#white americans!!! you’re making me sick!!! i might throw up!!!

[alluralater]

white people challenge: stop saying “i agree with everything 100%” to black people when we talk about race issues as if your validation of our experience is important enough to us that it is measured the same way as additional facts or points of conversation. GO

[fandomsandfairytales]

Live reactions to Quigley Down Under

Basically a form of liveblogging. I wrote all this down while I was watching the movie.

Putting a "keep reading" cut here because ~spoilers~

The bullet points are split up by lines every now and then, usually based on scene. I'm leaving my phone typos in there for amusement purposes and adding in occasional brackets for clarification.

[Opening scene in the boat] Oooooo he's got manners

AND SASS!

[thought this but didn't write it down at the time] Very good introduction to his character, effectively shows us what his character is like with one interaction right off the bat

Very Max Way like, helping Cora

Also yuck to those guys

Lol to him insulting and then totally doing away with those guys [my autocorrected it to "bugs" and it's not wrong]

My name isn't Roy - gives off "don't call me Shirley" vibes a bit

This man is so sick and tired of everything in this country not even 10 minutes in

They got a body!

LOL at "we sent them back to England"

Trying to grasp the plot here

The look in his eyes is saying "What if I'm actually Roy?" at about 13 min

Severus Snape voice!! [Alan Rickman came onscreen and said "Matthew Quigley"]

Fancy specs there [about the gun]

Cora admitting she doesn’t know him!

Here we gooooooo

Got earplugs sir?

Oooooo he’s got SKILLS [shooting the bucket from far away]

Knew he would, of course, lol

That deserter guy's got VERY blue eyes

Dunno if Alan Ricjmsn [Rickman] is reminding me of someone else or just himself

Well that was a fast execution

Aha, I think it’s Ben Barnes as the Darkling, a bit [the person Alan Rickman was reminding me of, because of the facial expressions]

“yOu WeRe AcTuAllY IN dOdGe CiTy???”

This guy [Quigley] is such an American

Jack Pearson vibes hair & facial hair

Why are u so proud of your mint jelly sir

Aha more plot

OoooOOOOO

“Your American Indian” I’m going to skin u alive

What is that box for? Oh, cigars

This Marston guy is so rude

Ugh white supremacy

He’s making me bristle every other word

I’m wondering if Quigley is gonna become an outlaw

The tears in his eyes!!!!

LOL GET THROWN OUT

The outlaw part might be happening faster than I thought XD

GET WRECKED

Lolllll at the turnabout

Also the guys being afraid bc of the long shot rifle XD

YRAHHH PUT UR FEET UP ON THE TABLE

Lol they’re trying to ambush him

Of course it was the slave who got him bc nobody listens or expects them

Cora is so brave!

I KNEW THEY WERE GONNA THROW TJEM TOFETJER

enemies to lovers via being dumped in the desert, let’s go

Stunning landscape

Oh no, he doesn’t have his gun. Sad

Those rickety wagon wheels!

LOL the whisper

Oooooo he’s gonna knife em

Oh he put down the gun. Big mistake

Cool theme!!! The music!

YES HE CAN SHOOT FROM THERE

YOU CAN DI IT MISRER WYIGKEY

he’s giving beat up Walt Longmire

“On a new job it’s quite common for things not to go well at first” 😂 love how they both laugh

Also she’s lowkey giving Mallory from Studio C character vibes

The way she just leaves the hoop there on the ground

Also serious Thorne and Cress vibes

Had that the moment they said “dump them in the desert” They’re really dying ooof

You’re not just going to LEAVE HER THERE ARE U Of course not. Bc you’re a man with morals

Ouch that sunburn doesn’t look fun

This is also giving Walt Longmire dragging Henry through the desert

The moon!!!

They so want us to think it’s Quigley and Cora [the two people the British guys brought in]

Nope, lol

Aha!!! The guys he killed

Lol GET WRECKED

Aboriginal people!

That shot of the silhouettes against the sun is beautiful

Interesting

More Max Way chivalry vibes! “You okay?”

“The shady side of dead” is a cool phrase

Lolll to the kangaroo bit

Oh, grubs

Her accent is making me think of Ed in the movie where they take the babies [Raising Arizona]

“I don’t eat things that are still moving” then kill it first

Cool montage!

Cora backstory??!

The slow zoom in on her is so nice

Wait. Did she actually kill her baby? The poor woman

Dang

SGE WAS TRYINH TO SAVE HER AND THE BABY!!?!!!!!!!

“I know, cause I watched him leave” ughhhh (around 50 mins in)

This poor man just got trauma dumped on

Oh they’re gone!

Is he playing along with her?!

Oh NOOOOO

The way she’s running even if she can’t do anything. She cares so fiercely

Those guys deserve to die

GET RHEM GET THEMMMMM

Lolll yeah she’s not making this any easier for him

Yay he did good!!!!

This man is like Walt Longmire and Jack Pearson combined

“Are you trying to get your head blown off?” Lowkey Riser and Billie vibes to me

Oh 😭

“I could’ve used some help up there” wdym? she didn’t have a weapon

Awww the hand over her hands

Her smile looks like the aww yeah lady

Literally burst out laughing at “I’m cold.” I see EXACTLY what you’re trying to do there sweetheart

LOL to the flirtation

Oh she’s taking her corset off

He’s sweet

LOL

“Matthew”

“I’m not sharing my bed til I know who’s in it” completely and legitimately fair and you should be that way

This is a man hard pressed to deal with her

So very American Cowboy looking at 57 min

Interestinggggg about her not remembering the night before

I feel like O’Flynn’s going to become more important or something

“Not again!!!” Spider-Man school teacher vibes

And something else too I think ^

“Matthew Quigley is really starting to annoy me.” GOOD

The whole “are we lost” exchange was interesting and amusing, you can see him starting to get it

NOOOO

IM GOING TO KILL THEM TOO Idc that it’s a movie

GOOD THOSE MEN SHOULD FALL

I love Cora so much. Her compassion is beautiful

He feels it too even though he doesn’t say anything

I hope she gets to kill someone too

Lol his sass

“Or I’ll let you live” what a threat

“It’s only 20 miles past the bingabong!”

“You only got one shot left in that shooter. Make the most of it” WOW

Don’t worry Cora I’m sure he’s fine

My heart is going to break

This baby

Him on top of those rocks is a cool sight

This is really turning into that movie with Ed and Hi, isn’t it, lol

I like the lighting in that cave

Hmmmmm Idk if it’s a good idea to leave her alone

I’m scared she’s gonna get kidnapped

“You’re the only man on this continent that would ask me what I think” oh man

Awww “little bit”

The deadpan stare at her asking to find her some other clothes

Very American Cowboy of him galloping off. This is the first time he’s actually been alone since getting here

YEAHHHH RIDE HARD

TJE EPIC MUSIC

Yah! Yah! Get your woman and the baby sustenance!!!

Missed where the long coat came from

Definitely a Longmire shot of him on his horse

Cowboy town here

Doc Brown lookin guy

“She ain’t my woman” yeah yeah they all say that

I’ve been called a lot of things ma’am but never that - Riser way vibes

NO NOT THE KID

Oh NOOOO

Not dingoes

Look at those tails those are good dog actors

NO DONT SMOTHER HIM

KILL THE DINGOES

You have the chance to change history

GOOD LADY

GET THE DOGGIES

Dang I didn’t know dingoes were cannibals

Lollll yes take the gold

Mhmmmm u gotta get back

GUN FIGHT GUJ GOHNY [I don't even know what I was trying to type there)

EPIC MUSIC

He has a habit of throwing ppl through windows doesn’t he, including himself?

FIREEE

Hopefully nobody’s in there

Put your bandada over your mouth!!! Good

Seriously more Jack Pearson vibes with a house on fire

LOLLLL to him jumping syreakght thru the roof

You’re just giving him holes to shoot throuh

Oh nvm he’s out

NOOOOO NOT THE MOM

Whoa okayyyy we are knocking the horse over

YEAHHHH “go tell Marston I’m coming after him” definitely reminds me of something but can’t remember what. Maybe Once Upon a Time “tell the evil Queen we’re coming" or something

“Oh, shut up”

None of these guys want to go, do they? Lol

I hope that black guy does something

Bandana over mouth like Riser on his bike

I knew she was still alive

Awww. She’s back in her old mind. “I killed the Comanches”

And the way he understands and goes “didn’t get any sage hens, but I got the next best thing”

Oh, he GOT HER A DRESS

I like how we see them coming over the same hill he came over

Now giving Court Jesysr [Court Jester which is another movie] vibes with him with the baby

Oh her earrings are pretty too

Uhhh should I be scared that she won’t give the baby back? Oh nvm

Love the fade to white transition

He looks like a general sitting there

Ohhhh is it only one bed type scenario??? I see I see

Oh he’s going off without her!

LOLLL she’s awake

The scene with them!!! Emotions!

That theme again

OH. The way he looks back at her. Tears in my eyes

Nice transition into the house

This fluffy haired guy reminds me of someone

The zoom in!

Oh fluffy haired guy is a Scotsman!! Or something, judging by his glengarry. Not his accent tho

Now I’m wondering. Do horses usually run into their home barn/area and rear when they’ve lost a rider who’s dead?

Lol, they’re all going to be tired, but I bet Quigley got sleep

Alan Rickman is giving me Nic Cage as Hi vibes [once again, character from Raising Arizona]

Is that O’Flynn riding?

Horse chase!!!

Oh goodness. Those poor horses.

“On ya feet ya lazy mongrels!” [Adrian Von Ziegler reference]

“Move you gutless bloody wonder” lollll

Got all the grass on him naturally, you wouldn’t see that nowadays, it’d be all brushed off by hair and makeup

Oh NO

noooooooo

Oh gosh he’s being dragged through the desert?!

Not fun not fun

Knew O’Flynn would come up again

I want that slave guy to kill Marston so bad

“What? Nothing clever to say?” Severus Snape vibes

The way if he stood up straight he’d be taller than the other two—

Oh fluffy haired guy IS wearing a kilt isn’t he?! Wait nvm he’s not, thought so bc of his coat

Okay his name is Dobkin, that’s who he is

“Some men are born in the wrong century. I think I was born on the wrong continent.”

What are you WAITING for???

This ain’t Dodge City - that again?

HAAAAAAAAA

I had honestly really wanted the slave to kill him so that he would be the one actually driving the action here lol

Marston dying in the sand is giving Dr. Brenner from Stranger Things dying

“Never said I didn’t know how to use it” mwahaha

The slave guy is back tho!

Yeah he got his gun!

Wait was HE the one who fired at the other two?

Yes!!! The aboriginal ladies!!! And the man! BE FREEEEEEEE

Oh that makes me so happy

Love the dunking the face in the barrel

Lollll here come the British

Oh he is NOT in the mood is he

Snorted at the guy interrupting the other one reading off that long paper

“In short, this paperwork says we can hang you.”

Oh?? Hmm????

YESSSSSSSS Im not surprised!!!

The aborigine people!!

….he’s giving the ”you were saying?” look

Yay! The aborigine man who was a slave seems to have been the one to bring them back!

And now he’s all alone here on this big ol ranch

Ohh goodness

Oh SHE LOOKS SO PRETTY

SHE’S SO PRETTY IN RED

Ohhhhhh he’s gonna say “Roy” isn’t he

I yelled YEAHHHH

Cobb? I didn’t realize that was her last name

Two, of course, he’s staring into her eyes [not sure what I meant by "two"—I think that was an autocorrect of something else]

She was so right about her being pretty in red

Ooooioooo she called him by his name!

She mussed up his hair!!!

Love the traditional still on the kiss and fade to black, very nice

Catch me clapping like it's a movie theater, lol

Thank! You! SO MUCH for telling us no animals were harmed or killed in the making of this movie. That matters to me

Those are some cool names for the aboriginal group

I’ve come to be fond of the theme track :)

A very good movie and a good way to spend Saturday evening.

1990, okay! Would've thought it was a bit older.

And no ads the entire time, huh. [I figured out after this that it's because I was watching it on the TV at my friend's place, who I'm housesitting for currently, and she told me she has YouTube without ads. I'm SO glad I chose to watch the movie while I'm here XD]

@thegreenleavesofspring bc I know you want to see this :)

[reverend-dog]

Quills

Janice sprinted for the bus, and skipped up the step just before the doors shut. The driver paid her no attention; of course not, in their line of work they confronted the oddest forms of humanity every day. None of her fellow passengers appeared to stare or make any comment either. Janice chose an open seat and random and sat. Only a matter time, she thought.

“It’s none of my business,” a voice spoke over her shoulder, “but you’re not doing yourself any favors.”

There it is.

Janice turned in her seat. The man’s face described decades spent in the elements, liver spots like town markers. Snowy whiskers hid in the deeper wrinkles, too deep for a razor to reach. Cloud-colored eyes peered from behind horn-rimmed glasses, and his baseball cap claimed veteran status.

“Excuse me?” Janice asked from reflex.

“Your hair.” The man waved a hand that might once have boasted muscle, but now hung with slack skin. “I mean, I get you wanna make a statement, but I hope you didn’t pay too much for that do, and I sure wouldn’t go back to that barber. You’re a pretty girl and that’s a real nice outfit, but --” He waved his hand in the general direction of Janice’s scalp again. “Pardon me for saying it looks like you got a porcupine on your head!”

The criticism fell like hail. Nearby conversations died, and people stared as if the man’s words gave them permission to stop pretending. Janice huddled in her seat, shoulders hunched, and dipped her head. What had she expected? Her scalp tightened, and she felt a rustling.

Should have stayed home, she chided herself. Called in sick. ‘Sorry, can’t make it in today. My hair’s turned into quills.’

“Now, hey,” the man continued, “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. Just maybe you wanna give these things a bit more thought in the future, you know?”

The non-apology stung worse than the critique, moreso because of the injustice of his assumption. Janice hadn’t asked for this. She just wanted to live her life, certainly didn’t want to be the center of attention. Why or how she woke up like this defied explanation. I would have stayed home, except for that stupid, mandatory all-hands meeting!

And now here was Mr. All-American Senior Citizen White Male Privilege, with his assumption that everybody needed and were eager to receive his ineffable wisdom.

Janice’s throat worked, and words forced themselves out without her will. “Nobody asked you.”

The man reared back, indignation flowing through his wrinkles. “Well!” he exclaimed. “If you’re gonna be that way about it --”

Janice sprang from her seat. Her quills sprang out and forward around her face. She loomed over the man. “Yes,” she told him, “I am going to be that way about it! ‘It’s none of my business,’” she mimicked his earlier tone, “so why did you make it your business? How I choose to dress or style my – hair doesn’t affect you in the least, so the least you could do is ask if I want your opinion! Consent, get it?”

Silence reigned on the bus. Janice realized how many pairs of eyes were trained on her, and also saw a few phones pointed her direction. She wondered what sort of spectacle she presented, quills erect. Freak? Is that what people were thinking?

The old man regained himself, Boomer indignation coming to the fore. He stood up and stuck out an admonishing finger, ready to put Janice in her place.

Thap!

Something colorful, hard, and fast bounced off the old man’s head, sending his veteran’s cap flying. Eyes snapped toward the back of the bus, where a slight, stooped woman stood, throwing hand extended, bare foot balanced on her toes, the rest of her weight on her cane. She wagged a finger at the man.

“Callate!” she commanded. “Siddown! She no bother you, you essteeffyou!”

The bus erupted in laughter. The old man fumed as he bent to retrieve his hat, and resumed his seat, unable to respond to an undeniable senior. Another passenger fetched the abuelita’s chancla, while the old woman blessed Janice with a smile and a benedictive wave.

Janice felt her quills lay down along her skull as she resumed her own seat. A warm glow lived in her chest. I’m ready, she declared to herself. Bring it on, world!

[afr0-thunder]

[Poor Chronicles Pt. 37]

Topics: Baby Mommas and their Types/Work (“Off Days”)/Photography/Girls/Read, Reply or Delivered (RRD)/Shopping/Work (Personal Image)/Weed/Football

I’m so sick of one of my future baby mommas. I had replied to her story, telling her, that her ass was ugly. I was not lying, bitch. You are so fucking ugly. You and your little gremlin ass boyfriend. She fucking left me on read. What a bitch? I hate her ass. Imagine your bitches…in bed…with some *triple disrespectful African American explicatives*. Now I COULD do something about this (for her), HOWEVER…I’m not stepping out of bed for a bitch, an *African American explicative* or anybody else. Y’all bitches are hopping out [*sparkles* ~ for me ~ *sparkles*]. I’m sure one day this feeling will be owned by them, but that’s not hitting. Retaliation does not soothe over being in bed with my bitch and and her wasting your time and money does not make me less mad about it. How could I let someone get under my skin to the point where I seek revenge though?

Another one. Shared a white influencer’s shirtless picture. Yuck! I asked if that was her type.

These bitches drive me insane.

I was off yesterday, they called me to come in. I intended on taking pictures. Exactly one month from my last photo shoot. I intended on starting a monthly 17th post (and because being 17 was so lit, ironically). Weekly or more, honestly. This foiled my plans. Imagine awakening stiggity-stoned from an hour to two hour long nap to your manager asking if you’re available, an hour ago. I say, “What time?”. I arrive 20 minutes early. My hispanic manager (not the one who says “Nigga”), joked with me about becoming a manager at the other location. I don’t see this for myself, but others do. This will make for 8 straight days of work. Amazing. I will follow this up with a 13 day long vacation. What the fuck am I? In high school? I presume I’ll be called in or a shift may arise. I hope not. I can use this time to take those pictures. It is rather piercing outside though.

I was asked to visit my regular location today. I was asked to work with the most flirtatious bitch alive (manager) and the tall girl. We’ll be calling her Horndawg, not only due to her last name, but feeling, although concealed, she LOVES to get off. Every time I see her I wonder when she’ll stop flirting with the world.

Horndawg, on the other hand…is there a name for sexual attraction based on scent? I damn near lose track of time when in arms reach of this bitch. I wanted to ask her if she was 5’8 or 5’9. Our coworkers watch us very aggressively, it’s almost dead silent, so I throw in a few interactions. I think they think the height thing is “cute”. Otherwise I would tip the manager off to how she had me fucked up. Also, presumably homosexual for a wage. Other than that every time we get too close, I want to kiss on this bitch’s neck and I think she wants to put a hickey on mine. It’s a very aggressive feeling. I asked her a question. Not only did she almost pop a blood vessel in her eye trying to respond, but she gave me the “Hey Daddy” eyes. She’s tall, but not taller than I. Also, I assumed she was a student…she is still around currently, this thickens the plot. A local? Anyway, in 2016, I told my friend (married woman who I said isn’t taking our relationship seriously) that my dream woman has to be the baddest bitch…with the FATTEST ass. She has to be so bad, I’d eat her ass. This is her, I’d spit right in her butt.

I replied to this one girl’s story. Pushed my last DM right through. Said she had gorilla grip coochie (not verbatim, how the fuck would I know), I never considered this likely. She just might be the perfect bitch, if so. She liked it. She frequents Chicago, so this would be fun. She fucked this other guy I used to be friends with. I don’t have any doubts. I just want to prove his dick game is terrible. This bitch’s ass is fat from the FRONT. Commented on this asian girl from high school’s post (wholesome). Never really thought she was cute, but now I want her squirting all over my dick. Outrageous. I’ve been going crazy about some asian pussy lately. Like I want her to look REAL asian, like straight out of a 90’s movie.

