#leave it to twitter to make arguments that are fucking stupid and obvious even fucking weirder

[tumblezwei]

mind giving some more detailed thoughts about "velma"? i saw a pretty unflattering review and some people said it was by a hater so it was biased, but i don't wanna sit through something genuinely terrible. fwiw, i liked "mystery incorporated" for a darker iteration of scooby

Oh definitely. I wanna make it clear first off that literally nothing is wrong with making the cast more diverse. It's a complete nonissue that unfortunately needs to be mentioned to make sure everyone knows I'm not a fucking asshole.

And uh, putting this under a cut because wow I had more words than I thought I would.

Pretty much everything outside of absolutely superficial nonsense is just bad. The writing is the most obvious and most damning for me. The first episode opens with Daphne and her friends in the school locker rooms showering and the literal first conversation is them lampshading how pilot episodes always have more gratuitous nudity and sex than the rest of the show. And it's not a one off joke, it's a whole several minutes long bit where they argue about the pros and cons of it. And after Daphne gets stopped by Velma from drowning her friend in a puddle for disagreeing with her, Velma asks "what about race-blind casting? What do you think about that?" We get an answer from Daphne and then the dead body is found.

And that's about what you'll get from the humor. For some reason I expected better than constant sex jokes, nudity, and bit-sized versions of arguments the creators see on Twitter, but you won't get much else. In the same episode is a pregnant woman being photographed naked with her baby pressing against her stomach enough to see the outline because. Funny. And the rare time a joke ever lands it's followed up by another joke lampshading teen mystery show tropes. It's just not funny.

And aside from that is the atrocious pacing. Absolutely nothing is given any room to breathe, and it always feels like you're being flung wildly from plot point to plot point with no emotional attachment to anything going on. Fred gets introduced, he's racist and misogynistic btw, and literally two scenes later he's telling us his character motivations. Just, states point blank that his deal is trying to be Masculine enough for his dad. And then he leaves. And then we get Velma's backstory with her missing mom. And before we have even the rest of the episode to get invested in her search, it's revealed that her mom just left and there was no mystery.

Like, yeah, maybe it's a bait and switch, but the way information is conveyed in this show is so blunt and without a single hint of artistry or care that it felt like a slap in the face.

None of these characters feel like themselves and none of them are fun to watch. Velma is just kind of mean to everyone all the time, Fred has become White Privilege personified, Daphne is Popular Mean Girl, and Sha-sorry Norville is the sad sack friend that has an unrequited crush played for laughs. Also he hates drugs. Haha.

And I'm not saying you can't do fresh takes on these characters, but imo the things that make them feel like themselves just aren't there. Shaggy isn't a desperate nerd afraid that he's a beta male, he's a chill dude that's loved by his friends and loves to have a good time. And oh god I just realized that we didn't even see Norville eat anything. but anyways, Daphne's character is always at it's best when she's a ditzy rich girl who's surprisingly competent. Like the best humor from her comes from how she's basically Barbie in every sense of the definition. Fred is an ally, fuck you. Like I get you went with the White Privilege stereotype because he's the only blue-eyed blind-haired character, but Fred Jones is a fucking himbo and always will be.

The secondary characters are nothing. Just black holes for bad jokes. The plot is stupid point blank.

And there's Velma's hallucinations that are thought to be conjured from her guilt at her mother's disappearance. But never once are they treated seriously. We get one scene where the horror of it gets built up only to be immediately made into a joke. The scary stuff in this show has no tension. Nothing is ever given proper tension, nothing ever gets lingered on. We see a horrifying image of a viney arm wriggling it's way into Velma's heart and then they make a joke. Velma runs through a horror house made from her own mind only a joke to be made about Norville's feelings for her. Which he has. Velma also has a crush on Fred btw. And despite the obvious end goal of Velma/Daphne, the two have no chemistry between them.

And there's no Scooby Doo. Because apparently that's what makes the franchise a kids show. Sure. Why not?

Just. Don't watch this. If you're a Scooby Doo fan you're not gonna get anything out of it. Go rewatch Mystery Incorporated instead if you want to see these characters treated with respect.

[arundolyn]

oh nooooooo genshin fandom has discovered the thousand year old minor argument. hate this place

[gxccistyless]

1-  “Are you ok? You sound like you’ve been gargling glass.” 3- “For once, this isn’t actually my fault.” 7- “I’m not going to like what you’re about to tell me.... am I?” He was almost five and a half thousand miles away in LA. In the last two weeks of his promo tour in the early hours of the morning he called. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to call, he would always do it on mornings when his schedule allowed. What was out of the ordinary however, was the way his voice sounded. His already deep and somewhat husky voice sounded lower and more rough. Something was off and although you knew how much he hated worrying you, you asked him anyway. “Harry... are you okay? You sound like.. Well like you’re been gargling glass”. You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. “Is it that  obvious... fuck” this followed by ten odd seconds of silence “I’m fine love. Just a sore throat, I’m looking after myself, don’t worry, I’m fine I promise” but you did worry, and he knew that, he could practically hear your mind racing through the phone. “And before you even get any ideas love, no you don’t have to fly out here I can bloody well look after myself..” “When did you start feeling this way?” There’s a pause again, followed by a heavy sigh. He knew once you got wind of him being ill you would pepper him with questions which was why he had tried so hard to cover it up. “it’s only been a few days love, I promise I’m fine” “Harry.. you shouldn’t push yourself so much, you’re working yourself —” he cuts you off “too hard, I know I know. Look in two weeks I’ll be home, I’ve seen the doctor twice already love, I’m PROMISE I’m looking after myself... and you really really don’t need to come here”.

The two of you continue to converse until you have managed to get yourself out of bed and just about ready to shower, you make him promise that he’s going straight to bed and that if his feeling much the same or any worse tomorrow that he’ll cancel, he refuses to promise you that he’ll cancel but he hangs up the phone and you don’t hear from him again until the following day. He sounds better, he tells you he’s feeling better although you are still worried and half tempted to hop onto a flight after lunch, you give him the benefit of the doubt and once again you’re up and getting ready for work.  He doesn’t call you for another two days, you’re kind of relieved by this. Mostly because after falling down the stairs two days earlier you found yourself in the hospital getting x-rays and a cast put on. This time it was you trying to prevent him from getting on a plane and jetting his way right to you. You knew that eventually he would find out and naturally he would be on the first plane home, but the thought of him canceling his promo tour in the states just to fly home to look after you, when you could manage perfectly fine on your own, made you feel worse than not having him here did. It was 9am when he called, usually he was an hour earlier at least. “Why aren’t you out of bed? Shouldn’t you be heading to work already?” You take a deep breath in, you had already made a list of key points to share with him when he would inevitably begin to lose his mind at your news, “No, I’m not working today, I have two weeks off”. This throws him, he doesn’t remember you mentioning taking time off work, in actual fact he remembers you telling him how busy you were at work. “you took time off work? I thought you were busy?”   “I’m fine, but uh —” “i’m not going to to like what you’re about to tell me... am I?” You have two choices here, tell him the truth and ruin what little of his promo tour he has left, or brush him off, play it down and tell him later. You decide to go with the latter. “My boss just thought I’d be more productive working from home...” “oh okay, well I’ll let you get to work then, I should really get to sleep.. I have a 6am call time... I love you” “i love you Harry, sleep well my love”.

It was precisely 2.05pm when his name flashed across your phone screen. “Hellooooo my sleepy sunshine” “Hello Liar...” it had been all of five hours since you last spoke to him and somehow in that five hours you had managed to out yourself, you desperately wanted an açai bowl and even though you knew leaving the house meant that there was a risk you would be photographed, your  desire to eat outweighed your disinterest in having a fight with your boyfriend who was five and a half thousand miles away. “how.. what...who..” “you’re trending on twitter... and caption with the photo reads “Harry Styles girlfriend of four years sporting a broken arm in cast and sling as she braves the cold and snow to grab an açai bowl” “Harry—” “So do you want to tell me what happened now or shall we wait to have this discussion for when I land tomorrow?” “HARRY don’t you dare fly home, this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you I knew I JUST KNEW you would want to cancel promo and I can’t do that to you.. I just I -” you didn’t realise you were holding back tears and now here they were. You take a deep breath. “For once, this isn’t actually my fault, your stupid cat threw up in the hall at the top of the stairs and I didn’t see it and slipped and fell down the stairs... okay so maybe it is my fault and I know you tell me all the time to turn the light on in the hallway, I just forgot and I had my eyes closed and I wasn’t expecting to fall” there’s a long pause after you stop speaking, you check to see if the line is still connected, but then you hear him rustling in the background. “Harry...?” “I’ll be home tomorrow” “no Harry—” “I’m coming home to you..” “Harry just listen to —” “You could have killed yourself down those stairs —” “HARRY...” your breathing becomes laboured. Why does this boy never listen to you? “WILL YOU PLEASE JUST LISTEN TO ME.. I AM FINE.... I love you, I love that you want to look after me but I am a capable person and I can do it myself and if you come home, you’d be no help whatsoever AND if you cancel I won’t talk to you...”

He finds it ironic that just a couple of days ago you were begging him to cancel but now that the reasoning was you, you were begging him to stay. “Thats okay I didn’t plan to do a lot of talking...” you roll your eyes and then go in on one final attempt to keep him in the states “if you come home, you’re sleeping on the couch”  he hates the couch more than he hates being away from you. You know you’ve won the argument when he lets out a heavy sigh. “fine, but when I do het home you’ll have to really really reaaaaalllyyy apologise for lying to me”. “deal”.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 19

First time reader click here

Summary+TWs: We're talking serious feelings here, okay? Reader, you're literally emotionally illiterate. You also have PTSD, which is finally addressed - kinda. Bruce does his best. And he also knows how to kiss... But y'all know that if you read my ramblings about lucid dreaming/shifting/whatever... Chile-, anyways...

My phone kept buzzing and I ignored it until Bruce declared it was time to take a break and review the results. Whilst the man was typing up the data on a nearby StarkPad, I fought the sudden influx of messages that I received from haters and supporters alike after Tony decided on tweeting a reply that could be interpreted in an alarming variety of ways. It was a smart move, I'll admit, but a fucking bother for me nonetheless.

Disabling my DMs and dealing with a follower increase in the thousands wasn't hard; I didn't consider myself a problematic asshole and didn't need to be afraid of "exposure". The parties I went to - I doubted there was any blackmail material in there and the few nudes I'd sent over the years were always face-less. As a gen Z, I knew my internet safety.

The trolls didn't bother me either. It was more sad than annoying, people shitting on others for clout. Iron Man stans were witty, at least, if jealous. I must admit I've never considered the influx of popularity I would experience should I publicly out myself as a friend of Tony's. Girlfriend? Intern? Science child? Whatever cover story he was going to feed the press worked for me, as long as I still got the hugs, the kisses, the dick and the attention.

"Tony..." Bruce groaned, evidently done with the data processing, had to have opened his social media to see his own skyrocketing popularity.

"Yeah, our Tony is being a Tony again," I chuckled, having reset my social media settings so my phone wouldn't constantly beep, vibrate and bother me. School was going to be fun.

Bruce shook his head, fond, coming over to my side of the lab after removing his own hazmat suit. His eyes shiny with newfound knowledge and hair turned adorably fluffy in the confines of the head covering. He was smiling softly. "Food?"

"Sure."

We chewed our sandwiches in silence for a moment, each of us lost in our thoughts.

"I still can't believe Tony told everyone on Twitter you're his girlfriend, usually he keeps this stuff private or schedules a fancy press conference," Bruce's tone was thoughtful.

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that what it was? Seemed ambiguous to me..." I trailed off, confused.

"He worded it like that on purpose, I mean, you're still in high school," The scientist was confident in his words. "But I know Tony. I'm a hundred percent sure that he meant exactly that. Aren't you?"

Shock flooded me. Suddenly, I understood I completely misread the situation. "Um, no? I thought we were, y'know, just fucking. We never defined our relationship and we're definitely not exclusive." I said, chewing on my lip. "You make a valid argument, I'm a high school student and he's a grown ass man that does grown man stuff. Putting aside the fact that he could have anybody in the world so why would he choose me?" I was rambling, thinking out loud. Discussing my feelings has never my strong forte. "It would be stupid to impose monogamy on such a complex man like Tony. Downright idiotic to expect a genius to confine to social norms just because it suits others." I finished with a wave of my hand. Another bubble of thought that had festered within me for the longest time. I felt relieved, finally voicing it out loud. A weight had been lifted off my shoulders, a weight I wasn't previously consciously aware of.

Bruce was watching me intently, with an unreadable expression that held the tiniest bit of awe, admiration perhaps. The silence that followed was unnerving. I fidgeted with my hands, not really knowing where to put them or where to look.

"You know," He took off his glasses, fiddling them in his hands. "I'm not going to sugar coat it. For the longest time, I thought you were going to inadvertently hurt him when you get bored with whatever you've got going on. I respect you, don't misunderstand me, but you are young. Now, I've changed my mind. You've changed my mind," He punctuated his statement with his hand on mine, grasping it. "I think you managed to understand him in a way most people can't. Or don't want to. Understand and accept him in a way that some of us can't even after years of working and living side by side with him." Bruce's gentle fingers skimmed along the top of my palm.

"I don't always understand Tony but I do accept him," I agreed. "Because Tony is a great man."

"I think you're in love with him," Bruce said, absolutely having ignored my previous statement. Just like that, point blank, he pushed to the surface the very feelings I got so good at ignoring. There was no rest for me in this place.

My heart fluttered, picking up the pace. I kept my mouth shut, not trusting it whatsoever. My thoughts became akin to panicked hares, jumping and zigzagging aimlessly in my skull. I didn't see the point in defending myself because the scientist had pointed out the obvious.

Bruce looked at me, softly, warmly. "And don't think we haven't noticed the rise in team morale. The improvement not only in communication, but on the battlefield, too. It's easier to entrust your back to someone with whom you've shared a laugh and a drink the previous night. You're the glue that keeps us together."

Something warm and wet was on my cheeks. I stared at our clasped hands, his words echoing in my head over and over and over. The moment I realized I was crying, I willed myself to stop and failed spectacularly - only more salty fluid streamed down, some of it getting in my nose, on my lips. The sleepless nights were making me unstable.

It took a single sniffle for Bruce to pick me up and wrap up in his kind embrace. I didn't resist, tucking my face into the crook of his neck, holding onto the back of his lab coat, inhaling the smell of his skin and chemicals. It was familiar, calming. Minutes ticked by with me slowly leaking the tension out of my body.

"He loves you, too, maybe he just doesn't realize it yet." Bruce whispered into my hair. "I've never seen Tony so happy, even with Pepper. You are special and you are loved."

There was something unsaid, I felt it. It hung in the ear, it burned the tips of my ears, stood sharp on the tip of my tongue. "I love you too, Bwucie-bear," I whispered into the space between his ear and his jaw. His arms tightened around me.

