#you only bringing it up NOW makes me think it's not the rags to riches story you actually have a problem with

[lastoneout]

ngl I understand a lot of the critique around Love, Simon but I really have never felt like it was an inauthentic representation of the queer experience? like the scene where Simon breaks down after being outed to his entire school against his will legit brought me to tears, that was such a brutal and honest portrayal of how horrible it is to have the choice of when and how to come out taken away from you, idk how anyone could watch that and be like "yeah obviously no one working on this had any idea what it's like to be queer"

[savagewildnerness]

Let’s breakdown this scene…

Lestat, playing piano: bent over, lost in the world of the music - out of this world entirely. Louis sees a broken thing playing a plank of wood. A far cry from the proud, splendid creature he once knew.

(From Interview with the Vampire) "My eyes widened as I studied this stooped and shivering vampire whose rich blonde hair hung down in loose waves covering his face.”

Side note from me, as I love to talk about things that make The Vampire Chronicles appealing to me. Some people seem to be of the view that they wouldn’t desire immortality, only to be these sad, lonely, melancholic creatures… but I have always felt this way myself - even when I was a tiny child, long before I read The Vampire Chronicles. There has always been an innate loneliness and isolation to me deep inside. I don’t think you’d necessarily know it to meet me, mind! I am a smiley person! I like to do childlike, fun things. I try to bring happiness, not gloom to the world.

However, my instinct has always been to retreat into my own, wordless, unbound imagination, and to feel entirely alone, in truth. And still, I am. As a child, I felt more the weight of the world as if I were already 1000 years old. Now, loss of hope that comes with time is both sadder, scarier and, in its way, more freeing.

Anyway - imagine having infinite time and so being able to truly drift out of existence for decades. It’s such an appealing concept to me. I know Lestat is very sad here, but the idea of this kind of true escape… oh how I yearn for it. To let the world crumble around me. To step out of existence for some decades, with the possibility of return, not the reality as it is in mortal life that that is you falling through cracks you’ll never crawl out of ever again…

Lestat names Louis, reflexively when asked who said “hello”. He hasn’t turned to see Louis yet. To Lestat, Louis died 50 years ago. He is a ghost, surely? Lestat’s voice has a flat affect here. He isn’t thinking. He is merely reacting.

When Lestat first looks at Louis, I see fear:

- Does Louis really exist?

- What will Louis do?

- Must Lestat be drawn back into the world here? To acknowledge reality?

(From IWTV) “`I've dreamed of your coming . . . coming. . ' he said.”

Lestat asks Louis if he’d like a rat, as if he were a hallucination still, more than real-Louis. I think Lestat knows Louis is real when he speaks, but he’s still only half in reality himself.

Louis says “I’ve come to see you”, but Lestat is still half in his own constructed world with his music and Argerich… I love how Lestat hugs and caresses his plank-piano, drawing it into himself, as if drawing music in to himself. Me too, Lestat. Me too. I adore how Rolin and all added music to this scene. It isn’t there in the books. Of course it makes a through-line for rock star Lestat, but it is a deep love of Lestat’s and I am SO HAPPY with this addition!

I know a lot of people find “Siri, pause…” funny, but I must be a weird human, as I just find it oddly poignant. Like did people watch and laugh at this moment? This feels like when I go to see a play and people all laugh at something and I don’t laugh, then some other thing I laugh out loud at, but nobody else is laughing. And this is why I can’t do memes or any popular thing. SIGH. ANYWAY!!!

The way Lestat puts the keyboard up on front of himself, like a shield as Louis moves closer, his breathing growing ragged. Lestat genuinely scared… as though Louis’ mere presence might obliterate him if he gets too close. And of course, he does not know why Louis is there. Is he there to kill him? Does it matter if he is? He should kill him. He could too, right now. The emotional support piano becomes a protective plank.

But what Lestat is not expecting is Louis’ kindness, care, worry and empathy.

“Did you save my life in Paris?”

And now we get the first glimmer of the old Lestat as Lestat lifts his chin, shakes his head, tries to be nonchalant and to muster up his old pride, maintain any pride he still possesses. He immediately dismisses Louis’ niceness with a self-criticism as he truly perceives that he put Louis in danger by not protecting him from Armand. Responsibility in Nicolas’ death, and, he thinks, in Louis’.

Lestat is defensive. His unspoken mantra, “Don’t see me. Don’t see the real me, Louis. I cannot take it. Not right now.” Lestat is almost begging Louis to tell him he hates him, as he’s imagined Louis’ hate all these years… I fear halluci-Louis may not have been the kind, loving vision for Lestat that DreamStat was for Louis…?

A side note again: Lestat’s “All hail me” gave me a full-on spontaneous existential crisis. Folks, does Lestat say “All hail me” in the books? I hope not! Because for as long as I remember, in appropriate circumstances, I say “All hail me” and obviously it’s a turn of phrase, but I had a sudden heart stopping moment where, with a chill, I thought *Did I get that from Lestat?!* Am I entirely even my self at all?! Am I merely a manifestation of all the art I have ever consumed? Am… I… Armand!?!?!??!! Oh MY! I don’t think Lestat says this in the books though, right? Right!?!?

Well, Lestat puts his piano-plank down, terrified Louis might show him love. Craving it. Fearing it.

“Been enduring here?” Lestat is truly proud now. He will not admit his pain. As if not speaking it could make it invisible when it’s plain all about - from within him and without. It is *very* Lestat when questioned on the pain in his soul or shown that it has been seen to be like “I am FINE” & to think that’s how he comes across to others, when really of COURSE they see how broken he is. And then he bemoans that nobody will let him be broken, when he himself struggles to be broken other than when alone or on the page.

“I didn’t know it was a gift.” - Lestat is still wary. Still expecting hate from Louis here… unable yet to fully accept and understand…

Then Louis begins to say the only things Lestat has ever wanted to hear and know from Louis - thanking Lestat for the gift of vampiric immortality, showing he understands the beauty of it and intends to value that and use it… & Lestat is done for; broken open from here. He still, for a moment tries to fight back with “Shall we list all the ways we have wronged each other…” etc. But really, Lestat can now no longer maintain ay facade. Louis has opened him up.

And now we are open to Lestat’s thoughts for the last half-century. Armand erases Louis’ suicide attempt from his mind, but it is the first thing Lestat asks about. In his mind he has replayed for 5 decades how Louis is dead and it is his fault.

Sam and Jacob are so brilliant and beautiful as they open to each other in this scene. Claudia. Grief. Pain. Then, love. Broken-Lestat is particularly too much - holding on to responsibility over Claudia’s fate and how she looked at him at the end and he did nothing… and Louis, trying to take away and share the burden. Louis - so empathetic… and as they move through grief to love, words fall away (or become too personal to matter) and the storm outside echoes the storm of their hearts and their love.

(From IWTV) ““…And as I looked down at him, as I saw his yellow hair pressed against my coat, I had a vision of him from long ago, that tall, stately gentleman in the swirling black cape, with his head thrown back, his rich, flawless voice singing the lilting air of the opera from which we'd only just come, his walking stick tapping the cobblestones in time with the music, his large, sparkling eye catching the young woman who stood by, enrapt, so that a smile spread over his face as the song died on his lips; and for one moment, that one moment when his eye met hers, all evil seemed obliterated in that flush of pleasure, that passion for merely being alive.

