#like the R in my name is actually rolled but i have to westernize or else ppl are like

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

Thrift store Westerns I've never heard of part 2!

SHOOT FIRST AND PRAY YOU LIVE (Because Luck Has Nothing to Do With It) is an indie film from 2009 and winner of the independent spirit award at Santa Fe Film Festival, apparently. Wikipedia says it was based on the novel Luck by Max Brand. It's got everything! It's got maybe in fact too much going on! It's got split screen, it's got a brief animated sequence, it's got so many fucking flashbacks.

Opens with this, which I find very funny for some reason:

While we're on disclaimers, my quotations are summarized and not exact bc I am not going over ever few seconds of this movie. Also this movie is rated R so assume Yes for most common western content warnings.

Very GBU intro with about 10 seconds of empty street, a surprise close-up and then a tense shootout that we'll only have context for later. I hope.

The first real scene introducing our main character (Red Pierre) is a very gory shootout in a saloon. The shots themselves are fast and then we get a blow-by-blow of exactly where each of the 3 shots fired went. Lots of squirting blood from exploded arteries. I respect it but also was deliberately not looking at the screen too hard for like a solid 30 seconds or so lol. Red's first shot was shooting his opponent's thumb off, so he pulled a Silence a la The Great Silence. However in this case it was not simply a disabling move bc he did just keep shooting and murder those 2 guys. also. so. not sure what the point of that was.

Then he turns around and makes awkward eye contact with the only other guy who hasn't left the saloon, an old man who makes a high-pitched sound and goes 'I didn't see anything! Actually, no, I saw everything and you were totally in the right hahaha don't even worry about it....' Red asks if he has a horse and he stammers that he's got a burro and Red is welcome to take it. "My horse died, or I wouldn't ask," Red clarifies awkwardly, before escaping with the old man's burro. It's now night, Red frees a Mexican man whom some nasty gang members were hanging from a tree as a form of torture. Red waits at the tree, presumably waiting for these guys to show up so he can kill them? idk. He falls asleep immediately and wakes up being guarded by the daughter of the aforementioned gang leader.

fuckin womp womp sound effect plays as he realizes what happened. My guy what did you expect? Why did you go to sleep at the Local Asshole Gang's Designated Torture Tree?

STOP LOOKING SURPRISED YOU HAD TO KNOW THEY WERE COMING BACK.

Anyways the gang leader's son just got killed and then he saw Red and was like, oh yeah I hear he's killed people. Good enough! New son figure and new gang member to fill the empty seat at the table! (Everyone thinks this is a terrible idea, especially gun girl. Red is like 'you're right, what a terrible idea, I'll just... leave.... *gun pointed at him threateningly* ok or not or I'll just sit here I guess')

There's a bit where the camera zooms in on individual gang members and names them. There is no way I am remembering all 5 of these guys at once. The girl's name is Jack though. Cool. Her dad is a creep and does not seem to like her much He does, he just gets really weird dialogue. idk, I have mixed but not very coherent feelings about how Jack is handled in this movie like, generally. Anyways gang leader Jim Payne comments that Red is 'older than I thought, but young enough for what I want to make of you.' He then goes on a rant about how when he was Red's age he had a mentor who shaped him into the man he is now and he's going to be that person for Red.

Red is....

Deeply confused by all this?? but willing to roll with it for his own agenda. If the gang helps him out with some Mysterious Tasks he needs to accomplish, he'll join them willingly. Payne is delighted to hear it. The first task is burying Red's dead father. Everyone chews on some loco weed and gets high as shit before setting off on this long journey (except for Knife Guy, who I guess is loco enough without the weed and thus declines it.)

TWENTY YEARS AGO (we are getting an extended flashback)

Pierre's dad, who is now dead and needs to be buried, was having an affair with Red Pierre's mom. Bob McGurk and the other guys Red wants to revenge kill show up at his mom's house and shoot some guy and assault her. (I thought the guy they shot was her dad but eventually, in a later flashback, we find out it was just like. some other dude she happened to know, and that the killers thought it was Red's dad). She swears to kill them all and eventually manages to kill the sheriff, leaving 2 others for someone else to please take care of.

Red Pierre's dad simply can't, because he is wearing a sweater. He can't shoot no one! Not in a sweater! Despite his extended musings about what a terrible man he was and how he's going to hell, he's apparently just not a shooting man, thus letting his girlfriend be tortured by the local gang for months (yes this went on for Months before she managed to stab the sheriff.) He's also not a "raising my illegitimate son" type apparently, so he drops the kid off at a random Mexican mission to be raised by the friars.

the subtitles helpfully provide pronunciation. Also, THIS PLACE IS LIKE 900 MILES FROM THE BORDER? IS THIS WHOLE MOVIE TAKING PLACE FULLY INSIDE MEXICO (IF SO WHY IS ALMOST EVERYONE WHITE AND SPEAKING AMERICAN ACCENTED ENGLISH) AND IF NOT, DID THIS GUY RIDE 900 MILES TO DROP OFF THE KID HE DIDN'T WANT TO RAISE SOMEWHERE HE WOULD NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER FIND HIS WAY BACK???? WHAT'S HAPPENING. WHY ISN'T RED SPEAKING SPANISH IF HE WAS RAISED DEEP IN CENTRAL MEXICO. HOW DID WE GET HERE. HOW DID WE GET ANYWHERE. WHY ARE YOU SO INSISTENT ABOUT THIS SPECIFIC GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATION THAT DOES NOT MAKE SENSE. LIke don't get me wrong it's a very cool geographical location but what is happening.

Anyways, Red's dying mother whispered something (I thought it was her murderous plans but it will later be revealed that I was wrong about this) into his baby ears as he lay in her dying arms and now he's gotta go murder the bad guys that terrorized his mom but first must bury his illegitimate dad who was nice to his mom but did not protect her from the other guys and also did not claim or raise him bc the dad was married to some other unseen unnamed woman who is presumably also dead now I guess bc she's just not ever going to come up. Simple! I'm so confused. The priest who raised Red after he got yeeted 900 miles south into Mexico has a monologue about raising his beloved child and WAIT HOLY SHIT IT'S ANIMATED NOW. WE'RE HAVING AN ANIMATED SEQUENCE???

I swear to God I am not making this movie up. delightful. what is happening ever. anyways no wonder Red just goes "this might as well happen" about acquiring a new father figure in Payne, he has so many fuckingn dads already...

The priest is like 'yeah I didn't even try to raise him to be a good Christian I knew he was destined to be a total badass adn beat people the fuck up so I taught him to fight bobcats and grizzly bears and climb trees and catch fish with his teeth and shit. bc I'm cool'

The priest then coyly mentions that Pierre is too much of a badass in the boxing ring and nobody wants to fight him, so he uses him as a form of penance on sinners by making them box this violent child and get beat up.

THIS IS NOT THE SAME MAN? THIS IS NOT OUR GUY? DID HE LOSE ALL HIS PIGMENTATION AS HE MATURED. DID A GRIZZLY BEAR BITE ALL THE BROWN OUT OF HIS HAIR AND NOW IT'S RED? WHAT HAPPENED. THIS IS NOT A RED HAIRED BLUE EYED KID. IS OUR CURRENT GUY NOT RED PIERRE? IS HE ACTUALLY SOME OTHER DUDE? IS RED PIERRE (THE REAL ONE) GOING TO SHOW UP LATER??? WHAT'S HAPPENING. (This kid is a very good actor and a good fighter by the way, but he is not a good double for the guy he is allegedly the child version of.)

His opponent mumbles "que diablo" as he's getting knocked out with the most American pronunciation I've ever heard. I don't even know Spanish that well adn I can tell that's some extremely American Spanish. also

thank God we're free of the flashback. We've been here so long. No specific time given bc that would require me going back through this and I don't want to reexperience it.

...My theory about this flashback is it's showing us in realtime how Red's story becomes a legend (part of the intro featured a guy telling us and a bunch of children a story about The Legend Of Red Pierre so Storytelling is like, a Theme.) I guess? It would explain why current Red is kind of a sweet awkward quiet kid and flashback Red is Paul Bunyan if he was a ginger (but only sometimes.)

aww novice Red is so cute.

YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO SHOW ME A MAP MONTAGE? DO YOU REALLY WANT TO REMIND ME OF THE 900 MILE DISTANCE BETWEEN YOUR STATED CURRENT SETTING AND WHERE THE REST OF THIS MOVIE SUPPOSEDLY TAKES PLACE? YOU WANT ME TO THINK ABOUT DISTANCE IN THIS MOVIE?? ARE YOU SURE

oh my god we get another different flashback about Red's mom Irene now and. His dad fully was there the day that the gang killed that other guy and assaulted her. he had a gun. he had the drop on them. he... ran awayyy! It haunted him. Finally, years later, he took his gun and went to shoot McGurk, who shot him instead. that's how we ended up here, Red still has 2 guys left to kill for his parents. I've now heard this story like 19 times and it gets slightly more complicated and yet somehow less interesting every time.

Red's batshit crazy rogue priest daddy is ok with the revenge and gives him a???? Cursed crucifix??? that will bring blessings to him and evil to others?????? What's happening. I was raised Catholic I did not get any magical amulets like this

ok so we're caught up. Red killed one of the 2 guys in the first big shootout of the movie, his dad was the guy getting shot in the intro. Jack joins the men officially as part of the gang. We are now getting backstory for some random gang member whom I do not care about.

Blessedly this was a short flashback. he used to be a blacksmith before he went axe crazy, or more accurately hammer crazy, with a hammer. I think he had some reason but I couldn't understand the dialogue in that bit so who knows.

OH NO ANOTHER GANG MEMBER IS GOING TO TELL HIS LIFE STORY NOW... IS THIS GOING TO BE THE WHOLE MIDDLE OF THE MOVIE? PEOPLE TAKING TURNS TALKING ABOUT THE VIOLENCE THEY'VE DONE? wait a minute. false alarm. the next guy starts his story but is INTERRUPTED! By McGurk dramatically showing up. Ok fine that was funny. you got me.

anyways McGurk wants Red dead. what a shock. oh god another flashback PLEASE DO NOT ZOOM IN ON MCGURK PULLING HIS WIENER OUT PLEASE GOD

I do like the period accurate costuming in this movie. buttons yes. can I be done here? can the movie be over here? we're not even halfway in how can I endure this.

anyways. Red and McGurk have a showdown and fire simultaneously, each wounding the other. The other gang is delighted by this as the previously untouchable McGurk being wounded means his charm is broken. He can be killed! Eventually. (?)

The storyteller from the beginning of the movie comes back and tells us that McGurk disappeared for 2 years and that Red did lots of exciting stuff during that time but we're not going to get into all that right now. He also mentions that Red has the gang working with him while McGurk has 'always been a lone wolf'. This is straight up incorrect, as we had to see at least 3 painfully long flashbacks of McGurk and his 2-3 (I forgot) cronies shooting Red's mom Irene's friend full of holes and assaulting her. As a group! He did in fact have help before, if maybe not now. anyways. I shouldn't try to logic this movie.

The kids go to a masquerade. It's cute. Jack is enjoying the dress but worries it'll compromise her tough butch persona if the boys find out. Red promises not to tell anyone. There's a trippy extended rewind sequence that shows, everything playing in reverse, that McGurk, now wearing an eyepatch, has been stalking them all day, and then a completely unnecessary but in parts very funny sequence where McGurk gets a shave and the barber gossips to him about his backstory , providing a couple details we hadn't known but that I don't think matter much. 'now I never even seen a picture of McGurk, but they say he was an unnatural looking man, with a face you'd never forget,' says the barber, dabbing shaving cream onto McGurk's face. lol. It gets to be too much when the barber implies that McGurk dragged himself off into the wilderness and died somewhere, never to be heard of again. McGurk, very alive, pulls out his gun and asks if Red is still alive, and where to find him, thus bringing us back to before the masquerade, though first we must get ANOTHER flashback showing that McGurk did indeed drag himself off into the wilderness and ALMOST die, and he spent the whole time thinking about how much he hated Red.

Then there's a bit from I guess before the masquerade in which one of the gang members gets jittery over one of the others not showing up on time and tells Red he's bad luck, despite Jim Payne's argument that he's brought them nothing but good luck for these past 2 years. Red and the complainer square up for a duel and the other gang members go wait outside. We get some split screen of inside and outside the building:

It's fun but I'm not sure why it needed to happen. The complainer decides to just Not today and slinks off, but Jim mumbles that the other gang members will have to pick sides and a breakup is coming. We exit split screen. Then for no discernible reason we re-enter split screen.

Split screen gives us 2 slightly different shots of the same porch scene for a very funny and confusing moment, then McGurk steps into view in one shot while the gang doesn't notice him in the other. He shoots Jim Payne, Rodrigo and I think that's hammer guy? I think he killed the other non-complainer gang member earlier but the 2 guys sitting outside were shooting at a wasp and therefore didn't hear his shots, which happened at the same time? That section was confusing.

Ok NOW we're back up to the masquerade, and we have to watch a bunch of the same shots again. No wonder this movie is nearly 2 hours, it's mostly repetition, a lot of it of the same couple of flashbacks. Anyways, McGurk shows up at the masquerade, threatens Red, dances with Jack. Red gets knocked unconscious by someone and wakes up tied to a post in the middle of nowhere.

Oh look, Chollas! That places this movie as taking place in the Sonoran Desert, so somewhere in Arizona, southern American California, parts of Nevada or New Mexico, Baja California (unlikely) or northwestern Mexico. Filming apparently took place in New Mexico. You will notice that zero of these places are ANYWHERE near the one SPECIFICALLY NAMED location with title card and everything, TzinTzunTzan Mexico. No I'm not done being annoying about this I'm never done. Does anyone know how distances work?

Anyways. Red is tied up, concussed and dehydrated. The complainer from the gang shows up and mocks him. It was he who kidnapped Red! And now he's going to kill him. But fairly, of course. He'll give Red a weapon--he places it in his left hand and leaves him tied up, of course. And I am going to turn on captions for these because I need you to see that I'm not making this dialogue up oh my God.

"Because I face my challenges head-on! Like a train going down the tracks! I love trains. ...Robbing... trains."

Red shoots the complainer, whose name I will never not mishear as Gandalf (it's Gandall or something?) and then Some Guy happens along to find Red. I'm pretty sure this is the same guy he freed from being tied to a tree at the start of the movie but I'm not sure. The guy comments 'it's only fair' as he releases Red, so maybe I'm right? It's not super obvious if they recognize each other or not. He does threaten Red a bit first before freeing him. idk.

Anyways I think this man is hot and watching him playfully mess with Red a bit before releasing him was the closest I've come to sexualizing anyone in this movie. Mostly I have been too confused and haven't cared about anyone enough.

Red, now freed, finds McGurk McLurking over his mother's grave and yells at him to get away from it, furious. They have a showdown. Red shoots McGurk's gun hand, then drops his own gun and dares McGurk to try to pick his up faster. McGurk doesn't move. Red mocks him, then finally tells him that there would be no satisfaction in killing him like this, even though Red could, and to get out. McGurk leaves his gun, throws his belt of ammunition in Red's general direction and skedaddles. A flashback reveals that Irene told Red's presumed father whom he buried in the beginning of the movie that McGurk was the young Red's father (I did wonder about that. But also how did she know? Red was redhaired like his father. Well I guess his non-father was more blond but like. He definitely doesn't look like McGurk. And all those creeps had their way with her so like. how do we... know... that it's him.... in particular. None of these guys had red hair also. except maybe his dad who wasn't his dad.) but anyways... in Red's non-dad's one moment of bravery, he picked up baby Red, saw McGurk McLurking outside, and shouted 'the boy's mine. Get out!' at him. And McGurk actually McLeft. In the present, once again, he runs away from Red. an interesting ending, though I'm not sure I'd call it a satisfying one--maybe if it was more "Red is sticking to his moral principles of not killing where avoidable" was more of a Thing up to this point, but like, Red has killed a bunch of people and not seemed to mind joining the outlaw gang and presumably doing a bunch of crime with them for 2 years. So. idk??

It's then revealed via, surprise, ANOTHER FLASHBACK that Red had given the magical cross amulet thing to Jack before their dance and so has been winning these last fights with his own skill and no luck, which is a fun reveal I guess. It then cuts to Jack who has been caught and tied up by bandits though, so like, I guess the cross does not work at all bc that is just some real bad luck for her. So. What was the point of any of this?

The movie ends there. No explanation of what's going on with Jack. We do not see her get rescued. I don't even know who those guys that tied her up are. We've never seen them before. What the fuck is happening. ROLL CREDITS!

Ok thoughts: idk interesting movie. I didn't feel strongly about it. I think it's clear the people making it were having a lot of fun so that's cool. Red was kind of a fun character, especially when he's awkward and dorky. Very lovable. However his motivations and general morality are an enigma to me. For a guy who has that much exposition about him I'm really very confused about what's going on with him, which does not seem like it should be possible at this point.

Jack was potentially a fun character but I feel her dad was so weird about her gender while I didn't have a solid grip on how she felt about it herself. It's implied that she has to be a man to join the gang and her dad allows it as long as she dresses masc and shoots guns but views her as neither man nor woman. Potentially fun concept.. I really wish we didn't end the movie with a casual non sequitur of her getting attacked by some random dudes. Do we not have enough women experiencing violence in this movie already. It's in every fuckign western I watch and I am just so tired of it.

idk. I think Red should've shot McGurk. It's not like he was Not shooting anyone else. Why would he shoot all those other guys and NOT McGurk. Maybe he thinks it's crueller to make him live knowing that he had to run away from Red. idk. Also why did we have those two (and a half? there's a brief moment where he talks to someone in a saloon?) sequences of the storyteller talking about the legend of Red Pierre? What did that add?

I did like some of the humor in this movie. Generally I think it was rather incoherent but had some fun along the way. Maybe too much, to a confusing degree. I also liked the costuming and how dusty and greasy everyone looks.

I feel like maybe the characterization was clearer in the book but falls flat or just seems confusing in a movie... this is just a theory though.

Anyways. Unexpected parallels between this movie and the other western I'd never heard about before finding it at a thrift store and making a tumblr post about, Gallowwalkers:

-Some kind of secret society of magical wizards which is vaguely Catholicism-flavored and described as a religious order despite having absolutely nothing to do with real world Catholicism

-Older, morally questionable gunfighter notices a conventionally attractive younger white boy and immediately goes "that's my new boy. I'm adopting him. Boy, hello, I am your new mentor, whether you want one or not. Come shoot people with me." In both cases it's so weird and flat and confusing that I don't even ship it, despite being a known freak and Wanting to...

-generally confusing movie. Too much going on that is never fully explained and yet the stuff that is explained gets too wordy.

Anyways I skipped through the credits to the end looking for some explanation of the ending and did get this:

To be continued?? you thought you were going to make another one of these? well that explains the ending I guess. oh well.

There actually WAS also a brief funny stinger of the shopkeeper whom Red and Jack held up and told to lie on the floor and count to 5000 reaching 4998 and going "To hell with this" and getting up. lol.

[hearteyesmcgarrett]

is it weird to just answer the ask meme questions without actual asks? probably, but i want to yell about fandom shit rn so you can't stop me

A - Ships that you currently like a lot. its obvious that im in a grimm fixation rn, so i have to say nick/monroe as a romantic ship (or nick/monroe/rosalee), and the whole gang as a platonic relationship. For SGA, i'm always a mcshep fan but i honestly enjoy any pairing of AR1. Anyone that has followed me for an extended period of time knows that im a mcdanno (H50) and leverage ot3 truther as well.

B - A pairing–platonic, romantic or sexual–that you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind. hmm, not sure? OH some folks doing the sga kinkmeme have mentioned john/cam and im very intrigued

C - A ship you have never liked and probably never will. Rodney/Jennifer :( I love Jennifer, but the writers consistently changed her characterization and that relationship felt forced and weird (SGA)

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t. John/Elizabeth. I'm sorry! maybe its just because im gay af but to me their relationship felt like bffs, not romantic (SGA)

E - Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom? If so, what? I made that stargate cinnamon roll meme, if that counts

F - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom? ~10 years

G - Have you ever had an OTP? If so, do you remember your first one? Who was in it? i'm a multishipper for sure, but one of the first ships i remember really clearly was eric/ryan from csi miami (circa age like 12)

H - What is your favorite source text for fandom stuff (e.g., TV shows, movies, books, anime, Western animation, etc.)? TV!

