#music takes dedication and hard work and so much fucking persistence

[neon-danger]

“anyone can pick up an instrument and play” get the fuck out I’m never reading fanfiction again

[captain-gillian]

UGH I WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING BUT ILL KEEP TO TWO

it only falls into place when you’re falling to pieces/Tim Minear is too much of a coward to write Nancy a backstory, so fuck it, I’ll do it myself.

and

why is pain so impatient - nancymarjan hurtcomfort

here are two snippets picked espeically for you rachel <3

nancy backstory (you can also find another here)

The bunk room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop; at first, it’s just the sound of her breathing and her footsteps. She finds TK on his bunk, staring up at the ceiling with AirPods in. As she gets closer, she can faintly hear his music through his AirPods and wonders if the volume is potentially damaging his hearing. She takes note of what he’s listening to as she grabs her water bottle from beside her bunk and retreats.  A few hours later, as they’re restocking the ambulance, she presses play on the Fall Out Boy album From Under the Corktree and sets her phone down so they have music to work to, but also to extend a metaphorical olive branch to TK. She had been trying so hard not to get close to TK; getting close to people always leads to loss and pain, and she’d sworn off it for good. But TK persisted; he organised to have the ambulance dedicated to Tim and started inviting her to group hang outs, and the more she finds out about him, the more they have in common.

hurtcomfort nancymarjan:

To Nancy’s chagrin, Marjan tosses her e-reader aside and rushes to her side, putting an arm around her waist to support her. “Here, lean on me, I’ve got you.” Nancy shakes her head and resists leaning in. “I’m like twice your size, babe; I don’t want to hurt you. I’m fine, really.” Marjan scoffs, “Are you forgetting that I’m a firefighter? I pull grown men out of burning buildings for a living, and you think I can’t help my girlfriend to the couch?” “That’s not what I meant, Marj—” Nancy starts to say, her voice cutting off abruptly in surprise as her 5’4” girlfriend sweeps her off her feet and throws her gently over her shoulder as if it’s nothing. 

wip ask game

[swtki]

Enemy - E. C

Pairing: Edward Cullen x Vampire! Fem! Reader

Summary: Edward meets his seductress once again

Warnings: Smut, 18+ content, banter between muses, femdom, Sub! Edward, not in an alternate universe just set in the seventies, Volturi! Reader, oral (m), mention of Edward being killed, swearing of course, Vaginal sex, kinda dubcon but not really? Public alley sex.

A/N: Edward smut is hard you mfs better love this.

If he had a working heart, he was sure it would be pounding so loud the whole city could hear. He sat on his balcony, eyes scanning the crowded Paris streets. To find her, the woman who was to destroy him. Alice had warned him just a week ago, her vision being one of chaos and pain. Behind it all, was a womans face. Not just any face however, it was Y/N. A member of the Volturi, whose heart was set on pulling him limb from limb. Everyone in the house had decided it would be best if Edward were to depart from their permanent home, flee to Paris for a short time. He was akin to being alone, but to be alone while watching over your back 24/7 was not the same. While he hated every second of his existence; He knew that if he were to give up and let her kill him, she would surely only continue to his family. He couldn’t let that happen, so he kept moving in the shadows. She wouldn’t move on until she had his head.

He racked his brain, trying to figure out a long term plan as this could only work for so long. She was strong, killing her wouldn’t be easy nor would it be something he wanted to do. Perhaps he could change her mind, he could talk her down from her dedication.

He sighed, walking into the main room and grabbing his jacket.

He needed to eat.

The elevator ride down was slow, and he tapped his finger against his thigh. How he hated human life, but at the same time desired it more than anything. Tedious elevators, the need to eat every single day, the need to sleep. The doors finally slid open, allowing him to walk down the lobby and out of his building.

The street was unusually crowded at this time, the past five days the streets were deserted as soon as the clock struck nine-pm. He couldn’t run to the closest forrest or country plaine, he needed to leave the area before they could see him take off.

So, he started walking. Voices filled his head - the French didn’t try to hold back compared to Americans. Thats when he realized, it was friday night. There were people flooding the streets. More specifically, humans flooding the streets.

“Shit.” He breathed out, knowing that he’d not only have to cancel his meal, but interrupt someone else's. He started walking to the loud music, cursing himself for being this stupid. Who other than Edward Cullen would want to find his potential murderer?

As people danced to the music, he slid toward the bar. He ordered a beer to maintain face amongst the others around him.

“Merci.” He started to turn back to the dancing bodies, but stopped when he heard the order the bartender was receiving.

“Un whisky et un verre de ce champagne.“ The man said, waiting for his drinks to be prepared. Thats when Edward realized. He had ordered champagne. Both the human man and the bartender had thought it was weird someone would order champagne in a club like this. But she always ordered champagne, always. It was what she would tell her victims to order before she took them outside.

He watched the man take the drinks, hoping he was wrong about the partner. He cursed as he realized he wasn’t. She drank, flirted, and of course lured him outside. Throwing some coins on the bartop, he quickly followed. But, he was too late. Her body was flush against the human mans, she was having a bloody good meal. Edward would be lying if he didn’t debate joining her.

“I see you’re still denying your nature.” She pulled off of him, letting the body drop as she stood still.

“I see you’re still wearing red so you don’t need to worry about stains.” He replied. She smiled and turned to him, looking him from head to toe. “I don’t know why you still despise me after all these years, Y/N.” her smile faded.

“Despise you? No, Edward I quite admire you.” She walked over to him and pressed her hand to his shoulder, “I really do think you’re one of the strongest of our kind. You could be stronger, but you suppress yourself. You drink rats blood, while I drink how our kind is meant to. Shame, really.” She walked behind him and her hand wrapped around his neck. He couldn’t move, her powers overtook him. “Imagine the life you and I could lead if you would just submit”. He shuddered at the last word. He was always a sucker for her when it came to seduction and she knew it.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing much. I just want the natural order to be restored.” She smiled and kissed his neck sofly. “Imagine yourself, in Italy with the most powerful of our kind. You could have me every night - for the rest of eternity.” his eyelashes fluttered as she continued kissing his neck. “Do you want to see how good it would feel to be with me every night?”

“Please.” He whimpered. Thats all she needed to release him from her grasp and push him against the dark brick wall. Their lips connected as if they were puzzle pieces, moving in perfect harmony with each other. She pulled away, slithering down on her knees, she was going to make him realize how much he needed her.

“Shall I?” She asked, running her hand up his thigh softly.

“Yes, God, please.” Edward begged, she loved hearing him beg for her touch.

“You always were weak when it came to sex, wonder if you still moan at the smallest, little,” Her hand groped his growing cock. His stomach fluttered with pleasure, and he couldn’t hold his moan, “Touch. Edward, you can read my mind, you can see what I have planned.” He looked inside her head, seeing the pleasure she could inflict upon his body if he would just wave a white flag.

As she took off his trousers, he debated surrendering or not. Was she worth living a life he wanted nothing more than to shun? Every time they saw each other, the sex was electric almost. She made him feel like a prey being hunted by a predator, and he loved that. As much as he hated to admit it, part of the reason he kept turning down the offer was because he didn’t want to ruin the cat and mouse relationship. He knew she loved the chase, that was why she was so persistent. But did he still feel a hatred towards her? Yes. He had seen her slaughter entire groups because she didn’t get her way. But tonight, he decided, he would wave a white flag and lower it once the sun rose.

He snapped back to reality, she hooked her fingers around the waistband of his briefs, looking up at him through her long lashes. He looked down, beginning to place his hands on her head, but was stopped by her pinning him to the wall. Her gift was useful in many situations.

Tugging down, she smiled when his dick was finally isolated. He was all hers tonight, he was painfully hard for her and only her. Her hand grasped the shaft, pumping a few times before licking a long stripe up. He made a moan of pleasure and she rewarded him with taking his length down her throat. She gagged and felt his hips buck, making her withdrawal.

“Wait-” He began.

“No, you broke the rules. What did I tell you about greed, Edward?”

“That it had no place in our sex life.” She smiled and stood, slapping his cheek a few times.

“Dress. We’ll be going to my hotel room, you may not deserve anything, but I do.” He rushed to pull up his pants and follow her.

She pushed him down on the bed as soon as the door was shut, lifting her dress up, she straddled him.

“Imagine, you agree and this is every night for the rest of our time.” Pulling down his pants she spat on her hand and guided him to her slick cunt. He slid in with ease, making her eyes roll into her skull. He could hear her mind scramble as she slowly rocked her hips. “Feel so fucking good, shame you have to be so fucking stupid.”. He was sure if he had blood he would have just bitten it and bled out. She was so fucking hot, watching her nails dig into his firm stomach. He adored her from this angle, especially when she didn’t even bother to to take her clothes off.

“Can I touch you, please?” She smiled and nodded, letting his hand move so his thumb could skillfully rub her clit, making the coil in her stomach tighten. Her movements got faster, and he heard her mind beg for more. He slightly lifted his hips while continuing his fingers. Her orgasm washed over her, causing her to scream out in pure bliss. She stopped her hips, swinging her leg over his body and straightening her dress. He looked at her in confusion, he still hadn’t cum.

“You can cum when you agree to join me. I had my fun, now leave.” She said coldly. He pulled his pants back up, stumbling back to the apartment he had spent every night and day in. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t consider saying yes to her.

As long as it was her

—

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[forcefulkitten]

no risk, no reward

[chrollo lucilfer x fem! reader] 

summary: after pestering your boss for months, Chrollo finally agrees to tattoo the spider on you. the tension between you two is palpable, and you risk everything to feed a carnal desire.

warnings: 18+, nsfw, oral sex, deepthroating, overstimulation

word count: 2,873

10 months and 17 days. That’s how long you’ve been working alongside the notorious phantom troupe. Being a thief and assassin wasn’t your initial career plan but all things considered, your job pays well and you’ve grown fond of the perks that come with it. All that’s left to be considered an official member is get your spider tattoo. Your boss, Chrollo Lucilfer, mentioned that he’s done every tattoo himself and you’ve inquired about when yours would be done numerous times, but he’s consistently shrugged you off nonchalantly. Not trusting yourself alone with him, you never pushed the envelope too much because there’s a mystery to him that has always fascinated you. You were in no rush to be in a situation where you might have an urge to act on your desires. But enough is enough, you’re a troupe member and have worked so hard for him to recognize your loyalty and dedication by inking your skin.

After the conclusion of a meeting to discuss an upcoming heist, you follow behind Chrollo while he walks to his section of the hideout. He knows what this is about. You’ve been persistent in questioning him about your tattoo, which he’s grown tired of. Once you’re far from prying ears, you beseech, “We have a few weeks before our next job. Do you think you can do my tattoo?” He ignores you, continuing the stride to his desk. Turning around, his gray orbs throw daggers at you. You wave an arm around while pleading your case, “Do you not consider me a part of the troupe?! That’s low, Danchou.” You play it off as a joke but deep down, you truly question if he doesn’t take you serious. He grabs your wrist with force and brings it down to your side, scowl evident on his face. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you realize you’ve really pissed him off this time. He lets out a heavy sigh, releasing your wrist from his hold. “It goes without being said that you’re one of us. I’ll have someone pick up the supplies. You have until tomorrow to decide the placement of the spider.”

A day later, you sit with the supplies in your lap while Chrollo drives to the location where he’ll be tattooing you. The hideout isn’t the most sterile environment, and he prefers to work in silence. The car ride is quiet besides low piano music serving as a background noise. You can’t stop fidgeting with your fingers and chewing on your lip, nervous about being alone with him. He notices your fiddling, choosing not to mention it to spare you the embarrassment. When you’re with the troupe, it’s easy to ignore your thoughts about him. But just the two of you? It’s tantalizing, the way you’ve wondered how it would be to get fucked by him. He’s like a forbidden fruit, someone you can’t ever have. Besides, you know it’s unprofessional to be so attracted to your boss.

Chrollo pulls into the parking lot of a luxury hotel. Of course he’d pick a place like this. After shutting the engine off, he makes his way around to your side and opens the door for you. He grabs the supplies and lends his hand forward to help you out of the car. The two of you proceed into the hotel, and then up to your room. His hand leads you by the small of your back, and you feel butterflies in your stomach at his touch. He’s always been a gentleman when he wasn’t stealing or killing, but his touch feels personal. Like it’s not meant for an associate.

The room Chrollo booked looks extravagant. A mirror reflection of himself. The walls are bone white with a gold trim, and the furniture is a mix of red and black. There's a king sized bed, a television, study area, kitchen with a fully stocked bar, bathroom, a balcony and a glass wall that overlooks the city from the high level you’re on. Chrollo neatly lays out the supplies on the table near the bed, and you decide to go check out the balcony. You’re met with a cool breeze as you look down at the buildings littering the city. The time is here. You’ve been pestering him nonstop about branding you as part of the troupe and it’s finally going to happen. For some reason you’re not so excited anymore. Too busy ruminating about his reaction yesterday, why he chose this hotel that reminds you of somewhere a couple would visit and the way his hand fit so perfectly against your body when he led you to this room.

“Ready?” Chrollo’s voice makes you jump out of your thoughts. You hadn’t even heard him open the sliding glass door. He stands next to you, taking in the view. You turn to face him, scanning the structure of his flawless side profile. “Whenever you are. I’ve chosen the side of my rib by the way.” Your voice is low, slightly above a whisper. He takes your response as hesitation and turns to face you. Bringing his thumb to rub your cheek, he questions, “Are you sure? There’s no going back after this, Y/N.” You can feel the heat rising up your face with each passing second, and you can’t stop looking at his lips that are extremely close to you right now. You grab his hand from your cheek and pull him back inside, desperate to put an end to the temptation you feel right now.

You kick off your shoes and strip yourself of your shirt, leaving your upper body covered by your bra. Switching the television on to play lo-fi music that wouldn’t hinder his concentration, you turn around and see him putting gloves on. He tests the tattoo gun to make sure it works, the buzzing sound confirming that your persistence has definitely paid off. Transfer stencil in hand, he gestures for you to go to him. He examines your body to see where on the rib would look best. After placing the stencil, he asks your opinion and you’re pleasantly surprised at the flattering position he chose. You lay on the bed on your side with your back facing him, making sure you’re close enough that he isn’t uncomfortably reaching over you from the chair he’s in. “If you need a break at any point, let me know.”

The arm of the hand that Chrollo’s inking your skin with is rested near your hip, while his other hand holds your skin taut. Focusing on the pain is unlikely when you’re too busy biting your lip at the feeling of him touching you. The mewls leaving your mouth aren’t in sync with the needle strokes and he’d be moronic to believe the noises you’re making are from the pain. He knows his warm touch is rendering you unable to concentrate on your skin being ripped into. Still every few minutes he smugly checks on you, asking if you need water or a moment to breathe.

The outline of the spider was easy to endure compared to the agony you feel while Chrollo shades your tattoo in. His grip on your skin is tighter, and his arm that’s rested on your body is putting more of his weight onto you. You continue to sit through it like a champ, occasionally clenching your legs together to stop the growing heat from consuming you. Your skin is raw and swollen. You groan when the needle goes over an area for what feels like the millionth time. He looks unfazed but unbeknownst to you, he’s speculating if the sounds you’re making would be the same if his head was buried between your legs.

“You’re doing great. I’m just going over a few more spots and then we’re done.” The room feels like it’s closing in on you. If Chrollo were any closer, he would probably hear your heart beating through your chest. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, making tears leave your eyes and drawn out cries elicit. He stops the gun and places it on the table, trying to get his thoughts in order. Your moans are riling him up. He’s thankful that you’re facing the opposite way while he hides the tent in his pants. “I’m sorry if I was moving too much. You can continue, I’ll be fine.” He snickers, his hand caressing you from your hip to the curve of your side, stopping right before your tattoo and tracing his hand back down. Your hand settles above his, guiding him to move towards the front of your hip, skimming over the bone and inching towards your clothed sex. A low growl leaves his mouth before he moves his hand away. “Let me finish this up.”

After adding the finishing touches to your spider, it’s finally completed. Chrollo helps you up and you go take a look in the mirror. It’s perfect. Nothing different from the rest of the troupe’s besides your number, but you love it. He covers your tattoo in ointment and a sterile bandage to prevent an infection and begins to clean up the supplies. After tossing disposables in the trash and neatly putting everything away, he pats his clothing down and stretches his arms out to shake off the stiff feeling he’s had.

Chrollo’s looking down at the city from the glass wall when you bring him into a tight hug, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and thanking him. For a few seconds he stays still, before wrapping his arms around you and burying your head into his chest. You’re putty in his arms, loving the warmth of his embrace. Not thinking twice, you lift your head and kiss him gently. He returns your kiss with the same softness, much to your surprise. You risked the possibility of getting fired which translates to being killed, but you have no regrets. He leans down and picks you up before sliding his tongue across your lip, asking for entrance. You part your lips and your tongues dance amongst one another. His taste is similar to a candy mint. Not too overpowering, not too sweet. You break the kiss and look into his eyes. “I know it’s inappropriate to feel this way because you’re my boss.. but you have no idea how much I want you.” His lips slam against yours before whispering, “Forgive me if I get carried away, Y/N.”

You unwrap your legs from his waist and stand up, pulling your jeans and underwear off while he undoes his belt and pants, tossing them to the side along with his briefs. Chrollo presses you against the glass window, eyes glancing between your lips and your breast. He brings his arms behind you to unclasp your bra. After he slips your bra off, you eagerly pull his shirt off. The air in the room is palpable, full of lust and desire. His knee forces your legs open and two fingers swipe your sex, already slick and inviting. He pumps them in and out of you, taking pleasure in your hitched breaths. Your hands wrap around his shoulders, nails digging into his muscular form. You try to kiss him but he leans back and gives you a smirk, mused by your neediness. You’re coming undone at his ministrations, handing yourself over to him so freely. Chrollo adores seeing you like this.

His fingers leave your core and trail up your body before he gives a pinch to both of your nipples, coating them in your juices. He brings a pert nipple between his lips while swirling and sucking, and then turns his attention over to the other one, humming a sound of approval at the taste of your essence coating your nipple. Your hands trace his abs, down to his hips and softly wrap around his throbbing length. He shudders when he sees how small your hand looks wrapped around his cock. You get on your knees, bringing his tip to your lips and pressing a small kiss while looking up at him. Swirling the head in your mouth and sucking lightly, his fingers lace into your hair while he bucks mercifully into you. His cock is thick and longer than average, you’re struggling to fit him into your mouth. Glancing up at him, his head is thrown back and he lets out a low moan when you hollow your cheeks while bobbing your head. Determined to deepthroat him, you rest your hands on his hips and inch his cock in until he’s fully nestled in your throat. You try your best not to choke while tightening your muscles against him. Once you’re comfortable you get in the motion of bringing him out of your mouth and then completely back in. He’s breathing heavier now, fingers keeping a tight hold on you and thrusting harshly until your nose touches his pelvis. You can’t keep up with his pace and pull off of him, a long line of spit connecting your lips to his member. Pushing his cock up towards his stomach, you bring your mouth to his balls, licking and bringing each one into your mouth individually. You milk his cock with your hand, desperate to make him cum. Chrollo’s legs start shaking, you assume he’s close and focus on licking him from his balls all the way up to the tip before bringing him to the back of your throat. “You’re fucking crazy.” He breathes out between groans before placing his hand under your chin and pulling out of your mouth. The sight of him overstimulated and hearing him curse for the first time while fighting off his end has you soaking wet.

Chrollo helps you up, turning you around and pressing your breast into the glass. The cold on your nipples sends a shiver through your spine. You can’t wait any longer, grinding your ass against him to hurry up. He lines himself up with your sopping cunt, and you gasp at his intrusion. A delightful invasion of your morality. You wonder how many people could see you from their windows right now. Chrollo rolls his hips into you, hitting your cervix with every thrust. His pace is strong but slow, giving you every inch he has to offer. You meet his thrusts, slamming back into him which makes the sloshing noises of your pussy even louder. His grunts fill the room, adding to your arousal. A familiar ache is building in your stomach, you whine at the knot tightening rapidly. “Fuck, Chrollo, I’m gonna cum.” This is the first time you’ve called him by his name. He didn’t seem to mind though; considering the fact that he’s fucking you, a troupe member, with no remorse right now. He presses his chest against your back, nuzzling his face into your neck. With one of his hands rested on the glass in front of you, the other one comes around and finds your swollen bud. Skilled fingers begin to play with your clit, circling around while filling you to the brim. You clench your eyes shut to live in this juncture. Chrollo’s hand leaves the glass, wrapping around underneath your breast to get a tighter hold of you. This angle makes him fuck into you even deeper, making you cum almost instantly. You whimper while your walls clench around him. This is quite possibly the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever had in your life, you let out a scream at the sheer gratification. The feeling of your cunt spilling all over him, and the vice like grip milking his cock makes him release ropes of cum into you. White dots cloud his vision, a guttural moan leaving him while he holds you flush to his body. He grinds into you, releasing the last of his warm seed. The two of you pant heavily, not bothering to separate your sweat covered bodies. When he pulls out, you grimace at the feeling of your juices seeping out of your wet slit.

Chrollo folds both of your shedded clothes and places them on the study desk neatly while you make your way to the shower to clean off. Before you get in the steaming shower, he comes in with two glasses of champagne in hand. Grabbing yours, you take a sip, letting the bubbly drink slide down your throat. “I'm gonna clean myself up. Care to join me? We can head back after. The troupe is probably wondering what’s taking so long.” He moves a stray hair from your face, “Oh we’re not leaving. The fun isn’t over just yet.” The look in his eye is promising, you’re in for a great time. You’re thankful and regretful for the tattoo that brought you two closer but will probably stop you from ever being his. As if he can see your concern, he kisses the top of your head and says in a reassuring tone, “I should inform you, I delayed your tattoo because I thought it was selfish to harbor such carnal thoughts about a troupe member. But I’ve never been a man to follow the rules, and I always take what I want. You’re mine and I’m never letting you go.”

[kozu-chan]

synopsis: keeping up with a society that expects you to be perfect is exhausting in every way possible. you're lucky enough to have found someone who relates to navigate this brutal world with.

content warnings: fem! reader, cursing, insults, bullying if you squint, mentions of insecurity, a bit of fighting, mentions of mental health, and sakusa might be ooc but that's just to make the arguments a little more dramatic.

sour masterlist

growing up, you were a perfectionist. although this wasn't necessarily your fault, was it? at the young age of four, your parents discovered that you were, and maybe still are, gifted with talent for music. this led to years of guitar, piano, violin, flute, singing, and even harp lessons. throughout the years, you went through many concerts and hours upon hours of practicing your various instruments. this led you to attend the infamous itachiyama academy in high school and that was only the beginning of your troubles.

as a perfectionist, you dedicate yourself not only to your music, but to your studies as well. sadly, even you can't manage to balance school, music, sleep, and a social life and one of those things have to give due to your busy schedule, so you sacrifice your social life. sometimes you think that this was the wrong move because that just makes high school practically a living hell for you. that is, until about a week ago.

last week, you had a regular morning. you walk through the halls of your school and people do their best to avoid you, to not get in your way. however, that doesn't stop them from gossiping about you. "wow look at l/n. little miss perfect." "i dare you to talk to her!" "she's such an ice cold perfectionist." "i could never be friends with her. she's too serious." "does this bitch even have a life?" you ignore the comments as you make your way to your first class. sometimes you just want to yell at them to stop talking about you. to tell them how much it hurts you and how being such a perfectionist is exhausting. to let them know that their comments only add to how lowly you think of yourself. that you wish that you had even one friend because you feel so alone.

after school, you spend hours in the music room practicing a song you were thinking of performing, something self-written as a way of releasing your emotions. and once you think your practice is sufficient, you curl up against the wall and cry.

once your crying session is done, you get up and walk back to your dorm. on the way back, you see someone in the gym do an insane serve that slams down that just barely makes it in. you hear a groan of frustration followed by the oh so familiar sound of breath getting shaky due to crying. your gaze follows the sound to see the figure on the floor crying and your breath gets caught in your throat when you realize it's not just any player, but one of the top three aces in japan, sakusa kiyoomi.

"sakusa-san?" sakusa looks at you with what looks like a bit of fear but anger replaces his expression before you could confirm your suspicions. "what the fuck are you doing here? this is a private practice." his tone is cold, firm, and piercing. you could feel a chill run down your spine, but you ignore the feeling because other people, especially your parents, have been on the receiving end on your own tone that sounds just as menacing. the only indicator of crying being the red, slightly watery eyes that you can't help but sympathize with. "what are you staring at?" you snap out of your thoughts to respond to him. "i saw you on my way back to my room. i just happened to see you crying and i-"

sakusa sighs again in frustration. "and you what? just shut up and leave me alone!" "i just know what it's like, okay? you really think that you're the only one who's tired of not feeling good enough? the only one who's cried because you just want to get better but you don't see any improvement no matter how much you practice?" your voice is loud and yet on the verge of tears. you glace at sakusa, who now looks angrier but you don't care. "so sue me if i come off as a ice cold bitch who doesn't talk to anyone because i do anything and everything i can to be perfect even if i always fall short and sue me for sympathizing with you."

the room grows quiet, save for the sounds of your shaky breathing as you try your best to calm down before you actually start breaking down in front of him. it takes another few seconds before sakusa stands up and walks up to you. "l/n, right? yeah well you don't know me and you should just get out of my sight. you shouldn't be trying to get someone to stop crying if you're just going to cry yourself. just relax more." relax more? "that's rich coming from you." you're no longer crying and sakusa stops in his tracks.