" Was this the price of that involvement? A sensibility shocked by change, shrivelling from fear? I thought quietly of all the things I might say to him, how I might remind him that he was immortal, that nothing condemned him to this retreat save himself, and that he was surrounded with the unmistakable signs of inevitable death. But I did not say these things, and I knew that I would not.

" It seemed the silence of the room rushed back around us, like a dark sea…””

Bonus: misprint in my TVL copy!

(From TVL) “Louis had come finally to this very place and seen me through the windows. I tried to imagine it. Louis alive. Louis here, so close, and I had not even know it. I think I laughed a little. I couldn’t keep it clear in my mind that Louis wasn’t burnt up. But it was really wonderful that Louis still lived. It was wonderful that there existed still that handsome face, that poignant expression, that tender and faintly imploring voice. My beautiful Louis surviving, instead of dead and gone with Claudia and Nick.

But then maybe he was dead. Why should I believe Armand?”

[zoro-chwaan]

Oh my gosh!! Y’all are so sweet! I love each and every one of you! Anyways I know I said not to except another fanfic anytime soon, but I had a day off and I was thinking of finishing it soo here we are!!

Again ftm reader, so ladies or she/her identifying folks dni!!

Nsfw!!

Word count: 0.9k

Content warning: Mirror kink (is that what it’s called?), overstimulation, praise kink (let me know if I missed anything!!)

Slutty thoughts. . .

Imagine being the boyfriend of a CEO’s son, now he doesn’t brag about his dad or his status at all. He actually prefers to keep it in the down-low. Actually when you two first started dating you didn’t know about any of that, other than that he works with his dad and is able to keep income in.

Now that’s not saying that you were looking for someone to date to leech off on, yes, you had a salary of your own. Though not as good as your boyfriend, but good enough to keep you fed and to pay the bills (and also to spend). So after a few months of dating, he decided to be honest.

At first you were shocked, then confused, then you were okay with it. The reason you were confused was because you questioned why he kept it a secret. He told you that he wanted to make sure he wasn’t dating someone who was there for the money. You understood that and went on with your day.

That talk was about 6 months ago, your one year anniversary with your boyfriend is in a few days. You’ve been planning to go all out, though you aren’t as rich as he is. You still want him to have some time to relax and spend the day together. You asked him a couple weeks ago if he could get the day off on that day, and of course he was fine with it.

When the day came he already looked excited since he would be able to hang out with his sweet and perfect boyfriend. The both of you finished your coffee date and went to the mall and walked around. You both entered a store and went separate was to look around. After a while you went to look for your boyfriend only to see one of his coworkers trying to flirt with him.

Your boyfriend looked uncomfortable and was trying to tell the lady to leave him alone. You felt a ping in your heart and thought nothing of it as you walked up to them. When you were in his view he could help smile in relief. He apologized to his coworker and moved her out of his way and made his way to you. He gave you a hug and kissed you, which surprised you!! Since when did he become this affectionate in public?! Not that you were complaining though ♡.

When he pulled away, he turned his head towards his coworker and saw her shocked yet frustrated expression. He smirked he leaned into your ear and whispered, “Let’s go home, I want you and only you.” You gasped and nodded.

꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒷꒦‧₊˚・

Moaned loudly as your boyfriend continued to rub your clit. “Look into the mirror, love.” He spoke seductively. When you looked at the mirror, you was him staring back at you. He rubbed faster as he gave your neck tender kisses.

“Do you know how much I love you? More than anyone. That skank doesn’t mean anything to me like you do, love. You’re the only one for me.” He said as he nibbles your ear and enters his fingers in you which made your moan come out ragged. After a bit of pumping his fingers in you, he pulled them out as you whined at the loss of friction. You tried to grind your hips only for him to hold your hips down.

“Patience, dear.” He lifts your hips up and line’s up his cock to your hole. He slowly brings your hips down, when he fully enters you he moans softly in your ear which made you tighten around him. “Fuck, dear, your boycunt loves me. Doesn’t it?” He chuckles and grunts. He waits a bit till you move your hips a bit signaling him that you’re ready.

When he sees that he takes a hold of your jaw softly and makes you look at the mirror as he slowly, yet roughly pounds into you. Your eyes become cross-sided from all the pleasure you’re getting. His pace starts to speed up as his tip hits that sweet spot in you which made you squirt.

“Awe, look at my sweet boy.” He comments as he moved his hand from your jaw down to your clit and rubbed it at the damn speed that he was pounding you. “One more. Can you do that for me, love?” He ask as he lays you down on your stomach and lifts your hips up and thrusts deeper into you.

You grab a hold of the sheets as you looked into the mirror and saw him smirking as his hand continues to rub your overstimulated clit. You scream as his movement becomes sloppy. Tears fall down your face as your boyfriend kissed your shoulders, “It’s okay, love. Y-your- fuck- doing great. Oh ahh~ shit- coming!” He says as he comes in you while you cum again. His hips slows down and basked in the afterglow.

After a while, he pulls out and walks into the bathroom to get a wet rag. He then comes back in the room and cleans you. “I know you had an entire day planned out for the both of us, dear, but being with you is something that brings me joy. Still thank you for the day, it helped relieve some stress I had.” He said and kissed you. You smiled and wrapped your arm around him.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

5K! Wow, that's so incredible, and I'm so happy for you!!! Congratulations omg

I was wondering if I could request a drabble of Mr Soap MacTavish (2022) where the reader is fixing up his wounds, and he's just staring at the reader with the biggest heart eyes and that's when he says "I love you" for the first time???

—Heart-Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Being a medic wasn't pretty, but when your boyfriend was the subject under your needle you can't help but enjoy his unwavering gaze. Today, he has something to share with you.] ❞

You sigh and slip on your sterile gloves, hearing the snap of the latex as they conform to your flesh in all of their blue, tight glory. 

“I warned you they would pull,” your voice levels, exasperation making lines spring to life on your forehead and squiggle. “Do you ever listen to me?” 

“Always, Dearie.” The Scot behind you holds a rag to his head, blood dripping off the corner and slipping down his arm. On his square face, he holds a small smirk. “Now, what I didn’t expect was a madman rushin’ me as he did—didn’t mean to rip all of your stitches, but I was more worried about the knife two inches from my damn eye, if ya understand.” 

You fight down a smile, rolling your eyes before grabbing the handle of the utility cart and turning to face Johnny—raising a teasing brow in the process. 

“I’m fond of my sutures, MacTavish. I hope you know that I’m highly offended right now.” Lips twitching, the mohawked man tilts his head, leaning against the examination table still in gear and with his free hand situated at his neck; handing off his vest’s collar. 

“I’m sure there’s still at least one under here that’ll call to your expertise, Ma’am.”

“There better,” you mumble, fake glaring at your boyfriend of one year. He chuckles, reaching out a hand as you come near and drag your cart with you. 

As if it’s a chore, you sigh loudly and let him bring you into his arms. Your grip wraps around his waist and you sag into the wide frame and his natural warmth—Johnny’s hand spans your back, firm as his thumb lightly moves up and down. 

His sapphire blues soften as he stares down at you, stubble moving back in a smile. You rest your chin on his chest as he lightly presses the rag deeper into his forehead. 

“It’ll scar,” you say slowly. “Especially if it got even more damaged by the fall.” 

“Ah,” he whispers, breath hitting your head as your lashes flutter. Johnny’s chest grumbles with every word, accent deep and rich. “Think I’ll be just as handsome, then? That’s all that’s going to matter.”

You laugh at the exaggeration, lips peeling in a grin. “The most handsome, Johnny. It’s surprising that the entire world doesn’t stand still when you enter a room. Add in another face scar and people will faint when they come near.”