I - Has Tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why? I dont know that it was entirely tumblr, but yeah, Voltron. The fandom was truly fucking awful

J - Name a fandom you didn’t think about until you saw it all over Tumblr. (You don’t have to care about it or follow it; it just has to be something that Tumblr made you aware of.) uhhhh, like every show tbh. 99% of the shows i watch came from tumblr or online friends

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc? Eliot Spencer (Leverage)

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves. hmm, I guess Adalind counts as a character who isnt one of my faves. She's a complex and interesting character, and its clear that a lot of her decisions come from a place of trauma. After having Diana it really shows that she does want to protect her and keep her safe (grimm)

M - Name a character that you’d like to have for a friend. Ronon (SGA), Hardison (Leverage), Teal'c (SG1), etc

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom 1. men showing emotions!!! (grimm does this well, thankfully) 2. on a similar note: depicting how the shit these characters get up to is traumatizing and how that impacts them long term 3. literally any canon queer rep. can we PLEASE have a show like stargate or grimm where one of the characters (especially a man) is canonically queer? is that so hard???

O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of? Forfeit by Rise Against always makes me think of ascended Daniel/Jack (SG1). Oh and ever since i saw a gifset with lyrics from it, Timberwolves at New Jersey by Taking Back Sunday makes me think of John (SGA)

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas). one of these fuckin days i am going to write a baseball SGA AU

Q - A fandom you’ve abandoned and why. As previously mentioned: Voltron because the fan base was toxic and awful

R - Which friendship/platonic relationship is your favorite in fandom? all my favorite fandoms are themed around found family so this is so hard lmao. Nick & Hank (Grimm), Eliot & Harry (Leverage Redemption), Harry & Breanna (LR), Don & Charlie if brothers count (Numb3rs), etc

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon anyone who reads my H50 fics knows that i will fuckin die on the hill that Danny has an anxiety disorder

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?  besides anxious danny, I'd say John having ADHD (SGA), and Monroe being bi (Grimm) are two right off the top of my head

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites 1. Steve McGarrett (H50) - he's been through so much shit, but he's still so damn loyal and protective and kind. He's such a good dude who is just traumatized beyond belief. 2. Charlie Eppes (Numb3rs) - besides the fact that i am CONVINCED he has ADHD, he's just so fucking loving and passionate about his work and the people he loves. he balances out the hardness of Don and the gang with the sheer size of his heart 3. Eliot Spencer (Leverage) - basically the same reason as steve. I have a type.

V - Which character do you relate to most? this is tough. probably Daniel (SG1) - esp early seasons - because of similar worldviews and interests and personalities, and Danny (H50) because of similar personalities

W - A trope which you are virtually certain to hate in any fandom. MISCOMMUNICATION!! its so frustrating.

X - A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom. im a big ol softie so i love stuff like mutual pining, hurt/comfort, etc.

Y - What are your secondhand fandoms Good Omens is a big one rn lmao. I've read the book but haven't watched the show. Also, Daredevil probably. I watched at least the first season years ago, but haven't seen anything beyond that. I still enjoy seeing people's posts about it and i read fic sometimes

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go! im so cranky rn about the lack of depiction of trauma/mental illness/neurodivergence/etc in fandoms where its to be expected. like with Grimm rn, you give Nick PTSD and sensory enhancements but then suddenly forget about them?? that's not how that works! Or why is it always just hinted at that characters are ND? why is it so hard to just be like 'yeah no x has ADHD (or whatever)'? i want to be able to actually have complex/tough/interesting/etc protags that are ALSO neurodiverse. if we're all reading John as having ADHD (SGA) or Parker being autistic (leverage) anyways, why can't these things just be intentionally part of the character

[theprettyprince-blog]

someone today really said that it’s cultural appropriation for me to roll my Rs when I speak Spanish 💀

1) wtf does that even mean

2) I naturally roll my Rs bc I’m Arab dumbass

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 I || professor!helmut zemo x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : history is so much more interesting when he’s teaching it.  you’d better be careful before the two of you end up with a history of your own.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (incl. semi-public sex in an office and oral f receiving), significant age gap (reader is 20, zemo is 39; it isn’t actually mentioned though but it comes up in the next part), the slightest bit of angst?, nearly pwp at this point lol

                                    You wouldn’t know it by the way you were enraptured with his lecture, but you weren’t even a history major.  

Quite far from it, really, well outside of the college of liberal arts, and yet here you were in the front row, watching him gesture over a large map of Western Europe while he explained the sociocultural impacts of the Treaty of Versailles.

It was probably pretty obvious why you took such interest in all this, though.  After all, you were the only one who dressed as well as he did, your blazers and skirts and loafers standing out amongst a sea of hoodies and sweats and flip-flops; and, you were the only one who paid close attention and yet never seemed to be taking any notes…

Why would you, after all?  Looking away to write in your notebook would mean missing out on all the fun, and unfortunately you had found that when you copied down the words he spoke, his accent was not retained in writing.

Some kid in the back of the class had asked about his accent the first day; you thought it was kind of a rude question, if you were being honest, but he didn’t seem to mind too much (if perhaps a bit surprised that anyone cared).  He explained he was from a small country called Sokovia, but that his accent was a bit unique since he spoke Russian, German, Spanish, and Italian as well.

Because of course he did.  Like he was specifically designed to target all your weaknesses.

“Well, I could talk about that for the rest of the evening but I’ll spare you all and let you out a bit early today, how does that sound?” Professor Zemo offered.  The other students weakly cheered, a few claps here and there as you heard binders shutting and backpacks being zipped, but you were disappointed.  You didn’t want to go back to your dorm, all you were going to do there was think about him anyways.

Damn, I’ve really got it bad, you thought to yourself, shaking your head as you stood up and gathering your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder.  You glanced up at the podium where another student was chatting with Professor Zemo, and either he said something really funny or she was trying way too hard to flirt with him.  You rolled your eyes, irritated by the display and yet envious of her audacity to just go up there and talk to him.  Imagine having a crush and actually being able to look them in the eye and hold a conversation; you could barely do that with people you didn’t happen to find attractive.

Just as you were about to make it out the door, you heard your name and spun around.  You were shocked to realize it was the Professor trying to get your attention.  If only you’d thought to pretend you hadn’t heard him.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” he requested, motioning you over with two curled fingers.  With a swallow and a nod, you stepped out of the flow of students exiting into the hallway and approached the desk at the front of the room.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I just wanted to discuss your most recent paper, if you have some time,” he explained, and your heart sunk.  Of course it was garbage, you’d written the whole thing last minute during a near-all-nighter.  “I still have the copy you turned in here in my bag.”

“Right, of course— sure,” you nodded.  By now the classroom was empty spare for the two of you, your words echoing slightly; presumably that was intentional, since these places were built for acoustics, but it made you worry you’d have to hear whatever criticism he had for you multiple times.

He pulled out the slightly-wrinkled paper and took his glasses off of his vest to wear (fuck, did he have to wear the glasses, just to personally attack you?) as he glanced over the top page before folding it over the staple.

“This essay,” he continued, “it’s—”

Ridiculous.  Idiotic.  A blight on humanity and a waste of printer ink.

“Fascinating,” he finished, surprising you.  “After I read it, I searched your student profile on my office computer—”

You gulped, trying not to take that as a compliment.

“I’m looking at your information and I’m seeing you aren’t even a history major— is this a mistake, when it says your major is computer science?”

“No, that’s my major,” you nodded.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he decided, “because you have some really interesting ideas in here, clearly you must have studied history before.”

“I mean, not really,” you shrugged.  “I didn’t even care that much about history until, you know, you...r class,” you finished quickly, realizing it sounded too odd otherwise.

And that smile, the way he looked down at the floor suddenly, was he blushing?  “Thank you.  I’m always… glad to inspire.”

If only you knew everything you’d inspired in me, Professor.

“If you didn’t care about history, what would motivate you to register for an honors history seminar?” he asked suddenly.  

“Well…” you trailed off, reaching up to scratch the back of your neck as you dodged his gaze.

“It couldn’t possibly be because I’m teaching it,” he realized.

“I came to your talk last year, the one you did about the Sokovian civil war,” you finally admitted, letting out a lungful of air as you said it and looking up at him sheepishly.

“Ah,” he nodded, “yes, that might make a bit more sense.  But we still haven’t found the real reason, have we?”  His eyebrow raised slightly and you felt like he was toying with you— but you liked it, the shiver that ran up your spine made that obvious.  “Because the question remains of what would possess a computer science student to take time out of her busy schedule on a Friday night— if I recall the night correctly— to listen to some stuffy visiting scholar talk about a bloody war in a country she may not have even heard of before.”

“My friend brought me,” you defended.

“Under what guise?” he pressed.

“She… may have mentioned something about… a cute professor with a sexy accent…” you stammered, cringing slightly as you spared a glance back up at him.  He was staring back at you with the most bewildering expression.  His eyes said ‘you thought I was cute?’, and yet his smile said ‘I knew it.’

“You must’ve been horribly disappointed when I took the stage,” he finally replied, voice a bit lower, softer, not echoing around the room anymore.  

“Not at all,” you returned, almost below your breath now, and suddenly you became very aware that you were standing too close to him, but you couldn’t move away, you couldn’t even look away anymore.  “I’m here, aren’t I?  Taking your class?”

“And you make it nearly impossible to focus, did you know that?  I swear your eyes never leave me, I can feel them on me.  It’s quite unfair, because I can’t stare back at you no matter how much I want to.”

Just as you looked down at his lips and back up to his eyes, which seemed to be following a similar pattern on your own face, just when you thought this might be it and you were about to do something you really shouldn’t (but really wanted to), you heard the door open behind you and you spun around so fast you nearly hurt your neck.

“Oh,” the man in the doorway mumbled, apparently surprised to see you enough to nearly drop the papers tucked under his arm.  “I’m teaching the next class in here— Honors History of Islam?”

“Professor Waters, yes, my apologies,” Zemo nodded, “we were just… our discussion ran a bit long, we’ll get out of your way.”

You and Zemo awkwardly gathered your things and made a dash for the door as the older professor took his place at the podium.  Once the two of you were out in the hall, you let out a sigh and gave each other a glance, like you were each waiting for the other to either acknowledge or ignore what had just (almost) happened.

“I have my next class across campus in a half hour,” he remembered suddenly, lifting his arm and pulling back the brown sleeve of his coat to look at his watch.  

“Right, you should… get to that,” you nodded.

“Walk with me?” he proposed, and you hoped your smile wasn’t as beaming as it felt.  

“I’d love to.”

So maybe you ended up skipping your evening class to sit in the back of his History of England course.  And, perhaps, he ended that one early, too, this time to buy you coffee at the student center; and your discussion ended up going on so long that the coffee shop closed and you had to go to his office to finish the conversation.

But, in a certain sense, it could be argued that you never really got a chance to finish that conversation after all… because a few moments after he shut the door to his office, you, for lack of a better term, jumped his bones.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips as you pulled him closer by his jacket, “we can’t do this.”

You nodded, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck.  “Mhm, yeah, you’re right,” you agreed breathlessly.

His hands took their place at your waist as you both stepped back, the back of your legs bumping into his desk which you jumped up slightly to sit on.

“I mean, we really can’t do this,” he continued, kissing your neck instead now while your legs wrapped around his hips, your skirt riding up slightly, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his collar.  “I want to, overwhelmingly so, but we can’t.”

“I know,” you sighed; your head fell back when his teeth grazed over your pulse, and his hand was right there to catch it and hold it up, gripping the back of your neck.

“This absolutely cannot happen,” he groaned when your legs pulled him closer, something hard and hot pressing up against your thigh through his trousers and you were really hoping it wasn’t just his cell phone.

Then he rocked his hips, just barely, and you felt the outline of the ridge of his head and it was definitely not his phone unless he had the most suggestively-shaped phone case of all time.  You gasped and grabbed his face to kiss him again, shamelessly desperate now, weaving your fingers into the hair just above the back of his neck.

By now you had managed to get a few of his buttons open so when you slid your fingers down from time to time, they ran over his chest and the patch of dark blonde hair there.  Funny enough, you couldn’t remember having any strong opinions on chest hair before this afternoon, but now you felt your walls fluttering around nothing.  

He helped you shed your blazer just before tossing his own coat aside, never breaking the kiss, holding your face gently while he pushed you down to lay on his desk— he reached behind you to clear a few stray papers out of the way first.  

Your back hit the glossy wood and his weight pinned you down, rough hands sliding up your legs and under your skirt as you tried to push your hips up for more friction where you needed him most.

He pushed your hips back down, not too roughly but definitely enough to get your attention, before sliding his hands up your skirt again where he toyed with the hem of your panties.

You wanted to say something, more specifically you wanted to beg him to touch you, but you had this fear that if you spoke now it would all become real and he would stop because, as he had so poignantly noted, this can’t happen.  And both of you knew that… so maybe it would be easier to let it happen if neither of you really acknowledged it.

Luckily, he didn’t tease you too long, reaching under the fabric and swiping the rough pads of his fingers over your slickened folds.  You choked on your gasp, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulders when he drew delicate circles around your clit.  All at once, he suddenly pushed those fingers right inside you and your back arched; you needed so much more than just his fingers but the way they twisted and curled against your walls was nearly perfect as well.  

They didn’t stay long, quickly pulling back as you watched him quickly open his trousers just before you felt the head of him pushing up to your entrance.

His eyes met yours, dark with need, yet somehow clearly asking you for permission, making sure this was what you wanted: and fuck, you wanted it more than anything.  The moment that you nodded, he began to push forward— slow and deliberate, but unyielding.  

Perhaps as a perfect healthy college student in a male-dominated major, you had no real excuse for it to have been so long since you’d had sex.  As you liked to put it: dating as a woman in computer science means the odds are good but the goods are odd.  Truth be told, you weren’t sure at this point if having had sex any time in the past year would’ve prepared you for him anyway.  It felt like he was forging a new path inside you— certainly a wider one than anyone else ever had since he was so thick.  

With his hips fully seated against yours, the tip of his cock just reached the end of you, just barely brushed over those sensitive spots you didn’t even know you had before.

It stung a bit to be filled this thoroughly, so it was no wonder you were biting down on your lip hard enough to bruise it, your fingers clutching at his shirt tightly.

“Am I hurting you?” he whispered, finally breaking the silence, voice strained like he was struggling just as much as you were (though in an entirely different way).

“A little,” you admitted.  “Please don’t stop.”

He groaned a few curses as he started to move back, and forth, and so slow you could hardly stand it.  

“Fuck,” you breathed, “oh my god, harder, please…”

A little smile crossed his face, a sharp exhale almost like a laugh, and it made your cheeks burn even hotter than they already were.  But, he obeyed, regardless, more aggressive in his movements yet not any faster as he held your hips to keep you from sliding across the desk’s glossy wood surface.

Your moans were starting to echo around the office’s beige walls at this point, and he snarled as he bit down on your neck.  “You need to stay quiet,” he hissed in your ear.  “Can you do that for me?  Can you stay quiet even when I’m making you feel so good?”

“I-I’m trying,” you whimpered, “your cock is… so deep…”

“Oh, I know,” he cooed, voice heavy with faux pity, “poor thing, you can’t take it?”

“No!” you yelped.  “I can take it!  Please, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t have to if you stay quiet, darling, we can’t have somebody hearing you now can we?” he chuckled, licking and sucking at your pulse point as your eyes rolled back in your head.  “We can’t have somebody hearing you cry for me, and coming in here, and seeing you laying on my desk getting fucked by your professor, right?”

What the hell was wrong with you that that idea actually turned you on?  Why did it actually make you want to moan louder until everyone could hear you?

And when his cock speared right against that spongy spot inside you, you did exactly that and he had to suddenly clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled, “you’re going to get us both in trouble.”

Your attempts at apologies were totally incomprehensible with his hand over your mouth, not that they were likely to have made much sense either way.

Blinking your eyes shut, your legs began to quiver slightly as he rutted into you, your toes curling inside your loafers.  You felt so full you could hardly stand it, stretched so wide that you were forced to feel every detail of his cock as it filled you.  Already your walls were bearing down on him; you couldn’t help it, it was like your body was just his instrument now and instinct had taken control of your movements.  

His accent was definitely stronger now as he whispered in your ear, praising you gruffly.  You knew from the beginning that you loved high marks and encouragement from your teachers, but this… this was different, and you hadn't known how much it would affect you.

"Good girl," he breathed, "you're taking me so well, draga, you feel so perfect around me."

You whined from behind his hand and he chuckled at your obvious neediness.

"You like making me feel good, darling?" he presumed, his smile pressing against your neck between nipping kisses to your pulse point.  "You like knowing that I can barely take this tight cunt gripping me so well, that I'm already addicted to your precious body and want to fill it with my seed?"

With your eyes rolling back in your head you nodded feverishly, heavy in your state of total delirium as he pumped his cock deep into you over and over.

You reached up to try to pull his hand away from your mouth, and he met your gaze with fire in his eyes.

“If I take my hand away, will you be good?” he challenged, and you nodded feverishly.  He was a bit hesitant but slowly moved his hand down, and though you did have to keep biting your lip, you managed to restrain yourself.

Every drag of the ridge of his head inside you was somehow more intense than the last, somehow hitting right at your spot and it was like each rough thrust knocked his name out of your mind and onto your lips until you were chanting it like a prayer, or a plea.

And each time you said it, he fucked you harder, snarling and whispering your name back to you a few times, in between little praises; "Beautiful," he mumbled, "such a sweet little girl… such a perfect cunt."

“I— fuck, I’m gonna—” you stammered your warning.  

“Will you come for me?” he finished for you, and you nodded quickly.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you hissed.

It was obvious just by the build-up that you were going to come hard, pleasure tightening in your core until you were sure that it would spill over but it just kept going, making you wonder if it would ever reach the breaking point.

And oh boy did it, it slammed into you in fact, and your legs quivered as you struggled for air.  He growled in your ear, fucking you harder through it all, stroking every place that had only become even more sensitive.  The moment you could form words again, you were wasting the ability on a string of swears and promises you couldn’t keep.

“Yours, fuck, it’s yours,” you sobbed.  He chuckled a little, pulling back to examine your face which must have given away how fucked-out and cockdrunk you were already.

“Say it again,” he demanded darkly, holding you tighter, fucking you a bit more deliberately though not any less aggressively.

“Yours,” you gasped, cut off by a rough and dominating kiss.  Your moans were lost to his tongue but he didn’t need them to know you were coming, the way your body gripped him tighter than ever was sign enough.

“So good,” he whispered against your lips, “you’re doing so good for me…”

His words washed over your skin and soothed you like a salve, bringing some relief from the overwhelming feelings his body was assaulting yours with.

All things considered, he was still moving rather slowly, each of his thrusts measured and patient, and never really changing speed even as you were coming around him.  Weak little cries fell from your throat each time his hips met yours and the tip of his cock kissed the deepest parts of you.

Your body went limp in his arms and you hadn't noticed before how good it felt for him to hold you, for his strong hands to support you like it was nothing.  His thumb gently stroked your back through your shirt and you mewled weakly into his shoulder.

"So good, draga, so fucking good," he mumbled, holding you closer.

"Please… faster," you whimpered, "I want you to come."

"Is that what you want?" he taunted, ignoring the way you nodded immediately.  "You want to make me come, darling?"

"Yes, please, want it so much," you gasped.

He finally sped up, though it was still nothing like the lightning-speed jackhammering you were used to from guys your age: it was better, certainly, especially when he lifted your leg onto his shoulder and pushed so deep you saw stars.

The second one seemed to hit you all at once, almost out of nowhere, and you heard yourself mumble, “Professor, I’m coming.”  It sounded a bit pitiful, the way you said it, but he apparently didn’t mind as you felt him nod encouragingly in the crook of your neck.

You felt totally drained by now, exhausted even though all you’d been doing was lying there and taking it, but you knew he wasn’t done with you yet.  But, if the way his thrusts were becoming more desperate and erratic were anything to go by, he might be done with you soon.

"I'm going to come inside you," he groaned against your ear.  You were, like, 99.9% sure that if you told him not to, he would pull out, but the way that he phrased it, like a demand, like you didn't have a choice and he would do it either way… it had an effect on you, one he noticed when your channel tightened around him instantly.  "Oh, you like that idea, hm?  You want to be full of my come?  Your sweet little cunt is already trying to milk every drop from me."

"Yes," you breathed, "fuck, I want your come in me, please!"

He sped up quite a bit then, each slam of his hips into yours making you choke on a whine, your arms weakly clinging onto him for dear life.

You could feel his cock swelling, flexing, pushing your body to its limits as he moaned lowly through his teeth, streams of come making you feel warm and full.

He didn't stop until every drop was in you, thrusting in time with each pump of his release until he slowed to a stop.

Strands of hair fell into his face as he hung his head, panting hard and fast.  You melted back onto the desk, realizing this might be the first time in a solid half hour your back wasn’t arched.