Shopping! Oh shopping. I decided I would give hoodies a run (if there’s good enough options). I have quite a few newer clothing options that are for colder weather, but I may empty stock quickly. Either hoodies or plain tee shirts next, but hoodies are limited due to color theme. Tees are even more limited for designs due to there being none and the only option being repetition in colors. Which is what I wanted to do anyway.

I see nice clothing and accessories for my whores. Feels like it’s their style, but this is designer drip baby. Chicago only rocks designer, bitch.

My former favorite coworker got a neck tattoo. I said I’d avoid getting mine to remain professional and the other one would be a terrible marketing strategy.

I may have to slow down on the weed (unfortunately). I am seeing a problem in my ways. He has now missed *$180 of my money. Even though he sold me thorns, last. I may use this for my hoodies. I may just starve and smoke less weed. That wouldn’t save so I may just stop smoking. To be determined.

- MH (2023)

[12/18/2023 - 8:00PM]

Go Lamar Jackson, Lions could beat any NFC team except the Eagles. 49ers could lose to the Cowboys. Eagles over everyone. Texans making a push without CJ Stroud.

Ravens to Super Bowl

#3 Texas to CFP Championship #GoHorns … side note thought this content creator I followed was delusional rooting for them…but then they washed Alabama. They haven’t been good since like fucking Vince Young in ‘07. I’m rooting for the 2016 “Juju On That Beat” Texas Longhorn to make a comeback now.

[prettyboykatsuki]

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

in a halo | s. hitoshi 

 ➳ !WARNINGS! ;; heavy kinks/dc ahead!! please be careful. gunplay, degradation, adrenaline play (?), unprotected sex, fem!reader,  assassin!shinso, graphic violence, mentions of blood/gunviolence, shinso mentions how he kills ppl vaguely, penetration with a foreign object (gun!), facefucking with said object also

➳ wc ;; 1.2k

➳ a/n ;; this is really just a way to use all that knowledge from when i hyperfixated on weapons for a month. 

➳ plot ;; shinso hitoshi knows you’re not naive. even with a gun at your throat.. or inside you.

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

The metals hot. 

Shinso stares down at you with amusement. His eyes are heavier than when he left you in here this morning - lavender eyes accompanied by solace. There’s dark circles like the rings of a tree, eyelids that twitch from exhaustion. He’s admitted to you more than once that he doesn’t normally sleep everyday . He’s averaged out the hours by weeks instead of day. 

You squirm under the weight of his eyes, lidded. The mouth of the gun drags slowly along your jaw until it’s under your chin. Shinso knocks it against the bottom of your chin - undoing the safety with a gloved thumb. You gasp a little as he moves it away from you. 

He clicks the safety - on again and off again and on again and off again. Over and over until the tick is memorized in your head. You watch him with wide eyes - he’s a shadow over you. Large and looming, spindly over your skin  A leather glove cups your face - thumb dipping into your mouth until you open it. 

He sticks in between your slow. It’s almost holy - at least for Shinso it is. It slides into your mouth until it reaches the back of your throat. Shinso is careful not to make you choke but you drool. It pools on the floor in puddles - pathetically next to you. 

The metals hot. A metallic taste and warmth in your throat. You swallow around, almost on instinct. Shinso chuckles over you  as you try to remember the last click. If the safety is on or off. You whimper. 

He fucks the gun carefully into your throat. It’s almost gentle. For Shinso - this is as close as he can give you a proposal as of today. You blink up at him carefully, teary-eyed and aroused. 

He thinks your too defenseless - always have been. A pretty thing like you has no business being here in his headquarters. You followed him around like a puppy for this long and at first he just thought you were stupid. 

But you’re not. Rather it excites you to be this defenseless for him. Shinso thinks you must’ve been tired to end up at his feet like this. Wide-eyed and drooling and sucking the barrel of his gun with just as much vigor as you do with his cock. It aches in his jeans - pushing your head back until your eyes meet. 

“You’re really a clueless little slut, arent you?” ― Shinso hums, admiring the view of you on your knees ― “You know how dangerous it is for you,” 

Shinso doesn’t phrase it like a question because it isn’t one. It’s a statement - because Shinso knows you’re not stupid but rather a degenerate. He knows you can see it - the blood splatters on his white collared shit and the heel-toe of his dress shoes. He knows you see the teardrops underneath his eyes - knows you see the way the light seems to leave his eyes. 

The metals hot still. It would burn your mouth if it hadn’t been forced so deep inside. 

A trail of saliva - thick and clear fall onto the floor when he pulls it out. Your mouth gapes, eyes lazy with desire. Shinso grabs your face with his hand, cheeks smushed together as he folds over to reach. 

“It excites you, doesn’t it? When I go out there and do my job - you sit and wait for me to fuck you fresh off a hit cause you’re sick just like me right?” 

You never fail to surprise him but still - he doesn’t expect you to smile. It’s haphazard and lazy. A confirmation of things he already knew, he laughs. He grabs you by your throat and throws you over the desk till your bent over. 

You moan shamelessly as you feel it come between your folds. The metal is warm but not hotter than your cunt. Shinso crouches between your legs only to observe - poke and prod at your warm inside until you. 

“Never been so fucking wet before and it’s for this,” ― Shinso chuckles, standing up. He bends over you until your naked back is presed against his chest ― “Spread your legs and take what you asked for,” 

Shinso forces your face down on the wood desk as he slides the barrel between your folds. It feels strange and foreign against you, makes your thighs tremble. You squeal at the sensation. 

“This was my grandfathers gun,” ― Shinso muses, breath at the shell of your ear ― “It’s an American model, from the 1940′s. It doesn’t shoot quite as precise as a newer model might. A Smith and Wesson” 

You whine as Shinso digs the barrel along your clit. The shiny metal feels especially invasive like this but your clit throbs with desire. Electricity all the way down to your spine, making your toes curl. 

“There’s engravings on the side,” ― he presses against your walls with a warm sigh. The pressure in your core is only heavy - lust clouding your coherence ― “And the safety is shoddy no matter how much I repair it,” 

It clicks against your core and you shake. It almost feel numb - it’s an unforgiving pressure inside of you. The ridges of the outside drag almost too good inside of you. He pulls back and then pushes with immediacy, making you cry out. 

“I’ve got precise hands, so it’s fine,” ― Shinso chuckles, sinking his teeth into your neck  ― “Or it should be. Can you remember baby? If the safety is on or off?” 

You shake your head no - no longer able to communicate anything other whimpers. Lust is overbearing. Your sights and senses are filled with the smell of him and metal and gunsmoke. It’s too much all at once for you to take, but you can’t move with how Shinso pins you. 

You remember, briefly - his moniker. Shinso Hitoshi, Angel of Death. You remember how that too was passed down from his grandfather to his father. How angels are benevolent beings, extensions of god. You remember Shinso as benevolent when he fucks you so good with the barrel of his gun that your lungs feel like they’re lacing air. 

Your cunt is clenching so harshly, and Shinso’s grunting in your ear. You can feel his cock pressed into the meat of your thigh, the way Shinso ruts in tandem with it. You can’t help but cry out at the foreign object and how good it feels fucking you open. Prepping you for what’ll inevitably be Shinso next. 

“T-toshi, toshi - my god,” 

“Does it feel good, hm? Feel good getting fucked like this? Even though I could press the trigger at anytime,” 

“Feels so good, Toshi,” 

Shinso is benevolent - must be, with the way he holds you down. You can feel it coming before you can say it. A choked breath that makes Shinso groan into your ear. Every muscle in your body wound so tightly - your on edge and Shinso has his fingers on the trigger. 

“‘m gonna ― please ‘m gonna cum,” 

“Cum for me you fuckin’ slut,” 

You do, an entire shiver wracking through your body like a storm. You shake and shake until your limp, drooling onto the cherrywood beneath you as little spasms overtake you. You whimper as he pulls it out of you, the sudden emptiness make you whine. 

He scoffs at you briefly, patting the metal on your ass. 

“Don’t think it’s done yet,” he reminds you “You’ve gotta clean the mess you’ve made,” 

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

[playboysaleen]

Love Malady.

Summary: Daughter of the notorious gang of thieves. One day your brothers group kidnap a nobel woman. Feeling guilt you gave her warm clothes, tended to her injuries, and helped her escape. instantly the world falls under a deadly pandemic and is killing/infecting people left to right and you are the only one who is immune. All because you saved a girl years ago coming to find out... it was the goddess of death(Famine).

Warnings: Blood, injury, cursing, violence. (if theres more feel free to just let me know.)

word count: 1,980 (around there)

Ya’ll this is my first Wanda story(first ever on here) so bare with me. thank you. 

its in first person(ill learn 2nd person soon)

__________________________________

February 12th, 2017. 

God, I hate the rain. The sounds of the droplets banging against the roof outside my window is a wonderful way to keep me up. A loud crash rang throughout the room I laid causing a yelp to fall from my lips. 

            “Y/n?” my brother's voice was heard from the door that seemed to be miles away from my bed. His tall silhouette approached my nightstand switching on the lamp. The brightness that lit the whole room could light a whole village in this type of storm and night we’re in. 

        “Thunderstorm.” he humbled taking a seat at the end of my bed. I gazed at the window that painted streaks of clear droplets. 

        “So, what did dad make you and your group do this time?” I whispered, fumbling with my fingers. A sigh fell from his lips knowing how much I hated the deeds my father does, but it's our lives now. 

        “We crashed a business party.” He answered by handing a beautiful Rolex watch that held so many diamonds that cost more than the house we were in. 

            “Jaime! You know how risky that is right?” I raised my voice, swiping the blanket off my body walking towards my closet. I opened the doors rummaging through my hoodies finding a white Nike pullover throwing it on. I pointed at the black warmups next to Jaime, he stood up grabbing them, tossing my way. I slipped on my black running shoes heading downstairs. 

          “Wait Y/n!” Jaime shouted, sprinting from his position which was late by a second when a cry was heard from the entertainment room downstairs. I glanced at Jaime making sure he saw the glare I gave him as I made my way downstairs. 

       “At least put on a mask- you know how dad is with you and me.” He begged, handing me a mask which I snatched with a frustrated sigh. I placed on the face mask heading towards the door as another cry rang out the room. 

    “Oh we’d be dead if Mr. Rome was here.” the figure spoke turning his head towards the smaller figure standing in front of the stranger tied to the chair. 

       “But he's not.” the smaller guy breathed out picking up his hand sending another hit towards the “criminal”. I barged in pushing the small figure full force into the bar sending him over the top landing onto his shoulder. I turned towards the taller man which completely surprised me, 

        “Got damnit Adam!” I growled sending a hit towards the younger yet taller boy. I looked forward to the stranger with a bag over their head, examining them which sparked my curiosity seeing woman-like features. I grabbed the bag and gently lifted it making eye contact with the horrified woman. Her emerald green eyes filled with tears stared back into mine, I gasped not knowing what to do. Her eyes spoke a million words to me yet I could not find one to say. My hand moved towards her gently placing it against her cheek, she shuddered under my touch but it was not happiness nor relief. It was pure fear. 

       “It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you.” i reassured her not breaking eye contact letting her read me knowing my true intentions. Soon she nodded, I returned the gesture standing up facing the two boys with an emotionless expression.

            “Take off your masks.” I spoke- 

    “But Y/n-” I walked towards now seeing his face; Buck, grabbing the back of his neck squeezing down onto his pressure point. A cry dripped from his mouth as I faced him towards the terrified woman. 

                 “She is a woman! What did I mention to you all when you were introduced to the group? Hmm?” I asked pressing deeper into his pressure point causing him to grunt. I shoved his neck so his eyes can lock onto the woman's injured face. 

                 “WHAT DID I SAY BUCK?” I yelled, causing the woman to flinch at how loud I was but I didn't care, they're gonna get taught a lesson. He whimpered under my touch letting fearful tears fall from his eyes. I looked up towards Jaime nodding my head towards Adam, Jaime grabbed Adam placing him on his knees next to a crying Buck that stood in front of the girl. 

             “Respect the ones who mean no harm. We are not strays, we are survivors.” Buck spoke between his tears. I let go of his pressure point sending him to the ground, I huffed loudly looking towards Jaime with disappointed eyes. 

                   “But now since you don't have the right mind to follow those simple rules-” i spoke softly ripping off Adams mask then proceeding to Bucks. Snatching their hoods back to show their whole identity, Jaime placed his hand on my shoulder which I shoved off.

              “Now apologize.” Adam was the first to apologize with a small head bow, I nodded to him letting him leave the room. Buck remained quiet breathing heavily, I pushed his back awaiting his apology which nothing happened. 

          “I don’t owe you anything.” Buck spat towards the quiet woman spitting towards her feet. I grabbed the back of his shirt and sent him back first towards the wall, I grabbed the golf club swinging towards his knee. Screaming in agony clutching his knee I dropped the club sending blows towards his face. Jaime jumped between Buck and i knowing he had enough, i huffed fixing my hoodie walking towards the woman untying her from the chair. 

           “If I untie you, will you run?” i asked locking eyes with her once more, she shook her head awaiting for what comes next, i helped her up looking back towards Jaime picking an unconscious Buck. 

          “I want you to tell dad what he did. Both of them.” I ordered Jaime, he nodded walking down the hall to the pool house. I turned towards the girl helping her towards the staircase, she whimpered struggling up the stairs. I wrapped my arms around her waist placing her body weight onto me walking towards my bedroom. Walking into the bedroom I sat her down walking towards the restroom grabbing the first aid kit.  I knelt front the quiet woman's legs grabbing the alcohol wipes looking back up to her wondering eyes. 

          “This might sting a little but i promise i won’t hurt you.” I whispered, placing the wipe against her bloody wrist. A small hiss fell from the girls mouth as she gripped my hoodie, i quietly apologized dabbing the wipe around her wound on her wrist. 

        “Wanda.” She whispered under her breath when I grabbed the bandage from the kit beside her foot. My head snapped up towards her breathlessly smiling, I grabbed my hood gently taking it off. She watched intently as my hand ghosted over my mask pulling it off, and I looked up sending her a small smile. 

          “Hi Wanda, i’m Y/n.” i uttered letting her take in my profile, she let out a breath sending me a small smile. I moved up dabbing a warm rag against her eyebrow, I held my breath for some reason being around her made me feel at ease. I looked down to lock eyes with her own thoughts and ran through my head which I shook my head clearing up the dry blood that painted on her forehead. 

           “Why did they bring you in Wanda?” I asked standing, picking up the used wipes tossing them into the trashcan heading towards the closet. I grabbed a track suit handing it to her,

         “I was doing my nightly stroll and I walked past the Richland Suite and I heard crying and it was a little boy. He said his dad was hurt and I saw some people hurting these men and I just froze. Next thing I know I'm getting tossed into a trunk with a bag over my head.” Once Wanda finished I huffed leaning against the bathroom door shaking my head. 

        “I am truly sorry for what these men have done to you.” Looking down whispering, she walked towards me placing a hand against my cheek,

         “ Why am i feeling like this towards a stranger?” she asked gazing into my timid eyes. I gently placed my hand against her waist looking into her eyes. 

      “Will it make it better if I told you, you’re not the only one?” I whispered my eyes flickering down to her lips. The flashing from her lips to her eyes was repeated multiple times until I leaned in capturing her lips into mines. 

Complete bliss. 

After what seemed like forever but was only a couple seconds, Wanda pulled away resting her forehead against mine. I sighed knowing it’s wrong to leave her with me, grabbing her wrist I dragged her towards my bedroom door. 

     “You can’t stay here. My father finds out you were brought here and you’re still here he’ll kill us both. Let’s get you home.” I spoke untying my red bracelet tying it onto her wrist. She watched my movements and slowly looked into my eyes, 

        “I will never forget you my love.” She spoke but what caught my attention was her voice didn’t sound like a regular American as of before, it dripped with this foreign accent that made my heart flutter. She placed a kiss against my cheek making her way downstairs to the door, I held it open watching her walk down the steps. 

      “We will meet again Y/n.” She said before walking down the street towards the corner then disappearing into the night. I sighed looking at the sky that cried droplets of water, why am I feeling this way. 

          “Hey.” I snapped my head towards the hallway to see Jaime playing with his fingers, i hummed waiting for his response, 

           “We have to take Buck to the hospital.” I scoffed slamming the door walking towards the back door, 

           “I didn’t even mess up his knee that bad, a little ice and a clean up will do” I grumbled out picking up my pace as I opened the back door walking into the pool house. 

          “No Y/n, he’s sick.” Jaime defended opening the door for me, walking in I gasped watching a pale Buck throw up into a small trash can that stood near the small couch. Furrowing my eyebrows I leaned down placing the back of my hand against his head- 

       “He’s on fire- Buck what did you do?” I couldn’t bring myself to look away from his fatigue state but so many unanswered questions danced through my head. Jaime turned on his flashlight on his phone, shining it into the trash can. I gagged seeing the black blood and mixed vomit that pooled inside the can, I wobbled back looking out the huge window. 

          “My head hurts..” Buck wheezed out, squinting my eyes watching sweat trickle down his temple I noticed his eyes weren’t as blue as they once were. I placed a hand against Jaime’s chest patting rapidly, 

        “Call Pedro. Get the car ready. Somethings wrong.” I ordered, Jaime fumbles his phone in his hand trying to type in Pedro’s number with shaky fingers. Once Jaime gave me the okay, I grabbed Bucks hand gripping it tightly. 

          “I’m sorry for the harsh punishment.” I apologized sighing deeply, he weakly smiled tapping my wrist 2 times. 

         “Gotta learn some way huh..” he tried joking, coughing dryly black and white substance dripped from the side of his mouth. 

       “Pedro’s here.” Jaime breathed out running in. Jaime grabbed Buck taking him into Pedro’s car, I leaned against the window frame glancing back at a wheezing Buck. 

      “Keep me updated when you get to the ER with him okay?” I scolded Jaime, he nodded looking at Pedro giving him a firm nod. I stepped back watching the car back away from the driveway riding off into the rainy night. 

Part 2

Part One. 

Im trying guys.

[ladyloveandjustice]

The Westing Game Chapter 21

The Fourth Bomb

In a wacky misunderstanding, Theo thinks Alice is the bomber and tries to blackmail her with the info so he can borrow her bike (Yes, really. Go big or go home is Theo’s motto) but of course Alice thinks he means he knows ANGELA is the bomber.

And in what might be the most touching moment in the book so far, Alice responds to this by setting off a bomb and writing a thing indicating that she is the bomber in order to throw all suspicion off Angela. She eve loses her trademark braid in the process.

It really is incredibly sweet. Alice is very caustic toward her sister, but this isn’t the first time she’s indicated she’s ride-or-die when it comes down to it (she got rid of the evidence for Angela and warned her not to say anything to the lawyer), and it’s also a very lovely response to Angela’s early sacrifice- where she took the bomb she made to her face rather than have it explode to her sisters. But while Angela’s sacrifice was spur-of-the-moment motivated by guilt and panic as well as love (not that it makes it less meaningful), Alice’s is one she planned out and considered. She had time to consider the consequences. She knew that Angela willingly put herself in this position. But she still chose to take the fall anyway, and set off a bomb after seeing what the same thing did to her sister’s face.

She already feels meaningless to her family in general, and maybe on the surface she feels her standing (with her mother in particular) can’t get any lower. “I’m already the troublemaker, I’m already the unwanted one, I have nothing to lose, but Angela would lose everything” was how she convinced herself. (in addition to being aware as a minor she wouldn’t be punished as harshly, smart girl that she is).