The Scot huffs, but a sheepish sheen splays over his cheeks, and a giddy smile grows when you call him handsome.

“Knew I wasn’t the only one that thought it.” Sharing a laugh, you pull back. The man pouts before you lightly hit his thigh with the back of your hand. 

“Hey!” Johnny grunts out. “Watch the arm, Hen, it’ll leave a mark—”

You kiss him with a grin, feeling the man start forward to meet you with no hesitation and sigh deeply, stubble scratching against your skin in the most delicious way possible. His arm grabs onto your hip and the rag at his flesh loosens—the blood drip-drip-dripping as his fingers dig into your scrubs. 

When his teeth nip your lip, you chuckle into his mouth and lean out of his hold to reach for your supplies. Johnny frowns in false disappointment but still yields to you when you carefully take away his soiled rag to stare at the damage. 

A bloody mess of open skin forms a head wound that makes your face dip with seriousness. Humming in your throat, you lightly touch the area as Johnny winces. You utter an apology and kiss his hand as it comes up to brush at your cheek, unable to be away from you.

“Hm,” the Scot doesn't notice his flinch when you numb the area, the needle digging into the thin skin. All he sees is you. 

“Bad?” He asks, letting you slant from in between his legs and grab the saline solution.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Big Guy.” Softly staring, you prep the area for sutures, oblivious to the pair of eyes that conform to a delicate roundness of tender affection. Like the contents of a great love poem of old, Johnny is distracted from the pain by your supple touch—breathing in your scent like a field of wildflowers as your body lay in his easy clutch. 

Humming a tune under your breath, you let Johnny’s arms encase you, not minding the left-over blood he spreads as your needle driver moves a sterilized needle through lightly tanned flesh. Tissue forceps grab and manipulate where you see fit, but your attention is solely focused on getting your Lover better. 

Johnny breathes deeply, barely feeling the pressure of the digging point. When you’re about halfway done, the man grunts out the easiest words he’s ever uttered to light.

“I love you, Little Lady.” Your eyes flash to a widened stare into his held skin, the needle poking out of his bloody mess of glistening redness. 

It was no trial to anyone to see how much you two loved each other—the entire base was aware of your relationship; the other nurses relentlessly teased you when the only help Johnny would accept was from you or your head doctor. And the Scot had said multiple times the only reason that the doctor was in his book was that, if the injury was beyond what you were allowed to work on, you’d be unable to help unless the individual was there. 

It was in the touches, the kisses filled with warmth and reverence—the way he looked at you. A blind man could notice it just by the way he talked about you on Leave if you weren’t able to join. 

“She’d like that.”

“My Hen would lose her head over this; let me get a picture.”

“Hell’s bells, wait a moment—need to buy this for my Dearie. She’ll put it to good use.”

And you, of course, leaned into him with equal worship whenever able. Reveled in his great weight at night as his head rested on your stomach, Johnny’s body between your legs and lips muttering into your flesh in a deep sleep on his chest. Arms so tight around you his biceps would gain size as if he was flexing and not just pressing you up into him.

But this was the first. 

The first confession. The first declaration of love. 

You don’t know why, but saying it made it feel so much more real. 

Your eyes slide to the side, looking into those deep blues with all of their loveliness; their hues and flecks of stars trapped like ocean waves dancing in moonlight. Wisps of stories you’d yet to uncover. Blinking, your expression evens out as the minute stretches—that look on the man’s face still staying. 

You chuckle softly. 

“Took you long enough, MacTavish.” 

A breathless kiss. A shuttered exhale. 

“...Then I’ll be sure to make you never doubt it.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[adonis-koo]

sweet nothing • 3

(in which he's coddled for coming home late and wet)

↳ Description: being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself.

His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader, ???/reader

↳ Genre: slice of life AU, mafia!AU, pregnancy, there’s like…a little bit of a plot but not a lot, future smut? maybe? it's very domestic!

Word Count: 3k

Previous | Next

Note: yet another chapter not proof read but honestly ?? I like to think it gives it character

Rain poured against the window seal in a never ending drip, thunder roaring out once more causing you to jump in your spot, clenching your book harder than before.

You always had anxiety when it came to loud noises, let alone monstrous storms that blew through, you had been a good distance away from the windows in the parlor, snuggled up against the couch, one hand on your tummy and the other resting on top of it with a book.

Cautiously you peered out the windows into the darkness of the night before back to the grandfather clock against the wall, it was almost eleven.

“Will he be okay?” You couldn’t help but ask, turning to Yeonjun who had been typing away on his laptop, sat at an oak desk off in the corner.

His fingers paused as his feline gaze drew up at you, a small smile tugging on his lips, “It’s not uncommon for Jungkook to stay out late, he out doing business so he won’t get in until three the earliest.”

Business.

That’s all you could get out of anyone, anytime you tried to pry just about every guard was mums the word, you knew Jungkook dealt in narcotics due to your brother being one of his lower level dealers.

But you knew Jungkook had to be involved in more than that, there was no way someone as rich and prestigious as him only involved in one branch of the underworld. You supposed it didn’t matter, but the idea of him being out in this weather was still making you anxious.

You didn’t see him yesterday either, he was also out doing business and you had ended up falling asleep before he got back, you didn’t see him at breakfast either, as he had apparently already gotten up and with on his way to an emergency company meeting at his exports firm.

There was no way this was healthy for him to be running so ragged, not only this but it was cold outside too! He could catch a cold if he wasn’t careful.

“I doubt this will make a difference but…” Yeonjun trailed off for a moment before he spoke, “Jungkook said to not wait up for him today.”

You crossed your arms at this, “I haven’t seen him in nearly two days. Will he be here in the morning?”

Yeonjun didn’t reply immediately which made you huff.

He sighed, “He’s a busy man, I’m sure you’ll see him soon,” Yeonjun frowned, “He may be soft on you but he isn’t on me, I’ll never hear the end of it if you stop sleeping because of him.”

“Then maybe that will motivate him to not work so hard.” You pouted, “Yeonjun, are you not able to assist him at all in these…affairs…” You hesitated uncertain of how to word it, you knew Yeonjun was an underling but you didn’t know much more than that, other than he was the one in the driver's seat when you were shoved into the car when you were first abducted.

Yeonjun laughed, “Uh that’s exactly what I’m doing right now,” He glanced at his screen before huffing, “It’s not all action and illegal deals. I’ve written like seven emails impersonating him today. When it comes to broader scaled stuff Jungkook usually prefers to handle it himself, makes it less stressful on everyone that way.”

You perked up at this, “So…he’s doing something that's a pretty big deal then?”

Yeonjun nodded but glance away, you could sense his hesitation to elaborate on it, “Yeah, like I said, Jungkook is very hands on, which is nice because once a lot of mobsters hits this point they usually just have an established hierarchy to handle just about everything.”

You leaned back against the couch with a frown, “But he’s hardly slept at all the last week, surely he could have somebody else to help him as well.”

Yeonjun snorted, “It could be worse, he’s got Yoongi to split his duties with, it’s just a big role to fill…” He paused as if realizing what he just said.

“Who’s Yoongi?” You tilted your head.

Yeonjun animatedly shook his head, “I’ve said way too much.”

“Yeonjun!” You pouted, “Why am I not allowed to know anything? I feel like I should at least have the right to know what my brother did!”

He only shook his head once more, “That’s a call for Jungkook to make, I’m not looking to have my frontal lobe painted against the fireplace.”