It was a bit of a struggle to keep your eyes open against the heavy fog of afterglow that filled your mind; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so… satiated.  As a college student, you were always thinking about the next assignment, mentally re-evaluating your calendar, or preparing for something— and usually all on less than six hours of sleep.

But now your mind was as close to a blank slate as it had been in at least a decade.  Even though you probably should’ve been, you weren’t even thinking about the potential consequences of this, the implications, the risks.  No, you were just staring up at him, thinking about kissing him again.

He would have to lean down for that, though; there was no way you were going to sit up now.

You hadn't even noticed that you had closed your eyes, almost falling asleep right there on his desk, until you felt his hand cradle your face softly, a calloused thumb rubbing over your cheek.

In unison, the both of you sighed deeply.

As much as it felt like a real effort, you blinked open your eyes and looked up at him, watching him comb his fingers through his hair.  It only messed up the style even further yet he looked better than ever.

He slowly moved his hips back, leaving you annoyingly empty, and readjusted himself until he almost looked put together again… but his collar was still uneven and his lips still looked bitten and there was still that precious pinkish hue on his cheeks.  If anyone else saw him in this state, they’d either know what happened between you two or think he’d just run across campus or something.

If anyone else saw him in this state, you’d be a little jealous, to be totally honest.

You got back to work trying to right your appearance as well, though you knew the best you could hope for was only mildly presentable; he looked at you like you’d never looked better, though.

“Well, this was fun,” you chuckled breathlessly, “but it’s getting pretty late and I have an eight a.m. tomorrow…”

“Yeah, so do I,” he nodded, glancing away.  

You picked up your bag from where you’d dropped it by the door, lifting the strap over your shoulder and starting to turn to leave.

"I… I should walk you back to your dorm," he announced, making you smile.

"That's sweet, but save your chivalry.  I can take care of myself just fine."

"But—"

"I think it's safer if we're not seen together walking together by my dorm," you interjected, "especially when I'm walking a little funny…"

"I hope I didn't hurt you," he winced sympathetically.

"No, trust me, that was… exactly what I needed," you breathed.  He smiled a little, looking down at the floor.

"Then I'll see you in class," he nodded, watching you closely as you stepped back and picked up your bag, starting to leave his office with one last small wave goodbye.  “Wait, wait!” he whispered harshly just before you could let go of his door, and you giggled as he leaned out into the hall and glanced around to make sure no one was nearby.  

When he confirmed the coast was clear, he smiled and grabbed your face with one hand, pulling you into a sudden kiss.  And you smiled too— you couldn’t help it— as you kissed him back, almost ready for him to drag you back into that office and start this all over again.  He did let you go, though, with one more whispered ‘goodnight’ and a look that made your heart do little somersaults.

As you finally did make your way back to your dorm, you tried to figure out if that was a goodbye kiss or a ‘see you soon’ kiss.  Or maybe a ‘thanks for the one-time office quickie’ kiss?  But you didn’t know enough about this sort of thing to know if that was even an option.

All you did know was that you really hoped it wasn’t the last kiss you’d have with him.

Can I speak to you in my office today after class?  Thank you.

-Z

You may ask yourself: can one simple email, in only thirteen words, strike fear into the hearts of those who read it?  And the answer is yes, assuming that email is from Professor Helmut Zemo and read by the lovestruck student who slept with him two days ago and hasn't stopped thinking about it since.

Only one of a few things could happen in his office after class, and there was a massive gap between the best and worst case scenarios.  You dressed for the best but prepared yourself psychologically for the worst.

You caught him staring as you walked past the teaching podium to your seat in the front; you just hoped nobody else caught him.  And if you'd thought paying attention in class was tough before, boy oh boy was it a challenge now.  The nerves of what he wanted to discuss with you were bad enough alone, but that combined with memories from two days earlier randomly assaulting your psyche was just overwhelming.

When he pointed at the map with two fingers, you could remember exactly how those fingers had felt inside you, twisting and curling and getting you ready for his cock.

When he spoke, you could hear the difference in his voice compared to how he groaned out his praises while he was fucking you within a damn inch of your life.

And every once in a while, when he couldn’t help but glance at you for a moment, his gaze burned right through you; you were helpless to those brown eyes, completely paralyzed by them, and it must’ve been hours of that before class finally ended.

For the first time, you were the first person out the door when he released the class.  As much as it was going to be a little bit weird to beat him to his office, it was certainly better than any of your other options.  There was a chair in the hall beside the door, and you took a seat and pretended to read a book just to look busy (there was no way you could actually turn symbols on a page into readable language right now, not when you knew he’d be here any minute to talk about… something).

Your peripheral caught him coming down the hall, but you pretended to be deeply immersed in your book until he was right beside you, unlocking his door and opening it for you and himself.  Tucking your book away and following him inside, you found him already staring at you, expression completely unreadable.  Your gut sank in anticipation of whatever conversation this was going to become, and a moment passed in heavy silence.

"Hi," you greeted plainly, letting out a quick breath.

"Hi," he returned.  "Close the door behind you."

You nodded and did as you were told, quietly pushing the wood back until the door latched before approaching where he had come to stand beside his desk.  Though you didn't originally intend to, you found yourself standing a bit too close.

"I'm not quite sure where to start," he admitted, chuckling breathlessly as he reached up to rub the back of his neck.  He looked cute flustered, which was a shame because his tone seemed to imply you needed to not be thinking about how cute he was.  “Listen, you should know that what happened before… it was a mistake,” he sighed.  “It can’t happen again.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked point-blank.

“It can’t happen again,” he repeated in lieu of a real answer, and you looked closely at his face; you didn’t find as much confidence there as you were looking for, it wasn’t the face of a man who knew he was making the right choice.  You certainly didn’t think he was making the right choice.

“Why did you want to have this conversation alone in your office, then?” you challenged.

He cleared his throat slightly.  “So no one would hear us.”

“Hear us talk?” you pressed.  “Is that all?”

“That’s… definitely the plan,” he nodded, swallowing dryly.  "Like I said, it was a mistake— my fault, not yours.  And I just hope we can put it behind us respectfully."

“All the best mistakes are made at least twice,” you whispered, reaching up to trail your finger down his lapel.  “Don’t you think?”

“Don’t do that,” he requested tensely.

"Do what?"

"That," he hissed.  "Stop being… irresistible," he clarified, eyes darting from your lips to your finger to your eyes and back again.  "A man can only take so much.  I'm trying to do right by you."

"You already did when you fucked me that good," you smirked.  "Nothing else could be as right as that."

Your fingers were just barely brushing over his belt when he grabbed you by the wrist.  Jaw tight and eyes solemn, he shook his head.

You wrenched out of his grasp with a nod.  It was worth a shot, but you didn't want to be that person who couldn't take no for an answer— so, you gave him a little smile and readjusted the strap of your bag.  “Well, if it was just the once, then you should know that I’m still glad it happened.  Even if it shouldn’t have.”

He nodded, strategically not speaking— but you knew he would agree, if he could.

“And if it’s any consolation to you now, you were the best I ever had.”

You reached for the doorknob, just starting to turn it and open your way out when he suddenly slammed it shut with a hand right above your head, making you gasp and spin around to look up at his dark gaze.

“Professor…” you whispered.

“The best you ever had?” he repeated, grinning proudly when you nodded.  “Oh, sweetheart, I wasn’t even trying.”  He leaned down to brush his lips against your ear as he whispered to you: “You don’t even know yet how good I can make you feel.”

A shiver ran up your spine; your tongue darted out to lick your lips.  “Are you going to get on with it and show me?”

He didn’t even let you step away from the door, dropping to his knees right there and pushing up your skirt to kiss and bite your thighs.  “Only if you ask very nicely,” he taunted with a brow raised in challenge.

“Please,” you breathed, “fuck, please, want you to taste me.”

His hands slid up your legs, grabbing the hem of your panties before sliding back down.

It wasn’t like you’d never been eaten out before, but this still felt like a first considering your skirt was pushed up to your waist, your panties were pulled down to your ankles, and even just one slow lick over your folds made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing.

“F-fuck,” you choked, reaching down to weave your fingers into his hair.  He grinned against your skin and kept going, exploring you carefully before finally sucking on your swollen clit.  Your knees threatened to buckle, your head fell back against the door so hard it almost hurt, but all you could really feel was his mouth on you, moving like he knew your body better than you did.

So it was no wonder, then, that you already began to spiral towards your release, legs shaking around his head as he devoured you mercilessly.

"Oh my god, I—" you tried to warn him, but he already knew, and he pulled back to wipe his mouth with his sleeve and stand up.  He grabbed your jaw and kissed you roughly, stopping to whisper to you so close that his lips brushed against yours.

"I'm sorry, draga, but you've spoiled me… now that I've felt you come around my cock, I can't imagine making you come any other way.  I need to feel your cunt grip me so fucking tight… it's all I've been thinking about since I last saw you," he admitted.

"I thought about it, too," you sighed.  "I was up all night trying to make myself come as good as you did but I couldn't… your come was still leaking out of me."

He growled and leaned in to nip at your ear.  "Oh, poor thing… I can imagine it so easily, you laying in your bed with your legs spread, fingers getting exhausted from playing with your little pussy too much, these perfect lips whining for me because you need me to take care of you."

"H-Helmut, please," you whimpered.  

"Yeah, something like that," he smirked.

"I can't wait any more, just fuck me.  Need you inside me," you breathed.

"Then bend over my desk."

{part 2}

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Misread Details: Robert

CW: Dehumanizing language, BBU blanket warning, serial killer/death talk, descriptions of death/abduction/murder, blood, whumper death, some real vague implied noncon references, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper

Part One: Nanda | Part Two: Brute | Part Three: Robert

The Dark Discovery in Robert Weber’s Basement: Box Boy Killer, Part 3

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee

3 days ago

After Part One, where we learned about the mysterious, but possibly entirely natural, death of Nathaniel “Nanda” Benson, and Part Two, where we saw Henry “Brute” Hanlon’s double life lead to his untimely gruesome murder, you see the single thread that connects these two men who otherwise never met, interacted, or even shared a single person in common… a nameless Box Boy, present at the death of Nanda even if he isn’t responsible for it, and the proven killer of Brute.

It’s my theory that this Box Boy may have accidentally killed his legal owner, Nanda, and then picked up a taste for the act and moved on to taking shelter with those he turns into his victims.

With Brute, he simply didn’t know the man had a wife and children and entire other life, and may have assumed no one would come looking for him or recognize his death. With our third individual, Robert Weber, it seems like our Box Boy Serial Killer got in over his head.

I give you… the Accidental Vigilante death of Robert Weber.

You decide if our unknown killer is simply the unluckiest guy in the world or a killer who even now may be somewhere living with - and earning the trust of - his next victim.

-

One bright and sunny day in the quaint, old-fashioned California town of Rancher’s Rest, Robert Weber was late for work.

Weber worked in a vehicle repair business owned by lifelong “RR” resident Randy Niles, who had known Weber since his childhood and had been his boss since Weber was eighteen years old and fresh out of high school.

Niles, who is now nearly seventy-five and still spends his days in the shop with an Australian Shepherd named Cody and a blind pit bull named Sue keeping him company everywhere he goes, stated that Weber had no living family he knew of beyond his sister in Vermont, and he was just about the closest thing Weber had to a relative just from having known him so long.

“He didn’t have too much to do with his sister,” Randy said in an interview with Unsolved Mysteries. (You can see the interview on the new Netflix reboot of the show! It’s a really good episode, definitely recommend. It’s how I got into this case in the first place.) “Or nobody, really. Just us at work, the guys at the bar, that kinda thing. He was quiet, kept to himself really. You’d never just strike up a chat around town or anything. But he got on just fine with the boys here in the shop. He was a bit of an egghead, too, always going on about this thing or that he’d seen on the news. Little… odd. Little bit off, you might say. But really, who isn’t? In any case, you know, I’d known him since he was a little boy, so he was just Bobby Weber to me.”

Then, of course, one day Robert Weber didn’t show up to work. Randy Niles immediately felt that something was very wrong.

“When nine, nine-thirty came and went and he wasn’t there,” Niles said, “I knew someone needed to go check on him. Bobby showed up for work right on time or ten minutes early, rain or shine, for twenty years. My first thought was maybe he’d had an accident at home, or some kind of, you know, health thing. Almost never called in sick, took one vacation a year, that kinda thing. So I drove right on over there. This would’ve been, oh, probably ten or ten-fifteen when I got to the house. Had my dogs with me, and they never did like Bobby much, but as soon as I opened my door and got out of my truck they just lost their damn minds. Barking, growling, Cody’s hackles were up like you wouldn’t believe. I know it sounds damn crazy, but I’m sure those dogs could smell that evil had been done in that house.”

On camera, Niles goes quiet, here, his gaze slipping away from the interviewer as he scratches at the side of his nose. When he looks back, the hint of good humor that seems to be an eternal part of his expression is gone.

“I didn’t know what Bobby had been up to all this time. None of us knew. I’ve known Bobby Weber his whole life, and I… I had no idea.”

Randy Niles was unable to convince his two dogs to exit the truck, and eventually rolled down the windows to give them some air and a way out if they chose (he is insistent on this point in the Unsolved Mysteries episode - “don’t you dare say I left my dogs locked up in a truck on a sunny day, I sure didn’t - Cody even knows how to pull a door handle if it’s the right kind”) and got out to knock on Robert Weber’s front door.

No one answered.

Niles knocked again. Still no response.

The front door was locked, but Niles was able to locate an unlocked back door into the garage, where he found Weber’s car neatly parked and nothing out of place. However, once he used an interior door in the garage to enter Weber’s home, what he found was so shocking he still struggles to describe it today.

“The, uh. The first thing I saw,” Niles says in the Unsolved Mysteries episode, wiping at his mouth with a handkerchief, “was a cage. Big old cage in the living room. Like a kennel for a big dog, Great Dane or something, except… except, you know, kennels’re usually mostly wire, not that heavy. You can fold ‘em up, put ‘em away. This was… geez. This was pure metal. Bunch of blankets all piled at the bottom, too. Here’s the-... you know, my mind just didn’t want to even make the thought, but I just, I looked at it and-”

In the episode, Niles has to take another moment, here. His eyes grow wet, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks again. “People cage. Bobby had a damn man-sized cage in his living room. That’s when my stomach just fell out. Even then, though, I couldn’t-... I just thought, oh, well, what people get up to in their own homes is their business. But still, I just. I just decided, find Bobby, figure the rest out later. So I kept walking around looking for him.”

Randy Niles continued to call out, hoping to hear Weber’s response, but received none… at first. The radio in the kitchen was playing a local public radio station (“Bobby always hated the country western and classic rock we played at work, he was a big news man, big into classical, jazz, you know.”)

Niles noticed, he says, that the cage next to the couch had a wooden top, as though it were meant to act as a side table, and on that table was a small woven basket. Inside the basket appeared to be several State IDs and Driver’s licenses. Niles took note of this but his first assumption was maybe that Robert Weber had stolen some IDs or something.

Which was technically true, just… not quite the way he thought.

The kitchen, hallway, and all three bedrooms were equally empty of life. Every room was clean, everything neatly in place. Empty bottles of Jameson whiskey, Weber’s favorite brand, were lined up like décor along the mantel, and one half-full bottle was next to two clean, empty glasses on the kitchen table.

Even the beds were perfectly made.

The only thing missing was any sign of Robert Weber himself.

The question of Weber’s whereabouts was answered when Randy Niles heard a sound coming from the open door to Weber’s unfinished dirt basement.

“Like a ghost,” Niles said in his interview. “Just this low moaning sound. Hardly even thought of it as human, you know. But I just-... I called out, ‘Bobby? That you?’ and the moaning got a little louder, like whoever it was was tryin’ to answer. I could still hear my girls in the truck just going nuts, probably worried about me knowing what they maybe could smell even out there. I figured… I figured I’d best call the cops and get them out here. Seemed like a plan. So I picked up my phone and dialed, and then I headed down those basement steps.”

What Randy Niles discovered in Robert Weber’s basement was a dying man, battered and stabbed eight times, lying in a half-dug grave.

Robert Weber had been beaten with the very shovel that had done the digging. The shovel lay off to the side, caked in dirt and blood. Police would find some of Robert Weber’s hair on it, too. Then, the individual who had beaten him had gone back upstairs - blood smears were found on the railing to the stairs - and taken a kitchen knife out of the knife block on the countertop. A bloody fingerprint was found on the side of the knife block. They had then returned to the basement where Weber was stabbed, almost entirely through the stomach and chest, twenty-six times, until the cheap knife simply broke from the force.

Randy Niles admitted in his interview that he became very ill at this time. “From the shock,” He elaborated. “I haven’t been able to smell much since I was in a car wreck when I was young, so I didn’t smell what-... what my girls prob’ly smelled from outside, and what the cops smelled. To me, it was just… just a little off, is all. It was the sight of it that got to me, not the smell. The sight of the-... the hand.”

Behind Robert Weber’s body, the hand of another person was sticking up out of the loose dirt, as though someone was trying to dig their way out.

“I remember… I remember her nail polish was pink. That’s when I got sick, actually, was when I saw that hand with the painted nails. That’s when it just hit me all at once what Bobby had done.”

Randy Niles went back up the stairs and waited for the cops to arrive. Rancher’s Rest is a small town where everybody knows just about everybody else, and Niles was on a first-name basis with every single police officer he spoke to that day and in the days after. He would learn alongside the investigation that Robert Weber was not simply the quiet, intellectual car mechanic he had always seemed.

Instead, Robert Weber was a serial killer whose potential final victim had managed a miraculous, deadly escape.

Robert Weber never answered a single question about his own murder - he never fully regained consciousness and died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. His injuries were simply too severe. His autopsy showed that the cause of death was a stab wound that went deep into his chest and that he was first stabbed only after the beating with the shovel had taken place. Like Brute, most of his stab wounds were applied post-mortem in a rage rather than as part of the killing itself.

Medical examiners also found scratches on Weber’s face and arms, indicating that he had attempted to defend himself - or someone else had attempted to defend themself from him.

So why was Robert Weber killed, and why was there already a body in his basement? Investigators would piece together the story over the following days and weeks from a crime scene that only seemed to become darker and more baffling as time went on.

Excavating the basement was originally thought to be something that would be brief, but after the first body was removed, another one was found beneath it. Then another off to the side of that. And another, although this was simply bones.

Every time the forensics team thought they’d found the last human bone, they dug a little deeper or in a new spot and found more.

Eventually, the remains of twenty-two individuals would be removed from the basement of Robert Weber’s home, not including Weber himself. The oldest located victim was identified as Melinda Traxson, an Iowa woman reported missing by her family after she ran away in March of 1996… more than two decades before Robert Weber didn’t come to work one day.

Investigators are still working to match up every body with a missing persons’ case. For nearly all of them, the cause of death could not be easily ascertained due to the deterioration of the remains, but some showed signs of skull fractures. Identified individuals so far include:

Melinda Traxson, 19, from Iowa, ran away from home in 1996.

Billie Mortimer, 21, disappeared from a day out with friends at Lake Tahoe one year later in the summer of 1997. Her friends went to get lunch from the car after a swim and when they returned, she was gone.

Matthew Ranger, 22, went missing during a road trip to Yellowstone National Park in 1997 (only five months after Billie). His car was found abandoned by the side of the road with a flat tire.

Karl Janssen, 24, a tourist from the Netherlands who was also visiting Yellowstone, disappeared a month after Matthew. Last seen by an employee of the park who witnessed him speaking with another young man and getting into the man’s car. The employee said that the two seemed to be friendly with one another and did not seem like strangers.

Hannah Pointer, 26. She was reported missing in 1999 by her mother after failing to return home from work in Reno, Nevada. This disappearance occurred more than a year after Karl Janssen’s. Investigators would later discover that during this time period, Robert Weber dated a young woman from his hometown and he may not have wanted to risk her finding out what he was doing.

Isaac Jackson, 26, a Rancher’s Rest resident who disappeared after going out to a local bar to see his friend’s band play in 2000. His car was found submerged in a small pond two years later. This is the first time Weber apparently killed anyone close to home. He was actually briefly suspected in Jackson’s death, as he was the last person noted to see Jackson alive, but was cleared of suspicion at the time.

Dustin Swill, 21, who was driving from Colorado to California to visit his sister who had moved to Berras to work for WRU in 2001. He was last seen in a gas station near Yellowstone, where employees noted he spoke to a man who was smoking outside, who gave him a cigarette. When Swill left, employees saw the man put out his cigarette and leave shortly after. They did not find this unusual or noteworthy at the time.

Maria Vargas, 25, a Rancher’s Rest resident who was reported missing in 2002. Her family is intensely private and have shared few details about her, but it is known that her boyfriend at the time suspected Weber, who had attempted to convince her to leave the boyfriend for him and had apparently threatened her. He remained a suspect but there was never enough evidence to charge him.