The man placed several chaste kisses in my hair, running a palm over my back. In moments like these, the crush for him, the very crush that got out of control, blossomed fully into a deep sense of respect and admiration. He made me feel safe. He said all the right words at the right time.

Drowsiness overtook me. As usual, any worries and anxieties I had evaporated, once Banner had his arms around me, shielding me from the world. I didn't forbid myself this time: delicately, my hand slipped through the man's soft messy curls, eliciting a contented sigh.

"You haven't been sleeping well," He more stated than asked.

I had no choice but to nod. "Clint keeps dying in my dreams. Or even worse, he doesn't, he just suffers, endlessly, painfully." I admitted.

Bruce flinched under me, tensing. My face was in between his hands in a second, the scientist sternly looking into my eyes. "Why didn't you say anything? All of us assumed you were okay after what happened." He looked - angry. Not Hulk-out pissed but Bruce-pissed, which equalled a kicked-puppy look seasoned with a great pinch of disappointment.

"I am okay." I lied, shamelessly. "It's getting better. That's why I want to have a party - relax a little, dance, socialize. I don't think Tony would let me go on my own so I figured I can convince him to throw one here." I looked away. It was better for everyone if I dealt with my own problems - they were superheroes, not babysitters.

Bruce frowned. "Why wouldn't Tony let you go?"

"Because of that one time I snorted coke," I rolled my eyes at Bruce's naiveté, leaving the less obvious parts unsaid. Tony knew exactly what I was going to do once I got free reign, he considered it destructive and told me so himself. Admittedly, he had a point but still... I wished I'd been given a choice.

"I'll talk to him," Bruce nodded firmly. "That's not acceptable. He can't forbid you from making mistakes and learning from them."

He was met with my shrug. No excitement came from me regarding this particular turn of conversation. I was drained, limbs like jello, thoughts sluggish. My face was drooping.

"Let's get you to bed," Banner stood up with me wrapped around him. "You need a nap."

"No," I protested. If I went to sleep now, only Satan knew at what ungodly hour I would wake up.

"Yes, Princess," Bruce smirked. I wiggled uncomfortably - when he went all caretaker like, my ovaries wreaked havoc on my body and brain. My thoughts weren't appropriate if Bruce wanted me to see him as a father figure. The signals he was sending were mixed. People around me did that a lot and I wasn't sure how to act so I usually just went with the flow. I decided to do the very same thing in that particular moment.

Curiosity sparked within me, tightly interwoven with the deep longing that settled below my collarbones whenever Tony or one of the others wasn't sitting next to me or talking my ear off. I've almost forgotten how it was to be alone with my thoughts. The maze of my very own self was becoming unfamiliar territory. Alarming.

I allowed Bruce to help me shed my shoes and outer layer of clothing, shivering in the coolness of my room. Despite being a frequent visitor, I still had a 'guest' room in the tower - I mostly stayed at Tony's or Wanda's anyways. During our sleepovers neither me nor the witch minded sharing her enormous bed, to be fair, we could have fit at least two more people in it besides us. Tony took care of his own - all the tower's residents had their apartments furnished with the best stuff.

"Sleep now, Princess," Bruce chastised, tucking a blanket around me, having noticed an earbud in my ear and my smartphone in my hand. I had hoped to kill some time online, damn well knowing sleep wouldn't come easy.

"I don't think I can fall asleep, Bruce," I admitted, looking away. There was just so much going on. My brain wouldn't shut up and if I couldn't drown out the cacophony by being productive, I'd troll the internet, as usual.

Banner sighed, coming to sit next to me, leaning against the headboard. Gently running his fingers through my hair, brushing the outside of his palm against my cheek. "How do you usually deal with this?"

Involuntarily, my eyelashes fluttered. "Tony does most of the work," I admitted coyly. The engineer had a whole arsenal of tricks up his sleeve - sexy and exhausting tricks.

"I see," Bruce muttered, thoughtfully.

I opened my eyes to see him looking down at me with a look I haven't seen before. The usual mildly absent, slightly anxious face he wore was replaced by something I could only describe as hurt envy, like a kid looking at their schoolmate who had all the newest, coolest toys. I used to be on the receiving end of that look far too often and I hated it.

I hid my face against his leg, rubbing my cheek on the raspy corduroy fabric of his pants. "Got any good ideas of your own?" I wondered lowly, thinking about what in the world possessed Bruce to wear corduroy trousers on a semi-casual day, in the twenty-first century.

"Only bad ideas," He replied in a matching low tone. His soft fingertips relocated to my nape, goosebumps rising down my back.

"Humour me," I grinned against his leg.

Bruce was quiet for a moment, the sound of his thinking screaming louder than any words could have done. Knowing the scientist so closely, I found out he was full of surprises - bolder than he appeared outwardly and competitive to a boot. He thought he had a lot to prove to himself and by extension, to others. The unknown, the mystery dangling in front of my nose was exhilarating, trepidation addictive. It took me away from the chaos in my mind.

A gentle grasp on my chin had me turning to look upwards, Bruce's face flushed and focused on my own, open and trusting. He needed to see the obvious, that I trusted him to take care of me. He pulled and I followed, sitting up on my elbows, coming up to his shoulder level, our faces inches apart, enveloped in the unique, intense scent of his herbal tea. It was a tart, strong smell and it suited his quiet but passionate character.

Once, twice, I caught my eyes sliding to his plump lips. They looked far too appealing in this position. I usually strategically stayed away from positions so compromising, fearing the very thing that I'd already let happen, however this time the atmosphere was different. We stood on ambiguous grounds, waiting for Bruce to make a decision.

The man wasn't stupid, he saw the way I looked at him. The nightmares and inability to take a break from life put a significant dent in my resolve to keep a distance between us, romantically - I could have settled even for a pity kiss, a pity fuck. Anything to put my brain on pause.

His lips were softer than I had imagined. Skilled, too, he easily steered the kiss into the shallow waters of our combined longing.

With Tony, it was like an avalanche. Tony ran hot like Peterbilt engines, hard and fast, almost angry in his race for satisfaction. Tony was a man that was used to getting whatever he wanted and it became plainly obvious when we fucked.

Bruce was the opposite. He savoured the kiss, losing himself in a way that could almost be described as delicate. Bruce was humming, softly, as we tasted each other, holding the left side of my face with careful fingertips. Almost as if he was afraid to break me. The feel of his skin on mine was soothing in a way that made me sigh and relax even further.

"Wanna make you feel good." His voice had dropped, gone husky, but his breathing held even. He must know all about self-control.

"Yeah," I was ready to agree with whatever the fuck he was offering. My eyelids remained shut.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

PS. Letsby, please don't combust. The underwear is coming off in the next chapter. 😶

[protectwoc]

why all reylos are racist

y’all can go ahead and cancel me now because some of you are not going to like what i have to say and i am completely okay with that.

this recent gq interview with john boyega has incensed me. hearing all the things he went through, from disney and from “fans” and with no support from anyone… i’m livid. sometimes when i think about it for too long i start shaking, i’m so furious. and the response from the reylo fandom has infuriated me to a degree i honestly didn’t know was possible.

some of you may have seen my recent tumblr rampage. it’s reylo bullying hours here on my blog, and i’m not sorry either. one person threatened to post screenshots of my comments, which like… okay? i know what the fuck i said, it wasn’t that long ago. in fact i was going to include the screenshots in this post right here, but they blocked me before i had the chance. sorry. i’m sure somebody has them. anyway…

over the past two days in the star wars fandom we have seen something unprecedented: an outpouring of support for john boyega. both reylos and anti-reylos have joined forces to voice support for john in the wake of the gq interview (and the blm protests, let’s be real, some of y’all would not have given half a fuck if it wasn’t suddenly cool to be antiracist). and this showing of unity is one of the most rage-inducing things i’ve ever seen in a fandom (which is saying something; i have seen some shit).

reylo fandom, full offense intended, but where the fuck do you get off? you’re supporting john now? where was this support when tfa came out and you couldn’t stand the thought of him next to your white-girl-self-insert? where was it when tlj came out and your boy ryan completely sidelined him? where was it earlier this fucking year when y’all twisted a harmless joke (like yall haven’t spent years writing reylo-throne-room-sex-meta BULLSHIT) and ignored the vile racist shit coming from your own fav’s mouth? but you’re supporting him now? now that being antiracist is trendy? fuck outta here with that bullshit.

your fandom is the reason for the vast majority of the absolutely subhuman treatment john has endured over the last few years. your fandom influenced ryan (yes i know what his name is) to write tlj the way he did, you have behaved indefensibly here on tumblr.hell writing and drawing and fantasizing about all sorts of racist bullshit, and y’all have STAYED in his twitter mentions spewing hatred seven ways to sunday. but NOW, without a shred of self-reflection, you’re supporting him? now his experiences are valid?

the way that your fandom refuses to take accountability for its actions makes me see red. y’all stay on some “not all reylos” nonsense and i am SICK OF IT. i’m only gonna say this once, and i want you to hear me: you cannot be a reylo and be “antiracist”. you cannot participate in a fandom that has behaved the way yours has and say “blm, uwu acab.” you can’t. like do you think black people are dumb? that we can’t see right through you? we can.

“but rae,” i hear you whining. “you’re gonna say just because i like two characters together i’m a racist?” and of course not. that would be ludicrous. i think just because you knowingly engage and participate in a fandom that has racism encoded in its dna, you’re a racist. i think because y’all are in bed with racist harassers, racist trolls, and racist content creators, you’re a racist. that’s what the fuck i think. y’all lost the right to “it’s just a ship” me the instant you dragged john boyega into this.

here’s an example: i watched tfa about three days after it came out. i watched the first half, saw the obvious relationship set up between finn and rey, and thought, “aw, cute.” then i watched kylo and rey fight, watch him offer to teach her, and thought, “... interesting.”

when i got home i checked tumblr for finnrey content, saw the outpouring of love from black fans, all the cute fanart and fics blooming, and smiled. then, slowly, guiltily, i searched “reylo.”

BOOM. racism. the things i saw in the tag that night are tattooed on my brain. reylos rejoicing about the obvious rey/kyle pairing because “sw would never put her with that monkey finn”. calling him an “oaf”, “useless”, “bumbling”, “stupid”. reylos joking about how “when they talked about the Dark side, [they] didn’t think they meant that kind of dark.” “woke” reylos pretending to ship stormpilot in an obvious ploy to get finn away from kylo. and in between all of that, cute ship art. fun fics. talented gif makers. and nobody saying shit about the reprehensible behavior going on in their tag.

reylo is built on a foundation of racism. from that first week, racism has been woven into the fabric of your fandom, and it’s been going unchecked. and i don’t mean calling out other reylos. that’s not enough. i mean taking actual steps. y’all have been sitting in a cesspool of racism for five years, and its time for you to get the fuck out or shut the fuck up about being an “ally”. y’all need to leave this fandom.

don’t agree? here’s another story. in 2017, when i still watched supergirl (before i grew taste) i shipped karamel. for those of you who don’t know, karamel is the ship of kara zor-el (supergirl) and mon-el, her second love interest. when supergirl was moved to the cw for its second season, the decision was made to abruptly end her romance with jimmy olsen, played by mecahd brooks (a black man) and replace him with mon-el, played by chris wood, a white man, who was revealed to be, among other things, an alien slaveowner, as well as a playboy and all-around terrible person. and i shipped them. look, i’m not defending myself, but i never really bought the chemistry between jimmy and kara. even though mon-el’s introduction and the way that they carelessly disregarded kara’s feelings for jimmy made me uncomfortable, i thought the way melissa played her attraction to chris wood was more believable (and again, i’m not defending myself, but they are now married so it’s not like i was wrong). so i shipped them. simple as that, right?

well, no. not really. because the inherent racism in the way the writers wrote out her admittedly sweet romance with a black man in favor of a white slaveowner jerk kept bothering me. and finally i decided that it made me too uncomfortable to participate in. i never really reblogged any karamel fandom stuff, but i completely divorced myself from the fandom. i stopped reading karamel fic, and i switched to reblogging exclusively jimmy/kara content until the fandom died out/i stopped watching. i made a choice that real life racism is more important to me than a fucking fandom or a ship, and then i acted accordingly. simple as that.

and i’m not saying you have to stop liking the reylo dynamic. i still like the chemistry between kara and mon-el. i’ve shipped problematic ships before (bamon comes to mind) and i don’t think there’s anything wrong with that (to a point). but there’s a difference between liking a ship dynamic and engaging and contributing to a fan culture of racism. you have to stop participating in the fandom. y’all are in bed with people indistinguishable from confederate-flag-waving-all-lives-matter-touting racists and you don’t feel the need to get out of that environment? there comes a certain point where you have to decide if fandom bullshit is more important to you than fighting racism, and unfortunately, reylos have chosen wrong. that, ladies and gentlemen, is why all reylos are racist, regardless of what they say. roll credits.

except i have more to say, so i’m gonna say it. first of all, i’m not trying to hold myself up as some kind of paragon of virtue. i’m not holier-than-thou because all my ships are “woke” or whatever. chemistry is subjective, and we’re all going to be attracted to different ship dynamics, and there’s nothing wrong with that in theory. what matters is the execution. i finally had to say one day, “you know, this ship and the racist baggage it carries is actually less important to me than battling systemic racism on every level, including the fandom level”. y’all thought being antiracist was gonna be easy? that you wouldn’t have to make some actual changes, to make some actual sacrifices? sorry not sorry to disappoint. and if i, a normal-ass person with flaws and problematic thinking that i’m still dealing with and the whole ine yards, can make that decision, then other people should be required to as well.

(what really irks me is that the karamel fandom wasn’t even really that bad! i definitely could have gotten away with being a karamel stan in 2017. thankfully the supercat and supercorp shippers were doing the lord’s work and bullying them into submission (don’t think i’m letting y’all off the hook either, y’all have got some racism to deal with as well but that’s an essay for another day) but like most of the racism happened at the writing level; the fandom itself wasn’t engaging in racist clownery on the regular. but like the reylos are. y’all see racist bullshit coming from your neighbor, fav fic writer, artist, gif maker, whatever, and don’t say shit? don’t feel the need to distance yourself from them? gtfoh.)

i made this argument earlier when i was on my rampage (which i’m still on btw so don’t clown in my inbox, you will get your shit rocked) but i’m going to make it again because i feel like its important to note. when i pointed out that existing in the reylo fandom while you are aware of its racism makes you complicit in that racism, a white reylo told me earlier that (paraphrasing, my memory’s not as good as it used to be and i did mention that they’d blocked me) “you don’t solve a problem like systemic racism by ignoring it. leaving the fandom would be allowing it to happen.” when i pointed out that that’s police officer rhetoric almost verbatim, she (a white reylo) admonished me (a black woman) not to compare police brutality to a “ship war.” lmao.

look, clearly y’all need a refresher on what “systemic” means. it means, quite simply, that there are systems, large and small, allow for racism to exist, and it also means that allowing for racism to exist on the small scale means expecting it on a large one. like you think police officers spring fully formed from the head with racist ideals already ingrained? no! they learn it and learn to justify it with “well just because my friend made a racist joke doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because i laughed at my friend’s using a racist term in my video game doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because my friend is a racist doesn’t mean i’m a racist” and then we have people watching their coworkers kneel on a man’s back for 8 minutes with no remorse. i’m not gonna solve police brutality by fighting reylos on tumblr, but fandom racism is real racism with consequences on our world, and i don’t tolerate ANY type of racism. and the fact that you are so willing to not just tolerate it but justify it should say something to you.

and not all reylos are like this. similar to cops, good reylos don’t last. i have seen people grow so disgusted by the racism in the reylo fandom that they publicly turned their backs on it, and those reylos i respect. you’ve heard of “the only good cop is an ex-cop” well get ready for “the only good reylo is an ex-reylo”.

