#no offense but your music taste is so under stimulating i kind of. want to tear my eyes out. is that meat viscera gorecoded boy rage enough

[ssteeltwigzz]

See a viscera playlist: Yahoo! Songs about tearing apart!

[Open the playlist. Underwhelming pop music about giving away your body in the name of love. Close playlist.]

[actiniumwrites]

Uhm hello! This may be my second time writing this since I'm not sure if Tumblr accidentally deleted it or sent it. But feel free to delete this if it was already sent! Congratulations on your milestone, by the way!

I go by many aliases... But let's use "Atropa". As for my personality... Hmm... I'm quite clumsy, and my head is always on the clouds. People often have a common first impression of me. I'm often mistaken to be smart. If anything, I'm more creative than smart. People often say that I'm quite mysterious. One even claimed that amid a crowd, I seemed like I was wrapped under the cloak of mystery. In truth, I just struggle with socializing. It's quite difficult for me to form bonds, but if I do manage to form a bond, expect me to be willing to do everything for those I hold dear. I'll be the shoulder to cry on, the ear that would listen to your woes, the willing audience who'd cheer and appreciate your every work. And though people mostly see me as a kind girl, I have reportedly made my friends want to slap me off the face of the earth with just one smug smile thrown their way. I will take every opportunity to tease my loved ones with great pleasure (keeping boundaries in mind though!) I'm also quite passionate to the point that I'm vulnerable to it. Speaking of, I love to read a variety of books. From children's fairytales to encyclopedias of history. I love to write stories and poetry. As for my hobbies; I read, write, dance, draw, listen to music... Basically, anything that stimulates the creative side of my brain, I'll do it. My biggest passion is writing and acting. In fact, I may be a perfectionist about it and have gone through phases that caused... Quite the destruction to my health. I like creativity, romance (in an artistic sense), birds (especially the birds of the Corvidae family), and aesthetics. As for dislikes, any textures, taste, or smell that feels off. I also dislike the lack of consideration and offensive people. I never gave my romantic ideals much thought but.. Maybe my ideal date would be stargazing with my lover, fingers intertwined. Maybe some romantic decors to set the mood here and there. I don't mind if I'm either matched with a male or a female, but I'm leaning on male.

As for the optional ones.. I'm an INFP-T. I kin Ei, Ayaka, Tighnari, Xingqiu, and Yunjin. I never took the time to think about my ideal type, so there's that!

Apologies if this ended up too long.. I wish you a bright journey throughout your writing endeavors, and please take care!

I MATCH YOU WITH . . .

AYATO!

TROPE: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS

ayato and you had grown up side by side; childhood friends were what some called it

the moment you had met, it was like an instant click. the friendship you had was so special

it could be teasing, but also so full of love and care. throughout the years, many older people had always teased the two of you about getting married in the future or how they could already see the blooming feelings

one of the things ayato appreciated most about you was your sense of care. he had been through so much: losing his parents, taking over the clan, becoming a prominent figure of inazuma

yet, you had been with him through it all. he cried with you, cuddled with you, laughed with you, cooked with you. hell, you even lived with him by the time you were old enough

by the time you were both in your 20s and everything was all good with the clan and work, it was like you had been dating the entire time

tonight was special, anyone could feel that. the air was a perfect mix of being warm and cool, the stars were bright, there was tons of laughter and strong smells of wonderful food drifting through the air of inazuma

you and ayato were sitting outside side by side the estate in a comfortable silence, absorbing the commotion from the city around you

suddenly, his hand slipped into yours and his head was leaning against your shoulder. ayato shut his eyes and breathed out gently:

“i’m in love with you. i always have been, and i don’t want to waste anymore time pretending there’s nothing between us.”

[lonely-kitten-named-bambi-backup]

Peaches and cream (sweeter than sweet)

Trigger warnings: (This is a fluffy smut so there’s not too many trigger warnings) body worship, orgasm denial/edging, over stimulation, self-esteem issues, riding (cow girl position).

Playlist: I kept listening to Best Mistake by Ariana Grande ft Big Sean when listening to this (for anyone who is curious).

Inspired by some interactions with @joon-chaos (I hope you like it Hun.)

Enjoy some tame, fluffy Namjoon smut.

Bambi x ————————————————————————-

You couldn’t be happier, sun shine peaking through the curtains, illuminating the most breath-taking sight in the world, your boyfriend Namjoon. He may at times hate his own reflection, but to you, he was beautiful both on the outside, and more importantly, on the inside too. He had a beautiful soul and you wish he could see what you saw in him. Although you two could philosophize all night long, he wasn’t as talkative as you were. Words didn’t come as easily to him, so you learnt that you would have to display your feelings for him through your actions.