But it’s also clear that Alice DOES long for her mother’s love and approval, and I think she also had to contend with a deep fear that after this action, there’d be no going back for them, that she’d doomed herself to be the ‘bad one’ forever. Yet she still did it.

And the loss of her braid is of course, incredibly significant. Angela said earlier that the braid is her “crutch”- she bases a lot of her personality around it. It was her excuse to spend time with her mother and now her excuse to spend time with Flora, it’s the trademark thing people can pull on and she can then she gets excuse to kick them and get in fights and form connections, it’s how she gets attention and relationships for herself without exposing her own vulnerability. But she sacrificed what little that makes her stand out, what little social currency she has to protect the same sister who she envies for being in the spotlight- because that bond is more important than her jealousy and her need for attention. Just like her sister sacrificed one of the things that bring her adulation- her looks- to protect her. Love is more important than those petty things.

Alice is forced to talk to Judge Ford afterwards and, sharp as ever, Ford guesses that she’s protecting Angela.  This quote especially gets me:

The judge was astounded (…). Angela could not be the bomber, that sweet, pretty thing. Thing? Is that how she regarded the young woman, as a thing? And what had she ever said to her except “I hear you’re getting married, Angela” or “You’re so pretty, Angela”. Had anyone ever asked about her ideas, her hopes, her plans? If I had been treated like that, I’d have used dynamite, not fireworks; no, I would have just walked and kept on going. But Angela was different.

There’s a fascinating theme in this book about being marginalized, and the different ways these marginalized people both are pitted against each other and can overlook even each other while also finding connections and comradery with each other… I think I’ll have to wait until the end to fully get my thesis on the whole thing together, but I really find it interesting and appreciate it. Ford’s struggles as a black woman, Alice being overlooked for not performing femininity (thus envious of Angela despite knowing how shitty she has it), Angela being boxed because everyone wants to mold her as the perfect feminine ideal (thus feeling envious of Alice despite knowing how shitty she has it), Sun feeling out of place as a Chinese immigrant, Hoo knowing he’s looked down upon as a Chinese-American (yet still not considering the pain of his own wife), Chris struggling as a disabled kid, many people who are financially disadvantaged and/or feeling limited to the role of caretaker, Sydelle feeling overlooked in general and appropriating others’ struggles in her bizarre quest to get noticed- it’s all very interesting and pretty deftly handled, especially considering the time period the book was written in. 

And our antagonist is quintessential exploitative Rich White Man (obsessed with American Exceptionalism to boot), though it’s casually mentioned he’s the son of immigrants, an identity he seems to have actively shed, going so far as to change his name (if that’s why he changed it), so there’s even complexity there.

But the thing with Ford here is an interesting demonstration of that. Despite being smart and socially aware and having an even more fraught history of being dismissed and belittled, she didn’t give much thought to Angela and subconsciously went along with the same objectification everyone else does, putting her on a pedestal. (There’s a lot to be said about how Angela’s veneration and perceived “purity” by the others might interact with her whiteness, and how Ford realizing she bought into that narrative subconsciously might feel to her as a black woman, but I’m not really the person to discuss that. Anyway!)

The other important development here is that Alice also finally confesses that she saw Westing the night of his murder but mentions that the Westing she saw didn’t look dead, but asleep and like a wax dummy. This sets off alarm bells for both me and Ford.

So, I think its safe to say my earlier theory Sam Westing isn’t dead is probably true. What of the corpse that was present at the will-reading? I think people would have noticed it was a wax dummy, but a disguised corpse from his coroner friend still makes some sense. So where is Westing now? Considering Barney Northup doesn’t exist, could he be Barney?

But speaking of Westing, if we need further confirmation the man is the scum of the earth, he’s a union buster and he fired Sandy for trying to organize one in the paper plant.

We also learn Ford’s backstory with Westing at last: Her parents were household staff at Westing’s mansion and she grew up there as a result. She played chess with Westing frequently as a child, but not only would he brag and take pride in beating a goddamn pre-teen, he mocked her with racialized insults. She never won, but Westing ended up financing her education (that’s the ‘debt’ she owes him). She believes he did this to get a judge he could control, but has refused to play along, removing herself from any case involving him.

I can’t help but think Westing would have known Ford wouldn’t play ball, though. So he may have had another motive for sending her to school. It could be something even more sinister. Or… in his own twisted way, did he actually like her? He obviously realized she was incredibly intelligent during those matches, even if he sadistically enjoyed mocking her, enough to know she’d do well with an education. Did he play chess with her so much not just because he enjoyed tormenting her, but enjoyed her as a person as well? It obviously does not excuse what a racist sadistic shithead he is, and I’m not saying he’s secretly nice- just that it could be he was incapable of relating to anyone in a healthy way. I actually think sending Ford to school could have just been an extension of his desire to torment her AND the only way he knew that would guarantee he remained important in her life. He didn’t ever plan to cash in on her debt, but knew it would kill her just to BE in his debt, and got pleasure out of that alone. He probably just thought it was funny and it was also a way to guarantee he’d live in her head rent free- and because deep down he knew she was a cool kid, he also wanted that. He didn’t want her to forget him, maybe, which is sick! But much more interesting than simply “he wanted a judge he could manipulate”.

But it’s also worth noting this is Ford’s (perhaps) final chance to win against Westing in the ultimate chess match. And I can’t help but think he is well aware how smart she is, so he invited her here specifically because he knew she could be his undoing, the one who unravels everything. So- if we go with the ‘Westing is seeking atonement’ theory- did he invite her to give her that satisfaction of finally beating him, like he always knew deep down she could? Because he WANTS to be beaten, to be found out and knows she deserves to be the one after all the hell he put her through? Or in the ‘Westing is still a complete monster’ theory- is his intention to torment her one last time, to show her she can’t win against him? (if it is, I think he may well find he’s gravely mistaken there).

I don’t think Westing can truly achieve “redemption” with this “game”, nor am I one to easily believe the Ultimate Shitty Capitalist can change easily, but if one thing can shake someone’s worldview and make them reevaluate how they live their life, the death of their child WOULD be a big one. So “this will actually be Westing’s weird twisted attempt at atonement” is a possibility I just can’t stop thinking about. If it is, it’s kind of funny and incredible he can’t stop being manipulative and traumatizing even when he decides he wants to do something good.

On top of all that, Angela and Sydelle get more clues and finally figure out the ‘America the Beautiful’ connection. God, so much to chew on this chapter! I really fear for these last nine chapters. I might end up writing a novel longer than the actual novel analyzing and recapping them if I’m not careful. But that’s how you know it’s a compelling story, so hats off to Ellen Raskin!

[gayenerd]

I just realized I didn’t post that 2007 Rolling Stone article I posted about here. 

Billie Joe Armstrong

The Green Day leader talks Bush, Britney and being a middle-aged punk for our 40th anniversary.

DAVID FRICKE

Posted Nov 01, 2007 8:19 AM

You have two young sons. What kind of America will they inherit?

This war has to finish before something new blossoms. There's no draft — that's why none of the kids give a shit. They'd rather watch videos on YouTube. It's hard to tell what's next — there is so much information out there with no power to it. Everything is in transition, including our government. Next year, it's someone else in the White House. There's no way to define anything. It's Generation Zero. But you gotta start at zero to get to something.

Is there anyone now running for president who gives you hope for the future?

Barack Obama, but it's a bit early to tell if this is the guy I like. I get sick of the religious-figure thing. People don't question their rulers, these political figures, just as they don't question their ministers and priests. They're not going to question George Bush, especially if he goes around talking about God — "I'm going to let God decide this for me. He's going to give me the answer." The fear of God keeps people silent.

When did you first vote in a presidential election?

In 1992. I was twenty. I voted for Clinton.

Did you feel like you made a difference?

Yeah. The Eighties sucked. There was so much bullshit that went along with that decade. I felt like Clinton was a fresh face with fresh ideas. There were times when he was dropping bombs, and I'm thinking, "What the fuck are you doing?" But he became a target. We have this puritanical vision of what a leader is supposed to be, and that's what makes us the biggest hypocrites in the world. We got so inside this guy's sexual habits. Now we have a president going around, killing in the name of what? In the name of nothing.

What did you accomplish with your 2004 anti-Bush album, "American Idiot"? He was re-elected anyway, and the war in Iraq is still going on.

I found a voice. There may have been people disenfranchised by it. People have a hard time with that kind of writing: "Why are you preaching to me?" It does sound preachy, a bit. I'm a musician, and I want to say positive things. If it's about self-indulgent depression or overthrowing the government, it's gotta come from my heart. And when you say "Fuck George W. Bush" in a packed arena in Texas, that's an accomplishment, because you're saying it to the unconverted.

Do you think selling nearly 6 million copies of that album might have an effect on the 2008 election? A kid who bought it at fifteen will be voting age next year.

I hope so. I made it to give people a reason to think for themselves. It was supposed to be a catalyst. Maybe that's one reason why it's difficult for me to write about politics now. A lot of things on that record are still relevant. It's like we have this monarchy in politics — the passing of the baton between the Clintons and the Bushes. That's frightening. What needs to happen is a complete change, a person coming from the outside with a new perspective on all the fucked-up problems we have.

How would you describe the state of pop culture?

People want blood. They want to see other people thrown to the lions. Do audiences want rock stars? I can't tell. You have information coming at you from so many areas — YouTube, the Internet, tabloids. Watching Britney Spears the other night [on the MTV Video Music Awards] was like watching a public execution. How could the people at MTV, the people around her, not know this girl was fucked up? People came in expecting a train wreck, and they got more than they bargained for.

She was a willing conspirator. She didn't say no.

She is a manufactured child. She has come up through this Disney perspective, thinking that all life is about is to be the most ridiculous star you could be. But it's also about what we look at as entertainment — watching somebody go through that.

How do you decide what your children can see on TV or the Internet? As a dad, even a punk-rock dad, that can make you conservative in your choices.

I want to protect them from garbage. It's not necessarily the sex and drugs. It's bad drugs and bad sex, the violence you see on television and in the news. I want to protect them from being desensitized. I want them to realize this is real life, not a video game.

The main thing I want them to have is a good education, because that's something I never had. Get smart. Educate yourself as much as you can, and get as much out of it, even if the teacher is an asshole.

Do you regret dropping out of high school?

Life in high school sucks. I bucked the system. I also got lucky. My wife has a degree in sociology, and there are conversations she has — I don't have a fucking clue what they're talking about. College — I could have learned from that.

But I was the last of six kids. At that point, my mother was fifty-eight, and she threw up her hands — "I'm through with this parenting thing." Also, I could not handle authority figures. But I wouldn't say I'm an authority figure for my kids. I provide guidelines, not rules.

What is it like being a middle-aged punk? Isn't that a contradiction in terms?

It's about the energy you bring with you, the pulse inside your head. I want to get older. I don't want to be twenty-one again. Screw that. My twenties were a difficult time — where my band was at, getting married, having a child. I remember walking out of a gig in Chicago, past these screaming kids. There were these punks, real ones, sitting outside our tour bus. One girl had a forty-ouncer, and she goes, "Billie Joe, come drink with us." I said, "I can't, I've got my family on the bus." She goes, "Well, fuck you then." I get on the bus, and my wife says, "Did that bitch just tell you to fuck off? I'm gonna kick her ass right now." I'm holding her back, while my child is naked, jumping on the couch: "Hi, Daddy!" That was my whole life right there — screaming kids, punks telling me to fuck off, my wife getting pissed, my naked son waiting to get into his pajamas.

There's nothing wrong with being twenty-one. It's the lessons you learn. At thirty, you think, "Why did I worry so much about this shit?" When I hit forty, I'll say the same thing: "Why did I worry about this shit in my thirties?"

What have you learned about yourself?

There is more to life than trying to find your way through self-destruction or throwing yourself into the fire all the time. Nihilism in punk rock can be a cliché. I need to give myself more room to breathe, to allow my thoughts to catch up with the rest of me.

Before Dookie, I wasn't married and I didn't have kids. I had a guitar, a bag of clothes and a four-track recorder. There are ways you don't want to change. You don't want to lose your spark. But I need silence more than I did before. I need to get away from the static and noise, whereas before, I thrived on it.

Are you ready for the end of the music business? The technology and its effect on sales have changed dramatically since Green Days' debut EP — on vinyl — in 1989.

Technology now and the way people put out records — everything comes at you so fast, you don't know what you're investigating. You can't identify with it — at least I can't. With American Idiot, we made a conscious effort to give people an experience they could remember for the rest of their lives. It wasn't just the content. It was the artwork, the three acts — the way you could read it all like someone's story.

Is music simply not important to young people now the way it was to you as a kid?

People get addicted to garbage they don't need. At shows, they gotta talk on their phones to their friend who's in the next aisle. I was watching this documentary on Jeff Tweedy of Wilco [Sunken Treasure]. He was playing acoustic, and he ends up screaming at the audience: "Your fucking conversation can wait. I'm up here singing a song — get involved." He wasn't being an asshole. He was like, "Leave your bullshit behind. Let's celebrate what's happening now."

We need music, and we need it good. I took it very seriously. There's a side of me where music will always send chills up my spine, make me cry, make me want to get up and do Pete Townshend windmills. In a lot of ways, I was in a minority when I was young. There are people who go, "Oh, that's a snappy tune." I listen to it and go, "That's the greatest fucking song ever. That is the song I want played at my funeral."

Now that you've brought it up, what song do you want played at your funeral?

It keeps changing. "Life on Mars?" by David Bowie. "In My Life," by the Beatles. "Love," by John Lennon.

Those are all reflective ballads, not punk.

I disagree. They are all honest in their reflection. The punk bands I liked were the ones who didn't fall into clichés — the Clash, the Ramones. The Ramones wrote beautiful love songs. They also invented punk rock. I'd have to add "Blitzkrieg Bop" to the list.

What is the future of punk rock? Will it still be a voice of rebellion in twenty years?

It's categorized in so many different ways. You've got the MySpace punks. But there is always the subculture of it — the rats in the walls, pounding the pavement and booking their own live shows. It comes down to the people who are willing to do something different from everybody else.

You are in a different, platinum-album world now. What makes you so sure that spirit survives?

I'm going on faith — because I was there. Gilman Street [the Berkeley, California, club where Green Day played early shows] is still around. And that's a hard task, because there is no bar — it's a nonprofit cooperative. It's like a commune — this feeling of bucking the system together, surviving and thriving on art. Punk, as an underground, pushes for the generation gap. As soon as you're twenty-five years old, there's a group of sixteen-year-olds coming to kick your ass. And you have to pass the torch on. It's a trip to have seen it happen so many times. It gives me goose bumps — punk is something that survives on its own.

[m143ui]

A MESSAGE TO THE PJO FANDOM

so hello friends on the other side

I understand some of the major concerns regarding characters like piper and the feather and hazels description but when you bring Leo and Reyna into the fucking conversation I have lost all respect.

ANYONE CAN BE ABUSED, ETHNICITY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT

LATINO CHARACTERS

Reyna is not a negative stereotype, she isn't defined by being latina and neither is Leo, he isn't a stereotype simply because he’s latino and was abused. also him being called an elf was because he was short, which had nothing to do with him being latino. also the mamacita comment like y'all hide under the label “progressive” but ignore that mamacita has been a thing in Latin American communities for a fucking while. its not an insult dammit. its something that happens in our communities!!! its like saying muchacho y'all don't see men bitching about that.

also shocker I read the mamacita comment and I can proudly say I didn't go

“RICK YOU RACIST BITCH”

things that actually happen in communities aren't racist

and before any of y'all come at me with the usual you’re white excuse, hello friends im Peruvian and Paraguayan.

I don't think he’s perfect but bitching about characters like Leo which gave many of my Latin American friends hope for similar characters destroys your “listening to minorities” argument

also the lol “hes Mexican taco bad” argument like I live in Mexico we eat tacos like every fucking day. its literally a fact. and Leo isn't just defined as taco man.

believe it or not us latinos respect rick because he gave us role models and characters like us. we don't define a character by one line and instantly call discrimination. like yes a asian character can be snobby it has nothing to do with ethnicity. y'all are making this about ethnicity. an asian character can be anything, just like a white character or a black character or a gay character. people are not simply defined by their labels like ya’ll think. y'all are just a bunch of easily triggered snowflakes that can't live with that. they can be influenced but in the end labels are labels we are all human and should be treated as such.

LGBT REPRESENTATION

another thing Reyna was never officially a lesbian that was YOUR interpretation not riordans. IF HE DIDNT STATE IT , SORRY HONEY IT ISN’T CANON! I don't care about how she was “lesbian coded” if he didn't state it it isn't canon. 

I am so sick, as a lesbian, to see people use ALL QUEER DEATHS as a bury your gay tropes, what happened to seeing us as humans? why can't we be treated like any other character? if we die we die, it isn't always “haha gay evil boom death”. sometimes fully fledged characters have to die friends.

Nico isn't a bad gay character, he’s just a normal character who happens to be gay and has suffered major trauma. HIS TRAUMA WAS CAUSED BY HIS UPBRINGING, Nico isn't a 2000′s character, he’s from the 30′s, so obviously he woudn’t be perfect with his sexuality for gods sake it was the 30′s. the exact same thing happens with hazel, she isn't a modern black woman, she's a 30′s black woman. Nico’s coming out isn't him as a 21st century teen its from the time when the GOVERNMENT KILLED YOU FOR BEING GAY

also saying there are no lesbian characters? like wow look emmie and jo don't exist. Lavinia doesn't exist. poison doesn't exist. thanks fam you really make yourselves look smart here. simply because rick never said the word gay doesn't mean the gay characters don't exist friends. they are just labeled as what gay characters should be labeled as.... human.

LESBOPHOBIA & RACISM

im not educated in muslim or black culture so I won't mention characters like sam and hazel and piper because I respect and I am highly critical of what rick put in his books to describe these specific minorities.

HOWEVER saying rick is a lesbophobe, a homophobe, a racist a sexist cis guy is like do y’all wanna be taken seriously? use arguments don't hide behind words.

rick isn't a perfect writer but y'all really don't know how to criticise, y'all just hide behind big boy words and back it up with no evidence, just opinions.

rick doesn’t have the best minority rep out there but he is damn well trying and I respect that unlike all you fucking idiots.

SHIPS

now onto ships.... yay

frazel: im not gonna censor it like you pussies, believe it or not 13&16 year old relationships exist. they might not always be healthy but they exist. to deny this is to be stupid

solangelo:  another ship that is censored..the main argument I've seen is that it isn't developed and will isn't even a character... he was in last olympian and lost hero not my fault y'all have fish brains. I don't care if you dislike it but don't be like “ANYONE WHO SHIPS THIS IS AN ABUSIVE WHORE” like wow you always preach about accepting all ships and then throw this? also if you hate solangelo because of the “abuse” but ship percico like hi friends Nico is 4 years younger than Percy.. if y'all hate frazel because of the 3 year age difference y'all should hate this too.

