violent, strange. they're utterly disconnected from everyone but each other. the world ended for them, but it didn't for anyone else. they came back, but they can't ever really leave.

there's a reality where shauna really did go outside and get jackie. there's a reality where the team really is eating chinese food in a shopping mall food court. there's a reality where none of them survived the plane crash to begin with. there's a reality where jackie drinks hot chocolate. there's a reality where MARI drinks hot chocolate. there's allie's reality, where she was SUPPOSED to be on the plane that day. maybe theres a reality where they take a bus instead. but all of them, in one way or another, are real.

i don't know, i just really love it. i love how it plays into the ideas of fate and regret and doom and self fulfilling prophecies and how it reinforces the one true "villain" in the show being the plane crash itself, because all the tragedy that comes about because of it would never have happened. it's a conversation about "what if's" just as much as it's a conversation about the dream realm and the visions and all the other freaky shit going on out there. 10/10.

[qlossytbh]

𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞? - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐮!𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 where you find yourself with immense baby fever

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 baby fever, fem!reader, fluff fluff fluff, established relationship, reader and spencer are married, hotch x platonic!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.5k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 so i imagined older spence but younger jack so pretend jack is around 3 or 4 but spence is like around season 7/8 (?)

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“All I’m saying, you could’ve been a little nicer,” You turned to Morgan with a rigid sigh. If he didn’t know you better, it’d probably sound like you were deeply annoyed with him, on the verge of cursing him out. He knew you were only regarding the events of today's case.

“I think you’re mixing ‘being nicer’ with tough love,” You deadpanned at your friend, earning nothing but his signature snicker.

You shook your head, feigning that of disappointment. You rolled your shoulder back, craning your neck slightly to scan the files that rested between your fingers. God, how many files could one see in a day?

It was a few hours past midday when the case came to an end. Hotch had a sudden dilemma that he needed immediate solving, so he told all of you to make it back to headquarters. You and Morgan however, had been stuck together for the day and made it back a lot earlier than the rest of the team, prompting the two of you to get some necessary paperwork done.

You needed a day off— especially from Morgan.

The bullpens doors opened unexpectedly, drawing you and Derek out of your conversation. You turned, seeing the rest of the team waltz through the glass door— only this time, they were accompanied by a pair of small legs.

You couldn’t stop a reflexive smile from growing onto your face. “Is that who I think it is?”

Jack waddled into the bullpen, one of his tiny fists bundled up onto a small section of Hotch’s dress pants. You could’ve screamed, a reaction that was becoming more necessary every time you saw a kid, and most definitely when you saw Jack.

At the sound of your cheery voice, Jack looked up, biting onto his knuckles— something you learned was a sign of his bashfulness.

But when he realized it was you who was standing next to Morgan, his face immediately morphed into one that could only portray pure and innocent child joy, looking as if he couldn’t be happier to see you. Nothing could compare to how ecstatic that made you feel, chest getting fuzzy with endearment. Hotch placed his palm onto the back of his head. “Look who it is!”

You've taken care of Jack too many times you lost count, given since you and Hotch were close— practically family. You adored Jack and found yourself being struck with some newfound motherly instinct when it came to him— or any kid for that matter. He always gave you this very violent need to squeeze his cheeks and hug him so tight he might pop.

“Is that little Jackie?” Your voice was high and welcoming, trying to hide how utterly joyed you were with seeing him and failing miserably. Jack immediately pushed himself off of Hotch’s leg and began running towards you.

Well, he more so waddled his way over to you, small feet pattering roughly against the floor as he ran over to you in an unstable line. You met him halfway, crouching down and opening your arms for him. When he was close enough, he launched himself into said arms, voice loud with giggles and shrieks. “If it isn’t my favorite boy!”

You squeezed him tightly, rising once again to your natural height and hugging the small toddler. Morgan, of course, didn’t miss a beat to taunt. “Careful, Reid’s listening.”

“Oh please,” You rested Jack on your hip, keeping strong secure arms around him while he gripped the ends of your hair curiously. “Spencer knows that Jack comes first no matter what, isn’t that right Jack?”

“Yeah!” He laughed.

Spencer couldn’t keep in a single thought as he watched you interact with Jack so naturally. It twisted his chest in weird, scary ways. If it were anyone else he’d be terrified. But it was you. And he now found his head lingering with the idea of you as a mother— the mother of his children, specifically.

It was a conversation the two of you had once, very briefly a few months after you two got married. Spencer had been meaning to get back at it, but with the chaos of your jobs it had been really hard to think about anything other than serial killer and criminals.

But fuck, if Spencer said that seeing you interact so carefully and sweetly with not only Jack but many other children that had stumbled up on these last few cases— he’d be the biggest liar on the face of this earth.

Just the thought of starting a family with you was something that filled him with anticipation. It made his chest burn. Something he craved so deeply, it sometimes left him breathless.

“You’re getting so big and strong that I’m beginning to have a hard time lifting you up.” You huffed, setting him down onto the ground and crouching beside him. “You’re gonna give me back problems.”

“Derek says it’s because you’re getting weak!” His R’s were disguised as muffles W’s, which only caused your heart to clench further. A choke disguised as a strained laugh left your mouth.

“Is that so?” You turned over to him with a glare. Morgan scratched the back of his head and turned on his heel avoiding you and your piercing gaze.

“But who’s your favorite; big old chiseled Derek, or little weak me?” You squint your eyes at the boy, pursing your lips feeling very confident in his answer.

And to no one’s surprise did Jack point towards you and with a huge, wide smile laughed out. “You!”

You laughed victoriously, holding out a palm for Jack to clap. “Yeah, that’s right!”

“Oh, come on,” Morgan groaned.

After one last hug from the child, you ushered Jack over to Hotch, shooting an endeared smile towards him. God, you loved that kid so much.

JJ, Prentiss and Rossi made their way to the conference room. You look ahead, meeting the gaze of your husband and smiling profusely. It was a subconscious reaction your body had. You found yourself meeting Spencer halfway. “Hey,”

His hand rested on your hip as he leaned down, kissing you chastly. Spencer would’ve loved to actually take his time greeting you with a much proper kiss, but it was a middle ground the two of you found between professionalism and well— being married.

His hand, however, remained on the spot on your hip, thumb drawing circles instinctively. It was subtle, but his touch was still there. Your smile was big and lovestruck, looking up at him with soft eyes. “Hey,”

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, Jack's laughter ripped through the air as Hotch lifted him up. You and Spencer turned and you swear you could almost cry.

It was as if lately, when you allowed yourself to think even slightly about the concept of children you’d combust into a pool of tears and overbearing endearment. Spencer watched you looking over at Jack and noticed something pooling beneath your eyes.

You looked back at Spencer, lips tied in a pout. “I want one.”

“A baby?” He tuned, laughing slightly at how your body sunk against his, resting your forehead on his chest in exasperation.

“Yes,” You pushed yourself off his chest, throwing your hands around as you spoke. “The small hands, small feet— I swear everytime I see a baby, I get violent.”

You pouted. “Imagine a mini us Spence,”

And Spencer did. He thought about it in such detail that he forgot it wasn’t an actual reality of his. A little girl or boy, that resembled either of you, that held so many fractions and traits of the two of you— it seemed unreal to him.

“A mini us?” He repeated. You looked up at him.

“Well— yeah,” You reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, we haven’t really talked about it but..”

Spencer wanted kids more than he had ever wanted anything before— but he knew that he only wanted it if it was with you. He couldn’t phantom the thought of starting a family with anyone else.

“We should,” He spoke. Your fingers played mindlessly with the bottom of his tie, looking up at him with a teasing smirk.

“We should talk about it or we should try?” A blush crept up his cheeks as his eyes widened just slightly. You always found ways to catch him off guard and you loved getting even the slightest reaction out of him.

“Uh—“ He dragged out his words, before his eyes landed back on you. “Both?”

You laughed and he smiled. He always smiled when you laughed, he couldn’t stop himself from doing so. You reached down, tangling your fingers with his. “I’m serious though,”

He hummed. “So am I.”

“You actually want to start trying for a baby?” This seemed like a conversation that was far too intimate to be having in the middle of the bullpen— where you usually discussed varieties of atrocious things, but here you were I guess.

“Yeah,” He said, almost in disbelief that you had questioned it. You found yourself growing oddly shy, just thinking of a small version of the two of you running around.

Before you could continue on the subject, Morgan, who now held Jack on his shoulders, was calling you and Spencer over to the conference room. You turned to Spencer, smiling softly.

“Can we get back to this once we get home?”

“Please,” He breathed, leaning forward and pressing a longer kiss onto your lips. You grew giddy and smiled into the kiss, pulling away sooner than both of you would like.

“I love you,” You smiled. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and placed a loving kiss on your forehead.

“I love you.”

[moesthoughts]

Lottie x fem reader reader gets injured during a soccer match and Lottie almost gets into a fight with the person tht hurt you and the girls all are shocked at her 🫶

Protective tendencies

pairing ⛧ lottie matthews x fem! reader

warnings ⛧ violent lottie, basically fluff.

summary . . the game is becoming intense, and the opposing team is getting aggressive because they’re losing. Just as you almost scored the winning goal, you were shoved to the ground and landed face-first. You broke your nose. Once you take in your surroundings, you see your girlfriend, Lottie, confronting the soccer player who pushed you.

You can almost feel the tension rising from the field, The scores are close, but you already know your team is going to win. Your heart rate is higher than usual, and your mind is clouded by the music playing from the speakers above. You have only one goal in mind: the one you are currently approaching, with the soccer ball dribbling between your feet. You do your best to ignore the yelling around you as the defensive line closes in.

As you prepare to kick the ball into the goal, you are shoved away, causing you to kick it out of bounds. You land flat on your face, with a sharp pain spreading through your nerves. You curse under your breath as the whistle rings through your ears, you royally screwed that up. You let out a huff of discomfort as you push yourself up from the ground, sitting up while gently dabbing your nose. You broke it, or rather the girl who pushed you did.

You swallow a sob as you feel arms wrap around you; it’s Jackie. Her nails scratch your arm as she tries to calm you down. Your breaths come in shudders as you notice the team surrounding you. Misty is the quickest to react, resting her hand on your leg and examining how bad the break is.

“Jesus fuck Lottie!”