(and also like far be it from me to justify a cop but one could at least say they have their livelihoods to think about (not like they couldn’t just pick a nonmurderous profession but i digress) but you reylos can’t even choose between taking a stance against the hateful and unjustified bullying of a man who had the audacity to… get a job (?)... over a ship? come on now.)

the point of all this is, for all their posturing about “being antiracist” and “fuck 12” and “support john boyega”, reylos have decided that a relationship between two fictional people is more important than all the black and brown people who are hurt by that decision and the consequences of that decision. and before y’all pull some “b-but there are POC reylos!” (stop fucking using poc as an adjective, its a noun, it stands for person of color, please use it as such) internalized racism is a thing. busting out your token “reylo of color” (see how easy that was?) is not going to change my mind. all reylos are complicit in the racism of their peers, and being complicit makes you culpable. full stop.

and that is why the public support of john boyega from the reylo fandom has me seeing red. renounce your fandom or keep that man’s name out of your mouth. anyway, this was long and ranty and entirely stream-of-consciousness and i’m refusing to edit it so it’s probably completely incomprehensible to anyone besides me but if you made it this far thanks for reading ig. all reylos are racist, blm, fuck 12, acab, stan john boyega, don’t clown in my inbox unless you’re coming to bully me for being a karamel shipper, which i deserve (or do, i couldn’t give less of a fuck). good night.

[shuahoonie]

you. [tom holland] - three.

PAIRING: tom holland x female!celebrity!reader

SUMMARY: ah, to be young and in love. it sounds great if only you and tom were actually dating out of pure love and not for the sheer reputation of your careers. it also should be great if you two actually got along, but life isn’t that easy.

WARNINGS: mostly swearing! mentions of alcohol! a bit of fluff, a bit of angst. it’s haters to lovers / fake dating au so take that information as you wish!

WORD COUNT: 1632

SONG INSPO: our lawyer made us change the name of this song so we wouldn’t get sued - fall out boy  

A/N: aaah, hello babes! i have been writing a lot since the new year ngl, it is so refreshing to just write and not stress about stuff. although that’ll change as i head back to university tomorrow [technically today lmao] and face a shit ton of papers and readings!!! anyways, happy reading and enjoy part three!

gif credits @peteparkrrs​

vanessa’s masterlist | preview | one | two | four | five | six | seven | eight | eight.5 [interview excerpt] 

“Why, I found a solution to your problems, my dears.” Zoë smiled, almost too sickly.

You were starting to get anxious. Is it your manager or is it because of the coffee? Probably both.

You waited for her to continue and what she said afterwards almost made you spat your drink.

“You and Tom will fake-date for damage control,” Zoë said as if it was the most obvious solution.

“I’m sorry, what?” You asked, practically choking on your drink. Has she gone mad?!

“You,” Your manager pointed at you “and Tom” She then gestured to the devil sitting beside you “will be acting as a fake couple.” 

“God, please tell me this is just a horrible dream.” You practically begged as you closed your eyes, trying to convince yourself that you’re just asleep and this, whatever this is, will be over as soon as you open your eyes. 

“How did you two end up to this conclusion, may I ask?” Tom asked, equally appalled at the resolution that was dropped in front of you two. 

“It’s the only thing that made sense after the theatrics that you two pulled,” Matthew spoke up. “Setting the illusion that you two are secretly dating and got into a small fight last night, which ended up with Y/N pouring her drink on Tom.” 

“That was a small fight? What if we had a big one?” Tom scoffed “Will she kill me then?” 

You smirked at him. “Why, that’s the first thing that I liked from all of the nonsense you just said.” 

Tom rolled his eyes at you. “I still don’t see how dating for publicity solves what happened last night,” Tom spoke up, in which you had to agree. None of it made sense after all. 

“Then how exactly are you two going to explain the scene from last night?” Zoë asked with her arms crossed. 

“I’ll be glad to confirm to the world that Tom Holland is an asshole since he called me a leech,” You said almost nonchalantly. People were starting to paint Tom as the bad guy in the narrative, and all four you were aware of it. 

“No one will be telling anything,” Tom jeered. “No one will be telling anything because it’s none of their business. They shouldn’t care about these things in the first place.” 

“Hate to break it to ‘ya, bud, but see this?” You showed him your phone, the screen showing Twitter’s trending tab and there it showed over a hundred thousand tweets about you two. “People made it already their business.” 

Tom massaged his temples. “What, are you on board with this idea now?” 

“Fuck no,” You hissed. “As much as I hate to say this but Holland’s right, we don’t have to anything about this.” 

“You two don’t have a choice,” Matthew commented. “If you two chose to disregard this, the people wouldn’t let this go. It will always be asked in interviews, they would only speculate more.” 

“God, why did you even go to that specific club.” You grumbled at Tom. “Of all clubs in Los Angeles.” 

“Why are you putting this on me? None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for you!” Tom argued. 

“I wouldn’t have done what I did if it wasn’t for your stupid mouth!” You were fuming. 

“Look, it’s a win-win for both of you. Tom will clear up his image by giving an impression of how your little couple’s argument escalated. As for Y/N, she’ll be receiving a lot of publicity for this. It’s good for a rising-star to have this much publicity.” Zoë proclaimed. 

“Jesus, you really are a leech,” Tom mumbled under his breath. However, you still caught it. 

“Call me that one more time and I swear you’ll be going home with not only ruined clothes but also with a bruise on your precious face.” You threatened, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“So it’s settled then?” Matthew asked, “You two are going to do it?” 

Tom just shrugged, probably defeated knowing he won’t stand a chance in this argument. He does have this reputation to uphold and he’s not going to let someone ruin it. 

You, however, felt too brave. You shook your head no and said, “You can’t make me.” 

Zoë raised her eyebrow at you, taking it as a challenge. “Try me.” 

“Remember to hold hands, kids!” Zoë said giddily as she waved goodbye. 

“I am going to kill her,” You gritted in between your teeth as you left the building with the devil quickly fixing his hair. 

“I might actually take you up on that and add my manager into the mix,” Tom grumbled and adjusted his shirt. Tom decided to leave his jacket at the office and figured that a white shirt paired with denim pants was enough. He claims that he looks toned down and his outfit is so casual that people might not notice him. 

You begged to differ. Even if he is just wearing a plain shirt and the most basic denim pants, Tom will still attract people’s attention. The fabric of his shirt clung to his body like second skin. It shows how fit he is and you weren’t one to deny that. 

No matter how little effort Tom puts in regards to dressing himself, he still looked good. That annoyed you. 

“Okay, so the first thing to get this ship sailing-” Zoë stopped and turned to Matthew, “Hah, get it, Matt? I learned it from the internet. Apparently, a ‘ship’ is slang for relationship.” She raved. 

“Oh, that’s sick.” Matthew agreed. 

You let out a huge groan. “God, it’s like watching my parents learn internet lingo all over again.” Not to mention having flashbacks of your early internet days, stumbling over Tumblr with ‘Destiel’ mentioned everywhere. What a time.

Tom, on the other hand, had his face buried in his hand. He seemed like he was equally embarrassed and frustrated with this entire situation. 

“You two are going to have lunch together at this newly opened restaurant. It’s not far from here, don’t worry.” Zoë stated. She mentioned the name of the place, also adding the fact that you and Tom had to walk there. 

“You want us to walk?! This whole area is crawling with paparazzi.” Tom noted. 

“You two will be fine, they can’t hurt you.” Zoë dismissed you two. 

“The restaurant is a couple of blocks away,” You pointed out after searching the place on Google maps. 

“See it as a quick exercise,” Matthew implored. “You two are young, you’ll manage.” 

So here are you both now. You were walking with a complete asshole, who’s apparently now your boyfriend, on the way to this restaurant and waiting to be devoured by paparazzi. 

It was a quiet walk if you two were being honest. You expected more irritating remarks from Tom and you were ready to give out your snarkiest replies, however, you two were now walking in silence. 

It was actually a nice day in Los Angeles. It wasn’t too hot and humid, unlike most days. It wasn’t also that busy in the streets, which is odd, you thought. The day was perfect-too perfect.

Well, it was until you saw a man with a camera hiding behind one of the parked cars along the street. 

Tom seemed to take notice of the figure you just saw and put on a neutral face. “It’s showtime,” Tom said under his breath, loud enough for you two to hear. 

You two were walking alongside each other with close proximity, yes, but you weren’t going to hold hands. As much as to Zoë’s dismay, you thought and restraining yourself from rolling your eyes. 

You could hear the clicks of the camera and with every step, it seemed like the number of clicks multiplied. It only made you feel uneasy, you felt your chest tightening. 

You suddenly wished that you never agreed to this, no matter how much they pressured you. You didn’t mind your state of fame before. A handful of people recognize you from the Sci-Fi Thriller, Alchemist. You were also known for your Twitter and how you absolutely gave no fucks with whatever you tweet. Zoë had a problem with that before, but she just let it go since your account says a lot about your personality. 

However, none of that bothered you. You liked that people recognized you but still managed to get on with your life without getting disrupted. 

Tom glanced at you, noticing how you seemed like you were out of it. He could sense that you were taking deeper breaths than you did before. He frowned, Is she not used to this? Tom wondered. He carefully thought of what to do and just mumbled “Oh, fuck it,” and reached for your hand. 

It caught you off-guard. Oh boy, did you react so rashly. 

“What the hell are you doing, Holland?” You asked as you yanked your hand back. 

“I’m trying to help you,” He grumbled as he took your hand again, holding it firmly this time. “You looked like you were about to have a panic attack. I figured you’d rather have your attention somewhere else.”

“What if people see and-” 

“And what?” Tom cut you off, “They assume that we’re dating? Aren’t we supposed to be, princess?”

You weren’t expecting Tom to wrap his hand around yours nor did you expect him to help you ease your nerves down, so you ended up staring at him. You were trying to figure out what kind of stunt is he trying to pull now. 

He turned his attention to you, his brows knitted slightly. “Why are you staring, princess?” He chuckled softly, amused at the confusion painted on your face. 

What are you trying to do, Holland? You thought. 

TAG LIST:  @thomasthetankson @autty0314 @marvelous-tswiftfan @averyfosterthoughts @theolwebshooter @jackiehollanderr @sltwins​ @herondalescecilys​ @notjustpenandpaper​ @ihopethatwemeetinanotherlife​  @sectusempried​ @gothicwidowsworld​ @heartofholland​ 

[connorspiracy]

Not The Kind of Snacc I Had In Mind || Connor & Luis

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @connorspiracy and @ontheluis  CONTENT: Recreational drug use, NSFW SUMMARY: Connor and Luis decide to meet up after chatting on a dating app and absolutely nothing goes wrong. 

Grindr dates were weird. Connor was far from opposed to a simple shag, but he usually felt like he was supposed to not be so blatant about it, to try and be a gentleman. Was it customary to clean the house before a Grindr hookup came over? He wasn’t sure, but he did what he could to make the place presentable; ran the roomba, made the bed that he was sure would be messed up again pretty soon, lit some Yankee Candles. He’d showered, changed his clothes, brushed his teeth, and was debating starting on a beer when the buzz of the doorbell stirred him from the couch, indicating his date’s arrival. Connor answered, giving the other man a smile in greeting. He’d had no clue this was wolfbane-dude when he’d proverbially swiped right, but seeing the young man in front of him, he put it together. Not that it mattered. He was still certainly curious, but seeing the profile pics come to life before his eyes gave him little desire to revisit that conversation anytime soon. “Hey, Luis, right? Come on in, I was just about to grab a drink if you want one?” 

The cold freshness of the Whye River single lingered in Luis’ nostrils even after the water had dried off his skin and hair. Bathing in the river outside his date’s upscale neighborhood might not exactly be classy, but the brutal pragmatism of Luis’ new life had weaned him off feeling embarrassed about trivial things. Piers’ place reminded Luis of the houses along Boca Chica, eliciting a sharp prick of unwanted remembrance amidst the more arduous thoughts in his head. 

Connor turned out to be just as gorgeous as his profile picture, and Luis had another pang of guilt for placing yet another innocent person in danger of being eaten just for the sake libido and company. But the less human part of Luis brain, the aspect of himself that was all primal instinct and cold pragmatism, didn’t see why that danger should get in the way of shelter, sex, and free food?

The corners of Luis' mouth drew up into a knowing smirk as he closed the door behind him, enjoying the randy tension in the coy game these types of meetups often started. “Sure.” Luis placed his backpack against the wall by the door. “Hey uh....are you the ghostuber dude by the way?” 

If it hadn't already been obvious from the risque Grindr conversation, then the grin tugging at the edges of Luis' lips confirmed to Connor that this lad was well up for it. He doubted it would take them too long to get down to business. "Right, we've got got beer, shots, cider, whatever you want, mate." He helped himself to a White Claw, handing Luis whatever he'd chosen. "Heh, Ghostuber dude," he chuckled. This was why he didn't send dick pics with his face in them. He didn't want it to end up on twitter or reddit once someone realised who he was. "Y'know what? I like that. Might nick it for my instagram bio.” He gave him a little grin. “I wanna ask what you do for work but I don’t even know how much you wanna talk and stuff. I never know how personal folks wanna get.”

“I mean there’s part of me that just wants to jump your bones,” Luis confessed as he leaned forward to accept a White Claw with a wink, the werewolf perhaps being a bit more literal then the words necessarily implied. But Luis didn’t necessarily want to give that primal part of more leeway over his life then it already had.

“But I don’t mind talking,” Luis admitted helping himself to a seat on one end of the couch. “I’m hiking cross country,” was a rather selective version of the truth. “So I’m just taking whatever work I can find along the way here y’know?”

In spite of being in media and in the public eye just enough to receive decently regular flirtation, Connor wasn't always the smoothest at this. He gave a kind chuckle, toasting their White Claws together. "That's very flattering, but yeah, we can talk. Come on." He gestured for Luis to follow him, heading onto the deck and lighting up the fire pit and sitting on the outdoor bench. "Figured this'd be a bit better than watching telly," he snickered. "So are you in White Crest for long then? Just passing through?" 