CONCLUSIONS AND SHIT

not every character minority or otherwise is gonna be the way you want them to be, believe it or not any character can be anything, black characters can be loud, white characters can be loud. if they're only loud because “haha black” then THATS an issue not the simple existence of a loud black woman who has a loud personality.

y'all be here bitching about drew and I've never heard the asian perspective of this? just a bunch of black and white people telling asians they should be offended. was that just an uno reverse?

also last point stereotypes aren't always a negative thing and y'all need to get that in your heads.

anyway stay mad hoes <3

from a sane Peruvian <3

EDIT

I saw this beauty and had to comment on it

“having LGBT characters experience abuse and violence. nicos forceful outing rubs me the wrong way, especially because hes called a coward for being in the closet. its violent and kind of disturbing to make your gay character come out of the closet by force. maybe write better. additionally, alex's abusive father and subsequent homelessness because of her being trans is badly written.”

oh noooo gay characters can't deal with homophobia anymore ! like I can tell you have never been punched for being gay. is it bad to showcase how trans and gay ppl are 40% of homeless youth? or is even mentioning that discrimination? believe it or not some of us live in countries where people try to kill us. you have an advantage and it shows. about the coward thing... 

was FUCKING CUPID A GOOD CHARACTER? NO? I REST MY CASE. CUPID IS NOT SEEN AS A GOOD PERSON THEREFORE HE IS NOT A GOOD PERSON GET THAT IN YOUR THICK SKULLS.

 YOU HEARD IT HERE FOLKS LGBT FOLKS DONT GET FORCED OUT OF THE CLOSET 

#NEVER HAPPENS IN REALITY. 

JUST BECAUSE YOU WERENT FORCED OUT OF THE CLOSET DOESNT MEAN OTHER PEOPLE HAVE THAT SAME LUXURY. 

maybe stop spewing bullshit <3

(so I get that this scene can remind people of being outed and it can hurt them however this scene was never intended to be a good thing it literally says Nico is scared of facing his emotions)

EDIT NUMBER 2

oh boy rick really pissed off the snowflakes that I share a fandom with

“give Nico to the gays” no? he would be a femboy and they would yeet his trauma like ssrsly?

also hate rick? bitch no one is forcing you to read his tweets.

death of the author is such a toxic thing like the mans is alive boo he aint going nowhere..like What the fuck 

EDIT NUMBER 3

anyway final thoughts on this :

nico insn’t Uwu gay and its an insult to his character

Reyna is not a lesbian canonically (neither is Thalia)

Leo and Reyna are not racist

none of ricks characters are  written as insults to their communities

and if I see one more “but ....phobia/ ...ism I will do very illegal things

peace lol

RICK RIORDAN UPDATE:

congratulations rick antis! you have successfully harassed a  56 year old man into leaving social media! wow so progressive!!!! this totally won't backfire or anything!!!

all jokes aside all of you who harassed rick to the point of someone else taking over his social media should feel ashamed

[cankarmawrite]

Undercover AU - Planning

So far, Beau had considered her mission a success.

She’d been laying low in a Milan safe-house after completing a covert information recovery mission. There had been some brief firefight after tripping an alarm she hadn’t noticed before, but Beau made it out of the diplomat’s villa with the information she was tasked with retrieving and her life. That was all she could really ask for at the end of the day, and for now, it was enough.

After downloading the information from the small device- a Jester Lavorre original- she began the tedious process of encrypting the data with her personal cipher. About 45 minutes into her encryption, a small notification flashed in the corner of her screen. Something had set off one of the various motion detectors around the safe-house. Her fingers stilled on the keyboard and pulled up the camera feeds for the property. Something- or someone- moved just at the edges of the back patio camera’s field of view.

Her senses immediately when on high alert, hand reaching for the pistol strapped to the bottom of the desk where she sat. Beau was certain she hadn’t been followed all the way here, and none of her fellow agents were supposed to approach because she’d activated the signal that meant it was in use. This had to be someone else.

Beau completed the familiar process of checking her gun over. The weight of the metal and roughness of the grip comforted her as she crouched and approached one of the windows from the side. Even with the wooden blinds drawn shut, there was still a thin area between each slat where she could peer out at the world safely. 

When she was sure nothing was there, Beau exhaled a slow breath and began to move to the next window, flicking the kitchen lights on as she went to draw attention away from the direction she was moving. She thought about checking the camera feeds again, but was stopped by a slow, patterned knock at the front door. 

It wasn’t a pattern used by the CIA, but somehow it was still familiar to her. As she approached the front door, gun held aloft and steady, Beau clicked the safety off and rolled her shoulders to relax them. She always pulled her shots when her body got too tense in the heat of the moment. 

She must’ve taken long enough to answer the intruder’s knocking because the pattern was repeated again, this time a little more forcefully. Something clicked in her brain the second time she heard the pattern, a distant fuzzy memory from her chaotic Amsterdam mission three years ago. 

“It can’t be…”

The whisper escaped before she could think to hold it back. Her usually steady hands shook as she undid multiple locks on the front door before throwing it open without care or caution. 

Holy fuck, it is her.

“Beau…I finally found you.” 

That’s all Yasha had the energy to say before she collapsed in a bloodied heap on Beau’s doorstep, the various weapons hidden across her body clanking loudly as her body hit the stone tile floor. 

“Yash!” 

Beau immediately rushed to the injured woman’s side, taking a moment to look over the state her former...friend was in. 

Yasha looked like she’d been through hell and back. Dark bruises and various scrapes were covering the pale expanse of skin exposed by the black tank top she wore. Beau noticed wetness pooling at her knee and grunted as she flipped Yasha on her side to see what was producing all this blood. 

There was a deep bullet wound in Yasha’s lower back bleeding steadily, which made her think the other woman had removed the projectile some time ago and hadn’t stopped to patch herself up. The bullet wound wasn’t what caught Beau’s attention though.

With an uneasy feeling rising in her stomach, Beau began bunching Yasha’s shirt up to expose more of her back, and more of what Beau thought she’d seen. 

Scars. Tons of them crisscrossing Yasha’s back in a jagged patchwork of raised pink skin and faded white lines. Most of them were new, which brought tears to her eyes. What had Yasha been through in the years since she’d left Beau alone in a hotel room in Paris with nothing but a hastily scribbled note on her pillow?

Beau shook herself from her memories and rose to fetch the medical kit from the bathroom, her blood-covered hands fumbling with supplies as she grabbed anything she could think of to help save Yasha. 

After a few minutes of cleaning and packing the few deepest wounds, Beau sat back on her heels and looked over her handy work. She’d stitched a few things up the best she could, but her sutures were nowhere near as good as what Caduceus would have done. The neatness of stitches aside, she was fairly sure Yasha would survive the night. 

Beau didn’t sleep that whole night. 

---

That happened days ago. She’d returned to the US with a very nervous Yasha by her side, bringing the woman into the CIA with her where the former Angel of Irons Operative had announced her intentions to defect and requested asylum. The Directors of the CIA had flat out refused to help. They didn't even grant Yasha asylum, simply their assurance that no action would be taken against her by the CIA while she was on American soil. Beau was obviously upset by this and, after verbally berating the Directors, had received a suspension of her field privileges.

Beau took two days of leave to make sure Yasha was safe and being looked after by trusted friends. When she returned, it was like watching a storm cloud tear through the office. She scowled and snapped at friendly faces, disobeyed simple orders, and told off the Directors...again.

Now Dairon was watching Beau in the training room as she sparred with some newer agents, though spar was a generous word in this case. The senior agent could tell Beau was taking her anger at the Directors out on the younger agents she was supposed to be mentoring. They’d decided to step in and allow Beau to work some frustration out, but hadn’t been ready for the fury behind Beau’s strikes. She was sloppier than normal, had let in a few hits that normally would have been easy blocks, things that concerned Dairon immensely.  

“Do you remember the oath you took?”

Beau does, of course, but she doesn’t give Dairon any indication that she’s heard them. After gritting her teeth, Beau's fists fly forwards in a quick series of jabs aimed at some of the trigger points Dairon drilled into her head early on, though the blows are easily deflected by the seasoned fighter.

"You're acting like a love-sick teen." 

She wants to throw a punch at Dairon for that comment, but she doesn’t. Instead, she lifts her chin defiantly and swipes at her nose with a single taped hand. Crimson immediately spreads across the white material wrapped there. Dairon shakes their head and deflects more sloppy hooks and uppercuts.

“You’re being reckless. You’re better than this Beauregard.”

This time Beau crouches and feints a sweep of Dairon’s legs- which her mentor falls for- before launching herself up at Dairon with a quick one-two combo that catches them in their solar plexus and across the jaw. 

Her fist is pulled back to strike again when Dairon dives at Beau’s knees and sends them both tumbling to the mat below. The younger agent squirms underneath, attempting to break Dairon’s pin with a variety of techniques. When learned techniques fail, Beau resorts to just blindly trying to land a hit. One flailing limb strikes Dairon where a bullet recently passed through and they hiss in pain before moving to pin Beau’s fists by her head. 

“Enough Beauregard! Enough...” 

The agent above her was breathing heavily from the exertion of the fight. They still hadn’t been officially cleared by medical staff for training, but Dairon felt a personal responsibility for Beau's well-being and that meant making sure their young friend didn't make any rash decisions. 

Beau finally gives in with a shout of frustration and lets her head fall back against the mat. Her usually bright blue gaze is dark with frustration and heavy with tears that refuse to fall.  

"I have to do something Dai...I can't stay silent knowing what I do about the Angel of Irons."

Darion sighed as they stood, grimacing in pain as they offered a hand to Beau. “Please don’t throw your career...your life away for some trivial-” 

The younger woman ignored Dairon's offered hand and instead executed a kip-up that would have made her mentor proud any other day. Beau was so familiar with the physics of the move and the strength of her own body that it hardly took any conscious thought. Beau was in Dairon's face the moment their feet hit the mat again, blue eyes blazing with a determination the older agent hadn't seen in a while.

“You don’t get to decide what’s trivial to me Dairon. I’m going to do the right thing, even if the agency won’t support me.“

Dairon’s eyes hold an expression of quiet regret and something that might be fear, but Beau doesn’t stay long enough to psychoanalyze. She hears her former mentor call after her once, but Beau doesn't spare a glance back. 

The sound of the metal doors slamming shut behind Beauregard's retreating form echoes in Dairon’s mind for months. 

---

“Beau, are you sure about this? You know we support you one hundred percent, but this could be suicide if we aren’t prepared.”

The woman in question turned to Fjord with a sigh, he was one of the people she’d known longest in this business. A talented former Navy Seal who’d left the service after one of his teammates sold information to the enemy and helped lead an attack on the base where his teammates slept. Fjord’s mentor, Vandren, had been killed during the raid on their compound, and Fjord had nearly lost his own life as well.

“Then we’ll be prepared Fjord, we can’t sit here and do nothing. The CIA flat out refused to help even though Yasha was requesting asylum.” She frowned and took a steadying breath, now was not the time to lose her temper...again. 

“I won’t reveal everything I know about the Angel of Irons, that’s Yasha’s story to tell, but I will tell you that I will still try to do this, even if none of you come.”

The half-orc frowned at that and laid a friendly hand on Beau’s tense shoulder, “You are not going alone, Beau. I believe you...I just don’t want this to be a repeat of Am-”

“Yeah yeah yeah, Amsterdam. That wasn’t totally my fault-”

“The car in the canal Beau.”

“Hey! There was no one in the other car and I paid for the damages myself.” She huffed, brushing Fjord’s hand off her shoulder as she moved back towards the center of the room where planning was already in progress. 

Another set of hands settled on Beau’s shoulders as she took a seat in a folding chair by the blueprints that were already covered in scribble and symbols from various people. This time they were blue and smelled faintly of burnt wiring and gunpowder. 

“Beauuu...Fjord is just being a party-pooper. I already have some super cool things in the workshop, aaaand Veth and I still haven’t found a system in the world that can keep us out so this will be easy-peasy.” Jester chattered happily away in Beau’s ear as she used those magical thumbs to massage all of the tension from her shoulders. 

After a few minutes of listening to Jester talk about the latest system updates she installed to help this operation run more smoothly, how her mother was doing, and what kinds of cereal she'd bought to stock the safehouse, Beau patted one of Jester's hands twice to signal that she was okay now.

"Thanks, Jessie."

"Oh! Caddy said that Yasha was patched up all nicely before he left. She's been sleeping for a while so you should go check on her." This statement was accompanied by a very heavy-handed wink from Jester, which of course drew an exaggerated eye-roll from Beau.

"I'm going, I'm going." 

Jester's devious snickers followed Beau as she headed upstairs to check on Yasha, wholly unaware of the small post-it note on her back that said, "Kiss me."

[mcwriting]

The Marriage Project (1)

Omg I can’t believe it’s taken me THIS long to post this. I wrote this chapter probably in like April or May and it freaks me out to finally post but here it is!

My slow burn (American) High School AU with Tom Holland!

All the general info for this series is on the story masterlist, but I’ll list warnings and word counts on every chapter. Chapters will be much longer than my typical 2000 or less babies

Warnings: This will become a mature story in the future (no smut; more info on masterlist). Some profanity in this chapter

Word Count: 4140 (I told you!)

% approximately the 2nd week of August %

Ah, senior year. One last year of high school, one last year of seeing the people you’ve grown up with every day.

You’ve been told it’s easy. The best year ever. And yeah, maybe it will be. It’s not like you’re taking too many hard classes or overloading yourself with extracurriculars, aside from volleyball, soccer, the National Honors Society, and quiz bowl.

(Okay maybe it was a little much, but you loved it anyways)

The only real problem was the certified thorn in your side, Tom Holland. 

He’d essentially been your mortal enemy since the sixth grade when he beat your mile time by only a few seconds. 

Now, it’s not that he was a bully or anything, he was just so insufferable to be around. And yes, everyone always says boys pick on girls when they like them, but rest assured that wasn’t the case. You’d both always hated each other, nothing more. 

You were always competing, and because of that ended up in the same place a lot.

He was in all your honors classes, in NHS, played boys soccer, and did quiz bowl. The only thing you had to yourself was volleyball except, oh wait, his younger brother’s girlfriend was on the team and Tom was his ride home every day.

All these thoughts raced through your head as you walked in on the first day, sitting down in AP calculus as soon as you finished up at your locker. 

Everyone did the “how was your summer?” and “long time no see!” as students filed in. Eventually walked in Tom, and you shot each other a glare as he sat down right next to you.

“Holland.”

“Y/l/n.”

Everyone around you groaned. They all knew you two were forces to be reckoned with and probably dreaded spending another year listening to the two of you bicker everyday.

Though you were often in close proximity, you never really talked much, except to argue. Rarely did you agree unless it was on basic facts, and even then was it hard to admit sometimes.

Because of this, you typically resigned yourselves to only speaking when it came to grades so you could keep a mental tally of who was in the lead. You were both in the running for valedictorian at the end of the year, and you were not about to let Tom win.

%

The week was almost over and things had gone smoothly for the most part. 

Sure, you and Tom had had a couple of spats, but nothing that wasn’t handled quickly. 

He’d been to all of your volleyball games so far, even the summer ones, which meant he was forced to watch you dominate the court as both a setter and right side hitter.

It was a nice little satisfaction. 

Especially because you’d watched him throw some horrendous passes in the preseason football game last week that led to a loss by one touchdown. (Okay, he’d had some good passes too, but they were lucky shots).

You settled into your seat in senior home economics Friday before lunch. The class was your school’s attempt at teaching some life skills for rising adults. For the most part however, it was a glorified cooking and sewing class. You didn’t mind per say, since you could cook up a pre-snack lunch sometimes.

Most of your friends were in there, including your best friend Alexis, whom you hadn’t seen all morning.

You, Alexis, and two other girls stood around a mixing bowl with the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies since it was a Friday, which Mrs. Flynn called “dessert day.”

“Oh! Before I forget,” your teacher, Mrs. Flynn, started getting everyone’s attention. “This year we’re doing something new for this class! Next week I’ll have you all split into pairs for a semester long marriage project! I will be drawing names out of a hat, so don’t get too comfortable yet. Anyways, be thinking on what kinds of careers you might want and things of that nature! Okay, now get back to your desserts!”

The whole room broke out into chatter the last part of the hour-and-a-half class, people speculating who might end up with who and what jobs they’ll get.

“Oh my God, wouldn’t it be funny if y/n got Tom?” Alexis stated as you stirred chocolate chips into the dough. The other girls laughed as you just snorted.

“Yeah, I’d rather lick the inside of the microwave than be paired up with him for a semester,” you replied, earning more laughter from your friends.

You assumed Tom’s friends were saying the same however, because when you looked over to see how bad their dough looked, he was rolling his eyes as his group pointed in your direction.

%

The next week came and went, and it was once again Friday. Or, as Mrs. Flynn was calling it, Wedding Day.

Every time she’d pull a couple’s name, she was going to make you both come to the front of the class and exchange plastic wedding rings and sign a fake marriage license.

Yay.

Everyone chattered excitedly as she tore up the strips with your names and mixed them around. Finally the time came for her to start the drawing.

“Okay, friends. First up we have...” she drew the first name. “Katherine and... drumroll please?” 

The class drummed their hands over their thighs.

“Chris! Come on down folks, let’s get this marriage on!”

She “married” the first couple, and then continued to draw. You had to admit that you were a little nervous, but still eager to see who you’d get.

Two couples later, she pulled Tom’s name.

You shot him an eyebrow raise to which he returned a discreet middle finger. You rolled your eyes as you prepared a drumroll for Mrs. Flynn.

“And his lucky partner is... y/n!”

“What!” you both exclaimed simultaneously.

Almost the entire class burst into laughter.

“Mrs. Flynn, this has to be a mistake,” you said.

“Yeah, can’t we have a redraw?” Tom asked. 

You hated that he was agreeing with you.

“Nope! You get who you get and you don’t throw a fit! And if it doesn’t work out in a few weeks we can discuss divorce plans.”

“How about annulments,” you stated dryly, earning a chuckle from her.

“That… kinda depends on if you have kids,” she trailed awkwardly before perking back up. “Now come on down! They always say your first marriage is the most memorable!”

“Who has ever said that?” Tom asked.

“You know. They. Now just get up here and do the ring thing!” she commanded.

You both sulked up to the front of the room.

“Okay, now stand here facing each other and hold hands.”

“Do we have to?” Tom whined.

“Yes, now do it and it’ll be over with faster.”

He groaned, rolled his eyes, and grabbed your hands, holding them loosely.

“May I have the rings please!” Mrs. Flynn asked Caroline, the girl whose desk was closest that she’d asked to be designated ring bearer. She handed over the basket to let you both choose from the mix.

You took a silver colored ring with a faux white diamond in the shape of a star. Tom chose one with an oval “ruby.” You couldn’t help but notice how every single person was on edge watching the two of you.

“Okay now Tom, repeat after me. I, Tom Holland, take thee, y/n y/l/n, to be my wedded wife to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

He mumbled through the vow, avoiding eye contact, and slipped your star ring onto your finger. You were surprised at how gentle he was, carefully caressing your hand and making sure the ring faced straight up once it was on your finger.

You, too, said the lines and placed the ring onto his left hand.

“Alright. It is with the power vested in me by this very school that I am proud to now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now air kiss!”

You took a deep sigh and pretended to kiss each other's cheeks. 

“Class, I’d like to introduce you all to Mr. and Mrs. Holland!”

They began to cheer and clap and laugh when you interjected.

“Uh, no. It’s Mr. and Mrs. y/l/n.”

Tom began to argue with you when Mrs. Flynn stopped you both.

“Alright fine, we’ll do a combined name. How’s the y/l/n-Holland family sound?” she asked, writing your names on the fake marriage certificate.