You suddenly hear Jackie yell in your ear, and your eyes shift to the scene in front of you. Lottie is screaming at the girl you presume pushed you, her face twisted in anger. You can hear a barrage of insults coming from Lottie, slutshaming her and even threatens to sue the girl for what she did. Your heart aches at how much Lottie cares about you, but you know your teammates aren’t thinking about the situation the same as you are. You can’t blame them, watching Lottie get up in her face, the awful things falling out of her mouth. It wasn’t like her at all. You tune into the conversation happening around you, ranging from whispers about Lottie, and about your nose. You shakily bring your hand up to wipe the blood out from under your nose.

Collective gasps surround you, and your head turns back to the situation unfolding. Lottie shoved the other girl to the ground, who looks like she’s about to fight your girlfriend. You instinctively get up from your sitting position, rushing over to the fight about to unfold. You pull Lottie back by her shoulder, causing her to look over at you. A sweet smile adorns her face, but it falters once she notices the tense expression on yours.

“Are you okay, baby?”

Her tone is laced with concern, looking at you like she didn’t just push someone to the ground.. again. You sigh with a nod, you can’t be mad at her. Though you hate seeing her get in trouble because of you, your hand moves to her face, smoothing over the skin with your thumb.

“yknow.. she could sue you instead.”

You say playfully, causing Lottie’s shoulders to shake with laughter. Her gaze averts to the grass in front of her, realizing the girl left. You want to know what’s going through her head, what made her push that girl to the ground while screaming at her.

“Seriously, what the fuck Lot’?”

Jackie’s voice pierces through the silence, making your hand leave Lottie’s face. Lottie rolls her eyes, hooking her arm around yours. Jackie seems pissed, and based off how much Lottie gets flagged for pushing people mid game, you don’t doubt she doesn’t really care. You always try your best to justify her actions, but you aren’t sure if you can for this situation.

“I was teaching her not to mess with our team, she didn't even get that hurt.”

She beat you to it, a smug tone slipping out of her lips. You can’t help but smile, a warm feeling blooms in your chest. Your captain sighs, you can’t tell if she’s disappointed or happy that proud that Lottie stood up for you.

“Hey, we have to get you to the hospital.”

Coach ben speaks up, you almost forgot about your nose. Lottie gives you a gentle hug before letting you go. As you walk away you can’t help but wear a giddy smile, thinking about how cool your girlfriend is.

when your MEDICATED girlfriend girl bosses the bitch that shoved you 😛 sorry for how short this is ❤️❤️ I hope you still enjoy!

[whatyourehungryfor]

you know what, I still do think there's something to be said about the consequences and isolation mental health issues continue to have even among a group of traumatized and maladjusted people.

travis starts off standoffish and confused over his dad's death, and deeply insecure about what it means to be a man. forcibly he is integrated into the group in manner both physically and sexually violent until he's too afraid to stop anything that might bring harm to himself or those he cares about. this all culminates in his deep desire to feel good for once and to gain some sort of importance to the point that he dies on his quest to do this

jackie has enough apathy towards life to stop caring and not eat the shroom soup, and this very distinctly others her by leaving her out of a shared experience and, ironically, expedites her death even more.

nat is selfless largely out of a lack of value for her own life, which translates to a lot of guilt over any action that meant self-preservation (whether it by by going with the group or violence for the sake of staying alive) and this leaves her with an all consuming kind of guilt and a directionless life. in an effort to assuage her guilt, she dies

lottie is demonized and mythologized depending on whatever best serves the group in both timelines; most heavily demonized in the adult tl because its easier to have a scapegoat. she is denied autonomy time and time again because of her diagnosis and based on what we've seen, this also seems to doom her- not to mention her acceptance of brutal treatment and flirtation with death because she herself has grown a detachment towards herself as a person

it's just an interesting theme I've noticed so far, because even out here their mental health issues manifest in different ways and subsequently lead to different treatments (typically negative and to the character's detriment). and this is only focusing on how it has lead to the deaths we have seen so far, because there is much to be said about tai's relationship with herself and others as influenced by Other Tai, as well as shauna's expressions of grief and depression. ultimately the combination of the prejudice of society and the cutthroat nature of survival is a damning one

[tuesdayaddamss]

join the murder; happy lowman.

part i. history in the making

summary: the sons make a decision that will change the fate of their club.

warnings: misogyny, language.

author’s note: since sins of the father didn’t get updated today like i said it would, here’s this one :,)

word count: 2898

DAY ONE.

“have you lost your goddamn mind?” to jax’s credit, he doesn’t even flinch at the cutting edge in bobby’s tone, though a lesser man would’ve wilted. it’s impressive, happy can admit, how eerily calm he is in the face of his brothers’ scrutiny. there aren’t many who can stand so tall when put under so much pressure.

not for the first time, their table is divided. split clean in two, it seems, with half of them appalled at the mere thought of what their president is proposing, and the rest, like him, that are, at least, willing to listen. happy can understand their trepidation, the borderline horror. spitting in the face of decades’ of tradition and hard-earned stereotyping isn’t an easy pill to swallow, even for him, but change is as inevitable as it is imminent. and now, with how things have been going for them recently, it’s necessary.

jax believes that if they don’t learn how to ride the tide, the world will move on without them. and happy believes in jackson teller, if in nothing else.

the blonde man at the head of the table smiles, confident and unperturbed. for once, he doesn’t scream to be heard. he doesn’t puff out his chest or gnash his teeth. it’s an assuredness that he has been lacking for a long, long while. “we’ve spent the last forty-five years in this box, brother. it’s startin’ to get a little claustrophobic.”

“so you wanna put a gash in a kutte?” opie chimes in, his face contorted with incredulity, though he’s significantly less hostile than some are being. “what the hell will that do, except give us all a headache?” piney grunts his agreement, scowling as if jax had just suggested assassinating the united states’ president.

“it proves that we can change for the better,” chibs, always raring to defend his jackie-boy, and to advocate for the underdog, steps to the plate. “that we’re more than murderers and criminals. that there’s a point to all of this.”

really, they all have their reasons for being here. for some, like him and the scot, the reaper had saved their lives. opie and jax were born with samcro in their blood. piney, tig, and bobby have been wearing the patch for so long that it’s all they are. and juice, like so many of the prospects that darken their doorstep, had come looking for a family.

that’s what it’s supposed to be about. the brotherhood. living, dying, and killing for the family that they choose. if this girl can, is willing to, do that, happy doesn’t see why they wouldn’t give her a fighting chance.

“oh, c’mon!” frankly, tig’s the last person that should be protesting this. the man broke a hundred unspoken rules when he’d claimed venus van dam, a transgender prostitute, as his ol’ lady. he’s an ornery hypocrite, happy thinks. “almost fifty years, and we have never had a chick patch into any charter, let alone the mother charter. if we do this, it’s gonna cause a goddamn revolt, man.”

as if reading his mind, juice chomps at the bit in a rare display of boldness. “yeah, we never had a venus making us sunday brunch, either.” the withering glare that tig gives him across the table would’ve sent a lesser man to the grave, but the boy holds fast. “no disrespect, i love vee just as much as everyone else, but it ain’t the 70’s no-more. times are changing.”

“this is a charter decision.” jax intervenes, before the two of them can start swinging. “the others can bitch and moan as much as they’d like, but this comes down to us.”

jax would need a unanimous vote to take anyone, especially a woman, on as a prospect, with or without the other charters’ approval. and right now, it doesn’t look like he’s going to get his wish.

“we’re the sons of anarchy! sons!” tig flails his arms so violently that he nearly topples out of his chair, one of his ringed hands clipping happy in the shoulder like an excited child. “back me up, hap!”

all eyes turn to him, and he has to try hard not to bristle. he shrugs noncommittally, acting less bothered than he is, and looks to jax. “can she ride?”

he nods, brows raised, as if surprised that his sergeant at arms is humoring him at all. “can she fight?”

jax grins, like he’d said something funny, and happy figures that it has to do with his suspiciously black eye. “yeah. yeah, she can fight.”

“if she can do that, and if you trust her, i say give it a shot.” tig looks positively mortified, and jax glows with pride. happy merely leans back in his chair and ignores the looks he’s now receiving from both sides of the table. some betrayed, some bewildered.

“just listen,” jax presses his palms to the table, silencing any further protests or arguing before it can even begin. in this moment, he looks so much like the man that he used to be, that it hurts a little bit. the man he was before his baby had been born with his insides outside, before the truth had been told, before his stepfather had betrayed him, and then done it again, and again. before the gavel had corrupted him.

“she has what it takes, i’ve seen it. kitty will be good for this club, for all of us,” he meets each of their eyes in turn, as if willing them to bear the weight of his words. “all i’m asking is that you just give her a chance. no special treatment ‘cause she’s a chick. just another prospect, yeah? she gets a year of probation, proves herself, and then you can decide if i’m fuckin’ nuts. but, i swear to you, she will prove herself.” she has to, for jax’s sake, lest she makes a fool out of him and all of them.

it’s rare to see him so passionate about anything, about anyone, but his vehemence certainly gets their attention. in this room, his word is gospel and law, all in one. when he speaks, they listen. even piney, as set in his ways as he is, falters.

happy pictures the girl waiting outside of the soundproofed doors. she wasn’t anything all that impressive, from what he’d seen — young, scrappy, not anything he could see jax going to war for. and yet, here he is, nearly blue in the face whilst he argues her case. though that in itself is impressive, really, because his favor isn’t easy to earn, and she’d done that and then some.

“where’d you even find this kid?” happy’s raspy voice cuts through the pregnant silence like a bullet, and jax’s smile splits his face from ear to ear, like a little boy on christmas morning.

“she stole my wallet.” he seems abundantly proud of it, though most men would be thoroughly humiliated if they were bested by a girl that’s no more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. you wouldn’t have been able to waterboard that information out of happy. “and then, when i chased her down and tried to get it back, she punched me in the face.” and it just gets better and better. happy’s starting to like this kitty.

anyone that was bold enough to steal from and assault a son had to have balls made of steel. especially from the goddamn president.

“what’s gemma make of it?” jax’s eyes narrow into slits at bobby’s not-so-subtle jab, that anger that they all know and love rearing its head. as much as they all love their matriarch, she could be just as old school as piney is. she’s an opinionated woman, and she likes to make sure that those opinions are known.