Jennifer Striker, 28, from who never arrived for an appointment with a realtor in 2011. The long pause between Maria Vargas’s murder and Jennifer’s appeared to be due to Weber keeping a man named Finn Schneider within his home for more than a year after abducting him, as well as Weber serving five years in prison for a violent assault on a man he believed had sold him a defective vehicle. (Schneider was no longer in the home before the assault and prison time.)

Riley Nievelt, 25, was staying at the Big Meadow Campground with six friends during a weeklong vacation in 2012. She vanished while on a trip to purchase supplies. Her cell phone was found on the ground in the parking lot of the Food Lion in Rancher’s Rest, a short and easy drive away. At this time, with multiple individuals vanishing after being seen in Rancher’s Rest or being residents of the town, police begin to suspect and start hunting for a possible serial killer.

Alexander Peterson, 29, was a long-haul driver who vanished while working. He was last seen at a rest stop in 2014 on the California/Nevada state line, and would likely have passed right through Rancher’s Rest on his journey. He was reported missing by his ex-wife in South Dakota when he did not return as scheduled for a custodial visit.

The most recent victim, and owner of the hand that Randy Niles saw sticking up out of the dirt, was Yolanda Pierce, 26. She was a Rancher’s Rest resident with a troubled relationship with her husband, who had stormed out after an argument and was never seen again. She is believed to have died the same day as Robert Weber.

More remains exist but have not yet been identified. If you or anyone you know has a friend or family member who went missing during this time period in or near Rancher’s Rest, Yellowstone National Park, or Death Valley, it may be worth looking into, as those appear to be Robert Weber’s “hunting grounds”.

Disappearances in Yellowstone and Death Valley almost always matched up with Robert taking one of his rare weeklong vacations from work.

When investigators located three large diaries hidden inside a locked box in Weber’s closet, the first two fully filled up and the third nearly two-thirds finished, they found an exhaustively detailed record of Robert Weber’s crimes.

In these records, they discovered Weber’s first three victims were killed within 24 hours of abduction, with the rest being kept alive for longer and longer time periods. It is believed all of them met their end in Robert Weber’s basement.

Diary entries included records of two victims who were not a part of the bodies buried in Weber’s basement, both of whom may still be alive:

Finn Schneider, 19, a German tourist who disappeared in 2003 during a visit to Death Valley. Until Weber’s journals were found, it was believed he had perished in the park and had simply never been found. Robert Weber also visited Death Valley during this time. No one linked the two together. Evidence found in Weber’s home after his death, including the aforementioned diary entries and photographs, shows that Schneider was alive in Weber’s home for nearly sixteen months. It is believed Weber purchased the “human cage” that Randy Niles noticed around this time. The last diary entry that mentions Schneider states that he was “traded” on June 16th, 2005, to an individual only referred to as “Mouse.” What Weber received in exchange is unclear, but he was seen driving a new, custom-painted truck around this time, which he said he bought “from a personal ad” when asked by Niles about it. Schneider has never been found. However, his mother did receive a phone call in 2013 from an individual she believes to be her son, telling her that “Finn” was okay and to stop looking for him.

Our Box Boy, 334235, purchased by Nathaniel Benson years prior, whose whereabouts had been unknown since he murdered Brute Hanlon. Weber believed the Box Boy to be in his early twenties, according to his diary entries, and mentioned that he had picked the Boxie up hitchhiking and had intended to kill him before seeing the barcode on the inside of his left wrist and changing his mind. His diary suggests the Box Boy remained in his possession for roughly a fourteen months prior to Weber’s murder. Police have not released the details of what the Boxie was subjected to during this time, stating only that it is not the public’s interest for this information to be known, and they would like to locate the missing Boxie and interview him about certain details.

Four murders occurred during the time the Boxie was kept by Robert Weber. Weber noted that “the dog helped” with either murder or burial, suggesting that he may have worked as Weber’s accomplice in his terrible crimes.

Is it possible that they bonded over a shared urge to kill? Did the Boxie start a captive and become a companion?

Weber’s diary contained other disturbing facts, as well:

Weber also noted three failed abduction attempts in detail, in 1998, 2004, and 2017. In each he described with incredible precision of memory the appearances and descriptions of each person he failed to capture. He also appeared to do intensive research using their license plates and other information to find out where they lived and who they were. The names of these individuals have been kept quiet for privacy reasons.

Other failed abductions were noted, about one per year, without much detail. Or at least not enough for police officers to know who they were. Nearly all these failures were in one of three locations: Yellowstone National Park, Stanislaus National Forest and nearby campgrounds, and in or near Death Valley.

The last entry in Robert Weber’s diary was penned the day of his death.

NOTE: Weber referred to the Boxie as “the dog” in nearly all his journal entries. His last entry went:

May 6th, 20XX: The dog is pissed about something again. He’s always pissed about something. I think the thing in the basement probably kept him up all night with her caterwauling. He never gets used to the noises they make. God knows I can’t sleep either, at least not well. I’ll handle her tonight, have a drink with the dog after, see if that shuts up his nonsense for a while. Note: missed NPR interview with Senator Carlotta Grant on new leg. about the bb prohibition act. Find that on website later.

Found in Weber’s home, in boxes under his bed, were a series of restraints made of leather, high-quality items that appear to be custom-ordered to specific measurements. These included “gloves” intended to keep someone from being able to claw or scratch in their own defense, five sets of cuffs, a body harness, a leather half-face-mask that police referred to as a “muzzle”, several gags, some of which were deemed to be “designed to cause injury to the inside of the mouth”, and “other assorted items for use in torture and torment”.

You can find some leaked police docs online that go into more detail, but suffice to say they pretty much match the kinds of “toys” found in Nathaniel Benson and Brute Hanlon’s homes, too. And apparently, if you really know where to look, you can find some blurry low-quality photos Weber took, too.

While the items are a bit salacious, they aren’t entirely uncommon in consensual relationships, too, so it’s really not clear if they’re evidence of the Boxie being held against his will or not.

The investigation of the crime scene suggests that at some point after writing his final diary entry, Robert Weber made himself a pizza, which he ate half of and put the rest away in the fridge. His shaving cream and razor were found out on his sink, and Weber’s body was clean-shaven, suggesting he shaved shortly before his death.

He then watched three episodes of Law & Order: SVU. We know this because he texted during this time with his only living relative, the sister in Vermont. Little is known about Weber’s family and childhood, beyond his sister’s recounting of a quiet, strained home life with an overbearing mother and her mention that Robert endured several head injuries as a child and adolescent, including one that hospitalized him for days.

After he finished watching TV, Weber entered the basement and murdered Yolanda Pierce. It is believed he took the Box Boy downstairs with him, either as accomplice or witness. At some point while he was disposing of Yolanda Pierce’s remains, the Boxie became enraged for one reason or another, beat him with a shovel, got the kitchen knife from upstairs and stabbed him to death, and then left the house.

A neighbor remembers hearing odd noises around 3:30 AM and looking out their window to see a shadowy figure walking quickly down the road, but they weren’t able to see well enough to say whether or not the individual matches the description and WRU-provided photos of the Boxie. It does seem reasonable, though, to assume that the neighbor witnessed the Boxie fleeing the scene of the crime.

The Box Boy has never been seen again.

Police are pretty mum about the active investigation into the Box Boy’s whereabouts. I was able to get ahold of one source closely related to a member of the investigative team who said that there’s just not a lot of urgency. “Weber killed nearly two dozen people, just that we know of,” The source said. “The cops are a little bit ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’ about the situation. Unless the Boxie comes back to RR, they’re just inclined to let sleeping dogs lie.”

The sense of “let it be someone else’s problem” would be understandable… if this Box Boy weren’t responsible for one other direct murder, possibly two.

Police believe the Boxie has not left California, and is likely to be continuing to survive by engaging in prostitution or perhaps panhandling or some other hidden way of making money. Unconfirmed sightings have been located in three cities in central California, but all of these are unverified and should be taken with a grain of salt.

It’s also possible he hooked up with a pet liberation movement group, in which case he may be hiding out in a safehouse, protected from the consequences of his actions by the pet lib movement’s understandable insistence on total secrecy and anonymity for the Boxies they take in.

If he’s an innocent victim of circumstance, that’s fair.

If he’s a burgeoning serial killer with three victims under his belt and a taste for inflicting terrible violence on those who take him in… well… anyone who gives him shelter may be next.

Is our Boxie a purposeful killer or just supremely, almost incomprehensibly unlucky? Will he kill again? Was he Robert Weber’s accomplice or his victim?

Will he strike again?

Should there be an audit of WRU’s psychological testing on potential sign-ups to see if, perhaps, a Box Boy-wannabe with an urge to kill slipped through the cracks?

What do you think?

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary

[theywillcower]

can we get a more *d e t a i l e d* answer of what happens after cypher seees u in just a sweater & thigh highs 👀 ( gender neutral reader ) thank you so much love your work! :)

I have ascended to a new form of horny

Warnings: NSFW, biting

All Eyes (Cypher x Reader NSFW)

It was never quiet in his workshop, though he guessed it was quieter than it would be in Raze's, and even Breach's. Viper probably had the quietest, by virtue of the simplicity of her tech. Cypher glances up at the monitors above him just for a sec, to see if anyone was coming this way. He had his mask off, just for a little bit, to breathe easier. Hey, he couldn't keep it on all day. He had to eat at least. Besides, this way he could get a sharper look at the screens.

Nobody except them knew that he had this hookup. Nobody else needed to.

He pushes in his chair over to the desk, where a mug of coffee they brought to him sits. With just a dash of hazelnut syrup and cinnamon, it was exactly his order. They'd gotten to know him so well, Cypher thinks fondly, pushing back over to take a sip while looking at the monitors.

After only a second however he spits out the whole mouthful.

Well. They did know him didn't he?

He'd never quite been so pleased that the cameras had such high definition. One foot in front of the other, careful, to make sure that the sweatshirt barely grazing the tops of their thighs, did not ride up and show underwear. No... that was for him. Those tiny spaces of bare skin, in between those thigh highs deliciously highlighting every contour and squish of their legs... so innocent. They had probably thrown that on because they were tired, so late. They'd been together not long, and had seen (or felt) each other naked-- they'd even seen glances of his face. And yet there's something even better about those incidental spots of skin, begging to be marked. His cock strains against his pants at the thought.

He glances at their location, the Western Southbound hall. It was late. Probably everyone was asleep, except him. And them.

A mischievous smile stretches his face.

Perhaps he could meet them halfway.

-

How late was it, exactly? They yawn, rubbing their hand against their eyelids. The coffee cup in their hands was actually peppermint tea, a blend Sova had recommended. Sasha, unlike Cypher, sweet rose, Aamir, my lovely prince, did not have pure caffeine running through his veins. He was in his lab, they knew, and likely would be for a few more hours before collapsing into bed beside them for a few hours sleep.

They had wanted to be comfy. It wasn't chilly per se, but it wasn't warm. Perfect blend, feeling cute. Theyd had to take one of Cypher's--

"Well now."

They blink, looking up. The masked man of mystery stands before them, snaking his arms around their waist. They laugh, their own arms going around his neck.

"Hello handsome. Going to bed early?"

"No, actually. I was looking through the cameras... you know, looking for midnight intruders... when I saw something out of the ordinary." One hand snakes down to their butt, squeezing and making them gasp. They can hear the smirk in his laugh.

"This pretty little thing, out for the taking."

They swallow. Their mind races to think of something to stop the blush in their cheeks.. "But I'm not."

"Oh?" He sounds surprised.

"Because I'm yours."

There's a pause. The laugh he lets out is downright sinful. Gripping tighter, pressing them back against the wall. "Now THATS what I like to hear, little rose." He leans in, warm breath coming out even through the mask, and making them shiver. "Im going to make you BLOSSOM."

"H-here?" They glance to the side, but.... the doors are closed..?

"I sealed it off. I don't just have access to the cameras, you know." The scratch of stubble on their neck, he's pulled his mask up. Their eyes widen.

"B-but--"

"Dont worry. They'll see nothing. But I will see everything." Under the hem of their sweater go his hands, grabbing and lifting them up like a featherweight. Lips press hungrily against their neck, nipping, kissing, making them whine.

"R-R--"

"Aamir tonight. I want to remind you who your prince is."

They can't help but roll their eyes. "Sure."

"Dont give me attitude. You want me to stop?"

Their stomach sinks. "No..."

"That's what I thought." Before they can give any more snark, he kisses them, their head almost banging against the wall. They whimper as he lets one leg down, pulling off one glove with his teeth and beginning to tease their entrance. A loud whine escapes their lips, only for them to clap their hands over their mouth. Cypher only chuckles.

'"These halls are soundproof. We might have to be quick--" he gently presses a finger in, making them gasp, "But you can be as loud as you like."

"A-Aamir..."

"Mmm..." his mouth makes its way to their collarbone, pulling the sweater aside so he can reach it. "You sound SO delicious when you're nervous. I can tell."

"Y-yeah, because youre-- ah! About to screw me in a hallway," they push back, as he inserts another finger, slowly scissoring them open. "And--"

"Im hurt." His voice certainly betrays a sense of teasing, as he unzips his pants. "You don't think that I can cover everything? No one else will hear you. You're mine," Cypher growls, and they choke as his cock slowly slides in, the stretch slightly painful and all too satisfying. "And no one else gets to see what you look like fucked out."

A choked sob is practically gifted to him as he slowly thrusts in and out, pressing them up against the wall. The thigh highs have gradually moved down their thighs, where he grips on one sure to leave bruises. Deep, quick thrusts chasing each of their highs, Cypher's face perpetually buried in the crook of their neck. When he hit a certain spot deep in them, they let out a cry and looked back up at the wall. They caught sight of the camera, blinking red, and immediately turned away.

"No no, sweetheart. Smile for the camera." One hand turns their chin to the camera again, licking at the bruises he'd formed on their neck. "Im going to remember this. Just how--" he grunts, thrusting deeper, "Fucking INNOCENT you looked... did you think you could get away with it, darling rose? Flaunting your pretty little legs like that, no pants, practically begging someone to bend you over and fuck you silly." To prove his point he quickly pulled out, moved them so their hands were braced against the wall, and thrusted back in, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke. They scream at the movement, as he regains a ruthless pace, kissing at their neck and panting in their ear, voice but a hiss,

"No. Tell me who that pretty little hole belongs to, hm?"

"You," they choke, one of Cypher's fingers reaching into their mouth. He hums, a particularly deep thrust having his cock hit their sweet spot.

"Again."

"You. You."

"Use your names, pretty one..."

"Im yours, Aamir, y-yours!"

With the last word he grunts, forcing himself as deep as possible and letting them feel him. Spurts of hot cum floods them, dripping out around his cock still in them. As he pulls out, they shake, whining as he gently fingers his cum back in them, zipping himself back up.

"Youve made a mess, pretty rose. Come here."

Like a rag doll they let him scoop them up, snuggling against his chest. His lips press against their forehead, a strangely soft gesture given the bruises on their thighs in his fingerprints and the cum soaking their underwear, dripping down into the top of the thigh highs they had put on so innocently before.

"We both need some rest, yes?"

They hum in agreement, but they freeze. "T-the cameras--"

"I have access in our apartment. Don't worry." Another kiss. They roll their eyes.

"So this was recorded?"

"Of course. To watch back and critique our form."

They swat at him as the doors hiss open.

"Fuck you."

"Just did."

"I love you."

"Love you too."

[valdomarx]

La Campanella

McShep + Rodney plays the piano Rodney never could resist a challenge, especially when it’s set by Sheppard.

Atlantis is a place of many wonders, but Rodney's favorite is this:

In a distant part of the northern pier is a short, squat tower which he and Sheppard investigate on a routine patrol.

And in that tower is a large, unassuming room like a lecture hall.

And in the center of the room is an object seven foot long and three feet high, elegant, delicate, and familiar.

“Is that…” Rodney practically runs over to touch it, as reckless as that urge can be in Atlantis, but he knows this isn’t a weapon or a piece of broken technology or some dangerous machine. It’s a thing of beauty.

It’s an instrument remarkably like a piano: white and black reversed, keys slightly different lengths, but the same 12-step configuration making up an octave. Keys which strike strings stretched over a wide frame with soft hammers, and this can’t be a coincidence.

“How... ” he starts, and then he answers his own question. “The Ancients must have invented this instrument and brought the concept with them to Earth. But that would overturn so much musical history they’ll have to rewrite the textbooks, can you even imagine the implications -”

John does not look as fascinated by the profound repercussions of this discovery on the history of western classical music as Rodney is.

He waves questions of history aside and sits on the low stool in front of the keyboard, blowing away the years of accumulated dust. His hands instinctively settle into arches, his wrists loose, and he plays a few simple scales. The notes sound out clear and true, but -

He frowns.

“Something wrong?” Sheppard is leaning over the instrument, studying him and it with interest.

“This is tuned half a tone lower than an Earth piano. Feels a bit weird, that’s all.”

“How do you know that?”

Rodney affects his smuggest smile. “Perfect pitch, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Sheppard says, rolling his eyes.

Rodney looks around the room furtively, keen for reasons he can’t articulate that no one else should observe them, and he starts to play.

-

It becomes a habit, a place to unwind, somewhere they visit on off hours and in quiet moments.

Today Sheppard is flicking through a golf magazine while Rodney warms up with some Bach. The music is pleasing and orderly, and the sparse, bright notes explode in fractal-like patterns, unfurling and changing and becoming more complex the closer you look.

John tilts his head to one side and says, “You know there’s a whole bunch of classical music on the Atlantis server?”

Rodney grins. He did know that, in fact. Never get between a team of scientists and their file sharing. “I may have heard.”

“I listened to some of the Chopin you like. Then some other piano stuff as well.”

“Yeah?” Rodney picks at a fingernail. Something about the idea of John listening to music just because Rodney likes it makes his heart beat a little faster. “Find anything you liked?”

“A bunch actually. Have you heard of a piece called La Campanella? By a guy named Liszt?"

"Have I…" Has he heard of the single hardest piece in the entire solo piano repertoire? The fact he could never get those double stops right haunts him to this day. "Yeah, it rings a bell."

"I like that one," John says decisively. "It's nice."

Nice??? Sheppard thinks the most epic and demanding piece of all time is nice? Of course he does.

"You should learn to play it," John says casually, like he's suggesting they watch an action movie instead of a scifi.

"I should -" he splutters. "Do you have any idea how difficult that is? It's practically impossible."

John smirks and says, "I thought practically impossible was your specialty?"

Rodney is still spluttering when John throws him a wink and walks out.

-

And then, because despite being the finest mind in two galaxies, on some level he truly is an idiot, he stretches out his fingers and starts to practice.

-

It's not like he had copious free time to start with. But he makes space whenever he can to come to the piano room, chipping away at this ludicrous piece, bit by bit, phrase by phrase, over and over and over.

People think that learning to play is artistry, and maybe it is that too, but mostly it's a grind. You keep doing it again and again until you get it right. It's as much about stubbornness as about skill.

And stubbornness is something Rodney McKay has in abundance.

-

Liszt really was a sadistic old bastard, Rodney thinks sourly as he works on the right hand jumps until his fingers turn to lead.

-

Sometimes Sheppard comes and sits with him while he practices, and on those days he plays easier pieces, things which are familiar and casual. Not that John seems to pay much attention, but Rodney has the urge to impress him all the same.

He’s always having that urge around John.

-

He spends an entire week working on his goddamn trill.

It shouldn’t matter and it’s not like anyone will really listen to it. But it seems to represent something important — a sequence of paired adjacent notes, next to each other but never quite touching, bouncing off each other time and time again, a dance of two — though he doesn’t want to examine that too closely.

-

He doesn’t tell anyone else about the piano. He tells himself that’s because it’s convenient that he doesn’t have to share and can use it whenever he wants.

But really, he likes that it’s his and Sheppard’s; their own tiny secret in this vast and sprawling city.

-

He hears the piece in his sleep, and on missions, and when he’s working in his lab. It becomes a background hum of his brain, always there, a sort of yearning for the possible, the platonic ideal, the way that things could be.

He tries not to examine that too closely either, though the weight of the realization is becoming harder to ignore.

-

Eventually the piece is as ready as it's going to be. He scribbles a quick note during a meeting, folds it into a paper airplane, and throws it at Sheppard's head. He hits him right in the temple, and he manages to avoid cheering when Elizabeth glares at him.

I have something to play for you, the note reads. Meet you at 7? You know where. - R

He jots it down without really thinking, and only once he's thrown does it occur to him how soppy it sounds.