"you're telling me to relax more when you don't seem to have any chill... ever. and let's not forget that your crying was what brought into the gym in the first place." you take a deep breath to calm yourself. "so... the gym is like your safe space, right?" sakusa doesn't answer, clearly exasperated and silently begging you to leave. "c'mon, sakusa-san! you can tell me!" you smile a little when he opens his mouth to talk, only to be disappointed by his response. "god, you're such an annoying bitch. go find someone else to bother!" you're disappointed but you're also persistent. after all, you are the one that figures out and teaches all the schoolwork you struggle with to yourself. "if it makes you feel better..." you sigh quietly and contemplate whether or not it was a good idea to expose yourself this much to someone you just started talking to. "if it makes you feel better, my room and the music rooms are my safe spaces." "it really doesn't. if anything, it just makes me feel even more pathetic!" a small smirk graces your features as you realize that you got him. "so this is your safe space? i didn't hear a denial!" sakusa rolls his eyes. "would you shut up already" "not until you admit it." he glares at you and you just look him dead in the eye, causing him to break (probably so you would shut up as he thinks you'll do if he admits it). "fine... the gym is my safe space... that you're encroaching on." you back away slightly because he was right. and you know that you would also be pissed as fuck if someone encroached on your safe space, especially while you were crying. "i'm sorry, i just wanted to help. but, maybe we could be each other's safe spaces?"

you mentally sigh in relief as sakusa looks just the slightest bit more comfortable upon hearing that. "i mean, you know what it's like so... i guess i wouldn't be opposed to that." the two of you give each other a small smile as you sit down a good length away from him. "god, it's brutal out here, huh?" sakusa lets out a small laugh and agrees.

"sakusa, are you really gonna go pro like they say you are?" sakusa looks at you for a second and nods. you even notice his eyes lighting up a little. "yeah, that's what i want. it's what i've wanted for as long as i could remember. i wouldn't work so hard for it and get so dirty if it wasn't my dream... what about you? are you going to become a musician?" now it's your turn to pause. you freeze up. it's been so long since someone's asked you what you wanted. "i... honestly? i don't know what i want anymore. it's been so long since i've been asked what i wanted. it's been so long since someone's seen me outside of the "little miss perfect" that everyone else sees... i don't know." you take a moment to recollect your thoughts. "i just hate the thought of disappointing people that i think i've lost myself in the process. i've been pursuing music for so long that it's familiar, it's instinct, and i can't see myself doing anything else because i haven't done anything else..." your voice gets quieter as you speak. this is the first time you've ever gotten a chance to voice out your thoughts to someone and your own revelations shock you.

"yeah, i think i'm getting there too. losing myself to satisfy everyone while trying to stay true to myself. after all, who am i if not exploited?" it takes a minute to digest the words that were so simple and yet so powerful, the six words that could be used to summarize your entire life. "it sucks, doesn't it? like all i did was try my best, and this is the kind of thanks i get? annoyance and isolation? awards and acknowledges of achievement but at what cost? my social life? my mental health? ... my identity?" sakusa looks like he's going to say something but you shoot him a look and his mouth closes to let you continue. "it's literally so fucking stupid! there's literally no actual reward for me anymore, nothing satisfying. it's all worthless - meaningless, even. sometimes i wish i could disappear..."

a small breath is sucked up and you turn to sakusa. "sorry that was heavy. i've just never had someone to talk to about this. at least not properly."

"i get it. i haven't really had a lot of people to talk to either. at least not that honestly. i'm glad we have each other now, because you were right. it is brutal out here and it's good that we can stick together now."

after that, no one really bothered you anymore and it was all thanks to your new friend and confidant.

a/n: sheesh this is one of the longest things i've written. i really hope you like it and i'm really sorry that i suck at endings!!

[questioningstressing]

Mr.Loverman part 1

Stardew valley bachlors x chubby! trans! male reader. 

First story posted on tumblr. 1,537 words!

The faint chatter of false kind voices talking politely to customers over phones echoed through the cubicles, making Y/n feel empty, his chest felt hollow. His eyes stared at his computer screen, data and random memos flooded his head. 

This really wasn't how he expected his life to go, sitting in a soul-draining, dream-crushing, aspiration-ruining, cubical, run by an evil corporation that had by this point taken over the grocery industries and planning to basically take over the world. He felt miserable.

And he wasn't even given time off after top surgery. In fact, he was being forced to work, but by this point, he couldn't sue. JoJo was so rich, they worked hand in hand with the government.

His chest hurt, he had to get help to get his fucking employee shirt on, he couldn’t get paperwork because it was always on high shelves, and he was turned into a go-for because his productivity was so low. 

Y/n rubbed his hands over his face, trying to ignore the pain that was thrumming through his chest, the fresh stitches hurt so bad, he couldn’t focus, he sighed and stood up. Too quickly it seemed. 

Pain shot through his chest, it stung, he gasped, looking down at his chest, blood seeping out onto his dark blue shirt, leaving a stain that slowly started growing. His body screamed at him to sit back down.

He whimpered and cried softly, he needed to call someone, but they took away cell phones to keep up productivity, he shouted. “Please! I need help!” he shook softly as pain shot through him.

Thirty minutes passed of this, of constant begging for help, shouting, and yelling as his chest bled before his manager came to his cubicle, basically making small talk while y/n cried in pain.

That was fucking it, y/n could fucking deal with it, so, after three months of bed rest, he got on a bus and went to Stardew Valley, and to his grandfather's farm.

The bus passed under street lights as Y/n leaned his head against the window, staring longingly out the window and at the stars, music blaring through his headphones. His mind was racing and anxiety pooled in his stomach as he thought about the fact he was uprooting his life and moving 17 hours away to his grandfather's old farm.

It was too late to turn back now, the bus was driving and Y/n couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t turn and run like a scared animal. He couldn’t, his eyes filled with tears, he couldn’t cry right now, he did this for himself, he did this for his own mental health. 

Y/n let out a sigh as he closed his eyes and leaned against the window, soon falling into a blissful slumber. 

Y/n was awoken by the sudden jolt of the bus stopping, he realized this was his stop, Stardew valley. He picked up his bag and his small suitcase, dragging it sleepily off the bus, greeted by a young woman.

“Hello, you must be Y/n!” The woman said enthusiastically, a bright smile on her face “I’m robin the local carpenter, mayor Lewis sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He’s there right now, tidying things up for your arrival, the farms right over there, if you’ll follow me.” Robin turned on her heel looking back quickly to make sure y/n was following.

Y/n seemed a bit frazzled, having just come from a 17-hour bus trip and then having info dumped upon him, he followed quickly after the woman as they followed a dirt road down to a decent-sized house “This is F/n (farm name) farm.” Robin gestured to the farm with her arm.

Weeds, rocks, trees, and branches scattered across the ground. It dawned on Y/n that he’d need to do more work than expected, and his sudden relaxation seemed to be present on his face as Robin asked “What’s the matter? Sure it's a bit overgrown but there's some good soil under that mess! With a little dedication, you’ll have it cleaned up in no time!”

Robin encouraged Y/n who turned to look at Robin, who once again turned on her heel to lead him up to the door. Once they got up to the steps Robin’s smile stretched a bit “...And here we are! Your new home!”  Y/n looked at the door and an older man walked out 

“Ah the new farmer!” he said “I’m mayor Lewis, mayor of pelican town! You know everybody’s been asking about you!” Mayor Lewis said “It's not every day someone new moves in! It’s quite a big deal!” The mayor says, before turning to look at the rickety old cottage “So… you’re moving into your grandfather's old cottage? It’s a good house…. Very… rustic...”  He seemed to be trying to make Y/n feel more comfortable, which was failing.

 “Rustic is one way to put it! Crusty might be a little more apt though!” Robin joked, and the mayor looked shocked “Rude!” he said quickly as robin laughed “Don’t listen to her Y/n she’s just trying to make you dissatisfied so that you buy one of her house upgrades.” Lewis said to y/n 

Robin crossed her arms as she made a noise that seemed a bit upset as the mayor continued “Anyway… you must be tired from the long journey you should get some rest. Tomorrow you ought to explore the town and introduce yourself, the townspeople would appreciate that!” Lewis said, a kind smile on his face, before he turned on his heel and began to leave before turning back around “Oh! And I almost forgot, if you have anything to sell just place it in this box here ill come during the night to collect it!” he paused for a moment “Well… good luck!” Before both he and Robin walked away. 

Y/n let out a breath walking into his grandfather's old house as soon as he could and dropping his bags down on the ground, kicking off his old beat-up shoes, taking off his shirt leaving him in his underwear, he looked down at himself, his face twisting in displeasure as he studied his body.

Y/n was not a thin man by any means, in fact, he was a large man, something he got teased for constantly, his soft tummy,  large thighs, and round face haunted him like a persistent ghost. He let out a sigh “Don’t think about it.” he muttered to himself, gently tracing the scars that rest just below his chest, the few things that made him happy about his body, his top surgery scars, inverted T scars sat beautifully under his chest, a reminder he was strong.

He let out a gentle sigh as he sat on the edge of the bed head in his hands, his body gently shaking as he began to cry, did he really uproot his life for this? He wanted to love it, the few times he visited his grandfather's farm he remembered loving it. 

Every time he would run around the fruit trees, climbing them to pick any ripe fruit he could, sometimes falling and scraping his knees on the tiny rocks beneath. Water the plants with his grandfather, play in the field with the cows even though his grandfather told him not to. 

The memories float into his head leaving this moment more somber, his heart heavy with sadness.

Y/n let out a  shaky breath before breathing in deep and letting out a little laugh, was he really crying about it not being up to his expectations? How much more of a ���stuck up city boy’ could he get? 

He stared at the floor as he shook his head, no, he was gonna work hard on getting the farm to look nice, to be like his memories, to impress his grandfather, starting tomorrow he was gonna get this place tidied up.

Y/n laid in bed, pulling the warm duvet over him, causing him to soon fall asleep, and he dreamt.

He was in a field filled with F/c (favorite colored) flowers, that smelled familiar, he began to walk in a direction, the further out into the field he got he heard a group of male voices laughing and talking, he soon found the group. 

They were in a cuddle pile, a man with short purple hair and a torn-up Joja hoodie held someone with short brown wavy brown hair with glasses.

 leaning against the Joja hoodie guy’s shoulder was a man with long black hair that covered one of his eyes, and in his arms, a spikey blond-haired guy was curled up seeming to have fallen asleep.

 On the other shoulder, a long-haired gentleman rested, seeming to be smiling as he read something, a short-haired man wearing a green sweater was reading over the long-haired gentleman's shoulder.  Y/n smiled and he realized he knew them, they felt like home. 

He quickly joined the cuddle pile, all of them seeming excited to see him. He fell asleep on their laps, his hair gently being pat.

[katehuntington]

Title: Changes - part five Word count: ±4000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work together. Summary part five: While Dean catches up on some sleep after being shot, Sam goes over Zoë’s research, curious to find out more about the case and the intriguing huntress. A whole lot more is revealed, however, once Zoë wakes up. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks.  Music: Down By The River - Neil Young, Look But You Can’t Touch - Poison, Changes - Black Sabbath. Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer​​​, @soupornatural​​​ & @mrswhozeewhatsis​​​, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​​ & @winchest09​​​ who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

     Sunshine peeks through the red curtains, like a little kid playing hide and seek. The beams of light illuminate motes of dust, which playfully dance in the air. Thunder and rain have moved on and made room for the sun to brighten the Northern state.      It’s past noon and Sam is seated at the table, which is entirely filled with papers, books, files, and both his and Zoë’s laptops. Concentrated, he goes through documents on Zoë’s Macbook, preparing for the next encounter with the shapeshifter. Neil Young is singing Down By The River on the radio, so softly, that he has to listen carefully to make out the words. 

     Besides traffic rushing by on Route 52 right next to the motel, it’s peaceful. Dean stirs in the double bed, but settles again and continues to sleep while snoring softly, causing his brother to look up and grin. He’s not sure what’s funnier; the fact that Dean is neither sleeping on the floor nor on the couch as Zoë persisted earlier, or that she’s actually the one sleeping next to him. Just before 8 o'clock she finished up the last stitch on Dean. Sam still doesn’t know if Zoë actually knew what she was doing, but she did great. After a night like last night, neither of them gave a damn who slept next to whom. 

     He thought Dean was hard-headed, but Zoë takes the cake, which is without doubt the reason why they can’t stand each other. It is unimaginable now, but they must have gotten along fine before, otherwise Dean wouldn’t have remembered her. Hell, he doesn’t even remember some of the girls he hooked up with, not to mention the girls he didn’t.      If Sam may believe his brother, she was this fun, sweet and caring student, living the good life. A typical Californian girl, loved to surf and hang out on the beach. Also quite a musician; apparently she’s pretty good with a guitar. That’s what Dean told him on their way over to the motel anyway. She worked hard to become a surgeon, aiming for neurology. Then that demon came along and fucked it all up. 

     Sam sighs, sympathizing with the young woman. Why do bad things always happen to good people? Now look what she has become. She's a hunter, one that is damn good at her job, but still. She could have ended up with so much more. It turns out that everyone in this line of work needs history to get lost in the world of monsters.      He hasn't heard the whole story yet and Zoë doesn't seem to feel like sharing, but one thing is for sure; she uses her intelligence that got her into med school to her advantage as a hunter. The supernatural database she’s built is outstanding, especially taking into account that the first file dates from 2001, a little over four years ago. She is dedicated, that’s for sure. 

     He looks over at the young woman, who is sleeping peacefully, curled up on her right side, eyes closed and breathing calmly. It’s weird to see the huntress like that; she seems so vulnerable now. Not entirely, though, because even in her sleep, the huntress seems to have the upper hand on Dean. She has claimed the covers and is comfortably cocooned by them, not leaving much for Sam’s brother. He doesn’t seem to be bothered, though. It will take a lot to wake Dean up after what went down this morning. He was in agony during the procedure, probably wishing he had taken her offer for a sedation when he had the chance. The pain took its toll, knocking him out soon after Zoë ran the last stitch through his skin. After he had his burger, of course.

     The light from outside shines a graceful glow on Zoë’s pretty face; she seems to be smiling slightly. Their roommate for the night might act like a total bitch, especially to Dean, but Sam finds her attractive. It isn’t just the fact that she’s a beautiful woman; it’s her attitude, too. Zoë has proven already to be incredibly intelligent, not to mention independent. She stands her ground and doesn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Since they have met, he saw both fire and ice in her eyes; she’s a force of nature to be reckoned with. However, he has to be honest with himself. After what happened to Jess, he can’t think of her like that, not now. 

     His eyes are taken over by sadness as his thoughts go back to that moment, almost a month ago. He shifts in his chair, causing it to creak. He doesn’t have time to dwell in his sorrow, because out of nowhere, Zoë bolts up startled and pulls a gun from under her pillow.      “Whoa!" Sam shows his hands in innocence.      Puzzled, the huntress stares at him, then aside at Dean, only then lowering the gun.      “Guess it wasn’t a weird dream,” she mutters with a raspy voice.      “No, I guess it wasn’t. Holy shit.” He relaxes again when Zoë flips the safety switch of the gun and puts it back under her pillow.      “I’m not used to having people around, that’s all,” she excuses as she intends to get out of bed.      “I think paranoid is a better description,” Sam comments.      “Shut up,” Zoë sneers, clearly not in a good mood. “What time is it?”      “Almost one,” Sam replies, concentrating on the computer screen again.       Not even five hours, she realizes; although it’s past midday, she didn’t get much sleep.

     She licks her lips and swallows thickly, trying to get rid of the bad taste in her mouth. Not a great way to wake up, she still feels like roadkill. The amount of whiskey she drank last night, followed by fries and a burger, didn’t help either. Thankfully, it’s still pretty dark in the room. Her eyes can’t handle the bright light from outside just yet. A moan escapes her mouth as she gets up, her hand covering her painful abdomen. God, it seems even worse than last night, but she’s not worried. It’s normal to feel sore, unfortunately this is not the first time she’s been shot.      Slowly, she shuffles to the bathroom while Sam watches her.      “You alright?” he wonders, surprised by her condition.      “Yeah, just a bit hungover,” she lies.

     Sam decides not to ask any more questions. They may have only just met, but he’s under the distinct impression that he won’t get far if he goes at her with the third degree. He turns back to his laptop, watching an installation program proceed. The county website of Rochester is hidden in the lowest toolbar, and finally the slow moving progress bar hits a hundred percent. A program opens and asks for a password.      “Damn it!” Sam curses.      How on earth is he gonna crack this? He is pretty skilled with a computer, but he’s not a hacker.      “What?”      The voice comes from the bathroom, it’s just now that Sam hears the shower running.      “Nothing,” he responds, absently.       Zoë decides not to ask again. Besides, it’s not like she actually cares. The cleansing water coming from the showerhead feels like acid on her stitched up bullet wound, but at the same time it’s relieving. She rakes her fingers through her hair and lets the water rain down on her face. The silence bothers Zoë, she could use a little music to start her day.      “Could you turn on the radio?”      Silence. Sam is so focused on his work, that he doesn’t hear her.      “Sam!” Zoë shouts over the noise of the shower.      He snaps out of it. “What?”      “Could you turn up the radio?” she repeats.      “Dean’s asleep,” he reacts, typing strenuously.      “So?”      Again, Sam fails to respond.      “Hello?!”      “What? No, I can’t work with music,” he mutters thoughtlessly.

     Zoë doesn’t ask again. Dean - knowing her better - would’ve probably noticed that unusual fact, but it’s not until Zoë walks by, completely naked and dripping wet, that she catches Sam’s attention.      “Holy sh--"      He swallows down the last word and quickly snaps his head away, almost falling off his chair. Not even a bit uncomfortable, the huntress elegantly parades to the table, leaving footprint shaped puddles in her wake. She bends over to turn up the volume, getting into Sam’s personal space. Look But You Can’t Touch by Poison blares from the radio once she gives the button a spin, but she doesn’t leave just yet. Amused, she turns to face him, leaning against the table, provokingly. The younger Winchester brother awkwardly tries to keep his eyes from wandering; it’s obvious he’s ill-at-ease.

     “Never seen a naked woman before, geekboy?”      “You could have warned me,” he responds, his voice slightly higher than usual, still looking away with wide opened eyes.      “You could have turned up the radio,” she counters.      Only when Zoë moves away from him again, he breathes out. When he’s pretty sure it’s safe to turn his head, Sam carefully glances at the bathroom. Thank God, she’s back in the shower. Again he rubs his face and stares at his brother for a moment, who’s still asleep.      “Dean, you have no idea what you just missed,” he mumbles, before the huntress’ voice startles him again.      “What’s that?”      Sam shifts uncomfortably in his chair and stares back at the bathroom. “N-nothing!” he responds, too fast.      Not a sound. 

     She’s not gonna come back out again, is she? Sam swallows apprehensively and tries to concentrate on his work, but he finds it difficult to do so.      Whoa, I mean, really… Whoa.      She might behave like a total bitch, but she’s breathtaking. He only had a glance, but the image is carved in his memory. Curvy, yet muscular; it’s clear she’s fit. He hits himself in the head; he cannot think of her like that. She’s a bitch, not sexy. Bitch, not sexy.      Suddenly, he hears her voice echo from the bathroom. At first it scares Sam, because for a moment, it sounds like she’s right behind him, but then he’s pleasantly surprised as she joins in during the chorus of the song playing on the radio.      “‘cause you can look but you can't touch, cause the best things in life ain't cheap. You can look but you can't touch, cause baby I ain't for keeps,” she sings, teasingly.      Again, he peeks at the bathroom. He can see her pretty much perfect silhouette through the blurred glass, and he quickly turns his head. Sam Winchester, keep it together! He’s disgusted by the fact that he can’t keep his eyes off her, but then again, any man who could, isn’t interested in the opposite sex.      

     The song fades into a new one, this time an easy listener: Changes by Black Sabbath. Not particularly a happy song, and it changes the mood in the room.      “What’s up with the whole vampire lifestyle?” Zoë asks out of nowhere, after a long silence.      Apparently, she doesn’t feel like singing anymore. She closes the faucet and the sound of the water falling down on the ivory colored tiles stops.      “What?” Sam looks over at her, puzzled, although he can’t see her behind the glass.      “There are about half a dozen empty coffee containers on the table.”      Her voice sounds hollow in the empty bathroom, but Sam can hear her loud and clear. She opens the shower door and grabs her towel. It takes Sam a while to answer her question, as he’s trying to decide whether he should tell her or not.      “I can’t sleep,” he answers shortly, choosing the latter.      “Sure you’re not craving for human blood?” she jokes.      Behind the blurred glass she shimmies in a pair of jeans and puts on her bra.      “It’s nothing like that, really. It’s--” He pauses, scratching his chin, finding it difficult to talk about it, “- it’s Jessica.”

     His thoughts wander as he folds his hands together and leans forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at a single pixel on the screen. Suddenly, it’s not that difficult to disregard the attractive Zoë. For a moment he pictures her, his pretty Jess. Long, curly blonde hair, that beautiful smile. God, she was gorgeous in every way. He was in love with her, he still is.      “Girlfriend?” Zoë assumes.      “Yeah, well… She was,” he answers with difficulty.      “Oh, I see,” Zoë grins, thinking she got it figured. She enters the main room while she buttons her white-grey plaid blouse. “She dumped you, huh?”      Sam remains quiet and leans back in his chair. He takes a sip from his coffee, still staring into nothingness. Meanwhile, Zoë sits down on her side of the mattress and takes a bottle of painkillers from the nightstand, popping two pills to dull the pain. She pulls a pair of socks and black leather ankle boots out of a backpack underneath her bed, putting them on while she glances at Sam.      “You dumped her and regret it?” Zoë tries again.

     He swallows thickly, trying to get rid of the lump that is building in his throat. Then he looks her straight in the eye, only for a few seconds, before he averts them down to the carpet again. It spooks her, the sudden and penetrating gaze, and she pauses her actions. But Sam is not angry with the huntress, who is shocked by what she sees in the depths of his pupils. So much sorrow, so much guilt. She knows that look, she knows it way too well.

     “She’s dead,” she realizes.      Sam doesn’t need to tell her, but he confirms with a nod, almost unnoticeable. She looks down at her boots, feeling sorry for him for the first time since they’ve met. Showing those feelings isn’t something she’s comfortable with, so she keeps it plain.      “Because of something we hunt?” she asks carefully.      “Yeah,” he answers shortly, looking at the empty coffee container in his hand.

     An eerie silence falls over them, as the image of Jessica returns to his thoughts once again, the vision clear as a bell. This time he doesn’t see her smiling, he sees her in the state that he found her. He grinds his teeth, trying to ban the haunting memory from his mind.      While Sam struggles, Zoë observes him, noticing something about the youngest Winchester that feels familiar, something she recognizes. He’s grieving, trying to cope with the impossible.      “I’m sorry for your loss,” she says, pronouncing the words somewhat like a doctor would do, monotone and distant.      It’s about as compassionate as Zoë gets these days, and although Sam only encountered her a couple of hours ago, he seems to realize it. When he looks up, his eyes glisten. He doesn't say a word, but gives her a thankful nod.      Although this is a painful moment, she cannot drop the question that led to the reveal. “I can’t help but notice, though, that you’re not completely honest with me.”      She gets up from the bed and shoves the curtains aside, letting the bright sunlight in. Dean, facing the window, groans and turns his head. He breathes in deeply and lets out a sigh, but doesn’t wake up. When Zoë’s sure he’s still out, she continues.      “You see, you say you can’t sleep. I think you can, but just don’t want to. Otherwise you wouldn’t need six large cups of coffee to stay awake,” she analyses smartly.