With reluctance, Tom agreed to having your name first and you both signed the paper.

Finally you were able to sit back down where your friends were waiting.

“So what was that about licking the microwave?” Alexis asked.

“Oh shut up.”

%

After your volleyball game (another win!), you and Alexis conversed over cheese fries at your favorite diner.

“Still not ready to talk about today?” she asked. You shook your head.

Alexis had been paired up with Caroline. They were both straight, but you had both been friends with her since freshman year and they got along well.

Today had just been the marriages, and next week you’d be learning more about your family dynamics.

“I’m just so pissed at him. This afternoon in senior art he told all the guys in there that he was going to make it as hard as possible for me. I mean jokes on him, he’s going to want to get an A too, but he was just so smug about it. He also strung his stupid ring on that necklace he’s always wearing. What’s that all about?”

“I mean you’re still wearing your ring. But yeah, that is a little weird.”

“I’m wearing mine because compared to some of the others, the star is actually cute.”

“True. I got unlucky with the selection,” Alexis admitted, digging hers out of her purse to show you a big square blue gem.

“I just wish there was a way to get back at him after all these years. I mean, we’ve been at each other’s throats for almost six years but nothing has ever seemed to really hit hard. This is the last year I’ve got to really make it count.”

Alexis gave you a look, one you knew to be quite mischievous. 

“You know what’s the best way to get revenge on a guy?” Alexis asked.

“Uh, no, but by the look you’re giving me it seems to fall under Carrie Underwood ’before he cheats’ directive.”

“No, dumbass. You make his family fall in love with you.”

It took a second to process what she said before you could give a decent reply.

“You’re kidding right? His family already knows who I am because of all the stuff we’re in together. They probably also know about our rivalry. I mean, he’s told his brothers to never become friends with me.”

“And you know that, how?”

“The libero is Sam’s girlfriend. She’s been spilling tea for me for the past year.”

There was a break in the conversation as the waiter brought your meals out. Once he was gone, you spoke up again.

“Look, do you really think that would work? I mean sure I’d get under his skin, but it doesn’t really constitute revenge, does it?”

“Look at it this way,” Alexis put down her burger so she could splay her hands out in front of her. “If you can get on everyone else's good side, they’ll all talk about how much they love you and he’ll be forced to listen. If he really hates you, it’ll drive him crazy.”

You thought on it for a minute as you chomped on a chicken tender. 

“Alright, I’m in. If it doesn’t end up working, I still have all of next semester to mess with him anyways. Now if I can just figure out how to really get to know his family…”

%

By the time Monday rolled around, you and Alexis had done some more scheming, but your plan wouldn’t even begin to be put in action until your volleyball games Wednesday and Friday, when you’d try to talk to Sam.

You sat down in home ec, where today you’d be picking careers. The catch, however, was that your family unit would have a set income, so each couple had to decide how it would be split up.

“Y/l/n-Holland family, you’ll be making $200k a year,” Mrs. Flynn announced, handing you the slip of paper. “Get together and decide who’s getting what jobs.”

“At least we’ll be rich,” you thought as Tom plopped into the seat next to you unhappily.

“So I’ll be the doctor and you’ll be the trophy wife, right?” he asked immediately.

“Hah, good one. I think we all know that I’m the smarter one here and wayyyy more likely to get into med school than you. And don’t call me trophy wife. I mean, what, you think I’m hot now? Can’t wait to tell everyone that little number.”

His ears turned beet red and he balled a fist.

“I don’t think you’re hot, except maybe hot shit. It’s a figure of speech.” he spat.

“Oh get over yourself. I know I’m hot anyways. Let’s just both pick jobs that earn $100k so we can be equal. How’s that sound?” 

“Fine.”

He played with the plastic ring on his necklace as you looked up jobs on the computer. After a half hour of searching, Tom and you decided that to be fully equal, you’d both take the same job as physician’s assistants.

“Just so you know, I’ll never actually be anyone’s assistant,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Ten years time if you’re lucky I’ll hire you as mine.”

He rolled his eyes. 

“Hey everyone, since class is almost over, we’re gonna wait to draw how many kids you’ll have and other financial things Wednesday. See you then!” Mrs. Flynn called out as students packed their things.

“We have to have kids, too?” Tom asked incredulously.

“Good thing it’s fake. I’d hate to see you as a parent,” you shot smugly, earning another middle finger from him that left you laughing.

%

Wednesday came kids, and thankfully all you got were twin girls, age 9. The project didn’t make you carry around flour babies or anything like that, you just had to account for them in your weekly budgets. 

There goes the annulment plan, though.

Each week, Mrs. Flynn would be drawing something new for you all that would either be good or bad for your budgets, and it was up to you to figure out what to with the funding, or lack thereof. You also had to come up with a story each week that explained why money was put somewhere or what your “family” did that week. 

 She would also be doing progress checks, so you couldn’t wait until the end of the semester to do all the work. By the end, each couple would have to give a presentation over what they did and learned.

“Okay, so we each get to name one. That’s pretty equal,” you stated, thinking up baby names.

“Well I like Elizabeth,” he almost immediately replied, writing it down on one of the “birth certificates” you’d been handed by Mrs. Flynn.

“That’s… surprisingly good. I’ll go with Francesca. What about middle names? I like Rose.”

“Hm. How about Opal? Then they’ll have the same number of letters in their names.”

You were surprised at how much though he put into this, but let it go as you wrote your child’s name down.

“By the way, we need to plan time to get together and write a budget and find a house this weekend. I have a volleyball game Friday so how about Saturday?”

“I have football practice Saturday.”

“Well yeah but only until like 10 right? We could just meet at like 1. We’re doing construction at my house right now so could we do it at yours?” 

You spoke sweetly in an attempt to receive a yes and put your plan into motion. Tom sighed and thought about it.

“I mean I guess. But you’re only going to be there to work on the project and then leave right?”

“Uh, duh. The less time with you the better.”

“Likewise.”

%

Tom and Sam weren’t at the volleyball game Wednesday, so you had to wait until Friday’s.

Friday was muffin day in home ec, so you thankfully didn’t have to talk to Tom. Instead, you and Alexis discussed the plan of getting Tom’s family on your side as you mixed up batter.

Later that afternoon, you watched from afar as Sam and his girlfriend, Julia, sat on the bleachers speaking. It was still an hour until game time and coach had asked you to round up the girls for stretching.

“Hey, Jules!” you called, jogging over to where she was. “Oh, hey Sam!” He looked at you like you were crazy before responding.

“Uh, hey y/n.” He gave a slight head nod.

“Anyways, coach wants us to start warming up. Wanna be my partner today?” 

“Um yeah. Sure. See ya later babe,” she said, giving Sam a quick peck on the cheek before standing up to follow you.

After another win, you were helping take down the net and noticed Julia once again talking to Sam while Tom stood a few feet away looking bored. 

“Hey, could you wrap up the net? I need to do something real quick,” you said to another teammate as you headed over.

“Hey, Jules! Solid digs today! You were making my job way too easy,” you joked.

You could see from the corner of your eye Tom look up at you in annoyance.

“Ahaha thanks girl. But I can’t take all the credit. You were on fire tonight. What was that like 15 aces? And your hits? Incredible,” she replied.

“Yeah, you were amazing tonight,” Sam added. 

“Ohhhkay we can stop the compliment parade on y/n now. We need to go anyways, Sam, mom wants us home,” Tom interjected, putting an arm out in front of his brother, who was rolling his eyes.

“Alright fine. We still on for dinner tomorrow?” Sam asked his girlfriend. She nodded and they exchanged a quick hug and kiss.

“I’ll see you tomorrow too, Tom,” you said. “I’ll bring my laptop.” 

Sam looked at him in confusion.

“Yeah whatever,” was all Tom could say to you as you strutted off to the locker room.

%

You stood nervously on the front porch of Tom’s suburban home. You had texted him when you parked but now dreaded actually going inside. 

After shifting back and forth for a minute, you finally rang the doorbell. 

It was only a few seconds later that the door opened, revealing Sam’s twin Harry. He looked confused.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” 

“Hey Harry. Tom and I are supposed to be working on a school project today and he said to come over at this time so...” You awkwardly shifted your backpack straps and looked down.

“Tom! Someone’s here to see you!” he yelled out, making you snort.

He appeared shirtless in the doorway and looked at you blankly.

“Oh. It’s just you.”

“Just me? What did you just forget that we have to work on our project today,” you replied, holding up your left hand to point to the plastic ring on it.

“You’re still wearing that? Why?”

“Firstly, the little star is cute. And secondly, you don’t have a lot of room to speak, Tom. Yours is still on your necklace,” you pointed to the chain around his neck, to which he instinctively reached up and grabbed the ring, twisting it between his fingers. 

“Touche. Now come on, let’s just get this over with.” He opened the door wider and let you in, locking it behind you. 

As he led you down a hall covered in photos towards the stairs, his mom stepped out, almost running into her son.

“Oh, sorry.” she looked at you, “Y/n? What are you doing here? It’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Holland. Tom and I have to work on our home ec project and we couldn’t do it at my house.”

“Oh dear just call me Nikki. And I do remember him mentioning something about a project. Are you the one he’s married to? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Tom tensed up and clenched his jaw while you gave a light chuckle, holding up your left hand again.

“I hate to say it, but yeah. You’ll probably be seeing a lot more of me throughout the semester.”

“Well you kids have fun. And Tom, honey, would it kill you to put on a shirt?”

He went red again and you had to stifle your laughter.

“I was just on my way to do that, mom. Come on y/n,” he mumbled, grabbing your wrist and dragging you up the stairs.

You turned and waved at Nikki one last time as she called up behind him,

“And make sure to keep the door open!”

He was totally embarrassed by that, and made it a point to shut the door behind him once you made it to his room. Finally you could let out a hearty laugh at his expense as he dug through his drawers and pulled out a simple black t-shirt.

“Finally. I was getting tired of looking at your man boobs,” you quipped, looking around the room.

“Ha ha. Good one,” he shot back dryly. 

You were surprised at what his room looked like, though you didn’t know what you’d expected. It was very neat with sleek grey walls. His blue and grey bedding was made up with decorative pillows laid out. On his desk were a few random school papers and a computer, and one shelf held some Spider-Man paraphernalia while another contained medals and ribbons and trophies. 

You dropped your backpack to the ground and pointed up at one figurine.

“Hey, that’s pretty cool,” you said sincerely.

“Yeah, I’m sure you think so,” he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Uh, no. I’m serious. It’s actually really dope.” 

He looked taken aback at your compliment, and even to you it felt weird to be saying that out loud about Tom of all people.

“Oh. Well uh. Thanks. Spider-Man was my favorite growing up. But let’s just get to work.”

After an hour of sitting on his carpet searching for a house and arguing over general money allocations,

“Yes Tom, tampons actually cost like $7 for 30 of them and most girls need at least one box a month. And that’s just one factor of personal hygiene. Do you even condition your hair?”

“I’ll have you know my hair is well moisturized. I just don’t ever have to pay for it.”

You finally came to an agreement on the week’s budget. 

Packing up your things, you looked up at Tom who was now sitting on the side of his bed scrolling through social media.

“So next week. Your first game of the season, yeah?” you said, remembering that September was already almost here. 

“Oh yeah. You coming? I’d hate for you to see just how incredible I am.”

“Psh whatever. I saw your throws at preseason. But yeah, I’ll probably just rinse off after my volleyball game and head to the field. Gotta see what cuties they’ve got on the other team.”

“Ugh gross. You know you’ll regret saying that when half the school is swooning over me in the stands.”

“The only thing you’d ever see me swoon from is dehydration. And that’s a pretty weak excuse already.”

You stood and Tom got up to lead you back out.

“Oh, I think I know the way. You don’t have to take me.”

“Yeah I do. Gotta keep my eyes on those grubby little fingers of yours. Who knows what you’d do unsupervised.”

Before you reached the door, Nikki spotted you from the living room.

“Done so soon? Wow, good job guys. Come back any time y/n!”

“Thanks, Nikki,” you called back to her, then turned to Tom. “So same time next week? We can do it at my place if you want.”

“Nah let’s just do it here. I’m always exhausted the day after a game and I don’t really want to get up.”

Okay then

“Well, see ya Monday then. Bye.”

You were halfway down the sidewalk when Tom called out, “Be safe,” before shutting the door. You stopped in your tracks in shock, but eventually got into your car.

What really mattered, though, was that you were already on Nikki’s good side.

1 down, 4 to go.

%

Yay! It’s finished! I really hope you guys enjoy this new series because I’m so excited to share it with you all! Once again, future chapters will have some mature content (s*xual harassment and mentions of assault; underaged alcohol consumption) but those chapters will be explicitly labeled with warnings.

Anyways, thanks for reading and please send an ask or message if you’d like to join my story or permanent tag list!

Tag List: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl,

[allyvampirelass29]

Killing Time

A HEROES Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

He loved that he could touch her, even from across the room, that as long as she was in his sight, she was never gone from the reach, the caresses of his mind. Sylar turned his head towards his shoulder, and felt the weight of hers, the silkiness of her wispy curls, as he grazed the air, yet felt the fluttery sensation of her hair. The soundproof glass between them, kept him from saying what he needed to say, kept him from possessing that flooding power in hearing her breath quicken, and knowing he was the cause. But he could watch his effect on her through the one way glass, her head turning towards his phantom projection, and as she clinged to the air around her, he just knew....... As smoothly as he could turn a phrase with his silken tongue, his talented fingers were far more eloquent.

He smiled as he watched her own delicate hand reach up, search the air, and he felt his whole body seized with chills, that irresistible feel of her thumb stroking his dark brow over and over, and the tension in his back slowly released with his exhale. "God, I love when you do that," he spoke to the glass, and felt her melt against his hand as he placed it gently on her shoulder. To anyone watching, it would look like he was touching his own shoulder, but it was definitely hers, he could feel the feminine curve of it, and he imagined the tiny freckles dotting it like stars.

His heart panged, as he watched her lips move, speaking to the air, and he imagined the music of her laugh, as he watched it soundlessly. He'd give anything to know what she was saying to him. "You're a doll, Ally," He whispered painfully to the glass, releasing his hold, to edge himself closer to it. He watched her eyes shift from happy enchantment, to sudden fear, when she couldn't feel him anymore. "Hey, no, don't be scared I'm right here...…" He whispered, tapping on the glass, like he'd done every day since they'd been captured. If he hadn't been dosed up with enough brain paralysis to kill a baby elephant, he'd have shattered that glass by now. But with his powers leashed, and his body considerably slowed, all he could manage was the tapping, the weak reach, the projected touch. He couldn't save her, but as long as he could feel her, there was hope.

"Don't cry, no, Baby. Stop, you're killing me." The tears stung Sylar's eyes, as he watched her hug her knees, and sob quietly, her hair catching the light and veiling her face. He felt the pain of his own tears stoke the fire, the anger inside him, and using all of his strength he pounded the glass with his fist, harder and harder, over and over, his sadness becoming pure rage. Again and again, he watched his knuckles bruise and then heal, melt back into perfect skin. So he hit harder, the glass shuddering beneath his relentless attacks, and still, Ally could not hear him, and didn't so much as look up from her desolate sorrow.

"You're only making it worse, on the both of you." The Senator's voice was the match thrown into the dangerously full gasoline barrel, and Sylar hurled his whole body against the glass with a seething, animalistic yell.

"That glass, just this one piece, cost 20 million dollars, Buddy. You'd better believe it's bulletproof, blast proof, and 100 percent SYLAR proof. If I'd had the funding, you'd be in a box of the stuff right now. Wasting good drugs on you, makes me sick."

Sylar's eyes smouldered, his dark brow slanted, screaming murder, and his mind burned black with threats, too many to pick just one. Torture beyond anything he'd perpetrated before, horrendously bloody acts that would give even himself, nightmares. But his lips could only utter three words after the energy syphoned off from his intense physical exertion, and he felt his body fading, with the single, desperate plea still on his lips.

"Let. Her. Go."

"Can't do that friend."

It was all Sylar could do to steady his breathing, his heart pounding relentless against his chest with wounded rage, that wild, almost primal hunger to kill, and for the first time in months, he actually felt relieved Ally couldn't see him, blinded from the monster he was about to become. His very soul burned with bloodlust, the sleeping danger awakening. The killer emerges.

"SAVE IT!!!!" He snarled, nostrils flaring as he fended off the invading drugs that chained up his powers, his anger yanking on the mental restraints with an unhinged force. His forehead still rested against the glass, as he turned it slowly, methodically, toward the door, his eyes flashing with obsidian fire.

"Save your damn campaign speech, Senator, I am so not your friend. You play the benevolent leader, Mr. All American with such shocking deception. You put on a tie and a fake smile, and you HIDE behind that door and enact the horrors that you speak out against. As much as I love cruel and unusual punishment, you've just lost my vote. You're a monster, Nathan, you're worse than me, because at least when I kill my own kind, I don't pretend to care. I don't pretend that I'm going to save them."

The silence that followed was deadly in of itself, a cold void spreading through the sparse, empty room but when Nathan finally gave the order, it was edged with a severity that even Sylar had never thought capable of him.

"Open the door."

"Sir, we'd strongly advise against engaging the hostile."

"Oh yes, be a good boy, Nathan, and listen to your pathetic excuses for bodyguards. You've never experienced HOSTILE, until I've got you alone, locked in a room with me. You're going to need more than fancy drugs, and a twenty million dollar piece of glass to save you. You can use all the confiscated narcotics you want, if it'll make you feel safe, but I don't need my powers to kill you."

"You really think I'm scared of you?"

"No, Senator, I KNOW you are. But by all means, open the door...…. Let's play."

"Please, you've been so heavily sedated, hell, you should have OD'd twenty times over by now. You couldn't kill time."

"Haha that's good, I like that...… Killing and Time are my two favourite things. Even high, I can still do more damage than you can ever do to me. Whatcha gonna do, Buddy? Send me to death row, can I request the chair, that might be fun.”

"Don't you get it, Sylar? You're on Death Row."

Sylar froze as a red dot appeared on Ally's bare shoulder, as she sat, hugging her knees, and a low growl escaped from deep within his chest, his fingers starting to tremble.

"Alright, easy, white flag!" He fumed, throwing up his hands. "Fine, I'll play nice, just call off your sniper."

"Back against the glass, hands on your head, you son of a bitch."

"You're making me miss Bennet with that kind of sweet talk. Good times......" He snickered, turning his cheek inward playfully, brow raised, his eyes intensifying.

"Shut up! I'll shoot her, I swear to God. It's amazing, really, how many ways you can shoot a person and still keep them alive, just long enough, so that they feel each agonizing moment."

Sylar wasn't laughing anymore. He tentatively backed into the glass, and interlaced his fingers, as he put them behind his head, taking one last glance over his shoulder, and he didn't start breathing again, until the red dot threatening her pale skin, disappeared.

There was a loud mechanical sound, and the door slowly opened, as Nathan strode in, surprisingly unaccompanied, and it took every bit of Sylar's resolve not to tear into him on sight.

The young, square-jawed Senator regarded the tall, dark, and dangerous man before him, as though he were approaching a rabid animal, looking at him sideways, with great disdain.

"What now, Nathan, come to pat me down? You gonna rough me up a little?" He looked over his shoulder at the brown haired girl, her hands searching the glass in front of her with stricken eyes. He almost reached out to put his hand where hers was, when he remembered she couldn't see him. "You even think of doing that to her, I'll kill you. Nobody touches her, got it? Nobody but me."