“it doesn’t fuckin’ matter what gemma thinks,” he retorts, spitting his mother’s name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. they must be on the outs again; it’s hard to keep up. “is she sittin’ at this table? no. you don’t ride, you don’t vote.”

the treasurer raises his hands in a show of mock surrender. “just wondering, brother.” they all know how gemma feels about it. or rather, how she will feel about it, since she probably has no clue that it’s happening at all. jax has a tendency to leave her out of the loop.

but he’s right. the women have never had any right, nor reason, to have any say in the club’s decisions. gemma’s only as involved as she is because she’s played ol’ lady to two presidents, and mother to another. the rest of them are kept in the loop merely because they’re loved.

but this would change everything. a woman, sitting at their table, wearing their reaper, standing and fighting with them, having a vote. that is, of course, if she can survive the prospect year. he had witnessed countless men run for the hills after their first two weeks onsite. they’d even had to bury one, once, after he’d intentionally overdosed in the tacoma clubhouse’s bathroom. and it was bound to be even worse for kitty — prospects are at the very bottom of samcro’s food chain as is, treated like dirt in order to ready them, toughen them up, for the life that they’ve signed up for.

she’ll be shoved around and prodded at tenfold the rest of them. and she’ll have to work thrice as hard to prove herself. and that’s just within the club, not even to mention the abuse she’ll be getting from those outside of it. good luck, happy thinks. god knows that she’s going to need it.

jax smacks his palm on the table, drawing them in. “let’s vote it. all in favor of taking kitty on as a prospect?”

“aye!” chibs cheers, his grin mirroring the scars on his cheeks. despite being one of the oldest, and having been with the club for decades, he’s maybe the most progressive. married a black woman, fathered a black baby, and now sticking his neck out for this girl’s sake. he must have been a mama’s boy in his youth — and happy, more than anyone, can respect that.

bobby sighs, staring at the blonde for a long moment, before finally nodding, albeit reluctantly. “aye.” he may be old, cranky, and misogynistic, but he trusts jax enough to set all of that aside.

and opie’s much the same. he’d do anything for the man he’d grown up with, even this. “aye.”

juice beams, eager. “aye.” he had been the victim of their wicked club bylaws, himself. almost thrown out, and nearly forced to turn rat, because his father was black. he’s the last person that would advocate against change.

piney’s the toughest to crack, and happy’s sure that jax had considered this before bringing nic to the table. the old man is huffing and puffing in his chair like he might blow a little pig’s house right down, jaw clenched and fists curled. as one of the first nine, he’d been present when their rulebook was written. he’d been one of the men to vote yes to the ‘no women’ rule. he’s a proud member, and founder, of the she-man-woman-haters club.

but he’s also the one that’s always preaching about what john teller would’ve wanted, about what samcro can, and should, be. and they all know that if jax’s father was here today, he’d be all over this, much like his son is. “aye.” piney grunts. happy sees the thinly veiled relief in jax’s eyes.

it doesn’t take a telepath to know what tig’s thinking, to realize that juice’s words had hit home for the man. if he voted nay, and venus found out, she’d beat him over the head with her gucci purse, and have him sleeping on the couch for a month, minimum. and as many screws as tig trager has loose, he loves his woman, so much so that it’s nauseating, and he’d never blatantly do anything to offend her. “aye.”

“aye.” happy agrees, without hesitation. frankly, he doesn’t give a fuck what she has in her pants, as long as she has what it takes. jax seems to think she does, and he’s never given them a reason to doubt his judgement — well, maybe once or twice, but that’s besides the point.

“aye!” jax slams the gavel down. and just like that, kitty foster has an in. but whilst they’ve voted in her favor, happy knows that it doesn’t mean they’ll act in it. “bring her in.”

chibs jumps to his feet, all joy and humor draining from his face in a split second, just to make her squirm. he shoves the doors open, his voice bellowing through the chapel and the bar, his heavy scottish brogue ricocheting off the walls. “move it, lass! we ain’t got all fuckin’ day!”

kitty appears in the threshold, giving him a wary look as he shoves her unceremoniously in front of the table, though happy can admire how unbothered she seems by the harsh glares she receives from each of them; some genuine, some falsified. if it is a front that she’s putting on, it’s foolproof enough that not even he can see through it.

when he’d first noticed her sitting at the bar, he hadn’t spared her a second glance, not knowing who she was until jax had called church. now, though, he takes the time to look at her. like he’d originally thought, there’s not much about her that stands out; she’s tall, skinny, with a seemingly permanent frown on her face, and a ghostly sort’ve look about her — as if she had never known comfort a day in her life. she’s pretty enough though, he could admit; with pale, untamed curls, and a nice face, though rather guant and severe. he wouldn’t group her in with their croweaters or the caracara girls, but he figures that she gets plenty of attention.

what the fuck she possibly wants to do with a motorcycle club, he can’t even begin to imagine.

tig takes the initiative, starting without prologue, sneering at the girl as if personally offended by her very presence in the chapel. “probationary period lasts one year, minimum, and starts today. after that, if you last that long, we vote whether or not to patch you in.”

“dues are seventy-five dollars on the first of every month,” bobby chimes in. “you don’t pay, you don’t stay.”

she nods along silently, eyes narrowed and jaw ticking, though she seems more contemplative than aggressive.

jax stands then, picking up the kutte, donned with prospect patches, that he’d flung on the table oh-so dramatically when he’d called church. it’s small, suited to a woman, which meant that he’d been planning this for at least a few days if he’d gone and found colors in her size. awfully bold of him, happy thinks, though he chooses not to comment on it. he won’t claim to understand just how the younger man’s mind works.

he shoves the leather into kitty’s hands, and none of the brothers are oblivious to the wordless something that passes between them. “don’t fuck this up.” is all he says, but his tone is heavy.

the look she gives him is as sharp as a knife, somewhere in between amused and incredulous. whatever had happened with them, beyond the petty theft and battery, had been no small thing. they can all see it.

“don’t worry, prez,” she drawls, two parts mocking and one part wicked. it’s the first time happy, or anyone save for jax, has heard her speak. her accent is as thick as molasses, dripping from her tongue like honey. happy assumes that the southern twang had done her quite a few favors in her life. “i’ll make you proud.”

jax scoffs, but his lip twitches into an almost-smile. “put it on.” he orders, and they all hold their breath.

she slings the brand new leather over her back, their reaper coming to rest gently on her toned shoulders. it suits her, even happy has to admit. if the gleam in jax’s eye is anything to go off of, he agrees.

happy braves a glance at his brothers, all of them wearing varying expressions; some, hopeful, and others, bitter. he meets juice’s eye, and the puerto rican grins so hard that he figures it has to hurt his cheeks.

she’s looking at them too, he notices, sizing each of them up in turn. her eyes meet his for half of a second, searching within him for something — animosity, like tig, or approval, like chibs — but happy remains stoic, his facade impenetrable after all of the years he’s spent perfecting it. he thinks that she seems almost amused, as if humored by so many grown men being so very threatened by a chick.

and that’s exactly what they are; piney, opie, bobby, tig. they feel threatened by this woman, and what she will mean for samcro. they’re terrified of what changes her presence here will catalyze.

jax slaps her on the shoulder, looking immensely proud of himself. “welcome to samcro,”

godspeed, happy bids silently, hoping that she’s more than meets the eye — lest his brothers chew her up and spit her out.

but something tells him that they’d only break their teeth if they tried.

[lancerslover]

Sibling Rivalry - Part 1

pairing: senator!john f. kennedy and bobby kennedy/reader

summary: senator jack kennedy and bobby kennedy both have an eye for you, and you can’t help but enjoy watching as they try to win your affection. but when the brothers’ competitive natures inevitably take over, you realize you might not have as much power in the situation as you thought.

warnings: 18+, nothing super graphic yet but descriptions of dub-con and infidelity

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this fic is based on this ao3 fic i read a while ago! i definitely recommend checking it out

sorry this took so long guys 😖 i decided to just go ahead and post it even though i’m not sure how i feel about it lol so plz let me know what you think. this may or may not be the worst thing i’ve ever written.

this section of the fic is basically just a set-up for the eventual smut, which will be in part 2 if you guys want it

The hour or so you spend in Bobby’s office every evening is the only time all day you can relax. You know Bobby feels the same way. That’s part of the reason why he stays so late after the rest of his big brother’s campaign team is long gone. And since you’re his personal secretary, you feel obligated to stay with him. He’s told you before that you can go home with everyone else, that you don’t have to stay with him, but you always insist. You and he both know he could use all the help he can get as he blearily writes and re-writes strategy sheets or tallies up the daily budget in the growing darkness. And you both benefit greatly from what usually happens between you two after the day’s work is done. Your fingers massaging the stiff back of his neck, his lips warm on your skin. These methodical, intimate evenings are a welcome interlude between a long day of the raucous, back-slapping, wolf-whistling fraternity party that is Senator Jack Kennedy and the rest of his campaign team and a night full of giggly questions from your roommates about the newest juicy details of your job. Tell us one more time what it was like meeting Frank Sinatra. Is it true the senator is sleeping with his daughter’s babysitter? Is Jackie nice?

On this particular evening as you walk into Bobby’s office, having just completed the work you personally wanted to finish in order to get a headstart on the next day, you find yourself chuckling a little at the sight you’re greeted by. It’s only seven, and Bobby has already abandoned his desk for the sofa. Usually, he doesn’t take a break until closer to eight. As your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, you notice he’s leaning almost completely sideways on the armrest, his eyes closed, head slowly drooping off of the closed fist it’s propped up on. His gray-striped tie is a limp tangle on the floor. His dress shirt has been untucked from his slacks in what seems to have been a pretty violent manner—you notice that its bottom two buttons came undone in the process. His red, fuzzy lower belly is squishing out over his belt.

Just to make sure he’s not asleep, you whisper, “Bobby?”

In response, Bobby opens one eye, looks at you for a moment, then shuts it again in a playful, darting way, like he’s playing peek-a-boo with one of his hundreds of kids. Then he pats his hand on the cushion beside him, and you’re immediately starting towards him.

His office is snug, tucked in a literal corner of Senator Kennedy’s headquarters. Your only source of light as you pick your way through the towering stacks of paper all over the floor is the golden streetlamps of Boston outside the window, which look smeared now from the raindrops that streak down the glass. The only noises you hear are the scuff of your heels on the carpet and Bobby’s breath whistling faintly in and out of his nose.