     Sam glances at the empty containers on the table and scoffs; someone’s observant. Seems like she’s figuring him out in record time. Strangely, he doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Actually, he wants to tell her. Dean knows his little brother has nightmares about the dreadful event, but doesn’t know the whole truth. Sam doesn’t want to worry him or raise a red flag just yet, he’d rather figure out what’s going on first. But for some reason, the younger Winchester has the urge to open up. He trusts the huntress enough to reveal some of his darkest secrets, yet there’s a fair amount of distance between them to avoid awkwardness. Where that trust comes from, he’s not sure. It’s more than a gut feeling. If he didn’t know better, he would describe it as instinct.       Sam looks over at Dean; he’s still sound asleep. Zoë notices.      “You’re worried about him?” She huffs, looking back at the younger brother. “Don’t. You’ll need to set off a bomb before he wakes up.”       Sam chuckles; seems like she’s got Dean figured out as well. He knows the two have more history than his brother let on, but he doubts that it was sexual, otherwise Dean would have bragged about it. Yet Sam can tell from the non-verbal communication that their bond lies deeper. Dean was there when her life got turned upside down, maybe he had a significant role to play in saving her from that demon. Whatever the origin of their strange relationship, it has them bickering like an old married couple. 

     Hesitation has him pondering. He trusts the female hunter, and on a certain level, so does Dean. But enough to allow her a glimpse at the skeletons in his closet?      “I have these nightmares,” he blurts and then pauses, deciding that he might as well give her the whole story. “Let’s put it this way: I'd rather stay awake than have to experience them.”      Zoë strolls through the room and halts on the other side, leaning against the wall; she seems interested all of a sudden.      “Nightmares, huh?” she repeats, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “What do you dream about?”      “All sorts of things. Bad things happening to people I don’t even know. Except for the first one.” He stares at the floor again.      The huntress knows enough. “You dream about Jessica, didn’t you?”      He nods. “Thing is, I don’t just dream about her now...”      A shuddering exhale leaves his lips. Here goes nothing.      “I saw her die... days before it happened.”

     Zoë doesn’t respond, yet continues to intently observe him. He’s unable to read the huntress, but surprisingly enough, she doesn’t seem shocked by the statement.      Sam glances over at Dean again, making sure he’s still asleep. Not wanting him to hear the conversation, he continues with a lowered voice. “I can’t put my finger on it. How is it even possible that I see an event take place days before it actually happens? It almost seems like--”      “- a vision?” she fills in.      “Yeah,” Sam whispers. “Come on, it’s strange. Even for people like us.”      “It is strange.” Zoë bites her lip again; it seems to be a habit. “Do you have headaches?” she wonders, out of the blue.      Puzzled, Sam glances up at her, but she doesn’t blink.      “Yeah. I do, actually,” he realizes. “But with everything going on with Jess and Dad--”      “John?” Zoë intervenes.      “Yeah. He’s missing,” Sam clears up.      The huntress scoffs. “Aha. He’s good at that sort of thing.”            Sam registers the cynical tone and narrows his eyes, but decides to ignore the comment.      “This is different. He just took off one night, left Dean and disappeared. That’s when my brother came to Stanford,” Sam tells her.      “To drag your ass back into the family business?”       “Yeah. I guess that was his intention, but it isn’t the reason why I’m hunting again,” he says. “Mom was murdered, and now Jess? It’s too much of a coincidence, especially with Dad gone. Something’s up.”            She walks back to the window and observes the parking lot outside. It’s a great day, the sun is shining brightly, smiling down at Rochester. It’s almost ironic, working on a dark case and discussing these family matters during weather so sunny; it doesn’t fit the picture.      “Maybe something snatched him,” she mentions, not even considering that this conclusion might upset Sam.      “No,” he counters fiercely. “Since when do monsters make such an effort to cover up the death of a hunter? When they take one of us, they leave a body for others to find.”      She frowns at that, nodding slightly. Sam has a point. “You think he’s on a hunting trip?”       “I think he’s hunting down the son of a bitch that killed Mom and Jess,” Sam speaks up.

     Zoë continues to stare at the passing cars on the freeway and pulls on her bottom lip with her teeth, thinking about his assumption. The younger Winchester is probably right. John has always been obsessed with the thing that killed his wife and he will do anything to get revenge. No matter what the consequences, no matter what the sacrifice.      She sits down on the bed again, this time not facing the window, but Sam. His girlfriend, his mother’s death, John Winchester’s disappearance, maybe even the nightmares, this could all be connected. Without making eye contact, she frowns and lets a sigh escape her chest.      “Are you absolutely sure that the thing that killed your mother came back, Sam? ’Cause this could be pretty damn important,” she urges.      This time she does observe him, her dark eyes boring deeply into his. He gazes back, hurt by the memories resurfacing, yet confident.      “I saw my girlfriend, pinned on the ceiling, bleeding on me, after which she caught fire. The same way Dad saw Mom burn.”       Sam pronounces his words slowly, his voice breaks halfway through the sentence. Zoë can imagine the scenario haunts him. He relives it, every day, every time he thinks of her.       “It’s the same monster,” Zoë realizes, as the pieces begin to fall into place.

     The young Winchester doesn’t respond, not until has picked up her biker’s jacket from the chair and heads for the door. “Where are you going?”      “I’m gonna check on my Dave. I thought I heard a sputter in the engine last night,” Zoë explains, but halts by the door. “One more question.”      Sam waits patiently, looking at her from where he’s seated. She seems to hesitate, but then continues without looking him in the eye.      “Do you have them during the day?”      “What? The nightmares?” he returns, puzzled.       She nods, glancing up at him now.      “Wouldn’t be nightmares then, would they?” he returns, not understanding her reasoning behind the question.      “You’re right, never mind. I’ll grab some lunch on my way back in. Meanwhile, good luck getting that brother of yours out of his coma.”

     The door closes, and Sam is left with his unconscious sibling. The younger Winchester shakes his head while he scoffs. She’s a strange girl, that Zoë Sullivan. She has a dark sense of humor; sarcastic, cynical. Arrogant, even more so than Dean; now that’s a new one. It doesn’t happen very often that they come across someone who can knock the older Winchester on his ass. Or is all that big talk just a facade she’s trying to keep up? She seems bitter, even cruel at times, but her heart isn’t all black, not yet.  Sam believes there’s a lot more under the surface. Loneliness, anger, frustration, sorrow, fear; he knows those feelings and deep down, Zoë probably knows them, too. 

     There’s something about her that he recognizes. All three of them lost their normal lives because of something supernatural. Dean was four years old when he was introduced to this world so few people know about, and grew up in it. Zoë, on the other hand, was twenty-one when she found out. He himself stepped back from the hunting fields and was about to study law at Stanford, until a few weeks ago, that is. Sure, Dean might pretend that he embraces his hunting career and that ordinary is dull, but if he ever gets the chance, Dean would want out, too.      All of them were normal up to a certain point in their lives, and that’s what they have to hold on to. It gives them the slightest bit of hope they need to keep going, believing that one day they might be able to return to that simple life. Whatever happens, though, things will never be the same again. People died and won’t ever come back. They will always know. They will always be looking over their shoulder. They will always be hunters.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part six here

[chloebeale]

FRIENDS DON’T | CH. 10/10

Original prompt

RATING: M | WORDS: 3,144 | ao3

AN: Thank you, thank you, thank you for sticking through this with me! I hope this final chapter is filled with the smut, fluff and softness that we all deserve, and once again, I am truly so grateful for all of your enthusiasm and support. I have absolutely loved writing this story!

***

“Your walls are not soundproof, Chloe!”

Aubrey’s voice, shrill and a mixture of half annoyed, half amused causes both girls to pause, before the sound of stifled giggling rings from inside of the bathroom. Little do they know, Aubrey is fondly rolling her eyes outside, though of course hurrying back toward the living room where a good majority of the party is congregated.

“Your walls,” Beca imitates, pausing to pepper kisses along Chloe’s collarbone, voice low and husked. “Are not…” Her hand slips beneath the fabric of Chloe’s short red dress, fingertips hooking over the waistband of her lace panties, “Soundproof, Chloe.”

“Shut up,” Chloe smirks, breathy giggle falling from her lips. Her head tilts slightly to the side to allow room for her girlfriend’s lips to work against her skin, and it’s hard to keep her own hands to herself, especially when Beca is dressed like that.

In hindsight, agreeing to host this year’s Halloween party had been kind of a stupid idea. But with all of their belongings packed into boxes, rooms almost emptied, Chloe had insisted that they had the most space, and that they might as well turn their leaving party into a Halloween party considering the time of year it was falling. As usual, Beca had agreed, because when has she ever been able to say no to Chloe Beale?

They’re set to move into their new home — their first house — in just two days time. Their apartment has to remain in shipshape if they want to get their deposit back, and honestly, thank God for Aubrey. At least she has the good sense to keep an eye on all of their drunk friends while Chloe sits on top of the bathroom counter, Beca lowering to her knees between her parted legs as she places kisses along any area of visible skin she can find. Chloe’s body tingles beneath her touch, craving so much more.

After three years together, they should probably be able to keep their hands to themselves when necessary, but proof enough of the fact that they’re likely never going to leave the honeymoon phase is the scene playing out in their bathroom, while their friends enjoy the Halloween festivities just outside of the door.

Blue-gray eyes stare upward through hooded smokey lids, and Chloe just about melts at the sight before her.

“Have I told you how hot you look tonight?” Chloe says through a shaky exhale, her fingers looping through matted brunette hair. She wonders how many other vampires are currently going down on the devil in the middle of a crowded party, in a bathroom with a door that doesn’t actually lock. Though realizes quickly that she doesn’t care; as usual, her focus is on Beca.

“Only about fifty times,” Beca smirks in response, lips pushing hot, open mouthed kisses against soft, pale skin. Chloe had barely even noticed she’d taken off her panties, too caught up in the desperate desire for the woman between her legs, but they lay in a heap on the floor, and a quick glance shows the way they glisten with the evidence of her sheer arousal.

She doesn’t have much time to do or say anything else, only to let out a pleasured sounding gasp, because Beca’s lips have found their way to the center of her spread legs, full lips wrapping around Chloe’s already swollen clit. Her tongue flickers against the sensitive bud, and Chloe’s head tilts backward as a soft whimper falls from her open mouth, palm flattened against the shiny surface.

“You taste so fucking good,” Beca murmurs against her, words vibrating and causing a shiver right the way up Chloe’s spine.

Beca can’t help but think, as she takes in the taste of the woman before her, feels the way her legs are shaking as they hang over her shoulders, of that first time they were in this position. Of course, they were in the bedroom, and Chloe had been the one to go down on Beca first, but she’d been so desperate to take her turn, to finally taste Chloe Beale, and she’d become hooked right away.

“I want your fingers, too,” Chloe mumbles both surely and shakily through her already faster breaths, her own fingers clenching around a clump of brunette hair. Beca knows exactly what she means, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from teasing, from allowing her fingertips to dance along the warm skin of Chloe’s inner thigh rather than sliding them exactly where she knows she wants them. It’s obvious that Chloe tries to whine in complaint, but the feeling of Beca’s teeth grazing gently downward causes her to moan loudly instead, causes her legs to part further and her fingers to clamp in her girlfriend’s hair.

And then Beca can’t tease anymore, not when Chloe speaks again, words coming out through a desperate hiss.

“Fuck. Please, baby, fuck me,” Chloe begs, and they both know she’s going to get what she wants, because Beca has the hardest time with denying Chloe of anything in general, but when it comes down to her taking charge in the bedroom (or bathroom, in this instance)? Well, all hope is lost then.

Persistent ache between her legs, her own walls practically clenching at the very idea of just how wet Chloe is, how Beca’s tongue drips with the distinct taste of her girlfriend’s arousal, how badly Chloe needs her, Beca easily slides two fingers inside of her, tips arching and tongue lapping hungrily at wet, swollen folds.

Chloe had agreed, before they came in here, that she’d be quiet. When they were making out against the wall, parted lips moving desperately against one another’s as Chloe’s knee pushed its way between Beca’s bare legs, rising to rub against her through the fabric of her panties, she’d promised that she’d hold her reactions back. Even when she’d pulled her leg away to see her thigh tracked with those first hints of lust seeping through the thin fabric of her underwear.

But as Chloe comes, as her fingers tighten in Beca’s hair and her body trembles through the feeling of her release, hips moving to the point of her practically fucking Beca’s face, there’s absolutely nothing quiet about it. And man, with the whole area around her mouth (swollen lips included) wet with her girlfriend’s come, cheeks flushed and glistening beneath the bathroom light, Beca has literally no complaints.

Chloe’s body, now limp as she comes down from her high, continues to tremble as Beca begins to kiss her way back upward, chin streaked with the evidence of her girlfriend’s orgasm. There’s a subtly smug (though very well deserved) look on her face as she presses her lips against Chloe’s, tongue pushing almost lazily through the part in Chloe’s lips, wanting to make sure she tastes exactly what Beca just had. Chloe is still moaning softly into the kiss, evidently still sensitive to every small touch.

It takes her a moment to come down from her euphoric high, to find her strength again. But once she does, there’s a look of pure lust in Chloe’s darkening eyes, and the aching between Beca’s legs returns as she watches her climb down from the counter with a one track mind and clear purpose to pin her up against the wall, obviously eager to return the favor.

When Chloe makes her come, tongue buried deep inside of her, Beca’s eyes slammed shut and her hand gripping desperately onto the wall to keep herself from literally falling to her knees… Well, Beca is even less quiet than Chloe was.

—-

It’s pretty obvious what they’ve been doing as they emerge from the bathroom. Not only do they both look much sweatier than before, much more flustered, but Chloe’s dress is entirely wrinkled, and Beca’s legs shake with the remnants of pleasure still pulsing throughout her body.

(Not to mention there are black lipstick marks right the way up Chloe’s thighs, Beca’s Halloween makeup now severely lacking it’s prior uniformity.)

Aubrey has all of the Bellas gathered around, red solo cup held out in front of her, and though the two slip as stealthily as possible into the small circle, a few knowing looks and amused glances are sent their way. Beca’s cheeks are overtaken with a soft shade of pink, though Chloe just winks, and both Stacie and Cynthia Rose receive the action with a shared smirk.

“Oh, there our hosts are,” Aubrey says, pointed glare burning into both of them. Chloe responds with a sweet smile, one that pulls another fond eye roll from the blonde.

“Are we missing an Aubrey speech?” Chloe asks, and Beca is silently transported back to three years prior, to their last gathering at the Bellas house right around graduation, the last big ‘Aubrey speech’. God, so many things have changed since then, so many good, positive things.

Firstly, Beca is working her dream job. She has begun to climb her way swiftly through the ranks, her days consumed by music and creation. She’s so proud of Chloe, too. After a year of teaching music in an elementary school, Chloe had decided she just wasn’t on the right path, and had made the decision to pursue a veterinary career. It has meant more school, but Beca has been entirely encouraging and supportive the whole way through, and Chloe’s compassion, her dedication, it truly has shone. Honestly, Beca is certain she couldn’t actually be more in awe of her.

On a different scale, they have changed, too. It had taken Beca a little while to come to terms with the fact that they’d wasted time acting like they were nothing more than friends when they could’ve been what they were always supposed to be, then only a short amount of time after that to realize that she’d been stupid, because without that foundation, without really having gotten to know Chloe Beale on so many levels, in so many ways, she never would’ve been standing beside her now, Chloe’s fingers wrapped comfortably around her own. Beca would’ve never been able to say, with utter confidence, that the love of her life is truly her best friend.

And that’s something everybody deserves to feel, Beca thinks as she stands among her friends — her sisters — coming down from the intimate high she has just shared with her girlfriend, with the person she wants to share every moment with, every experience; everyone deserves that timeless romance, to find their soulmate in the one person who fits like a missing puzzle piece from the second they walk into their life.

And maybe friends don’t get that, not all the time. Maybe they don’t all have that same kind of extraordinary luck.

But Chloe Beale and Beca Mitchell? They did.

They do.

—-

Thank God they have a day to recover from their Halloween festivities before their move, because despite the fact that neither one had planned to get particularly wasted, they very much had. They’d had sloppy, messy, incredible sex to end their evening, woken up a sticky, tangled mess the next morning, and spent the whole day lounging around their almost empty apartment, sharing lazy kisses and quiet complaints as they rested off their hangovers.

To say that the move today had been exhausting would be an understatement. It’s fortunate that their friends are still in town, that they’ve been able to help them out, but Beca has wondered on numerous occasions whether she’s somehow dealing with a two-day hangover, because there have been times where she has wanted to give up. To sit on the floor among their boxes, and to go back to it all another day.

But now, as she stands in the doorway between their brand new living room and kitchen, arms folded across her middle and a soft, contented smile displayed on her lips, she’s thankful for her own perseverance, because the view before her is easily the most rewarding.

It’s not like Chloe is really doing anything much, she’s just standing in front of the counter, most appliances still in their boxes, though the coffee machine was one of the first things to be unpacked, and now she works on brewing a new pot for the two of them to enjoy. It’s the most simple, mundane of tasks, but Beca can’t help the way it makes her think. She thinks about the past, about everything that led them to something as profoundly wonderful as setting up their first real home together, and Beca can say with confidence that she has truly never felt so grateful, so filled with adoration.

Staying out of the way, just hovering and watching, becomes too difficult for her, and she eventually finds herself gravitating toward her girlfriend, arms snaking almost possessively around her middle. Chloe’s body relaxes easily into the embrace, her back pressed against Beca’s front, and Beca begins to place small, soft kisses along the visible part of Chloe’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Chloe greets in a hushed tone, small smile on her lips as she glances toward the woman behind her. She lifts an arm above her shoulder, fingers finding their way easily into brunette hair. “Long day today, huh?” Her fingertips move lazily along Beca’s scalp, and Beca’s eyes close as her lips rest against the soft skin of Chloe’s shoulder, a mumbled “Mmhmm,” falling through a slow exhale.

“I’m glad we had help,” Beca says, voice muffled slightly by Chloe’s skin. Her breath is warm against Chloe’s shoulder, causes a small shiver throughout her as it reaches her neck.

“Me too,” Chloe agrees, body twisting around in Beca’s arms. Beca loosens her hold just slightly, just to give her the room to move, though she tightens her hold again once Chloe is turned all the way toward her, Chloe’s arms rising to drape loosely around Beca’s neck. She nudges the tip of her nose gently against Beca’s, both amused and entirely in love with the way the shorter girl’s nose wrinkles in response. “I’m glad it’s just us now, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Beca questions, soft lips pressing delicately to Chloe’s chin, though she moves her way upward, toes extending to allow her the height to push a small kiss to Chloe’s lips. “Why’s that?”

“Because I want you to myself,” Chloe responds, soft smile drawn across her lips. “In fact, if I could keep you to myself always, then I would.”

“Mm. Let me just call my work,” Beca mumbles, lips brushing against Chloe’s. Her words vibrate against Chloe’s lips, still upturned at the corners. “Let them know I’m quitting.”

Chloe responds with a soft giggle, one last kiss pushed delicately against Beca’s lips, before she’s pulling slightly back, just to look at her. She studies Beca’s face, takes in every familiar freckle, the way her eyes change shades depending on the lighting. “I’m tired,” she finally says, one arm pulling back from around her girlfriend’s neck to slide her fingers through mousy locks, pushing a chunk softly behind her ear. “But I’m so excited, too.”

“Excited for what?”

“This.” Chloe doesn’t move, doesn’t point nor motion to anything, she just continues to look at Beca, continues to drink in the breathtaking sight before her. “All of this. With you.”

“New house?”

“New house.”

“New career?”

“New career.”

“Same Beca?”

Chloe’s soft laugh is almost melodic in response, head nodding shortly. Her red curls bounce subtly as they drape over her shoulders. “Yes. Always the same Beca. That’s my favorite part. You’ve always been my Beca, that’s nothing new. Nothing that will ever change.”

“Always?” Beca questions, brow slightly arched, though the small hint of a smile threatening the corner of her lips is an amused one, eyes shining with the same awe that Chloe Beale always brings to them.

“Always,” Chloe echoes, arms tightening once more around Beca’s neck. “Ever since that very first day at the activities fair, I saw you and I knew right then that there was something special about you, Beca.”

“Did you know then that we’d be here now? Standing in our house, in our kitchen?” Beca has gotten much better at expressing her feelings, especially when it’s just the two of them. There’s a soft shade of pink stretching across her cheeks, but it doesn’t stop her, doesn’t make her hold back. Her voice may be a little softer, but she means what she’s saying, Chloe knows she does. “And that I’d be even more in love with you than I ever even knew was possible?”

“Maybe not right away,” Chloe chuckles quietly, gaze never leaving Beca’s. “But somewhere along the way, I started hoping for it. And I knew that friends weren’t supposed to want that, they weren’t supposed to hope that their friend would fall hopelessly in love with them. But I guess that’s why I knew we were never just friends.”

Beca hums quietly, contentedly, as her gaze scans Chloe’s, blue eyes locking with blue. “Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if we’d figured everything out sooner?” She asks, almost conversationally.

Chloe softly shakes her head in response. “No. I don’t regret anything from the past, I don’t regret how things played out. Because every little thing just made me so sure about you, you know?”

“Sure about what?”

“That I love you,” Chloe says in a soft, sure voice, without missing a beat.

It doesn’t matter how many times they say it, how many times she hears it, Beca is positive that she’ll never tire of those words, never stop wanting to know exactly how Chloe feels about her, because they spent so much time in denial, spent so much time trying to be something less than they really were. But Chloe loves her, and Beca loves Chloe, and that’s really all that matters now.

There’s a comfortable silence surrounding them as Beca leans in to press her lips delicately to Chloe’s. They’re soft and full, they peck slowly and lazily as Chloe breathes a soft, “I love you.”

“I know you do, Chlo,” Beca responds in the quietest yet surest of voices, lips ghosting lightly against Chloe’s. “I know you do,” she repeats, finally closing the gap between them, “And I love you, too.”

There had been a time when it had been difficult for them to voice those words. They both knew them, they both meant them, but it had been unfamiliar territory, something scary and almost dangerous. But it’s the most natural thing in the world now. Like everything between them, everything that has transpired, it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And friends don’t get this, Beca thinks as her lips lock in perfect harmony with Chloe’s, her own sheer luck not at all lost on her. They just don’t, friends don’t.

No, she thinks, friends don’t. But they do.

[armandyke]

hallo here are the hc's i whipped up for the teacher au!! i'm sorry this turned into an essay i'm just a dumbass who loves soft teacher au a lot!!

“not sure what the others would teach in this teacher au tho-” *wakes up in the dead of night with cold sweat* *kicks down the door* I HAVE SOME THOUGHTS!!

oh boy…get ready….cause it’s A LOT

- Submitted by @katgreeves

luther: physics teacher, cause you know…spaceboy……everyone is scared at the beginning of the year when they get him as a teacher cause he’s TALL AND HUGE AS FUUUUUCK, but then fast forward two months later and everyone is chill because turns out he’s a really easygoing and soft teacher…just really socially awkward and lowkey dumb sometimes

asshole kids in his classes use his softness to his disadvantage and pull pranks on him constantly, poor guy….the other kids tho always tell them to shove it tho because he may be soft and dumb and socially awkward but he’S OUR SOFT AND DUMB AND SOCIALLY AWKWARD TEACHER DON’T TOUCH HIM!! the first time they protected him he had to remind himself not to tear up because HE FELT SO LOVED!!!! 

he gets them snacks even if they’re not supposed in the science classrooms because “eXPeriMENts and CHEmIcALsSsSsssSS!!!” and will rant for hours about space and starts and THE MOOOOON cause when he was a kid he always wanted to be an astronaut ( :’))))))) ) and his kids get fed up one day and go “why don’t you just make an astrology club mr luther????” and he does and IT’S A REAL SUCCESS WITH THE SCHOOL BODY YAY!!!

(five when he grows up also becomes a physics teacher and pesters luther all the time like “I AM 10 TIMES THE TEACHER YOU EVER WERE-” “NO YOU AREN’T STFU” and he’s technically wrong and right because material wise??? yes he’s 100% the better teacher and he always has answers to the kids questions and teaches them extra content cause he’s always been a genius but as a physics teacher that kids really like????? no siree that title goes to luther because he was a soft teddy bear to his students and they trusted him while five is eccentric and strict the the point where his kids are scared the FUCK out of him)

diego: pe teacher, SWEARS SO MUCH IN FRONT OF THE KIDS IN CLASS OMG HOW IS HE NOT FIRED YET?? is tough on the kids sometimes so push harder but IS ALSO SOFT AND REALLY ENCOURAGING THE KIDS TO WORK AND TRY THEIR BEST BECAUSE HE BELIEVES IN THEM!!! (except for the group of cocky assholes he’ll get in every class and don’t want to listen to them…he has personally removed their rights in the class)

whenever the self-defense unit comes around he’s sooooo dedicated to it and makes sure that the kids master everything to a t, cause who knows when it might come in handy??? he wants to make sure that the kids know how to protect themselves as the world is a shitty place and you never know when shit will go bad (except he does…he’s had enough bullshit and scared happen to him and has gotten involved in so many fights that he wants to make sure that the kids won’t hurt like him :“’))))))))) ) 

he’s a secret softie that will protect the kind kids that are not as good at pe and get bullied by the cocky assholes in the class becAUSE THAT’S JUST WHAT HE WOULD DO NO IM NOT SELF PROJECTING OF WHAT I WANTED OUT OF MY PE TEACHERS SHUT U-

also eudora is a pe teacher and the two of them are very competitive to be the best pe teacher and this rivalry turns into playful flirting and big ass crushes that they’re way too stubborn to admit, the entire school still ships it anyways (the entire school also ships klaus and dave because gay rights!!!!!)

allison: either school counselor or principal i can’t decide because she can be super kind and open to talk and gives advice that helps a LOT but she’s also a hbic THAT CAN AND WILL run the place. 

anyways, whatever job she has, she also helps with the drama club and school plays, and literally every year the theatre kids BEG HER to kick out the current drama teachers and replace them because allison>>>>>>>>>>>> all of the existing drama teachers there  

ben: is either a literature or philosophy teacher. super smart and knowledgable but is also really laid back and fun to talk to. he’s got a dark and snarky sense of humor and his students always have sass battles with him. the number of INSANE inside jokes his students and him share is HUGE.