Nathan's eyes narrowed as he ventured closer. "I'll do whatever the hell I want with her. She's the property of the United States Government now, you both are."

Sylar smirked at him, flexing his bent arms behind his silken head, his dark eyes dancing. "So, I'm like an acquired weapon of mass destruction?"

"More like Enemy of the State, an apprehended terrorist. Congratulations Gabriel, with a little help from the FBI, you no longer exist. There is no Gabriel Gray, meaning I can do whatever I want to you, hold you without trial, kill you without cause."

"So do it." Sylar snarled, his eyes snapping back to cold and impenetrable. "Kill me, Nathan. End it. Be the hero, everyone thinks you are. What are you waiting for?"

Nathan laughed without feeling, the hatred between him and Sylar rising like a scorched heat. "You think I won't do it? I was an officer of the United States Navy, I know HUNDREDS of ways to kill a man, and I'm pretty sure, you only know, the one." Nathan swiped his finger mockingly in front of Sylar's face, and Sylar smirked back, his gaze deadly.

"Just because I have my favourite weapon, doesn't mean it's the only trick up my sleeve. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. No, I'm going to kill you, Nathan, for doing this to me, to HER. I'm going to kill little brother, and Ma, and only after you're out of your head, seeing their bloody mangled bodies, their heads viciously ripped into, I'm going to make you beg me to kill you, and only then, will your little Superman charade end."

"You dressed up in my brother's face and tried to kill me, you SICK bastard!!! Who does that!? Did you really think I wouldn't retaliate?  You tried, and you failed. You used someone I loved against me, and you still lost. Don't be surprised when I do the same, go dark, and I follow through for the win."

"Look, I get that you're pissed, I know, I ruined your little ball and tricked all your big, fancy Senator friends. You want blood? Take it. Take it all...…. Torture me, kill me, bring me back, just to kill me again, maybe I deserve it, maybe I don't, do whatever the HELL you want, even let Peter get his, but don't punish her for my sins. My blood for hers. You already have me, you don't need her anymore, so, please...… let her go. You do that, and I might just let you live."

"Look at me, Gabriel, look right into my eyes. Never gonna happen."

Sylar could feel his skin prickling with the chills coursing through his body, the coldness of a killer, creeping into his dark features, his voice like ice.

"I said...… Please."

"No deal. You see..... I'm not going to do any of that to you, Gabriel. Because I know that whatever punishment I inflict, government sanctioned or otherwise, nothing is going to hurt you worse, nothing is going to make you behave more than the constant threat of what could happen to her. Why do you think I designed the glass so that you could see her, but she can't see you? Because I want you to see it, what I do to her, every time you get out of line. You so much as look at me a way I don't like, I'll take action, and it won't be me, hurting her, it will be you, your hand. I don't want your worthless blood, hers is so much more valuable. I'm going to take as much as I need to replicate that power, increase it enough to protect entire armies. This is a whole new level for our military, and on behalf of the United States Government, I thank you for your generous contribution."

Sylar's rising anger chilled into paralyzing fear, and he shook his head incredulous. "You're insane. She doesn't have enough electricity for that kind of scale, or enough blood for such rigorous testing...…You'll kill her."

Nathan smiled, his teeth gleaming, looking every bit the congenial politician. "If that's what it takes. I guess, we'd better get started." Nathan made a motion with his hands, and Sylar dropped his arms, failing to hide the abject horror flooding his eyes, feeling sick.

"What did you just do? She's- She's an innocent girl!!!!!"

"Wrong. She WAS an innocent girl. You stole her innocence. YOU ruined her, and got her all mixed up in the MURDER plot of a US Senator!!! She'll PAY for your sins, because they're her sins too, she deserves what's coming."

Sylar shook his head, his brow pulled back, as he sank desperate to his knees. "Nathan, listen to me, she didn't know, I swear!"

"Ever hear of guilty by association?"

Sylar whirled his head around, just as two fully equipped S.W.A.T. members stormed into Ally's side of the room, one of them roughly tackling her to the ground, the other taking a long needle from a cylindrical container.

"NOOOOOOO!!! Nathan, GOD, Nathan, don't do this, I'll do ANYTHING you want, I'll kill whoever you want me to kill, I'll be a damn saint, just don't- Don't hurt my girl." Sylar's tears streamed freely now, his chest so tight, he couldn't get air to his lungs and they burned, as he watched with blurred vision, Ally screaming without a sound, fighting back and sobbing. He bristled as the one holding her down backhanded her across the face, and felt his own jaw sting with the assault.

"Not My Baby...…. Don't hit her, don't hit my baby!!!!" Sylar's voice was hysterical, failing to suppress his sobs, his emotions heightened because of the drugs. Nathan had never seen him like this, and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

"You want it to stop? Fall at my feet. Beg like the pathetic creature you are."

Sylar started to scowl, his lip quivering with both rage and pain, an emotion swathing him that was more dangerous than anything he'd ever felt before, Self Sacrifice. 

"Never."

"Hey Tom, I'm going to need you to bleed her." Nathan spoke calmly into his earpiece."

"Like HELL you are!!!!!" Sylar's rage burned through the pain, engulfing him and Nathan in the catching flame like wildfire, as he hurled himself at him with murderous intent. But the drugs had dulled his reflexes, and Nathan slammed him hard into the glass, grasping his jet black hair, and holding his forehead against the glass, as Sylar struggled against him, growling.

Ally was still fighting hard against her attackers too, but they overpowered her, one of them returning the needle to the container, retrieving, instead, a scalpel and silicone cup. Sylar released the full force of his scream into the glass, feeling the vibration against his lips, the sound reverberating through the room, echoing through the entire space, as the blade sank into Ally's pale skin, dark red blood trickling down her forearm, into the waiting cup.

His body couldn't take it anymore, between the drugs and the horror he broke...…. Sylar sobbed bitterly, and Nathan loosened his hold on the back of his head, letting him fall, helpless, to the ground, legs crossed, looking like a frightened little boy, instead of a cold blooded killer.

"You really do love her."

"Please," Sylar breathed the single word, his voice frail, his eyes sincere.

"Fall at my feet, and I make it stop."

Sylar gritted his teeth, his cheeks shiny, wet with tears, the image of Ally's silent scream haunting him, begging him. He couldn't take it. He'd been compromised, and it terrified him what he'd do if it meant keeping her alive. Sylar got all the way down on the floor, revolted by the utter degradation, hating Nathan, and even more, hating himself.

"Hey Guys, that's enough for tonight. Get the girl bandaged up, and get the sample to the lab."

Nathan looked down at Sylar like he was a loathsome thing, an insect on the floor, and Sylar held his breath, as Nathan stepped directly onto his fingers, digging his heel in. 

"Look at you, The Big Bad Wolf...…. Now, you're just a whimpering pup. I own you."

Sylar had to bite his tongue to keep his scathing response from escaping his lips, and he seized up, his back arching, as he felt the pin prick in the back of his neck, a new rush of drugs flooding his system, his eyes going blank.

"Sweet Dreams, you Psychopath."

Sylar passed out on the floor, unable to fight off the heaviness of the newly introduced drugs mingling with the lingering effects of the ones previously administered, his mind paralyzed, and his body exhausted. Nathan strode out of the room, and the mechanical sound echoed through the space, as the door locked itself behind him. The lights died, darkness washing over Sylar's still form, his arm outstretched.

Silence.

Then.... the intercom crackled, as someone turned it back on, a bit of feedback, and a voice filled the room.

"Sylar!? Sy? Baby, can you hear me?"

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

[lordseochangbin]

lordseochangbin’s jype series smut: music producer

requested: daddy kink 

you shoved your face into the pillow, crashing onto the couch as you seemed to fail yet again at making a beat for the new track you were walking on. you dressed well today, a tight black skirt with a black denim skirt that hugs your waist but it didn’t change your mood nor your ability to make music.

honestly speaking you were new to the studio, starting off other producers saw your potential and decided to have you be the main producer for one of jyp’s newest girl groups.

this was an amazing job, considering you had left america to pursue a career and you felt you had zero confidence in actually making it in. but now here you were, having a mental breakdown in the studio after getting two hours of sleep trying to cram in a nice track before the deadline.

it was stressful.

you managed to keep your eyes open in front of the computer screen fiddling with some last minute adjustments before you could here one of jyp’s music directors come in.

considering he didn’t speak proper english and it had only been your second week into your korean class, it was hard to communicate back and forth.

“how is your work?” the director asked confidently.

you turned around in excitement from the english, not sure if you understood correctly due to the accent.

“i haven’t finished it yet, im so sorry. just give me another 2 hours ill get it done!!”

the director glared at you in confusion but by your expression figured what had happened.

“argh!” he exclaimed, “i can’t work with these american producers!”

your eyes started to tear up. this was the downside of being in korea, you always felt left out. of course korea is open to visitors but living here felt like an outsider in a different world and the fact that you had no time to do your korean classes didn’t help much.

as you whipped your tears you felt a tall blonde enter the room, his confidence gleaming almost as if he owned the room. “did you need my help?” he peeked in whispering to the director.

his hair was wet, his shirt damp of sweat from practicing with the rest of his group. it was bang chan, the leader of stray kids. part of the musical group 3racha, whose beats you had always admired.

the director came to chan and whispered a new words into his ear before turning back to you and waving goodbye. “take care...”

chan stood there for a few seconds, then walking about to the couch and sitting down. you turned around to view him from the front of your recording set.

“hi, my names y/n”

“haha, i know. i’ve seen you around! nice to meet you”

“you too!! wow im really sorry to interrupt you during practice i know it’s probably hard to cram in all this stuff an-“

“don’t worry about it. id love to help you” bang chan interrupted, pulling out his laptop.

you sat next to him as he pulled out some tracks, “here let me show you some 3racha tracks that i have.. just the music”

one of the tracks started playing causing your jaw to drop, “dude!! that beat is sick!” you praised.

bang chan’s eyes widened as he tried to pause the song, “wait this track-” you listened attentively, wondering why bang chan wouldnt be proud of it

“chan what’s the problem?” before chan could pause the track you heard the sounds of heavy moans added to the background, causing you to bite your lip

chan shut down the laptop, looking towards you in embarrassment. 

“i..i’m sorry about that y/n”

you laughed as his cheeks turned red, “pfft, sorry? that’s exactly why girls are on their knees for you chan. you’re literally the hot shot of stray kids”

chan raised his eyebrows at your response, “you think so?”

“pfft.. don’t get too flattered. that’s everyone else’s opinion”

he placed a hand on your knee, pulling himself closer to you almost inches away from your face. “maybe i could change that”

you placed a finger under his chin, pulling him even closer. “the only thing i need help with...” you pushed him to the side before continuing, “is my music”

“oh come on!” he exclaimed, grabbing your hips making you fall onto his lap.

chan pulled back from hair from your face before staring lustfully into your eyes, “y/n.. i think the first thing you need to do is get rid of that stress.”

you pulled away from his lap, lying on your stomach as you buried yourself into the pillow. you were unconvinced that chan could help you with just that before he gripped his hands onto your shoulders, massaging them gently. 

it was a few seconds of heaven as he rolled his palms on your back, “chan.. that feels so good..how did you-”

chan removed his hands, laughing as you turned around. “chan.. why’d you stop?”

“i dont think i can continue to help, you said i wasn’t the hot shot of stray kids” he shrugged, putting his laptop away.

you watched as he stood up, is he being for real?

“no wait chan-” you sighed, rolling your eyes. you approached him slowly, covering the door so he couldn’t leave

“you are.. the most hottest, sexiest, cutest member of stray kids” you continued sarcastically

“i think you forgot talented.” he said

“i think we can leave that out for today” you grabbed his hand, guiding him back to the couch.

“now help me.. pleaseeee” you pleaded.

“honestly speaking, i think you need to find some sort of inspiration”

“what’s yours? sex?” you spurted out

chans jaw clenched, making you stutter a bit. “l-look sorry i tend to be a little-”

“no..” chan interrupted, his voice low. “i get it. you think you’re funny right? flirty? with you skirt so close to your cunt.. i could fuck you over in seconds. i’m gonna tease you everyday until you break”

you laughed, slapping your hand onto his chest. “chan.. or chris. i know i’ve only been here for a few months and you might think of me as inexperienced in music, but i have to confess i am much more experienced in other things.”

you grabbed his hand, placing it under your skirt as he grabbed your thigh. “so if you think you’re ‘turning me on’ right now, or whatever the fuck you think you’re doing chan, try again” you smiled widely before standing up to grab your things and left the room.

perhaps you could say you took chan’s breath away. he had never met a girl as sexy as you. compared to the way you looked when he came to now, it was almost like you had a switch to you. you realized it to, how did his presence bring you such confidence? 

chan kept his word. with every interaction he found some way to get his hands on you, some way to keep you distracted, some way to get you riled up. but you contained all of this distress until you got home, determined to make sure he doesn’t get what he wants. 

but the dildo didn’t help.

should you give him a shot? you wondered to yourself

the question got you thinking about bang chan all night in bed until you decided to text him.

me: chan.. it’s y/n 

bang chan: aw babygirl, feeling needy now?

you read the message smirking as you imagined bang chan at your door. you thought about it, maybe he was as sexy as his fans put him out as. 

your reply said nothing of the sort.

me: no, i just needed up with music

bang chan: are you sure it’s just music y/n?

your legs started the grab the comforter, no longer being able to take the heat in between them

me: no.. i

me: i just cant stop thinking about you in between my legs. i want you so bad

bang chan: y/n.. now thats what i like to hear

bang chan: i swear to you one night i wont stop fucking you until your legs are shaking and the neighbors know my name