Luis had been an easygoing and social person before his life had become a runway train of carnage. Connor definitely had the sexy British angle for him, and a sinewy muscularity to go with the baby face, but perhaps was a bit blunt for coy games. Though Luis couldn’t (or didn’t want to) explain why, his sense of hearing and smell had sharpened to the point of being painful at times. He caught the fragrance of the soaps that Connor had used in the shower as his host passed by and listened to the steady background noise of his heartbeat. 

As they went out on the deck Luis looked out over the East End evening. The sun was sinking like a golden torch in the Whye River's horizon, staining the tufty lines of Stratocumulus clouds ablaze with bright magenta against the deeper blues and violets of the upper atmosphere. East End’s upscale houses and shops trailed off at the harbor where ships slept on a liquid mirror of the sky, seeming to bob up and down on cloudy stained glass. Boat masts and pier poles stood out stark like thin black columns against the prismatic sunset.  

But though Luis’ couldn’t see most of those colors anymore, the shadows of the sunset city strangely didn’t impede his sight at all. Luis glanced to smile playful at Connor, the fading light briefly reflecting off the tapetum lucidum blue in his eyes in a flare of electric blue. 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Luis admitted as he leaned his elbows on the deck rail, breathing in the faint scents of fish and smoke on the chilly autumn air. “Got this gig at a fighting ring, doing Cutman work and whatnot for the fighters,” he mused. “Guess we’ll see how well that pays huh?”

"Bit of an amateur boxer or something, are you? That's pretty hot," Connor said with a smile. Most people's Grindr photos didn't leave that much to the imagination. There was usually at the very least a topless selfie in there, maybe a post-workout pic, complete with sweatpants bulge. Luis had a casually athletic build, more compact and slightly bulkier than Connor's slimmer frame. He imagined Luis being able to hold his own. "I... couldn't fight my way out of a paper bag. Have to talk my way out, hope they fall for the accent. This is all for show." He looked at Luis' bright blue eyes with a self-deprecating smile. 

"Well, this place is fuckin' weird, which is why I'm here, but it's not for everyone." In the back of his mind, he was still kind of suspect about the eating wolfsbane thing, but Connor left that alone. He actually wanted to get off with the bloke tonight, not scare him away by interrogating him. "Smoke?" he asked, pulling out a pack of tobacco and everything else he needed for a good joint. 

“Luis shook his head with an aimable wrinkle of the nose at the notion. Learning to fight hadn’t been something he’d willingly picked up or enjoyed, but it came naturally to the less human part of him, way too much so honestly. “A cutman is just the dude who makes sure the fighters don’t bleed out too much,” he explained, finding it wiser to not going into detail what sort of illicit fights would just hire some rando off the street who knew his way around an enswell. “I try not to get into fights if I can help it,” said the fellow whose rap sheet contained a bit too many charges of manslaughter for that claim to be entirely plausible. “You’re better off avoiding it honestly dude. Like...I dig some macho dom vibes much as the next guy, but that aggro life isn’t worth it,” confessed Luis, having woken up too often amongst grotesque carnage to glorify violence.

“It is weird,” Luis admitted with another look out at White Crest’s innocently picturesque panorama stretching out beyond them. “Guess that works for a ghostuber though?” Luis didn’t believe in spirits or magic, but a metaphysics argument wasn’t he wan’t to get up to with Connor tonight, so he just let that be. 

Then it turned out Connor knew the way to heart: weed. “Duuude, you must be into some weird shit if you’re buttering me up this much,” he teased with an assenting nod.

“Oh,” Connor said with a chuckle, feeling just a little bit stupid. “I guess that makes sense. It’s in the name.” Hearing that Luis avoided fights if he could help it only made Connor more attracted to him. He had no patience for that toxic masculinity bullshit. Knowing someone could defend themselves was one thing, being good at a sport was another, but seeking violence for violence’s made someone the type of person best avoided, even for a one night stand. “Yeah, couldn’t agree more. Save the macho dom vibes for the bedroom,” he teased, rolling them each a joint with a grin. 

“The views are fucking gorgeous too, I mean, look at this ocean.” He gestured to the sand and sea that spread out before them, glistening under the moon and stars. “And I never run out of stuff to film.” Even if sometimes, the thing he happened to film was someone being murdered in the woods. That’d be a mood killer, though. His grin only widened when Luos accepted his offer of some light recreational drug use. “What can I say? I like being a good host.” And once he handed Luis the rolled joint, he leaned in for a brief kiss, lips brushing against Luis’ and lingering for barely a moment before he sat back to light up, handing Luis the lighter too. 

The lighter’s flame was a momentary spark against the oceanic sunset as Luis breathed deep. Substances had come to be Luis’ escape from the train of violence his life had become, and the unwilling werewolf closed his eyes and breathed smoke into the night for a time, letting it soak into his blood and cloud out unwelcome thoughts. “Definitely gorgeous,” he affirmed, before turning away from the sea. 

Luis gently lowered himself down to straddle Connor’s lap. He looked down into Connor’s eyes for a moment with a questioning raise of tawny brows, silently asking if this was ok. “So what made you want to do youtubing stuff,” Luis asked with an unconvincingly innocent smirk as he ran both hands up the front of Connor’s shirt. Luis played it slow, his splayed fingers consciously tracing the lines of Connor’s body beneath the fabric, traveling up until he caressed the bare skin of the Brit’s neck. He leaned forward from his perch on Connor’s lap to meet his host’s lips in a long kiss, taking time to just savor the take and smell of him before parting with a breath chuckle. “So were you legit born in England,” he asked in a murmur, pulling down the front of Connor’s shirt slightly to press his lips to the firm skin of Connor’s pectorals. “Or are you actually some Cali-boy whose doing the Brit thing for sex appeal.” Luis continued to lay exploring kisses up the curves Connor’s upper chest and neck as he glanced up. “Won’t mind either way,” he assured with a grin. 

Connor closed his eyes for a moment as he inhaled the joint and blew out the smoke, watching it dissipate into the night. He took another sip of his beer, not expecting the next events that unfolded, but certainly appreciating them. His breath hitched in anticipation as he felt the warm weight of the other man's body on top of him. He lifted his hands to wander over Luis' upper legs and waist. "Started to video journal for myself," he answered, closing his eyes again and sighing as Luis' hands and lips caressed his skin. He curled his own fingers into Luis' sides, sliding them just beneath his shirt. "Ran out of space on my hard drive, started uploading them to YouTube," he snickered. "And the rest is history." 

Thankfully the neighbours' houses weren't right on top of them and there was a bit of space between the houses along the beach, so he didn't feel too self-conscious about the display they were putting on. At least for now. "I'm a born and raised South West London boy, darling," he whispered, playfully exaggerating his own accent. "What about you?" he asked, fingertips tracing tiny lines along Luis' abs. "Hispanic?" 

“Chicano,” Luis confirmed with a nod, closing his eyes for a moment and just letting Connor touch bring on a trembling flex of his abdomen that brought a hitch to his breathing. “South Texas chico my dude,” he elaborated in a teasing imitation of Conner’s phrasing, as if the Coastal Bend was somehow on the same cultural tier as an ancient city of eight point nine million. Luis shrugged off his white cotton shirt onto the deck, ignoring the chilled autumn air as it brought goosebumps along his bare skin. Luis’ shoulders and chest rose and fell with deepened breaths as drank in the scent of Connor and the taste of his lips with a hungry insistence.  

A voice in the part of Luis' brain warned that he needed restraint. He needed to not lose control here.

“So why ghosts,” Luis asked as he reluctantly parted from Connor. He kept running one hand affectionately though his date’s hair while leaning back to take another drag from the joint he’d left on the railing. “You could easily get internet-famous with other stuff,” he pointed with, exhaling smoke at one end of a smile that left the ‘other stuff’ ambiguous. 

Connor’s stomach tightened and he felt himself becoming more and more aroused, especially as Luis pulled off his shirt. His own was unbuttoned all the way down to the navel, so he unfastened the rest of it, letting it hang open to reveal his chest and stomach. For a moment, he thought they were going to shag right there on the decking, but thankfully (at least for the neighbour’s sake), Luis pulled away to take another drag, smoking from his position straddling Connor’s lap. “Right, you’re one to talk about sexy accents then. You can get anyone to drop their trousers by saying romantic shit in Spanish,” Connor teased, continuing his own beer and joint. 

“Why ghosts?” He repeated. It felt like he was about to open a can of worms, so he did his best to put the pushy, opinionated part of him aside, at least for the sake of getting his dick wet tonight. “Ah, well, suppose you’re either a believer or you’re not. Hard to believe in ghosts when you can’t see them. I just happen to be someone who can.” His fingers absentmindedly continued drawing shapes on Luis’ forearm as he spoke. 

The claim about his ability to make people drop drow with Spanish elicited a snorting laugh from Luis, who’d endured less complimentary claims about his background in the past. He pressed his lips to the skin about the hem of Connor’s pants, laying teasing kisses along the muscled v-shape below the Brit’s abdominals, toying with his tongue down the very edge of the curve before relenting. 

“Te voy a joder los sesos guey,” Luis promsied with a soft murmmer in Connor’s ear. 

Connor’s answer clearly brought Luis up short, confusion mixing with the more straightforward lust on his features. Luis wasn’t particularly good at it, but could pick up sometimes when people lied sometimes. The beat of their heart changed. Even though they were skin to skin Luis hadn’t heart any falter in Connor’s aroused pulse. Maybe Luis wasn’t really in any headspace beyond screwing this guy, but it sounded like he thought he was telling the truth.  

Luis sat up on Connor’s lap for a moment and looked at him with reflective blue eyes that grew brighter at the darkness deepened, lips in cast in a half frown of vexation and both hands lifted behind his head. 

“Shit, don’t even know what to fucking make of you Con,” Conner mumbled after a while, the frown broadening in a toothy smile. Luis stood up and reached down for Conner’s hand with a come-hither look that made clear Luis’ personal suggestion to resolve this quandary. 

“Oh, bloody hell,” Connor murmured under his breath, jeans tightening as he got hard when Luis kissed and licked along his pelvic bone. He’d had a few flings in town, and it hadn’t exactly been that long since his rendezvous with Nell, but there was something incredibly alluring about Luis, the way he took what he wanted, unapologetic and confident, just a little filthy, behind a blue-eyed cherubic face you could take home to your mum. “You’re the kind of lad I could take home to family dinner and give you a blowjob in the bathroom after,” he chuckled. 

Connor ran his fingers through Luis’ light brown hair, tugging it gently as his fist clenched with arousal. “I have no clue what you just said, but it was sexy as hell,” he snickered, practically pulling Luis back to his lips so he could kiss him more firmly, more deeply, more desperately. When their lips parted, his breath caught in his throat, and he twisted the joint out in the ashtray. “Why don’t we go inside and you can make whatever you want of me?” 

Luis let himself be led back to Connor’s bedroom, putting up coy resistance at times, pretending to look around the house with wide innocent eyes but wearing a cruelly teasing smirk. One hand in Connor’s and the other tracing the lined of the cool-colored walls, Luis let the adrenaline of anintipation buoy him up like a chemical tidal wave. For a little while he was just a normal guy horny out of his mind and climbing into a hot brit’s bed. 

There came a cracking sound from somewhere outside the room, like a piledriver being used as a nutcracker. 

Luis jerked up instinctively as it hit his lupine hearing like a gunshot, looking around. “Did you...”  But the sound had stopped or maybe hadn’t existed. Fuck it. “Nevermind,” he murmured, busying him with trying to make out with Connor and get unzip his pants at the same time. 

Connor headed inside, kicking off his shoes and leaving them deserted somewhere in the hall. He threw his shirt on top of the laundry basket, climbing on top of the bed with Luis. He heard nothing, ears not as keen as the werewolf, and let himself be in ignorant bliss for a while. They continued to kiss, leaving him with tousled hair and pants half-unfastened, blood rushing between his legs as they got hotter and heavier. “What?” he whispered against a jawline that could cut glass, but whatever Luis had heard, he’d quickly forgotten. 

He whispered compliments, sighs and groans against Luis’ skin, hands wandering his torso. Their bodies were warm against one another as Connor pressed into him, haphazardly reaching to unfasten his belt before he heard it, an obnoxious sound, miniature saw blades gnawing away beneath him. “What the..” he mumbled, narrowing his eyes and looking at Luis as if to question if he was losing his bloody mind. He rolled over, begrudgingly separating himself to look under the bed. “Oh, FUCK.” Connor scrambled back on the bed, scrambling for the closest object to throw on top of the creature. He was trying to get his rocks off, and there was a fucking demon rat under his bed. 

“Dude…please...” Luis moaned, breathing fast and craving release with all this built up tension. He tried to pull Connor back down to him, skin flush and burning with the raw need that turned every nerve into a livewire. 

But before either batter or pitcher could make the final run towards home base, one corner of the bed vanished in a cloud of sawdust. There was the sound of claws scaping up wood, and Luis choked on another flurry of dry sawdust in his mouth, dust clinging to the sweat on his skin 

Luis found himself face to face with an obese beaver-shrew the size of a dog at the ruined end of the bed, and wondered for a surreal second if he’d gone insane from sheer Blue-Balls. 

“What….holy shit….whu…”

Connor really, truly would have preferred to just stay in bed and take the rest of Luis’ clothes off, doing unspeakable things to one another for the next several hours before having another cigarette and maybe sneak in some cuddling. White Crest, however, had other plans. “Bro! What the fuck--” He scrambled to fasten his pants, willing his boner to go down, which thankfully wasn’t too difficult “You little bugger, I rent this house!” He didn’t know if it was dangerous or not, so he instinctively grabbed for Luis to pull him away, then scrambled for the nearest pair of flip flops. “We gotta go, dude. I have no idea what that thing is.” 

Why...how did this rat have horns? Even while gagging on sawdust and woodchips Luis could smell that this thing wasn’t a dog, rat, squirrel, shrew, or beaver. His rational mind recognized it was impossible that a person could smell that well, but his instincts just sorta knew on a gut level that this wasn’t any animal he’d ever seen before. There was a moment of confusion as his brain and gut disagreed on what was going on. But as usual when shit went down, guts won out. 

Luis let Connor pull him away and he rolled off the side of the bed not occupied by a giant woodchipper on legs. Stumbling into the shoes he’d shed at the bedroom door, he sprinted with Connor through the house and out the front door, the frigid outside air extinguishing the amorous fire in his skin. 

Great. This was just great. He’d found a nice, handsome, and incredibly seductive boy to take to bed, and now he had an infestation of God-Knows-What chewing on his furniture. Connor shook his head, more annoyed than panicked. “I’m so sorry. This is--not what I planned for tonight. I have to call an exterminator.” Or a hunter. “But… this was nice, before it got ruined. I’ll call you, okay?” And with that, he pulled out his phone. 