HE DEMANDS THAT HIS STUDENTS PARTAKE IN READING TIME IN THE BEGINNING OF CLASS NO MATTER WHAT THEY HAVE TO DO BECAUSE READING IN AN IMPORTANT SKILL AND HOBBY FOR DEVELOPMENT AS A READER, WRITER, LEARNER, AND OVERALL PERSON AND NO AMY DON’T ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME I’M THE TEACHER HERE AND I SAID NO ELECTRONICS SO PUT THE GODDAMN PHONE AWAY BEFORE I COME OVER THERE AN-

anyways…he is really considerate to what students need and makes them as relaxed as possible because school is HELL. students LOOOOOVE HIM. HE’S THE ONE TEACHER BESIDES DAVE THAT LITERALLY EVERYONE LIKES. (highkey inspired by my philosophy and lit teachers because they’re also really smart but sassy and cool like ben and I JUST THINK THEY’RE NEAT)

vanya: strings orchestra teacher for obvious reasons. she was real shy at first when she first got hired but the the strings department at that time was soooo small and crappy that she went “oh HELL no,” rolled up her sleeves, and set to revitalize it just because she cares about music so much.

she recruited more students, got more advanced music so the kids could feel a challenge and be motivated to improve, and collaborated with the choir and band departments to provide more clubs, events and opportunities outside of class for kids to do music.

she is a no business type of teacher when it comes to arrogant people that put other players down or people who don’t practice and goof around and will snap at them SO HARD because everyone needs to be at their a game for a concert and in an orchestra no single person is bigger that the collective. she’s however SOOOO SOFT with really soft playing and shy kids because she understands how it feels when you think your playing isn’t good enough, so gives them extra help, gives them solo lines or solos to play so they gain more confidence in themselves, all while constantly giving encouraging words about how much they’ve improved that always makes them feel better and more motivated to improve.

she’s an absolute anxious and cranky maniac a week before the concert but she throws parties with food, drinks, and games afterwards to celebrate with her kids. she constantly gets them to play music related games and challenges that they do as a class for team bonding to make things more entertaining in class. she makes dumb music puns a lot too! 

she also will in the class say crazy stories of her childhood and the crazy shit she and her siblings did and then somehow always relate it back to the lesson and make it some sage advice…the kids never understand how she does it

(me???? self projecting more of my teachers into this au cause they’re cool??? more likely than you think)

also one day she chops her hair real short and cute and the conversation with her students basically went like this:

students: miss vanya you cut your hair???

vanya: yes kids I’m a lesbian

students: !!!!!!!!!!!!

vanya: ;))))))))

students: MISS VANYA SAID GAY RIGHTS!!!!

vanya: HELL YE I DID!!!

bonus grace yayyyy!!!!!: is the school nurse…she’s so sweet, so soft….has precisely whatever people need when they feel sick/injured…helps them calm down in they’re freaking out…always has a couple of beds in the nurse’s office so people can lie if they feel dizzy…gives out candy/sweets/food to people so they feel better!!

diego meets her a lot because a lot of kids in his class gets injuries and he takes them to the nurse and he jUST LOVES HER SM!!! INSTANT MOM FIGURE!! THEY TALK AND JOKE AND LAUGH TOGETHER AND GRACE WILL ALWAYS GIVE HIM A PASTRY SHE MADE WHENEVER HE COMES BY AND HE JUST IS SO SOFT AROUND HER ITS GREAT (his students find his sudden change in his demeanour amusing “hey mr diego is nurse grace your MMMmoooOoOooOOOmMMMMMMmmmmmM??” “kid your a good one but say that shit to me one more time and I will beat the sh-”)

she always has a smile on her and everyone LOVES HER…..except for the administration that always want to get her fired because they are assholes and they think she’s too weird to stay. however, every time they try to fire her, a certain teacher comes by the office for what they claim is a civil discussion...and after an hour of yelling, death threats, and the door getting 10 knife marks they go “you know what grace…you can stay" 

those assholes are persistant though, and one time though not even a certain teacher could get them away from firing her so once the news breaks out that nurse grace is leaving the whole school is FURIOUS and throws a 1 week riot and the administration get so scared and tired that they just go "OK WERE SORRY JUST KIDDIN- OK OK SHE’S STAYING FOR GOOD JESUS”

grace is so grateful that she makes a whole bunch of cake for everyone and everyone with tears in their eyes just goes “this…is why we love you sm nurse mom”

~~okkkieee that’s the end of it sorry it’s a literal essay I just got very passionate about this au lmao rip!!! I’m slowly tempted to write a fic about it even though i’ve never written a fic before in my LIFE and I already have like 3 other au fic ideas in my head already smh

[cherryplasmids]

☆ irresistable ☆

pairing: erik stevens x reader  fandom: marvel cinematic universe  anon request: hello! i’d like to request an erik killmonger x reader imagine as to where maybe they bump into each other in a night club and then like they start bickering with one another and then like after a few drinks they wind up making out in the club’s bathroom?? i hope that makes sense lol. notes: swear words, slight nsfw scene at the end — check out my other works; masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Roaring beats of electronic dance music vivified the entire club, embedding itself in everyone's veins. It flowed through them, enticing them to dance their hearts out in order to enjoy the night to its fullest potential. Drinks were being passed around as well, increasing the impact of the boisterous music. People flamboyantly flailed across the dancefloor while others downed shots like it was nobody's business. It was a sight to witness.

You did both, gliding across the room with rhythm while drinking tequila with gusto. Going clubbing was the highlight of your week, a favorite activity you did occasionally with a group of your friends. It was also the few times you truly felt sexy, especially with the tight outfit you wore. The latex dress clung sexily to your curves, accentuating every great aspect of your body. Your hair was in loose curls, slightly mimicking sex hair after a wild night of intercourse. Hopefully, you won't have to mimic it by the time the night is over.

After setting an empty shot glass down, you were met with your best friend, who appeared rather flustered. Her hair had fallen out of its high ponytail and her lipstick was smeared over her lips. It only made you laugh.

"Whoa, there. What's got you so frazzled?" You ask, putting a hand on her shoulders to keep her steady after she began swaying.

She nodded while putting a hand on her head to relieve pain that lingered there. "Uh, yeah. Um," She hiccuped three times before speaking again. "I had something to tell you, like, it was bad. Like, uh, I forgot." She hiccuped again which caused you to laugh a little.

You grabbed a water bottle from the bartop and passed it to her. She downed it eagerly, not wasting the slightest second to drain the liquid from the bottle. "Find me when you do remember."

Leaving her to her own devices, you made your way to the center of the dancefloor to release all the stress you had pent up from the finished week. Music boomed loudly, sending pleasuring vibrations throughout your body and causing your heart to thump just as hard to rival the sound. Within a couple of seconds, you were completely immersed in the music. Closing your eyes, you swayed without paying attention to your surroundings, fully dedicating yourself to the artistic talent of the musician. But it didn’t last very long.

“Watch it.” A deep voice drawled out. 

You twisted around to tell the stranger to piss off, but you couldn’t. The words caught in your throat once you did give the person your attention, however, it was no stranger — it was Erik Stevens, your ex-boyfriend. 

He had a smug smile on his face, fully knowing what he said would irritate you. All you wanted to do was smack it right off his face, just like you had done months prior when you caught him with another girl. This time, you wouldn’t give him your attention because it would give him a reason to annoy you, not because you would get sunk into his chocolate eyes you spent a year staring at which never got boring. So you turned right back around and started dancing by yourself. 

Erik knew what buttons to push, though, giving him an advantage for the night. He knew you like the back of his hand. After all, that is what a year of a committed relationship does to you. And after an entire four months without laying eyes on you in person, he absolutely needed to do everything and anything in his power to get you to speak to him. He felt so lost after you left and he knew you wouldn’t automatically forgive him for his past mistakes. So even if you do smack him again, he wouldn’t mind one bit. 

When you turned around to ignore him, his confidence deflated a bit, but not for very long. As the night progressed, he persistently bumped into you, cockblocked you when someone showed interest and even spilled his drink on you. The last offense was the last straw. 

“Just fuck off already, Erik!” His name rolled off your tongue like silk, despite the harsh, angered tone lacing it. 

“Nah, I’ll just fuck you instead.” His grin rivaled the Cheshire Cat grin. 

You huffed, slowly losing the steam you had earlier. It was just too much to handle. You loved Erik with all your heart, for heaven’s sake, you dedicated an entire year of time and emotion to him and for him to throw it away so easily shattered you into tiny pieces. Four months of tears and insecure reassurance did nothing to stop you from thinking of him. And just recently you were ready to go dance the night away. What a fucking mistake that was. Just being in his presence killed you because you knew he wasn’t here to beg on his hands and knees for you back. For all you know, he probably had a girlfriend worth loving. 

You simply felt exhausted. 

“Just fuck off already, Erik!” His name rolled off your tongue like silk, despite the harsh, angered tone lacing it.

“Nah, I’ll just fuck you instead.” His grin rivaled the Cheshire Cat grin.

Okay, that was it. You snapped your hand back to land a sharp one on him, but he was quick, quicker than he had been four months ago. Before your hand could reach his cheek, his own hand grabbed your wrist, and he pulled you into him, staring at you with desire-filled eyes.

"That shit don't work on me anymore."

Maybe it was his eyes or the way his voice sent ripples of arousal down your body or maybe the close proximity or the alcohol or even the scent of sex in the air that made you do it but you needed him. 

Faster than anticipated, you pushed yourself onto his body before capturing his lips in a fiery kiss, successfully stunning Erik. It didn’t last long, before you knew it, Erik was taking complete control of the situation by picking you up and hurriedly take you to the multiple stall bathroom for some privacy. 

Your lips laid sloppy kisses on his own, teeth clashing harshly against each other, but you couldn’t be bothered with it. This was the most action you had in months and you were glad it was with him.

"Ah," You moan as Erik nipped at your neck and ground his large bulge on your swollen heat. "Fuck me."

"Here?" He grunts, fully knowing this type of PDA was a no-no for you. He tried public sex with you once and it didn't have such a beautiful ending, to say the least. He needed to know if you were serious.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak or a long, lustful moan will take over. He doesn't say anything else, continuing to kiss down your neck towards your breast. Roughly pulling down the straps of your dress, Erik pops one of your breasts out of its bondage and attaches his mouth on it, sucking on the nipple like his life depended on.

A sharp gasp emits from your lips, causing you to push his head down onto your breast. He lets out a low moan as well, sending you over before he even got to touch your heat.

Any sane thought you had prior diminished as you were fully ready to give your body to Erik, despite knowing he wouldn’t ask for forgiveness. You wanted some risk and Erik was the perfect dosage of it.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

word count: 1,284 published: feb 22, 2018 edited: n/a

[seenashwrite]

Nash Recaps The Back Half Of Season 12 - Part Two.

Pt. 1 / Pt. 2 / Pt. 3 / Pt. 4

[Note: these are lengthy & have lotsa images, just an FYI before you start]

Listen. I just....

Listen.

I had an atypical journey into this fandom, and I'm sticking with it because y'all are fun and so's the source material. As I've said, I'm but a pseudo-fan, I'm just crashing on your couches and eating up your good snacks. Not the saltines, the good snacks, the ones you thought you hid behind the coffee filters. And you've been more than kind. I feel like calling myself a "fan" would be as if I called myself a chef merely because I make a chili that's caused grown men to weep. #true story  It's insulting to your passion, your participation, and I'd rather walk on my lips than shit on your joy.

So if [when] I get cranky at what the more recent contributors do to the foundation that the very adept Kripke - and the other early writers, like Gamble, and early influencers, like Manners - laid.... well, that's why. I suspect my lack of investment in the other SPN aspects kinda frees me up to go balls-to-the-walls on these recap-review-snark-a-palooza-thingies, which involves insta-crankiness with regard to the season in question. Season 11's arc was thin, and made me irritable. Season 12's disjointed, unfocused nature has made me sneery.

I can be a real nasty bitch, is what I'm getting at. But hopefully a mildly entertaining one. I'd still classify this as terlit readin'.

I write these in real time as I'm watching the eps and it'll be noted if I do a "Backtrack ETA" to note if I was wrong. I made actual effort on grammar and punctuation this time, woo-hoo! There's still shitty screencaps to complement any exuberance, and always always always The *Look* Of The Episode. Like last time, I've given them the titles I want them to have. I'm still throwing out bizarre hashtags. And much like Dean licking his lips for no reason and Sam flexing his pecs for no reason, I've started randomly awarding and taking away nonexistent points for no reason. There's zero payoff because I'm not tallying them.

SEE HOW FUN THIS IS GONNA BE, YOU CAN'T WAIT WITH A LEAD-IN LIKE THAT

Just two eps, we'll have to have a third installment because, um, I kinda maybe went off the rails. I am of the verbose when it comes to my palpable disdain for showrunner Dabb, I go at him hard. But! In the spirit of constructive criticism, I have given alternative suggestions to improve several things I point out as having needed a second look in a classy, mature, perfectly calm manner.

12.19 - "Ain't No Bars In Heaven"

I have zero memory of who this angel is [what did Cas just mumble-call him? Lemon? what did he say?], why he's here, why they sandboxed. I *had* wondered what was up with the persistent Dean calls to Cas over the past bazillion eps,  but clearly couldn't be bothered to check. Eh. Still ain't checkin'.

But a Joshua mention. I dig it. I reeeeeeally liked that character, touch of mystery there, him being a conduit to all points, so to speak, and the actor played it nice n' cool. So, okay, props to the road so blah blah biscuits for reminding me of this. #20 points

Loss of points for being too long a road #minus 20

We're off to a rip-roaring start, folks.

Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey, I MEAN Jack-Kelly, and nobody caaaaaaaares, you seem to be a decent actress [chewin' some scenery during your tenure here, tho, sugarsnacks], but this is a pitiable throw-a-way character who wasn't developed at all, ergo she can live or die, I ain't feelin' it regardless, and I HAVE TOO MUCH IN MY BRAIN BECAUSE THEY CRAMMED TOO MUCH IN THIS SEASON TO DO ANY OF IT WELL. DABB.

DAAAAAAABB.

Hey, y'all didn't get a shot of the underside of the bathtub, all those other angles covering most of the square inches, yeah, but because you didn't get alllll the angles, this was super-vague, and I'm a dumbass who can't manage to understand what's happening without copious visual anvils. #minus 1000 points All thousand are for this Kelly segment being at the top of the ep + how shittily it was done, and since I had to sit through all that, Imma do some elaboration of my own.

I mean christ on a cracker, what show other than sloggy teen angst dramas or something on a cable channel that probably features lotsa gun violence and rapey dudes and an 80/20 male/female character split and stars Claire Danes and/or Rachel Evan Wood - TOTAL DOWNERS is what I'm saying - would kick it off with an audience-witnessed suicide? A bloody suicide?  It was established she was going to take a bath; so show her walking slowly, tears running down her cheeks, towards the tub, sharp implement of props'/director's/writers' choosing in her hand. Done and done, to the pew-pew-whoosh opening thingy we fly!

I can't even recall the last network detective/cop/legal/whatever show that started out with something that heavy and graphic and lengthy, sweet little babby jeebus, THE LENGTH of it, and - again, I point out - covering every fucking angle of the bathtub, the V8 water, her drippy wrist. Even "L&O:SVU" doesn't have heavy, long, close-up-on-face as they crumble within cold opens that could be considered graphic, and if they do, they're fucking few and far between, and I know this because I've been off work for a couple years now and I keep this shit marathoning in the background whilst I do other shit. Like this.

There may be screaming and someone runs in and finds a shaking victim that's got a black eye, or a bloater that a fisherman hooked and is now bobbing in the water, but it's all kinda quick and nebulous, and you know what? YOU KNOW WHAT, DABB? Those viewers know going in that there's a chance of seeing some such, because it's called farging "SEXUAL VICTIMS UNIT".  And even THEN, they'll sometimes slap warnings before anything starts. Was there a warning on y'all's broadcast? Sure as shit wasn't on the one I watched.

This pissed me off, and I ain't ever had even a touch of a suicidal thought myself, ergo I haven't tried it, but I can empathize because I'm not a sociopath, nor am I moron [waves at the peeps behind this ep - you! Yeah, you! You're morons! Hiya!], and I can't fathom how folks who have had those thoughts/attempted, or folks who haven't but have had a loved one off themselves via wrist cut (or otherwise, but particularly this method) reacted to that - AGAIN - leeeeeeeengthy walkthrough down their memory lanes, and in the cold open. And on a show who has a lead that is a known proponent of mental healthcare, not giving up and choosing suicide, I mean, "always keep fighting", amirite?

This ain't no snowflake complaint. I've no issue with having Kelly try to kill herself, as from a storyline perspective it was indeed an ideal way to show Jack's power and push her into seeing the situation through to the end, and also to show that even as a fetus he has the ability to resurrect, and is - shocker! - a good foreshadowing of his resurrection of Cas [yeah, yeah, I know, Cosmic Entity, whatevs - Lil’ Pencil played a part, and yeah, yeah, I know, he couldn’t do fuck-all for the person he whiffed and killed in the Tombstone thingy, but I’ll bet money right now, once he gets his shit together, he’s gonna be raising folks]. 

I take umbrage - as I do with other deaths they've executed in a shite manner, particularly the women, naturally - with how they motherfucking did it. Fucking irresponsible and inexcusable. And I'm side-eyeing the director, too, they helmed this ship, they own what the editors kicked out.  #minus another 1000 points #and I think I'm going light

Moving on.

Nice, Sam kickin' some research like a bawwwss.... Wait.

Waaaait.

What in the name of our goddess and savior Britney Spears is this music!?

Bwah-ha-hahahahahahahahahaha. #minus 400 points #you kept 100 because of  #that shampoo commercial dramatic turn #from the card catalog and besides #we just got a whole montage dedicated to THE LORE!

Dean being an annoying douchecanoe to Cas is annoying, but does give us The *Look* Of The Episode:

#Sam is a doll #Sam has been a doll the past handfuls of eps #lying little mama issues shitbird  #still #10 points for dollness

Yeah, this scene is going too long. I know they're doing it to lay a Dean-feels-guilty foundation [seeing as how Dean never feels guilty #eye roll], because Cas is gonna eat it soon [sure, I believed it would stick, no I didn't nobody did, DABB] in the finale but it's --- oooh Amanda Tapping! #my adderall is wearing off

Wait, so was the Joshua thing a snipe hunt or is this another lie from Cas because he wants to do things on his own because just like Sam being a lying liar, so is Cas, CAN THEY LEAVE THIS SHTICK ALONE holy Moses this is bush league. [S-see.... see what I d-did, there? ::snicker::: Moses? Bush? pffffttt.... #my wine's kicking in]

So if the Joshua thing was a snipe hunt, then.... then.....

---> Backtrack ETA:  I am now aware I get my answer forthwith, and big shock, I get pissier #nobody's surprised <---

Dean's top tr.... wha?.... I don't.... The fuck did this come from? Did he give Cas that tape at some point pre-sandboxing?

[goes to look it up]

[need Mtn Dew first; now distracted by that hella tasty leftover chicken; shoos dogs acting like they've never been fed, like, *ever*]

[glances at TV; oooh SVU's got a good episode on, one whose cold open was succinct and not graphic; hopes to one day magically look like Mariska Hargitay; thinks on how Olivia Benson is a such a fantastically well-done female character, and has been from the jump]

I was en route to do something wasn't I.... yeah yeah rando non-sequitur mix tape. TO THE WIKI!

Answer: NO.

DAAAAABB.

And if I'm wrong about this, feel free to drop me a line, because there endeth my research, I don't know what other search terms to use, so if y'all either (a) recall it or (b) wanna do a deep dive with "cassette" and just singular "tape", well, godspeed, fare thee well and whatnots.

But assuming this was the bizarro out-of-nowhere thing I'm taking it as: was it perhaps a deleted scene in a past ep and nobody in the writers' room remembered? And so they ref'd it here for.... reasons? Did they need an excuse for Dean's best friend to follow after him beyond apologies/explanation? I mean christ on a cracker, bring him a beer if you absolutely needed a prop.

[Time out for a side note, RE: the incessant postings about this that floated about ad nauseum regarding this nonsensical blip of scene.

Those annoyed me, and not because of the Destiel element, I couldn't care less about that. It was the misinformation. Allow me to drop the following factoids: (1) making a mix for someone is not/was not exclusively a romantic gesture, (2) we all had plenty of mixed tapes that we'd made of our fave songs from one particular artist lying around so the assumption it was "made special" is illogical unless this was specifically noted in some mystery deleted scene - which, again, if I'm wrong I'll happily retract - and (3) making 'em wasn't some Herculean time-suck effort, despite what you may've heard if you are not of the age to have participated in this endeavor.

I mean, I just don't.... were those peeps using dictaphones or phonographs or something? Hand-rewinding with pencils? You're punching buttons and hanging out by ye olde boom box whilst reading a Jonathan Taylor Thomas-covered Teen Beat and listening for the approach of the end of the song. The thing that took time was getting your playlist sorted so you didn't use up all the space..... which is the same with burning a CD..... and popping digital files onto the device/drive of your choice..... it ain't some bottomless well of space on any of 'em, you gotta get your shit tight. Them's the facts. Should this apply to someone reading, sorry you were misinformed, and certainly it's up to you whether or not you take my word for it. Y'know, you do you. Time in.]

Everything Cas says is accurate. And PS, RE: could either of them kill an innocent, albeit an innocent tied to a situation wherein he is set up to have huge-ass odds of going dark side? Well, Dean sure as shit can, Cas, might I remind you of that time you got your ass handed to you after he gunned down a teenage boy in the middle of the living room [which is what I call the library because they do most all their living there, as nobody's bothered to turn one of the 80,000 rooms into a lil' TV nook]? But hey, if you need a refresher, hold on, I've got the Stynes' new digits somewhere around here, as they long ago moved out of the Amityville Horror, understandably.  #sigh

SEE? He'd like a beer. Shit, I'm good.  #not humbly

Of course he wouldn't let you die ya dumb bitch, that's a autonomic self-protection mechanism, you die and he dies. [sigh part deux] Alright, alright. I'm being needlessly critical. She's stressed. And going a touch glazed-over nutter butters by the looks of it.

Dagon, maybe have her on some 'ludes with the folic acid, yeah? Mama needs a good long nap.  Or get some Djinn juice, let her have some trippy dreams.

Remember Gadreel?  REMEMBER GADREEL?! I just love it when two characters discuss something that they both full well know the whole scoop behind. #exposition anvil #I don't care how brief it was #minus 100 points  

But oh, I am pleased. OHHHH am I pleased, and surprised, fuck my face, finally. They have finally pronounced Gadreel's name correctly. Maybe not all of them pronounced it wrong, I ain't gonna go back and watch, but enough did that it worked my nerves at the time of my viewing. I have had this card in the CASPN side deck of Nashisms since god was a boy, and it now can happily journey on to the S12 deck:

So #500 points, because this benefits me/my anal-retentive nature directly as accuracy turns my crank

YES DAGON PREACH, COUSIN OLIVER SAVED HIMSELF. A voice of reason. You're awesome. You die soon, right? Because you're awesome. That's why you're gonna die. We can't have witty things.

Ah, okay - since angels need guns. This Colt thing.... I appreciate it isn't/wasn't/hasn't been a Chekov, I do, but it's.... it's never been fleshed out. What this gunmaker did besides etchings, what specifically makes it effective on certain higher echelon creatures. I don't need a novel, just a shot of reasoning I can pound back. And I've researched this for my story, never have come up with anything robust. Plus most of the etchings, wardings, all that stuff on the show, have been six of one, half dozen the other so... so... so.... I have no end to this sentence. [Minor spoiler for my story: Ol' Nashie's take is it ain't the gun, it's the user. It's only as special for the killing-of-certain-things as the person holding it, a symbiotic sort-of jam.]