you gasped at the text, throwing your phone on the floor and grabbing your pillow. your cheeks flushed red at the thought of bang chan, what he was capable of. that night you went to bed thinking about him right next to you, he was even in your dreams. you had fallen in love with bang chan.

~~~

the next day around 8 am when you arrived at the jyp building you walked down the hall full of studios, interrupted by a hand that slammed you hard against the wall.

“missed me?” bang chan asked

you scoffed under your breath, “you wish” you replied before continuing the walk. once you opened the door to the studio you were off the floor and inside the arms of bang chans’. 

“this outfit of yours is really nice, for whom? i wonder” you wore a white crop top with a black and red plaid skirt, along with some combat boots to complete a cute school girl look, which obviously turned him on.

“chan..chan the music” you responded, realizing the director might come soon.

“ok i finished editing the track you need to show to the director, he should be here in 30” he said, carefully putting you on the black leather couch. 30 minutes...would that be enough?

the second he sat on the couch you couldn’t hold back anymore. you trapped him against the cushion, thrashing your lips against his, rolling your hips on him, your hands exploring all over bang chan. you wanted it all.

the kiss took him by surprise, his hands picking you up from the bottom of your thighs and lifting you onto his lap. 

your core felt like soaring fire at this point, and it being pressed against his cock didn’t help a single bit. 

“daddy please.. i need you right now. all i can think about is you. you teased me enough please” you whimpered.

“i’m sorry.. what did you call me?”

“d-daddy. please fuck me” you panted, the feeling of member growing under you was taunting. you couldn’t stand it anymore, and bang chan loved that.

“fuck.. look at my babygirl” he said, his thumb sliding across his cheeks before he could harshly grab your chin. “y/n is so good and submissive.. and its 8 in the morning, i can only imagine how much sleep you lost last night”

he forced two digits to pass your lips, “suck”. his thumb held your face straight, his eyes dark and full of need as you grind on his hips, him jerking into you every once in awhile.

soon he dragged his fingers away from your lips, leaving them to part as he removes his t-shirt and soonly after both of your clothes and thrown onto the hard floor. 

“chan.. he’s coming in 25 minutes we’re gonna get caugh-”

chan sealed your worries with a kiss, his fingers playing around your folds as he felt your bare skin against his. 

it was weird, you thought, to see him bare naked under you. his member was massive as well, the thought of it inside you leaving you to drool.

chan’s member brushed against your entrance making you grip tighter on his arms. “chan” you pouted, “just fuck me already”

your actions resulting in a few spanking from chan however, “what did you call me babygirl?” 

his voice made you whimper, your voice stuttering as you replied, “d-d-daddy... please i need you so bad”

chan smirked, “you’re not such a good girl anymore huh? always in need of daddy’s big cock”

“my daddy is the bestest” you replied innocently, taking chan by surprise when you get on all floors, yourself in between in legs as you lick a strip of his member.

“y/n...” he softly moaned your name, giving you motivation to suck on his dick. 

his hands grabbed your hair, pushing you closer to him and fucking your mouth. chan smirked as you looked up to him, the way you made him feel, like he was the most blessed man on this planet.

“you’re so beautiful” he praised as you sucked on his tip, his hips bucking as he fucked you harder. you leaned back this time, your core throbbing on inactivity, your fingers not helping a single bit. 

it was about time when you got on top of chan, sinking down on his member slowly. your teeth gnawed onto chan’s neck as you felt your walls being stretched to his size, “you’re so big daddy”

chan sped up his pace with no warning, giving you no time to adjust. your hands gripped onto his shoulders as your heard chan say, “i-i think i’m gonna cum. you sucked me off so well babygirl”

“let’s ride it off together” you said in a shaky voice. seconds later, both of you released on each other before you could hear a few knocks from the door. frantically you jumped from chan’s lap, throwing him his clothes and putting on yours.

“i’m coming!!” you replied.

“that’s what she said” chan replied with a smirk, you sending a deadly glare at him as you forced on your skirt. 

“help me with this?” you asked chan, gesturing at your zipper.

“are you wearing no underwear?” your eyes glowed as you shut his mouth, running over to answer the door. you felt relieved almost, despite your job being at stake if the music wasn’t good enough. you opened the door to see the tall man with a suit on. 

“how’d she do?” the director asked chan as he walked into the studio.

“y/n.. she was perfect.”

[newcaptainofsquad9]

Was This Vacation A Mistake?~Crazy Rich Asians( Astrid x black! fem! reader) ~Part 1

Pairing: Astrid x reader

Summary: You and your best friend Rachel have been teaching at NYU for a few years now and the both of you need a load off from it. Rachel suggests that you tag along with her and Nick to Singapore to which you reluctantly do. Although you consider yourself an outsider, you’re welcome by Rachel and Nick’s close friends. However, some of Nick’s family don’t seem too fond of Rachel and you being so chummy with Nick. All but Nick’s cousin, Astrid who comes to your rescue. 

Writer’s Note: I’ve been wanted to write a black reader insert forever, since I’m a black woman and don’t really see much of it on here. I wanted to do a fic with one of Gemma Chan’s characters’ and obviously Astrid had to be the first. Crazy Rich Asians was such a great, breathtaking film that I had to write about it. Note, there will be some racism in this fic, because racism still exists, even though a lot of people believe that it’s gone. I thought about how this traditional family such as the Youngs would view an American outsider if she was a woman of color and it will not be pleasant at first. 

Warnings: None. I’ll try to make it good I promise, I just wanted to try something different. Please, give me feedback! Hope ya’ll enjoy it!

Word Count: 1,527

______________________________________________________________

“Singapore?” I ask while blowing off my rather hot blueberry muffin. 

Rachel nods with a dazed grin, teeth and all.

“It’s not too early is it?” she asks, “I’m still trying to determine what type of family they are.”

“I’m sure they’ll love you Rach, families can be a bit dysfunctional at time,” I say, retracting my statement immediately. “On second thought, dysfunctional doesn’t even cover it.”  

“Maybe,” Rachel says, grinning abruptly. “Maybe my best friend could come with us?”

I nearly choke on the piece of muffin I began chewing.

“Come again?” I ask. 

Rachel’s hands reached across the table taking my own while putting on her best pout. 

“Please Y/N? I don’t want to go it alone,” she groaned. 

“Uh, last time I checked you and Nick were in a relationship. I don’t do open relationships,” I say. 

Rachel chuckles, “No, Y/N look when was the last time you used your passport? Wasn’t it that summer in Nice to interview that author for your class?” 

“I thought I told you not to bring that up anymore? That was an asshole and didn’t respect the craft, he only cared about money,” I grumbled. 

Rachel nods understandably. 

“You need a break from this stuffy campus, what have you been doing since classes ended last week?” She asks. 

“Grading papers,” I groan, “got down to the last two today–I’m having second thoughts about teaching next semester.”

Rachel gasps dramatically. 

 “Then who will join me for tea every weekend?” she asks, “who’ll listen to me vent about our current economy and listen to her bestie vent about creating the new cannon of literature.”

Rachel nudges my arm, forcing a smile back on my face. 

“Don’t act like you don’t agree with me, I know these kids are sick of reading the same old white dudes as I did.” I say. “I’m close to changing it.”

“You know I’m a hundred percent on board,” Rachel says, “but you need a break, have some real Asian cuisine.”

“Rachel Chu, did you just bash your mother’s cooking skills?” I tease. 

Rachel slaps my wrist playfully. 

“You and I haven’t had her meals since the semester started and you know it!” She scolds. “All I’m saying is that I know the food will be great, and I’d rather you see for yourself instead of through Instagram.”

“Fine,” I groan in defeat. “I’ll go, but if it turns out like Get Out, I’m out of there.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. 

“I won’t let that happen, minority alliance, right?”

She giggles holding her pinkie out. I’m the one rolling my eyes now, but I link my pinkie with her own. This is a chance to get a load off and travel to another place, meet new people. Rachel might be right, for once in a while. 

“In speaking of moms’, I need to let her know that I’m spending the summer in Singapore,” I say with a smirk. 

“Tell her you’re going to a wedding,” Nick says as he walks up to the table.

He greets Rachel with a kiss prior to coming over to my side. 

“Y/N, how’s my favorite English professor?” he chuckles. 

I can’t help but laugh at his attempt to suck up. 

“I’m the only one you know, but come here anyway,” I say.

Nick grins and hugs me tightly before pulling away. 

“We still down for drinks tonight?” he asks Rachel with a grin. 

I rise, noticing when the fluff starts as always. It’s cute, too teeth rottenly cute. 

“All right, ok I’ll go,” I say, “oh, yeah Nick, how much is a round trip to Singapore anyway?”

Nick doesn’t answer, only chuckles as if I told a joke. 

“What?” I ask.

“Y/N, I’m well off to cover it, trust me.” 

…

I always knew Nick Young was right for Rachel, but I didn’t expect him to be rich. Insanely rich, there’s a distinction. People I knew back home saved up for regular air bnbs, working class people. I could never imagine something like this.

Nick’s got his own flight attendants who wear these slender, red traditional Chinese dresses, loads of champagne and two beds.

Of course Rachel is now sprawled out on my bed watching Notting Hill. 

“Why this movie, this isn’t even his best movie,” I say. 

Rachel giggles and rolls back up into a sitting position. 

“You’re just mad I didn’t put on a Tom Hiddleston film,” Rachel sneers. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault his accent is much better than Hugh Grants,” I say.

Rachel gasps, “you didn’t!”

“I totally did, and here I thought you’d much prefer your boyfriend’s accent,” I say. 

“Don’t tell him that,” Rachel jokes, “he won’t let me live it down.”

“Live what down?” Nick asks, holding two glasses of champagne. 

Rachel accepts one, and I decline Nick’s offer. 

“I’ll pass,” I say, “I’m not really a champagne drinker.”

“That’s ok Y/N,” Nick says, “I think I heard you say my accent is better than Hugh Grants.” 

I can’t help but giggle, Rachel rolls her eyes as Nick rumbles with chuckles. 

“Yeah, your accent is definitely up there, why didn’t you tell me your family had points with this airline?” I say, “could have saved me the crummy airbnbs I’ve gotten over the years.” 

Nick grins again before taking a swig of his champagne. 

“My family’s just well off.”

…

Well off my ass. 

Nick’s grandmother’s house isn’t a house, it’s a mansion. With butlers, luscious plants;people with sparkling dresses, dapper suits ; and a giant stuffed tiger. Rachel was worried about everyone staring at her, but all eyes stay on me. 

Nick already whisked Rachel away to meet his mother, leaving me alone with the silver trays and the wondering stares. 

“Hey! You’re Nick’s personal servant, aren’t you!” One guy hollers.  

I throw him a look, but say nothing. They might believe any stereotype, wouldn’t want to give them anymore reason to. 

“You all right?” someone asks. 

I raise a brow and turn towards the voice. 

My face burns at the sight of the olive skinned woman; her jet black hair, ruby colored lip stick and a shiny silver dress. Her accent caught me off guard though. British, like Nick’s, but a bit different. 

“Hi, ah–”

She smiles and holds her hand out to me. 

“Astrid, Astrid Leong,” she says. 

I grin, shake her hand firmly and almost forget my own name. 

“Y-Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N,” I say. 

“That’s a pretty name,” she notes. 

I can’t help but blush. This has got to be a dream. 

“Thanks, I-I love your earrings,” I say, trying to keep myself from staring too deeply into her eyes. 

Astrid steps a bit closer, putting a hand on my arm. 

“You sure? you seem a little flustered,” Astrid says. 

I nod sharply.

“Y-Yeah, just all of the lights I got to get used to,” I say, playing it off. 

Astrid gives me a careful once over before grinning again. 

“All right,” she says, “if you need anything let me know, I can play hero for Nick and Rachel’s friend.” 

“How’d you know I came with Nick and Rachel?” I ask. 

Astrid giggles while rubbing my arm tenderly. 

“I’ve been to this house for years Y/N,” Astrid says, “I know the usual guests and no one looks at it in wonder like you do.” 

All I can do is nod and be captivated by Astrid’s voice. 

“Y-Yeah, great point, Astrid–”

“Astrid!” 

Astrid and I both turn toward a man in a purple suit and glasses. 

“Cassian’s calling for you, he wants a story before bed,” he says. 

Astrid sighs.

“Mother duty calls I suppose, thank you Ollie,” she says before turning to me. “It was a pleasure Y/N, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

I nod and try not to fall as she squeezed my hand and walk away. 

“Wow,” I whisper.

Ollie nods. 

“Indeed,” he agrees, “I hardly see women fawn over Astrid like that.”

I turn to him. 

“I’m sorry, have we met?” I ask.

“Oliver T’sien,” he says, “I’m the eyes and ears around here.”

I keep an eye on him. 

“How do you know Astrid?”

“Well, Astrid and I are Nick’s cousins. My family’s not as well off as the Youngs or Leongs’ but we’re still stable,” he explains, “plus I’m just the rainbow sheep of the family, I’ve gotten used to all of the talk, haven’t you?”

I nod, catching onto his words. 

“Family drama can be a pain, but instead of the rainbow sheep, I’m more of a pink, purple and blue one,” I say. 

Ollie grins. 

“All the more scandalous, can I tell you something about Astrid?” he asks. “It’s nothing bad, I swear.”

I nod, he offers an arm and I take it as we walk. 

“Sure,” I say. 

Ollie leans close to my ear and whispers, “Astrid’s a divorcee, she’s been divorced for the past year now.” 

My heart skips a beat, thank God I wasn’t ogling over a married woman.  

“I don’t know if Astrid favors the pink, blue and purple like you, but I’d give it a try,” Ollie says. 

I’m not sure how I feel about that. 

[neonsentient]

Haikyuu! Rise Above

A ragtag group of students from a school for troubled teenagers forms an unconventional co-ed volleyball team in hopes of proving to themselves that they're more than what people make them to be. With the help of a few loopholes in the rulebook, they'll have the chance to win the gold for what might possibly be the last time in their lives.

Think of it as a spin-off, the Karasuno's first years are now second years, but I will focus on this paticular team.

Warnings: Mentions of drug abuse, underage drinking, self harm, eating disorders, depression, suicide, racial and homophobic slurs. Not all at the same time though.  

Chapter 1: Promising Young People

Amara leaned closer to the toilet as she gagged, throwing up her measly breakfast of tea and apple slices, the only things she could stomach that morning. In an unusual lucky strike, the bathroom she was currently in puking her guts out was empty.  It probably had something to do with the fact that she decided to arrive at the school building an hour earlier, otherwise she would’ve had an audience.

She rose from the floor, wobbling like a newborn fawn, and went to check herself in the bathroom mirror. Her russet skin had an unhealthy pallor to it, her waist-length crow black braids were loose and poorly made and the bags under her eyes could’ve been easily mistaken for bruises. That morning she didn’t even bother to look for her makeup bag in her suitcase.

“First impressions matter, you know?” Her parents would’ve told her. “It’s not every day you get to make them.”

“But I already made mine.” Amara thought bitterly.

She splashed cold water on her face and rinsed her mouth as best as she could.  Now she was regretting not bringing at least some concealer or even chapstick.

“As if that were to make things any better.” A voice hissed from the back of her head. “As if that would…..”

Amara shook her head, bringing herself back as she checked her wrist watch. She was supposed to meet her guide at the entrance. In a normal scenario, she would’ve already known by now where everything in the school was, her classes, the gym, the best spots for a smoke break……

But despite being her second year of high school, it was her first year at Ōkamiyama Alternative Academy. In fact, since most of her education consisted of homeschooling, it was her first time back at school since she was in elementary, period. And unlike many other students who had arrived at least a week earlier, Amara’s messy flight schedule made her arrive only a day before the school started.

One look at the main building and it was clear that the school had a thing for a certain color scheme, or lack thereof, rather, since Amara noticed that all the buildings were either black, white or gray. That and the uniforms, a dreadful combination of a prison concrete gray blazer and pants or skirt with a white shirt and black tie. Luckily, the school didn’t seem to be too strict on the dress code, since she saw several students with all sorts of accessories, shoes and even altered pieces of the uniform.

She decided to play it safe by wearing it plain with a pair of rather sad looking black loafers that had seen better days - an emergency purchase at Target after her suede Jimmy Choo boots fell victim to an unexpected downpour-, and a gray Casio. It's not like she was expecting the sailor tops and blue skirts she saw on TV, but the overall look did leave Amara incredibly disappointed.  

Her guide was a girl called Emine Narisawa, also a second year and in the same class as her. Other than that she didn’t knew anything else. It was still a bit early, so she sat at a bench near the entrance, and to no surprise, it didn’t took long for the stares and whispers to start.

“That’s her, right?”

“Oh, so it was for real?”

“Is it just me, or did she looked taller on TV?

Amara’s vision turned blurry, her eyes curdling with tears. She quickly dug into her bag, pulled out her IPod nano (one of the few devices that the school allowed) and headphones and pressed shuffle, not even paying attention to the song that was playing as she took several deep breaths.

She tried her best to distract herself with anything, yet not even a second later, Amara felt a light tapping on her shoulder. She jolted on her seat, took off her headphones and turned to face the person behind her.

“Ups! Sorry!” A cheery voice apologized. “You’re Amara Murakami, right?

The girl was tall, not as much as Amara, but still taller than the average second year girl, and model-thin, with long hair the dark red of rose petals tied in a high ponytail. A ridiculously big, silvery gray bow sat atop her head. Amara immediately noticed her uniform, or “uniform”; the blazer had been turned into a button vest, the gray skirt was embezzled with black and white rhinestones and she sported a pair of white Adidas sneakers. Amara had bought the same ones just two months ago. A thin, white gold anklet with pea-sized bubblegum-pink sapphires was clasped at her slim ankle.

“My name’s Emine Narisawa, but everyone calls me Emi! Wow, you’re taller than I imagined.” The girl chirped. Her voice had a slight hoarse edge to it, which combined with her super girly perfume, an overly sweet combination of flowers and strawberry, made Amara suspect that she was a smoker and that she probably had a cigarette before the tour. “Welcome to The Den!”

Amara could only raise her eyebrows.

“Get it? Cuss we’re wolves!” The girl pointed at the welcoming banner hanging in the entrance, where a menacing looking gray wolf was painted.

“Right.” Amara nodded, not knowing what else to say. "Umm, thanks?"

The redhead caught her hand in an overly enthusiastic handshake. She had a pretty face, although her cheeks looked a tad bit gaunt, and she wore silver eyeshadow with glitter all over her face and hair. Her tanned skin, a shade lighter than Amara’s, was completely covered with freckles, and her lips were painted a shimmering soft pink.

“Wow, your eyes look super cool!” She said, inspecting Amara’s face. “You’re from America, right? Is one of your parents Japanese?”

“So she hasn’t heard of me.” Amara thought with relief. She then noticed that Emine was waiting for an answer.

“Y-yeah I’m from Massachusetts.” She answered. “Umm, my dad’s Japanese and m-my mom’s Nipmuc.”

The redhead cocked her head in confusion.

“Native American.” Amara explained.

Emine’s licorice black eyes lit up.  

“Cool! So you guys are the ones that make, like, dreamcatchers and stuff?” She asked. There wasn’t a single hint of malice in her voice, just genuine curiosity, but still, it made Amara feel annoyed.  

“Ummm…”

“My Nine was from Turkey,” Emine said. “And they have these Nazar amulets to ward off the evil eye or something. Is it the same thing?”

“I don’t…”

“Anyways, you’ll love it here. It never gets boring!” Emine explained as she leaned uncomfortably close, linking her arm with Amara’s. “Follow me, I’ll take you to our classroom.”

The girls made their way inside the building and all the way through Emine "discreetly" pointed out rooms and people, giving Amara a crash course on the school, the students and teachers.

By the time they reached their classroom, Amara had learned that the captain of the baseball team had just began dating the president of the Student Council, crop tops were back in style, the back of the football field was the best place to smoke and that the guys from the Shōgi club sold the best ketamine during midterms.

"Don't they do drug tests all the time?" Amara asked. She herself had an appointment in the nurse’s office later that night for one.

Emine nodded.

"Yup, but it's a six panel."

It was Amara's turn to be confused once again. She had drug tests done before but she only...provided the sample, she never bothered to ask about the details.

"Weed, coke, speed, benzos, angel dust and opiates. All the mainstream stuff," Emine explained. "Ketamine doesn't show."

“Oh.” Amara said. “I thought there weren’t a lot of drug users in Japan.”

“Oh there are,” Emine said, occasionally waving to the people in the hallway. “And here are some of the ones that got caught.”  

“Good to know?”

Amara thought that drugs were a rare commodity in Japan, but then she remembered where she was….

“So…” The redhead began, pulling Amara out of her thoughts. “How are you liking the dorms so far?”

“They’re cool.” Amara replied in a monotone voice. “My roommate hasn’t showed up yet, though.”

“Oh yeah, I heard she’s busy with some family stuff.” Emine pointed out.

“So you know her?” Amara inquired. “What’s she like? I mean, personality wise.”

Emine scrunched up her face, trying to find the right words.

“Well, she’s a bit of a…..

“Bitch!” A voice yelled from the other side of the hallway.

A girl walked towards them with a rhythmic and intense stride that made Amara think she was going to do a handspring or cartwheel at any second. She was gorgeous, what people would call a “Bombshell”, with sun tanned skin as if she had spent an entire summer at the beach, and a long mane of sandy blonde waves styled in the same way as Emine; a high ponytail with a bow on top, though hers was black. Her dark teal eyes had a gleam that Amara could only describe as “keen”.

The girl faced directly at the redhead with a quasi indignant look. Amara noticed that her look was very similar to Emine's; the embezzled skirt and altered blazer, shimmery eyeshadow and glitter sprinkled all over her face and hair.

"I can take a couple missed calls but ignoring me the whole summer was just mean!" She said, giving the redhead an angry look.

Emine looked saddened.

"I'm sor…..”

Before the redhead could finish the blonde interrupted her with a big hug.

"I've been worried sick! Even a "Don't text me" would've been enough!" She cried, clinging to Emine's neck. "Never do that again, got it?"

Emine's expression eased as she returned the hug.

"Never again."

If there was something worse than being a third wheel Amara sure was being just that at the moment.

The girls broke their hug and a pair of teal eyes immediately fell on Amara. They weren't menacing, just, observing her. The blonde was significantly shorter than Amara and Emine, but her presence felt more….. imposing. Even with the uniform, Amara could see the outline of muscle on her legs and arms.

"Oh!" Emine exclaimed, as if she had just remembered that Amara was there, and gestured towards the blonde. "Amara, this is Erika Sawai, captain of the cheer squad.