[krreader]

so close, and still so far | chapter 2.

pairing: jung hoseok x reader fandom: bts warnings: non idol!au ; fuckboy!hoseok ; neighbors!au ; mentions of sex ; mentions of masturbation ; language genre: angst ; fluff ; smut previous: 1

summary: hoseok was that annoying neighbor that brought home a new girl every week, which was bad enough as it was, but what was even worse was the fact that you had fallen in love with the guy that always showed up at your doorstep after a tumble with an apologetic smile and pizza, despite you knowing that all you were to him was a neighbor.. right?

a/n: IT’S BACK BITCHESSSSSSSSSSSSS, I HOPE YOU LIKE CHAPTER 2

ask box | masterlists | faq | twitter | ko-fi |  follower celebration | REQUESTS ARE CLOSED!

Usually you got woken up by your alarm in the morning, which, to be fair, wasn't a very pleasant sound either. But at least your alarm didn't get you wet.

Jung Hoseok moaning however?

Problematic.

“Are you fucking serious, Hoseok?” you mumbled angrily, turning to your side to grab your phone and look at the time, “It's not even 7 AM. Who invites a girl over at seven in the fucking morning?”

You fell back into the mattress and began massaging your temples, trying your hardest to blend out the moans. But god.. whoever he was having sex with was enjoying it. And you couldn't even blame her. You would enjoy it too.. more than.. anything.. in the world..-

So much that your hand seemed to travel between your legs by itself. And you really would have enjoyed your morning masturbation if it weren't for your fucking alarm going off that you should have turned off when you've had the chance.

That really killed the mood.

“Fuck this,” you shook your head, already hating how this morning began, turned off the alarm real quick before jumping into the shower. A cold one, because of obvious reasons.

And at least when you got out again, the moaning had stopped, so that was a good thing.

Still, you really wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible. So you put on some clothes, put on some make-up to look less dead, grabbed something to drink and then walked out of the apartment.

And because your life hated you, you ran into him.

Again.

Just like last Friday.

You only saw the back of the girl as she was walking downstairs and he was thankfully fully dressed. He was wearing sweatpants and a white shirt and even that made you go wild on the inside, but it could have been worse. Or.. better?

“Really, Hoseok? At seven in the morning?” you whispered.

“I'll stop by tonight with an apology pizza, I promise,” he grinned, “She just showed up without notice, you know? I couldn't say no.”

“You could have,” you said, locking the door, “But you didn't want to.”

“Same thing,” he shrugged, watching you go down the same stairs his lover just had, “Same pizza as always I take it?”

“Same as always, Hoseok,” you yelled back, knowing he'd stop by no matter what you'd say.

It was hard enough being in love with him as it was, but seeing him almost every night with his stupid apology food.. it just got worse by the day and there was nothing you could do, because you didn't have it in you to stop him from coming over, even if it were probably better for your heart.

To top it all off, your parents seemed to think you were dating him and kept texting you about him, asking when you'd finally introduce him to them.

And yeah, maybe they thought so because you had accidentally said that Jung Hoseok actually liked you back because a part of you wanted to live in this fantasy that he did. You couldn't have anticipated that your parents would take it this seriously.

And now it was just something you couldn't back out of anymore.

You'd have to confess to them eventually. You'd also have to confess to Hoseok, because you knew that this couldn't go on forever.

Sure, you could move out, but you actually really liked your apartment.

So telling Hoseok about your feelings and then him staying away from you and you hopefully being able to heal from that hurt one day would have to be it.

One day.

But not today.

Today, it was the same old, which was work, work and again, work.

Oh, and lunch with your boss which was nice. Until the end, then your mood dropped again.

“How was your weekend?” Jin asked, happily munching on his food.

“Well, my neighbor was finally out, so.. peaceful.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Worse,” you shook your head, “He brings so many new girls around, I rarely see someone twice. Is that something that men do?”

“I'm married, (Y/N),” Jin laughed, lifting up the hand with his wedding ring on his finger.

“Did you do it before you were married?”

“Probably not as bad as him, but I had my flings here and there. Once I met my wife though, that all changed. I knew I only wanted her,” he said with a full mouth, gulping down his food before pointing his chopsticks at you and saying: “It will be the same for him. Once he finds someone like that, he will change.”

“So like.. falling in love at first sight?”

“Exactly.”

Well isn't that fucking wonderful?

If that mentality was true, you were ruled out already, because Hoseok knew you for too long and he definitely has not fallen in love with you so far, you would have noticed.

It seemed like your day was getting worse by the hour, seriously.

And it only worsened when you came home.

“Jeongguk?” you furrowed your eyebrows, the young man picking up various clothes from the floor and pushing them inside a cardboard box, “What.. are you doing?”

You could see him wipe away his tears, but when he got up he smiled.

And fuck, you were a master at fake smiling. 

You could tell when a smile wasn’t sincere.

“She uh.. she threw me out,” he nodded, pushing his hands into his pockets, “Glad you weren't here, actually. I was afraid you'd call the police if you heard the screaming.”

This man was too good for her anyways. It was her that was the issue. She never trusted him from what you had heard through the thin walls, but he had stayed with her anyways because he loved her so much.

You pitied him, really.

“Do you have a place to stay?” was the first thing you asked.

“I.. I think I'll just go back to my parents.”

“Didn't you tell me you're from Busan?”

“Yeah..”

“Jeongguk, that's too far,” you shook your head, grabbing the cardboard box even as he tried to argue, “You're staying at my place and you can stay for as long as you want to. If you want to go back to your parents, do it tomorrow. But not tonight.”

It seemed like he had little to no choice since you were already carrying his stuff inside your apartment.

“But we barely know each other!”

“Well, I know you quite well.”

He knew you meant the screaming. He often wondered just how much you actually heard.

But he knew nothing about you, except for that you always smiled at him in the hallways and were always kind enough to accept packages for him..

“Why are you doing this?” were you really this kind? Did you not have motivation behind it?

But then again, Jeongguk was a struggling student, he couldn’t give you anything..

You didn't reply right away, instead, you walked into your bedroom and got him a blanket and a pillow. Only then did you say: “Because I know what it's like to get your heart broken every day. And.. I know I could often use some help on these days.”

See, that was the thing. He knew nothing about you or your struggles. You always looked like you were so happy when he passed by you, you were always smiling, but the smile never quite reached your eyes now that he thought about it.

There was more to it.

You weren't happy, you were just as heartbroken as he was.. you were just a lot better at hiding it. And he assumed that was because you’ve been living with a broken heart for so long that you learnt how to hide it.

And he didn't know if he did it because he needed comfort or if he wanted to give you comfort, but he crossed the room and pulled you against him, hugging you as tightly as possible.

You couldn't remember when you had someone hug you like this, like he understood what you were feeling and like he could relate, but you were thankful. Because you needed this as much as he did.

“Am I.. interrupting?” Hoseok suddenly stood in the living room, balancing two pizza boxes in one hand and holding a plastic bag in the other, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion, but also.. anger?

Jeongguk didn't jump away, only took a step back.

Everyone in this apartment building knew that Hoseok was a womanizer, so Jeongguk knew you and him weren't dating. So he didn't feel like he should be ashamed of hugging you.

“Jeongguk will stay the night,” you said, “So he'll join us for dinner.”

“But I only have two pizza's,” he tried to argue, clearly wanting Jeongguk to leave.

As if that argument would change your mind.

“It's okay, I don't want to bother you two, I can just.. go out to eat.”

Hoseok wanted to tell him that that was a great idea, because he wanted to spend his night with you and pizza like he always did.

But you beat him to it.

“Don't be silly. You can have my pizza. I'm not that hungry anyways, I ate a lot at lunch today.”

Yeah, Hoseok didn't like that. He didn't mind Jeongguk, didn't really know him, true, but he didn't mind him. However this was his and your night and he was interrupting. And now you're offering him pizza that was supposed to be yours? Pizza that he payed for? Why would he pay some guy his pizza? He could use that money on condoms and it would be a better use.

The more Hoseok stared at Jeongguk with a challenging glint, the more uncomfortable the silence in the living room became, until you couldn't stand it anymore.

“Okay, then. I guess you two will want to compare dick sizes first or whatever it is that men do to get comfortable around each other, so I'll just take a quick shower. If you jerk each other off, please clean up after yourselves, all right? I'm not used to sperm all over the floor unlike a certain someone.”

“I told you, I use condoms!” he yelled after you, his eyes still on Jeongguk though. Only when he heard the door to the bathroom close did he put down the boxes and plastic bag and cross his arms in front of his chest, taking two steps towards Jeongguk, “I saw that, you know?”

“Saw what?” Jeongguk was usually not someone to get intimidated easily, but the way Hoseok kept staring at him was a little scary.

“The way you hugged her. So be honest with me.. do you want to bang her?”

“What?!” Jeongguk shook his head like crazy, “My girlfriend just threw me out, do you really think I'm this big of a douchebag to be thinking about sex with someone else already?”

“Well.. I know I would,” Hoseok shrugged, but then became serious again, “Anyways, answer the question. Do you think (Y/N) is attractive?”

“I mean..-” he began stuttering and blushing, but then blurted out: “Yeah.. but.. that's normal, right? I mean, you do too.. right?”

“She's.. gorgeous, absolutely. One of the prettiest girls I've ever seen in my life. The entire building thinks so actually, Namjoon, Yoongi hyung, Taehyungie, Jimin.. they all love her.”

“Then.. do.. you want to bang her?” he wasn't actually asking because he wanted to know, but he wanted him to stop asking him questions like that.

“Are you serious?” Hoseok started laughing, not knowing that you had needed a towel and had walked back out of the bathroom and were now listening to every single word, “I'd fucking love to.”

Well that was.. good to know.

[andrusi]

How to Be an Annoying Dickhead Who Hates Star Trek: Discovery

*filmstrip voice*

So you’re aware of Star Trek: Discovery, and you really have a problem with it.  Perhaps the fact that the props and sets don’t look like they were designed in the nineteen-sixties has done irreparable damage to your ability to pretend that Star Trek: The Original Series still looks futuristic.  Perhaps the only other Star Trek you’ve watched in your adult life was the Kelvin timeline films and so this is the first time you’ve noticed that the franchise has politics in it.  (For more on this, see our previous episode, “Shirking the First Duty: How to Convince Yourself That This Is the First Time Jean-Luc Picard Has Reflected Patrick Stewart's Left-Leaning Views.”)  Perhaps you’re just angry that almost none of the main characters are straight white men.  Perhaps you even have a complaint that isn’t abysmally stupid.  Whatever your reason, you’ve decided you hate Discovery.  Congratulations!  We live in a culture where everyone is allowed to have opinions, and many people, while disagreeing with you, will respect your right to that opinion.

But sometimes, just hating something isn’t enough.  If you’re an especially unlikable person, you may not be satisfied until everyone who enjoys Discovery hates you as much as you hate it.  Well, fear not!  With a little work, you can be a jerk nobody likes who ruins conversations with your mere presence!  And you don’t need a fancy “blog that people actually read” or a nonzero number of Twitter followers.  All you need is PING:

Be PUERILE.  Very little is more annoying than a never-ending barrage of childish insults that aren’t meaningful enough to argue with, so if you want to maximize how annoying you are, it’s obvious what you need to do.  You’ve probably already realized that, by abbreviating the title Star Trek: Discovery in a particular way, you can make it into “STD.”�� It might occur to you that you never refer to Voyager and Enterprise as STV or STE respectively, but remember: your objective isn’t to be consistent, it’s to be meaninglessly insulting by comparing a show you don’t like to a sexually transmitted disease!  You might consider looking to other fandoms and copying the things they’re tired of.  Usually you’ll need to adapt them, but once in a while you might find something you can use as it is!  For instance, Super Mario Bros. fans have been putting up with jokes about getting high from mushrooms for over thirty years.  That’s thirty years of juvenile pseudohumor that you can aim directly at the mycelial network.

INSERT YOUR OPINIONS where they don’t belong.  Insulting Discovery in a debate about Discovery’s merits can be somewhat annoying, but everyone has gone into that discussion expecting it.  If you really want to be as obnoxious as you can, you need to seem utterly inescapable.  Start ranting about the show anywhere you can possibly make an argument for it being on topic.  Every discussion about prequels, science fiction, or streaming services is fertile ground for you to make sure everyone knows how much you hate Discovery.  Remember, though: work smarter, not harder.  Rather than spamming every form of social media, you can simply make just the right irritating and irrelevant comments in just the right place.  Thanks to research conducted in the early 2010s by Madoka Magica fans who were very sure their show was the first to ever depict magical girls having significant troubles, we've discovered the art of “complimenting” something by insulting something else.  Have you been enjoying someone’s fanfiction, or perhaps a Star Trek Online playthrough?  You can turn that into negativity!  All you have to do is leave a comment along the lines of “This is way better Trek than that STD crap.”

NO TRUE SCOTSMAN arguments are your friend.  Remember, you are both a Star Trek fan and an asswipe.  That means you are the sole arbiter not only of what constitutes Star Trek, but of what constitutes a Star Trek fan.  Obviously you can use this to pick random elements of Discovery that differentiate it from other shows and declare that they make it not real Star Trek, but the real power you wield is the ability to dismiss people as not being true fans.  Just insinuate, or even declare outright, that hating the same things you hate is a prerequisite for actually liking or understanding Trek, and you’ll be widely regarded as irksome in no time.  If you want to earn yourself a little bit of extra ire from everyone who’s ever sinned against you by thinking Saru is pretty cool, try making it about intelligence.  After all, if your opinions are the objective reality, then that means everyone who disagrees with you is wrong, and therefore stupid.

GO BATSHIT INSANE.  The less grounded in reality your words are, the less people will want to read and respond, and therefore the less happy they’ll be when you keep commenting.  Make up your own entirely baseless rules for how Star Trek works, regardless of whether they apply to previous series, so that Discovery can have violated them.  Deny basic facts about the franchise and about the real world.  Through the power of motivated reasoning, you can even invent from whole cloth a supposed copyright issue that prevents the series from being canon.

And there you have it!  Now you’re ready to join the legions of trolls who are out there derailing discussions.  If you want to be even more widely hated, you can even apply these to other works of fiction!  The “Dexit” movement has had great success using these tactics to make it uniformly unpleasant to talk about Pokémon on the Internet, and Transformers fans have quite a lot to say about true fans!  Just remember PING, and you, too, can be a goddamn pain in the ass who needs to just shut the fuck up already.

[bugli-bugli]

TW: insults towards depression and anxiety, toxic behavior, father/parent mention, trauma discussion, self-harm mention, suicide idealization

just a rant because im just too fucking tired of the bullshit of other sites.

i’ve really taken for granted how non-toxic tumblr is in the nice little corner i’ve tucked myself into. since i’m pretty desperate for money, cause now i think ill just have to live off disability if i can even get it.