Grrrrr, this shoooooow..... Why are they not just appearing? Cas, fine, he's on the fritz, but why are they sneaking in?  Do they have power issues, too? The sandbox works, but they.... don't? But Joshua still has plenty o' juice? I have no memory of why this is. I find myself confused and not caring all at once.

Hi there, waste of bullet #1. Don't try to bind her or something with.... whatever.... first. #whatever

Man, I love this chick.

Did they get new graphics peeps? I already mentioned the nicely done crackle with pop of lightning-esque bolts and color on the through-and-through to goat god in last recap round-up, and this looks great too. Touch of red glow, nicely blended cloud puffs. There's some blood splatter in the finale that I clearly remember made me snort loudly, but whoever's doing the poofs and the glows now-a-days is knocking it out of the park.

I wonder if somebody finally laid into the network about how all their other shows get killer effects, and their anchor doesn't/hasn't. I cringe thinking of how godawful the smoky cloudies were for Amara. Y'know. The Darkness. It was her deal. It was the THING. And while the initial sky fart plumed up nice and frothy, as it went on it looked like supes-great quality smokebombs purchased from a very reputable dude selling fireworks out of the trunk of his 1988 'Stang on the side of the dirt road just before the turn-off to Maw-Maw's house. So yeah, good for them if they demanded more of a graphics budget, whatever happened it shows. #250 points #now go full-court press #on Emmy and/or GG campaigns #for Ackles #way overdue  

I've digressed. Back to Barney, Gomer, and Goober on their well-thought-out ingress..... welp, that's done.

Quit playing Castiel's outgoing message. It stopped being cute after the first time. There's no need - just have Sam hang up and sigh, then Dean's all "Lemme guess, no answer" - see how easy that was?

I've legit always felt for Cas, he so wants to be a good angel and also a good guardian/friend to the guys. It's a solid, well-reasoned internal conflict to have. Thank you, Kripke & co.

Lucifer scream?  #6660 motherfucking points #good shit

And then, almost breathlessly ---> "Or lift it to its feet"

Poorly-delivered processed cheese on the field. #minus 10 points #5 yard penalty

See ya, pretty cool angel, woulda been great to keep you around for a bit, you're a good actor.

How long have Cas' powers been for shit? Seriously. I sincerely have zero memory of when/how/why. Tell me so I don't have to look it up. I remember fucking forever ago times when it's been sketch, last one that's clear in my memory was the Hannah-and-Cas-go-a-travellin'. In my story that's set in the future, other than blip-mentioning his back-and-forths power-wise for context when topical whilst referencing the past [S1 - present day is my story's past], he's aces, because I'm tiiiiiired of said back-and-forth garbage. I lowered the hammer so as to focus on to a better storyline for him, and haven't thought about it since. #Nash gives Cas some forths #as the backs are way played-out #and forths that are about *him* #not via possession by something/someone else

This speech to Kelly coulda gone intolerable quick, is very nicely done by Misha. He's quite a proficient actor, they don't give him fuck all to do of late, so this is great to see. #500 points

"She's difficult to kill, okay?!" --> Pffffttttt

"You're not our babysitter, that's not your job." --->  Um, yes. It is.

More than that, it's his mission. Do you still not have your brain wrapped around what a badass he was in heaven, how elite he was, to be given the assignment of, um, you, that it's the last thing the heavenly host trusted him with, how crucial it was that you be saved, that it was seven minutes to midnight, as it were, and that he 360-no-scope-clutched it?  

And it's "guardian", "watcher" would be an acceptable substitute, but not "babysitter", you ingrate. Which he's done right more often than not, poor methodology in getting there notwithstanding.  #fuck that noise  #I wish he'd lay into Dean  #like he did that one time  #y'know, that one timein the alley  #the pussification of Cas  #has officially passed its prime

Why does being inside walls make Sam think they're safe from being seen by a Prince[ss] of Hell? [that's, um, what Dagon was called, right? oh, what-farging-ever] Versus being in a parking lot? Or in a car? Anywhere but - I guess? - that bunker whose on-off protection has never been explained? Which I had to deal with in my story? #minus 100 points for spite #because I have to write for gappy shit like that #whilst not retconning canon #although.....  #have 300 points back #because that gap ended up #quite nicely filled #humbly #my putty don't crack, yo

She nicked the car. SHE IS STEALING THE IMPALA and tearing ass outta there. This. Is. Fantastic. #20 points Buuuuut..... needed reverse shot for some reaction *looks* from Dean and Sam. #minus 20 points

Dean isn't working on the engine whilst wearing a t-shirt to showcase greasy biceps in this scene. #minus 1000 points #lucky it's not 10K

See?!?! Y'all, I'm serious. It is seared in my brain because it was so, so incredibly distracting, how garbage the greenscreenage/effects were in the Amara arc, but go back and look if it ain't seared into yours, the difference in quality is *startling*.

[The big jobs, that is, not the ribbons of demon ejaculation, those haven't ever struck me as bad. And the flashing bursting stuff, never been an issue there; early eyes looked a little wonky, but that was due to contacts; I chalk most early stuff up to how much computers have improved over the past decade. Still stand by my criticism of specifically the graphics during the Amara arc - which was not but a couple of years ago - having zero excuses. And don't get me started on the ill-fitting bra and poorly tailored lame-ass black dress they had that absolutely lovely woman wearing the Whole. Fucking. Time. #minus 800 points carryover because Season 11 has followed me and caused me to digress. Again.]

Oof. Joshua. So he was ultimately a red herring, and a stinky, bottom-of-the-net one at that, one that got hocked up by a whale amidst the semi-digested detritus formerly known as his family, his beloved school, playmates he'd known since they were but caviar droplets, and he was so very weak, slogging along the ocean's gritty bed, fighting against his belly which was desperate to turn skyward, yearning to bob, when the shadow of the trawler appeared above him, heralding his doom, and the netting gripped him, Death's thin, cold, cutting fingers, though the ruby-tinted finwad took brief respite in the sunlight slicing through the waves, a shot of glistening shimmer, like the glittered scales of a mermaid, this touch of Poseidon's magic, just for him, before everything went dark, and tiny gills silently fluttered for the last time. . . . . . . . . .

Tell you what.

#minus 900 points #for wasting our time #and icing an interesting, already-established character #that coulda been kept in the pocket #for potential further use #DABB you dolt #you coulda just had them say they were #Joshua's emissary sent to fetch Cas and Kel #and you know #tell you what #AGAIN #minus another 100 points #because you suck it as a showrunner so goddamned hard DABB

But Dagon. Lurve. Pre-emptive peace-out, you badass bitch.

CALVIN! His name is Calvin. Well, was.  #R.I.P. Lemondrop

Ooof.... okay, I like Dagon's snark, but somebody went bananas with the slang from her in this ep.... ex: "adorbs", "jay-kay" [y'know, "J/K" phonetically] #minus 50 points for being try-hards

"You stay away from her!" ---> Pffffttt.  No. No. Noooooo. Staaaaahhhhp with the lines just to have lines. More badass to glower silently and take a step to the side and put yourself between the danger and the dangeree. #minus 30 points #but 100 points to Misha only #because he's having to deal with this shittastic basic bull

Sam looks at gun, palpably confused; yes, punkin', they run outta bullets. #the fuck #not the running out #that's actually refreshing to see in TV/movies #I mean the surprise  #wha  

I thought maybe.... had Dagon jammed it? But I ran it back, I didn't see her flourish or whatnot specifically at him. And he popped another cartridge right in, no prob.... I don't.... was there a cut flourish? I mean whoever's editing this clearly went to the Michael Bay School Of Way Too Many Cuts In A Given Sequence So The Audience Hopefully Has A Collective Seizure And Doesn't Notice We Whiffed The Blocking And/Or Stunt Choreography And/Or Effects, buuuuut..... nobody picked up on the inexplicable jammin'-Sam double-play? #minus 10 points

And that was a radius-ulna double-play with bonus dislocated elbow for Dean, and if it isn't meant to be a compound fracture, theeeen.... #minus 100 points to sound dept. for over-blown cracking sound #points returned if he at any time #in the next 10 seconds #gets tearful and grips his arm #which should be hanging #limp and useless

[.....10 seconds.....]

#minus 100 points

---> Backtrack ETA: Dean is holding his arm later, Cas heals, blah-di-blah; does not appear to be a compound fracture, however; oh fine.  #100 points returned slightly begrudgingly <---

Stop everything.

Dean has just cried out for that gun like it's been announced they're ceasing publication of Busty Asian Beauties, strip clubs across the continent have been shuttered, all the hops on the planet have rotted so no more beer, and waitresses are henceforth now titless robots.  Bwah-hahahahahaha [wheeze] [snort] [gasp] AHHHH-hahahahaha [pauses ep] [gasps again] [much wheezing] [wipes tears from eyes] [runs it back]

There's the wind-up.... wait for it..... and the pitch!

STEEELLLAAAA! [clears throat] I mean.... SWEEETHEEEEAAARRRTTT!

You know what just hit me? Both of Dean's sweethearts got ganked in this ep, right in front of his snarled-up, bad attitude face. That tickles me pink, because he's been a real sulky dipstick tween this episode, and because I have to be fair and not let him slide since he's my fave, and also because I'm a bitch. #1000 points

Ohhhhh.....

Ohhhhhh.....

OHHHHHHH.....

Dagon is not on a ceiling in this scene. #minus 200 points

And, PS: "Call it a miracle." ---> and with a touch of a growl?

#5000 points #for the brief glimpse #to the Cas I would very much #like to see someday

Ha... ha..... HAHAHAHAHAHAHA:

#100 points per noggin' boop #bonus 100 points for the bland "I'm sorry" after they were out cold and in the dirt  #extra 100 points for Kelly's over the shoulder glance and them casually TAKING THE IMPALA AGAIN #snort laugh

"The future" said way ominously  ---> #minus 600 points for anvil title drop and/or verbatim title from a line, however you wanna slice it. I mean, there's been times I've done it. But I'm also not making their kind of money and my shit ain't on TV.

Overall impression: I talked a loooot about this ep, but.... Eh. I just cannot get excited about this season. This ep is kind've a good exemplar for why - there are great moments. But interspersed moments do not a season storyline make.

Moving on.

12.20:  "Wicked Wicker"

"Twigs and Twine and Tasha Banes"? Good night nurse, I've been guilty of some real wet fart titles in my time, and props for not just taking a line from the script for it [see above, THE FUTURE!!! mwah-ah-ah-ah /Vincent Price] but this is bad. Laughable-bad, but still bad. I remember when it came out last year, y'know, when they piecemeal "announce" upcoming ep titles, and immediately striking it from CASPN card potentials because the fuck comedy-wise am I supposed to do with "twigs and twine"?  I mean, there's an alliterative "twat" potential somewhere in there, maybe, but....

We're bringing back MORE SIDEBAR CHARACTERS? And right here at the final stretch? Why? Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Whoever and whatever's in this episode best be absolutely critical to tying up this ratking assdisaster of bazillion plot threads knotted up in this season, hand to god, I'm gonna have a meltdown. Where's my whiskey. Sonnuva....

Now, here's what this (a) awkwardly shoe-horned interaction that (b) lasts too long, and features a (c ) pointed mention of a supes kewl ring tells me: Lady in the rocking chair is likely the Monster of the Week. At minimum, she's definitely involved. Hundred percent. There is absolutely zero chance I am not accurate. 'Cause....

ANVIL TIME! Dabb & co. ain't never met an anvil they weren't dyin' to drop. #minus 300 points for plot anvil ring dialogue

But I enjoyed the guest actor's absolute perfect channeling of every old biddy bitch I've encountered being born/raised/living in the South [re: clearly racist tone], so #100 points for good casting.

Still, whole cold-open wasn't..... smooth, including the chit-chat with the clerk. Just.... I mean....  here: Exterior - we see a B&B; Interior - we see a woman's hand sign her name "Tasha Banks" in a guest book; we see a key handed to her, clerk smiles, says  hope she enjoys her stay; show the lady in the rocking chair sneer at the back of her as she walks up the stairs. Then Interior - room - we see the Banks twins photo on her cell phone screen background, maybe a text pop from Alicia as camera pans up, and the first time we get a good look at her is when we see her do the spell/get her glow on, and proceed from there as it played out. #quickly #move move move #let's-a-go

Ah, that's unfortunate. T'would appear you're a shite witch. I don't know how someone gets the drop on who, the impression had been given, possibly said, I ain't looking it up, pretty powerful witch in a small, enclosed area with what appears to be a one entry/one exit sort of jam. Root cellar? Tornado hidey-hole? Well, no, where are we, Wisconsin? Wyoming? Something "W". Anyhoo, not in the alley, so, okay, root cellar it is. Perhaps I will understand later, when all is revealed, and when THIS WILL OBVIOUSLY TIE-IN TO CLOSING OUT THE SEASON #it won't #I know deep down it won't

Welcome back, reasonably-pointing-out-truths-bluntly-whilst-workin'-that-jaw-and-swallowing-gravel-offsides-to-make-your-voice-all-meanin'-business Dean. Everything you've said is in character and on-point for what knowledge you have at the present. #200 points

Wait, didn't she melt the shit out of Coltie-poo? It just looks busted. I mean, warped, but not magma bits as its portrayed demise would've suggested. Eh. Bobby's fixed it before, Sam'll fix it now, nobody's concerned or worried, blah blah biscuits. Or, hey, they'll have Jack Ex Machina whip 'er into shape, right? #eyeroll  I do thoroughly enjoy the continued reverent wrapping and unwrapping from its widdle nappy. #bless it

Convenient fully-charged cellphone that nobody noticed, specifically Sam who we just saw all over that space pullin' out THE LORE with that jammin' background tuneage, is convenient. Don't have it be in a drawer or something, y'all, where it would make sense that neither of the guys spotted it before now, though I still wouldn't know why Mary would stash a cell phone in a drawer that's not in her room. Ugh. #minus 600 points for stupidity #This. Is. The. Easy. Shit.

Time Out: That was a beautifully shot montage, truly - I thought later, wouldn't a nice little piano thing, that’s mildly intense, with a busy, slightly bright element to it, set at a quick clip of a time signature have hit the spot better, and fit Sam's character more?

Start the scene playing in your mind and, when you do, set it to this music that I..... oh hell, fuck it. Here. And forgive me for the couple weird glitches that pop up on some frames, I didn't download, just did a screen grabbing/music add in about a half-hour, because 30-ish seconds ain't worth the download and having to pull the sound from the orig and blah blah blah. And I could not *believe* how well it matched his movements, I did not alter the speed at *all*:

(it’s Rue des Cascades by Yann Tiersen, should you care)

#feel free to disagree on my choice #but you gotta at least #see my point that the orig was ill-suited #both for the scene #and for the Sammy #plus it blew chunks #and WTF with the loud-ass  #marker screeching on the table? Okay, time in.

Why are the twins stopped in the near-middle of a rando road for this conversation? Whyyyyy. So distracting. FFS, again, THIS IS THE EASY SHIT, DABB, YOU GOON. Part of your job is reviewing this stuff before it heads to broadcast, is it not? Watching dailies, perhaps? I'm moving on, I'm moving on, I'm moving on.

"Staaahhhp. You sound crazy" ----> bwah-ha-hahahaha, this kid's line delivery is spectacular. The twins rock. Max especially. I enjoyed them from the moment they were introduced. Doesn't mean I understand why the hell they're here or what part they'll play in: (1) the return of Mary/the potential upcoming death of Mary/regardless the likely upcoming tragedy sure to befall Mary; (2) the Men of Letters/Ketch/sudden random unoriginal character lady we're supposed to be intimidated by; and/or (3) the Nephilim/Lucifer/Cas business. Because surely, here, at the 3-2-1-Finale part of our journey, they *must* be critical to any/all of these endgames, right? RIGHT?!?!! #they're not #I know they're not

Nope, nopetty-nope-nope. Sorry, Sammy. Jody's job doesn't afford her the power to personally send out APBs "across three states", that'd be a Federal thing. And, PS - assuming that the Feds have already been on the lookout for that President's aide who suddenly disappeared amidst the threats on his life and all that blacksite stuff is a safe bet..... unless there was a country-wide brain wiping. Even if only wiped the government, well, allow me to introduce you to journalists. I'm sorry I have to inform you of this, characters who have, more often than not, successfully played at the FBI'ing for basically the entirety of your adult lives. Or, y'know, watched any legal/law enforcement TV show over the past.... always.... or seen any news reports on such since.... always....

I say all that to say, goddamnit, Dabb! This is the easy shit. Do the easy shit right. Then you can fudge on the harder stuff, and the fudgin' won't grate as much because all the other stuff surrounding it hasn't been distracting along the way. So nail the easy shit. It's easy to do. That's why it's called easy.

"Their mom's on a hunting trip, and hasn't been home in a week."

Their mom's on a hun..... their mom..... waaaaaiiit.  Wait a ding-dang second..... boy-howdy that sounds familiar, now where have I-----

THEIR MOM'S ON A HUNTING TRIP AND HASN'T BEEN HOME IN A WEEK.

Me, too, Dean-o.

Eat. Me. Dabb., you chode chewing cuck #minus 12,000 points #no that's not a typo #this is a tragically basic play

They dropped a "tee-hee, family business" reference in goat episode, not but two prior [and it worked, because it was a wink-nod, blink-and-you'd-have-missed-it]. Then just now, they featured the original line in "the road" not five minutes ago, complete with the reverse shot to show Sam's reaction so that's it's crystal fucking clear on the oh-so-witty flip here with him saying it to Dean. And yeah, it's technically about a year out from the time of this ep's original broadcast, but they do it again - and in an equally clunky manner - in the Wayward pilot. I know they've done this before, pretty sure, at least, but I don't recall them being so close in proximity to one another. Hmmm. Could be wrong. Regardless, what the hard-on is for it going from these late-season gambits into the brief time the writers have off before they get back to it in the summertime, I wouldn't dare to guess. 

To put another way: they *just* came off airing these 2 near back-to-back refs at the end of 12, to turn around and start workshopping and shit that summer after their end-of-season break. There are 2 eps that - just pure business/logistics-wise - I feel confident in assuming were on-deck first, even though they’re coming towards the last of 13, and that’s the Scooby Doo thing [:::sigh::::] and the Wayward backdoor pilot, which contained the clunker mentioned above. And guess who co-wrote the backdoor pilot, I’ll give you three, but you’ll only need one.

What is the matter with you, Dabb? Do you not see how sub-par this is, in comparison to early seasons? Were you created with the slowest sperm outta the gates and oldest egg in the coop, then swirled in a dirty beaker, then gestated in a shallow kiddie pool in the Laboratory of Mediocrity at the Zoolander School for Not Reading Good, run by the solid-C-average recipients of online PhDs for the low-low-price of fourteen installments of $19.99, plus shipping and handling? I don't even wanna see your CV. It'll make me furious. This is such a case of Average White Man Fails Upwards, story at 11.

Better question, what is the matter with the people who knighted you as showrunner? You. Can’t. Write. I take that partially back - you could write. I scanned the wiki’s rundown of what eps the Dabbster’s had his paws on, and way-back-when he was involved in some that I found to be killer, if not on the whole then at least in healthy chunks. But holy shitsnacks, as time has rolled on, it has not been kind.

That godawful other pilot should have disqualified him from being in charge of anything but corn flake commercials. #you don't anvil callbacks #callbacks should be seamless from the perspective of newer viewers #and be little treats that long-time fans will pick up on #YOU DON'T ANVIL CALLBACKS

Try this - and phrase it however, doesn't matter - how's about Sam points out, and gently, with a slightly teasing smile, that hey, it kinda sucks when you've got a parent who you haven't heard from in awhile, and you're worried, and your stupid brother says it's probably nothing, huh? And Dean's attitude loosens up. Maybe there's an upturn of the corner of his mouth, touch of a barely-there eyeroll. Then off they go.

BUT I'M NOT A PROFESSIONAL TV WRITER, WHAT THE HELL DO I KNOW

I. Am. Seven. Minutes. In.

Oh my my my. Appears Ketch and Mary's relationship has kicked up a notch and now resides at the corner of 50 Shades and Alastair. Nah. Gotta be a shifter or some such..... yepper.

"It's Dean." --- "Aaaaand?" ----> Ketch, you saucy bitch.

Dean, I don't.... how will it be good to talk to her? How? How has she been a comfort or a safe haven or a sounding board for you at any point since her return? I get it. I don't like having to see my fave character/actor on the show  go through it, but writer/story-wise, I get it. And it's realistic for how people who've suffered emotional abuse in childhood react to same as adults. I credit the actor, though, 'cause to be sure he is the one fleshing it out as I sincerely doubt it's scripted or been discussed, so #500 points, Ackles only

Y'know, I have always liked the shifter concept, both here and elsewhere [shows, books, whatnots], too. Especially liked the ep with the baby. Who is given the unfortunate name of Bobby John. Lil' Beej, as I like to call him. 'Cause "B.J."initials. I'm talking blowjobs.

I dig those stabbies with the clearly plastic-handled, looks to be modeled after the long bolt-like thingies that came in the bag with somebody in the props department's most recent Ikea order; wait, no I don't.  #minus 10 points for cheap-looking shit #only ten because #the network clearly dicks this show on budget #as compared to their other wares

Sam Smith is hella good at acting like getting tortured/being in pain #70 points

"My eye twitches allll the time" ---> the Ketch sneer *owns* me, this actor is fun to watch. I'd looked him up after seeing the first few eps with him, and he has languished in Hallmark movie purgatory for so long, I wondered what he possibly could've done to anger the B-grade rom-com overlords, and I considered watching one but the synopses for Every. Single. Thing. made MY eye twitch, I couldn't do it.  #100 points for making me think of Tori Spelling's "Mother May I Sleep With Danger" and snort-laughing.

Ineffective end-of-scene confrontation cap off response to above with "Well then - I guess I know all about you" in sudden, out-of-nowhere, I-suppose-someone-thinks-that-was-legit-Southern, awkward pseudo-accent is bizarre, particularly since the Mary iteration spoke in her normal voice; if the shifter was Southern just for quirkiness' sake, fine! Great! It ain't the first not-even-close Southern accent coming out of Hollyweird, won't be the last, just be consistent.

Also, better line, something to the effect of - "So. That mean everybody knows you're always lying?" ---> and in regular accent. #minus 300 points for weird-ass distracting choice that didn't get stopped by the director #or, conversely, was the idea of the director #and fire whoever's coaching you on accents, actor dude whose name I'm brain-farting, and, like, yesterday

"....the only vegan restaurant in town"

Huh? Why are we supposed to care that Missing Mommy is vegan? My assumption is that she's going to be up and about and something in a zombie/revenant vein being controlled by the witch in some fashion, so.... is this another anvil? Will we know it's less Mommy and more Mommie Dearest when we spot her laying waste to the honey roasted thigh of a fresh newborn or something?

Thank you clunky exposition to explain "borrower witch" - did Alicia even specify in her call?  Whatever, that's awesome, and hey, remember Gadreel? #minus 500 points #this is way pedestrian #be better  Here's a better:  assuming Alicia did clarify, and if not, she should have, Sam goes, "Borrower witch, right?" and Dean looks at him and goes, "Remind me?" It's still exposition but at least it's less bleeeccchhh.

"I got the bartender's number" ---> Max, you sparkly-eyed breath of fresh air in this stank-ass season. You're gonna die, right? I remember hearing one of you does. I hope it's not you. Actor-person, you are a delight, charisma oozes off the screen, so if they bother to use you at all ever again, be prepared, they'll kill you way before they kill a one trick pony. #claire

A nice 4-for-the-price-of-one, great on everyone's part, hit me baby one more time, The *Look*(s) Of The Episode:

Dean, don't give me that bonus *look*, the stupid-ass "mom's on a hunt" line is there to stay,  nothing to be done, bubba. I'd advise you to just "carry on" but then I'd deserve to get kicked in the cooter for such tripe.

"Wouldn't want him to think mummy doesn't love him." ----> Ketch, you beautiful bastard.

Hahahahaha - and then SHE STILL DOESN'T CALL HIM BACK, not even a quick "hey, gimme a sec to get back to my room - is now a good time to call?" text.

The "package" is totes Mickey-poo, who's likely all oozy and bloaty by this point, yeah? And AGAIN with the clunky dialogue, him reciting that like 3,000 character bin # or whatever for "The Package" just so's Mary could overhear it. #GAAAAAAWWWWD  

Hey - and THERE'S a place for a gross-out death moment, if you haaaave to have one [see above, RE: graphic cutfest in last ep], a shot of Mick's head with a fixed stare as she pulls back a tarp or something, because you *know* Ketch didn't bother to close his eyes.

Alright, finally, NOW the call.... "I want to be there" ---> So, be there.  "I need to finish this." ----> finish..... what?