That’s why your index finger traced patterns and words across any his golden skin, starting from his wrist to the top of his forearm and back down again. You repeated the action of his other arm, drawing invisible musical notes on the soft skin, the tune familiar to him, as it was one of his songs

Once you had traced every inch of available skin on his arms, your hands moved down, under the duvet covers and to the skin of his inner thigh. You traced other patterns, little hearts and stars, even a moon, edging closer to the hem of his boxers.

Namjoon grew tense.

You removed your hand and started to shuffle away, afraid you had overstepped his boundaries and scared him. You would have gotten up if not for his arms snaking their way around your waist, pulling you back into bed.

“Don’t go Baby girl,” he mumbled in a soft voice, raspy from sleep. So you didn’t.

Just as you melted back into his touch, his strong arms, body heat and heady scent all his own making you feel secure, you felt him shift again. He moved, hovering over you, leaving you to lay on your back on the sheets, feeling cold and unwanted.

You wanted to question him, wondering what was up, but you kept quiet. Namjoon would tell you in his own time.

“Baby girl I just want to make you feel good, will you let me Babe?” You nodded and his lips started to trace your body, much like your finger had traced his earlier. Despite how plump they were, his lips felt like petals, their touch on your skin feather light.

God he was such a tease.

But even if he didn’t always see his own beauty, Namjoon saw yours and he was determined to make that known. His lips, believers devoted to the divine cause of your body, and their life’s calling is to make it sing. His hands removing the offensive and flimsy material that hid your bewitchingly beautiful body.

His kisses left no piece of skin untouched, each brush of his lips on your skin leaving a light tingle in their wake. However all these little tingles paled in comparison to the tingling feeling between your legs. A throbbing need making you let out desperate whimpers for more, for Namjoon to really kiss you, right where you needed it.

The more his lips touched your skin, the more confident he became, any shyness from before long gone, as he became engrossed in pleasuring your soft and supple skin. He became particularly engrossed with your hip bones, kissing the flesh with abandon. He was so close, yet so far from where you needed him.

God he was such a tease.

When those petals finally kissed you where you needed them to, your breath halted. Namjoon had a habit of taking your breath away but this was the best kind of example. There was no need for words, the feeling of his lips forming into a soft smirk spoke volumes.

God could Namjoon be anymore of a tease?

Apparently he could. He insisted on just kissing you, his lips on yours, no use of the tongue that brought him fame. He was going to take his time worshipping at the temple that was your body.

Ever the attentive lover, all of Namjoon’s teasing had you worked you up more than you would like to admit, his lips already covered in your glistening wetness. You wondered how much longer you could stand just having his kisses, even the frustration at a lack of progression had become painfully pleasurable, making you practically hysterical yet so relaxed at the same time.

Even when he started to use his tongue, it was with a tenderness and yearning to make you fall apart in his arms. Namjoon used it first to trace your velvet walls, committing their feeling to memory, before it skilfully caressed a very special bundle of nerves. Each flick of his tongue better than the last, as his confidence grew and so did his desire to feel you flood his mouth with your juices.

When his tongue did leave you, it moved to its next target, your neglected clit. Ever the tease, he placed a few open kisses on the bud before giving it the same treatment as your g-spot. Each flick of his tongue again felt better than the last, driving you even closer to that edge that Namjoon was so insistent on making you fall off.

Just before you could do so, it seemed that Namjoon had a change of heart, his lips travelling to your inner thighs, away from where you wanted him. You could practically throttle him when he got like this.

God Namjoon was the worst tease in the world.

You had half the mind to tug on his locks until you ripped some of his hair out, a just punishment in the mind of a sexually frustrated and teased lover.

But you were broken our of your reverie by his raspy voice.

“Baby girl, I’ll make you cum this time. I just wanted to take my time, make you melt with my tongue and edging is just a part of it Babe.”

Namjoon wasn’t the worst tease in the world. He kept his word.

His talented tongue softly entered you again, it curling and flicking against that special spot again. His fingers entering the fray by rubbing your clit, the added stimulation helping to build up that knot in your stomach that much faster.

With all the teasing before, you were practically soaked, your juices dripping down onto Namjoon’s face. He moaned at the taste, sweet like the peaches you’ve been eating recently. Namjoon had become ravenous, the taste of you giving him a greater resolve to make your body sing.