“Now it makes sense,” Amara connected the dots as she looked at both Emine and the blonde. The perky attitude, the lithe build, and even the bows. “They’re cheerleaders.”

“And Erika, this is….."

"Amara Murakami," Erika said, capturing Amara's hand in a firm handshake. "Rumour mill went that you were gonna end up here. But for future reference, I wouldn't trust anything they say around here. It tends to be a little….unreliable."

"Umm, sure" Amara said. She wasn't sure how to react to that. "I-I'll keep that in mind."

“My, my,” Erika leaned a bit closer. Amara caught the scent of the blonde's peach blossom perfume.  “What pretty eyes you have.”

“Uh, thanks.” Amara muttered.

"Oh, I know!" Emine perked up with an “Eureka!” type of expression. “Since I can’t join you guys for lunch why don’t you go with Amara to the cafeteria, Erika?”

Amara felt incredibly awkward. Day one and she was already being ditched by the one person that was supposed to be with her.

“Sure.” Erika shrugged, a smirk appearing on her face. “I love fresh meat.”

Amara gulped. Why did spending a couple hours with a cheerleader, a really pretty one to boot, made her more nervous than stepping into a court filled with professional players?

Then the bell pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Come on, Amara!” Urged Emine. The redhead turned quickly and gave Erika one last hug before entering the classroom. “And see you later Erika!”

Erika waved them goodbye before making her way to her classroom.

Their first classes; English, Math, Japanese literature and Science seeped through Amara’s brain like water on a strainer. Luckily none of her teachers made her introduce herself to the class so far.

But on the other hand, she couldn’t help but notice the “subtle” whispers and looks from her classmates.

A few minutes after the bell rang they found Erika already outside. Emine apologized to Amara, promising to be back as soon as lunch was over and making quick plans with Erika to catch up later in the day before she made her way into an unknown destination. Amara was tempted to ask, but at the same time she told herself that she knew better than prying on someone else’s business.

She exited the classroom and was immediately greeted by Erika’s sly smile.

“Long time no see, Sugar.”

Amara gave her a tight smile as they walked towards their destination.

_________________________________________________________________________

The principal was a firm believer that a healthy diet was key to a healthy mind, therefore, the school’s vending machines only offered water, organic soy milk, sugar-free drinks, fruit and protein bars.

There were two cafeterias, but Amara was told upon arrival that she only had access to one of them. There, most of the menu items were either boiled, steamed or baked and it also had an all-you-can-eat salad bar and a drink station where one could get teas, coffees, smoothies or juices. Amara thought it was a sharp, yet nice, contrast with her old elementary school’s cafeteria choices of cardboardy pizza, dry meatloaf and congealed mac 'n' cheese.  

Amara silently wondered what was the deal with the other cafeteria as she took a spoonful of miso soup.

“Liking the food so far?” Erika asked, placing her tray opposite to Amara's. She had a bowl brimming with a colorful salad of greens, pecans, apples and fennels, a plate of spiced tofu and two cups; one filled with a pale orange drink and the other with a beige colored liquid. She handed the beige one to Amara. " Here, try this."

She had told Erika that her stomach was feeling a little odd (yet not the reason as to why), so Amara trusted that anything she had given her wouldn't kill her on the spot. She took a sip and despite the unappetizing color the flavour was delicious; sweet, creamy yet not too heavy, and with the aftertaste of almonds. It felt nice on her tender stomach.

"Wow," Amara said, pleasantly surprised. "What's this?"

Erika winked and smiled. For a second, it reminded Amaran of someone else's smile.

"My Mama calls it the Jitter Killer." She explained, her voice emitting a hint of nostalgia. "She's been making them for me ever since I started competing. But once I got here I had to start making them myself."

"It's really good!" Amara complimented, taking another sip. She then thanked her, wholeheartedly. Gestures like those literally made her day a thousand times less shitty.

"Any time, Sugarcube." She chuckled, and then leaned towards her with a curious expression. "But do tell. How is a first day of school more intimidating than stepping into a court filled with three meter sized Amazonians?"

Amara lowered her face and blushed. She only told her that she wasn’t feeling good, she never told her the reason.

"Is it really that obvious?"

"You look exactly how I did on the day of my first competition." Erika recalled. "I believe I was around six?"

"What?" Amara said. "Do cheerleaders really start that young?"

"Yup." Erika nodded. "Especially in the States. They love their cheers there, let me tell ya."

"You're from there too?"

"Mama's from Texas" The blonde said. "So it’s always been half and half until now. We still go for the holidays though, they’re much more fun there."

"Sounds cool. I'm from Massachusetts, and I've only been in Japan like twice….until now."

The atmosphere suddenly became grim, and Amara felt her breath hitch. Erika's hand reached for hers.

"Hey." Emiki said, her voice serious. "I know you probably heard this enough but...I'm really sorry for your loss."

Amara's eyes began to curdle with tears.

"You're actually one of the only ones to tell me that."

Then she broke into sobs.

"S-sorry." Amara tried to apologize. Last night she had cried herself to sleep in her dorm, clutching a pair of worn out volleyball shoes, not even bothering to unpack, she just wasn’t in the mood for anything but crying. And there she thought that she had cried everything last night…...

Erika bolted from her seat and to her side, placing her hands on Amara's shoulder in a comforting manner.

"Oh, Honey Bee." She said. "Don't you dare apologize for your feelings ever again. You better promise me that"

Amara sniffed and nodded.

"You wanna talk about it?" Erika asked, the way a mother would when trying to comfort her child.

"I….

"There you are!" A voice interrupted. "We've been looking for you everywhere, morra!"  

Amara and Erika both turned and looked. There were three girls, each one different from the other. They were around the same height but that was where the similarities ended. One had brown skin, long glossy black hair in a single thick braid tied with a gray bow and umber brown eyes traced with glittery makeup. A gold stud glinted in her nose. The other had bronze skin, waist-length chocolate colored hair with a gray bow atop and eyes like two yellow tourmalines. On her face was a red lipped, wicked dimpled smile, like a kid who’d just finished pulling up a prank. The third one was a bit meek looking, with rosy white skin, a cloud of short strawberry blonde hair with a white bow on top and soft green eyes. She fidgeted with her hands and seemed ready to throw up at any second. Amara immediately felt a bout of compassion towards her.

“It’s lunch time, where else would I be?” Erika asked with a confused expression.

“Good point.” The brown haired girl said. She took a sip from the giant coffee cup in her hand. “Can we join you?”

Erika gestured at the empty seats.

The black haired girl looked at Amara up and down, from her messy braids and puffy red eyes to the plain black loafers.

“First time here?” She asked her as she sat.

Amara nodded and noticed their outfits; skirts embroidered with flowers and crystals, Miu Miu sneakers and Birkin bags. How she wished she had her new Air Jordans with her….

“Aww! I remember my first day as if it was yesterday.” The brown haired girl sighed.

The black haired girl furrowed her brow.

“Didn’t you threw up from withdrawal?”

“It was from a hangover, not withdrawal! They’re like two different things!” The brown haired girl corrected, indignant.

Erika cleared her throat, making the three girls turn their heads at her.

“Amara, these are my friends and members of the cheer squad.” Erika explained.

She pointed at the black haired girl.

“This is Kumari Hanan, our best flyer.”

Kumari gave Amara a small nod.

“This is Ximena Otakara, our dance expert and choreographer.”

“And future celebrity, don’t forget that.” The brown haired girl added with a wink.

Erika rolled her eyes and then pointed at the strawberry blonde girl.

“And this is our newest addition to the team, Kara Tamada”

Kara gave Amara a timid smile and wave.  

“Kumari is a third year like me, Ximena’s a second year like you, and Kara is a freshman.” Erika explained and then gestured at Amara. “Girls, this is Amara Murakami, please don’t torture her.”  

“A la madre! ” Ximena looked at her, surprised. “Wicked eyes, girl!”

Amara lowered her gaze and mumbled an empty thanks. If there was something she was used to at that point in her life, was of people making comments about her eyes.

"Sectoral heterochromia." Were the doctor's oficial words.

"Stained glass eyes." Her friends often called them.

"Woodland eyes." Her grandfather had called them. "Brown for the soil, black for the stone and green for the life."

"You carry your land within your eyes, Amara." He told her once. "You will never be lost."

“If only that were true.” Amara couldn’t help but think.

But then she saw Ximena’s eyes squinting in concentration.

“No mames, I’ve seen you before!” She said, proud of her discovery. “You’re that volleyball chick!”

“Holy shit, you’re right.” Kumari joined.

Amara’s stomach plummeted and her face paled, which Erika noticed.

“Damn it you two, what did I just say!?” The blonde scolded. Her tone was the same one Amara’s mom used when reprimanding her. “Hope you’re in the mood for running suicides today!”

"What? Why?" Ximena and Kumari cried.

"That's okay, Erika." Amara reassured her. "It's not like it's a secret, anyway."

“See? We have the Ok.” Ximena said, earning a murderous gaze from Erika.

Then an awkward silence filled the table.

“So…” Kumari began, taking a sip of her purple smoothie. “You’re joining the volleyball team?”

In Ōkamiyama, all students were required to join a school club or association, and from looking at the list that came with the welcoming pamflet, there seemed to be quite a lot, from embroidery and cooking to horse riding and rock climbing. There were even some odd ones like “The Cheese Connoisseurs Association” and “Apocalypse Survival Prepping Club”. And there were also the typical sports clubs like baseball, basketball, football* and of course, volleyball.

She didn’t wanted to give up volleyball, but the wound was still so fresh it still bled…...

“I-I don’t know.” She mumbled. “I’m still not sure. I have a week, don’t I?

“Yeah, of course.” Erika reassured her. “And if you need more time, you can ask the therapist for an extension.”

Amara had completely forgot about the therapist.

In a normal school, a counselor was usually available for students if they wished so, but here it was mandatory to have individual one hour weekly therapy sessions,and once she joined a club, group therapy would also become obligatory. Amara’s first session was scheduled for Sunday.

“Yeah, don't sweat it!” Ximena said.

“Isn't Emi also joining the volleyball team?” Kumari inquired.

Amara raised an eyebrow.

“I thought she was a cheerleader.” She asked, looking at Erika.

“Emphasis on was.” Ximena sighed.

“And not just that, she was...is...the best tumbler in the prefecture.” Kara explained in a soft voice.

“Really?” Amara asked, she knew from somewhere that tumbler meant acrobat, basically a gymnast with a mini skirt instead of a leotard. “Then why did she quit?”

Ximena, Kumari and Erika looked at each other.

“She didn’t told you?” Kumari asked.

“Tell me what?” Amara looked at Erika for guidance.

“Okay that’s enough.” The blonde’s face had a not so subtle hint of worry. “That’s not for us to talk about, I’m sure that in time Emi will tell you all about it.”

Amara certainly felt a bit pained for being left out, but it was someone whom she literally just met, so she concluded that she had no right to be upset either.  

Kara must’ve sensed the tense atmosphere and quickly asked some questions about the cheer squad. There were many terms that Amara did not understood, but she soon became fascinated. The cheerleaders at the games Amara played in danced around and cheered (duh!) but the way Erika and the others talked about the work plan for their squad it was clear that they did more than that.

“Hey, why don’t you join the squad?” Erika suggested.

“We do need more tumblers.” Kumari pointed out.

“Yeah.” Ximena agreed. “How are your back handsprings?”

“Ummm...nonexistent?”  Amara admitted, although the idea did sound nice. “I do have a mean cartwheel, though.”

The girls chuckled.

“Okay, maybe we can help you find another club if volleyball and cheerleading won’t do it for ya.” Erika smiled and stood, walking towards a notice board and taking a poster version of the clubs and associations list.

“Let’s see then.”

They tried to summarize each club as best as they could, counting the pros and cons and telling her about the people in them.

“What’s the Wolf Kingdom Club?” Amara asked, slightly amused by the odd names.

Everyone grunted, which Amara took as a bad sign.

“That’s the historical reenactment club.” Erika said. “They do everything medieval, and I mean everything.”

“Except dying from the plague.” Kumari muttered.

“So that’s a no?” Amara inquired.

“Depends.” Ximena said. “Do you like dancing with seven layers of clothing on and churning your own butter?”

“Pass.” Amara said.  

And so they spent the rest of the lunch break going over the list in hopes of finding something for Amara, but nothing seemed to catch her attention. Kara spoke on occasions whenever she felt in danger of being forgotten.

By the time the bell rung, they’ve managed to narrow it down to the basketball team and the basket weaving club. She had the height and the jump for the first one and the skills for the last one.

“If you change your mind, you should go with Emi to the tryouts after school.” Erika reminded her as they walked towards Amara’s classroom.

She nodded weakly, lost in thought.

Erika sighed and tapped her shoulder, making their eyes meet.

“Look, I don’t know a lot about volleyball, but I do know that it shares something in common with cheerleading.”

Amara arched an eyebrow. Then, Erika grabbed her hands, the blonde's lightly tanned skin clashing with Amara's russet complexion. Their eyes met, and Erika’s had one of the most serious expressions Amara had ever seen.

“Jumps are the most thrilling part, as well as the hardest.” She said. “When we jump, we don’t take steps back, not even to gain momentum. It’s always forwards, full force.”

Amara had so many questions about those words, yet she didn’t ask. Was it fear or confusion that stopped her? She didn’t knew. But for a moment she was sure the girl was saying that there was only one way to go.

Forward.

[atrainernamedradish]

Top 10 Least Favorite Pokemon

You know what’s harder than making a top favorites list? A least favorite one. I was particular about this list because I wanted my own personal opinion on the matter instead of adding to the echo chamber that can be the fandom’s. I don’t hate these Pokemon. These are the ones I care for the least. Also, the placements kept changing for this list, but I feel like I finally put everyone on here in the right order now.

10) Whismur Line

The only reason this line is the Normal typing is because Game Freak hasn’t made the Sound typing official. Hell, Electric, or even Steel, would have made more sense. But nope we got these weird fleshy sound-based things that I’m never excited to see.

9) Greedent

I take back everything I said about Diggersby (still wished it didn’t have the belching model cry though), and I’m directing that towards Greedent. It looks like your typical fat, lazy, and not particularly bright cartoon character. Almost feel like they were a bit lazy in this design. Like… they could have done something more, or less since it’s large enough. I feel like Game Freak is trying to recreate a likeness to Snorlax, since it’s the poster child for obese Pokemon, but keeps falling short by giving us the ugliest designs. We don’t need more fat normal types. We’ve got plenty.

8) Electrode

Hey guys, let’s make this Pokeball based Pokemon flip upside down, make it less pissed off and call it an evolution! Also, it’s going to be crazy fast as well explode, most likely killing anything nearby, because why the fuck not? Boring and dangerous… what a match made in hell for a design!

7) Pheromosa

It’s an almost 7 foot tall sentient cockroach with legendary stats. Nope. Just nope. *flees*

6) Grimmsnarl Line

I have been disappointed with this evolutionary line since seeing the leaks of Impidimp. I know a lot of Faerie lore and it ticks me off that they chose a Goddamn Goblin for the first Dark/Fairy type. Also, and I know not all Faeries are cute and cuddly, but why does Game Freak keep trying to sneak in ugly Fairy types? About 95% of the Fairy typing has a cute or pleasing ascetic. That’s one of its themes, that and trying to throw pink on everything, so why give us this ugly line?

The only indicator of this thing remotely being Fairy typing at a glance is that it’s pink. I would have never gotten Fairy otherwise from it. Goblins might be in Faerie Tales, but they aren’t Faeries.

The only one in this line that remotely gives off the Dark typing to me is Morgrem. The other two not so much. Putting black on a Pokemon is maybe another indicator of the Dark typing, but even then it ain’t helping…?

Overall to me this thing is goofy to ugly looking with its design and typing a complete mess. It irritates me that our first combination of Fairy and Dark is this line…

Also, using it in a playthrough and it pisses me off that I’m not getting a Fairy move until it reaches its final evolution! That’s if I don’t want to grind up watt points in the Wild Area for a Fairy TR, or beat Opal before getting said evolution!

5) Shiinotic

Fairy typing makes sense for Morelull when you realize what it’s based on. Hell, even Ghost does. But Shiinotic? I don’t care if mushrooms are a big thing in Faerie Culture. You can’t just design some ugly ass alien mushroom hybrid then slap the Fairy typing on it because of mushrooms or lore from a pre evolution! While we’re at it let’s make the Amoongus and Breloom line Fairies too!

Morelull should have been a single stage line. It would have made sense. But no. They just wanted to make an ugly Fairy type just to prove they could say: “hey fandom I know you’re sick of all the cute and pink Fairy types so here’s an ugly one to change things up!”

And don’t get me *started* on that ugly ass shiny! Game Freak: bright yellow and muddy browns are a terrible color combination! Guess why?

4) Spinda

You know how I praised Alcremie for having multiple forms because of what it was and why it made sense for it? Well I have the opposite opinion regarding Spinda.

If I didn’t believe in the golden rule of everyone having a favorite of each Pokemon then I’d very much assume this thing wasn’t liked by anyone.

Everything about its design annoys me. Why is it a panda? And before anyone tries to tell me otherwise, it’s in its American/English name. Why is it in a constant state of vertigo? I literally was trying to think of a typing it would be better off as instead of the Normal typing and none come to mind. So it’s normal because a) it’s an animal or b) because they needed to give it a typing and no other typing fit.

And out of ALL the Pokemon why does this one have an almost endless possibility of “forms”? This thing has got to be a living dex collector’s worst nightmare!

3) Archeops

This Pokemon is on here for pure personal reasons. Technically there are a few other Pokemon that I feel the same towards, but this one was the worst about it.

You know you have a stupid powerful stat as a non-psuedo legendary and legendary when you need an ability to nerf you. What’s worse is when you need a pretty bulky Pokemon to soak up the damage you reap before said ability does nerf you.

It was always Goddamn terrifying to run into this Pokemon in White 2. Not only was a good chunk of my team weak to Flying, but my Samurott couldn’t take more than one hit from it. Not to mention it didn’t do enough super effective damage to OHKO this thing. So I was never happy to run into this thing because I would only get out of the fight with a lot of collateral damage to my party!

This wasn’t the only Pokemon that was this fucking difficult to deal with in Unova. There is definitely a power imbalance in these games which made playing them a pain in the ass. Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE Black 2 & White 2, but fuck me if this wasn’t my biggest issues with those games…

(Some of y'all are probably wondering about Slaking, and Slaking is actually easier to deal with thanks to its typing and ability readily triggering.)

2) Pelipper

This Pokemon was originally going to be my least favorite Water type on my favorite and least favorite typings lists, but I think its placement on this list suits it better.

I honestly don’t mind its pre-evolution Wingull. Wingull is kinda cute. Wonder Trade had me groaning every time I saw one, but that was more the player’s fault than anything.

Pelipper is just such a poorly designed Pokemon. Like, what were they thinking when they essentially fused the beak and stomach together? How can this thing carry its front heavy, well front? I assume it can handle all of that weight being airborne since I doubt it can get around any other way with its stubby little feet.

Then they gave it the Drizzle ability and suddenly people give a shit about its ugly ass…

The only time I’ve “willingly” used one was in my Wonderlocke, which was only due to the fact that I was in dire need of a water type, and I'll tell you that right now that I didn’t want to resort to using it. I’m pretty sure it died at the very end in the Champion battle… wasn’t all that sad to lose it if I’m being honest.

This isn’t just reserved for this Pokemon, but I absolutely hate the dual typing of Water/Flying. Nothing says “throw a rock at me” more than this typing combination. 

Overall I just don’t like anything about this Pokemon.

1) Greninja

This Pokemon used to be a lot lower on this list, but as I mentioned right before the list that the order changed as I was making it. I can promise you that this Pokemon isn’t on here because of how popular it is (there are others that would be on here if that was the case). There are many other reasons I will go over as to why this one is on the list.

The first is my experience using a basic one in XY. It’s learn set of moves is terrible, and that’s because it learns a lot of physical moves despite having a much better Special Attack. When I thought about the aspects of a ninja’s special attack being higher than physical it made much more sense. It had little to no options for Dark type moves with one of the best moves for it not being available till you’ve gotten the 8th badge for Waterfall. Greninja was the weakest member of my team with my Aromatisse putting in much more work than it! If Greninja is not competitively trained as well as has any of its hidden abilities then it’s not really that useful. I kept the one from that playthrough because I don’t have the heart to release it or get rid of it…

The second is its design. I very much don’t care for it (its tongue scarf is gross!). Its middle evolution looks so much better to me, and it made me sad evolving it into this ugly thing…

The third is its typing. I’ve had some time to think about it and I’ve wondered to myself: why is Greninja a Dark type? Thinking of the history, and to some extent the mythology of ninjas, nothing screams Dark type to me. I’m also taking into account of Dark being Evil in Japan, and nothing about ninja inherently screams Evil or Dark typing. Then I found myself thinking about its other typing in Water which brought me to the conclusion that the only reason Greninja is a Water type is for two reasons: 1) It’s a starter and 2) it’s a frog.

So you’re probably thinking by this point: “well Radish if you don’t like its typings then what would you change them to?” Unfortunately, I’d keep Water since it’s not the only Pokemon to have a typing based on the animal it is (looking at you Poliwag line!). Dark typing would be replaced with Ghost since ninjas in their lore and mythology can traverse and interact with the spiritual world.

I will address the elephant in the room for my closing thoughts on this Pokemon: Greninja and the fandom. I wholeheartedly believe that if Greninja didn’t have the hidden abilities that it did that it wouldn’t be as favored as it is among the fanbase. As someone who used a basic ability one in hopes of giving it a chance I was greatly disappointed, and didn’t understand why this Pokemon was so popular. That’s why I feel as though the competitive scene is where it has gotten all of its fame from. People give Charizard so much shit for being overrated but do they for Greninja? (Not a big fan of Charizard for those who wanna accuse me as such.)