FUCK YEAH WICKER MAN, ARE THERE BEES, THIS SHOW HAS A PERMANENT SEMI FOR BEES, THERE SHOULD BE BEES

Stop bringing up the vegan restaurant. That's three times in 20 minutes.

Max. Is. Gold. Is everyone seeing this kid? They'll kill him off. Maybe not this ep, I legit don't know, but he'll end up dead, he's as pretty as the leads and as good an actor. Call me cynical, but that's a sure ticket guest-start-wise into not being long for a given show's world. #I'm just sayin'.

"A werewolf shot him in the head?" ---- "It's not impossible." -----> okay, Ketch has gotten all the best lines this ep, and I'm co-signing, he's killin' it #500 points

Mary, dollface - how did you/have you survived hunting all this time when you've been about as sharp as a marble - I mean, now? Now? Now you're vibing that something ain't right. I am so sorry they've made you out to be a real fuckstick, and now a stupid one, to boot.

[Imma go on a tangent at the end of this regarding the Mary character and how they have blown the chance to do some really quality deep divin' into what I think is an obvious well of potential material, but didn't wanna interrupt this. Because sweet mother, I've still got like 15 minutes left on this one]

You have on knuckles and you supposedly know how to fight and you didn't drive your fist into his cricoid. #wut #crack you some windpipe girl #more effective in the long-term #than a ball bustin'

MAAAAAAX!!!!!  You BAMF. And I'm diggin' the royal blue/purple glow action.

Sound department, kindly stop snapping fistfuls of uncooked spaghetti for the bone-breaking effect, it doesn't sound like bones breaking, it sounds like you're snapping fistfuls of uncooked spaghetti.

Wait, what? Her soul is saved if she gives away her magic powers? I don't get it. She said a bunch of words, and the tone indicated an explanation, but.....

I mean wasn't the deal about the power? Demon gives power for "x" amount of time, then the debt is her soul? So..... the demon/the hounds are dumbfucks when the time comes, who go after the powers, not the person? Nah. I don't buy it. They don't want the powers. Demons apparently - based on the setup - have plenty, that's how they're able to give it away/barter with 'em. The souls are the preferred currency of choice.

If the gang had left her alive... like, here we go: Sam does some Latin chant whilst Max glows purple to nerf her, toss 'er in the root cellar, because remember - SHE'S TAKEN OFF THE HORCRUX I MEAN THE RING, so plausibly do-able, yeah?  All her books and shit are there, Alicia's body's intact, there's a brand new Nic Cage weaved and ready.

So  - binding, root cellar tossin', sister's body on ice, salt-n'-burn the others, pack up the books, strap Nic Cage to the top of the jeep, and keep the ring but don't put it on. Go back to the bunker. Put Alicia in the walk-in freezer I know is somewhere in that joint downstairs because no way does that icebox [yes, that is the proper term for something of that age, it's how I was brought up, #come at me bro] hold enough grub to feed all the peeps that bunker was spec'd for. Then you bust out THE LORE, cross-reference some shit, water Nic Cage if he starts getting dry, check sis for freezer burn, wrap her in those little baggies that prevent freezer burn, use your magic to make  it human-sized otherwise what the hell damn point is there to having purple glowy magic if you can't do practical things, as well? This concludes my questioning.

I like the dolly thing, though, that's creative. And niiiiiiiice choice with the twins' storyline. This is a unique burden for him to have  #good shit  Bonus points if, in the future, they allow Alicia to go a touch dark comedy with it, once she knows what's happening, a la....

[If you have not seen “Death Becomes Her”, do so immediately]

Now, have the twins turned up in S13 yet? I mean, we're over the halfway mark, are we not? Do we know if they're on deck to pop up? Because..... otherwise...... the point of this was.....?

Hey look it's that mental rapist chick I'd completely forgotten about, the one who got set-up with backstory that never paid off vs. just intro'ing her with seeing that news report and heading straight to her [not very detailed, but whatevs] info board in her batcave.

But I'll acknowledge the writers having her coming back around and them having her utilize [well, about to, since I've seen the finale] her skills/her specialty in brain-washing, I guess we'll call it.  At least there’s payoff there, a bigger reason than just Sam torture. However: #0 points #you get no points #for doing the bare minimum #of what you're supposed to

This got too heavy and ran too long; part three'll be eps 21 & 22, then just some blips of fun stuff about the finale and links to posts I'd done about it way-back-when. I'll try to make it funnier next go, cross mah heart!

Taggin' peeps who dug the last one..... @saenalife  @jalove-wecallhimdean  @impandagrl  @theoriginalvicki  @butiaintgonnaloveem  @ilsawasanacrobat  @smi727  @bumbleball13  

My take on Mary below, should you care. 

I know I joke a lot, but I don't dislike her, truly I don't. And I am glad they showed her having trouble adjusting to everything. The speech she gave in whatever ep it was, was well-written [and well-delivered, points to Sam Smith], the way they'd phrased it, about how she just went from holding babies, to having grown men as sons and hey, surprise, you're also a widow all in one fell swoop. I'm glad they've shown her being badass. I'm glad they said her pies were store-bought. I'm glad she got laid by a hot young thang. I like goods-and-bads-and-shadiness-and-humor, all the many combos of dimensions people can be. I'm glad they mentioned she bothered to tie up loose ends before "retiring" from hunting.....

........but didn't bother to ward the fuck out of your house even though you knew trouble-was-a'comin, though, did ya, Mare? 'Cause if it's me?

I'd have tattooed every charm from my bracelet on my kids, on the bottoms of their chubby fucking feet, whatever, pick a spot. I'd have tore up drywall down to the studs, square foot by square foot while John was at work, baby-stepping my way over time so he wouldn't notice. I'd be throwing up wallpaper over painted sigils, prying up baseboards where I'd run thick gobs of epoxy coated in all the rock salt I could've hidden in the house, and I'd have been doing it since the minute I found out I was pregnant. 

Toilet tanks would have rosaries, and old liquor bottles and bleach bottles and milk jugs would be stashed here-and-there with the same, and hell, I'd even toss one in the baby's humidifier in the nursery, get Dean a little goldfish to live on his nightstand with one buried in the gravel at the bottom, so that anywhere I'd be, I could splash that motherfucker right in his piss-stained eyeballs. I'd have taken it to the limits of my knowledge, and then when I got there, I'd start searching for more, I'd be a sponge soaking up anything and everything during any spare time I had.

And maybe I'd have kept John in the dark, maybe not, can't say, but you know what? With or without him, *I* had knowledge of the scary shit to come, it was *my* debt that'd be called up, and *I* was the one with a [heh] very special set of skills.  So I'll tell ya one thing: my shit would have been together and locked up tight, and even if I did end up torched, by god, my collector would have walked away at least a little singed, too.

That's a part of my issue with Mary, that huuuuuuuge plot hole [for me, at least] that's honestly a sink hole, which opened up the second they revealed the Campbells were hunters. That put a bad taste in my mouth for the character, and for the writers, as.... how many seasons ago was that?..... they have yet to address it. And I don't give three fucks if they do in S13, it's done, they already screwed the pooch, this shoulda already come up at *least* in passing, and been on deck before even halfway through S12. Also coulda been addressed in the other seasons' dreams or back-in-times or any other interactions they've had with her post-knowledge of the Campbells [S5-or-6-ish, yeah? whenever Soulless was on the scene], even if she/they got brain-zapped to have no memory of it, or even if it was just one of the guys processing aloud to a dream version of her, this *must* be addressed.

And no, Dean's "I love you/I hate you/I forgive you" speech is not what I mean - that was a blanket/general thing about her not being there their entire lives and then not being there when given a second chance, but look what they turned out to be/to do, etc. I'm saying a frank confronting of her specific role in what lead up to the events of that night, anything she tried, or if she was in denial and ergo did bupkis, or whatever. Sam is owed that. Dean is owed that. It needs to be unboxed and addressed, even if it takes a nasty turn.

Even if it's the two of them processing it, working through it together, not in some sobfest in one sitting, just trickling out naturally, opening up to each other over time, say, when they've had to deal with situations involving mothers/children/families. They've thought it. You know they have. They *had* to have thought it. And it's the foundation of the show, right? And "family above all" is the key tenet, right? This. Must. Be. Addressed. if at any point the showrunners would like to tie up this years-old loose end.

But there's the Dabb factor, so make sure your O2 tank's on full, you're gonna need it if you're holding your breath that it'll (a) get done, and (b) get done well, 'cause I for one will be over here, breathing out huffy sighs of doubt.

I just spoiled you a bit for an element of my story, 'cause hell, screw them, I'm addressing it. It was one of the first big,capital-lettered, took-up-half-a-page notes when I was doing my summer run through the series a couple years back.  But it's cool. There's a twist-a-rooney. Because there's always more angles to any one story, right? Fear not, I didn't ruin you. Let's just say, there was a hell of a lot more going on during that time period - and the night of The Main Event - than met the eye. [wink]

So that's my thing with their failing the Mary character overall, now back to present day - my issue with their characterization of Mary 2.0 is that they could've accomplished this without making her Miss Self-Absorbed Cuntface 2017. #that's Claire's job  No, but for reals, they played it way too heavy. And here's the bigger thing, which is a bit biased as it's a huge stickler for me in real life family/friendship issues, and that's loyalty. Make her wishy-washy, make her traumatized, make her distant, hell - throw the Cas and/or Sam can't go a season without at least one big fat fucker of a deception old hat routine on her, whatever.

But they had her choose strangers - and be loyal to those strangers - over her clearly still-hurting children who have lived a hard life, and done it without her, with the extra frosting on top of an obsessive, self-serving, nothing-matters-more-than-avenging-your-mother, quite militant father. Have her be shaky at it, have her suck at it, and have it be a struggle for everybody, but there was zero need to make her a disloyal shitstain. That's a very scary trait in a person, and an instant repellent for me IRL, so naturally it repelled me here, as well.

The Mary return didn't have to be a "thing" is my point; could've been a nice little undercurrent issue that mirrored the parenting thing they rolled into with Kelly's [and later, Cas'] choice about having Jack despite the danger [and Cas' choice to take on raising him]. And said parallels wouldn't need to be anvil-dropped, it woulda melted together like buttah, no heavy lifting required. Mary could've been shown "talking" to John here and there about how great the boys are and about how sorry she was for not including him on who she really was, and etc., etc. She could've been shown being caught between loyalty to Sam and loyalty to Dean [LOYALTY!!!], RE: partnering with the Men of Letters. I'm still okay with the scene where Dean tells her to take a walk, because That. Was. A. Stellar. Scene.

And that flash of what could've been a nice little exploration earlier in the season, but it was a throw-a-way moment in the finale, the whole "I'm afraid Sam will hate me", etc.? I truly hope that gets a big, crisp, shiny bow on it by 13's end, see above, RE: could have her explaining herself not just to John figuratively, but to them literally about her choice to la-di-dah her way through the years between the deal and her death when she knew something bad was coming. Or, if they wanna gloss over it, have her say she did do shit but it clearly wasn't enough - it'd be thin, but it'd be an acknowledgment.

Think how much richer, how meaty, how heart-rending, how satisfying that would be when she [because you know she will] dies/is gone again, vs. some weaksauce sacrifice at the last minute with a tearful "I'm sorry" and the guys saying "we forgive you" and it ringing hollow on all fronts, both from them and from her, and you won't care that she's gone, you'll be glad to see her go, because what is even the point of her coming back if there's not an ounce of resolution? This show ain't going til S20.... I mean, it might.... but come on, they won't bring her back again, at least, not for an arc. This is it. It's go-time. Now or never. And they've whiffed it.

[shrugs]

But y'know, I'm not a professional writer; who am I to criticize?

[recentanimenews]

Anime in America Podcast: Full Episode 1 Transcript

  Hello, and welcome to the very first transcript of Crunchyroll's new Anime in America podcast! Those in need of a different way to access and enjoy the podcast, as well as those looking to research further or simply take note of some interesting facts that were mentioned, look no further. We'll be accompanying each episode with a full text transcript just like the one below, so enjoy!

  The Anime in America podcast, hosted by Yedoye Travis, is available on crunchyroll.com, animeinamerica.com, and wherever you listen to podcasts.

    Disclaimer: The following program contains language not suitable for all ages. Discretion advised.

  [Lofi music]

  You know the problem with you kids is you all think everything is so easy. You’re all on Tik Tok enjoying your lives while millennials are busy eating cartel avocados and getting blamed for Coronavirus... somehow. How is it our fault? We’ve been here the same amount of time as anybody else. 

  There’s so much content out for you guys to enjoy, it’s hard to feel like it even matters sometimes. Watching anime is so easy now that there’s YouTube series about anime, music about anime, there’s anime about anime, and it’s hard to imagine the days when you had to acquiesce to an actual TV schedule just to watch Dragon Ball Z.

  Vegeta from Dragon Ball Z: “I am the prince of all Saiyans once again!”

  But those days definitely happened and, regardless of shifts in technology, we might not have access to our favorite shonen and shoujo in quite the same way without the dedicated fans who really pushed the industry forward in that way.

  So in our first episode, we’ll be breaking down exactly how those fans took their one “unmarketable” passion and shoved it down everyone else’s throat until we got to where we are today. This is Anime in America brought to you by Crunchyroll and hosted by me, Yedoye Travis.

  [Lofi music]

  “I was just starting high school at the time, and there were a group of upperclassmen that were starting an anime club, and they had a couple of these weird video tapes that I knew were not legal, but seemed to be subtitled kinda on the DL by fans and just passed around. They were copies of copies of copies, so they were pretty blurry, but they were stuff you just couldn’t get anywhere. And I later had it explained to me that they were fansubs and they were made by fans for fans.”

  That’s Justin Sevakis. Founder of Anime News Network, CEO of MediaOCD, which is a hard thing to say, and a former fansubber, a member of a group called Kodocha, named after Justin’s own maiden voyage into the world of fansubbing, the 1996 anime romcom “Kodomo no Omocha” or “Child’s Toy” in English.

  [Opening of Kodomo no Omocha plays]

  So what exactly is fansubbing? Well, it’s very complicated unless you work at computers or something like that.  For those of us with regular jobs, fansubbing is a portmanteau of “fan” and “subtitle” and hopefully it’s very simple to figure out from there, but I don’t know. But anyway, it’s a practice of fans independently getting their hands on a piece of foreign language media, translating it, and subtitling it. Usually to share with others who don’t speak the original language. It’s also illegal and, despite whatever information you might have on illegal things, the people who make the original work really really really don’t like it.

  So why would supposedly passionate fans of a form of media modify it without the creator’s permission and distribute bootleg copies of it, essentially committing media piracy? Well, a lot of reasons all boil down to the fact that you just couldn’t get it anywhere else.

  Anime in the late 80s and early 90s was pretty scarce. It was still unproven in the American market (and all over the world but that’s another podcast), so it was being licensed by only a select few small and kinda shady companies, which we’ll get into later, and they were very selective about what they would invest in. And on top of that, a lot of anime distributors were very confused why a country like America would even be interested in their work, which is an obstacle that would take years of negotiations and increasing international VHS and DVD sales to overcome, and it still persists on some level even now. In the end, it was just a textbook case of demand outstripping the supply, so much so that fans went through all this trouble despite fansubbing being, as we’ll soon learn, a very big pain in the ass.

  [Lofi music]

  In the early 90s the technology for burning subtitles onto a VHS or laserdisc was prohibitively expensive, so most fansubbing groups rose out of college anime clubs because universities at the time had the highest concentration of both anime fans and expensive and incredibly specific technology.

  Sevakis: “In order to make a fansub you had to have a device called a genlock which actually would pass the video signal through the computer and overlay graphics on top of it. It would like key out one of the 16 colors that the computer was displaying and that would be replaced with whatever the video signal was under it.”

  If you didn’t have convenient access to a Commodore Amiga and a Genlock, the two would put you back somewhere to the tune of $3,000.00 the equivalent of about $5,500.00 in 2019 dollars. So it was a very difficult hobby to get into unless you worked in the audio visual industry, were attending a well-funded college, or had fuck you money and a lot of free time, which not many people had.

  Fortunately the software was free. The industry standard was called JACOsub, and obviously JACO stands for Japanese Animation Club of Orlando. [laugh] That’s obvious, duh. Because it was developed by anime fans for the specific purpose of fansubbing anime. Because who would’ve thought that nerds also knew their way around computers?

  Now assuming you could get your hands on the hardware AND that obscure bit of software you still needed to get the anime itself and, usually, somebody willing to translate it for you. The groups that distributed the fansubs weren’t necessarily the same people translating them, and sourcing the anime itself was its own struggle. So a lot of groups just made copies from hobbyists who translated the anime and either had connections in Japan, maybe a member of the US military stationed in Japan who taped the anime as it appeared on television, or, if you wanted the high quality stuff, they ordered official laserdiscs from services like CDJapan, personally swallowing the cost of $80 per disc plus expensive international shipping before sending it downstream.

  From there the group would burn the subtitles onto the video using the aforementioned equipment and using JACOsub, one poor soul would timestamp each line individually by just hitting the spacebar every time a character started talking. That whole process created the Master Copy, which would go into a VCR that networked to a daisy chain of VHS decks that would copy the subtitled anime en masse for distribution, which is a lot.

  So how did your average anime fan get their hands on one of those bootleg tapes? 

  Well, you would send a letter. Which, if you don’t know what a letter is, a letter is kind of like an email, that you would send to your wife during wartime. It could take days or even weeks to arrive, and this is not important, but your wife would ultimately reveal that she had found a new lover. But I digress.

  Before the internet became widely available, anime piracy existed entirely in-person or through the US postal service. There were two popular methods for requesting videos. One was mailing in a hand written letter to a fansub group’s PO Box with your requested series along with a money order to the tune of $6 dollars per VHS at 4 episodes per tape, which when you do the math is… how much is that? I don’t even, you guys have calculators, you can do it.

  As nice as that sounds for the distributors, that $6 really only covered the costs of the tape itself and return postage. Ultimately, they were kinda doing it for themselves and distribution duty just came by virtue of being the only ones with access. Alternatively you could mail in your own VHS via self-addressed stamped envelope to cover the cost of the media and postage but a lot of groups weren’t really fans of that method… because it sucked. It sucked a lot.

  Sevakis: “Those were a nightmare, because people would send in cheap and used tapes that would gum up the VCRs, they would eat the tapes. If tapes got mixed up, it was a disaster. There wouldn’t be a backlog because you couldn’t run them in tandem, you had to run off each copy one at a time.”

  Despite the obstacles, some of these groups developed sophisticated distribution networks, even stockpiling popular series like Escaflowne in anticipation of multiple orders.

  [“Vision of Escaflowne,” opening of Escaflowne, plays]

  But even with all these organized efforts, there were so few people in the industry and such high demand, that fulfilling orders sometimes took up to a year. Because you could just do that. Imagine mailing out a nicely written letter along with $6 per tape and waiting a fucking YEAR for one show to come in the mail. ONE show.

  As time went on, fansubbing networks continued to grow more sophisticated, connecting with cheap wholesale distributors to lighten their load, copying tapes, and even finding unique branding opportunities...

  Sevakis: “Kodacha tapes were well known because- I was in Detroit at the time and not too far from us was a custom tape manufacturer that would custom spool VHS tapes for us, really high quality stuff, and they would do a foil stamp of our logo on the shutter of the tape. Also, they had a cancelled order of these purple tapes that were supposed to be used for Barney and Friends. So they were purple, and we’re just like ‘actually, these are really durable, we’ll take them!’ And that became known as the Purple Barney Tapes, and that became synonymous with Kodacha Anime.”

  All of this still took a lot of time. One group could be working on several anime at once and the process took a few hours per episode, and that’s assuming they already had a translation ready. Combine that with the release schedule of most of the anime they were working on and you’re looking at a part-time job running projects that take literal years to complete. It’s one of those things that make you think maybe anime wasn’t worth it. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe we fucked up. I don’t know.

  The craziest thing was this growing network run by passionate fans turned amateur translators, AV techs, and distributors operated essentially on word of mouth. Most fansubbers got into the “industry” through high school or college anime clubs and their… technically I guess you can call them customers? Were friends and then friends of friends, or friends of friends of friends. You just had to know a guy who knew a guy. That’s kinda how it works.

  Then, like most things, the internet changed that. By a lot. In the late 90s webrings, which are groups of websites that mutually linked to one another, before Google started collecting all of our personal information, began to form which changed the game when it came to visibility. Where before you could only look for rare anime publications or go by word of mouth to discover new shows, it became a lot easier to just find fansites with a ton of recommendations and it usually wasn’t much harder to find someone who could get those anime to you. Between those and mailing lists, soon requesting your VHS anime became a digital affair and anime communities started to grow around these sources of illicit videos. Maybe illicit isn’t the right word. I guess technically some are illicit. I don’t know, but I think Illegal maybe is the word I’m looking for. But that’s not the point.

  As the internet became a greater part of the fansubbing scene, pretty much exactly what you think would happen, happened. There was a lot of drama. This was a unique period in fansub history where the complexity of distribution and fan communities were becoming decentralized but lone, anonymous individuals could still have a huge impact on the community. And one of these people was Karen, who’s sole operator of a fansubbing group called Tomodachi anime, and perhaps the person who single-handedly popularized shoujo anime in America.

  For the uninitiated, shoujo is a Japanese word that literally translates to “girl,” specifically young women usually between the ages of 7-18. It’s also the term for that targeted demographic in manga and anime marketing speak. Unfortunately, they’re not that creative on the marketing side. I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you.

  In the mid-90s anime was starting to gain traction in the US but almost exclusively the shonen, or “young boy,” and “seinen,” or older male, variety. To say anime’s audience of young women was underserved during this period (and still kinda now) is a huge understatement.

  And before the shoujo audience was being served by literally anyone in the US, Tomodachi made a name for itself with Marmalade Boy, a romantic comedy based on a manga in Sueisha’s Ribon magazine.

  [Marmalade Boy opening plays]

  It follows the budding love between Miki Koishikawa and Yuu Matsura, two high school students whose parents, each unhappy with their marriages, agree to swap spouses. Which… maybe sounds familiar. There’s a show called “Wife Swap” in America. Okay. The comedy-heavy series had huge cross audience appeal among the fansub audience, while another shoujo manga turned anime titled Fushigi Yuugi, may have been the first true isekai mega-hit.

  [Fushigi Yuugi opening plays]

  And if you don’t know, “isekai” is another Japanese term that translates literally to “another world,” and it’s become one of the leading genres in anime, second only to shonen anime like Dragon Ball Z, My Hero Academia, and Naruto. In the present day it serves as a genre for escapism or male power fantasy for its predominantly male audience, but its origins, like Fushigi Yuugi have much more sophisticated roots in stories written by and for women marking important coming of age moments or serving as allegory for, or escapism from, the extremely restrictive roles women are expected to play in Japanese society.

  Anyway, Fushigi Yuugi blew up, the show had a rabid following, but Karen was what you might call an auteur fansubber, who personally sat down with her translator to discuss lines and used a variety of subtitle fonts made possible by recent advances in subtitling technology. And they maybe looked nice, but a lot of fans complained that they were hard to read. It’s a reasonable complaint.

  But In the surrounding drama another group picked up Karen’s translations and made their own copies in a more standardized font. But Karen was upset that her work was being changed without her permission, and her objections turned into a massive discourse about creative ownership over uh, stolen property. So you can see how it was complicated. This would ultimately lead to Karen retiring from the scene entirely. Just imagine how terrible you have to be as a fandom to not only force the one woman out of the job of fansubbing, but to push women out of a genre entirely. How did they even do that? It just seems… hard.

  [Lofi music]

  Technology continued to improve, like it does, and a freeware application called Substation alpha, the precursor to the software Aegissub that is still used to this day by fansubbers, became available and hugely simplified the process of subtitling anime. But these new powerful computers could not only edit better than the old genlock systems, they could also produce videos in an entirely different format: digital files that were roughly the same quality as VHS tapes.

  The transition from analog to digital marked a huge shift in fansubbing. As noted, practitioners had been early adopters of the internet, participating in anime focused webrings and mailing lists to coordinate distribution, but once internet speeds and computer technology advanced to the point where anime could be distributed entirely online, things changed, a lot, because the medium of VHS was inexorably linked to the fansubbers “code of honor.” 