He held your gaze and that’s all it took. You shattered around him, your body drowning in the waves of your orgasm. Namjoon holding you whilst he lapped up your juices, his thumbs rubbing your inner thighs to soothe you.

As you came down from your high, catching your breath, you felt Namjoon smirk against your glistening lips.

God surely Namjoon couldn’t be anymore of a tease?

Apparently he could.

Namjoon’s plump lips wrapped themselves around your little bud again, sucking, nibbling, kissing and licking your clit, sending your body into a state of overstimulation. You almost wanted to close your legs, to protect yourself from the painful pleasure, but Namjoon’s thumbs continued to rub the skin of your inner thighs, to soothe you.

And soothe you it did. Namjoon’s attentive actions soon became even more pleasurable, his lips bringing you swiftly to another orgasm, his name falling from your mouth like a mantra.

As you came down from your high, the clouding white slowly leaving your senses, allowing you to see and hear clearly, you looked back down at your boyfriend. His soft smirk faded as the love and devotion he had for you shone through, softly kissing the skin of thigh.

His voice,still raspy from sleep, murmured “Babe, nothing is more beautiful than when you cum. Seeing you lose yourself to the pleasure, knowing I can make you feel that good, knowing you’ll let me make you feel that good is the greatest honour you could give me. You’re so beautiful Baby girl… so beautiful.”

Namjoon’s lips kissed back up your body, finally to the point where he kissed your hand, the chivalrous act matching his beautiful words, a sign of his devotion to you. Him latter wrapping you up in his arms, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear, another chivalrous act, touching your heart and making you feel a need to show your devotion to him.

Cautiously you kissed the arms that held you tightly, holding your back held against his broad chest, not wanting to frighten off Namjoon with signs of affection that came off too strong. The cautious approach worked as Namjoon melted, wanting more of your sweet kisses. So, you smiled against the skin of his forearms as he relaxed into the feeling, appreciating your affectionate actions.

Once you got used to kissing his strong arms, you turned around in Namjoon’s hold, hoping to kiss much more of his golden skin. You slowly lent in to his bewildered face, a silent ask for permission, permission to kiss those lips that drove you wild, that you were addicted to.

Namjoon granted it and you didn’t waste your time. You weren’t a tease. Your lips melded together like your bodies had when Namjoon held you in his strong arms, another sign that you were the perfect pairing, his other half.

You kissed Namjoon with a gentleness, afraid of spooking him, but with a hidden fire behind each movement of your lips on his, wanting to show how much you truly adored the special person in your life.  

Your remark from earlier was wrong, Namjoon’s lips weren’t petals but peaches, perfectly plump and ripe for kissing all day. You were getting lost in the melding of your lips on his. You really could kiss him all day, it was addictive, Namjoon was addictive, but you wanted to make his body sing.

So your kisses trailed down his sharp jaw line and down his neck, paying close attention to the patches of skin where he was most sensitive, drawing out shaky breaths from Namjoon. It was your time smirk. You were pleased that you were having such an effect on Namjoon just from kisses but you wanted to do more than just kiss, you wanted to make love with him.

You wanted to give him the world but all you could give him was your heart, devotion and hope he could see his beauty and beautiful soul, just like you did. That’s why you tried to be as affectionate as you could on lazy days like this, to show Namjoon that, despite any difficulties you both may have along the way, you were in it for the long haul. Namjoon was your soulmate and you weren’t and the cynic you were, you weren’t even sure if you believed in soul mates. Namjoon was just that good.

So your hands slowly caressed Namjoon’s body, down from the tops of his shoulders to his lower abdomen, fingers softly taking hold of the hem of his cotton shirt. You kept kissing him through of all of this, like you said before, his lips were addictive but Namjoon pulled away.

“What’s wrong Babe? Am I going to fast? Do you just want to make out some more? Do you want me to stop?”

Namjoon let out a loud sigh,  his shoulders slumping before he replied, “Baby girl, I don’t want you to stop but I don’t think you’d want to make out with a monster like me.”

“A monster? Babe, unless you’re talking about a Rap Monster, I don’t view you as a monster. A monster in the sheets maybe… “

“Stop joking Baby girl, I’m being serious. I haven’t been eating as well as I should have recently and it shows. I’m not sexy like the maknaes and beauty like yours deserves an equal. An Aphrodite deserves an Adonis.”