John doesn't seem too perturbed though. He smiles down at the note and meets Rodney's eye with a little eyebrow wiggle which Rodney takes to mean, Gonna impress me?

-

By the time John arrives, Rodney is all warmed up and more nervous than he's ever been about a performance. His heart is racing, and when John gives him a fond look and says, "Hey," it trips even faster.

Once he settles in to play though, there's a certain kind of mental clarity that settles over him. His hands know how to do this, he just has to sit back and let them.

His wrists are still tense as he sounds out the first few bars and then, all at once, he relaxes into it and lets the music carry him. Hours of repetition have made every chord, every melody, every insane and unreasonable jump into something almost effortless. He even forgets John is there: there’s only him, and the piano, and the music.

The music builds and builds, each section becoming more and more ornamented, more complex, more physically demanding, all at a relentless pace that sends most players reeling. But he's got this, he can do this, it turns out all he needed was a bit of motivation.

The penultimate section is his favorite: The technical parts are done and here he can throw himself into the wild, over the top glory of the final melody. And perhaps he shows off a little bit, catching John's eye and grinning at him, but that's all part of the fun.

The piece ends with a crashing, massive finale that makes him feel like a virtuoso, and then in a last few epic chords it's done, as tight and perfect a five minutes as you could wish for.

The final chord reverberates on and on through the stillness of the room, glowing out beyond the city and into the night.

"Wow." John's eyes are wide. "That was great."

Rodney preens, because that ineloquent little comment somehow means more to him than an auditorium full of ecstatic applause. Having John look at him like that makes the months of practice worth it.

"You liked it?" He's fishing for compliments, but he figures he's earned it.

"I did," John says, staring at Rodney's hands like they hold the secrets to the universe.

He looks up and blushes at having been caught staring. Then he deflects and shrugs one shoulder. “Honestly, though, it’s not my favorite piano piece.”

Rodney narrows his eyes. He has the distinct impression he’s been played. “What was your favorite then?”

"I prefer Songs Without Words."

"Mendelssohn?" he explodes. "You wanted Mendelssohn? Jesus Christ, I learned to play that when I was eight!"

John grins. "I appreciate simplicity in music."

"Then why on earth did you make me learn Liszt?!"

John has this joyous, manic light in his eyes, like he's having the time of his life here, messing around with Rodney, of all the things he could be doing. "I like watching you do impossible things."

He sucks in a breath. "I hate you."

"No you don't." John leans in, smug and delighted, and oh, Rodney is so in love with this ridiculous, infuriating man that he could burst. "You learned La Campanella for me."

"It wasn't that hard," he says quickly, because he has a reputation to maintain here. But John laughs and gives him this soft, teasing look, one eyebrow quirked at a ridiculous angle beneath the chaotic mess of his hair, and Rodney is defenseless.

"Whatever you say, McKay," John says, and Rodney has the feeling he sees straight through him. "Now play it again."

[honey-makki]

grandma’s blessing

best friend!hanamaki takahiro x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of death (family member), oral (fem receiving), fire, probably unsanitary cooking conditions if i’m being honest (it’s soft i swear)

summary: the holidays are your favorite time of year. your best friend hanamaki tries to keep holiday cheer alive despite the loss of a family member.

word count 2.4k

masterlist

Holiday’s are tricky. Decisions on whether the trauma of going home will be a heavier burden to bear than the guilt and loneliness of your city apartment. GOing home was never a pleasant experience. Trips filled with parents nitpicking your seemingly successful life and emotionally battering you about anything and everything they could. The only reprieve would be hugging your grandmother and being able to see her face-to-face during dinner. She understood why you didn’t come home every opportunity and didn’t blame you a bit.

On years when it would be too much to travel, you knew that she would still give you a call. Spending all day on the phone with you while you bounced around the kitchen making much smaller portions of what they would be eating at home. Even the small amounts of silence on the call were comfortable. You could feel her next to you kneading the dough for a pie while you mixed together the fruit base. It felt like home.

The silence that has been living in your apartment the past few months after her passing was suffocating. Weekends spent with friends at their apartment just to get out of somewhere that just seems to reek of death and despair.

You had spent more nights at Makki’s place in the past month than at your own. He was your closest friend, a true confidant, someone skilled at lifting your mood, and the person you’ve been undeniably in love with for years. You accepted the fate of growing old with a horde of cats as long as you can have his silly pink hair shining in the sun when you hung out with friends. It’s ok that you are going to be alone forever as long as you still had a standing laser tag date once a month. The only thing stronger than your feelings of love towards the strawberry blond was fear of losing him.

He has been a pillar of strength during the past few months. Holding your crying body until you fall asleep on his tear-stained and snot covered chest. Setting alarms in your phone to make sure you are eating or going to work instead of sitting in a dissociative state. Ever since you shared a bed with him, he’s been a little more comfortable with physical contact. Walking closer together arms touching when going out or throwing an arm over your shoulder when lounging around the house. You can’t count the number of times you’ve both woken up in various stages of cuddling.

He was the one to bring up spending the holidays together. He had just gone home for a wedding and couldn’t afford another ticket and he knew that you were in a weird spot. “We can stay here and make dinner and bake cookies and watch shitty r-romcoms? Someone has to appreciate Hallmark movies, why not us?” You can hear his voice crack and start to speed up as a blush rises across his face. You see it but don’t really process it, more relieved that for the first time in months, the thought of holidays didn’t make you run to the bathroom and throw up. You smiled and nodded, setting plans for him to come over later in the week.

Makki always liked when you cooked, throwing a western spin on dishes he considered normal. But today, he was flabbergasted, you didn’t let him just sit on the barstool curating music while you did all the work, no, there was too much food to be made for him to laze around. You laid out the recipe for your grandmothers’ mac n’ cheese, explaining what everything meant while you got started on an asian fusion stuffing you figured out a few years back.

You stole glances at him in the middle of stirring, combining and folding everything together. His tongue sticks out between his lips while he deliberately measures out the exact amount of cheese required. In all the time you’ve seen him, you’ve never seen him totally lose his laid back air until now, and you can’t control your laugh. Is he really more serious about measuring out sharp cheddar cheese than a game that would take them to nationals? Or that physics final he actually studied for? Your heart skips a beat when you see his soft, satisfied smile to the dish he just created. All you can picture when he looks over to you is how cute of a child he must have been. Cheeks round encasing his bright smile as his head tilts ever so slightly to the left.

After he slides the last dish into the oven, you both opt for taking the time to clean the kitchen, knowing that you won’t want to do it after dinner. The dishes are washed and dried and while Makki puts away the ones that go on a higher shelf, you return flour and other ingredients to the pantry but before you put them down you call out to him, voice lighter than normal, the one you use when asking a favor.

“Taka, how upset would you be if I said I wanted to cook a little bit more?”

“You get dishes this time around then, but what are we makin’?”

You turn out of the pantry with a bounce in your step before slapping down the flour and newly acquired, chocolate chips and sprinkles. “Cookies! We always made cookies with my grandma and it wouldn’t be the same without them.” Your eyes sparkle at the thought of the sweet treats and equally sweet memories of your childhood. Makki thinks you are breathtaking.

“Let me get the bowls back down and we can probably make mediocre cookies if you have anything you do with it.” He smiles at just how cute the squawk you made from his teasing is, just happy that he gets to be here with you. He doesn’t really hear how you defend your baking skills and complain that just because you forgot flour one time doesn’t mean you are inept at baking.

He never thought he would be the type to settle down and be domestic, it just didn’t seem like something he cared a lot about, but now he he can’t rid his mind of the thought of waking up ten minutes before your alarm just to make you a cup of coffee or throwing your favorite blanket in the drier on days it’s raining so when you get home, you can melt into the soft plush and warm up instantly.The clattering of spices brings him back to the moment, turning to see you picking up the cinnamon and vanilla extract.

“You good, love?” There’s something about how you look when you flustered because of him, that scratches an itch he didn’t know was there. The first time a pet name like this had slipped through his lips he was certain that whatever line the two of you were toeing had been crossed, demolished. Instead you just tucked your hair away and averted your gaze back to whatever shitty movie the two of you were “watching” that night. Now it’s normal, well its not normal, its very much not normal for him to refer to you as love or babe and it's not normal for you to exclusivley call him by his first name. It's decidedly abnormal considering your relationship or lack thereof. But if you aren’t going to question it neither is he.

He helps you up and gather the remaining ingredients for the “famous snickerdoodle cookies” that you swear had won awards. The mixing of the dough is interrupted when he has to grab your wrist to stop you from adding salt instead of sugar. You refuse to look at him because you know he is sporting a huge smirk and raised eyebrows, knowing that he’s right about you not being the best baker. You are reprieved by the oven going off, signaling to remove the earlier and change the temperature.

“Damn, babe, these cookies look so good, especially this one.” You return to Makki who already started to lay out the dough on the baking tray. You see perfectly round blobs squished slightly by a fork for a pattern and then right in front of him you see the cookie he was talking about. You didn't expect to see your 27 year old boyfriend-who-isn’t-your-boyfriend to be holding a cockshaoped cookie. But really, you should have seen it coming from the guy who laughs when either of you fart.

He can hear the clock ticking as you just stare, annoyed. He was concerned for a second, that maybe he shouldn’t have made a lewd joke when making cookies. This is something he used to do with her grandmother, you stupid idiot.. But when he can see the apple of your cheek peeking out from behind your hand, he recognizes that face. The one that positively exudes warmth and happiness with her laughter. The butterflies always buzzing in his stomach go wild when this face comes out. He would do anything to see it for the rest of time.

You don’t know where the courage comes from but you cup his cheek for a kiss, he mirrors your action. It just felt normal, and you honestly didn’t realize that it wasn’t normal until you both pulled back. Your eyes are locked on his, both of you sporting a soft smile until his keeps growing, evolving into a laugh that is borderline offensive in how loud it is.

You don’t know why and you get a little nervous that maybe he doesn’t feel the same way, when you go to hide your face, you feel the heat rising but also a soft powdery coating? And that’s when you realize his hands are still coated in flour from shaping the cookies. Your eyes are rolling while you chuckle but Makki on the other hand is losing his mind, almost in tears from laughing while putting the cookies in the oven. “It’s not that funny, Takahiro! Get me a napkin please.”

“Nah, you look really sweet. Good enough to eat.” You weren’t surprised when he returned to kissing you, nor when he lifted you up by your thighs and plopped you on the counter. The kisses are sweet, lazy and perfect for a second kiss, and a third and a fourth. This is normal. His lips belong on yours. Your hands should be tangled up in his hair while his run over your waist and legs. This is right. There's no rush to deepen the kiss, both of you happy to just indulge in the warmth of the other, but it is inevitable. A soft nip at your bottom lip or an accidental tug of his hair, neither of you know what happened first but you both are staring at each other, panting lightly with a much darker gaze than the original flour induced makeout session.

“You are just as sweet as I thought. Gotta have a taste.” His voice is raspier than you’ve ever heard and you just let him move your body as he pleases. Pull your hips to the edge of the counter. Spread your legs as far apart as they’ll go. Lift your hips when he pulls your shorts and underwear down. Gotta act as sweet as he says I am. He has barely touched you but when he falls to his knees and just stares at your dripping slit that he's imagined for years, your eyes, you are already imagining how good he's going to feel.

You shouldn’t even try to think, his tongue exceeded any expectation or desire you had. Expertly flicking against your throbbing clit as he works two fingers in you. You feel the groan he lets out when he dips his tongue into your hole before you hear it. The vibrations reverberate up your spine and through your body, an all-consuming heat starting in your stomach, threatening to let loose, to run rampant on your body. His fingers, joined by another, return to your clenching hole and search for the spongy spot hidden deep inside. All you can hear is the blood rushing through your head, drowning out every other noise.

“C’mon love, cum on my fingers, on my tongue, I’ve wanted, dreamed about this for years, give it to me.” His slow words juxtaposed the fervent pace of his fingers and it was enough to send you over the edge.

You feel so hot you fear you might pass out, the groan Makki lets out beneath you is the only thing keeping you grounded. You were first concerned that you had hurt him in someway, but when you see his eyes roll back into his head and his tongue trying to lap up every single bit of cum you squirted on his face and thighs, you know it wasn’t due to excruciating pain, rather it's just an obscene reaction to you.

When you push him back, squirming with overstimulation, you hear him scramble and “Shit! Fuck! Fire extinguisher?? WHERE IS YOUR FIRE EXTINGUISHER???” You are still out of it until he starts actually screaming, words still evade you but he follows your line of sight to the red tube hiding in the corner next to the fridge. The smell of smoke is overwhelming all of a sudden. You were in a dreamlike post orgasmic state and suddenly your coughing, eyes hazy.

the cookies, SHIT THE COOKIES!! Smoke is billowing out of the oven and your fire alarm is blaring, but soon the room is filled with a white foam originating from Makki. You never realized that the foam would continue to expand until half of your kitchen was covered in it and you saw a sheepish looking Makki on the other side.

“Fires out”. Again, he starts to laugh at you, and this time you join him. Today has turned out entirely different than you expected. It wasn’t a sad day, it was filled with laughter, romance, an ill timed fire and Makki. All in all, a successful holiday, despite the fact everything you cooked was coated in foam. He’d seen you staring at the food and already took his phone out to order food, “Indian or ramen?”

Yeah, you think you’re grandma would be happy seeing you like this. Happy Holidays.

a/n: i don’t really know what this is but the image of makki being a disaster in the kitchen came to me one day and here we are. make sure you read the other fics in the collab

matsukawa’s funeral home winter collab

a/n 2.0: also a/o to @iwaasfairy for making that makki image that i used in my header. i love her more than i love him which say a lot

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (11)

Chapter 11: Set in Motion | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: Hi guys, I’m slowly getting back on my feet mentally. I hope I didn’t disinterest you guys with how long I’ve taken to write stories. If you still stayed to tune in to the story despite the dramatic change in my posting schedule, A BIG THANK YOU TO YOU GUYS!! I’ll keep writing to make this story interesting.

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 | Previous: Part 10 | Next: Part 12 | Masterlist

12 of ?

17 BBY

A day after her full medical examination, the Anathema charted a course to the western arm of the Mustafar system.

For the first time in a near-month, Irele officially can wander around the ship. The first thing she did with the privilege was to find her way to the bridge, with HY-L33 by her side. Despite her plain-looking clothes, she stuck out like a sore thumb.

She approaches the viewing pane of the bridge, a spot that most officers were accustomed to seeing Vader instead, and watches the bluish-gray moon come into size as they pass through the Imperial blockade. She didn’t listen to the standard exchange between officers from each end, her gaze remained on the moon. She allowed herself to close her eyes to get a feel of the planet—she felt it cold and brooding, and yet it was brimming with life. She started to guess what kind of terrain it had too, probably volcanic rock, she thought; but the closer the ship got, she realizes that it was mostly water.

Unaware that she’s connecting with the planet’s essence through the Force, to her, it felt like frolicking around someplace new and unexplored; for this particular moon, she could feel the cold water seawater freeze the nerves under her skin, she could the faint light of the bioluminescent creatures thriving in the depth as if like starlight, and the strong current that nearly swept her off of her feet. Her eyelids shot up.

“What is this place?” she asked no one in particular.

“We are approaching the moon, Nur, Lady Irele.”

Irele turned her head to the side to see who answered: a young uniformed officer with black hair neatly cropped at the sides. He donned the exact same garbs as his colleagues, the only thing that differed was the badges pinned on his left chest—which was relatively fewer than the seasoned admiral.

The same officer didn’t go far from her; as the Anathema got into the moon’s exosphere, he escorted her—along with HY-L33, whom she insisted to be allowed to follow her—to the hangar where the shuttle Zenith awaits its passenger. Irele made herself comfortable in the main cabin, furnished with only a small round table surrounded by a booth, across it is a slab meant as a bench for other passengers.

The girl’s curiosity grew at the same time the moon scaled in size as they descended into the atmosphere. At first glance, she’d think the gray and black surface would be high cliffs; the Zenith cut through the clouds, revealing much of the land mass, she leaned in by the window to find that there was none. All of it was water. The only other terrain that existed there was the fortress that sat in the middle of the ocean, it was practically an artificial island in its own right.

“What is that?”

“That is Fortress Inquisitorius, Lady Irele.”

“What’s in there?”

“This is the standard lodge and training grounds for Inquisitors.”

It’s the first time she’s heard the word, though she’s absolutely sure that she is none of that.

“Why am I being brought here?”

A pause came upon the droid, HY-L33’s neck whirred as to bow her head.

“My apologies, neither captain nor crew have uploaded their ship manifest into my database.”

Irele made a mental note to request for HY-L33 to have special privileges if it involved her. That is, if she can even make one.

The fortress’s peak pierced through the sky like a spear, standing tall and as deep as the ocean floor. The pilot gently curbed around, allowing Irele a closer look and all of a sudden she felt weary.

–

Irele exited the Zenith and was then passed over to another officer, though much older and appearing to be perpetually vexed by this fool’s errand. Nevertheless, the escort officer walked Irele and HY-L33 through the fortress. It was a metal maze underwater.

The vibrant blue of the underwater life reflected a sheen over Irele’s widened eyes. Mouth agape, she had forgotten that she was in such a foreboding, ominous place. Never has she ever dreamed in her entire life that she’d see a place this blue, after living of seeing nothing but golden-brown sand that stretched up to the ridges where the twin suns hid.

The escort officer kept on blathering about where was what, schedules—her schedules, specifically—of her routines and training sessions. Irele was having none of it, she walked by the glass wall staring at the shoals that swam past her. Her distracted giggling caught the attention of the officer and he snapped.

“Lady Irele, did you hear what I just said?!”

The poor, startled girl’s shoulders jumped and her heels sprang. She froze in place.

“S-Sorry, I was looking at the water…”

The officer sighed and switched his tone, “Would you want me to arrange a tour in your own personal pod, young lady?”

It didn’t take a genius to see that the officer’s words were drawling with a harsh breed of sarcasm. Irele’s fists balled so tightly that her fingernails dug curves on the skin of her palms. She glowers at him, refusing to speak. The escort rolled his eyes and sighed, further irritated by this mundane task given to him.

“Puh! Children!” he scoffed under his breath as soon as he turned away from Irele and continued.

Eventually, they arrive to a viewing room with a wide window that spanned from left to right. Irele was reluctant to stand beside the escort, the latter thought likewise so he stepped back himself. Below the viewing deck, Irele witnessed something intense, brutal, and oddly fascinating.

Two individuals, armored head to foot in sleek black, both wielding weapons but each a different kind.  One held a pair of rods, and the other a weapon in the same fashion as a hammer. Violet electricity crackling along the ends of the weapons sparked at every collision and strike each fighter made.

Irele pressed herself against the glass when the fight was getting good. She didn’t place her bet on anyone, she had never seen a graceful, calculated fight such as this—even though this is a normal sparring session, to keep these fighters’ wits and skills sharp. The dual wielder eventually wins after staggering his opponent with a flurry of attacks.

“Come now, young lady, it’s time I bring you to your quarters.”

She looks away from the viewing pane and then to the escort, her expression served enough as a question asking for elaboration, though he didn’t humor her with an answer—even if she actually asked.

Her room in Fortress Inquisitor was a bigger version of the one she had in the command ship; and so she had to adjust all over again, but seeing that it was no different either way, getting used to the room was somehow easy.

“Well, HY-L33, I guess we’ll be staying here for a while.”

“Indeed, Lady Irele. I will be here to assess you medically if you are fit for your regular training sessions assigned in your schedule.”

“Why am I going to be trained? Are they gonna make me an Inquisitor?”

“In a way, Lady Irele, yes. But you will not be named an Inquisitor.”

“Then what’s the point of training me? I get that I will need to learn how to fight but for what?”

HY-L33 stood silent and incapable of answering her master’s questions. Irele apologized for barraging the droid with questions that may not have been—as she now mockingly calls it—“not uploaded into her database.”

Irele took rest for the day, not knowing what’s in store for her in the coming days.

The pawn now moves.