Once you’ve sat down beside him and are wiggling out of your heels, he finally opens both eyes. You watch patiently as he slowly sits up and swings his heavy head to look at you. Poor thing. He gives you a soft smile, his big front teeth just barely peeking out under his lip. His fluffy hair is slightly mussed—and extra-fluffed—on the side he was just leaning on. You smile back.

“Tough day,” you say.

He blows his cheeks up with air and nods. “Yeah.” His voice is just a murmur, even though there’s really no need to be quiet since you two are the only ones left on the entire floor.

He’s been working extra late and extra hard now that the senator’s presidential election is only about a month away. This is quite an achievement, seeing as, even in the earliest days of the campaign, Bobby spent almost all day locked up in his office, tirelessly barking orders into one of the three constantly-ringing telephones on his desk or scribbling incessantly in the margins of a drafted campaign ad. Only every few hours would his door would bang open and he’d come stalking straight into the middle of where the rest of Senator Kennedy’s inner circle lounged, feet up, in a lazy haze of cigar smoke. Then Bobby would launch into a passionate explanation of whatever incompetent mistake on their part had prompted him to leave his office this time. You remember one specific afternoon when Bobby marched out, planted his hands on his hips, and said, “Alright, now, I just finished with that biography draft, and I want to know who approved it because it doesn’t do Jack justice at all. I mean, God, why mention the Addison’s?” One of the men replied, “Well, see here, that was my suggestion, Bobby. We need to get out in front of these things.” Naturally, an argument ensued. Bobby can be combative on a good day, but with the weight of the campaign largely on his shoulders, there was no way he’d be able to stop himself from spitting back a fiery retort at the other man’s condescending tone—and not to mention, he hates when men who aren’t his brothers call him “Bobby.”

As the yelling got louder and louder and all eight of Senator Kennedy’s henchmen eventually tossed their cigars aside and surged up on their feet to try their luck against Bobby’s razor-sharp Kennedy wit, Senator Kennedy himself simply observed from his desk like a Roman emperor watching his gladiators, leaning back in his chair, opening and closing his lips around his cigar. You knew better, though, than to ever let the senator’s laid-back mannerisms fool you. You clocked how his eyes were shrouded in a dark, calculating shadow, how they lingered on each of the nine men in turn. He was testing them, watching to see what they’d do, what positions they’d argue for. You could tell he was deeply focused. He never flinched or even so much as blinked as the men continued to yell and shake their fists and get closer and closer to each other’s faces. You doubted this sort of thing could be good for team morale, but you’ve accepted by now that it was Senator Kennedy’s strange, mysterious way of coming to a decision on something.

At one point during the dispute, the senator looked over at you and raised his eyebrows as if to say, Get a load of this, huh? You smirked coolly back at him, but a small shiver seared down your spine as you did. Nobody makes you nervous quite like he does. It’s sort of titillating, this power he has over you, but it’s also why, despite the senator’s movie-star smile and smooth one-liners, you’ve always felt more comfortable with Bobby.

After several minutes of watching the men yell, once he’d evidently seen enough to make whatever judgment he’d been ruminating on, Senator Kennedy stood up from his desk. The room snapped into a ringing silence.

The senator ran a hand through the little curls that framed his forehead, then nonchalantly said, “Bobby’s right.”

Another stunned beat of silence. Instinctively, you looked to Bobby, who simply sniffed and scratched his nose, seemingly as unfazed by the whole debacle as his big brother was.

One of the other men, Bobby’s brother-in-law Steve, bravely piped up, “But, Jack—”

Senator Kennedy cut him off. “It’s the presidency, gentlemen,” he told them wryly. “Don’t overthink it.” And with that, he huffed back into his chair. Then, almost as an afterthought, he pointed a long finger towards Bobby, and with a barely perceptible teasing bounce in his voice, said, “Alright, back to your corner.”

Bobby chuckled and spun on his heel towards his office. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Bobby drops this tough, Irish-bulldog exterior around you. You’ve gotten pretty comfortable with each other in the past few weeks, ever since Bobby told Senator Kennedy that he needed his own personal secretary and that he’d chosen you for the job. This announcement, which you overheard from across the room at the little clump of secretary desks, was a bit of a surprise to you, despite the fact that it was well-known that you were the best typist in the office. It definitely wasn’t an unwelcome surprise, though. You’ve always been fond of Bobby. You think it’s sweet how he talks to you and the other girls in such an innocent, genuine way, like he’s actually interested in your secretarial skills and what you have to say instead of just your body and your face, unlike certain other members of the campaign.

It was immediately obvious, though, that your sudden closeness to Bobby agitated Senator Kennedy. Since you’re the only secretary who hasn’t slept with him yet, the senator has a particular fixation on you, and Bobby knows this well. You had to bite back a giddy smile that afternoon when you saw how the senator’s eyebrows dropped low over his face as Bobby informed him of your new job title. “Personal secretary, huh?” the senator sneered, teeth flashing. Bobby simply grinned.

Bobby and the senator were intensely, at times comically, competitive. You’ve heard them go back and forth over such trivial things as who played better in a weekend family football game or who could read the morning newspaper faster. Once Bobby made you his personal secretary, though, more and more often they’ve been going back and forth over you.

From day one of the campaign, practically, Senator Kennedy has been pursuing you relentlessly, looming over you, tugging at a loose strands of your hair as he teases you for coming in late, unashamedly eyeing the way your ass moves in your pencil skirt, saying things like, “Nothing makes my day like seeing that pretty smile of yours, sweetie.” And the longer you pretend not to notice his advances, the more relentless he is, and, admittedly, the more you find yourself wanting to drive him crazy. It’s fun for you, and honestly quite flattering, that you can get him all riled up by simply brushing against his shoulder as you drop a paper on his desk and whispering breathily in his ear, “Here you are, Senator. Anything else I can do for you?” You can’t get enough of the incredulous look that takes over his handsome, always-nonchalant face—his nostrils flaring, his eyebrows raising, his eyes firing up like a cat who caught sight of a mouse—afterward as you skitter away. On a serious note, though, you figure you’re actually doing him a service by holding out like this. The way he acts with women is absurdly arrogant. He’s like a spoiled child, always getting everything he wants. Secretaries. Call girls. Actresses. All delivered to him, pretty much, at the flick of his hand. You figure it’d be good for him to not get something he wants for once, all flirtations and teasing aside.

You came dangerously close to having your vow of celibacy broken at a celebratory dinner party a few months back. The senator followed you to the back hall as you were about to leave, pushed you up against the wall, and before you even knew what was happening, he stuck his hand up your dress. He’d had a little too much to drink that evening, and he was like a wild animal in that dark, empty hallway. Tearing at your stockings, practically snarling in your ear, cursing you for “driving him crazy” at the office.

“Senator,” you gasped, “please—”

“Please what?” he scoffed. “You think you can act like a little harlot all the time and nothing’s going to happen to you?”

After a moment, your inner desires took over and you gave up resisting. You spread your thighs and let him finger you. It’s not your proudest moment. You hated to let him have that little victory over you, but with the entirety of his body weight against you and his big hands holding you still, there was really no way you could’ve stopped him, even if you’d wanted to.

This game you have with Senator Kennedy has been taken to a whole new level now that you’ve actively chosen to spend almost all your time with Bobby. You can tell by the way the senator shakes his head as he watches you and Bobby walk around together, like you’re two little children misbehaving under his watch, that this is really grating on his competitive side. Bobby doesn’t help matters with the way he smirks and wiggles his eyebrows at the senator when he thinks you’re not looking. Sometimes, the senator will tease Bobby by saying things like, “Don’t you think it’s, uh, a little unfair that you’re not letting anyone else work with our best typist?” or “I’m starting to doubt whether you two are actually getting any work done. Don’t make me take Y/N away from you, Bobby. She’s just on loan, you know.” Bobby does his best to appear to be the mature one in front of you, opting to half-playfully shove the senator with his shoulder as he walks by instead of snapping back some kind of retort.

You still aren’t entirely sure what Bobby’s real motives were for picking you as his secretary, whether it had purely been about spiting the senator, or he’d genuinely admired your skills, or he’d planned to turn your evenings together into sexual rendezvous all along and he was much more like his brother than you thought.

But since, in the process of this whole thing, you’ve developed a genuine relationship with Bobby—and it’s pretty clear, you think, that he has bested his big brother in this little game—you suppose his pushing back against the senator has more to do with the pure competitive spirit of it all at this point than any possessiveness he might feel over you. But still, you get out such a kick out of the fact that they never fail to play right into your hand when you pit them against each other, flirting with one brother in front of the other, making flippant comments to the senator about how wonderful your evenings alone with Bobby are.

Sometimes, though, your confidence in your femme-fatale abilities wavers slightly. Almost daily, Bobby and the senator will convene at the senator’s desk for an intense, private conversation about what you originally assumed was various campaign matters, but every once in a while, you’ll glance up during one of these conversations to find them both looking at you from across the room. The senator will mutter something, and Bobby will nod, and the low sound of their confident, patronizing male laughter will rumble across the office. You instantly drop your eyes back to whatever memo you’re working on, heart suddenly racing. What on earth could they be saying? And why do you have the creeping feeling that this game isn’t going to be so easy for you much longer?

thank you for reading!!

taglist:

@evie-gets-bitches

@kennediva

@secretwonderlandcheesecake

@melancholicstation

@southernpopprincess

@maudesgf

@neverellaxx11

@astro-vibes-bro

@h-l-vlovesvintage

@fortheloveofjos

@saturns-flowers

@raspberryknees

[vintagegeekculture]

So, a friend of mine on Discord said something interesting, and I feel like you might have thoughts on it. So. What do you think of the idea of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as being "The Shaw Brothers for kids", a sort of gateway drug for "the kung fu genre"?

Not the Shaw Brothers, but Golden Harvest. Let me explain: 

I’m going to sound like a conspiracy theorist when I say this, but I believe the New Line Cinema “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” (1990) movie was actually a money laundering scheme by the Chinese Mafia, specifically, the Sun Yee On Triad. 

Looking into the role of organized crime in martial arts cinema is a rabbit hole that goes very, very, very deep...and comes out somewhere very shocking at the end.