“Jungkook wouldn’t-”

“Oh he would,” Yeonjun cut you off, playful at first before his face grew more serious, “I have a lot of respect for Jungkook, but I’m not stupid enough to buy into a bond that we don’t have. All it takes is one big fuck up to be dead in this game, i’m not an exception.”

Something about his words made a pit form in your stomach as you pulled your blanket back over your lap, “Why chose this lifestyle then…?”

You didn’t understand.

“Cause’ my dad’s a piece of shit that drowned my family in debt before dying,” Yeonjun went back to typing on his laptop as he continued, “He left us to deal with all of that because he was a selfish cunt, I have three little brothers and my mom is hospitalized so there wasn’t much else to do. I started out street dealing and hijacking narcs from other vendors- horrible idea by the way, anyways they just so happened to be Jungkook’s supply, once he caught wind of it they caught me almost instantly.”

“How did you live?” You cocked your head to the side, engrossed once more.

“Jungkook was impressed that I managed to steal from their supply and make twice the amount they were on their own goods. He basically told me I could either work for him or I could get fucked. Not much of a choice there.” Yeonjun shrugged, “It’s been about three years now and I’ve worked my way up to this position. Like I said, I have a lot of respect for him and I’ll forever be grateful, he’s the one forking out my mom’s hospital bills, but I know better than to cross those lines.”

“Seems like he has a big heart for such a short temper.” You commented, you had only gotten a taste of his temper but it was becoming apparent that the Jungkook you knew before you had been kidnapped was an entirely different person.

It made you wonder just what side of him was real.

“There has to be a balance for everything.” Yeonjun shrugged.

The rain continued to pound against the windows as you yawned, a peaceful silence taking over once more aside from the rain and clicking of a keyboard. You resumed your book though after an hour your eyes finally won out their sleepiness.

Laying your head against the pillow you dozed off.

The next time you awoke it due to a roar of thunder, jumping up before the lights flickered, you briefly glanced at the clock seeing it was almost four in the morning before the room went dark.

“Goddammit,” Yeonjun complained from his desk, “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you Y/n.”

“I woke from the thunder.” You glanced in his direction as he turned on his phone light, sighing as he stood up with a stretch, “I need to go tell the guards to turn on the generator, i’ll be back in a moment.”

He excused himself before quietly exiting out of the room as you wrapped yourself in a blanket once more, glancing around in uncertainty, the door opened once more as Yeonjun walked back in.

“Alright, the generator should be on in a half an hour, let's go ahead and make use of the fireplace.” He set up his phone light as he got to work on putting kindle into the fireplace.

The door opened once more with a loud thud of boots on the ground causing you to jump as you turned around to the door, looking over the couch.

Soaking wet hair and a familiar, tired face appearing, “Generator has some fried wiring, go down and help them, I can take it from here.”

Yeonjun nodded, “Welcome back Sir.”

“You’re soaked…” Your lips quivered into a frown as Yeonjun exited the room and Jungkook took his place kneeling in front of the fireplace.

“Yeah,” Jungkook sighed, “And you should be in bed.”

He said it with such disdain, a look on his face equivalent to that of scolding a child it made your lips twist into a pout.

“I haven’t seen you in nearly two days,” You replied, straightening yourself upright as you stared into his back, watching the water droplets patter against the floor as he fiddled with a few thin pieces of bark, “You can’t begrudge me that.”

“That I can’t,” He agreed, “But you can’t tell me that’s a comfortable spot to fall asleep, your back is already in pain as it is.”

“I was perfectly comfortable.” You retorted, “...Did you finish your deal…?”

You glanced away from him in uncertainty, it would soon be coming up on a month that you had been living in Jungkook’s estate, and while you had gotten to know Jungkook decently well, there was one thing you never dared bring up.

Anything that was relevant to his life in the underworld.

It just felt like something that shouldn’t be spoken about though Jungkook had never made any references to make you feel as such before.

Jungkook shrugged, “It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t good, about as usual as it goes.” He lit a match before tossing it in, the tweed like wood immediately setting ablaze as he stood up, groaning at the sight of how wet he was.

You could hardly stand to watch it as you tutted, standing up as you grabbed the blanket that had been in your lap, “You’re going to catch a cold!”

Jungkook sighed in exasperation as the deep maroon blanket suddenly draped over his shoulders as you wrapped it around him as you spoke, “Don’t look at me like that, It’s not that cold when you’re dry, here, come here.”

Jungkook said nothing as he clacked his lips, letting your shorter figure shuffle him over to the couch as you grabbed the other blanket, a much bigger one that had been folded, laying on top of the upper cushion.

Pulling the second one over his shoulders, you paused at the sight, dripping wet hair covering his eyes making him look deathly serious, but it was difficult to take him serious when he was buried in two fuzzy blankets.

“Are you done yet?” He asked with a dry tone, “Or do you wanna swaddle me in a third layer?”

You didn’t mean to let out a snort of amusement, but it was hard not too at how drastic his face was from the situation, “Depends on whether you consider yourself warm yet.”

“I’ll be warm once the fire is going.” Jungkook replied, purposely not answering the question, partly because he would never admit he was freezing to you.

Bit also because it made a fuzzy feeling tingle all over his skin at being fussed over and coddled at, Jungkook couldn’t recall the last time someone had been so worried and attentive over him, it was difficult to not cease the moment.

“Okay, let me see if we have more blankets-” You were stopped short when he reached out, grabbing your wrist with a stern expression that made you giggle, “Fine, fine, have it your way. But don’t say I didn’t try when you end up with a cold.”

“I don’t get colds.” Jungkook replied, far too serious for a man buried in two blankets.

“Everyone gets cold.” You sat down next to him with a huff, putting a hand on your stomach as you stretched, your back admittedly aching though you’d rather die than admit he was right.

“I don’t.” Jungkook shrugged, “When you run two businesses you don’t have time to get sick.”

You frowned as you placed your lips, “I think that’s just called self-negligence.”

Jungkook rubbed his face tiredly, “Is this seriously what you’ve been missing the last two days?”

You only grinned sheepishly as you rubbed your arms, feeling the chilled air prick at your skin as the wood crackled and the rain continued to pour.

“Will you be busy tomorrow?” You asked, finally glancing towards him, he was close enough too you, leaned back against the couch and you took notice in how he seemed to curl up against his blankets, making a brief smile tug on your lips.

“Depends on what your follow up sentence will be,” Jungkook shrugged.

You shook your head, “No follow up sentence, I’m just curious…Does it have to do with Wonho…?”

Jungkook’s nose wrinkled in disdain, a familiar look, anytime you asked about Wonho you were usually met with the same sentence.

“I wish,” He huffed, looking somewhat frustrated, “I have eyes over half of Seoul and nothing, I mean he’s one man and it’s like all of a sudden he’s a ghost. Only people with powerful connections can make that happen.”

You frowned at his words and when he didn’t speak he continued, “I didn’t want to have to ask but, given we're coming up on a month of you staying here, I feel like it’s worth a shot; was Wonho dealing for anyone else?”

Your frown stayed as you thought back to the times you had come with Wonho to the club, partly because he wanted someone else around with him, it was always safer in pairs.

Slowly shook your head, “Not that I can recall…I mean he knew lots of people. But I wouldn’t consider him close enough to any of them to be willing to cover his tracks.”