[trenchcas]

episode origins p1

i was watching moriah earlier today and was wondering what the significance of the name moriah was, so i searched it up. i’ll explain it here in this. i wanted to learn which episodes have titles derived from pop culture, literature, etc. so i put together this list. it’s not complete, feel free to reblog with more!

why did i waste hours on my life on this, you ask? i don’t know. 

season 1

pilot: obviously, all the first episodes of shows are called pilots. nothing new here.

wendigo: they’re fighting a wendigo

dead in the water: the phrase means “unable to function, move”.

phantom traveler: the name of the demon they’re fighting

bloody mary: based off the legend

skin: shapeshifters, also there might be a meta about how it’s a metaphor for dean

hook man: they’re fighting a hook man

bugs: bugs

home: they go home

asylum: they go to an asylum

scarecrow: scarecrow

faith: the concept of god first comes into play here, i thought that was pretty interesting. that’s why it’s called faith, duh. dean + faith is explored.

route 666: racist truck yes

nightmare: sam’s visions

the benders: i think it’s based off of the bloody benders, a family of serial killers

shadow: meg’s stalkery?

hell house: it was literally a hell house

something wicked: originally chanted by WITCHES in shakespeare’s macbeth. the full line is “something wicked this way comes, open locks, whoever knocks”. obviously the shtriga is a witch and it refers to that.

provenance: painting provenances, it’s in the episode

dead man’s blood: they use dead man’s blood

salvation: being saved or protected, like the boys and john do with the family

devil’s trap: the devil gets them in a trap. and they built a giant devil’s trap too.

season two

in my time of dying: based off of the led zeppelin song [x]

everybody loves a clown: based off of the gary lewis song [x]

bloodlust: i think it’s for the vampires but they were also a band in the 90′s

children shouldn’t play with dead things: based off of the 1972 movie

simon said: the whole “you do what i say” thing with andy and evil andy

no exit: it’s a song by blondie and in the episode h.h. holmes captures blondes...? am i just clowning

the usual suspects: based off of the 1995 movie

crossroad blues: based off of the robert johnson song (fave!) [x]

croatoan: i like this one. okay, so you guys probably know about the whole roanoke/croatoan thing in the 1600′s. so there’s a theory that the settlers were wiped out by a disease (similar to this town). also, the town would disappear off of the map.

hunted: gordon hunted sam

playthings: dolls, but the little girl was the grandma’s sisters plaything

nightshifter: a shifter in the night

houses of the holy: based off of the led zeppelin song and album [x]

born under a bad sign: based off of this song [x] there are a bunch of others including jimi hendrix but...?

tall tales: yeah i think this one is self explanatory

roadkill: someone got killed on the road

heart: werewolf heart but also how sam gave his heart to madison aww also there’s a band called heart

hollywood babylon: based off of the book by the same name

folsom prison blues: based off of the johnny cash song!! [x]

what is and what should never be: based off of the led zeppelin song [x]

all hell breaks loose: yes it did

season three

the magnificent seven: based off of the pretty famous western go watch

the kids are alright: based off of the who song [x]

bad day at black rock: based off of the 1955 movie

sin city: there’s a bunch of songs but the city was sinning so

bedtime stories: they were bedtime stories

red sky at morning: the full phrase is “red sky at morning, sailors take warning”. with the theme of this ep it fits pretty well.

fresh blood: fresh blood yes

a very supernatural christmas: i’m not sure. i think it’s based off of a christmas album?

malleus maleficarum: a 1400′s book of witches. latin for “hammer of the witches”.

dream a little dream of me: i love this song! based off this: [x]

mystery spot: mystery spot

jus in bello: i can’t really explain it but here [x]

ghostfacers: g h o s t f a c e r s

long-distance call: long distance call

time is on my side: based off of the rolling stones song [x]

no rest for the wicked: a biblical quote that means “evildoers will face eternal punishment”. also, “one’s work never ceases”.

season four

lazarus rising: in the bible, lazarus is the righteous man, which makes dean the righteous man. and he rises. so. 

are you there, god? it’s me, dean winchester: based off of the judy blume book (maybe?), are you there, god? it’s me, margaret.

in the beginning: they go back in time

metamorphosis: with the rugaru but also sammeh

monster movie: monsters and movies

yellow fever: referring to the disease i think, but also there are a few songs

it’s the great pumpkin, sam winchester: based off of it’s the great pumpkin, charlie brown.

wishful thinking: yeah

i know what you did last summer: dean + hell, sam + ruby. is it based off of the shawn mendes song? i don’t think it is because this came out way before the song.

heaven and hell: opposite sides meet, dean’s hell experiences.

family remains: there are remains

criss angel is a douche bag: idk?

after school special: based off of the abc program? i think?

sex and violence: there was a lot of sex. and violence.

death takes a holiday: death took a holiday

on the head of a pin: i’m not sure but this article is interesting, maybe related. probably related. [x]

it’s a terrible life: based off of it’s a wonderful life? i love that movie btw

the monster at the end of this book: ughhh! yes!!! first of all there’s a sesame street book by the same title. also, chuck actually was the monster at the end of the book! that’s crazy. insane. 

jump the shark: “(of a television series or movie) reach a point at which far-fetched events are included merely for the sake of novelty, indicative of a decline in quality.“ probably the whole long lost brother thing.

the rapture: a belief that christians will rise to “meet the lord in the air”. kinda like jimmy does.

when the levee breaks: based off of the led zeppelin song [x]

lucifer rising: lucifer rose

season five

sympathy for the devil: based off of the rolling stones song [x]

good god, y’all!: cas goes to find god

free to be you and me: a marlo thomas album and the brothers split up

the end: yeah it’s the end

fallen idols: i think we get it

i believe the children are our future: a lyric from a whitney houston song

the curious case of dean winchester: based off of the short story, the curious case of benjamin button.

changing channels: channels were changed. the end.

the real ghostbusters: based on the 1985 animation

abandon all hope: the full phrase is “abandon all hope, ye who enter here” and that pretty much sums up this episode.

sam, interrupted: i’m not sure?

swap meat: meats were SWAPPED.

the song remains the same: based off of the led zeppelin song [x]

my bloody valentine: based on jensen’s movie. but also the band?

dead men don’t wear plaid: based on the 1982 movie

dark side of the moon: a pink floyd album

99 problems: that one jayz song whatever

point of no return: a 1993 movie but also the poto song hehe

hammer of the gods: based off of the 1985 book i think? it’s about led zeppelin so probably yeah.

the devil you know: means that it’s better to deal with a situation you understand than one you don’t.

two minutes to midnight: this phrase is commonly used as a countdown to a global catastrophe (i.e. the fucking apocalypse)

swan song: someone’s final performance before retirement (i think this is about both brothers because it’s sam last battle and dean’s last fight before living with lisa)

season six

exile on main st.: based off of the rolling stones album [x]

two and a half men: it was a sitcom? but idk if that’s where it’s from

the third man: based off of the 1949 noir thriller? maybe? but there were also three men so idrk

weekend at bobby’s: it was a weekend at bobbys

live free or twi-hard: based off of twilight and that bruce willis movie that i watched once way back when

you can’t handle the truth: truth goddess. soulless sam gets exposed ig

family matters: based off of the 1989 sitcom? maybe

all dogs go to heaven: based off of the 1989 movie? probably

clap your hands if you believe: i think this is an original title idk

caged heat: based off of the 1974 movie i think

appointment in samarra: probably based off of the 1934 novel of the same name

like a virgin: based off of the madonna song [x]

unforgiven: sam does unforgiven things

mannequin 3: the reckoning: not sure

the french mistake: just... just read this link [x]

and then there were none: based off of the agatha christie novel of the same name

my heart will go on: y’all all know what’s up [x]

frontierland: they went to yeehaw town

mommy dearest: based on the 1981 film? maybe?

the man who would be king: based off of the 1888 novel by rudyard kipling

let it bleed: based off of the rolling stones album/song [x]

the man who knew too much: shares a name with the 1956 film

season seven

meet the new boss: they met the new boss idk

hello, cruel world: sad sam

the girl next door: there’s a 2004 romcom with the same name

defending your life: a 1991 romcom! wow!

shut up, dr. phil: sam and dean became philanthropists idk

slash fiction: hahahahaha i think we know what it means but wHY is it called that?

the mentalists: they met a bunch of magic people wow!

season 7, time for a wedding!: more like season 7, time for a slightly r*pey episode and GARTH!

how to win friends and influence monsters: based off of the 1936 book how to win friends and influence people

death’s door: they were at death’s door idk

adventures in babysitting: based off of the 1987 movie by the same name

time after time after time: based off of the cyndi lauper song? [x]

the slice girls: prolly based off of the spice girls idk

plucky pennywhistle’s magic menagerie: yeah idk

repo man: it’s a 1984 film too

out with the old: they were fucking around with antiques

the born-again identity: obviously based off of the bourne identity which i haven’t seen in forever

party on, garth: hahaha

of grave importance: it was very important

the girl with the dungeons and dragons tattoo: probably based off of the movie/book the girl with the dragon tattoo. 

reading is fundamental: reading is fundamental. go read a book.

there will be blood: there was blood

survival of the fittest: everybody fought idk

okay i’m gonna stop here for this one because i’m tired asf and i’ll do part 2 later 

[shesawriter39049]

BTS -HS-HEADCONS

(Slightly NSFW ) ..JUST A LIL

Mkay ..disclaimer this is all in good FUN, I’m also a fellow 94 liner, so if the boys were in the US, we would’ve been in HS together!

This is Obv very Westernized and I’m writing this as if they aren’t the art school AU’s people typically write

(EDITED 8/5/2020)

Jimin-

-A whole thot thot, I mean don’t get me wrong he’s a total sweetheart but he’s still a walking  thirst trap, no cap, no filter! He’s kinda ”famous” on social media(Prob like 15-20k) Snap, IG, FB, you name it...for some reason he always seems to work out shirtless. LOVES to take pics so you KNOW he worked out shirtless!

-Please don’t let any form of R&B play at a party...It’s a wrap, what you tryin to see? Some grind work? A little hip roll action? You want a lap dance? Tongue out and all! The Asian alllll the black girls girls love(Obviously not just black girls but lets be real..it takes a certain...appeal..and Jimin has it!) 

- Gives off that whole “My dad owns, about 5 nail salons and beauty supplies in the hood” kinda vibe! (Meaning hes comfortable around different walks of life,he doesn't feel out of place easily, hes the type of person that everybody can gravitate towards) The boy has swag and he knows it…got everybody from Megan to Brian thirsty as all hell! 

-Will win best hair his senior year..without a doubt, well if he doesn't fry it first!... Looks like a walking Pantene commercial, yes, more so because he can’t go two seconds without running his fingers through his scalp!

-KING of subtle shade...knows all the tea but acts like he doesn't as he slowly sips his Starbucks. The type to honestly forget he’s told 3 different girls they could wear his jersey/Letterman jacket! Until they all text him Thursday night ....

-A jock that’s cool with everybody! The type to cuss out his fellow athletes that are total dick wads and bully people... I feel like he’d be a damn good running back, he has the right height a muscle build up for it. 

-Owns a pair of buffs, don't lie to yourself you know you could see it too...wears skinny jeans with Timberland's 😒, still wears 3878374 rings. Believe it or not he gives me like Tilly’s/Zumiez/PacSun vibes!

-Drives a red obnoxiously loud scat pack that’s tinted way past the legal shade! He drifts on the weekends. Jimin would be your local plug IDC,IDC,IDC...LOL I said what I said, got a whole eighter hiding in a fake bottle of orange juice!

- Just flirting his way through high school living his best life… will fuck someone up if need be, has a slight temper, sassy as hell, can roll his eyes with the best of them. ”Would it be ...too extra if I changed outfits and dates during the dance?..Serious question guys! ” 

- He’d be the one that all the girls say gives the best head ...I mean..those lips..that tongue..HELLO! Stroke game on point...I feel like he’d have no filter when it comes to talking about sex publicly. No shame, loves to tease you, at the worst times, down to sneak off to the bathroom, or the janitors closet! Will bend you over behind the bleachers after they win a football game...if your down...gang, gang!

Namjoon-

-An Asian with light skin tendencies ...the one that low key may think he’s black (I’m joking!! lmao,,,maybe) 

-He’s that one person that legitimately everyone likes...no matter how hard you may try..you just can’t dislike him! 

-He actually is class president!

-Hangs out with all the basketball players and has the freshest Jordans..but can’t hoop! He’s on the school newspaper..writes the sports column...is still that free spirit telling you to live your best damn life.  

-Either looks like he’s going to a business meeting or like he just picked out damn near everything from Champs there’s no in between! 

-Makes and sells beats on the side, would also have a strong social media presence! He’s be the type to have a ton of followers on Sound Cloud and Spotify!

-The type to try and talk is way into and or around everything “I understand hats are against the wardrobe but I’m just trying to express myself and I think it’s right to give everybody self expression” Wears glasses, though none of us really know if he needs them forreal forreal…. Wears a snowman on his wrist (A big iced out watch). 

-Drives a white BMW 430, puts cones around his car in the parking lot..Yoongi and Jimin kick the cones...faithfully..everyday!

-Don’t let his niceness fool you, will cook your ass in the blink of an eye if need be! Prefers a good verbal situation though, the king of a good word battle will have you all types of trying to check the dictionary to understand what he just said! Got you standing there like a misplaced student in honors English… 

- If shit get’s physical well..we can’t let the president fight soo...he’ll call Yoongi or Jimin to handle it for him…. Because...well his Jay’s are brand new..and only 10 other people have them...sooooo..OR maybe it’s lowkey because he can’t fight all that well...baby’s not coordinate OKAY!? Don’t @ me! 

-Oophfff daddy long leg! Lmao nah but you know he’d be the one...the one that every girl says he’s packin..and he is...He’d be little more reserved..and modest when it comes to his skills but he’s damn sure not shy! Would deff skip lunch, for a quickey at the park..yes the park.....would leave for lunch in a suit...come back in some joggers....real subtel....

Yoongi -

-The unexpected jock ...the one who can kick your entire ass in basketball, one of the stars on the team! Shooting Guard, has a championship ring from every year he’s played!

-Picks and chooses when he wants to be social. Just judge his mood based on his  face that day!

-DJ’s every party and school event. Often gets into trouble for not playing the clean versions of songs!

-He’s on the morning broadcast with Jimin and Jin...also forgets to censor himself. I.E “Peter Pan opened last night and it sucked actual ass!” 

-Lowkey highkey funny AF, king of sarcasm and one liners!

-Purposely owns an old school Chevelle instead of a new car, also drifts on the weekends.

- Lives in like the flyest loungewear...joggers, hoodies,Jays..doesn't look like he tried but still looks bomb AF. 

-Another one that will creep up on you when it comes to his skill in bed, the one that girls say there surprised with how passionate and attentive he is! In contrast to how  hard his exterior can be, the type to take his time and make sure your more than satisfied….

 -Always, ALWAYS has his headphones in, lives and breathes music! He raps on the side, competes in underground competitions, and win’s without even trying! Refuses to ever participle in the schools talent show because he can’t swear therefore they are hindering his creative flow! 

-Constantly looks like he’d rather cut his own testie off than be “here” right now. 

-Will walk out if you don't let him go to the bathroom when he feels like it, actually he’ll just walk out period…”Yoongi where are you going!?” . 

“Oh I need another espresso shot before I sit through this extremely falsely sugarcoated reality of how Columbus “discovered”  a place that was already there!” 

Jimin: “Aww man, sit down I got you! I was just about to have Pizza Hut sent to the office, you wanna add into my postmates order!!?” 

😩😂😂😂...I canttttt ..maybe I’ll do the other four!? Again all in good fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I often wonder what the boys would be like if they were born in the states. Then I realize the lack of filter they’d all have especially JIMIN and I’m grateful for the cultural differences that come with them being Korean born !

UPDATE- 7/29...I think I might turn these headcons into a lil sum sum...writing these reminded me that I actually enjoyed HS (For me my “shitty” period was like elementray and part of middle school) But I made HS my bitch, and had so much damn fun lol !

7/30- PART 1

[myrecordcollections]

BB King

The Best Of BB King (ABC Label)

@ 1973 US Pressing 

****

In spite of 1972 being one of the stalest years in the history of popular music, the spate of reissues from all the major record companies and countless minor ones picks up more speed all the time, and the results (uneven as they are) are generally encouraging. All four of these albums represent attempts both at recapitulating the contributions of three black titans and cashing in on the belated widespread recognition of those contributions. Curtis Mayfield had a long string of hits with the Impressions but it took Super Fly to make him a household name. Ray Charles may have been bigger in the late Fifties and early Sixties than he is now, but he was more vital then, too. His earlier work deserves the endless repackaging. As for B.B. King, I can still remember the first time I saw a couple of kids in a department store line, audibly opting to chance $3.50 on an album called Lucille because some Limey speedfreaks had made it hip, and I’m sure that both they and I are glad they did, but B.B. King’s career didn’t begin when the royalties began pouring in from flash guitar covers and he was invited to tour with the Rolling Stones, so a thoughtful collection of vintage King is imperative.

Ray Charles doesn’t have as many hits these days as he used to, but he’s more renowned than ever before anyway. He’s become something of a national institution, like the Duke Ellington of R&B; even Pres Nixon has made an official declaration of Charles fandom. But the Pres ain’t exactly the type to do back-flips for “What’d I Say” or “The Right Time,” and Ray’s been hacking his way ever deeper into the tissue veldts of MOR for a full decade now. He still makes a good record every once in a while, but in his prime he was raunchy enough to split your skull and rock you into fundamentalist frothing fits. He created rock ‘n’ roll as much as Berry or Little Richard or anybody; he practically drew up the blue-prints for an entire era of gritty Stax R&B, and nobody ever wrenched their way deeper into the soaring terror of the blues. If you want to hear him really rip the joint apart and put it back together again with a cry, go back to those great Atlantic sides. The essence is on three albums: The Genius of Ray Charles. The Genius Sings the Blues and The Greatest Ray Charles. Or, for a fantastic overview, Atlantic’s four-record compilation The Ray Charles Story. Ray’s move from Atlantic to ABC made him rich and, initially at least, the musical rewards were probably as bountiful as ever and an idiomatic breakthrough besides. In search of a buck-grabbing formula, ABC sent him through albums like The Genius Hits the Road (“Georgia on My Mind,” “Mississippi Mud,” “Carry Me Back to Old Virginny” etc.), and miraculously he came up with brilliant, deeply soulful amalgams of gospel roots and mainstream pop. But the real turning point was a record called Modern Sounds in Country & Western Music, which was released about 12 years ago, at which time it promptly became the Number One album in America and changed the face of the milder strains of radio pop as irrevocably as his early work had done for rock ‘n’ roll. All through the Sixties the marriage of C&W to blues or bluesy euphemisms reigned, and whether you picked up on Glenn Campbell or Lee Hazelwood or any one of the rest of the multitude exploiting this new form, it all began with Ray Charles.

Ray himself exploited his innovation till the power of the original purveyor began to pale, and not everything on All-Time Great Country & Western Hits is great. But enough of the prime is here to make it worthwhile, especially if you haven’t picked up any of the many previous Charles reissues. “I Can’t Stop Loving You” was his first big move at this amalgam, and it’s still as tearfully puissant today as it was in 1961. Add the occasional C&W standard rendered in R&B style fully as uncompromising as any early Charles (the boiling “You Are My Sunshine” being the earliest and most potent example here), and you have a record as profound and essential as anything out today.

Lots of people think the Super Fly soundtrack the best soul album of 1972, but those unfamiliar with the Impressions owe it to themselves to discover what Curtis Mayfield was up to in the times before the most vital expression of black music was almost forced to deal with heroin death. “Freddie’s Dead” is already a Seventies standard, and His Early Years with the Impressions is a fine reminder that Mayfield possessed a consistent gift for creating hits destined to become classics all through his career. The vocal harmonies of the Impressions could be as mellow a balm as anything by Smokey Robinson and, like Robinson, Mayfield was never saccharine.

In fact, this late rehearsing of his past achievements impresses you firmly, even if you missed it first time around, with the fact that Mayfield was a groundbreaker in the nascent status of black popular music as a direct expression of the changes in black consciousness. When “Keep On Pushing” was a hit it was fairly easy to find shadings of meaning in its lyrics which formed as clear a link between the oldest gospel message and something far more topical, as it was to revel in the perfect evolutionary link between the purely musical freight carried out of church and the AM soul stylings which reached their summit in the mid-Sixties.

“It’s All Right” illuminates the same historic junction, and “We’re A Winner” takes it out of the realm of ambiguity, straight across the threshold of blatant backbeat radio anthem. Meanwhile, if you’re only familiar with things like “Gypsy Woman” in the eviscerated cover versions of white fluff-boys, get ready to be moved to the shoals of your soul by a whole other, more masterful and authentic type of vocal dramatics.

Again, the packaging is pretty bland, and another caveat is that lots of this stuff has been observed in the original albums selling for far less in bargain bins around the country (plus the fact that lots of those original packages were a joy in their very crassness, like that great Keep On Pushing cover observed among Dylan’s most conspicuously prized possessions on the Bringin’ It All Back Home jacket). But if Super Fly was your introduction to Curtis, you’ll want to make a point of picking this up before his pre-soundtrack solo albums, which qualitatively fall way below both what preceded and followed them.