You mention the Shaw Brothers, but there was another Hong Kong Producer who was the only credible rival to the Shaw Brothers (and who eventually surpassed the Shaws) in martial arts movies: Golden Harvest’s Raymond Chow….a man who started off as the Shaw Brothers’ talent division, but who eventually founded his own rival studio to the Shaws (with rumored triad financial backing), and who made Bruce Lee, Angela Mao and Jackie Chan stars. Raymond Chow is widely, and extremely credibly, believed to be a middleman for the Hong Kong Triad, the Sun Yee On, who used Golden Harvest as a front facing money laundering scheme, as claimed by Frederic Dannen in "Hong Kong Babylon," and Yiu Kong Chiu in "The Triads as Business," books I recommend if you are at all interested in the topic of organized crime in the Hong Kong film industry.

Raymond Chow was also the producer and primary funder of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movies. I mean, what does it mean when your movie is entirely produced and funded by a guy well known for being a triad middleman and money launderer?

And all of this happened at New Line Cinema, a borderline independent film company…one known for having dodgy financials it’s entire existence, no less, which ultimately doomed it? One of the most extraordinary things about the 1990 Ninja Turtles movie is that it was, essentially, an independent film. New Line would later become a powerhouse as a studio and created Lord of the Rings, but at the time, it was a mainly low rent operation, rather like Cannon films, known for the success of the slasher series “Nightmare on Elm Street.” So yes, I do believe "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" (1990) was a money laundering scheme by the Chinese Mafia.

The triads in Hong Kong, Macao, and Taiwan take enormous interest in financing martial arts movies for the same reason that they take a tremendous interest in financing porn movies: they’re quick, cheap, dirty, and can be used as a mechanism for laundering money, and a way to claim money from illegal sources (say, heroin) comes from a clean and legal source that can be claimed on taxes, like say, a movie studio. In addition, Hong Kong’s strict rating system, the Category III (equivalent to a far stricter R-rating) meant that very violent movies were handled in ways that were outside the law in ways similar to pornography. And according to several Senate investigations in 1991 ("Hearings on Asian Organized Crime"), the triads were actively involved in money laundering as well outside of Hong Kong, including currency trading and real estate, and the idea they could back a studio is entirely possible.

Everyone working in Hong Kong cinema has a story of dealing with the triads, who are interwoven into the city. Anita Mui's manager was was shot dead by mafiosos. Jimmy Wang Yu, the first Kung Fu star, was a suspected member of the Bamboo Union triad, and once borrowed money from one triad to pay another....and may have used his reported connections with the Triads to get Jackie Chan out of his initial contract with Golden Harvest, a favor Jackie repaid. Golden Harvest studios were actually firebombed in 1984, an event suspected to be due to Triad activity. Raymond Chow’s fellow producer and good friend who discovered Steven Chow, film producer Charles Heung, is well known to be the son of Heung Chin, who founded the Sun Yee On Triad, the largest in Hong Kong with over 25,000 members. And you don’t have to take my word for it; a US Senate Committee in 1991 on Asian Organized Crime identified Cheung as a leader of the Sun Yee On along with his brothers. Because of his association with Charles Heung and the Sun Yee On, Steven Chow, director of Kung Fu Hustle, cannot enter Canada legally.

Jackie Chan asserted Raymond Chow’s triad connections in his autobiography, and also claimed that he only hired triad members and other people who were mobbed up at Golden Harvest. One example would be producer Ng See Yuen, who produced Once Upon a Time in China for Golden Harvest, and who Jet Li refused to work with ever again after his manager was assassinated by triad gunmen (Jet Li blamed Ng See Yuen for his manager's death).

There's also Lo Wei, a Shaw Brothers director and known “Red Pole” enforcer of the Sun Yee On Triad, who came over to Golden Harvest, where he directed Bruce Lee’s Chinese Connection and Big Boss, and also directed Jackie Chan’s earliest “period” historical movies for GH. Jackie Chan, in his autobiography, stated that the reason he initially left Hong Kong to go to the United States for an American career was because Lo Wei, his director on Laughing Hyena, put a hit out on him for refusing to make Laughing Hyena 2, and Jackie had to flee the city when Lo Wei sent gunmen to his house to abduct him. When arriving in the United States, he had to avoid some men with machine guns at the airport. To this day, whenever possible, Jackie Chan goes out in public armed for fear of gangsters. 

Even Jackie Chan though, never made the assertion that Raymond Chow and the Sun Yee On had Bruce Lee killed. This is important to mention because if you talk to any Chinese person, nearly all of them believe with unshakable, absolute certainty that the Chinese Mafia killed Bruce Lee, which is literally the plot of Game of Death (which, incidentally, Raymond Chow produced). Everyone around Bruce was mobbed up, because everyone in the Hong Kong film industry was mobbed up; in fact, it’s an open question how much it existed for its own sake. It’s notable Bruce Lee died at the home of Betty Lo Ting Pei, Golden Harvest actress, and his known mistress…who was married to a triad gangster. It’s also known that the first person that Betty Lo Ting Pei called when Bruce died was not medical services but Raymond Chow, something that to this day, she has not attempted to explain. 

It can be hard to imagine what the motive is for Raymond Chow and the triads to kill Bruce Lee. After all, wouldn’t Bruce Lee be more useful to Raymond Chow alive than dead? I never saw the angle, here. But then, you consider that in the last few months of his life, Bruce Lee started to set the stage for his transition to behind the scenes roles like producer, and was assembling a lot of stunt talent around him (a lot of productions down the pipeline intended to have Bruce Lee in producer roles, like Circle of Iron). The rumor among the stunt players, as recounted by Sammo Hung, was that Bruce was attempting to form his own stunt and film production company (as Chiba later did successfully in Japan) and that would involve organizing and peeling off half the talent in Hong Kong….in a deeply triad controlled industry, no less. There was also a story recounted by witnesses that Bruce Lee, a temperamental and explosively violent man, physically assaulted Raymond Chow in his office with punches and kicks when he heard Chow had two sets of books in their shared production company, as Bruce was always keen to keep the triads out of his films. Ten days later, Bruce Lee was dead. And for weeks before his death, Lee told his friends "Hong Kong is getting too hot, I have to get out."

And you know something? A Ninja Turtles movie from 1990 is probably the least of it. In 2020, a few documents were declassified by the Taiwanese government that showed that the members of the Bamboo Union Triad had 19 top governmental positions in Taiwan from 1955-1984 (the era when Taiwan was in a complete state of military rule), including the National Security Bureau and all branches of the armed forces. In other words, Taiwan during the military rule era wasn't just corrupted by the triads, the triads were the government.

I never cease to be amazed at the incuriousness of the journalistic professions. Governments don't declassify documents - especially something as damning as triad involvement in government - unless they have to. So why would the Tsai Ing-Wen government reveal this now in 2020, especially when anti-corruption is the driving force of Taiwanese politics, and anti-corruption sentiment pushed the KMT out of power since the 90s? Outsiders believe that the single biggest question in Taiwanese politics is their relationship with the mainland. Kinda...the status quo is more or less a settled question. It's actually anti-corruption and anti-triad infiltration, which is why the DPP are the ruling party now.

The answer, I suspect, is that the triads are no longer working with the Taiwanese government, but with the mainland government. In the 1980s, Wong Man Fong, editor of the Xinhua paper of Hong Kong, said in several interviews he was asked by the People's Republic of China to reach out to the triads to help make a deal: no government interference in their activities, if they pledge to keep order in the city after the handover in 1997. I strongly suspect the mainland now has a similar arrangement with the Bamboo Union, Green Gang, and the Si Hai Bang they did in Hong Kong, especially since so much money is going back and forth with the release of trade to the mainland. In other words, the triads in Taiwan are active agents of the PRC.

Backdoor deals between government and the mob aren't out of the question, just ask the CIA, who used Giancana Crime Family assassins sent to kill Castro as a key plank of the Bay of Pigs Invasion, the role of the mafia in the Kennedy Assassination, or how control of opium was a key under-the-table reason for the invasion of Afghanistan.

What I suspect happened is, the Taipei government is turning on organized crime now after decades and decades of ludicrous and obvious corruption, because to the triads, the money to be made with the mainland and unification is far more lucrative. It's no coincidence that the largest pro-unification party in Taiwan is led by a triad gangster who spent time in jail for racketeering, Chang An Lo, nicknamed "the White Wolf." Like John Gotti, everyone knows he's a mobster and that's even part of the White Wolf's coolness and appeal (if you could vote for Tony "Scarface" Montana, boy, I bet a lot of guys would), but nobody can touch him. In fact, combined with how the "light world" financial institutions are intertwined along with the underworld, there's an argument to be made that the reason the PRC hasn't tried to take Taiwan is that for all intents and purposes, they already have it.

In other words, the triads have gone from using the Ninja Turtles to money launder to essentially setting global geopolitics.