You held in an astonished chuckle, afraid it would be taken the wrong way before responding. “Babe, I’m hardly comparable to Aphrodite and I don’t need an Adonis because I’m with the most beautiful person inside and out. You’re wise, a great leader, the perfect cuddler, a civic minded and passionate man. You’ve turned a lonely cynic into believing in a ‘Mr Right’. I will only accept that I’m Aphrodite if you are my Adonis. Now I only hope that you will let me show you how devoted I am to you, My Adonis.”

Namjoon’s hands held yours and guided you to peel of his shirt, slowly, still a bit insecure but becoming more secure when your lips touched again. Your hands drew the same shapes as before as you two locked lips, determined to show Namjoon how much you cared for him.

Namjoon didn’t resist as you went to pull away his boxers, the last piece of clothing covering him. Your words and your actions having made him feel greater than he had in a long time. He hissed as the cold air met his arousal, the temperature a slight shock to the system but nothing that would stop him from wanting to be inside you, to make love with you.

Your caresses travelled down to Namjoon’s thighs, tracing little hearts on his skin just like you did before, another small sign of affection. Namjoon appreciated it and tried to hold back but he’d been turned on the instant your hands were on him the first time. He was understandably a little impatient by now.

Noticing his restlessness, your hands soon moved to where Namjoon needed them most, giving him a few strokes with some lube, just to make the glide that little bit easier. It would help with another kind of glide soon.  

Namjoon initiated a kiss as you stroked him, not wanting to moan out so early on, his pride wouldn’t allow it. His lips were as addictive as ever and his kisses were sweeter than sweet. You really could kiss him all day, his kisses were what you needed, not silly little frivolous things like oxygen.

If his kisses were sweeter than sweet, Namjoon’s caresses were sickly sweet. His hands were just as great at teasing as his kisses. His hands, butterfly-like, only a whisper of a real touches fluttered all across your body, including your little bud, causing more of your sweet nectar to flow.

Just before you could drip onto the sheets, the butterflies became vices, gripping onto you hips, insisting you ride him. Namjoon’s grip became gentler, as you lined yourself up and slowly sank down, draining any roughness from him.

The slow descent allowed you to indulge in the feeling of every vein on Namjoon’s member caressing your velvet walls in best possible way. You were frankly too tired to set a fast pace but you didn’t care, to you, lazy morning sex was the best, it gave you time to truly appreciate the man you were with, to truly savour the moment.

Namjoon felt the same way. He couldn’t think of a better way to wake up.

You rolled your hips, getting your grinding into a steady rhythm, drawing out soft moans from your lips and heavy breaths from Namjoon. His hands, gently caressed and guided your hips, making sure your movements maximised the pleasure felt by both of you.

You were both treating the other with care, as if the other was a china doll, too fragile and ready to break at any moment. But that’ s what you two were in this moment, fragile, letting your guard down, intimate and exposed, ready to break into a million pieces when your orgasm hit you.

You guided Namjoon’s hand up to your heaving chest, allowing him to feel how frantic your heart was beating, how it was beating for him, allowing him to feel how hard your nipples were, how they were hard for him.

He gave you a loving smile before moving his hands, using them to guide yours to his heaving chest, allowing you to feel how frantic his heart was beating, how it was beating for you, allowing you to feel how hard his nipples were, how they were hard for you.

Your hearts were in sync. In sync with each other, in sync with the rhythmic rolling of your hips. The knowledge that he was just as in love, just as affected as you were drew you closer to your end. It also drew Namjoon closer to his own end.

Namjoon moved your hands one last time, placing them by your hips, along with his, interlocking your fingers, his grip soft but secure. You need that secure grip as an increasingly desperate Namjoon started thrusting up into you, whimpering into open mouthed kisses that you shared, making you that much more desperate yourself.

His thrusts turned into pounding, pounding up into your deliciously tight and wet heat, the angle allowing him to hit places much deeper inside you. Each pound of his hips on to the bottom of your cheeks, creating an audible clap, a sinful rhythm only fitting for a musician like Namjoon.

The pounding also drew you closer, as he kept on hitting that special little bundle of nerves, causing you to involuntarily clench around Namjoon’s throbbing length.

Namjoon felt how close you were and he was just as close, his fingers squeezing yours, another sign of affection. He spoke up in that raspy voice you loved to wake up to, “Baby girl, look into my eyes, cum for me, cum with me.”

His words was that last light push you needed, allowing you to fall into the abyss of blissful pleasure. The pleasure threatening to make you close your eyes but you didn’t, the sight in front of you was too good.