B.B. King has in his belated flush of success become almost as frustrating for the aficionado of the Real Shit as Ray Charles. B.B. plays Vegas now, no fault there, and hits both the colleges and TV talk shows. So he’s finally out of the scuffle, at late long last. Unfortunately, his music has also gotten less interesting with each successive album. Vintage King wasn’t just something for punks to prove they could tell a good blues guitar solo from a bad one; it was stark, evil stuff. Troubled and troubling.

The difference between these two B.B. albums is the difference between chills and chips, between hearing a raw edge that makes Back in the Alley more than just a good colorful title, and satisfying your curiosity about how B.B. King would work in the context of a standard Leon Russell Hollywood camp meeting. And it’s not just a matter of backalleys vs. proximity to pop-stars: There is just no way a cut from the legendary Live at the Regal album, which molded countless Sixties guitarists and stands alongside things like James Brown at the Apollo as one of the all-time classic in-person R&B disks, there is no way something like that is not gonna shut down a pleasantly perfunctory session cut at Cook County Jail two or three years after Johnny Cash made it both righteously hip and fiscally sound to jam for jailbirds.

Actually, the chronological distance between the two albums is not all that great. Back in the Alley begins in 1964 and leaves off just short of where The Best of B.B. King picks up, but the difference in mood and meat is sufficient to make the choice clear, even if Best Of does have the incredible “The Thrill Is Gone.” It’s the fine line between a man playing with total commitment to an audience he has probably had for years which can savor his peaks and bear an off night, and a man playing for people who’ve been sold his legend and will love anything because they know they’re supposed to. But you don’t have to be any kind of connoisseur to tell the difference.

Rolling Stone 1973

[hero--for--fun]

Ichigo and Sanji

TL;DR: Wow Stinger, your mom lets you have a boyfriend and a girlfriend?

Sanji, male, 24

~Works as a coder and graphic designer.

~Started dating Stinger and Ichigo about a month after they went official.

~Brown hair dyed pink, green eyes. Honestly I see him wearing whatever is comfortable, no matter how bad it fits his aesthetic. Literally catch him wearing a hoodie and one of Ichigo’s skirts, because it was closer than a pair of his pants, and just vibing.

~A good artist (drawing, sketching, etc.) across multiple mediums, but awful at things like clay and anything with yarn. His favorite mediums are digital, traditional, and spray paint. 

~He likes cinnamon rolls, coffee, fun socks, and collecting mugs. 

~Sanji has some combat training. He took karate classes most of his childhood (Ages 6 to 19)

~~~~

Ichigo, female, 22 (soon to be 23)

~Works part time as a waitress at a maid cafe.

~First to start dating Stinger, and she likes to tease Sanji about it. 

~Blonde hair, hazel eyes. She dyes her hair a lot though, so nobody is actually sure about her actual color. I see her wearing lots of pastel colors, with darker ones tossed in randomly on her bad days.

~An awful artist (drawing, sketching, etc.), but a pretty good knitter. She also owns a sewing machine that she uses pretty often.

~She likes roller skating, plushies, staying up late as much as possible, and listening to r/entitledparent videos while she works on projects.

~Ichigo has very little combat training, but took self defense classes.

~~~~

Assorted facts/headcanons

~Ichigo and Sanji are dating each other as well as Stinger, and while they love each other very much they have a tendency to be competitive towards one another when it comes to Stingers attention. They have a friendly rivalry that Stinger isn’t fully aware of. 

~Sanji is an fan of western comics and movies, especially The New Avengers (Kamala Khan Luke Cage, ETC.). 

~They aren’t heroes, and they’re very proud of their hero boyfriend.

~The maid cafe is actually really shitty and she lowkey hates it, but Ichigo would hate to not be working. She’d feel like a burden. Basically its a hang out spot for scummy guys and its really the bottom of the barrel for these type of places. No security for the girls, guys hit on them constantly, monsters like to come there to mess with them, and Ichigo has had at least one guy try to follow her home. She wants to work at a different cafe or get out of the business all together, but is unable to at this time

~Sanjis name is actually directly from One Piece because I liked the name when I first read One Piece. Ichigo’s name was chosen because its the name of one of my BNHA OC and I tend to recycle names from those oc’s.

~While Stinger and Sanji like to cuddle and all that while they sleep, Ichigo surrounds herself with stuffed animals and has a field day. SHE’S THE MEME OF “My girlfriend and her $500 stuffed mareep”.

~Sanji and Stinger don’t know personal space when they sleep. They take over most of the bed, hence why Ichigo has her plush barrier. They lay on one another and their almost always touching. 

~Sanji likes to draw small chibis of his  partners, cut them out, and hide them around the house.

[venenorita]

HE MEGA RP PLOTTING SHEET / MEME.

First and foremost, recall that no one is perfect, we all have witnessed some plotting once which did not went too well, be it because of us or our partner. So here have this, which may help for future plotting. It’s a lot! Yes, but perhaps give your partners some insight? Anyway BOLD what fully applies, italicize if only somewhat.

Mun Name: Mercy      Age: 27      Contact: IM, discord

Character(s) I rp: Bambi, Candice, Giselle, Loly, Tier, Emilou, Nanao, Hiyori, Kuukaku, Yoruichi, Ariugrette Tsetsara (OC), Tatsuki Arisawa, Kobu Merani (OC), Ajora Faengerhol (OC), Medusa Gorgon, Subida Roja (OC), Noriko Tsunayashiro (OC), (I’m gonna stop here for my own sanity @n@) Which muse(s) inspires you the most atm?(for MM): Bambi, Loly, Tier, and probably Noriko.  Current Fandom(s): Bleach presently.  Fandom(s) you have an AU for:  Errr, none really? Not that come to mind at least. My language(s): English Themes I’m interested in for rp:   Fantasy / Science fiction / Horror / Western / Romance / Thriller / Mystery / Dystopia / Adventure / Modern / Erotic / Crime / Mythology / Classic / History / Renaissance / Medieval / Ancient / War / Family / Politics / Religion / School / Adulthood / Childhood / Apocalyptic / Gods / Sport / Music / Science / Fights / Angst / Smut / Drama / etc. Themes/Genres you have an AU for:None Really dedicated to any particular genre or theme. Not that I’d be unwilling to make some. AUs are my jam. 

Preferred Thread length: one-liner / 1 para / 2 para / 3+ / novella. Asks can be send by: Mutuals / Non-Mutuals / Personals / Anons. Can Asks be continued?:   YES / NO   only by Mutuals?:  YES / NO. Preferred thread type: crack / casual nothing too deep / serious / deep as heck. Is realism / research important for you in certain themes?:   YES / Depends / NO. Are you atm open for new plots?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS. Do you handle your draft / ask - count well?:  YES / NO / SOMEWHAT. How long do you usually take to reply?:  24h / 1 week / 2 weeks / 3+ / months / years. I’m okay with interacting: original characters / a relative of my character (an oc) / duplicates / my fandom / crossovers / multi-muses / self-inserts / people with no AU verse for my fandom / canon-divergent portrayals / au-versions (as main or only verse). Do you post more ic or occ?:  IC / OOC. Are you selective with following others?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS.  

Best ways to approach you for rp/plotting:  IM  An IM will usually do the trick since I usually don’t go about giving my Discord in most cases. But yea, literally just send me an IM, preferably with an idea in mind. Alternatively if you’re particularly bold you can send an ask or a meme. 

What expectations do you hold towards your plotting partner:  .  I dunno how to really word this one in particular. I  usually don’t like overplotting, so be open to some flexibility. Frameworking is fine but I don’t wanna script stuff from the getgo. Also please work WITH me? If I’m the one throwing out ideas and all I’m getting is a simple ‘eh’ or ‘no’, or just in general if you’re not helping contribute. Like....I get being anxious but I need something to work with? Suggestions. Recommended alterations to my ideas? There’s nothing more absurd to deal with than someone who agrees to plot with you only to contribute nothing and just shoot stuff down. 

When you notice the plotting is rather one-sided, what do you do?:  I’ll try my best to work with it. Some people aren’t great with cranking out ideas, I get that. Heck sometimes I myself don’t feel like coming up with a lot of stuff. But at some point I’m gonna ask them to put in a little effort if we’re not getting anywhere. 

How do you usually plot with others, do you give input or leave most work towards your partner?: I at the VERY least give input. Ask questions, things like that. I’ll generally come up with a few off the top ideas to try and get things rolling. 

When a partner drops the thread, do you wish to know?:   YES / NO / DEPENDS. - And why?:  I wouldn’t mind a poke, but I know stuff can be complicated. Wether you’re busy, losing muse, or you just don’t know how to progress a scene? I’ve certainly had plenty of threads, enjoyable or otherwise, where I say to myself ‘.....I think this is fine here’. Or ‘I don’t know where I’m supposed to go from here’. So I don’t mind if you kinda let it slip into the night. Though a heads up is always appreciated.  - What should your partner do when dropping a thread?:  Kinda outlined up above. But MOST of all, don’t be AFRAID to let me know. I’ll understand 

What could possibly lead you to drop a thread?:  . Business, fatigue, lack of enthusiasm, not knowing how to progress. Or characters that clearly do not want to interact with my muse icly. I know some people really like playing these sorts of individuals, but like yea...uphill battles of that kind can really take it out of me.  - Will you tell your partner?:   YES / NO / DEPENDS.

Is communication in the rpc important to you?   YES / NO. - And why?:  As much as I don’t really require it, because well, I know people have a lot of followers and such, I do feel like a rapport while not required is definitely very constructive to interaction. And honestly, communication tends to help smooth out drama a bit. Which honestly is one of the only big negatives to this kinda community.  - Are you okay with absolute honesty, even if it may means hearing something negative about you and/or portrayal?: Absolutely! I very much encourage people, off anon (though I understand if they prefer the metaphorical mask), to inform me of something they may not like about me or my muses. Even if it may hurt my feelings, I enjoy being able to address and explain things. Cuz it sure beats the hell out of people making assumptions.  - Do you think you can handle such situation in a mature way?  YES / NO.

Why do you rp again, is there a goal?:   Enjoyment. This is a hobby, and I think some people take this a bit too seriously. I’m here to have fun, explore my muses, and that of those I interact with. Get messy, make mistakes, and for pete’s sake chill. 

Wishlist, be it plots or scenarios:  Nothing comes to mind speeeecifically... Honestly for most of my muses, just having someone who WANTS to interact with them is golden. Though I admit to being a bit of a ship goblin from time to time. 

Themes I won’t ever rp / explore:  Nothing outright disgusting or gratuitous. Torture, psychological trauma, ect is fine. That’s how things roll, and I don’t mind them being part of a scene. What I don’t get into is something that’s there for the sake of it. Am I ok with my character being tortured for information? Absolutely. Will I indulge in a thread that’s just some kind of weird torture porn? No. Don’t let it get out of hand. I won’t judge you because cmon, it’s rp. But I reserve the right to decline being a part of it. 

What Type of Starters do you prefer / dislike, can’t work with?: Anything tbh. The only real awkward starters are like.....really specific shoehorning. Or like, an immediate conflict at my character’s detriment. I get having an unusual introduction. I’ve had people who start with shit like “WHAT ARE YOU DOING BREAKING INTO MY HOUSE?” Like cmon. Number one, even I don’t know why my character would break into your house, so they probably Didn’t. Please do not assume the worst and START things off on a bad foot. 

What type of characters catch your interest the most?:  Multifaceted. Not that I judge anyone for being more ...affixed on a particular aspect of their character. Some people are very keen on getting a certain type of rp. Some people just outright play a character who isn’t really shown to be anything other than one thing. But I enjoy exploration of a personality. And a personality, no mater how dull, stupid, or simple someone is, is NEVER monofaceted. I enjoy a muse that has something to dig for or explore emotionally. 

What type of characters catch your interest the least?:  Asocials. I’ve had some decent rp with them SOMEtimes? But like....there’s nothing more aggravating than trying to interact with a character who wants to be left alone and be isolated. Especially ones that are AGGRESSIVELY against it. Especially since I have to WORK to MAKE my character even want to interact with them. 

What are your strong aspects as rp partner?:  MY.......errr....en...thusiasm? I don’t actually know tbh. My malleability with my muses perhaps? Errr I like thinking about stuff. IF you ask me a question, I will do my best to answer it and explore the realm within that question. I dunno what you would exactly call that though... I am ...headcannony?

What are your weak aspects as rp partner?: I am flaky. Sometimes it’s cuz of real life getting hard. Sometimes it’s because I need a break from tumblr. Sometimes I just poof and forget about tumblr for like a while. But yea. I have a tendency to vanish, it’s something I’m working on but it’s something that happens. 

Do you rp smut?:  YES / NO. Do you prefer to go into detail?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS. Are you okay with black curtain?:  YES / NO. - When do you rp smut? More out of fun or character development?:  It can go either way? Sometimes things develop that way because of specific characters. But I’m not gonna lie, sometimes its just for the heck of it. Sinday and all that.  - Anything you would not want to rp there?:  Interactions with Real life people as a muse. I respect people doing it. If people wanna rp as Miley Cyrus or whatever, more power to them. But leave me out of it, it just makes me uncomfortable. This also applies to a lesser degree with real life face claims? But I’ve learned to kinda make my peace with that one tbh. 

Are ships important to you?:   YES / NO. Would you say your blog is ship-focused?:   YES / NO / Sometimes? Do you use read more?:  YES / NO / SOMETIMES. Are you: Multi-Ship / Single-Ship / Dual-Ship  —  Multiverse / Singleverse. - What do you love to explore the most in your ships?:  The Nuts and bolts. Sure the honeymoon phase is alright. And bunny-rabbiting has it’s fun times. But what I love most about a ship is finding out how they work as a dynamic. What do they argue about? How do they absolve issues? How do their world views mesh?  - What is your smut tag?: nsfw

Are you okay with pre-established relationships?: YES / NO / Depends - And what kind of ones?: I like a good premise. Just a nice kickoff point, ya know? Soemthing to get past that first awkward phase if anything/ 

► SECTION ABOUT YOUR MUSE.

- What could possibly make your Muse interesting towards others, why should they rp with this particular character of yours now, what possible plots do they offer?:  She’s a bitch. But a bitch for a reason? She’s an absolute piece of shit, but a complicated one. She will never EXPRESS appreciation or affection outside of just sexual indulgence. She won’t ever SHOW fluffy affection, or gratefulness to most people. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t FEEL it. With Loly you will get to see a gal struggle with her own inability to trust or love people, while also trusting and loving people. Also ngl she kinda hot? I guess some people consider that a plus?

- With what type of Muses do you usually struggle to rp with?:   I mentioned it before, but muses who aren’t interested in interacting.  - With what type of Muses do they usually work well with?:  Anyone willing to interact with her! Wether that’s to help her, harm her, or just witness the mental gymnastics this little centipede will go through to keep her mental restrictions intact. 

- What interests your Muse(s) in general:  Power, Indulgence, Being a rotten Bitch, maintaining the survival of Las Noches,  Hot people, Strong People, anything that can benefit her in some way.  - What do they desire, is their goal?:  She wants to be able to escape her fear of her own kind.  - What catches their interest first when meeting someone new?:  Wether or not they are a threat to her survival, if they have something to offer her.  - What do they value in a person?:    Lack of Aggression, Visual Appeal, Power.  - What themes do they like talking about?:  Herself or someone else she is interested in. Her Race. The state of the world.  - Which themes bore them?:  Criticism of her, Anything about Aizen. 

- Did they ever went through something traumatic?:  Aizen’s Betrayal, Grimmjow’s assault on her, Yammy’s attempt to kill her. The Quincy Invasion.  - What could possibly trigger them?:  Grimmjow, Yammy, the subject of Aizen.  - What could set them off, enrage them?:  People trying to kill/maim her arbitrarily.  - What could lead to an instant kill?:  Aggressively trying to kill her, making it clear you have no intention to let her live peacefully again. 

- Is there someone /-thing they hate?:  Aizen. Orihime. Hueco Mundo. Being a Hollow/Arrancar.  - Is there someone /-thing they love?:   Menoly, People that try to help her.  

Is your Muse easy to approach?: YES / NO / Kinda - Best ways to approach them?:  It’s a little complicated. But if you’re persistent enough and you genuinely want a positive interaction with her, she will bitch about it but she will eventually soften up. Especially if she feels no reason to fear you. She absolutely won’t trust you at first and it’ll be an uphill battle, but its doable. 

For Antagonists ehh.....just give her breathing room? Feel free to torment her but like....if you get real incessant about it, or outright try to kill her she will actively avoid you like the plague. And if you corner her she WILL try to kill you, and her venom means that no matter how strong you are, she MIGHT pull it off if you are careless.  - Where are they usually to find?:  Verse dependent, but tbh she could be found just about anywhere. She’s usually in  Las Noches, ut she sneaks off to all kinds of places for some peace and quiet, or just to try and enjoy her generally unpleasant existence. 

Something you may still want to point out about your muse?:  Patience WILL pay off eventually? And she’s not a bitch 24/7. Sometimes she’s too tired/bored to be her usual bitchy self. 

CONGRATS!!! You managed it, now tag your mutuals! ♥

Tagged by:  Stolen from @pacifv Tagging:  WOOF, this is a REALLY long one lol. So uhhh anyone who WANTS to do it? 

[internaljiujitsu]

Negrito: Race In The Latino Community

I had lots of nicknames growing up. Bolita (little ball) when I was a toddler because I was round. Jun (short for Junior), because I share a name with my dad. But the monikers I heard most from my mom and extended family were Negro (black), Negrito (little black) or Negrolo (black something or other). Notice a pattern?

As the darkest person in my Puerto Rican family, that’s how my loved ones would address me. It’s a common practice in Latino cultures. Identifying someone by their color, frowned upon in politically correct, modern society, has morphed into a term of endearment among racially diverse Latinos. Or so it seems.

Despite the wide range of hues within Latino culture that would suggest an evolved view of skin color, these societies are just as racist as any dusty mid western town full of red cap wearing “Americans.”

When a black South African, Zonzibini Tunzi, beat out Ms. Puerto Rico for the ridiculous Ms. Universe crown, the supervisor for the Island’s Education Department called the winner, “La prima de Shaka Zulu.” It means Shaka Zulu’s cousin. You know, the legendary African military leader.

In case you were wondering, there is no relation.

In 1937, Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo had forty thousand Hatitian migrants massacred to “whiten” the population of the Caribbean nation. Sixty years later, every Dominican in the world hailed the dark skinned Sammy Sosa as one of their own when he chased Babe Ruth’s legendary home run record.

And now — twenty years after that — Sammy Sosa is white.

In the eighties, my friends and family referred to African American people as “Morenos” (Dark Skinned) or “Cocolos” (a term originating with a dark skin group of people in The Dominican Republic.) We were all living in the same impoverished, dilapidated neighborhood together, but never felt the same. There was always an us against them attitude. We often felt as if we needed to fight for respect within our own neighborhood while buying into media perceptions of what it meant to be black and brown. And what we saw around us everyday did little to give us faith in ourselves or our darker brethren.

But I could blend in anywhere — while feeling comfortable nowhere. I belonged to a light skinned (except for me and my dad) Puerto Rican family growing up in a black neighborhood but I found myself relating more to white culture. While the Cosby Show was number one, I watched Family Ties. While kids were listening to Chuck D or KRS 1, I was head banging to Guns and Roses. I hated baggy clothes, preferring tight jeans and t-shirts. But I didn’t feel like I was rebelling - I just liked what I liked, and got plenty of shit for it.

To me, the Cosby show was bullshit. That’s not how it was for the black and brown people I knew. It was fantasy. Family Ties I had seen play out before my own eyes at white friends’ homes with cookie cutter lives that seemed perfect (spoiler alert: they weren’t). I wanted what they had so badly — peace of mind and enthusiasm for the future — and I wasn’t finding it where I lived.

I also hated my brother at the time (who I love to death) and wanted to be the opposite of him. He was a thug who always gave my parents headaches. He set a terrible example for his little brother while constantly asserting the fact that he was six years older and wiser. Once I stopped idolizing him, I detested everything he stood for. He has long since proven me and the old neighborhood wrong.

It took me years to become as secure as I am, but even now I get shit from people in my life. I’ve embraced my heritage and have ensured that my five year old daughter does the same. But when my parents hear my daughter speak proper Spanish without a Puerto Rican accent, they make fun of us. She’s been attending a Spanish speaking school since she was two. Her mother and I have attempted to be consistent with the dialect we use with her. That means she actually rolls her r’s and doesn’t sound like she’s gonna hock a loogie when she says “carro” or “perro.” My family thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

But it’s not just family. In a recent conversion with an old friend who had just retired from the police department, he called me an “Oreo.” Black on the outside and white on the inside. This guy is in his fifties. I chuckled when he said it, but haven’t returned his calls since.