[alicentflorent]

Thinking about how Nat was already struggling with addiction as a teen before the wilderness, how she was seen as an outsider and trouble maker who was even shaded by her own teammates sometimes but in the wilderness? Nat had a purpose, her team needed her and she could handle the situation better than some of her more sheltered and privileged teammates. Then she became the Hunter, she had the responsibility of providing them with food and she kept them fed until winter and then during winter she still tried, every single day to find something to hunt, she helped coach map out the areas and even stayed out longer to help Travis find (presumed dead) Javi. When she failed to find anything to hunt and she was blamed for it by the group who spent their days in a warm cabin when she was out in the cold but she never stopped trying. She took Jackie and Ben’s remains back to the plane alone and humanised them, talked to them as if they were still people. She tried to give them some dignity in death even after they’d been eaten. After the trauma of being hunted and the guilt of letting a child die in her place, it would have been so easy to fall back into old patterns, drink and drugs were easily available come spring but she had been named leader, a role she never wanted but took on anyway. Her group needed her so she couldn’t fall apart, she got everyone working together to keep the fire going and build a literal village. She taught Gen how to hunt, helped akilah keep a little animal farm. She had everyone using their skills in different areas to thrive. She tried to keep the peace, because that’s probably all she’s ever wanted isn’t it? To live peacefully and she wants that for her community too. Then Ben is found and she has to face the groups anger and need for violent justice head on. Despite her efforts he’s found guilty, almost executed and kept prisoner until she has to kill him out of mercy. Once again she was put in another situation of having to choose what’s best for herself and the democracy of the group at someone else expense. This time I think she was ready to give up, she knew when she killed Ben she’d be either exiled or dead and maybe part of her wanted that, over facing another harsh winter and living with more blood on her hands. Then just as her purpose is taken away she’s given another purpose before she can self destruct. Now they have a chance at rescue, she can lead the group home and even when Shauna disarms her and forces everyone to stay Nat still tries to form a plan to get out, then the person who could get them out is killed and it breaks her she fully loses hope of going home. Then she finds out that there is another way, Van has a phone and Misty has the parts to fix it. So Nat tries to fix the phone secret with the help of Van and Misty. Meanwhile, Shauna is throwing her out of bed in the middle of the so Nat can’t risk escape to get to higher ground but shes not going to give up. Then there’s going to be a hunt, more violence is the last thing Nat wants but she has no choice but to comply but then she realises the hunt can provide a distraction she plans to escape with phone and she makes it. She gets to higher ground and she does it! She makes contact with the outside world! Nat tried so hard to get everyone home and she saved them but she doesn’t feel like a hero, more people were killed after Nat left and before rescue finally came. She tried so hard but she probably felt like it was never enough. When she got home she was just a fucked up kid again, now that no one needs her and she lacks a purpose. She can’t just compartmentalise and move on so she goes back to drinking and doing drugs just to get through the day. She’s stuck in this cycle until the last few weeks of her life when she finally starts to heal and had decided to start living she wouldn’t want her survival to be at the expense of another innocent life. So she makes that final sacrifice, her life for Lisa’s. Natalie’s story is a tragedy. It always was long before the crash.

[myownperception83]

I like how much they're spiraling. Outside of modern society, back in the Wilderness, the lines of morality blur all together. They start slowly, inconspicuously.

First they hunt animals and maybe scanvage some dead animals if the meat's still edible. A real low, eating dead mice and squirrels they find , after having supermarkets all their life. (Also the difficulties in reajusting in a society that they no longer feel like they belong to??)

After that, they eat Jackie's corpse. From a solely Utalitarian vision, Jackie is no more, there is only a corpse and in a situation of extreme starvation, the living have priority over the dead and so they must feast. Perfectly rational, if not painful to digest. Aside from a funeral and cerimonial burial from the living for the living (dead), a corpse has no more autonomy, nor consciousness.

Afterwards, the hunger is so persistent they decide to kill someone. They make the deliberate choice to sacrifice one for the many. But Javi intervienes and dies. His death can be framed as an accident, that saved another, Nat. Now that he is the dead one, how could they even think of wasting him? While the intent isn't as noble, it still makes rational sense. One sacrifice to keep everyone fed, just a little longer. You could argue that since it's an accident, they might not feel as responsible as they would in deliberately killing him, but their conscience is slowly deteriorating.

You can't clealry distinguish between what's right and what's wrong in such settings (smt Lottie should definetely say that to Nat to make her feel a bit better, appeal to her rationality). Always gotta sneak some Lottienat, MY SHAYLAAAS.

Next, they find Coach Ben alive. In their minds, he tried to kill them first, so he should die. It's a simple cause and effect, but the reason isn't mere surviving anymore, no. It's about justice, it's about veangence, it's about more complex social issues than simple starvation. But can they handle to bloody their hands of a possible innocent man? Innocent until proven otherwise? Societal rules try to overrule them once more, but the law of the jungle prevails. Can they truly convince themselves that what they are doing is just? Is it right?

We know that the Hunts become a recourrence. Their community has collapsed, they didn't manage to keep the animals fed, game has gone away again or they simply kneeled to their lowest instincts. The thrill of the chase, the taste of blood and flesh under their teeth, Shauna did get two tastes already (an ear, to lend an ear, the one she could never give to Jackie, could never confide. She wanted to bite it off so that she could never spill her secrets away, her pregancy and what Shauna truly thought of her). She also got a taste of a hand, however brief. The hand that does, the hand that kills, that accuses, taunts. I believe she's a big part of catalysis of how they pass from thriving to complete savegery.

I do wonder what else they would justify themselves about doing. Eat someone alive? Hunt just for sports? Honouring the dead by making the designated victims dress up like them? So many possibilities...

"Of all the ways there are to lose a person, death is the kindest".

But how is that death delivered should be the real question. Was it nice and soft, like a carpet of falling snow, like falling asleep? Or was it violent and brutal? Asphixiating? A stray bullet, a second shot with a trembling hand... perhaps a third?

[cryingatwindermerepeaks]

hi mootie! i hope you’re doing okay! 💜 i really love all your yj regression posts, and if you would enjoy writing it, i’d love to request little!lottie with cg!shauna !! maybe something that is more emotionally overwhelmed/emotional support !! i also imagine lottie being mostly non-speaking when in this headspace, but don’t have many other suggestions 😵‍💫 if you wouldn’t enjoy writing this, that is also okay !! thank you reading anyway <33 🦌🌲

Little!Lottie x Cg!Shauna

Word count: 632

—————————

Lottie had been acting weird for weeks. Lottie always acted weird, but this was… something else. She was on edge, staring at things no one else could see, muttering to herself. But this was different. It had started off slow, Shauna caught sight of Lottie rocking out of the corner of her eye. Then there was some hand flapping, a strangely rapid and unpredictable movement. That was easy enough to ignore, Shauna could keep moving around the cabin and tidying while leaving Lottie to herself. But then the tears had started - rapid and violent sobs, seemingly coming out of nowhere. “Lottie, sweetie? What’s wrong?” Shauna asked, coming over to sit on the floor beside Lottie. She didn’t get a response, only another heavy sob from Lottie. Shauna

rubbed steady circles into Lottie’s back, attempting to keep her grounded. “It’s ok, we’re ok. I think you’re having a panic attack, yeah?” Lottie disentangled her arms from where they were wrapped around her torso, reaching out for Shauna. “You want a hug?” Lottie didn’t answer but she climbed onto Shauna’s lap and wrapped her fist around the collar of Shauna’s shirt, her other hand moved up to her mouth and her thumb slipped between her lips. It was only at that point that Shauna finally realized that Lottie had regressed. “It’s ok, sweetie, I’ve got you,” Shauna cooed, the maternal tone coming out on instinct.

Lottie wailed, it was loud and she sounded scared. The sobs increased in intensity and for a moment Shauna couldn’t place why, but then she felt a warm dampness on her calf. “Oh Lot, it’s ok,” she soothed. Shauna rocked and whispered sweet nothings in Lottie’s ears until her tears turned into choked hiccups and painful sniffles. She gently wiped the tears away from Lottie’s cheeks. “Something gave you a big fright, hm?” Shauna hummed, not really expecting a response knowing how Lottie could get when she was like this. “Everyone’s gone to the lake, so you don’t have to worry about that,” Shauna started to explain as she maneuvered Lottie off her lap and helped her stand up so she could grab a couple damp cloths from outside. Lottie whined, instead of following Shauna she went over to her bed set and grabbed her blankie. “Ah, good remembering sweetie. Blankie will keep you nice and safe.”

Shauna tried to encourage Lottie into cleaning herself up but ended up doing most of the work for her, even dressing the girl in a pair of her pajamas so she’d be comfortable. Once Shauna was changed too, she invited Lottie over to sit on the bed she shared with Jackie. “How’re you feeling, Lottie?” Shauna asked gently, brushing Lottie’s slightly overgrown bangs away from her eyes. Lottie hummed slightly in response, the low rumbling seeming like not a bad sign. “Do you want a story?” Shauna asked, unsure what else children liked. Lottie nodded lethargically, nestling in next to Shauna like a cold baby animal. “I don’t have many books…” Shauna sighed, reaching over to grab her bag while keeping an arm around Lottie. “Anne of green gables?” She suggested, pulling out the book she’d bought as a comfort read. Lottie nodded, a slight little jolted movement against Shauna’s shoulder. She began to read from the start, unsure if Lottie had ever read the book before. While she read, Lottie rubbed the silky border of her blankie back and forth against her cheek in a self soothing motion. The movement eventually stilling was the only indication that Lottie had dozed off. Shauna finished the chapter before putting it down, pulling Lottie tighter into her arms and letting the girl sleep peacefully against her chest. Eventually, Lottie would wake up petrified and screaming, but for right now everything felt peaceful and safe.

[anyfire]

it's actually incredibly important to me that s3 has two scenes where shauna insists on passing the knife to somebody else. i think that shauna serves as a scapegoat for a lot of the characters this season in both timelines, and so much of that is tied to her role as the butcher. it's a role where she's constantly doing the dirty work that nobody else can stomach, misty acknowledges that almost verbatim during ben's trial. and i think that shauna's response to this role is also difficult to stomach, in that she doesn't at any point allow herself any reprieve from the gruesome reality of what she's doing. when natalie kills ben, of course it hurts her to do it, and of course the others are mad, but she can rely on it being "the right thing to do." when lottie kills edwin, of course it's a product of her rapidly deteriorating mental state, of course the others are mad, but she can rely on it being "what it wanted." shauna allows herself none of these things. her rage, her grief, and her resentment are the only things she has. the reality of what it means to cut up the body of a friend is all she has. her resilience, the chip on her shoulder, and her stony exterior are how she survives. she is not a character unburdened by guilt, she's a character who believes guilt is a selfish thing to feel. (you know there was no 'it' right? it was just us.) we did horrible things in horrible ways, what use is there in pretending otherwise? what use is there in feeling guilty once it's done? and so it matters a great deal that when melissa tells shauna why she likes her, that list of things includes parts of who shauna has become since losing jackie, and her baby, and forcing herself to live and exist under the conditions of her (admittedly warped) sense of absolute reality. of course she hands melissa the knife. it's how THIS version of shauna can open up. shauna's love language has always involved mirroring and consumption and co-dependence and a blending of identities. it's how she loved jackie. it's how she goes on to love callie. be me for a second. see what it feels like. live with yourself after you do it. show me that i can do the same. and after natalie kills ben, and shauna takes her place as leader, she does it again. she passes natalie the knife, only this time as a form of punishment. because no matter how mean or violent shauna becomes, how comfortable with blood and guts she appears, that is ultimately how she views this role. it's a punishment. shauna's very existence, the life she's built 25 years later, is a form of punishment. but it's also incredibly significant to me that shauna's idea of punishment involves...forcing somebody to walk a mile in her shoes. be her for a second. see what it feels like. she can't talk about it, or cry about it, or pray about it, but she can do this.