  Sevakis: “Ah, yeah, the code of honor. So the number one thing was that this was by fans and for fans, so nobody was supposed to make a profit off of these. That was first and foremost. Fansubs were meant to supplement what was available legally, they were not meant to replace what was available legally. And everyone was supposed to support, ideally, everyone who had the fansubs, if a show came out commercially, they were supposed to delete their fansubs or record over them or trash the tapes or whatever and buy the legal copies. Some people did that, some people didn’t, and to be honest the commercial subtitled releases weren’t really that much better in that era. In fact, some of them were demonstrably worse. So I don’t know how often that happened, but people worked really hard to not make a profit at that point, which you know, it’s really easy to not make a profit in the anime business anyway. That was number one; number two was to do everything you could to keep these tapes out of the hands of people who did sell them for profit. And there was a huge problem back then with what we called ‘grey area fansubbers’ and these were known as- the worst one was known as SBaldRick, and he went by a couple of other names. These were fansubs that were basically meant to be copied and sold at conventions. ComicCons often had this one creepy guy with a booth and a bunch of tapes in clam shell cases with really badly colored Xerox’d labels, and so we actually put on the video ‘by fans, for fans, not for sale or rent,’ and we did whatever else we could without screwing up the video too much, because ultimate there was nothing we could do if someone wanted to sell one of these for profit except we’d try very hard not to let them get our tapes.”

  By the end of the VHS era, even turning zero profit and often losing money on these ventures, a lot of fansubbing groups were already becoming uncomfortable with the scale of their distribution. But they held on to one fact about the medium they worked with.

  Sevakis: “But digital fansubbing was a whole nother ball of wax. That’s when we lost a LOT of VHS era fansubbers, a lot of them just bowed out right then and there.”

  Every time they copied a fansub it degraded the quality of the product. Really, every time you watched a VHS tape, it would degrade the recording. The products they were making wouldn’t last very long, which gave sort of an ephemeral quality to the work they were producing, but that fact started to break down in the digital era. Video files could withstand the test of time, which you may know if you’ve ever posted anything on the internet, and were more easily duplicated and impossible to keep out of the hands of bad actors. Once a fansub was in circulation, not even its creators could stop it from being shared forever.

  Along with the shift in technology that maybe not a lot of the old guard wanted to adopt, most of the early fansubbers hung up their hats and basically disappeared as a new younger “digi-subber” generation rose to replace them. 

  Justin was among the many who stepped back, but later became one of the rare cases who returned to find legitimate work in the anime industry on some realy “Catch Me If You Can” shit. Taking the expertise he developed from his fansubbing days, he now remasters classic anime with Discotek, sometimes working officially on the same anime he was illegally fansubbing over 20 years ago.” 

  Considering the size of the anime industry in the US today, it’s really surprising that so few people made it into the proper industry. Anime was booming in the early 2000s, and with it a growing need for passionate translators, editors, and typesetters. And this is speculation, but it may have been because so many of them already had established careers. Fansubbing wasn’t cheap and translating projects could last years, so maybe some of them took it as a sign to step back and join the rest of the fandom when they started to second guess their hobby. 

  Justin even speaks to a certain sense of intimacy in the fandom that was lost in this age...

  Sevakis: “Even though you might never meet someone in the flesh in distribution, you got a handwritten letter, you had to get a hand filled out money order, people had to take the time to put a stamp on an envelope. Once it became something that you could request from a bot on IRC, you were just a number. It wasn’t the same thing.”

  Whether you liked it or not, IRC and Kazaa represented a golden age of accessibility for anime fans, but the added anonymity would bring with it a lot of new problems that would foreshadow what became known as the dark ages of fansubbing. The era of Anime Junkies. 

  Emerging in the IRC era as a monolith that controlled a huge majority of the fansub market, Anime Junkies was almost the singular group that most people looked to to get their fansubs, and that type of absolute power was destined to corrupt absolutely. As you have seen on T-Shirts.

  As the biggest name in the fansubbing game, Anime Junkies were free to take a lot of liberties with every part of their process. They started tossing inside jokes and bizarre translator notes into their subtitles, and soon they started blurring out the credits in anime openings and endings to include their team handles and the individual fansubbing tasks they performed, which is kinda fucked up. Then they just started outright mistranslating dialogue, most notoriously rewriting a line in Ghost in The Shell Stand Alone Complex describing recent kidnappings as “Mass Naked Child Events.” I- [sigh] Maybe this is just me, but I personally would not want those words on my hands, at all. Just saying them here feels kinda fucked up. I don’t know if I would add that to a thing that I was working on, necessarily.

  But anyway, remember that whole thing about pulling anime once they were officially licensed? Well most companies in the industry were aware of that practice, and one such distributor called Urban Vision wrote a very politely worded email to Anime Junkies claiming they had acquired licenses to Ninja Scroll and asking them to stop hosting downloads of the anime, because that’s just kind of how the early 2000s anime industry worked. Anime Junkies replied with the following, which I will do in my best impression of them and what they sound like:

  Quote: “Leave fansubs to fans or do it for free yourselves. All you’re doing is getting rich off a series we helped make popular.” Cool.

  Quote: “Who the fuck are you anyways to buy a series we were doing?” Seems like a lot. Seems very intense.

  Another quote: “You knew we were subbing, you know people fansub... So why the fuck did you start a DVD company?” Because people start companies? 

  And final quote: “Rot in Hell” That one just seems unnecessary.

  Depending on where you stand in the debate on the ethics of fansubs, those words may or may not resonate with you, but a lot of the community did not approve of that attack on Urban Vision, and just about anyone who interacted with Anime Junkies was kind of tired of their bullshit at this point. The straw that finally broke the camel’s back came when they started ransoming episodes of anime, refusing to release them until arbitrary numbers of new IRC members were met.

  Increasing drama surrounding Anime Junkies eventually lead to a new fracturing of fansubbing groups as individuals with the means either splintered off from Anime Junkies or formed new groups entirely to compete with the infamous organization. That, along with even more decentralized hosting resulting from the rise of Bittorrent in 2003 meant it was even more difficult for one single group to control the content.

  Nowadays a lot of the groups that rose from that fracture are still in operation but, despite the prevalence of pirated anime in the present, fansubbing itself has been on the decline ever since. The 2000s saw a lot of tension between fan communities and distributors, as Dragonball Z and especially the Pokemon boom made anime seem profitable again.

  Anime licenses were getting bought up and fansubs were being made less out of necessity, but either in response to low quality subs released by distributors, or poor adherence to release schedules. Quite simply fansubbers put anime out faster… or at the very least they weren’t replacing Sanji’s cigarette with lollipops and all the surprising number of guns in Yu-Gi-Oh! With pointing fingers. There’s a LOT of guns in Yu-Gi-Oh!, did you know that? I had no idea.

  Then in 2006 came Crunchyroll, which at the time was a… it was not what it is today, I will say that. It essentially served as an illegal anime YouTube, having hosted illegal fansubs for at least the first three years of its existence. That image started to dissolve when it received an investment of $4 million from a venture capital firm, and a year later legitimate licenses to host anime including Naruto, which marked Crunchyroll’s transition into the AT&T owned, legitimate anime licenser and publisher it is today. Its big accomplishment was proving to Japanese licensors the importance of simulcasting anime and driving the entire industry (at least until about 2 years ago) toward closing the window between the Japanese release and the US release of anime.

  Now, with anime streaming services putting out anime within an hour of the original Japanese airing time and with the industry’s standards having shifted toward direct translation over localization, the need for fansubs had effectively dried up. Availability, speed, and quality had all outpaced fansubbers private efforts, and only certain niche series or anime from platforms that push back release dates still offer opportunities for fansubs to provide any real service. Pirates continue their technological advancement to offer their own aggregator streaming sites, but these days most of them source their anime directly from the official licensor rather than from fansubbing sites, often leaving the service’s branded bumper untouched, so is it really illegal? Yeah... yeah, it is.

  So what is fansubbing even good for anymore? I don’t know!

  Sevakis: “Back in the 80s, Suntory, the Japanese whiskey and beer company, they had a cute Sanrio-esque blue penguin mascot. And they made somebody and some point, I wish I knew the full story of this, decided ‘hey, let’s make a movie fo the cute, blue Suntory penguin. But wait a minute, our audience is middle-aged guys, so what do we do with this?’ Somebody made a movie with these little, cute, blue penguins and it is a deadly serious tale about the Vietnam war and PTSD. The first 20 minutes actually takes place in the Vietnam war and the rest is like a badly shell shocked soldier coming back and trying to adjust to American life.

  [“A Tale of Happiness,” from A Penguin’s Memory plays]

  Sevakis: “Except EVERYONE is a little, blue penguin! So the fact that this movie even exists is insane. I was looking at it and I was like ‘god, can we- maybe Discotek can license this?’ I passed it along to Selby at Discotek, and he was just like ‘the owner of this is Suntory? The whiskey company? Who would I even talk to at a whiskey company?’ So… what do you do with that? A fansub group restored it. It’s available online! Somebody uploaded it to YouTube, and now it lives again.There is no possible way that movie could’ve lived again a legal way.”

  Sevakis: “The only fansubs I really take any interest in are of the really, really obscure stuff. And a lot of really old anime, nobody even knows who owns them anymore. And even if a company like Discotek was to go in and try to license something, we’ve been told, quite regularly, ‘we don’t know who owns that, sorry. We can’t help you.’ And so those shows are just in limbo, forever, and unless somebody preserves them, they’re just lost to the sands of time. I still have all the respect in the world for the fansub groups that are preserving those shows, because it’s simply not going to happen any other way. There is no right way of fixing those, because the right way of making those available just doesn’t exist. So what are we supposed to do? Let them die? Let them fade away? That’s not a good option. And I think those fansubs are in that old school spirit of nerds helping nerds, and that’s something I can get behind.”

  The 80s was a tumultuous time in Japan with companies rising, falling, and restructuring daily. Even companies that survived mostly intact have completely lost track of who exactly owns the licenses to series they worked on. So these anime exist in a limbo where it’s impossible to tell who, if anyone, owns the license and established contracts predate even the idea of streaming media. So basically no one knows who owns them. Maybe nobody owns them anymore, I don’t know. They exist in a void where there is no one to license them from, so they’re just kind of fair game? Maybe? Or maybe not. If you’re familiar with a similar controversy around emulation in gaming, there is an entire history that stands to be lost if no efforts are made to preserve the medium and fracturing licenses can present a real obstacle toward that task. For these pieces in particular, there’s nowhere to turn for an English (or sometimes even Japanese) speaking audience except for unofficial sources. 

  Legally it’s about as hairy as a subject can get, but at its heart fansubbing has always been a labor of love. 

  Passionate fans spending their valuable time and often their own money to make sure that others can enjoy the entertainment that’s so meaningful to them. Their contributions to popularizing anime in the 80s and 90s is pretty undisputable, regardless of the legality, and for that they deserve their due respect. The direct influence they had on anime’s presence in this country drove the industry in a very clear way that could never have happened organically, especially if American distributors were left entirely unchecked over the years. It’s hard to imagine what anime on Netflix would even look like if we had continued to allow American producers to impose their own will on Japanese products without really knowing what they were working with, which brings us to the subject of our next episode: Why does everyone seem to hate Harmony Gold so much?

  [Lofi music]

  Thank you for listening to Anime In America, presented by Crunchyroll. If you enjoyed this, please check out Crunchyroll.com/animeinamerica to watch the shows mentioned. The best part is you can do so, for free, with ads. Wow. Free anime. 

  Special thanks to Justin Sevakis from Discotek for sharing his stories, and you’ve heard it before, but please leave us a review and rate us so more people can discover the show, or just share it with a friend. 

  This episode is hosted by me, Yedoye Travis, and you can find me on social media at ProfessorDoye on Instagram and @YedoyeOT on Twitter. This episode was researched and written by Peter Fobian, edited by Chris Lightbody, and produced by me, Braith Miller, Peter Fobian, and Jesse Gouldsbury. 

  Thanks! Aight.

  SOURCES:

  https://github.com/bibanon/bibanon/wiki/The-People's-History-of-Fansubs

  https://honeysanime.com/editorial-tuesday-how-to-anime-fansub/

Anime Junkies

http://shii.bibanon.org/shii.org/knows/Fansubbing.html

Their Letter to Urban Vision

https://www.animenewsnetwork.com/editorial/2003-06-08/2

Fansubber AMA

https://www.reddit.com/r/IAmA/comments/168myn/iama_an_anime_fansubber_for_7_years_and_still/

  https://animesuperhero.com/forums/threads/animejunkies-controversy.3357411/

  By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com

[metamorpheus-blog1]

c h a r a c t e r + q u e s t i o n n a i r e

[ tw for: drug/alcohol use, death, mental illness ] 

Holy shit, why the fuck is this so long

BASICS

Full name: Marcus Christopher Russo

Any nicknames?: Morpheus, Mark, Marky, Russ, plus a slew of unflattering nicknames from old Army buddies that belong solely to that group of people. 

Age: 35 

Birthday/Zodiac sign: May 9th, 1982 // Taurus. Marcus has a majority of the typical Taurus traits: practical, dependable, down to earth. Regardless of his line of work, this isn’t a guy with a hair-trigger temper or the type to get his rocks off on on the violence in what he does, though he does have a very grim self awareness of just what kind of person he has to be to excel without apology at this job. That sense of strong commitment that keeps him nailed down to assignments with single-minded dedication tends to be a double-edged sword in the way it can overwhelm pretty much everything else and push it to the side in favor of finishing the task at hand. He’s the type that really needs and values internal stability in himself and others, which is BIG when it comes to why his lack of it is so self destructive. 

Height: 5′10. Taller guys, don’t talk shit.

Any tattoos, piercings?: 15 y/o Marcus had a bathroom + sewing needle variety of piercing in his left ear that has long since closed up and been forgotten. Cocky young recruit Marcus got the ‘onward to victory’ printed in neat stacked black script on his ribcage, right side, that he shares with three other recruits from his hometown (this phrase picked from several equally dramatic Big Damn Hero quotes they threw around, all freshly eighteen and very full of aspirations of being badasses), and under that, in ascending levels of freshness, are the month/year arrival and return dates for his three deployments. Deployment #1 has one small dot beside it, #3 has two, tallying those in his squadron ‘fallen in line of duty’, as much as he hates that term. There’s no ‘falling’ involved in an IED on the side of the road blasting you straight to hell but - ! Marcus’ bitterness internalized again, we move on to, of course, this classic number on his left forearm. 

FAVORITES

Sound: He likes NYC’s urban flavor of white noise. Anything repetitive without harshness to it: wind chimes, a clock ticking, steady rain. Back when he used to live on the coast in South Carolina, Marcus went in for all those soothing beach sounds, but the bustle on the city streets has its own charm against waves and seagulls. 

Color: Marcus lives in washed out colors, closer to neutrals, with a side of beige and olive green. Even his black is a little less harsh, like a t shirt that’s still being worn years after it’s faded and started collecting holes. His mind is all vibrant orange though, that Mad Max sandstorm orange, Norah’s orange when he thinks of her every time he peels a tangerine, that kind of desert orange that’s still stuck on him after all these years -- even if in the scope of his service, six years in the real world isn’t very long at all. 

Person: He won’t forgive himself if he says Artemis. That’s too much responsibility to put on her shoulders. So maybe not favorite, but most important? That’s pretty hefty too. Whatever it is, Sunny’s calming influence on this guy can’t be overstated. 

Memory: BCT, or basic training. Now listen, a lot of basic is really really shitty. Shitty food, shitty schedule, shitty exercise, the same shitty drills over and over and over every day. You get tear gassed in basic training. You sweat harder than you’ve ever sweat in your life and you go to bed at night absolutely exhausted. But BCT was the first time Marcus actually saw his future falling into place in a way he could be proud of, when he started to figure out his strengths and advance, and where he found people he could relate to and build friendships with. Really, with that in mind, he’d happily take the shitty food again. 

Place: Lmfao his apartment, messy as he and it are on the inside. Always good to have a good secure place to come back to. Weirdly enough though, he is also pretty comfortable with/fond of the Westside Dock, just because of the sheer amount of time he spends camped out there supervising deals from a distance just in case anything goes wrong. Zeus would’ve kept him parked plenty busy on his main trade, but Hades spreads Marcus over more varied tasks, which is what’s led to his familiarity with every boat, rooftop, and shipping container in that yard. He used to frequent the Warehouse with weekly regularity for the good live music, but understandably some work disagreements have rendered that a no-go zone.

Vice: He’s got the holy trio of Drugs, Booze, and Cigarettes going on, but in light of Madi’s favorite vice mini-meme I’m going to go with his complete lack of any sort of positive coping mechanisms or drive to start trying to develop them. Marcus’ constant self-reassurance is ‘it could be so much worse stop being a whiny bitch’, even the very middle of a panic attack, so shout out to that toxic suck-it-up type of masculinity the Army cultivates along with an unhealthy dose of ‘mental illness isn’t that extreme’ mentality. Keep tellin yourself that, bud.

HAVE THEY EVER…

Been in love?: Yes, in both the high school puppy variety and his one experience in slow-burning, real n’ deep adult love. 

Done drugs?: Oh yeah, and a pretty big variety. Marcus’ hard limit is anything requiring a needle, he knows just how easy it is to fall headlong into addiction with something that potent. Most of his heaviest various drug use was high school and right after his discharge, but he’s settled into a routine of pot whenever the opportunity shows itself and the rare bump of cocaine when he really really needs it. The latter tends to allow him to get what he needs done done, but it understandably sends his mental state straight to shit in the fallout, not to mention it’s an expensive for a picker-upper.  Cocaine is down as something that happens a handful of times a year, maybe. Doing a line is, in his mind, a lot less extreme than shooting something up straight to your veins. Marky’s pretty willfully blind to the fact that something you snort can be just as addictive as something you inject. 

Killed someone?: 

Marcus isn’t really keeping track of that number anymore. There’s a lot of the emotional part of his psyche that gets turned off for this process -- it’s not a person, it’s not murder, it’s a mission, you get it done clean and fast and you get out. Never think of a mark as an individual, complex human being. You’re screwed the second you do.

Betrayed someone’s trust?: Not on the scale of large deceptions. Eurydice might just count, positive and unsuspecting enough as their interactions were before Cronus’ order came down and Marcus had a hit to carry out. But, he reasons, it is the mob. Their definition of trust stands on shaky ground. And thinking that, it’s hard for him to resist the urge to just laugh at how malformed his morality has gotten these past few years.

Had their heart broken?: I mean, yeah, but he did it his damn self and he still thinks it was the right thing. Ending the engagement would never hurt as much as going through with it and waking up twenty years down the road, miserably unhappy. Norah is the closest he’s ever gotten to feeling truly understood but shackling her to his troubled ass would only bog her down and foster a resent towards him he could honestly never hypothetically blame her for feeling. We’ll call it heart break in the name of the greater good. 

Lost someone?: Everyone in the combat zone has a story about losing someone, but Marcus never felt his squad buddies were so close to him he had that kind of ownership over their lives to say they were someone he’d ‘lost’. No close family members dead either, Norah might be something closer to loss if their split hadn’t been his choice. So no, there’s no one he’s mourning, just some still strangely vacant spaces in his mental roster and more than enough persistent ghosts left in his memories.

DO THEY…

Have any pets?: Nope, though he is very firmly a dog person.

Have a family they still talk to?: Yes, but he’s not overly fond of doing it, #1 Son of the Year. Maria and Randy are still firmly parked in Newburgh and it’s honestly just depressing to him to call home and visualize them sitting in the same shitty house on the same shitty couch living the same aimless repetitive lives. 

Have a best friend?: It’s tempting to say Artemis again, real tempting in the kneejerk way, but he’s got way too much insecurity around their relationship and how much pressure his problems can put on a person once they’re close enough to know about them to weigh her down with best friend, if that’s even the phrase for what their relationship is. He’s not about to try and compete with the likes of Apollo and Dionysus either, not when he knows how much they both mean to her. 

Want to get married and/or have kids?: Oh boy. Well, there’s a difference between wanting it and actually pursuing it. Marcus is of the give-your-kids-a-better-life-than-you mentality and he doesn’t think he could do that now that he’s pretty deep in an illegal lifestyle. As for marriage, we all know about his track record with that. 

Want to leave?: He might, if he had any idea of where else he could go without immediately falling into the mental Pit of Despair. NYC has pretty much everything keeping him somewhat together. 

THIS OR THAT?

CALL OR TEXT; texting is convenient but there’s too much in tone and word choice left up for interpretation and it can turn into a liability when he’s got time-sensitive information he needs to know. Marcus almost always calls, especially if it’s about a job; texting is for sharing contact information or an address, or more casual ‘off-duty’ plans.

WEALTH OR LOYALTY; loyalty wins out, but just barely. Wealth is mighty tempting to someone who’s never had it, but at the same time, he’s never had it. When it comes down to choosing one or the other, wealth is the one he’s most capable of living without (no matter how sweet it would be to have). There’s the added fact that genuine excessive wealth makes him almost uncomfortable?? There’s the conspicuous feeling off a sign taped to his back that tells more bougie people ‘this man considers Kraft the superior kind of cheese’ and that’s not gonna change if he suddenly pulls the winning lotto ticket at the minimart below his apartment. 

LOVE OR LUST; not that Marcus is some heartbroken cynic cruising bars every night, but lust is easy and manageable and the occasional one night stand gets lost in the big city without any of those pesky loose ends; it’s been six years and the soreness of parting ways with Norah isn’t so fresh he feels her absence like he did first time he went home with a girl in NYC. He’s not about to entertain any fantasies of romance. The pool of people with shared life experience, or at least similar enough experiences to understand, is... small, to say the least. Why rope some poor unsuspecting soul into his personal whirlpool of bullshit? 

5 FRIENDS OR 100 ACQUAINTANCES; that’s a lot closer to his situation now, Marcus doesn’t tend to accumulate close friends, or at least semi-purposefully he doesn’t. He’s good at that kind of (surprisingly) pleasant, simple interaction that tends to fix a version of himself in people’s minds that doesn’t invite further speculation or questions (though if you ask, he’ll nine times out of ten be an open book). What you see with Mark is what you get, unless you stumble into or purposefully try for something deeper. 

SUMMER OR WINTER; you’d think summer, considering Marcus’ open air approach to his apartment (though that’s more of a claustrophobia thing than anything else), but he finds winter a lot more manageable and he’s had more than enough time in the Middle East to properly enjoy heat, even though going outside when it’s warm and he isn’t wearing 60 pounds of gear is a little treasure in itself. People are easier to track during winter too, their patterns are more predictable, there’s less roaming outside when it’s fuckin cold. 

OTHERS:

Wanted plots/connections: will be linked soon!

[beardedd0nut]

Ze big apple

Dear lord has day one been jam packed full of shenanigans in this awesome city. Shenanigans and mild amounts of pain... I thought I'd take a quick stroll around town to get my bearings but it ended up being much longer than anticipated in both length and distance, but more on that soon. The day began with a trip up to broadway to obtain the coveted (and by coveted I mean the thing that's getting me in to a lot of stuff for free) New York pass. I probably can't stress enough just how much this thing can help you on your travels. It contains free or discounted entry to some of the major attractions in New York and if you're spending the time here, it's probably worth picking one up. Then in the distance I saw a familiar signage. A little fat baker with the name Carlo's scrawled across the side. Could it really be the famed cake boss franchise here in manhattan? It was. So nearest I travelled to try one of the fabled delicacies. A lobster tail. Not an actual lobster tail, that would be a weird choice for breakfast. It's pretty much a cream filled piece of puff pastry dusted in caster sugar. The first bite was amazing, an explosion of sweetness that whisks you into an instant sugar high. Then about half way through you realise there is some strange coating on your tongue. Personally I think it is the impending diabeetus but it's probably just all the cream and pastry melting in your mouth. All in all a mighty fine breakfast treat to start the day. Plus you can really understand how buddy and the others became such fat fucks if they had to taste test it all. I've noticed on these recent travels that the Americans have seemingly learnt from us upper class Aussies and decided that milk should in fact go with coffee. It helps, I wasn't ready for cream in coffee, then again no one is. A quick stroll down to grand central station followed. I did intend on buying a ticket then no there but the staff didn't give two shits about helping me out. However while contemplating wether or not to put off getting a ticket I looked up and realised that the roof of grand central shows constellations in the night sky. I can't remember if I noticed it last time or not but it took me back a little. There were even small holes to let the light shine through and look like stars. A few blocks, and I mean closer to 20 blocks later I found myself standing at the doorway to the museum of sex. You could see inside, something I didn't think would be possible due to the adult nature of the exhibit. This immediately made it fell less creepy than I had expected it to. Checking my backpack however was a seedy experience going down into a creepy ass basement type place. Anyway the exhibits inside were really quite interesting. The bar held information about the disco scene and how it acted as somewhat of a liberation front for people in the 70's from Both a cultural and sexual way. Upstairs saw the first glimpse of sex objects. A wall of toys and historic artefacts gathered by the museum to show the ways in which our pop culture and sexual sensibilities have become intwined. For some reason a little mermaid song just popped into my head but more along the lines of: " I wanna know where the dildos are. Wanna see dolls, wanna see em blown up." Anyway the first floor is I think what most people are expecting, and therefore a great way in which to break the tension in some sense. The second floor is taken up in part by an exhibit about animals sexual behaviour in both the wild and in captivity. It's quite facilitating to read and see all about the ways different species condone or maneuver around the topic of sex. And the ways they go about it. For instance there is a breed of duck with a penis that's 14inches in length, better hung than all of humanity. Also there was a sculpture of a dolphin sticking its dick in the blowhole of another dolphin. It was an absolute pisser. The second half of the floor was dedicated to how it is "hardcore" art and porn became a mainstay within modern society. From the Victorian era up till the 70's and 80's and even earlier the tabooness of it all is somewhat integral to understanding society's current views around the topic. The last floor just had some weird art from unknowns and disturbed individuals. There's a store as well if you feel like picking up some gear, but I'll let you decide if that's something you'd wanna do. My final thing to say about it would be that whilst the museum is in fact about sex, it's about much more. It's there to show the liberation and help understand the social and sexual constructs we live in today. Whilst relating ours to that of animals seems far fetched, it is also easy to see that in some ways there is a lot to learn. Around this of leaving my legs began to ache, but I persisted on walking in the city. I just really enjoyed it. It's been a while since I've really been able to get a stroll on and I quite enjoyed it. I wound up at MOMA and it wasn't as grasping as the last time I was there. I felt like the exhibits had lost something, or maybe I wasn't the person they were aimed at. There were still some great works of art, but the air of pretension and wank was hard to avoid, like a lingering fart in tropical heat. Anywhoo a power nap later and I was off to see school of rock. It mimics the film pretty well, and I totally didn't realise that it came about through Andrew loyd Webber. Good fun for the whole family, but I felt like it could have done with just a little more jack black in it. The kids talents were amazing and just made me jealous of a bunch of ten year olds. I hopped down the subway and was greeted by a band playing jazz in the underground. It was really quite incredible. They were all masters of their craft and gelled perfectly with each other swinging between each members own solo. I had to pull myself away before I wound up staying there all night to watch these magicians create such wonderful music. Having ended the night with a slice of 99cent pizza, I now lie in bed ready to make tomorrow a much more chilled out day and evening as I can already feel the aches set in. Toodleoo and I'll catch you all in the next post.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Binary Star

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jaebum / Mark

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3,790

Summary: “In some cases, these close binary systems can exchange mass, which may bring their evolution to stages that single stars cannot attain.”