The thing is, I know he was just fucking around. He himself is of mixed race and sounds like an Irish American with a Brooklyn accent, but looks Japanese. But there is something about police perception of dark skin people, how we are supposed to sound, that bugged me about what he said.

There’s too much chuckling that goes on. Too much nodding. A former close friend of mine, who is half Puerto Rican and married to a dark skinned Dominican woman, once complained that a guy he knew had “niggered up” his car ( because he added shiny rims, window tint and other bells and whistles). It wasn’t the first time I heard him use the word. Each time it turned my stomach. I didn’t get it — I was his friend. Both me and his wife would have been denied access to white bathrooms and water fountains. Just because we did not identify with black culture didn’t mean we wouldn’t be exposed to the same bigotry and hatred. What the fuck? It was too much for me to overlook. We haven’t spoken in years.

There was an ugly song I remember from the old neighborhood back in the day. There were two versions:

“A fight, a fight, a nigger and a white, the black don’t win, we all jump in.”

Or,

“A fight, a fight, a nigger and a white, the white don’t win, we all jump in.”

Which one you sang depended on who you were with. Which “us” against which “them?”

I remember, as a teenager, going to the Sunset Park pool in Brooklyn with a bunch of Latino boys. On the way home, there was a group of black kids walking ahead of us. The group I was with, only one of whom was my close friend, started taunting them. They hurled racial epitaphs and threats at the black kids for being in their neighborhood. I was silent and utterly confused.

As a kid, it was actually my one close white friend, Jesse, who was the least racist kid I knew. He might have been the most genuine friend I ever had. I stopped returning his calls because I didn’t trust his friendship. Not because of anything he did — My negative view of myself kept me from believing that he really wanted to be my friend. Why would he? He was from a great family that lived in a beautiful house and valued the things that mattered to me but weren’t for me.

When I hung out with Jesse’s friends, the chip on my shoulder was always ready to bash someone over the head. At a party in some kid’s basement, someone spilled a drink. The host, an Italian kid that I didn’t know, asked me to help clean it up. I told him to go fuck himself. Then he asked me, “What are you?”

The party ended when I dragged him down a staircase and started beating him down before being pulled off and barely escaping the awaiting mob. I am my brother’s brother, after all.

So even though I felt like a Martian in my own neighborhood and knew I wanted better, I didn’t think I belonged on the other side either. I was stuck in this bizarre place where the only role models I had were Roberto Clemente, Eric Estrada and Slater. I never knew anyone else successful that looked like me. At the same time it seemed everyone around me was determined to make sure I never forgot where I belonged.

When I was twelve years old, I refused to attend my zone school because it had a reputation for being the worst in the city. It wasn’t my parents that refused, it was me. I told my mom and dad I would not go to junior high unless they transferred me. What if I hadn’t done that?

As it turns out, the school I ended up going to (because my dad used a friend’s address) was in a good part of town and was the best public education I ever experienced. The work was so advanced that I went from being one of the smartest kids in class to struggling. I actually had to study — something I never had to do much of and found excruciatingly boring. At that new school, I felt like the bad boy. The outcast. The kid that didn’t quite belong and couldn’t keep up.

My grades suffered that year, and when I transferred to a another school, I wasn’t placed in the gifted program for the first time in my scholastic career. I petitioned the principal and pleaded my case, explaining the difficult circumstances of the previous year and promising that I would shine in his “7SP“ class, which got to skip the eight grade and go straight to “9SP” in the fall. Like when I refused to go to that war zone of a school, I once again stood up for my own education. I was thirteen years old.

The work that year was far easier than what I had learned at the other school. I breezed through. The kind of disparity that existed between the two public middle schools I attended is indicative of the subpar education that children of color receive within what is supposed to be one school system. Kids in bad schools aren’t exposed to the same world that their crosstown rivals are and are ill prepared for the reality that awaits — be it a college admissions exam or the job market. Those who do not take it upon themselves to find opportunities for advancement can’t rely on working parents with little time or education to advocate for them. They are left with shitty choices and no one to champion their cause.

The scourge of poverty and racism is further sullied by the structural hierarchy of “shade” in communities of color. In the Autobiography of Frederick Douglass, the trailblazing abolitionist and former slave writes of the preferential treatment lighter slaves received, even among the others in bondage. Proximity to whiteness, then and now, is proximity to power and privilege.

In the late 1700’s, Spain instituted the process of gracias al sacar. Mixed race people could purchase a decree that converted them to white. One such royal decree granted to Cuban Manuel Baez in 1760 says that it erased “the defect that you suffer from birth and leave you able and capable as if you did not have it.” Ain’t that some shit.

Alice Walker coined the term “colorism” in her book, “In Search of Our Mother’s Garden”. She describes “prejudicial or preferential treatment of same-race people based solely on color.” Research has shown that skin tone affects the outcome of job interviews, court cases and elections. This is not a secret among people of color. They grow up believing that the whiter they look, the easier they’ll have it.

How does that make a kid feel who wants so badly to get ahead in life but has the mirror, the media and the world outside his window saying he doesn’t stand a chance? As if even after you do all the work and get to the finish line, the tape will be pulled back another few feet each time you stretch to get across. The life you want will be just out of reach, no matter how long or how fast you run.

There has been a delusion among some that because we’ve had a black president, hip hope rules the world and the Rock is the world’s biggest movie star, racism doesn’t exist anymore. There are people of color in positions of power and prestige, but they are few and far between. There just hasn’t been enough time for all the seeds of opportunity that were only planted a generation or two or three ago to compete with those who have seemingly inherited an eternity of racial privilege. Just because so many people fought for and finally earned some basic human rights doesn’t mean the playing field has been leveled.

The destruction of the long standing racial hierarchy is a challenging ongoing project that the world must decide to address together. The perpetuation of negative stereotypes of black and brown people is not only meant to strike fear in every suburban household, but to reinforce in the mind of the oppressed their role in society. Centuries of subjugation have purposefully convinced young men and women of color that they are born with an inherent disadvantage. Then, once their will to fight was clear, the oppressors barked that those they once lorded over should be grateful to simply be out of their chains.

It is up to people of color, whether African American, Latino, West Indian, or any other subdivision of “black” that may exist, to burn down the old models. The carefully calculated lie that “whiteness” is more attractive, desirable or indicative of ability must be deleted from our main frame. We must believe we are just as capable, because we obviously are. We must know that we have the opportunities, even if we have to work harder for them. And we cannot fight among ourselves, to the delight of those that would sooner see us dead, in jail or all together erased from the annals of history.

With dog whistles long having been discarded in favor of bull horns, the paper thin veil has been lifted from our union. In a country already in pieces, further division because of infighting is not something people of color, no matter their shade, can afford.

[knybits]

A Murder of One

Chapter: 

2

Summary: 

The New Year comes, and Akiko mourns with a new incentive in mind. Akiko remembers to find solace within another person, but she continues to drown in her thoughts. 

Previous Chapter | Origin | Next Chapter

“You better get your daughter under control!” 

“She’s your granddaughter!” 

“Hiratsuka… Let’s retire for the night, plea...”

Akiko hears no more as she slams the front entrance shut, tears streaming down her face like a broken dam. Her eyes shine under the house’s entrance lamp and she can hear the mention of topaz.

Villagers stop for a moment to whisper about Akiko before she shoots them a glare. They jump slightly before rushing off, continuing their gossip over why Akiko has returned from Tokyo wearing such mournful garb. 

It’s hard for Akiko to breath, and she’s freezing on this New Year’s night. 

“God this sucks,” She grumbles out, trudging down the streets of the village, drenching her poor choice of footwear with snow. 

Every time she looks up, she sees traces of herself with Tanjirou, and she blames her cursed eyes. 

The two giggling and laughing as they try to convince villagers to buy some coal. 

The two giggling and laughing as they share a bowl of udon they worked so hard to earn. 

The two giggling and laughing as they play with some stray cat. 

Akiko shuts her eyes from the world for a moment, hugging herself close to retain some heat as her tears freeze the minute she produces them. They hurt her face, but, as cliche as it sounds, Akiko finds that the pain in her chest is more unbearable. 

“Oh! S’that you Akiko?” A voice calls out. Akiko looks to her side to find that it’s one of the kinder villagers, older with a face more worn with worry over the constant need for money. 

“Baa-chan,” Akiko greets, but the villager frowns at her tone of voice. 

“C’mon in hun. I’ll make you some toshi-koshi soba, hm?” 

Akiko  is ushered in despite her feeble protests, but what’s she gonna do? 

Freeze? 

She can only hope. 

Baa-chan quickly fans the flames of the fire before scooping some broth into another bowl, dropping some mochi and buckwheat noodles. She forces Akiko to take off her wet socks before leaving them close to the fire place, then slides the bowl of toshi-koshi soba over to the girl. 

Akiko’s face warms as she places it over her steaming bowl, attempting to smile for baa-chan. 

“Do y’need ‘nother blanket? Your socks’ll take a while to dry by the fire, but I have spare ones if y’like. Your toes ’r so blue!” 

Akiko winces, reminded of the blue scarf she knitted Tanjirou for Christmas once. 

Though not a Japanese holiday, Akiko wanted to get him a present anyway. 

She stuffs her face with the soba, shaking the memory from her mind in respect for baa-chan. 

Akiko is wordlessly given seconds, and she really doesn’t want to eat, but the look baa-chan gives her is enough for Akiko to give up. Her stomach crawls at the thought of actually putting food into her mouth, but Akiko can’t tell if it’s out of joy or disgust. 

She hasn’t been able to stomach anything as of late, but that might be because she hates the Tamura manor. Traces and memories of Tanjirou linger within the manor, and the thought of him reminds Akiko of the rotting house and the puddles of blood. 

Nevertheless, she’s hasn’t eaten all week, and her grandma isn’t around. Baa-chan is far nicer, and it’s New Years after all. 

“Care to explain why you’s walkin through this snow at night?” Baa-chan interrupts Akiko, who hesitates a few seconds before slurping the rest of her soba. 

“Was it your grandma?” 

The face Akiko makes is enough of an answer, but she provides a verbal one anyway. 

“I told her to shut up after she kept bad mouthing Tanjirou and I,” Is Akiko’s simple reply, but saying his name is enough for her to choke up. She swallows the ball in her throat, but baa-chan offers Akiko a handkerchief to cry into for the third time. 

Baa-chan collects Akiko’s bowl before sighing, “You may not want t’hear this right now, but the villagers’ve been talking, so this one’s got information.” Akiko blows her nose in a highly unladylike fashion, to which baa-chan smirks at. 

City life, huh.

“Villagers say the Kamado family was killed by a man with a blue katana, scruffy black hair tied back into a low ponytail, y’know? His eyes are blue, but the most distinct part about him’s the two patterned haori. One side red ‘n the other orange ‘n green. He was spotted round the house some time near the murder, but those’r  just rumors dear.” 

Baa-chan looks over at Akiko, who has been eerily quiet the whole time. Not a muscle moving, but her face shadowing over with a look that baa-chan has never seen on Akiko’s usual joyous face. 

“...Dear?” 

“Thank you for the meal, baa-chan. I have to go home now.” 

“O-Okay. Warm your toes up at home, alright?” 

“Happy new year.” 

 “Happy new year dear. Any plans for the new year?” 

Akiko slips her getas on, her socks left by the fire side. She pauses for a minute before carelessly  smiling back at baa-chan. 

“Mourn, I guess?” 

--- 

“Mama! Papa! I wanna go shop!” 

Hiratsuka and Ray look down at their little daughter, who pouts and stomps all over the new manor in Tokyo. 

“Ah, Akiko please stop. You’re ruining the new house already!” Hiratsuka frets over her little girl, and Ray swoops her up into his arms with a laugh. 

“Now why does my princess want to shop, hm?” 

“I wanna go with the maids! Food!” 

“Sentences, dear.” 

Akiko screams in her father’s arms, struggling to roll out, but Ray has a tight grip on her to prevent her from cracking her head open on the floor. Or, that’s what he’s trying his best to prevent (worst case scenario for a parent-wise). 

“I’ve been here all week! I wanna see Tanjirou! I don’t wanna go to some stupid school with other stupid boys! Let me go outside! I’m a big girl now, right?! Eight is big!!!” Akiko screams and kicks again and the exhausted couple sighs in defeat. 

“Mika, take Akiko shopping with you please.” Ray calls out, and Mika steps forward with a calm smile. 

Akiko is gently put down and Mika brushes the imaginary dust off of Akiko’s western styled dress, all frilly and poofy like. 

Ray crouches down next to Akiko, a hand on her shoulder.

“Now don’t get lost, okay? Stay by Mika and listen to her-” 

—-

“I’M LOST!!!!” 

Akiko cries by the side of the road, suddenly caught within a sea of strangers that brush by her without a second glance. 

There’s snot running down her nose and she’s gripping the hem of her dress, crocodile tears bubbling down her cheeks. 

She keeps hiccuping, wiping whatever fluids run down her face with her cotton sleeves and quickly ruining her dress. But she stays where she is, knowing that it’s her best chance at getting home quickly. 

“Are you okay?” A sweet voice brings Akiko’s attention up from the floor. 

The stranger’s hair is pink, reminding Akiko of the cotton candy she had at a circus in England a while ago. 

Akiko slowly shakes her head no, fumbling with the ends of her dress and pouting at the floor, trying her hardest to contain her tears. She wants Tanjirou to be here, holding her hand and reassuring her that things will turn out alright. 

The girl crouches down to Akiko’s level, a bright smile on her face as she offers Akiko a rice ball with a plum in it. 

“Will this cheer you up?” 

Akiko blankly stares at the rice ball, sniffling a few times before snatching the rice ball and stuffing it in her dress pocket. 

“What the-“ 

“It’s for my fiance,” Akiko says. 

“...Wouldn’t you rather eat it now?” 

“No.” 

“...Come with onee-chan, yeah?” 

So Akiko takes the girl’s hand, waddling through the crowded streets of Tokyo with her new ‘big sister.’ 

Akiko doesn’t say much during the walk, her mind blank as she tightly grips the girl’s fingers. 

She sees that they’re cut up and calloused, a bit dirty but that doesn’t bother Akiko considering her own hands are covered in snot and tears. 

“My name’s Kanon! How about you?” 

“Akiko.” 

Kanon smiles wryly at the girl, a bit thrown off by her sudden emotionless nature, but decides that Akiko is probably trying to reset her emotions after getting lost. 

They walk a bit more before arriving in front of a big building, other people going in and out. There are a lot of foreigners, and Akiko notices a business partner or two of her father’s. 

“Welcome to my family’s inn! Don’t let go of onee-chan’s hand, okay?” 

Akiko nods, sniffling once more before allowing herself to be tugged into the inn. 

It’s lively, to say the least. 

Japanese and foreigners alike are milling around the lobby, talking and joking with each other and discussing other things. Some are eating japanese food while others are eating western food, and one has a plate of Indian curry in front of them! 

It’s not extravagant and Akiko doesn’t see a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling like the hotel she stayed at in France, but it’s warm and Akiko likes how the atmosphere makes her feel. 

There are a few people by reception and well dressed men with women on their sleeves; what Akiko can identify as a busboy rushing down the stairs who takes notice of Kanon. 

“Ah! Kanon! You’re back!” He cries out, and Kanon ruffles his hair with her spare hand. 

The boy peeks from behind Kanon to look at Akiko, “Who’s this?” 

“She got lost, so I was gonna bring her into the kitchen and make her something. Bring me a map of Tokyo, wouldja?” 

Akiko is quiet as she follows Kanon into what seems to be the kitchen, where an older version of Kanon is working furiously. The little boy returns soon with a map, and Kanon thanks him before he’s off to work again. 

“So what’s your favorite food? Your onee-chan will cook you something good, yeah?” Kanon smiles, leaning across the steel counter. Akiko look up at the ceiling before replying. 

“Carrots.” 

“Huh?” 

“Carrots.” 

“...Onee-chan will try her best.” 

Akiko spends her time waiting by swinging her legs back and forth, staring at Kanon work with unblinking eyes. Kanon is bothered, but she won’t say so in fear that Akiko will burst into tears. 

A few minutes later, a plate of stew with a bunch of carrots is placed in front of Akiko to enjoy. 

Kanon waits for Akiko to start eating, hoping that it will be something that Akiko enjoys. 

“...I’m not allowed to eat something a stranger gives me.” 

“THAT’S WHERE YOU DRAW THE LINE?!” Kanon gives up, throwing her hands into the air in defeat. She collapses to the floor and Akiko finally cracks a smile. 

“But onee-chan’s stew is really really good!” 

Kanon brushes her pink hair from her face, processing Akiko’s happy expression as she quickly finishes her food, even going so far as to lick her plate clean. 

A soft smile makes its way onto her face before she stands, taking the map nearby and folding it out for Akiko to see. 

“Let’s get you home, okay Akiko?” 

—-

“Akiko!” Kanon, now 16, cries out before hugging the seemingly lifeless girl. 

Kanon hasn’t seen Akiko since the day Akiko left for the countryside in a hurry, forgetting the New Year plans the two had made. 

But with all the rumors going in and out of the inn (which houses a few of Ray’s business partners) Kanon knows that Akiko isn’t in the right state of mind after the death of her fiance. 

Her black kimono is proof of that fact. 

“It’s been months! Where have you been?” Kanon pulls away from the smaller girl, holding both her hands in her own. 

Akiko smiles weakly, “Sorry. I’ve been busy.” 

“But it’s March now! Have you been with your grandmother the whole time?” 

The guilty look is enough for Kanon to know, but Akiko musters enough courage to shake her head and tell her that she returned from the countryside a week after New Years. 

“I need time,” Is Akiko’s only other answer, and Kanon accepts it. 

Kanon leads the ginko eyed girl back into the kitchen, a bright smile on her face as she talks to Akiko about what’s been going on at the inn. Anything to get Akiko’s mind off of the incident, really. 

She’s cooking and Akiko’s listening, and while Akiko is at the inn, it feels like everything is normal and nothing could go wrong. 

Like nothing is wrong.

After some time, Akiko grows restless with her false sense of security and smiles weakly at Kanon, telling her that she should be on her way. 

Akiko has a cloth wrapped box of leftovers with her, the sky dark and the sea of lights illuminating the streets. Akiko stands out of the way of the other guests, waving Kanon good bye. 

“Get home safely, okay?” Kanon frowns with worry, reaching out to hold Akiko’s hand like usual. 

Her eyes widen with shock when Akiko quickly snatches her hand back, but the smile on Akiko’s face show as if there’s nothing wrong. 

“Mhm! Don’t worry, onee-chan. I’ll get home safe. Thanks for the food!” 

Kanon frowns before shaking her head, “You don’t get it Akiko. I’ve been hearing rumors of disappearances lately! I don’t want you to disappear, okay? Come back soon so we can talk some more!” 

Akiko smiles again before she’s off, and Kanon stares at the back of her best friend with worry. 

There’s a slight wobble in Akiko’s step, and her figure looks a lot frailer than before. Akiko’s lavish life doesn’t allow her to be as thin as all the other girls in Tokyo. 

But now? 

She’s nearly skin and bone, and there isn’t much Kanon can do to fix that. 

Akiko is doing this to herself. 

The grip on the box tightens as Akiko begins to think again, something she shouldn't really be doing these days. 

Her mind wanders now and everything around her becomes an absolute blur, faces passing by and voices intermixing with other voices. 

And the cycle repeats like the new broken record Akiko threw to the ground in a psychotic rage the other day. 

Maybe if she had begged her parents a little harder to go back to the countryside for the New Year, she could have prevented all of the deaths. 

Maybe if she had been there, she could have saved their lives with what small medical knowledge she has. 

Maybe if she studied harder. 

Maybe if she begged harder. 

Maybe if- 

“Tomioka-san? Is the demon near?” 

A butterfly pin floats past Akiko’s vision before her heart stops. 

“It should be right up ahead.” 

Dead navy eyes.

Black hair tied back into a ponytail. 

Blue katana. 

A two patterned haori.

Akiko’s liquid gold eyes stare right into the uncaring gaze of the man that killed her fiance. 

stranger danger akiko but whatever ig,,, let me cover up my shitty plot hole with a: her eyes tell her than kanao is a good person 

anyway thanks for waiting!! i actually wrote this a long time ago but ive been real shit with editting bc this chapter isnt as,,, difficult as the other ones and i still wanted to make sure it was entertaining ;-; 

but kanon is @kny-imagines‘s oc!! shes actually really important to the story despite the fact that i am NOT a fan of more than one ocs in a fic but uhm plz deal with my writing :,,) 

hope you guys stay tuned for the next update! idk when im gonna turn this story over to wattpad officially lmao