Jungkook sighed, as if anticipating this as he slowly shook his head, “We squeezed that apartment clean of anything that might relate to where he’s at, we’ve already talked to his other partners, bought out his clients, I mean fuck, Yeonjun even nosed around at the Red Light to see if his whores knew anything.”

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, pushing it from his eyes as he tiredly closed them while rubbing his face, “How do you catch a ghost?”

It was rhetorical question you wished you had the answer for, your brother was a lot of things, but one of the traits he had since a child was his cunning ability to mislead people, it was harmless as a child.

He used to always convince the street vendor to give you an extra rice cake or when the school bullies would stop him on your walks home, he’d somehow convince them to go bother someone else.

Wonho had a silver tongue, he never used his fists for confrontations.

Memories of your shared childhood made a certain type of sadness flood you, Jungkook may known the Wonho now, who would easily sell you off if it meant a free case of fentanyl, but you still vividly remembered the Wonho who gave you piggyback rides when you were sad, when he would make you ramen for dinner and give you his portion because you were still hungry.

Wonho wasn’t always such a greedy person.

There was a time when he easily sacrificed himself if it meant keeping you safe and happy, you just weren’t sure where things went wrong and he would now turn and do the very opposite if it meant his self preservation continued on.

Your hands rubbed your arms for warmeth as you stared into the fire with a tired yawn, Jungkook had noticed your quiet figure before he let out a small sigh, uncurling once side of his outer blanket, the great big one.

Your body was suddenly engulfed by the blanket, now sharing it with Jungkook as you glanced at him.

“There’s no reason I should have this all to myself,” He huffed, “We could probably fit Yeonjun in here too if we wanted.”

You raised your brows, “Should I go get him?”

“No.”

“But-”

“Y/n, just because I said we could doesn’t mean I want to,” Jungkook replied flatly, “What part of my face says I want him in this room?”

You pouted, “Has anyone ever told you how grumpy you are late at night?”

Jungkook scoffed as he rolled his eyes, leaning back, now slumping against the cushion,

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“What?”

“I’m always grumpy.”

You only smiled at this as you shook your head, yawning once more as your eyes tiredly began to close. For once you didn’t mind the thunder rumbling loud or the rain that somehow began to pound even harder against the glass windows, a comforting crackle of the fire.

Your head eventually slumped down, finding the nice soft fuzzy blanket on above Jungkook’s shoulder, he had yawned out as well, trying to not overthink about the deal today. He glanced down at you and then the blanket as he shook his head.

The door opening to Yeonjun having good news about the generation, “We still have to hot wire a few things but it should be up and running…” He paused as his eyes landed on Jungkook.

“Not a word,” Jungkook’s expression looked deathly, “A single fuckin’ word Yeonjun. Forget about the generator.”

“What?” Yeonjun’s eyebrows shot up, “But don’t you want hot water?”

“Did you not just fuckin’ hear me?” Jungkook’s brows pinched together, “Leave the lights off, fix it in the morning, go do whatever you want I don’t care. Just put another piece on the fire before you go.”

Yeonjun huffed, glancing between his boss because his eyes dropped on you, leaning against himself, asleep once more. Yeonjun shook his head before he threw up his hands, going to the fireplace as he tossed a few more thicker pieces on as he glanced over his shoulder.

Jungkook’s eyes had closed, his head laying on top of yours and as you both shared a blanket. Yeonjun let a brief smile tug on his face, if he didn’t know any better he’d assume his boss was wanting to milk this moment with you, but then again, what did he know, right?

Taglist as per requested:

@btseverafter7 @scuzmunkie @zae007live @cynicalbitch666 @somehowukook @bartisedrew @princess-sunshyn @jung-shook-iieee @chickpea-jimin @hoseokteardroprop @guk97butterfly

[stellarspecter]

I'd Much Rather Be Jorting

@astrangersummer week 1: short shorts

1k, steddie, much talk about jorts

Read on AO3

Steve nearly choked on his own spit when he saw Eddie. It was the first truly sweltering day of the summer, and apparently that meant it was time to break out the shorts. The short shorts. The kind with the ragged edges and pockets hanging out the hems. Steve was almost disappointed they were black and not light wash denim. 

“Where the hell are they selling shorts like that, Munson,” he asked once he’d regained his breath.

“Selling?” Eddie quirked a brow. “Oh, Stevie. Jorts this good aren’t found, they’re made.” He did a little spin to show them off (as if Steve wasn’t already looking too much), finishing with a flourish of his hairy leg.

“Huh?” Steve said faintly. All he could think about was the pale expanse of thigh, visible for the first time, being paraded in front of him.

“You’ve never made jorts?” Eddie asked, the most adorable pout on his face. “Well fuck, babe, we’re gonna have to fix that.”

And Steve couldn’t help it. When Eddie called him that, he was weak to his every whim.

Which is how he found himself sitting at his kitchen table, a pair of jeans and scissors in his hands.

“Step 1 of jorts: choose the jeans,” Eddie instructed across from him. “You want a pair that’s well-worn, so that you’re not wasting too much fabric by cutting them.”

Steve glanced at Eddie’s own selection, which were more holes than denim at this point. “So your whole wardrobe?”

Eddie snorted. “Okay, rich boy, sorry I’ve got style.” He winked, which Steve was not equipped to deal with at the current moment. He cleared his throat and looked back at his soon-to-be-jorted jeans. 

“What’s next?”

“Deciding the length,” Eddie answered. “The holes in mine usually decide for me, but you can do whatever feels right.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Steve muttered. He stared at the jeans in front of him, wondering how he was supposed to conjure a leg measurement out of nowhere. 

“You don’t like ‘em?” Eddie asked, clearly teasing.

Steve blushed. “I didn’t say that.”

Eddie smirked, satisfied at his reaction. “That looks like a good length.”

Steve looked down to find a line drawn in washable marker on his jeans. Maybe about mid-thigh? Whatever. He’d wear whatever, as long as Eddie said it looked good.

“Okay. So now we cut it?”

“Got it in one,” Eddie confirmed with a smile, and Steve had to focus hard on his scissors to make sure he didn’t accidentally cut himself while he was busy daydreaming about his friend’s lips.

“And there we are! Some brand new jorts to welcome in the summer,” Eddie announced, holding his own up proudly. These ones were regular blue jeans cut to a much more conservative length than the pair he was wearing.

Steve held up his own pair, a bit uncertain that they were going to be any good. He’d only ever bought clothes from a store and thrown them out whenever they got their first tear. Cutting clothes up on purpose felt blasphemous. But, he supposed, Eddie had been doing it for years, and clearly he pulled it off.

“Do I… try them on?” He hazarded.

“Yes, try them on! See how they feel!” Eddie waved him towards the bathroom to change. 

He came out with his new shorts on, tugging awkwardly at the hems. They sat a bit higher than he’d anticipated, but still nowhere near as short as Eddie’s.

“So?” Eddie waited expectantly for his verdict.

Steve shrugged. “They’re okay.”

“Okay?” Eddie exclaimed. “Just okay? Steve, jorts are more than okay, they���re great! They let you partake in the act of creation! That’s the kind of thing people write poetry about!”

“Poems,” Steve repeated flatly. “About jorts. Sure, man.”

Eddie squinted at him, then stepped away from the table and drew himself up to his full height. “The days of spring will surely bring the birds and bees cavorting,” he recited, the sing-song cadence making it clear that this was a poem. “But since I am a gentleman, I’d much rather be jorting. Hempstead Snarlton, 1943.” He paused, clearly expecting Steve to be proud of him for reciting poetry from memory.