Sweat dripping down his forehead, the beams of light escaping from a gap between your curtains lighting his body, making look more ethereal than usual. The sounds were better. Namjoon let out little grunts of your name and soft whimpers as his thrusts became erratic, your clenching walls driving him insane to the point where he burst, painting your walls white.

As you both caught your breath, resting your head in the crook of his neck, Namjoon squeezed your hands again, a little sign of gratitude and affection.

“I know sometimes that I hate my own reflection but you never fail to make me feel wanted Baby girl,  thank you for that. I can’t promise to give you the world, but I can continue to give you my heart, I hope that’s enough Baby girl.”

“Namjoon, Babe, it’s more than enough. I just hope you can continue to accept and look after mine in return.”

“Baby girl, I know I have a habit of being a bit clumsy but I promise it’s in safe hands.”

And that’s how you spent the rest of your morning, curled up in the sheets with Namjoon, tracing his skin like you did before, sharing kisses and enjoying one another’s company and affection.

________________________________________________________________

So that’s it, I hope you liked it. :)

Until the next time I write,

Bambi x

[heyheyohsorry]

casual

Pairing: Iris West x Felicity Smoak

Rating: Mature/ NSFW

Read on AO3 

Felicity can admit that she’s a little taken aback by the way Iris exits the Mens’ bathroom, tugging on the edge of her mini black dress with one hand as she uses the other to carefully wipe the edge of her mouth without messing up her lipstick. That sight alone sends a shock through Felicity’s body from the solid guess of what Iris has been doing the last twenty minutes. The gentleman that stumbles out behind her, slightly dazed as he tightens his belt, helps complete the picture.

Felicity is a modern woman. She’s had a one night stand, even if it only once. She’s aware and supports her fellow women in their right to choose what to do with their bodies.

Felicity is just a tad surprised that Iris West would lead a guy she just met into a club bathroom for a...quickie.

Linda grins and shakes her head as Iris slides back into her chair, throwing her head back with laughter when Iris makes a small grimace as her butt hits the chair.

“You slut!” Linda screeches, in a teasing manner that Felicity could never pull off.

“Did you just..?” Caitlin stares at Iris incredibly. Felicity’s thankful that she’s not the only one shocked by a bathroom hookup.

Iris shrugs her shoulders, before stealing a sip of Linda’s drink, not quite ready to make eye contact with the rest of the table. “Going to his place seemed like too much of a hassle.”

Iris finally looks up to the wide-eyed stares of Linda, Caitlin and Felicity, until all four of them suddenly break out into a fit of giggles.

“Was it good?” Caitlin asks, in between laughter.

“It was good for me.” Iris answers with a grin, more confident now that her friends are amused.

“And all under 20 minutes, this is something to consider.” Caitlin ponders

“Are you going to make this a scientific study?” Linda teases, leaning into Caitlin beside her.  Caitlin’s face turns bright red, the way it typically does when Linda teases her.

“Leave Caitlin alone, Linda.” Iris sweeps in, “or I’ll tell stories from Bonnaroo 2015.”

Linda snickers, “Well can’t have that. Who wants to dance?” she announces, standing up from the table, and throwing her hands in the air.

“Ooo me” proclaims Iris, before downing the rest of Linda’s drink, and then following her best friend to the dance floor.

It shouldn’t be such a big deal.

Iris hooking up with someone in a bathroom doesn’t come close to the night Linda took off her top while riding an electric bull, or the time Cisco and Caitlin tested Barry’s concentrated alcohol and got sick over all over the bar in a manner of seconds. In the long history of her friend group’s nighttime exploits, a fast hook-up is nothing.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. Yet, Felicity thinks about it the rest of the night. Even more intrigued by how Iris politely dismisses the guy from the bathroom when he comes over and goes back to spinning around with Linda.

Late at night, when Felicity is preparing for bed she can’t get the image of Iris running her tongue over her bottom lip as she stepped out the bathroom. Or forget the slightly musky smell when Iris slid into the booth next to her, nor the way she pats down her tasseled hair, and the hint of blush on her brown cheeks. And then that’s when Felicity realizes she might have a crush.

//

“Linda can’t make it tonight.” Iris states, when she walks into the bar. She’s wearing a high ponytail that shows off her jawline and a low cut shirt. It’s a stark contrast to the simple sweater Felicity’s chosen.

“Oh, should we umm, reschedule?” Felicity asks.