[isabelopaque]

The enormity of a teen girls desire and how differently it presents itself in the show drives me nuts. Tai and Van while the healthiest relationship of the bunch literally tie themselves together, the ropes breaking skin and Van writes with the blood drawn like an oath, and Van bleeds again for her decades later. Shauna plays with Jackie in the shed like a doll afterwards and eats her because she has to. She says Jackie would want them to and knows she wouldn't. It's a selfish desire to consume, to be fed with love instead of the butcher killing it for once. Lottie let's Laura Lee force her underwater until she's gasping, let herself be reborn if that's what the other girl thinks is right, makes her smile. It's this faith between them that gets Laura in the plane and Lotties knees wet in the lake falling in grief. Misty's is the only one that was one sided in full, but Ben lied to her and told her it wasn't. Of course she believed him, no one had ever told her that before. Her love isn't violent in nature the same way Shauna's is, not angry, but self loathing. It doesn't matter if the intention is molded with care because it ends with blood everytime a reinforcement that she can never do it right, that she isn't right. But it's the way that even twenty five years later there's still love. The girls still get in the car with one another and drive, and keep moving but together. There's always love and that's what's killing them still

[invisible-pink-toast]

so confused about people who are so angry at yellowjackets / the characters about the trial and trying to execute ben.

it's not like the show was just about survival and then went off the deep end out of nowhere. the oPENING scene of the entire show is a brutal cannibalistic cult hunt / murder. like??? what were you expecting?? the same thing happened when they let javi die, people were clutching their pearls and calling the characters 'irredeemable' - the show is not about redemption!! these characters are fucked up and they do fucked up things!

the story is about HOW they get there. the whole show is about looking at the darker aspects of humanity, what people are willing to do to survive, trying to find meaning in horrific situations, pack mentality, lifelong trauma, etc.

yes the scenes with ben are AWFUL and HARD TO WATCH. they are like this ON PURPOSE.

you do not have to love the characters actions. you do not have to love that misty forced herself on ben. you do not have to love that ben abandoned shauna/the girls in labour. you do not have to love that the group banished jackie. you do not have to love that they fucking ate her. you do not have to love that shauna nearly beat lottie to death. you do not have to love that lottie is pressuring travis to do drugs. you do not have to love that shauna is directing her anger & trauma at ben and that melissa is encouraging it. you do not have to love that natalie was going to let ben die in order to keep her position in the group. etc. etc. etc. and this is just in the teen timeline! in fact, you can not love these things and still love the show/characters. because, once again, they are not real.

the characters are messy, conflicted, violent. this is a horror survival show for a reason, whether there are supernatural elements or not. but people getting up in arms about "morality" are exhausting. this is a story. it is not real. there are some legitimate criticisms of the show. but being mad that the violent cannibal show is being violent and cannibalistic is ridiculous. my mother watched yellowjackets at first but then felt it was too violent for her. know what she did? stopped watching the show! she still thinks it's a well done show it's just not for her.

no one is forcing you to watch yellowjackets. no one is forcing you to tag the show/characters/ships with your hate and not tag it anti/critical. go watch a family-friendly superhero show where everything is black and white. go watch peppa pig. if you aren't enjoying the show and it's upsetting you, stop watching it. simple as that.

[werezmastarbucks]

shot to the head

masterlist

word count: 1645

warnings: smut

music: i'm on fire by bruce springsteen

He lit a cigarette and took the first drag when he heard the footsteps. His ears were already tuned to that specific trot, the ears of a disgruntled hunter that felt like this was going on for too long.

Usually this business takes one day. He clocks the chick, approaches her, makes her laugh, and shows them both good time, all under twelve hours. Here, this was already past a week. The conversations, the dancing, the smiles and flirting was all very good, but the longer Chibs dragged it out, the more difficult it would be to sever the ties later. He tried not to think of the future, readying his feet, as he listened to her approaching footsteps. Straight into his den, main office, she went. Probably confused it with the accounts room, the doors looks similar. His mind wandered lazily, reminding him that Jackie did ask her to help out a little.

You opened the door and stepped in, and it took you just one second to see Chibs, to immediately understand that you're screwed.

Shit, said the tiny voice, as you stepped back again, closed the door and started running away.

"Nope", he snapped. His eyeballs already took the picture: loose hair, summer necklace and a fucking green sundress. With tiny little flowers. Maybe daisies. He jumped up and all but tore the handle out as he opened the door. He caught you midway, lifting you above the floor with one arm.

"No, you're going to pay for this now", he rumbled lowly into your ear, pressing his face into the nape of your neck, as he dragged you back into the office. You giggled, losing your breath, as you swooped through the air, when he finally married you back with the floor. You stumbled a couple steps back, until the opposite wall cut your escape. You looked at Chibs who was closing on your like a wolf. No, the dog that's been tugged too violently. You weren't sure you hated it completely.

"A week and a half you've been clicking on me nose", he said, "you didn't really think you'd get off?"

You offered him a brave smile, your heart racing like this was an armed robbery. Chibs' face mirrored the smile, but darkened. A step at a time, he approached you, taking in every little detail of the body he was about to violate.

"Whatever am I going to do with ya now?"

"I hope you won't make me dance", you chuckled.

"Now don't give me ideas, you bratty mink", he rattled, grabbing you by the arm and then almost releasing, so that the hold is not too firm. He slid his hand up and down your shoulder, then tickled the ribs. His breath burned your temple, then your face flushed as you finally felt his mouth moving against yours. Chibs kissed you, aggressively at first, just like his touch was, to show how he felt about the whole situation. Then you could barely register what was happening. His tongue, filling your mouth, and one hand, sliding down the thigh and sneaking under the skirt; your knees caved in a little and you couldn't hold a stifled moan. He licked your trembling mouth properly, before letting you take a breath, and then sharply twirled you around like a puppet. Pulling a desk closer, he laid one hand on your back.

You were so wet at this point it was getting uncomfortable. Chibs took his time, probably thinking about how you pulled him apart, vein by vein, a big offense in his eyes; his wounded hand stayed down, massaging your thigh and cluthing on one buttcheek, almost too hard. The other, tugging in your hair, pulled your head back, and you closed your eyes.

"I hope you don't mind me asking", he croaked gently into your ear. His voice gave you shivers, and you twitched under him, the body screeching for some development. The office smelt like smoke, sweat and candy.

"But I'd like some context on that one time when Ned tried to fucken choke ya", you breathed through your mouth, the tip of your tongue restless, "cause I get the same impulse about once a day now".

"I thought you were better than that", you laughed out, excited.

"Didn't take ya for someone who only sees good in people", he uttered, before placing a small kiss on the back of your shoulder. His beard was delightfully tickly. You gasped as his other hand finally reached the hem of your underwear, before slithering inside.

"Oh, you got something for me", he whispered, "don't ya, baby".

You didn't feel like saying anything, arching your back so hard, asking silently, like you were trying to snap your spine. As his fingers started caressing you, you swayed your hips, your hands clenching his forearms.

"What is it? What is it that you want?" he mocked, keeping you in place with one hand on your neck. You laid on the desk, a rash thought visiting you, that you completely forgot why you were here in the first place. And where was, here. This was so good, as he demanded, you had to scramble for words.

"Tell me, what is it that you want from yer dog, Y/N", he insisted. You let another moan leave your lips, moving your hips, and yet his fingers refused to slip inside, because he was bringing his revenge on you.

"If you... don't fuck me now, I'll come anyway, and you won't have your fun", you whispered, your mouth dry. His low laughter vibrated into your back:

"You just can't bring yourself to ask, can you?"

You shook your head, then moved your body to let him know you wanna turn, but Chibs didn't budge.

"No, you'll stay here, sweethear. Now we're doing it my way".

You heard the buckle of his belt clink, and braced yourself. Chibs lifted up your dress, tracing the lines of your body with an open palm, as he gave a little soft squeeze to your shoulder, comforting, he slid inside of you, making you yell out with surprise, and pleasure.

He knew it would be good, but now he was finally celebrating. The view of your arched back, with this soft green dress, and the hair, the walls of your vagina pulsating fevereshly around his cock the second he was there; - he had to slow down for a second at first, searching for the pace, but it was all like a fever dream. Like he was high; the convulsions the body in front of him was going through, made it almost impossible to contain himself. The girl was so starved, so utterly untouched that he almost felt dirty; hell, he was dirty, a dirty bastard, and that's why he got this excellent, wet, hugry cunt. He always got the best one; a matter of skill, but this was pure heaven of reciprocity. He couldn't restrain the desire to bend onto her and taste the skin on her back; nipping, nibbling, as he went faster and faster. You were gasping for air, letting out only a small yelp every time he pushed into you, holding on for your dear life. You stood on your toes to change the angle slightly, so that his cock would slide against the clit every time, and felt the climax approaching. His hand cupped your chin so gently, in contrast with how he was hammering into you, and you mouthed his name on the verge of your might:

Filip, Filip, Filip.

You loved hearing his voice into your ear, low, like he was finally nibbling on a bone he's been chasing. You were almost that. Twisting your neck to an inhuman angle, you caught his mouth, and he filled you on both ends, and you finally came, tensing your whole body around his throbbing cock, and he hummed approvingly. You couldn't believe the relative quiet he demonstrated, as opposed to the whirlwind of sensory overload you just experienced. Panting, catching for air with your mouth, you still felt the electric clouds of mellow pleasure in your body, and Chibs turned you around like a toy again.

"You are very easy to please", he murmured favorably, the sight of his face making you blush again. You tried to shrug, which made him chuckle at the awkward movememnt. You threw your head back, unable to focus just yet. Your lips moved, with only a shade of a phrase. His hand was cupping one of your breasts through the dress, pressing lightly.

"What was that?" he bowed above you, took your hands and wrapped them around his neck. He wasn't done yet.

"Am I forgiven?" you whispered. The sound of his laughter made you wheeze with joy,

"You could never do wrong, my good girl", hand caressed the side of your face as he pushed his cock back. You felt like you saw something you weren't supposed to; the teeth, his smile, pulling his mouth open, his black eyes drilling you before he went on and pressed his face into the anterior of your neck. He started thrusting harder, his hands clutching your thighs, and you felt the second orgasm almost coming. There was a scent of violence in the last several seconds before he gave a big sigh, releasing one of your legs. You both went quiet for some time, and then Chibs went straight to kissing, plucking pecks like little targets onto your collar bones, your chest, neck, your face.