Steve leveled him with a look. “You just made that up.”

Eddie squawked. “No I didn’t! It’s a real poem, look it up!”

“The word ‘jorts’ didn’t even exist in 1943!” 

“You don’t know that!”

Steve scoffed. “I can take a pretty good fucking guess.”

“Whatever,” Eddie sulked. “You just don’t think that gentlemen should be jorting.”

Steve blinked in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself when you talk.”

“Do you?” Eddie retorted. “Are you saying we’re not gentlemen? You don’t think I’m a gentleman, Stevie?”

“Why is this the hill you’re dying on?” Steve wondered out loud, baffled that this is the same man that scrambles his brain with just the sight of his legs.

“Because I’m jorting!” Eddie exclaimed.

Steve shook his head in bemusement and put his sunglasses on. “I’m gonna go back outside. Have fun with your… jorting.”

“Oh, I will,” Eddie shot back. “Outside, also.”

“Just can’t stand a single minute without me, can you, Eds?” Steve teased as he slid the back door open and ushered Eddie ahead of him. 

“What can I say, Stevie,” he sighed, “You and me are like gentlemen and jorting: we just belong together, don’t you agree?” He dramatically rested a hand on his chest and gave Steve a simpering look. 

Steve couldn’t ignore the flutter in his heart at hearing him say that they belonged together. Despite his ridiculousness, he couldn’t deny that he was still madly, deeply, head over heels for this man. As he watched him scamper off to wet his feet in the pool, he sighed. 

“Yeah, Eds.” Lovelorn on the deck, he watched his jorts-clad crush send ripples through the water. “I do.”

dividers by @saradika-graphics

title and poem and general inspo from bdg's "how to make jorts" video, because i am, to my core, silly. thanks for reading

[sholangagaga]

What's your opinion on Monty?

Oh I've been waiting for an ask like this to come across my inbox after how popular my Bonnie theories have been. (full theory and spoilers under the cut)

Short answer: I think he's neat!

Long answer: I think Montgomery Gator is one of, if not the, most tragic character in the entire Glamrock cast. And his tragedy, while of course upsetting to see, is also incredibly endearing from a narrative standpoint.

What does that mean? Well, let me explain.

Monty was not made to be part of the band. That much we know in the canon lore. He was his own animatronic, with his own attraction and his own thing. Whether or not he was there from the very beginning when the Pizzaplex was built, or maybe they added him later to bring in more diversity and subvert the burden on the main band, I don't think we'll ever know. (since every main band member has their own attraction, which probably subtracts from their available time to perform main shows throughout the day)

The only bits and pieces we get of Monty's "life" before his joining the band is narrated through the Gator Golf attraction.

Monty's story starts with him as a One Man Jug Band, playing by himself in his swamp.

Now it's already pretty apparent that the Monty we see here is way more docile and doe-eyed than the one we encounter in Security Breach, but maybe that's the point.

We all know the stories of humble beginnings, of rags to riches. To me, Monty was one of those stories. A little guy who ended up catching a big break down the line.

Now to get this out of the way, I don't believe Monty shattered Bonnie or the theory that Monty hated Bonnie (I went into detail here if you want the full explanation). We actually can easily debunk that theory in a few different ways, but the main thing is everything we see about Monty implies he actually admired Bonnie.

In his ride you see how he looks at Bonnie, His Showtime outfit incorporates yellow stars (like Bonnie), and he even still uses Bonnie's bass.

Now if you hate someone, if you hate them enough to kill them and take their place because you felt you deserved their fame, would you emulate that person? Would you use and wear their items, thereby constantly reminding yourself of someone you hate so much? Why would you go through the trouble of getting rid of them, of wiping them from everyone's memory, just to keep things that will always tie you to them? That doesn't make much sense to me.

You could argue that the items are trophies of his 'kill', but wouldn't you keep trophies or things of the like somewhere no one could see them? Why flaunt them and again, bring attention to this person that you hate so very much?

I think it's the exact opposite. Monty admired Bonnie, the depths of which we probably won't ever know the extent of, and when Bonnie disappeared, Monty took his place but never forgot the person who got him there. He wears Bonnie's glasses (which we never see Bonnie wear aside from in his neon portrait, which may imply that he might have given the shades to Monty directly at some time before he was shattered) and he uses Bonnie's bass, which was ALSO given to him according to the Gator Golf ride

I've seen people say that this scene is actually showing that Bonnie was just setting his bass aside after a show and Monty stole it, thereby using it for his own gain and I. . .don't see how people can infer that from the image? It looks like Bonnie is literally holding it out to Monty, who is on one knee and accepting it with respect and a cheerful expression on his face. Besides, you need some MASSIVE balls to just. . .steal a band's instrument after the show and just get away with it? Especially from what we see in game, there'd be no feasible way Monty could do that without the audience or technicians being like "What the fuck are you doing"

So yeah no, this looks like a mutual passing of the torch.

Anyways, Monty uses the shades and bass as a nod to Bonnie, he was a sweetheart with a baby face who got thrown into fame to replace his idol. I think, in some regards, Monty might've felt conflicted. Like, here he is in his dream job, but at the cost of someone he cared about.

You know who Monty DID hate though? Freddy. We can infer from plenty of sources and in game material that Monty HATED Freddy, and the reasoning for that could be literally anything, but it's not odd for a bandmate to dislike their leader/member because they're more popular (you see it a lot in IRL bands too, the favoritism and jealousy)

It's also easy to see that fame changed Monty, as it does for plenty of people. Having so many eyes on you, feeling the euphoria of all the love and attention day in and day out, it gets to your head. It changes who you are, muddles your humility. And we can see that Monty acts in the stereotypical Rocker way, conceited, destroys his greenroom and other things after shows, etc. It's an all too common trope and its sad to see it happen to Monty, though a lot of his rage could also be compounded by Glitchtrap/Vanny/Mimic being annoying (Notably, you never hear of Monty destroying his shades or his bass. Perhaps there are some things that he's oddly protective of)

And then in the main Security Breach, you only meet Monty at his worst. Angry, Corrupted, feral. You spend your time running from him (since Bonnie's shades protect him from most of Gregory's gimmicks), you hear from second-hand conjecture that he was probably the one who shattered Bonnie (which probably weighs on him too, the children asking where Bonnie is, and the technicians maybe side-eyeing him thinking that he's just a meathead who destroyed Bonnie to take his place) and each time you see him, he just gets more and more split from that sweetheart who was happily playing in his swamp.

Not to mention how he "dies"

Monty comes for Cassie, ruined beyond salvation, his mind still gone from all of the torment he endured being controlled and shattered over and over. To save herself, Cassie uses the Faz-wrench to activate the power and escape, only for the electric currents to turn the water into a death trap.

The thing that decommissions Monty, that finally puts him out of his misery, is Bonnie. That's Bonnie's neon portrait (a bit damaged from the dilapidated building) and it is the very thing that electrifies the water, destroying Monty's hardware. Whether or not its karma for Monty shattering Bonnie, or some sort of heartfelt prose that the thing that finally allows Monty to rest is the one person he cared about most, who's to say? You could argue it both ways, but isn't it just a tad more comforting to think that even in death, Bonnie was always looking out for his understudy?

Monty's story and character progression is a trope of Falling from Grace, of Icarus flying too close to the Sun and plummeting to the unforgiving earth. The more I learn about him, the more I feel bad for him. I think he deserved better. Roxanne for her redemption in Ruin, but Monty is left open-ended. A monster and murderer to some, a washed-up rocker to others.