“No silly. Let’s have a girls’ night.” Iris proclaims, a smile on her face as grabs Felicity’s hand and leads her to the back of the bar. Felicity tries to tell herself that’s she’s imagining Iris checking out her ass when she walks by.

She’s experienced this before, with Oliver. Mistaking his sweet smiles and complements to mean more than the friendly act they’re meant to be. That’s what happens when beautiful people are nice. Scientifically, beautiful people’s actions are more often misconstrued as flirting. It’s a subconscious want of the receiving person to be accepted.

It’s just that, Iris West is very nice, and really pretty, like super pretty. The more time Felicity spends with her, the more she wants her and it’s harder to reason that this woman with a mega-watt smile and gorgeous black hair, has no interest in her whatsoever.

All of this to say Felicity should know that when Iris West bats her eyes and warmly welcomes her with a hug, that her actions are not the least bit romantic, and yet…

Iris has now placed her hand on Felicity’s thigh for the second time tonight. The heat from her hand burning through Felicity’s jeans. It’s difficult to listen to Iris, when Felicity’s a mesmerized by the shine on Iris’s lips.

They’re also on their fourth round of drinks. Not including the shots of tequila Iris bought at the bar, so perhaps it’s liquid courage that motivates Felicity. Though Felicity thinks that she would have acted the same even without the drinks. Because Iris is sitting so close, and her hair smells nice, and she laughs at Felicity’s corny science jokes.

The final straw is when Iris moves a strand of hair behind Felicity’s ear, and then drops her hands so it’s resting softly under Felicity’s chin.

In that moment alcohol or no alcohol, nothing would have stopped Felicity’s heart beating rapidly and her brain from repeating “This is gay. This is gay. This is so gay.”

And when Iris’s thumb grazes Felicity’s chin, there is no motor function that’d be able to stop Felicity as she surges forward and kisses her.

Iris actually looks confused when Felicity pulls back, and Felicity worries that maybe stroking your friend’s face isn’t as gay as Felicity imagined. But then Iris tilts her head, slowly nods her in head in approval. “Okay Smoak,” she says now smiling, “show me what you got.”

//

The situation is casual.

Like, sometimes when Iris texts her, they binge a show on Netflix. And other times, Iris answers the door in nothing but lacey underwear and proves she can make Felicity cum without any clit stimulation.

It also might be a secret. Secret seems like the wrong word, more like discrete. In the sense that Felicity is almost positive that Iris hasn’t told anyone that she fucks her regularly. But not a secret or else Iris wouldn’t risk fucking Felicity in the middle of Cortex.

They’re also not exclusive because Iris still dates and also sets Felicity up on dates. But Iris also uses the plural “we” to describe what they’re doing. Like she’ll reply to Linda’s text about an EDM concert with “we’ll be there” or  tell Barry that “we have dinner” and somehow that’s come to mean her and Felicity.

But most of all is casual in the sense that this isn’t romantic. Because Felicity can separate sexual from romantic, and she can separate friendship from love. She’ll take what Iris is willing to give her but Felicity isn’t, she doesn’t need for this to be anything more than what it is.  

So…yeah. It’s super casual.

//

Iris is making out on the dance floor with a guy. Technically there’s no kissing, but the way he’s cupping her ass through her jeans, and she’s grinding against him, there’s a lot more PDA than typical dancing.

The whole thing is very distracting and makes it incredibly hard for Felicity to nod along to the story this guy Grant-Greg has been telling her for the past could of minutes. No offense to Gary, Felicity is sure this tale about his roommates attempt to build a Jacuzzi is highly entertaining, a great anecdote to chat with someone in at a bar. It just doesn’t hold a candle to Iris West on the dance floor.

Through the crowded club and flashing lights, Felicity is trying to track it all, the way her hips sway to the music, the way she guides his hands to hold her from behind.

Felicity knows what those hands are like, and she knows the curves of Iris’s waist. So it’s hard to focus on Gordon, when what Felicity really wants is right there.

It’s spite, that Iris can dance with someone else when all Felicity wants is Iris. It’s spite running through her that makes her she shuts Gerry up by pulling him into a kiss.  It isn’t very soft, it’s hard but it’s deep and she feels him kiss back. And so she kisses back harder and hopes that whatever inappropriate feelings for Iris West will leave her.  

When they break George is staring back at her kind of breathless, but Felicity ignores him. Instead her eyes search the bar  for Iris.  She finds her off away from the dancefloor, standing next to Linda. Felicity can’t read the expression on her face from across the room,  but Felicity knows Iris is staring at her. And the man from the dancefloor is gone.