I gotta say my mutuals and the people who reblogged my donation post, im so fucking grateful for you and i cant thank you enough. but besides the point, rant.

posted my donation post on twitter and later reddit, like the naive fool i am. the first comment i got on the twitter one was very homophobic and the guy was just an overall creep upon a quick look on his tumblr. i responded to him but immediately deleted it cause i knew thats all he wanted was to make me angry. think i was able to get him banned but fuck if i know.

this is more about the lovely reddit post i got

sigh im not going to bother replying and i just reported them, but i wanted to get out of me all the shit i wanted to say. just, first of all i know trolls and shit just do this to get attention, but this on the fucking r/donate subreddit like??? why isn’t it moderated better?? besides the point

i dont care if you believe my donation post is a scam, whatever, believe what you want and move on. i understand there is a lot of people out there trying to get money they can easily get themselves, instead they take it from goodhearted people.

you need to grow the fuck up. i redirect back at this person because, you spent your time, what? hating on a post that might be a scam. and they regularly do this to from just a quick look. so immature and annoying. this hurts so fucking much to hear too cause it strikes a perfect nerve of trauma.

anxiety and depressions are perfectly valid reasons to not be able to hold down a job. they sound like my fucking dad. i have panic attacks when people raise their voice or if there is too much going on around me, like tvs and crowds and what not.

ive mostly been sleeping lately and cant even make myself do simple physical tasks. not just because of my depression but because of my chronic joint pain that i still haven’t fucking got working medication for yet.

plus i have 472147921 other disorders that i havent been able to get diagnosed or help yet because of my stupid fucking parents. who finally are getting me help after years upon years of having obvious mental issues. ONLY BECAUSE a big argument that my sister had to speak for me in, because i went nonverbal and was hysterically laughing because my dad denying he called me fat.

but yeah i cant even brush my teeth, or shower, the only hygiene habits i have are because if i didnt do them my brain would make me have a panic attack or some intrusive thoughts of self harm.

how is it fucking entitled to ask strangers to donate, H O W? i dont think i deserve this, i dont think that im better then other people, im posting this because others who are in similar/worse situations posting donation posts gave me the confidence to do so.

yes im so entitled to be begging on my hands and knees for money because capitalism and my body and mind are working against me. im not even saying HEY DONATE AND IF YOU DONT DONATE YOU ARE A FUCKING HORRIBLE HUMAN BEING. or anything even remotely close to that.

i gave the needed information and background as to why we would need money, and why we struggle to get it ourselves. and asked that people at least share, but there is no obligation to go any of these things.

i know i cant live my entire life on freelance transcription but it is LITERALLY THE ONLY JOB I CAN GET. yeah just simply go out and get a real job, because you can totally form sentences around strangers and dont feel like you are going to throw up from anxiety. its not that hard.

i totally have the endurance to do whatever it is necessary in whatever shitty ass 8 hour shift job i could get, because every step i take doesn’t physically hurt. because after walking too much, my knees wont give out ever, that never happens. because i dont have a fear of failure because my dad totally didn’t get mad at me when i took to long to learn something. i have no trauma related to that at all. im a totally capable human being. 

all of these last two paragraphs are sarcasm btw if that wasn’t obvious

i dont even know what couch sufing on craigslist even is. i had to look it up. how is that advice, how. oh yeah just live on other peoples couches, people you dont even know. thats not dangerous at all like HUH?!?! fuck no. if i wanted to get myself killed id do it myself.

also shelters are totally safe, and never have any issues whatsoever. i didnt ask for fucking advice that was going to make our situation worse you p.o.s.

also i know what im fucking doing, im researching and trying to make the most feasible and realistic plan to leave. even if that is i have freelance transcribing jobs and disability and my sister has whatever job and my so probably in the same boat as me. im not just going to move out without the needed things unless i was kicked out. which, as of the moment, none of us are currently at risk of that, yet.

if it really came down to it where Brutus would need to be rehomed, we’d probably do it. but he means so fucking much to us, we dont want to rehome him because we dont have anyone we can fucking trust to take care of him and we arent just going to give him away to whoever. Brutus and my pets and my sisters are all part of our family, and we aren’t just going to fucking give them away.

whatever, the rage is gone, im tired and i want to cry, this wasn’t posted for attention or anything i just wanted to rant. please dont leave negative comments im not in the goddamned mood.

[agoddamnbeautifulidiot]

Flicker of Hope

Chapter Seven: Intermission

A/N: Guys, please bear with me with this story. I work a job where I spend long hours there and I’m also trying to have a life. On that note, sorry it’s taken so long! Hope you guys enjoy it!

The pounding in your head is surely a punishment from the gods. Peaking one eye open, you glare at the too bright red numbers on the clock across the room.   

Groaning, you roll over and try to extract yourself from the covers. The moment your feet touch the floor, the night makes before comes rushing back in bright flashes. 

“God, what the fuck is wrong with me?” You quietly scold yourself. What on earth had you been thinking? Well, the obvious answer was that you hadn’t been. That was the only explanation for how you’d behaved and the things you’d said.

Groaning again, you drop your head into your hands. You had to find a way to fix this. To fix the damage you’d done.

It’s a struggle, but you force yourself out of the bed and into the bathroom. You turn the shower on as hot as you can stand and try to come up with a game plan.

Staring into the mirror, you take in your disheveled clothes and ratty hair. There are streaks of mascara down your cheeks, a reminder of the tears you’d shed once Niall had left you alone. The bathroom starts to fill with steam, so you quickly disrobe and let yourself be drenched under the spray. It’s probably too hot, but at this point, you don’t really care.

You settle in under the water, hoping it can rinse your body of all of the pain you feel.

Last night had not gotten the way you’d expected. The things you’d said to Niall...you hung your head down, using your arms to hold your tired body up against the wall. There was no going back from what had happened. You only hoped you could both move forward. 

Your hands and feet are pruned by the time you finally leave the shower. Mostly, you’d just wanted to scrub away who you’d been last night off of your body. 

Getting dressed, you steel your nerves and open the bedroom door. Down the stairs, you can hear the sounds of the tv, your sign that at least Niall is probably awake. Given the fact that he finally has some time off, you assume he’d want to lounge about as much as possible. 

Your descent down the stairs is slow and calculated as you attempt to make as little noise as possible. The kitchen is empty when you reach it, so you grab yourself a mug and fill the kettle with water. Pulling a bottle of Advil off the shelf, you down several of them. You’re not necessarily stalling, but you’ve got to find your bearings before you even attempt the huge apology you’re going to give. 

Laughter floats in from the other room and now you know it’s Niall and Mully hanging out. Catching snippets of their conversation, you give a small chuckle as Niall keeps making Mully tell him to fuck off.

When the kettle goes off, you jump, your brain had been so preoccupied you’d forgotten it. Finding your favorite tea in the cabinet, you quickly make your cup and blow on the top as you rummage through the fridge.

“Didn’t think we’d see you for a bit,” Niall’s voice makes you jump again and this time you spill a bit of your tea on the white tile. Turning to face him, you quickly avert your eyes and reach for the towel on the counter.

“God, such a klutz, sorry,” You say, kneeling down to wipe up the spill. Niall moves closer, leaning against the island and you can feel his eyes on you. 

“Never need to apologize for spilling a little tea, love,” He says and despite the fact that you’re done cleaning it up, you’re terrified to stand and face him. “Come on, it’s not a big deal. House keeper can get the rest tomorrow.”

His hand moves into your vision and you loosely grasp it as he helps pull you upright. He takes the towel from you, tossing it on the counter beside him.

Your hands grasp your mug again and you take a small sip, using it as an excuse not to look him in the eyes. His shirtless chest catches your gaze before you quickly divert it, not wanting to ogle your (hopefully still) best friend.

“Love—“

“Ni—“

You both start at the same time. You both chuckle and Niall reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck at the awkward silence it causes.

“Let me please,” You say, putting your mug down on the counter and finally meeting his eyes. “Ni, you know I’d never intentionally hurt you right? Everything that I said last night, I just,” You shake your head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Honestly, I let Elle convince me of things that I should’ve just asked you about and then I had SO much to drink and now I just can’t even believe what came out of my mouth.”

Niall is stoic in front of you, eyes on yours and arms crossed over his chest. The expression on his face is hard to read.

“You’re my best friend. And I don’t know maybe I thought I’d lose you if someone else showed up and took up your time. But that’s so stupid because I know you’d never do that.” Dropping your face into your hands, you sigh deeply before you catch his gaze again. “I feel like the worst friend and you have to know how sorry I am. I truly, truly am so sorry.”

The silence that follows is almost deafening. You take another sip of your too hot tea, trying to help calm the thoughts running rampant in your head. Niall continues to look at you, arms still crossed. He sighs and glances out the window, stretching his neck.

“I just—“ He starts, swiping his hand down his scruffy face. He’s quiet again for a moment, eyes still watching the plants move in the wind outside. “Ya gotta know you can always talk to me, Y/N. In all our years as friends, has that ever changed? But last night...I dunno where all dat came from, but I just don’t want ya to like ya have to wait til ya burst ta talk ta me.” Finally, he looks at you again. This time, his eyes are soft and it’s like looking at your best friend again. “And the fact dat ya let Elle convince ya something was going on? Ya know what she’s like, love. She thrives on all the attention. Still don’t see why you’re friends with her to be honest.”

You chuckle and give a light shrug with one shoulder. Glancing up at him, you give him a hopeful look. His eyes narrow for a moment before he smiles brightly.  

“As if I could ever stay mad at ya, love,” His arms pull you in for a tight hug, your head resting right in the crook of his neck. “Don’t even know where I’d be without ya, you know that.”

Breathing in deep, your mind tells you to memorize this feeling. The way his arms wrap strongly around your waist. How he smells almost like the woods on a crisp fall day. For some reason, you’re still terrified that this could all disappear any moment.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ni,” you respond, hopeful you’ll never have to find out.

The next several days follow a pattern.

Wake up.

Work.

Hang out with Niall and whoever else happens to be around.

Work more.

Sleep.

Niall rehearses with the band and there’s several movie nights so you feel as though the two of you have returned to normal for the most part. Thankfully nobody else mentions your comments, so you assume Niall kept it all to himself. Gerry is the only one who comments on your state of drunkenness, earning himself a boxed ear and a withering glare.

When Niall has to cancel his Mexico City tour date, he’s more than broken up about it. He’s never wanted to have to cancel a date and it’s absolutely killing him.

He’s moody and brooding around the house and even your fake enthusiasm over the golf channel does very little to improve his mood.

You’re trying your best, but it’s hard. You still feel out of sorts from your (sort of) argument that night and you’re doing everything in your power to not say the wrong thing. Despite how hard you try, you can’t forget what he said that night. 

“She’s not the girl I want.”

If Lily wasn’t who Niall wanted, he already had someone in mind. But who? It’s a question that could haunt you for hours on end, so you busy yourself with work and getting ready to head to Brazil.

“Rio De Janeiro! It’s gonna be so amazing, Ni!” You gush, folding another shirt to go in your suitcase. “We can see Christ the Redeemer and hang out on the beach and oh! We could take a helicopter out, wouldn’t that be fun?”

Niall chuckles from his spot on your bed. He’s got his phone in his hand, more than likely trolling Twitter, but he’s still paying you plenty of attention. “Whatever ya wanna do, love. I’m definitely down for some sight seein’. Just excited you’re back on the tour wit us. Missed havin’ ya round.” 

You’re quiet for a moment. With everything that had happened over the last few days, you and Niall hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk about your going home for the funeral. To be honest, you’d kind of been avoiding the subject. 

“Y/N? ‘M sorry. Didn’t mean ta upset ya,” Niall sits up on the bed and swings his legs over until he’s sitting beside your neatly folded clothes.

“You didn’t,” You protest, carefully folding the shorts in your hand and placing them in the proper pile. “I’m just...I’ve kind of been avoiding thinking about any of...that.”

Niall nods, setting his phone on the nightstand and pulling you to sit beside him. His hands wrap around yours and he sighs deeply, eyes finding yours.

“Ya know I’m always here for you love. Right?” You nod, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes. “How was it? Bein’ wit your family and all dat?” 

Breathing deep, you shrug. “It was ok. Charlie was devastated. Which I get, I guess. She and David had just really started taking you know? She really wanted to have that relationship with him. If nothing else, she got some time with him.” You clear your throat and fiddle mindlessly with Niall’s fingers. “It makes me wonder if I’m a bad daughter. Because I didn’t want that relationship with him? I was so young when he and mom got divorced and then there was nothing until what? A year ago he finds out he’s really sick and wants to make amends? How is that fair?” 

Niall’s hands still yours and he gives a good squeeze to them both. “Ya weren’t being a bad daughter, Y/N. It had ta be hard tryin’ ta force something you weren’t sold on. Ya tried though, and that’s all that matters in the end. No matter what, I know ya put yourself in it as much as you could. But you’re scared of getting hurt again. Who wouldn’t be? So stop feelin’ like ya weren’t doin’ enough. I know you. Ya never give anything less than all yourself.”

The small smile you flash at him trembles as a few tears roll down your cheeks. And for what’s gotta be the millionth time in your friendship, Niall pulls you in and lets you cry, face buried in his shoulder.

“I’ve got ya, love. Just let it out.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

[jopok-krp]

Welcome to Jopok! Please follow the admin twitter within 48 hours of acceptance, or your faceclaim will be freed up

Personality: 

anxiety-ridden yet forcibly optimistic are two wonderful ways to describe minju. he knows the world is unforgiving and lives that reality each and every day, but he searches deeply within himself to find different reasons — no matter how small — to stay hopeful and keep going. he tries to remain a sunshine in a world full of clouds threatening to overshadow him and finds solace whenever his dumb antics are able to bring even the slightest of smiles to others’ faces.

minju is someone who may be considered an enigma. he trusts too easily or not at all, smiles and laughs one minute and cries and shakes the next. outwardly, he displays a lawfully neutral attitude with a bit of chaos here and there (caused mostly by bad decisions, but that’s okay), and he’s far more confident around those he knows well or when hiding behind a screen. embarrassing situations make him become shy and quiet — sometimes even anxious, in which case he either shuts his mouth entirely or rambles on while running his words together.