You and Jaebum have been dating forever when Mark Tuan shows up in your classroom. You’ve always been against change - a bit debilitating, being a writer - but for some reason this new kid has you thinking there might be an upside to chaos. 

“What word rhymes with Jerusalem?”

Without looking up from your book, you shake your head. “No.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You sigh, setting book down and looking at your boyfriend. “Why do you need to rhyme Jerusalem at all?”

Jaebum shrugs. “I’m trying for a religious theme … in a worship kind of way. Not in an I-actually-attend-church-and-sit-in-a-pew kind of way.”

“Still.” You hide your smile. “Maybe take that bit out. Also, Hozier already wrote that song.” As you resume reading, a guitar pick hits you in the forehead. “Hey!”

Jaebum jumps on the bed, arms wrapping around your middle as he nuzzles into your neck. “You’re disturbing my creative writing process.” He growls, nipping your ear.

You swat him with both hands. “I was in the middle of a battle! Thanks to you, they probably lost the war.”

“My bad.” Jaebum kisses your forehead.  “Apologize for me, will you?” He pushes himself upwards, grabbing his guitar before scooting back to drape your legs over his.

You snuggle into him. “Yeah, yeah. Gillian is an unforgiving heroine though.”

Jaebum smiles and resumes strumming. His brow creases, fingers faltering as he strikes the wrong chord. The pick goes back in his mouth as he bends to scribble something. Without quite realizing it, your book lowers to the bed.

It’s still shocking that you’re dating. 

Have been for three years now. Jaebum could have chosen anyone, so why he chose you is still a mystery. He has this way about him. You don’t know if you’d call it charm, exactly. It’s more an aura he has, a way of presenting himself that makes people want to know him.

People, including you. In freshmen year Jaebum was the guy every girl had a crush on. He was cool, talented and lead singer of his band. Oh, and he was hot as hell. When Jaebum made eye contact, girls practically melted into puddles.

On Saturday nights he played at your local coffee shop. Which meant that every Saturday night, you attended the same local coffee shop. You brought your homework in the guise of being studious but really you just liked looking at him. Listening to his voice for two hours a week. It didn’t matter much that he wasn’t yours, just having him nearby was enough.

Until he noticed you.

You’d been going to Jaebum’s shows for a while at that point, two months at least. The band was taking a break – you heard Jaebum mutter something into the mic about getting water before he hopped offstage. The shop’s soundtrack resumed, as did the chatter of customers.

You continued to work on your geometry homework.

“Acute.” Jaebum said as he flopped into the seat across from you.

You froze.

“It’s an acute angle,” Jaebum repeated, pulling your paper to face him.

You lifted your head to look at him. “I know that.”

“Well you hadn’t answered the question.”

“I was getting there.” You frowned, glancing at your paper, then back to him. “Don’t you have a show to do?”

“Why?” Jaebum grinned. “Missing my music?”

The blush on your face was unavoidable. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, you didn’t. But you’ve been here every night.” At your noise of protest, Jaebum laughed. “What, you think I haven’t noticed?”

“I – well.” You huffed, sunk lower in your chair. “No, I didn’t.”

“And why not?”

“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious… but between the two of us, I’m not the one people are looking at.”

Jaebum just smiled. “I’m looking at you. Doesn’t that count?”

The starkness of his statement left you speechless. “Well.” You cleared your throat. “You’d be the only one, then.”

Jaebum opened his mouth to say more but a voice came on over the loudspeakers. “Jaebum to the stage, please. Jaebum to the stage.” His bass player, Brian replaced the microphone, turning to laugh at something their drummer said.

“That’s my cue.” Jaebum pushed himself to stand. Before leaving he hovered, looking almost hesitant for a moment. “Can I call you?”

You answered so quickly, you thought he’d missed it. “Yes.”

“Great.” Jaebum turned to hide his smile. “See you after the show, then.”

You saw him after that show. And after the next. Pretty soon the two of you were inseparable, rarely one name mentioned without the other. His hand fit in yours, his thoughts fit with yours. For the next three years, everything you did was by his side.

“Stop staring,” Jaebum grumbles from beneath his hair.

You scoot closer. “As your girlfriend, it’s my right to stare.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s that written?”

“The official relationship handbook. Written by God, penned by me.”

Jaebum snorts. “Sounds like a best seller.”

“That’s the plan.” Your thoughts wander as you glance through your book. “Did you know she wrote this when she was twenty four?” Your fingers trace the cover. “Crazy.”

“Mm?” Jaebum looks up. “Really?”

“Yeah. Twenty four and already published.” You sigh. “That’s the dream,”

“Lucky. That’s all.” Jaebum strikes a new chord. “There are plenty of talented people, Y/N. Its luck who makes it and who doesn’t.”

“Well fuck.” You flop onto the comforter. “Guess I should kiss all my dreams goodbye then – when have I ever been lucky?” You’re half hoping Jaebum doesn’t hear you but he does. Of course he does. You listen to Jaebum setting his guitar down.

“Hey.” His hand slips beneath your shirt to trace circles on your back “You’re forgetting one very crucial, third element.”

“Oh really?” You know he’s just bullshitting now, but still you smile. “What’s that?”

“Hard work.” Jaebum gently kisses the top of your head. “You’re dedicated and persistent, Y/N. With that, there’s nothing you can’t do.”

You flip over to face him. “But…?”

Jaebum’s eyes flicker. “But… maybe you should think about if you really want this.”

You push yourself to sit, letting his hand fall from your back. “What?” Being a writer is all you’ve ever wanted. Ever since you discovered the stories you dreamt of could be placed on paper. “Of course I want this.”

Jaebum’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I just worry,” he sighs. “You care so much Y/N – which is amazing, but it means you get hurt. When you’re a writer you’ll have to deal with a lot of rejection. I don’t know if you’ve thought that through.”

“I’ve thought about it.”

“I know.” Jaebum frowns. “But have you ever stopped to think why you’re doing this? What if... the thing you’ve been dreaming of, the thing you’ve wanted your whole life, turns out to be nothing more than a pipe dream?”

Somewhere in his sentences, Jaebum has stopped looking at you. He’s staring down at his legs – staring at himself. Some of your anger dissipates when you wonder if he’s still talking about you. 

You scoot closer. “I don’t think luck is as important as you think it is.”

“No?”

You slowly shake your head. “I think some people are born to succeed.”

As this he looks at you and, for just a second you see the Jaebum the rest of the world doesn’t. The Jaebum that even you only glimpse occasionally. The Jaebum not in control, the one seeking approval as much as you do.

Maybe even more so.

Your hands find his hair, twining strands between your fingertips. “I will be a writer,” you say. “Just like you will be a musician.”

A smile crosses his lips. “Stop reading my mind. It’s scary.”

“This is what happens when you’re old and married.” Flopping down across his lap, you draw your book into your arms. “Now let me finish in peace.”

Jaebum laughs. “But you were the one staring at me!”

“Shh, you’re delusional.”

“Crazy woman.”

“Madman.”

“Your madman.”

You slide down farther, allowing your book to grab you one more. “If you say so.”

Later that night Jaebum’s words revisit you. Despite your assurances otherwise, you do worry about the things he said. You worry you’re not good enough. You worry you’ll fail. You worry you won’t be able to pick yourself up when you do.

It’s Jaebum that keeps you awake, though. His voice repeating that one insecurity over and over. 

What if this is all just a pipe dream? 

School has only been in session for about a week, a short enough period where students are still excited about going and girls still care what they wear. You picked out your clothing last night: black skinny jeans, white tank and grey cardigan. You swing your messenger bag higher in the mirror, straightening your hair in an attempt at decency.

“Yuck.” Your younger brother, Robbie watches from your doorway. 

Robbie is a junior and going through that phase where anything involving his older sister is of limited interest to him. Knowing this, you grin. “Robbie! You want a hug?”

Robbie vehemently shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Just one? C’mon, your face says you want a hug.”

When you hold out your arms, Robbie yelps. “BACK, WENCH!” His backpack bangs against his sides as he runs away.

You follow, laughing as your own feet thud down the staircase. At the bottom you grab the car keys, tugging on your jacket. “Mom, Robbie and I are leaving!”

“Okay!” Your mom pops her head from her office to wave. “Drive safe.”

“As always. C’mon Squirtle.” 

Robbie groans, brushing past you to the car. “Don’t call me that.”

“Squirtle.”

“Rollie.”

“Hey!” You punch him in the arm. “Squirtle is because you looked like an adorable cartoon as a child. Mine is because I had seriously chubby cheeks.”

Robbie sticks out his tongue and you continue to bicker all the way to school, teasing in the way that only siblings can. In the parking lot you fall silent, stepping from your car to slam its door. “Another year,” you sigh at the brick stone before you.

“At least it’s your last.” Robbie yanks his backpack higher.

“Yeah. I guess.”

Rather than excitement, the thought fills you with panic. You know high school. You understand high school. You get good grades, are well-liked and things come fairly easily. College is a whole different ball game – one where you’ll be on the losing end. At least at first.

You hate losing.

Of course, this all assumes you actually get into college. Which is what this fall is about.

“Robbie!”

One of his friends calls and Robbie nods, punching you on the shoulder. “See ya.”

You wave goodbye, watching him disappear before heading to your own locker. Five minutes until first bell; just enough time to put your things away and head to science. 

You wave at Maddie as you enter, plopping down in the seat beside her. When you yawn she laughs, holding out a thermos of coffee. “Still not a morning person?”

You accept the gesture, sliding lower in your seat. “I’ll be awake around ten, thanks.”

Maddie grins. “Nothing exciting ever happens before then, anyways. You’re not missing out.”

As though on cue, the classroom door opens. Someone you don’t recognize steps inside and slowly, you lower your mug. 

The guy is of medium height, with ashy blonde hair and delicate features. You realize you’re staring when Maddie pokes you, hard in the ribs.

“Hey,” she hisses. “I don’t know him. Do you know him?”

You shake your head. “No. Maybe he’s new.”

“A new kid?” Maddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Excellent. It’s been boring around here.”

You laugh as you look away. “Clearly, you’re too relaxed about college if you’re bored. Want me to read some of your essays?”

“Yikes, no.” She grimaces. “Maybe you’re too worried, Y/N. You have a perfect grade point average, a crazy score on the ACT and can basically get into any college you want. What’s the problem?”

From the corner of your eye you watch the new kid take a seat. “I don’t know. What if it’s still not enough?”

“Well. Is college really what you want, then?”

Her words echo Jaebum’s and for some reason your stomach clenches. Before you can open your mouth to respond, the bell rings.

“Good morning, students!” Mr. Davis takes his place at the front of the classroom.

You shrug and face forward. Saved by the bell. Maybe it’s silly, but you don’t want to talk about the future Saying it out loud makes it’s real. Means you’ll have to think about the words which have been buzzing in your brain all morning.

You twirl your pencil, lost in your own world as a new voice speaks. Blinking, you realize the teacher has asked the new kid to introduce himself.

“Hi, I’m Mark.”

He’s even better looking than you thought. Mark has those delicate, elfin sort of features which could easily look silly but on him, look like a model. Mark seems like he doesn’t belong in a classroom, that’s for sure. He should be on billboards or magazines, somewhere for the world to appropriately ogle his bone structure.

Mr. Davis flips over a piece of paper on his desk. “Where are you from, Mark?”

“Los Angeles.”

Mr. Davis doesn’t ask for elaboration, merely nodding for Mark to sit down. You aren’t surprised by this – Mr. David is blunt, as far as teachers go.

What is surprising is that you find yourself wondering. Where Mark is from, how he got here. Odd - you push these thoughts away.

The rest of the period goes by surprisingly fast. As you gather your things to leave, Maddie resumes talking. It appears she’s forgotten about her earlier question, which makes you grateful. She talks all the way to your next class, which is history - one of your favorites.

Mr. Heughan is one of those rare teachers who somehow never lost their passion for inspiring others. It’s why he’s your favorite – and why history is somehow enjoyable with him at the helm. Mr. Heughan is sitting at his desk when you enter, feet propped on the filing cabinet.

He waves happily. “Welcome!”

“Good morning, Mr. Heughan.”

You take a seat at the front of the classroom, organizing your pencils in a row on your desk. Black, blue, grey. There are still a few minutes until the next bell so you pull out your notebook, continuing the next chapter sketch you’re working on.

About a minute later, something hits your foot – a pen. As you bend to pick it up, your fingers brush someone else’s and you jerk backwards. Deep brown eyes meet yours, a sheepish expression crossing the face of Mark Tuan. He takes the pen from your grasp. “Thanks.”

Setting the utensil on his desk, he faces the chalkboard. The whole encounter takes less than a minute. 

When the bell rings, Mr. Heughan stands. “Good morning! As many of you know, we have a new student in class. Please give a warm welcome to Mark Tuan.” Mark flushes as Mr. Heughan sits on the edge of his desk. “Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?”

Mark nods. “I’m Mark. I’m from L.A.”

Mr. Heughan smiles patiently. “And that’s all that you are?”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s all that you are,” Mr. Heughan repeats, hopping off his desk. “Mark Tuan, from L.A. If I were to write this in a history book – would you be satisfied?”

“Well… no.”

“Good!” Your teacher smiles. “Now Mark. What is it that makes you tick – what makes you, you?”

Mark pauses. “Well, my dad is in the military, so we’ve moved around a lot. I was at my last school for three years – the longest I’ve ever been in one place.”

“Good.” Mr. Heughan nods. “All facts, though.”

“I’m an adrenaline junkie.” Mark shakes his head, embarrassed by his sudden declaration. “I, uh do a lot of high intensity sports, activities. Anything that makes me feel alive.” His jaw snaps shut, as though he’s said too much.

“Interesting.” Mr. Heughan nods. “Welcome, Mark! Now if you could just refrain from trying any of those high risk activities in my class, I would be eternally grateful.”

Mark smiles awkwardly. “Right.”

At your giggle he looks over, eyes connecting with yours.  “Sorry,” you mouth. Suddenly compelled, you bend to scribble something on your sheet of paper. Mark watches, gaze warm on the back of your neck.

And then you’re sliding him the note, slipping it onto his desk and facing forward. Thankfully Mr. Heughan doesn’t see – he’s notoriously strict about students paying attention. You’re not sure what possessed you to do it, actually. Writing notes in class is very unlike you.

The paper lands on your desk.

Your own words are first: Don’t be too embarrassed – he makes everyone do that on the first day!

Beneath that, Mark has scribbled. Hm. Well, what did you say?

When you look up he’s not looking at you. Eyes studiously copying notes from the blackboard, though you spot a small smile at the edge of his mouth. Your pencil finds the paper.

I told him I’m a writer. Though apparently I lacked gusto, so he made me shout it five times from his window.

When Mark reads this, he snorts. 

Mr. Heughan turns around. “Correct, Mr. Tuan!” He wipes a hand on the leg of his pants. “Napoleon was a very amusing figure. Now tell us three other facts about Napoleon Bonaparte to ruminate on.”

To your surprise, Mark answers. Mr. Heughan seems surprised as well, happily writing them down on the board.  Mark look at you with a slightly smug smile and you roll your eyes, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

He doesn’t return your note. 

At the end of class, Mr. Heughan faces the class.  “Don’t forget next Wednesday is our field trip to the History museum. You must bring your signed permission slip or you won’t be allowed to board the bus. That’s all! Read chapters 10 and 11 by Monday.”

Mark Tuan is the first to leave but before he does, he drops a folded piece of paper on your desk. When you look up he’s already gone, absorbed into the crowd of people. You unwrinkle his note and stand, smoothing it over your pencil case as you exit.

Silly of him. Not all passion is loud.

You’re re-reading this when you reach your locker. Distracted enough for Jaebum to slip behind you and wrap his arms around your waist. “Hey.”

“Hey!” You whirl, heart pounding – which is crazy, since you haven’t done anything wrong. You shove Mark’s note into your pocket, smiling brightly. “What’s up?”

Jaebum’s brows quirk. “Not much. You?”

“There’s a new kid in school,” you say, opening your locker. “Not much else.”

“Ah, yeah. Brian mentioned. A military brat, right?”

“Something like that.” Pulling your books out, you shut your locker door. “So are you and the band ready for next week’s gig?”

“If by ready, you mean nauseatingly nervous then yeah – super ready.”

You laugh and slide a finger through the loop of his jeans. “You’ll be wonderful. You always are.”

Jaebum pushes a hand through his hair, clearly still worried. You press a kiss to his lips, meaning to reassure him until he kisses back. Your pulse thuds as what started off as gentle turns to something else. Jaebum leans forward, hand reaching for the wall –

And the locker door next to you slams shut.

Jaebum jerks back, your face hot as your head turns to the side. You really shouldn’t be surprised when you find Mark staring back at you. His eyes connect with yours before moving to Jaebum.

“Mark!” Quickly you disentangle yourself. “This is my boyfriend, Jaebum.”

Mark’s face remains expressionless. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Jaebum stares back.

“Right.” There’s a pause, one made even longer by the fact that you can’t think of a single thing to say. You open your mouth, unsure what’s going to come out when the bell rings. Your next class isn’t even close to here. Giving Jaebum a kiss on the cheek, you wave. “Catch you both later!”

You can’t help but look over your shoulder as you round the corner. Neither Jaebum nor Mark is there anymore though, so you shake your head to face forward. It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself – Jaebum doesn’t have to like your friends. Your friends don’t have to like Jaebum. 

Still. 

The rest of the day slips by uneventfully, until your last class. Creative writing, also known as the reason why you never skip out early. Of course Mark Tuan is in this class, too. He’s already seated when you enter, slumped in a corner to stare out the window. 

You slide into the spot beside him. “What did your note mean?”

Mark turns. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Huh?”

“’Not all passion is loud,’” you quote. “What did you mean by it?”

“What I said.” Mark shrugs. “Some people show love through actions. Just because you don’t yell about being a writer doesn’t mean you’re not one.”

You think about this, turning his words over in your mind. Then you laugh. “In one sentence, you made about sixty percent of my anxieties disappear.”

“Only sixty?” Mark relaxes, a smile spreading across his face.

“Well, the other forty percent are pretty well seated. It would take more than a sentence to get rid of them.”

When Mark laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Adversity breeds creativity. Let that forty percent simmer Y/N, it’s good for your soul.”

“Huh.” You tilt your head. “I don’t think I told you my name.”

Mark’s eyes move to the corner of the room, the desk – anywhere but you.  “Uh, no. I asked someone.”

“Did you, now?”

He turns to face you, eyes rolling at your smile. “Don’t be too flattered. I needed to know whose life I changed with my stellar advice, that’s all.”

“Oh, sure.” You’re unable to keep from laughing. “I’ll be sure to dedicate a page in my first novel to you in thanks.”

“Just one page? My advice was worth at least a foreword.”

“Life is pain, Mark.”

Before you can say more the bell rings and you reluctantly face forward. Today’s prompt is already written on the board and you grab your pencil, tapping its lead point against your chin.

In 1,000 words or less, write about a time you experienced doubt or anxiety.

You snort, glancing over at Mark. If only there wasn’t a word limit.

[Master List]

Playlist: Young Blood, The Naked and Famous; Aquaman, Walk the Moon; Sweet Disposition, The Temper Trap; Hold Back the River, James Bay; Reckless Love, Bleachers

[lysitheaioandeuropa]

Lavender: Name something that relaxes you. movie days in my apt with a big cup of coffee or iced tea. going to target. hanging out at Marshalls. the bookstore (not going there again tho bc embarrassed myself in front of the cashier last week & now she probably thinks i’m a creep)

Polaroid: Post a picture that makes you feel good about yourself. I never feel good about myself, lmao. but i did take a cute picture this weekend and my butt looks nice, I’ll post it later

Vinyl: What is some of your favorite music? I rly do listen to everything but country music. this weekend though i threw the fuck down to some MK though, highlight of the night (along w zed’s dead & a&b).

Incense: List your three favorite scents. lavender vanilla, that stress-free shit from bath & body works, that sleep shit from bath and body works.

Roots: How do you ground yourself or recharge? uhhh, buddy??? lmao. i’m never grounded or recharged!!!!! i try by taking the time to do things i think i’ll enjoy, but that ends up being very overwhelming.

Silk Sheets: Any ways you treat or spoil yourself? i but myself macaroons when i go to home goods. sometimes if i have extra money i go get a pedicure. i try to shower every day and moisturize (no it’s not lack of hygiene sharon, its depression). 

Paintbrushes: Do you have a creative past-time? i used to sketch daily and i had been making major improvements until my mom threw out my sketchbook and i haven’t seriously drawn anything since.

Scars: Share something difficult you've been through. i have plenty traumatic stories, but rn i’m just trying to stay alive tbh.

Rainstorms: What helps you fall asleep? not sure, summer started my sleeping outta wack already 

Bones: Name one strength and one weakness. i can be persistent and can REALLY get shit done if i dedicate the time and effort to it. it takes A LOT of energy to do that successfully though i drop shit halfway through all the time (mental illness is rly my only weakness)

Teacups: Favorite beverages? iced tea, water, and coffee

Sealing Wax: Have you ever received a letter or written one to someone else? i have done both

Dragons: What makes you feel powerful, what breathes life into you? a day where i’m not plagued by BPD; it’s been rough the past couple years

Soup: Comfort food? there’s no food that rly comforts me bc usually feel like shit after having it...but i guess mike & ike, macaroons more lately bc not as bad as candy though

The Moon: What's your favorite thing to do at night? try and organize my thoughts, they’ve been getting back to being more like static in my head lately

Klosh: If you could go back to any three era's what would they be? there haven’t been any good eras for afro-latinas to go back to

Lace: Your favorite things to wear? sweaters/windbreakers, leggings, workout shorts, long sleeves

Pocketwatch: If you could be immortal or have an extremely long life span what would you pick and why? i think immortal (under the condition that i get to stop aging at about 27) bc i wouuld literally have alllll the time in the world to do everything i ever wanted i would learn so much wow, and if i ever wanted to die then fine, i’d figure out how to handle that, but after living for a couple hundred years.

Honeybee: Name something positive you have done for yourself or someone else in the last two weeks. in the last two weeks??? uhh, idk. i took myself to SMF even though i wasn’t rly excited for it initially. i was nice to michelle at work? 

Typewriter: If you had to come up with ten words to describe your life story so far, what would they be? being depressed really sucks, but i am trying my hardest.

Blue Hair Dye: One thing you like about your appearance? most days i hate the body i’m in, but some days i realize its actually not all bad, and could be even better once i figure out how to best take care of it all over again.

Felines: Something that makes you feel better after a hard day? coming home knowing i dont got shit to do the following day

Poetry: If you have one, name a favorite book or poem. howl by allen ginsberg, any book by cassandra clare