He did win, but he also felt like he fell into one of the snares. He had a distinct feeling like he was thigh-deep in it, because holding you was so nice. He would have to talk about it with the youngster for sure. Filip was an experienced human and he knew that, out of all the ways to kill, a woman knew the most intricate ones.

"Tickles", you yelped, shivering, and he helped you sit up.

"Kiss me".

He obeyed.

[lonerwolff]

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ⌇𝑙𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑤𝑠

you can also read this story on @lonerwolff on wp !

warnings: nightmare and mentions of blood

chapter 5: Was it just a dream?

previous chapter | next chapter

DAISY STOOD FROZEN, confused, alone, in a plane's narrow aisle. She could hear voices— muffled, distant, like echoes bouncing through a tunnel. She moved her head, or at least she thought she did. The movement felt weird, slow, and after she tried— and failed— a couple more times she let out a sigh, her breathing starting to come out quicker.

She tried not to panic, so she let her eyes flicker over the rows of seats, her eyes recognizing every single face. She relaxed a bit seeing all of her friends laughing, chatting or simply sleeping, but something was wrong.

Even tho the plane was steady and everyone was alright she could feel it. Something in her told her that something was wrong. And she was right, because the next thing she knew was that the plane started to shake, the light flickering, but still, everyone seemed calm—too calm— as the plane started to move forward, Daisy gasped trying to hold onto something, but she didn't move, she couldn't. She even tried to scream, but nothing came out.

The other girls kept talking, their voices blending together in an eerie, detached murmur. Her chest tightened. Her hands trembled at her sides. And so she did the only thing that she could do—she started to cry.

She was so confused and scared of what was happening that she wasn't even sure of what was happening. She didn't even remember entering the plane in the first place. Tears blurred her vision, but she could still see the girls turning towards her, all at once, their expressions blank. Emotionless.

"Don't go," Shauna said.

Daisy blinked, her voice suddenly returning. "W-what?"

"Don't go," Jackie echoed, her voice empty, her eyes staring straight through her.

Then Van. Then Lottie. Then Laura Lee.

One by one, they all repeated it.

"Don't go."

"Don't go."

"Don't go."

Their voices layered over each other, growing louder, merging into a single, suffocating chant. The plane's shaking intensified. The insides of it seemed to stretch and warp. The air felt heavy, making it harder for her to breathe. She tried to tell herself that it wasn't real, tried to force herself to wake up, but the words kept coming, pounding in her head.

"Don't go." Daisy clenched her fists, shaking her head, tears running hot down her face. "This isn't real," she whispered. "This isn't real."

The moment the words left her lips, something shifted and the girls' faces began to change. To distort. Their eyes darkened, turning pitch black. Their smiles stretched widely, skin splitting at the corners of their mouths. Shadows crawled over their faces like something alive, distorting them into something no longer human.

Daisy tried to scream and then she jolted forward her breath ragged, her skin damp with sweat. For a second, she didn't know where she was. The darkness of her room pressed in around her, her heart slamming against her ribs.

The sharp, sudden sound of her alarm clock made her flinch violently. She gasped, her hands gripping the sheets, trying to ground herself, trying to remember that she was home, in her bed, not trapped in that plane, not surrounded by those things.

Daisy swallowed hard, staring at the ceiling, trying to slow down her breathing. The dream was still fresh in her mind, the way they repeated those words, making her skin crawl. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her hands against them, trying to push it away, trying to shake off the feeling that something horrible was going to happen.

It was just a dream tho, right?

BY THE TIME she made it downstairs, fully dressed with her backpack slung over her shoulder and suitcase in her hand, the kitchen was quiet except for the occasional clink of silverware against a plate, and there her mom sat at the table, eating breakfast, eyes trained on the newspaper spread open in front of her.

"Morning," Daisy said hesitantly, pulling open the fridge. No response. She grabbed a bottle of water, glancing toward her mom, who continued to eat as if she hadn't heard her.

Daisy cleared her throat. "Did you sleep well?" Again, no response.

She fought the urge to sigh. It wasn't a surprise, especially not after last night's argument, but it still hurt that she was acting this way just before she had to take a flight to go to Nationals.

She capped the water bottle and hesitated. Then, stepping closer, she leaned down slightly, intending to kiss her mother's cheek like she always did before leaving, but before she could, her mom moved away. Just a subtle shift, enough to make it clear. Enough to make Daisy freeze in place.

Her mother still didn't look at her.

Daisy straightened up, her throat dry. She forced a smile. "Uhm.. bye."

Silence.

She lingered there for a moment, hoping that her mother might say something, anything. But she never did.

Daisy swallowed hard and turned away, walking out the door.

Her father was already waiting for her in the car, hands gripping the steering wheel, expression unreadable. The moment she slid into the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt, he spoke.

"You know, I'm really disappointed in you."

Daisy was caught off guard and she stiffened but didn't respond.

He sighed, shaking his head. "You can't keep acting like this, Desirée. You think sneaking out is acceptable?"

"I-"

"You think it's funny? That it's a game?" He scoffed, eyes fixed on the road as he pulled out of the driveway. "You know, your brother never acted like this. When he was your age, he was already thinking about his future, about making something of himself. Now look at him— married, successful, a responsible man."

Daisy clenched her jaw, staring out the window. She had heard this comparison too many times to count. Her brother, the golden child. The one who never stepped out of line. The one who did everything they wanted.

"And then there's you."

The words stung more than she wanted to admit. So she stayed silent, letting his words wash over her as if he had never said anything.

THE TEAM made their way onboard, the excitement palpable as they took in the plane's interior.

Everybody was happy— excited, apart from Daisy who looked like she was too lost in her thoughts.

"Wicked," Natalie said, grinning as she slid into her seat.

"I can't believe your dad paid for a private plane," Van grinned, glancing behind Daisy.

Lottie shrugged as if it was nothing. "It's pretty much his only form of parenting, but I guess I'll take it."

"Thank you, Mr. Matthews!" Several of the girls called out in unison, Van and Laura Lee among them.

"Alright, hustle up, it's gonna be a long flight," Coach Martinez called, ushering them to sit.

The blonde followed Van to the back of the plane, sliding into the seat beside her. The moment she buckled in, she let out a slow breath. She tried to rationalize it, maybe it was just exhaustion, nerves over going to Nationals, the excitement of the trip mixing with anxiety. But no matter how much she reasoned with herself, that uneasy feeling didn't leave.

She felt a nudge at her side. "Hey."

The blonde blinked and turned to her best friend, who was watching her closely. "You good?"

She hesitated. For a moment, she considered brushing it off, telling Van she was fine, that she was just tired. But Van already knew of the dreams so, why would she lie to her?

"I had a dream last night," she admitted quietly. "About the plane."

Van raised an eyebrow. "Like, a regular dream? Or a..." she waved a hand vaguely, "one of those weird, meant-to-be-a-sign kind of dream?"

Daisy sighed. "I should've never told you about them. But I...I don't know. This one felt different. I was standing in the aisle while the plane was falling, and everyone was there, but it was like they weren't really...them. They kept telling me 'Don't go,' over and over, and then their faces started to change and their eyes-" she shuddered. "It just...felt so real."

Van listened intently, no judgment in her expression. When Daisy finished, she gently squeezed her hand. "It was just a dream, Daisy. I know it felt real, but it wasn't."

"We're gonna be okay." The blonde bit the inside of her cheek, nodding slightly, not completely convinced. Van gave her hand another squeeze before letting go.

"You look like a zombie," Van said, nudging her with her elbow. "Try to sleep a little."

Daisy scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Oh wow, thank you."

The redhead grinned, then casually threw an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in slightly. It was warm. Comforting. And for the first time that morning, Daisy let herself relax, just a little, and closed her eyes.

DAISY WAS JOLTED awake by the violent shaking of the plane. People were screaming, shouting. Oxygen masks dropped from above, swinging in front of their faces.

She turned to Van, who was gripping the armrests, her eyes wide with fear. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit-"

The plane staggered violently, sending the blonde forward. The seatbelt dug into her stomach, making her cough, gasping for air as the plane continued to descend.

The plane lurched again, the force pinning her against her seat. Her hands trembled as she fumbled for the oxygen mask hanging in front of her, but before she could grab it, Van beat her to it.

"Here," Van said, voice shaking as she pulled the mask over Daisy's face before putting on her own.

Daisy inhaled sharply, the cool air rushing into her lungs, but it did little to stop the rising panic clawing at her chest. Her hands clutched at the armrests, knuckles turning white as another violent jolt sent her heart hammering against her rib cage.

"We're gonna be okay," Van said, but it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

The blonde barely heard her. She was looking outside the window, the sky and trees blurring together more each second. The closer they got to the ground, the faster her tears came, hot salty streaks running down her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, her lips moving before she even realized what she was doing.

"Please, God, please-" her hands clenched together tightly as she whispered the words over and over. Her voice shook, her throat raw. "Please, don't let us die, don't let us die."

Her best friend's fingers wrapped around hers, gripping tight. Daisy's eyes opened, meeting Van's gaze. She still looked terrified, yes, but something in her expression made her look almost, reassured? Daisy didn't really know, but it seemed like the redhead was trying to reassure her.

Van gave her hand a firm squeeze, "We are not gonna die okay?! I won't let you die.Ever." she promised. Hope and determination in her eyes.

Daisy frantically nodded, tears still, streaming down her cheeks and neck, "I won't let-"

She was cut off by another one of the plane's violent jolts, sending her head slamming into the seat in front of her. A sharp pain exploded through her skull. Blood pouring out of her temple.

Her head was pounding. Her ears rang and her vision blurred. From beside her, she could still hear Van's urgent and terrified voice calling for her just before everything turned black.

author's note⭑.ᐟRushed and shitty chapter but I’m gonna end this here for now because I would take too much time to write the rest. Also I’ve got a question:

If I were to write a Spider-Woman! Natalie Scatorccio x (probably popular) fem oc would anyone read it? (I miss the year when everyone was fancasting the Yellowjackets as mcu characters smm PLEASE BRING IT BACK)