Background:

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐲𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐲𝐧𝐢𝐜.

born to an unfortunate family in gimpo near its borders with incheon, hyeseong was the middle child of two others — an older brother and a younger sister. he was a bright child that loved to visit the han river and wobble as close to the bank as possible, all smiles and giggles: a naturally born optimist, really. even when he had to look to his brother for reassurance rather than his mother or father, he forced his tears away in favor of accepting his sibling’s kind words — and then, he would pass them down to his sister. far too young to understand his reality, he passed his time thinking of these circumstances as normal.

the few times he saw his parents, they were either getting ready to leave for their daily one hour trip to seoul (“we have to go to work, honey. we love you.”) or just arriving home during the latest hours of the night from a draining day at their office job (“go to sleep, hyeseong. it’s late.”). and again, he was far too young to understand that desk work didn’t produce these kinds of issues —  nor did they leave an odd smell on clothing, nor did they make adults so cold to their children, and nor did they have to be stationed in seoul rather than gimpo or even incheon.

fast forward to age six, and a whole new level of excitement occurred: moving to seoul. his parents told him it was necessary to be closer to their workplace, that it would give them time to actually bond with him and his siblings. although brimming with anticipation, he could see the frown on his brother’s face; it confused him, but he chalked it up to a bad mood (a continuous one, at that) and helped his cute kid sister pack all of her broken and stitched stuffies without a single complaint.

they didn’t spend more time with him, but that was okay.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲.

the shortage brought about its own set of issues. hyeseong was ten when it began, and the change was anything but subtle. suddenly, resources were scarce for everyone around him — and yet, somehow, his family seemed to be doing okay. maybe they were richer than he thought, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on the looks in his family’s eyes: his brother, questioning; his sister, confused; his father, determined; his mother, cold.

cold became a recurring theme as time dragged on, and the han river was but a distant memory. the world was ruining his life, yet he managed to smile through it. he could tell that his brother didn’t fare as well, at least on the outside. the silence was suffocating, but it was far more suffocating every time his brother spoke; everything was pessimistic, hateful, biting. because of this, he became the rock. it was him that had to look carefree and pretend everything was okay, and that wasn’t easy — not at thirteen years old, not for someone so inwardly sensitive, and certainly not whenever his parents were actually home. instead of him staying up to await their return, it became his brother; hyeseong knew this only because of the loud, heated arguments he could hear occurring in the earliest hours of the morning. he tried to hide from it — bury his head under the pillow and blankets, let his sister come to his bed and cover her ears as well. unfortunate, then, that he could still hear mostly everything. these harsh words were never directed at him, but they stung all the same (“stupid fucks, you’re taking all of our lives away!”).

he was sixteen when everything finally clicked for him — or maybe, he just stopped denying it. his sleep schedule hardly existed, and the things he heard throughout the night were far from peaceful silence. hushed whispers of casinos, of drugs, of gambling — all of it pointed to obvious illegal activity, and with the world in such disarray… well, he knew what that meant. he only prayed his sister didn’t know, and, in many ways, he was grateful to his brother for not telling him. finally, he fully understood the phrase ‘ignorance is bliss’.

hyeseong tried to pretend everything was normal — really, he did. he offered his sister the same bright, reassuring smiles and attended high school just as he had before. it was nothing short of difficult, especially after his brother graduated high school and immediately left the nest; that made him the oldest, the one that had to be even more responsible than before — and with that came the decision to talk to his parents. maybe, just maybe, he could make them stop all of this that way or, at the very least, gain an understanding of why.

he bid his sister goodnight around eleven and waited around in the living room until he heard the tell-tale click of the lock announcing his guardians’ arrival. it was four in the morning when he sat at the kitchen table across from them with cold stares boring into him. the conversation, as one could imagine, didn’t seem to go well.

( you’re in a gang.

okay.

why?

okay.

do you care at all?

okay.

please.

a pause, and then— it’s for protection. we help them, and they help us.

so, those people you—

are in one, too. yes.

—and—

we can’t leave gemini, hyeseong. we would be without everything.

but i don’t— care about that. we— i don’t even know your personalities, and you’re my parents. i want to see you! i want to know that we live normally! i want—

goodnight. )

hyeseong went to bed with wet cheeks and teary eyes.

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬.

little by little, things were getting better. it was strange seeing his parents home more often — even stranger, then, that they would try to actively seek him and his sister out just to ‘hang out’ with them. over the course of two years, it became a routine to see them home and waiting with welcoming arms (and smiles that told both a happy and stressed tale; eyes that contained a million little puzzle pieces hyeseong could never dream of putting together; movements that were somewhat stiff and uncertain).

( it was subtle at first. his mother and father came home four days out of the week rather than three, and then the hours changed. four in the morning to three, three to twelve, and then— home during daylight hours. )

both hyeseong and his sister couldn’t have been happier with the change. their resources grew thinner, but neither of them cared; what mattered most was the beautiful reality of finally feeling like a real family. if only their eldest brother was there to see it.

the attractiveness of their new situation lasted throughout those two years and screeched to a startling halt within a few months of hyeseong turning eighteen. he was in his last few months of high school at that time, and the best part of his day was easily coming home to see his sister (who was growing up so well; he couldn’t have been more fond of someone even if he tried) and parents doing mundane things — cooking, cleaning, or watching tv, usually.

he knocked on the door just like any other day to announce his arrival and waited.

and waited.

and waited.

nothing.

so, he tried to push the door open himself— and it worked. he thought it odd, considering his parents were always sticklers about keeping it locked ‘just in case’.

it hit him in steps.

first: the smell— not drugs, but blood. he scrunched his nose as soon as the door slowly swung open, nostrils flaring and eyebrows knitting together in a shocked state of confusion.

second: the feeling— not some kind of odd substance leftover from possible cooking, but again: blood. the lights were off, and his vision was far from good enough to see anything other than two feet in front of him. he turned on the light switch to the right side of the door and felt a somewhat wet, sticky sensation on his finger. his confusion doubled into alarm.

third: the sight— not a happy family sitting together, but corpses stained red. his eyes darted from his mother to his father, forced to take all of it in. he could see their bodies full of holes and deep cuts that tore through the skin— especially on their arms. far too crisply was the word “traitor” engraved; it tore through the dermis all the way to bone in some areas. he closed his eyes as soon as he regained control of himself, violent shakes passing through him each and every second until he fell to his knees and sobbed.

this wasn’t what he wanted when he talked to them that night.

he didn’t want to clumsily navigate through a house tainted red (it was so much— so much, everywhere), didn’t want to find his sister on the other end of the house slowly bleeding out and immobile from her injuries, didn’t want to hold her knowing her heartbeat was already so slow that there was no hope— and most of all, he didn’t want to have to figure out what to do after the fact.

his mind went far too many miles per minute for him to figure out what would be best. instead, he did the first thing his fight or flight response came up with: he ran.

he put his bloodied jacket over his sister’s corpse and ran until he couldn’t anymore.

it was lucky for him, then, that his steps took him to a restaurant his parents mentioned multiple times in the past. he was out of options; he couldn’t leave seoul without any means to long-term, couldn’t call the police because he was certain his fingerprints were everywhere and his mental state wouldn’t allow him to explain anything, couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen and just continue on — so, of course, his mind led him to that place to see the one man he thought could help him in some way.

that meeting wasn’t an easy one, and hyeseong hadn’t realized at the time that he’d sold his soul away in pursuit of a life he would never receive.

𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐲𝐧𝐢𝐜.

lee hyeseong does not exist any longer — at least, he doesn’t to those who don’t know the name from past associations. he left that name along with his worries, or so that’s what he hoped; instead, the past haunts him every passing day. it doesn’t matter that he eventually picked himself up enough to get an apartment, and nor does it matter that he landed a job at a local cafe just to feel some semblance of normality.

the man that saved him is the very one that keeps him trapped. minju’s existence quickly devolved into one of servitude (do this, do that, don’t get caught, speak my name and your life is over), and sometimes he swears he can feel eyes piercing through him at the weirdest times. he knows now that he was mistaken to believe anyone associated with his parents in the past would have an ounce of kindness in their heart.

kwon minju is just a boy that was eaten by the world and spat back out as a flickering flame.

[call-me-rei]

Chapter 4

***I’m SO SORRY that I abandoned this story for so long! Anyway, regular updates on this and PL will be happening since we’re all stuck at home and I’m not working much until August (yay summer). Please read, like, comment, and enjoy!***

-----

It had been two days with no response from Kellin. My anxious self was wondering if he had seen the message. What if something happened to him? What if he blocked me because he didn’t know about the pen pal thing?

Worse, what if he had seen the message, scrolled through my profile, and decided that I was some lame kid who wasn’t worth his time? That thought broke my spirit.

“Will you quit?” Mike asked in an annoyed tone.

“What?”

“You’re all mopey and for no reason. Seriously, it’s bringing me way down.”

“Sorry for having feelings,” I snapped. Mike just rolled his eyes as we continued walking to school.

Maybe my brother was right, maybe I should cheer up. Chances were that Kellin didn’t use Facebook as much as other people so maybe that’s why he didn’t reply. But then again, you get a notification on your phone when someone messages you. Unless he turned off his notifications. But why would he turn them off? Unless…

“Vic!” I jumped at the sound of my brother’s loud voice.

“What?” I asked, irritated.

“Snap out of it, bro. We’re here.” I looked up to see that Mike was right, we were at school already. I sighed and adjusted the weight of my backpack before I walked up the steps.

“You sure you’re okay?” I nodded. “You don’t seem like it.”

I shrugged. “I’m just overthinking. Nothing to worry about,” I assured him.

“If you say so.” I looked to see the worry on his face. I frowned. I didn’t mean to worry my brother with how silent I was being. I gave him a small smile before we parted ways, going to our lockers. After getting the books I’d need for my first couple classes I shut the metal door and slid to the floor. I took my phone out and scrolled aimlessly through Twitter.

All I wanted was to get my mind off of the fact that I wasn’t going to make a new friend. It sucked because we probably would’ve been great friends. I had looked through his profile and I saw that we liked some of the same bands. He had a couple pictures of himself on his page as well.

I wound up on his Facebook profile. I clicked on his profile picture and observed it. Kellin had black hair and didn’t smile much in pictures. I wondered why that was. He did have pretty blue eyes though. I wondered what they looked like in person.

I exited his picture and went down his page some more. There wasn’t much to see since we weren’t friends online, but I got a good idea of who he was.

I was about to put my phone back in my pocket when a notification dropped down the screen.

It was from Messenger.

It was from Kellin.

I was giddy with excitement, but I tried to hide it as best I could since I was in the hallway and other students were already looking at me, wondering why I was sitting on the cold ground.

I opened the app and read the new message:

Hey Vic. Sorry it took a while to answer

That’s it, I thought, no other explanation? I shook it off and typed a response.

It’s ok. Been busy?

He answered almost instantly.

Yeah you could say that

Busy with school rn

I chuckled. Yeah me too. Where do you go to school?

Michigan. You?

San Diego, I answered.

Oh cool. Cali! he responded. I’ve always wanted to go. Is it true that it’s always sunny?

I chuckled. Not always but most of the time. More often than not.

Cool

I scowled at his response. I didn’t want this conversation to die before it even started.

So are you in high school or college or…? I asked.

The three dots lingered on my screen for a while before his response came and took the air out of my lungs.

Elementary. I’m in 3rd grade

What?! WHAT??????!

Lol I’m sorry, I’m fucking with you! I’m in high school.

Sorry, but I couldn’t resist, he sent.

I rubbed my eyes in exhaustion. This kid already had jokes, meaning he was way more outgoing than I could ever hope to be.

I locked my phone before sliding it into my pocket. The school day was about to start, and I didn’t need to have my phone taken by a teacher. I stood and dusted the seat of my pants. I picked up my books and walked to my first class, all while having Kellin’s stupid reply playing in my head.

***

Lunch rolled around eventually, which meant some much-needed guy talk. I wasn’t the most open person, even with my friends, but sometimes I would let some details of my life out to them. I didn’t know what it was but being open and honest didn’t come naturally to me. I could do it with Curtis since we’d known each other all our lives. He knew when I was hiding something, and he’d ease me into telling him what I was keeping secret.

I put my books in my locker then checked my phone. Since it was Friday the gang was going to go off-campus for lunch. We did that about twice a month. We would do it more often, but we always end up fighting about where to go. In my opinion, the argument is never worth it.

I looked at the group chat we had. Tony had suggested street tacos, and since no one else had replied it looked like we were gong to get those for lunch. I smiled because there wasn’t any fighting, meaning the other guys agreed with him, or they hadn’t seen the message. Either way, I wasn’t going to let them argue about this one. I wanted tacos.

I walked to the front entrance of the school to wait for my friends. Soon after I got there, Jaime and Tony walked into my line of sight. I waved them over with a smile.

“So, tacos?” Tony asked when they got to me.

I nodded. “Sounds perfect.”

“I’m down, but only if the other two get their asses down here in the next thirty seconds.” I rolled my eyes at Jaime. It was obvious that he was hungry since he wasn’t normally an angry person.

I texted Curtis telling him to hurry.

We’re coming. Mike has some things to finish…

I rolled my eyes and relayed the message to Jaime and Tony. Jaime huffed. “Tell them where we’re going. Curtis has a car so he can drive Mike to meet us.”

I sent the message and left the building with Jaime and Tony. There was no stopping Hime when he was hungry, so I walked behind him without a word.

After showing out IDs to the security guard in the parking lot, we were on our way to one of our favorite food trucks. My stomach rumbled the closer we got to our destination.

We arrived in about five minutes and had our food in another three. Mike and Curtis joined us after the three of us had settled at a table in the middle of the park.

“Okay, you’ve gotta tell me,” Tony started, “what were you ‘finishing up,’ Mike?”

Mike gulped down his burrito and washed it down with his soda before he answered. “I was working my way into Alysha’s life.”

We all groaned.

“What?” he asked, seemingly offended.

“No offense bro, but you’ve been trying to get with this chick for almost two months. You’ve never talked to her and I doubt she even knows you’re alive. Give it up.”

“Look Hime, you may not agree with me, but that’s cool. You’re still my brother and I won’t take that to heart. Just know that I’ll remember this.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew Jaime said that to get through to my brother, but when Mike was determined there was nothing you could do to stop him. It was better to go along with him than to go against him. I wasn’t sure if what one of his best friends said would hurt him in any way, but I was glad to hear that it didn’t. I don’t think our group would’ve wanted to pick sides in this thing.

“What did you do?” I asked my brother. He smiled his winning smile before he spoke.

“Well I talked to Danielle again. Apparently she thinks Alysha is pretty cool and wants to get to know her better, but Alysha likes to keep to herself. That got me thinking about how I never really saw her talk to anyone in class or in the halls.”

We nodded along, curious to hear where this was going. Believe it or not, but we became invested in Mike’s quest for his girl.

“Well,” he continued, “I figured if she doesn’t wanna talk to anyone, I won’t talk to her.”

We stared at Mike with quizzical looks on our faces.

“Huh?” Curtis asked after some time of silence and pondering from the rest of us.

Mike’s grin grew. “I’m gonna leave her notes in her locker. That way she won’t have to talk to me if she doesn’t want to, and at least she’ll know who I am. At the very least she’ll know someone wants to her to know her.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Tony affirmed.

I nodded. “I think she’ll like that. And I can help you write some stuff if you want.”

“Thanks you guys. I just hope this works.”

***

After lunch we went about the rest of our day as usual. I had another soccer practice at the end of the day due to the game happening the next day. Once I had packed my gear up from the locker room I met up with Mike and we walked home.

“You don’t think my idea is stupid, do you?”

I looked at my brother. He had a sad, lost puppy dog expression on his face.