But I think Montgomery was more than that. I think he had the capacity for gentleness and love, but he was in a position where the world was against him. His older and more experienced bandmates always destined to be loved more than him. He was basically an entry level teenager around mastery level adults. He might've lost his mind back then to the pressure and the negativity, resorting to violence for attention. No one was there for him, and Bonnie, the only person who probably would've been there for him and understood him better than most, disappeared without a trace, leaving him all alone in a world that would never fully accept him.

Yeah, I like Monty a lot.

[black-rabbit-razumikhin]

Raz Reads Les Mis (XI)

Cosette - Fulfillment of the Promise to the Departed

Cosette, at her scrawny, underfed 8 years old has to walk through the woods alone to get water for the tavern

This is going to get confusing if I keep saying foster family, so foster father Thenardier and foster mother Thenardiess

Their dynamic is described as him being a mouse and her being an elephant

Hugo goes on far too long of a time explaining her appearance to tell is how horrible she is

And I know that was The Thing back then, but it made me see Thenardiess in a far more sympathetic light

Right up until she starts interacting with Cosette

A man wants water for his horse

But there is no water!

So Cosette is given a bucket which she is able to sit down comfortably inside and told to fetch water

It's dark, it's cold, it's dangerous, my little Cosette has nothing on her but a dress of cotton rags

On her way to get water she stops and looks in at a shop selling dolls, thinking about this beautiful doll she calls The Lady

But Thenardiess screams at her to hurry up and Cosette races off

She's conflicted, and considers not getting water at all, as terrified as she is of both her home life and the forest in the night

But eventually the fear of the Thenardiess and her punishment wins

Cosette fills the bucket with water but can barely carry it

She stumbles and falls and the bucket is about to tumble when it is taken from her by a large hand

... Jean Valjean?

Or is it the Boulatruelle we met earlier?

Regardless, man and girl walk back to the tavern

And Cosette asks to carry the bucket in so she won't get beaten

Cosette! This is not the childhood you should have had

She brings in the water, he asks for board

Thenardiess and Thernardier both think he's a poor begger so charge him exorbitant prices

He pays them easily

Strong, rich, hiding his name...

Surely this is Valjean right?

The nigtt goes on and he treats Cosette with kindness, buying the stockings she's knitting so she is able to play, buying her The Lady, who she is so scared of that she can barely believe the doll is for her, putting a large amount of money in her shoe while she is asleep

While this is happening, the foster sisters are dressing up a kitten and it's screaming and crying and the whole thing feels so cruel

Hugo says all of society is represented in the three girls

And it's got some heavy Christian undertones, but it's also written that I can't not side with the pious, spiritually rich but materially poor Cosette

The next day the mystery man buys Cosette from her foster family

Though not without a struggle

And not without Thernardier running after him and Cosette after they leave

He pauses in his pursuit only to think to himself that he should have brought his gun

And Hugo literally says that Satan could learn a thing or two from Thernardier's character

I mean he's horrible and a villain, but demonic?

I'm sure there will be worse people in this book

But Thernardier catches up to them and demands Cosette back

"She's not mine to give, I'm keeping her for her mother."

To which the mystery man hands over a letter

The letter signed by Fantine granting custody of Cosette to the letter's bearer

Fantine I miss you

But that answers definitively that it is Valjean fulfilling his promise to find Cosette

The end of the chapter explains that Valjean swam away and bought himself new clothes etc., everything we can expect from how someone would escape

I've read too much of this book now to realistically hope for anything good, but this chapter makes me want to hope. I want Valjean to raise Cosette in the way that Fantine should have. I want him not to be pursued anymore; I want her to know what genuine love and care feels like.

I forgot to mention above, but the Thenardiess has a son and she dotes over him until his crying gets too much and then she neglects him because she's bored? It's as if she has no acknowledgement of human life outside of where she chooses to see it. The whole situation with the foster family made me so mad, please let Cosette be out of that forever now.

[mi-rae07]

Jeong Yunho : Fell In Love With A Pirate (Part 3/7)

Pairing : Jeong Yunho (Ateez) and named character (Kim Yumi)

______________________________________

Yumi hummed as she felt the sunlight fall directly onto her face, disturbing her sleep as she squinted her eyes and turned around. She slowly opened her eyes as it landed on yunho who was lying sleeping next to her, half his face covered by the blanket and his other half shining from the light falling on it. Yumi looked down as she realized she was only wearing a shirt, yunho's shirt. The rich silk felt foreign to her, she was only used to wearing ragged cotton and wool when it got colder. But as she came back to her proper senses, last night's memories hit her like a carriage. Her eyes quickly widened as she sat up straight, realizing that she had just slept with the future king of Korea.

Yumi was about to slip out of bed in embarrassment when she felt a hand hold onto her arm, pulling her back as she fell against yunho's chest with a yelp. Yumi looked up as yunho wrapped his arms around her, bringing her close to his body as he kissed the side of her head before nuzzling against it with a small hum.

Yumi : y-yunho, I must…I have to…go.

Yunho : don't, stay. They're not going to say anything.

Yumi looked down, feeling blood rise to her cheeks as she thought of the possibility that yunho probably regretted the decision he made while he was drunk last night. She felt good, but…did he?

Yunho : are you thinking whether I regret what we did?

Yumi looked up with wide eyes, not realizing how he understood that. Yunho opened his eyes and looked at yumi, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear with a smile.

Yunho : I asked you to do all of that because I wanted it, yumi, I was okay with giving myself to you. You shouldn't feel ashamed of anything now.

Yumi : but did I-was I…good?

Yunho : haven't you done this before?

Yumi : well, those were all just one night stands, I never wanted to know whether the experience was good for them if it was fine for me.

Yunho chuckled and kissed her lips before saying

Yunho : it was amazing. I've never felt so good in my entire life and I don't want anyone else but you to make me feel that way either.

Yumi smiled, looking away as yunho cooed and squished her cheeks, making yumi frown

Yunho : I love that smile of yours.

Yumi : I love it too.

Yunho : aish, what narcistic-

Yunho cut himself off as he threw a pillow at yumi, making her giggle as she took another pillow and threw it at yunho, the both of them having a pillow fight in the morning as if they hadn't just slept together last night.

__________________________

It was the 20th day and the entire crew knew their captain and the crown prince was in love. They didn't bother hiding it, what with eating together, giggling at jokes only the both of them seemed to find funny and watching the sea at the top deck in each other's arms, it was obvious to basically everyone.

And yunho had never been happier his entire life, even when his father built castles for him and his mother, and churches in his name. yumi's love made him glow brighter than the sun, smiles never leaving his lips and his eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration for the woman he loved.

And yumi had never been so distracted her entire life, because all her life she was only used to being a sturdy woman who slept with people just for the sake of it, leaving them high and dry in the morning without thinking twice. She had never managed to have much care or love for most people, save her parents and her crew. But the love she had for yunho seemed to distract her from everything else she had in her life. She could now only focus on her prince, could only look at him, and could only smile for him.

And now the both of them were sitting at the top of the deck, their favourite place, yumi leaning against yunho's chest as his arms wrapped around her upper half. Their feet dangled down the ship's top, toes intertwined.

Yunho : god, this never ceases to feel amazing.

Yumi smiled and said

Yumi : I don't think it ever will.

Yunho nuzzled his head against yumi's shoulders, inhaling deeply as he kissed her shoulder.

Yumi : I can't believe you'd only be here for another 10 more days.