//

“What happened with the guy you were talking with?” Iris asks. They’re sitting in the back of an Uber together. They typically leave together even though Iris lives closer to Caitlin. No one says anything.  

Felicity blushes, “Oh. He was no one.”

“He was cute. And you seemed to like him.” Iris says.

Felicity’s not sure what to say to that. She swiftly silences the part of her that wants to tell Iris that she wasn’t interested in him, that she wanted to make her jealous.

She shrugs her shoulders, “I didn’t even get his number.”

“I know. Which is why I did.” Iris says, pulling out a napkin with ten digits written on it.

“You know I saw you making out with him.” Iris says and for a second Felicity thinks she  spotted her jealousy, except Iris doesn’t sound upset about it. She’s actually got a little smile on her face

“You did?” Felicity asks.

“Yeah.” Iris says, trailing her hand under Felicity’s skirt before slowly crawling into Felicity’s lap.

“It was hot.” Iris says as she pulls her into a kiss.

Felicity responds right away, always putty in Iris hands. Iris doesn’t hold back as she licks around Felicity’s mouth as though she’s trying to taste the guy from the bar. Felicity’s hands grab on to her hips as Iris grinds down, her dress rising up her smooth brown legs.

Felicity recognizes that this is almost the exact opposite of making Iris jealous, but making her horny will do.

She hopes the driver will still gives her 5 stars if Felicity fingers Iris in the back seat.

//

“Felicity,” Iris starts, “Do you think it’s weird what we’re doing?

They’re lying naked in Iris’s bed watching Riverdale. “Do you mean the sex?” Felicity asks blushing.

Iris nods her head. Felicity plays with the blanket, not quite able to look into Iris’s eyes as she responds. “Oh, well, I like it.”

Even though that should be apparent from the way she came screaming Iris’s name.

Iris pauses the show, and turns to face Felicity. Her eyes reflecting a sincerity that rattles Felicity.

“Are you sure? I know these kind of things are messy and I don’t want to do anything that would ruin our friendship.”

It’s the word friendship that Felicity hears the loudest. Friends that’s how Iris views her. No “ifs” no “maybes”. If she were to continue this thing between she’d have to come to terms with that. Because Felicity’s been the one to fall before and she didn’t move cities to have her heart broken twice.

“Your friendship means a lot to me too.” Felicity says. Maybe she should have stopped there but she continues “And like our relationship the way it is, you know, with the sex.”

Perhaps it’s foolish but Felicity really believes that if she stays within the defined lines of sex and friendship, her heart will be fine.

“Good” Iris responds, laughing as she tugs Felicity towards her “I like the sex too.”

Whatever apprehension Felicity was feeling melts away when Iris wraps her arms around her.

[imrunningformayor-blog]

On Welcome to Mooseport and Transcendent Mediocrity

For the majority of the 1990’s and well into the 2000’s, Evangelical Christianity burned a considerable amount of steam in its vendetta against “secular culture” (i.e., anything not created expressly for the praise or service of Jesus)1. Sunday school was loaded with war metaphor. There was a reactionary dread that hung in the air of my childhood church, an urgency to draw lines in the sand, to define an Us, to distance a Them. A lot of what fell on the Them side was fairly obvious, sometimes even a little hack: global warming is a myth, evolution a lie, homosexuality a scheme to allow liberals to call us homophobic. But a bizarre majority of the weight of the Church’s movement fell on pop culture; specifically, the movies and music to be consumed by the Church’s children. I won’t complain too much about this, but Evangelicals wrote many of the rhythms of my adult anxiety, so bear with me.

The media we consumed was subject to extreme vetting. A movie could be violent but not bloody, crude but not vulgar. Songs and films that used words like “damn” and “ass” earned a raised eyebrow, “shit” and “fuck” an immediate expulsion. No content was to acknowledge the existence of sex. Of course, any opportunity to defy these standards was irresistible. My friends and I traded burned copies of indie albums like dirty magazines; I kept Wes Anderson movies under my mattress like a bag of pot2. But this was media to be consumed on the sly, a tough feat for houses late to make the switch from VHS to DVD. This conflict of interests lead to a lot of bargaining between us and our parents—what to watch on a Friday night that could stimulate a 14-year-old brain and satisfy a Reagan-era checklist of Good Christian Content? I’m sure there’s some incident or algorithm to justify the existence of the PG-13 rating, but I’m blaming Born Agains for its persistence.