“Of course not,” I answered. “You’re showing her that you care about her by trying to make her feel comfortable. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it, and she’ll finally know you exist.”

“Ha ha, so funny,” he said in monotone.

I laughed. Messing with Mike was so easy.

The walk home led to me taking a well-earned shower before heating up leftovers for dinner and lying in bed waiting for sleep. Of course I scrolled through my phone as I waited.

I swiped through the pages of apps on my screen when I noticed I had a notification on the Messenger app.

Shit! Kellin messaged me and I ignored him. He probably thinks I hate him because of his joke. Fuck!

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves before I opened the app and the message.

Hey, I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier. I thought it would be funny. I hope I didn’t scare you off

I smiled at his message. I was worried about what he thought of me and he was worried about the impression he made. It was a bit comforting to know that he was as socially anxious as I was.

It’s cool. I guess it was kinda funny. Sorry, I just had a busy day and I just saw this

No worries dude. It’s all good, he replied. How was your day btw?

Busy. You messaged me at the start of school so I had to put my phone up. Then I had soccer practice

You play soccer? That’s so cool!

I chuckled. You really think so?

Yeah! I’m athletically challenged so I live vicariously through others lol

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Lol well it’s cool that you think that’s cool

Was that the right thing to say? No, that was stupid. I facepalmed and bit my lip in anticipation for the response to my lame comment. Why’d you say that, Vic? You couldn’t think of something better to say?

I decided to redeem myself. So what kinds of things are you into?

We messaged back and forth for hours. We talked about our interests, hobbies, families, and all of the other usual things people talk about when they first meet. It was almost one in the morning when I finally told him I needed to sleep. Since he was in Michigan that would’ve made it almost 4 AM; I didn’t want to keep him up all night. We said our goodnights and for the first time in a long time, I went to sleep with a smile on my face.

[mst3kproject]

519: Outlaw

I don't want to talk about the Gor books.  I don't think I need to talk about them – there's plenty to mock in Outlaw without going into its source material.  Anyway, if I were going to talk about them I'd have to read them, and everything I've ever heard about them tells me that I definitely don't want to do that.  They sound like a Fifty Shades of Grey for basement-dwelling misogynist nerd stereotypes.

A couple of assholes named Watney (no relation to the guy who got left behind on Mars) and Cabot (no relation to the author of The Princess Diaries) are on their way to a bar when they are forced to make a detour into another dimension.  Fortunately, this is a sequel: Cabot has been here before and so rather than dying of thirst in the desert, they find their way to the cardboard city of Coroba. There, the two become embroiled in a plot by Queen Lara to murder her husband and seize power.  She imprisons Watney and the rightful heir, Princess Talena, and sends a bounty hunter to capture the escaped Cabot.  After much pointless wandering around, the conspiracy is revealed.  The bounty hunter kills Lara, Cabot marries Talena and becomes king, Watney is sent back to Earth, and Zeno the High Priest does basically nothing despite being played by the only cast member anybody in the audience has ever heard of.

Quick Note: the 'desert snake' that appears in one shot appears to be a Burmese python, a semi-aquatic species that lives in the rainforests of southeast Asia.  They could not have gotten that more wrong if they'd tried.

Besides that stunning failure of herpetology, the thing about this movie that most sticks in my mind is the kissing.  Cabot and Talena share several kisses.  They're supposed to be epic and passionate, but there's something weirdly mechanical about them, like we're watching exaggerated stop-motion animation of a kiss. It's as if neither Urbano Barberini nor Rebecca Feratti have any actual experience of kissing, and are trying to kiss based on having read an anatomical study of the muscles involved.  Gross.

After that, the second thing I remember about the movie is how incredibly fake everything in it looks.  Cabot's flashback tells us that Gor is a harsh world, and it breeds harsh people – this is supposed to be a gritty, raw, half-savage place, where the aristocracy wallow in decadence while the common folk toil in the mud, and where death is always a just a hair away.  The sets and costumes are admittedly elaborate, and there is at least some unity of design (unlike, say, Deathstalker and the Warriors from Hell, where they just used whatever they could find in the prop warehouse), but everything looks like it was made in a high school art class.  King Marlenus' crowns appear to be made of cardboard and hot glue, spray-painted gold.  Talena and the 'Leather Women' look like they're wearing bondage gear from Spencer's Gifts, while the dancers are in 'sexy genie' Hallowe'en costumes.  The entire city of Coroba is built out of plywood, except for the parts that are built from styrofoam (hence why the slaves are being worked to death in the styrofoam mines).  That stupid 'lizard woman' face painted on the wall looks like the work of a twelve-year-old who has just learned how to grid out facial proportions.

The biggest problem with Outlaw, however, is one that only becomes obvious after a little thought.  Having pondered the film's story for a while, trying to figure out why it seems so pointless, I eventually realized – it's because Cabot, our ostensible hero, never does anything.

Well, that's not quite true.  He does a couple of things, but nothing he does ever matters.  He beats up some sand Nazis when they first arrive on Gor, but that has absolutely no connection with the rest of the plot.  He gets himself and Watney to Coroba, where he is conveniently present to be framed when Lara murders her husband.  Afterwards he flees into the desert where he and his sidekick Hup get lost and wander in circles for a while.  They find a group of slavers chasing people in the middle of nowhere for some reason, and stage a jailbreak which frees exactly one slave.  Then they're caught by the bounty hunter and taken back to Coroba, where both Lara and Zeno try to bargain for Cabot's loyalty and fail.  The villains lose not because of him, but because they turn on each other.  The whole movie could have happened just fine even if Cabot never bothered to show up.

It's not like there weren't opportunities for him to do something.  Cabot could have gotten the slaves in the desert camp to rise up against their captors, and then rallied them into an army to storm Coroba.  He didn't do that.  He could have snuck back into the city to free Talena and get the support of the people to put her on the throne.  He didn't do that either.  He could have pretended to join forces with Zeno against Lara, or Lara against Zeno, or just killed Lara when she tried to seduce him.  Didn't do that.  He could have led a revolt in the styrofoam mines after the cave-in sowed discontent with the regime.  Didn't do that either. Cabot seems to spend the whole movie waiting around for a chance to do something heroic, but every time one arrives he lets it pass by.

What about any of the other 'good' characters?  An old wizard called the Elder was the one who brought Cabot and Watney to Gor, in the hopes that they would accomplish something.  He gets stabbed by Lara before he can tell them what.  Talena spends most of the movie in a dungeon.  She maims a couple of dominatrices but that's about it for her.  Hup follows Cabot around, complaining about how hot, hungry, and lost they are.  Watney, too, rots in jail, out of sight and out of mind, for ninety percent of the film – then at the final showdown, he announces to the public that Lara murdered King Marlenus.  This is what brings about the end of the movie, as the bounty hunter kills her with a spear and Cabot and Talena are able to become King and Queen.  That's right, folks – the only ‘hero’ character in the movie who does anything directly to overthrow Lara is fucking Watney.

Watney deserves some kind of award for being probably the most hateable single character ever to appear on MST3K – and that's saying something.  His competition includes such nails-on-chalkboard specimens as various Gamera kids, the peeping soldiers from Attack of the The Eye Creatures, and Mitchell, but Watney blows them all away.  He's a sexist pig, a whiny asshole, and a fucking idiot combined.  Lara promises to make him a king and he seriously expects her to follow through on it, even still shouting threats at the guards who drag him away.  Yet at the end, when he, Cabot, Hup, and Talena are all about the be executed, he's the only person who responds proactively.  The movie would have ended the same way without Cabot, but not without Watney.  I guess that makes him the hero.  What a horrible thought.

So much for the good guys.  How about the villains?  Zeno mixes potions and has passive-aggressive arguments with Lara, but she gets fed up and kills him before he can really take any action against her.  Lara herself is a cartoon character – she's evil, and that's one hundred percent of her personality and motivation.  There is exactly one line in the movie that hints at a backstory for her. She claims that she had to learn the hard way that power is all that matters.  This suggests that she may have been a slave herself before rising to her current position, and if it had been explored a little this could have made something interesting out of her.  Historical parrallels could be drawn to Anne Boleyn or Irene Sarantapechaina, a former concubine using royal authority to punish those she feels have abused her.

But nobody else in this movie has more than one dimension, so why should she?  She seems interested in nothing but power for its own sake.  The reponsibilities that come with wielding it are entirely immaterial to her – she just wants to tell people what to do and then watch as they are forced to do it regardless of whether it actually makes any sense.  In fact, a number of the things she does, such as ordering the slaves to be locked in during the cave-in at the styrofoam mine, seem to have no purpose beyond exercising this total authority.  It's as if she wants to be surrounded by people who despise her, while she enjoys the fact that they can't do anything about her.  Imagine if she had a twitter account.

Then there's the most nonsensical character of all, the bounty hunter.  I think his name is Horst.  Lara hires him to bring Cabot and Hup back, he does so, she pays him, and he leaves.  It seems like his role in the story is done, but then he turns up again at the finale to kill Lara for no reason other than Watney said so.  I was sure this scene had to be otherwise motivated.  MST3K must've cut the bit where we find out she cheated him out of money or something – but no, apparently he just decided that it was time for the movie to end.  Maybe he's the hero.

The movie, however, treats Cabot as the hero throughout, so I suppose Cabot is the person it wants us to emulate.  What does that mean?  I guess it means that when evil appears to have triumphed, all we need to do is keep our heads down and wait it out.  We can put up with other people doing terrible things as long as we don't explicitly support them, and occasionally make some small show of loyalty to good, and sooner or later somebody else will topple the evil for you.  White-Liberal-est movie ever.

See what I meant?  There's heaps to complain about in Outlaw, and I didn't have to mention the books once.

[duaneodavila]

Where Did All The Dad’s Go?

How did “make your bed” become a philosophical tenet? Why do young men need a guru to tell them this? Jordan Peterson has become a father figure to what I snarkily call the “lost boys,” espousing generally fine ideas of personal responsibility and maturity. Make you bed, clean your room, are among them.

You need to be told this?*

For the most part, Peterson’s advice is banal. Not wrong, necessarily, but banal. And as a result, he’s gained a significant and loyal following. On the one hand, it’s good that someone is telling young men to grow up, put away their childish toys and do big boy things like make their bed. I have no particularly issue with Jordan Peterson’s advice here. And as the insipid will respond if you question anything about Peterson’s fans, why undermine someone giving young men positive advice?

Dear Lost Boys,

Grow the fuck up. If you need Jordan Peterson to tell you this, there may be no hope for you.

Love, Dad https://t.co/kbyomRvCVR

— Scott Greenfield (@ScottGreenfield) May 20, 2018

While most people got the message, there are invariably going to be dolts who either can’t read or can’t grasp the point. If this is reminiscent of the reaction of SJWs to any challenge to their ideology, that’s because it’s no different. Dogmatic people gonna dogmatic. The breadth of ignorance on the twitters makes stupid responses inevitable, and the demands of antagonistic narcissists go beyond the amount of effort and attention I’m inclined to allow.

But the bottom line question is why young men need to be told to clean their rooms. Why they need a guru to tell them to do so. What has happened to young people, as this is just the male side of the equation, with the female side absorbed in its own childish ideology, that they fail to grow up sufficiently on their own to perform the mundane tasks of maturation?

The most common response is that the boys in need of Peterson’s advice are fatherless. After all, the divorce rate hovers around 50%, certainly far higher than in earlier generations. It’s not a particularly convincing argument in a vacuum, as fathers don’t disappear in divorce. They’re still around, even if not living with their children because the Patriarchy, and their duty to provide fatherly guidance doesn’t change.

But that’s the least of it. In the last century, we’ve been through a number of wars from which fathers didn’t return. World War I, II, Korea, Vietnam. Many died leaving their sons behind, fatherless. Yet, their sons managed to grow up despite never having a guru to tell them to make their bed.

Then there is the helicopter parent explanation, that the generation of parents, or mothers if we’re still talking about the divorce rate, maintain such a level of micromanagement over their children that they never have to make their bed. Leave it alone and mommy will do it for you, and thus there’s no reason to give it a second thought.

This is certainly a deeply counterproductive phenomenon, even if helicopter parents just can’t bear to have expectations of their beloved little darling, but still fails to explain why the kids, even without anyone providing instructions, don’t have a desire to grow up, take control of their lives and, well, make their bed.

As a teenager, the thing I wanted to do more than anything was get the hell out of Dodge. I left home at 17 and never returned. There was never a thought of wanting to perpetuate my adolescence as long as possible. I wanted to be on my own. Everyone I knew wanted to be on their own. Everyone wanted to grow up.

No one asked permission. No one needed anyone to tell them how to do it. And despite the fantasy understanding of how things were back then, our parents had very little to do with our lives. The idea of my mother driving me to school was laughable. Our discussion was largely limited to “go outside and play and be home by dinner,” which was a TV dinner if I was lucky.

My father loves to tell the story of his return from World War II. On his first day home, his parents made him a celebratory dinner. On the morning of the second day, his father woke him up early, disassembled his bed and through it out on the front lawn. He then told him it was time to start his life. And he did. Granted, that couldn’t happen today, but the idea was that there was no life advice given beyond “grow up.” Somehow, he managed.

Yet, the lost boys vehemently insist that they need Jordan Peterson, or someone like him, to tell them to make their bed or they could never figure it out on their own. I reiterate, this isn’t a slam on either Peterson or the advice he offers. Nor is it a denunciation of his fanboys for appreciating his advice, even though some aren’t the sharpest knives in the draw.

Rather, this poses the question of how putatively sentient human beings can’t figure out, on their own, that they need to grow up, to make their bed? This isn’t hard stuff, or is it? Has the utterly banal become too difficult to fathom for young men today?

Having given plenty of space to the damage pseudo-feminism has done to young women, the absurdity of some boy arguing the requisite virtue of a guru to provide them with a roadmap to basic maturity needs to be confronted. I am glad you have a guru, a Jordan Peterson, to tell you to make your bed, because it is horrifying that you wouldn’t without being so instructed.

But at the same time, I am trying to maintain sufficient faith in male humanity to believe that you have the capacity to figure this out on your own, without a guru explaining it to you. Humanity has managed to survive for a long time without a 12-step program for growing up.

Have we now reached that point where the lost boys can’t possibly manage without it? If there is no dad, there was no Jordan Peterson, to tell you to zip up your fly or wipe your tushy, would you not know what to do? Lost boys, do you really need to be told to make your bed?

*There are, of course, higher order aspects to maturity for which instruction is warranted. Which fork to use, for example. But this is about the most fundamental, most obvious, least sophisticated of notions. Clean your room. Make your bed. This is not higher order stuff.

Copyright © 2007-2018 Simple Justice NY, LLC This feed is for personal, non-commercial and Newstex use only. The use of this feed anywhere else violates copyright. If this content is not in your news reader, it means the page you are viewing infringes copyright. (Digital Fingerprint: 51981395c77d7762065ca2c084b63e47) Where Did All The Dad’s Go? republished via Simple Justice