I can’t remember the first time I watched Welcome to Mooseport, a 2004 romcom starring Ray Romano (his first onscreen role in a feature film) and Gene Hackman (remarkably, his last). I assume it was viewed with my friends and our families, a product of long hours spent contrasting the merits of appropriate viewing content and something actually worth watching. I can remember the dozens of times I’ve seen it since; watching it repeatedly with friends in high school, ready to rip each other to shreds should one of us have laughed sincerely, watching it after moving from New York to Michigan and wishing I hadn’t, watching it stoned in college, trying to relate the brilliance of an over-the-plate extension of Everybody Loves Raymond to a room full of people who would have chosen to do literally anything else. But my first viewing escapes me. I assume this is because afterwards, I sat dumbstruck with among my friends: for 110 minutes, we had sat at the equator of repulsion and ecstasy, remaining so unchanged that somehow, we transcended some unknown threshold: we had just seen the most mediocre movie of all time3.

To watch Welcome to Mooseport is to watch the taste of water. It has an almost Buddhist approach to mediocrity, a joy invisible to the West in its utter denial of pleasure or offense. The film is an invitation to feel nothing—it’s the mythic ANTIDEPRESSANT lamented by Elizabeth Wurtzel and Bret Easton Ellis, though it’s certainly not an analgesic. The film rockets toward That Part Was Actually Kind Of Funny before plummeting to I’m Fucking Turning This Off Right Now, never actually crossing either boundary. It almost feels like watching the romcom equivalent of a Talking Heads song, sans any trace of David Byrne’s irony or social critique: Mooseport is an unremarkable utopia in which characters can act without engendering change; they exist free from the prospects of desire and defeat. The sun is a fluorescent tube, and this is good. Ray Romano plays a handyman4. His name is Handy. It’s the only pure thing I’ve ever seen.

Mooseport was generally panned by critics—it holds a 13% on Rotten Tomatoes, a 33 on Metacritic—but that doesn’t seem fair. To assume that something like Welcome to Mooseport has the capacity to appease or disappoint is to misinterpret the function of the film from the start. Its poster features Romano and Hackman squaring off in full Get A Load Of This Guy glory, a vulgar denial of the possibility of catharsis. Their eyes are rolled not at each other, but at the audience. Before you can take the DVD out of the package (and you are absolutely watching Mooseport on DVD), you’ve already been challenged to lower your expectations: What the fuck do you want, the cover asks, you’re about to watch Welcome to Mooseport. Turn off, tune out, drop off. But even that feels far more scathing than I could ever intend to be with this movie. In the only review of Mooseport that I consider to carry merit, Roger Ebert breathlessly compares Mooseport to both a David Mamet play and Win a Date with Tad Hamilton, and he hit the nail on the fucking head. Mooseport is the equatorial locus of modern art, a virgin Middle, purgatory distilled into romantic comedy.

I’m not sure what attracted us to such brilliant mediocrity as teenagers. Maybe we saw a reflection in Mooseport of the banality of those punishingly endless, early-Internet summers, of the second hour itch of what should have been a twenty minute church sermon, of the privilege of boyhood dulled by the suburban promises of the future. Maybe we just found something fun to joke about as we tried to balance spiritually scorching youth group sessions and gay kids at school who really didn’t seem too bad when you thought about it. I can’t say for sure. But I do know that our love for this film is absent of irony. Even still, my best friend Austin—a hilarious guy who makes videos you should watch right now—will text me monthly on a newly unearthed merit of a Ray Romano comedy. The Deeeebrrraaahh Ray, not the Deuces Ray. Welcome to Mooseport persists because it allowed us to find joy in a place we were not allowed to find joy. It tastes sweeter that way.

This seems to have changed over the past few years, and I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps it was figures like Sufjan stevens and David Bazan putting out folk songs pastor’s daughters could play for the family; I’m sure the Internet played a fair hand, maybe even 9/11. Evangelicals have certainly dropped the act with the election of Trump, favoring the most piggish, vulgar brand of capitalism we’ve seen yet to the shoddy morality of avoiding songs with potty language. But for the bulk of my childhood, the church was prophylactic in my interaction with pop culture. ↩︎

If this seems at all precious, know that I was way into Incubus and Fight Club, too. ↩︎

I bet You, Me, And Dupree comes pretty close to Mooseport. Never really stuck for me though. ↩︎

MooseHeads will be quick to point out that Romano plays a plumber, not a handyman. They are correct and I apologize. ↩︎