Yumi felt yunho pause at that, not a word falling from his lips. Yumi frowned as she said

Yumi : yunho, you do…you do realize you're going to leave, right?

Yumi let out a breath as she realized yunho wasn't going to say anything, his breathing almost uneven against her neck.

Yumi : prince, answer me.

Yunho : I don't want to leave anymore.

Yumi quickly loosened her arms around yunho's, turning around to face him as she said

Yumi : yunho. Love, what are you saying. You have a nation that is going to be yours.

Yunho : do you not get it, noona? I don't want it, I don't want to rule.

Yumi : bloody hell, yunho you don't get to choose like that.

Yunho : maybe I do. If I don't leave, then I wouldn't have to face all that, would I?

Yumi : and what? You're gonna continue running away from all that by staying with me?

Yunho : yes.

Yumi : yunho, no. I won't let you run away like that. You were born to be a king, love, you're the only person who can lift that kingdom up from it's ruins. I know those people matter to you so don’t you dare give me bullshit about not caring enough.

Yunho : it's just…it's so hard, yumi.

Yumi : what's hard, baby? Taking care of the nation?

Yunho : leaving you. Can't you…can't you come along with me?

Yumi : and be queen? Yunho, don't be stupid. I can't ever be queen with who I am. I am a pirate, a captain, I can't be a queen.

Yunho sighed and looked away, clenching his hand on his lap. Yumi held his cheeks as she turned to make him face her once again

Yumi : yunho-ya, do you know how much I love you?

Yunho : no, how much.

Yumi : as much as the sea.

Yunho smiled, looking away as yumi said

Yumi : my mother always told me that if two people truly loved each other, they'd always end up with each other. And I love you, just as you love me. So you may have to leave now, but some day, we'll meet again. And when we do, I'll stay.

Yunho smiled at that, connecting his lips with yumi's as the wind blew his hair backward. He pulled back for a second, whispering against her lips with a small smile

Yunho : I love you.

________________________________

5 days later :

Yunho could only watch as the entire place lit up in flames, trapping yumi inside and yunho outside. He wanted to run inside so bad, even if it would burn him. But for some reason he couldn't. it felt as if something was holding him back from the woman he loved. Yunho turned around as he came face-to-face with his father, who was looking at him with a sharp gaze

King : you cannot go inside.

Yunho : appa, please! Yumi-

King : you have a greater cause, yunho. You need to live for your kingdom, your people.

Yunho felt tears fall down his cheeks as he flinched at the sudden loud bang behind him, making him turn around. The entire building had blown up, shattering everything inside to pieces, even yumi.

Yunho : NO!

Yunho gasped as he sat up straight in his bed, almost waking up yumi who was sleeping peacefully beside him. Yunho felt sick, and the moving ship wasn't making anything better. He had to leave from the room.

Yunho got up from the bed, stumbling as he felt dizziness hit him. He put his shoes on, walking towards the door and opening it as he walked towards the open area of the ship. The sea was quite rough today, yunho realized as he stepped out into the open. And he had to have this terrible nightmare on the same night. Yunho coughed as he felt bile rise up in his throat, making him walk faster towards the edge of the ship as he held onto the railing with shaky hands. No, he could control it, he has to.

Yunho gagged as he threw up onto the sea, tears filling his eyes as held onto the railing tighter. And just then yunho felt droplets of water fall on him, making him shut his eyes tightly as he realized it was going to rain. God damn it.

??? : yunho!

Yunho coughed again as he felt yumi run up to him, holding his arm as she asked worriedly

Yumi : what's wrong? Are you sick again?

Yunho nodded, letting out a small sob as he said

Yunho : please go back inside, I don't want you to see this.

Yumi held yunho's bangs away from his sweaty face, the rain starting to fall on them as she said

Yumi : shut up, I'm not leaving you like this.

Yunho stepped away from the railing as he finally wiped his mouth, falling on the floor as yumi quickly held onto him.

Yumi : yunho-ya, it's okay. Nothing's going to happen to you.

Yunho's tears streamed down his cheeks as the rain poured harsher now, drenching both yunho and yumi as she laid her hand over yunho's head to stop the water from falling towards his eyes.

Yunho : you hav-have to go inside. It's raining, yumi.

Yumi : I won’t leave you.

Yunho let out a shaky breath and stood up, holding yumi's hand as he walked towards their cabin. And soon enough yunho had closed the door behind them, the droplets of water from his hair staining the wooden floor as he stared at it. Yumi walked closer to him before saying

Yumi : it's okay, it's going to dry prince.

Yunho lowered himself to the floor, his chest heaving as his hands tried to hold on to something, anything. Yumi quickly held his shaky hand in hers, using it to kneel against yunho's shaky figure as she asked

Yumi : baby, what's going on with you?

Yunho shook his head, tears filling his eyes as he whispered breathlessly

Yunho : I don’t know, I don't know.

Yumi ran her thumb across yunho's palm as small sobs left his body, yumi's eyes growing worried as she said

Yumi : it's okay, shh.

Yunho flinched hard as a thunder suddenly burst through them, making yumi wrap her arms around him as she pulled yunho close to her. Yunho whimpered as he held her arm, his eyes closed.

Yumi : it's going to pass, I promise.

Yunho : please don't…please d-don't-

Yumi : I won't let go, love. I'm right here.

Yunho whimpered as another thunder struck them, yumi placing her hand against yunho's damp hair as she stroked it slowly before whispering

Yumi : it's okay.

Yunho : yumi I…I had a bad dream.

Yumi : it's all that is, yunho. It is only a dream.

Yunho shook his head, sobbing against her chest as he said

Yunho : what if something happens to you? What if-if I'm left all alone again?

Yumi : yunho-ya, I…I can’t guarantee you anything-

Yunho : then why won’t you come back with me!

Yumi sighed as yunho clutched the end of her sleeves, whispering desperately through his sobs

Yunho : please come with me.

Yumi : you know I can't do that, not right now, prince.

Yunho shut his eyes tightly as another lightning struck, the ship rattling slightly as his grip on yumi tightened. Yumi ran her hand repeatedly through yunho's hair as she whispered

Yumi : even if something happens to me, I'll never stop loving you, yunho.

Yunho : I want you to love me while being safe and healthy, not buried under the sea.

Yumi : I know, and I'll try my best to stay safe, I promise.

Yunho : do you not understand? If you come with me, I can 100 percent make sure you stay safe and healthy, yumi. This…here you're always in constant danger.

Yumi : but this is my land, yunho. This is where I was born, this is where I have lived, and loved. I cannot just abandon all of this like that.

Yunho sniffled as yumi pulled back, cupping yunho's face as she said

Yumi : but that doesn't mean I'll never come to you. I will, I promise. You just have to wait.

Yunho : wait for how long, yumi.

Yumi : maybe for a year, or 2 years, or 3. I'm not sure, yunho. But I will come back to you one day, safe and sound.

Yunho put his pinky out as he whispered

Yunho : you promise?

Yumi smiled and entwined her pinky with his as she whispered

Yumi : I promise.

Yumi leaned forward and kissed yunho, tasting his salty tears against her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Yunho tilted his head, his hand holding onto yumi's waist as he tried to give her as much as he could.

He was going to have to be away from her for a while anyway, he was going to make sure this was worth it.

_______________________________

[yallcantread]

(Don’t want to read all this? Scroll down to “read here” in red)

Btw: I’m black.

Hey everyone! I’m here to address a common misconception that’s been circulating. It’s not so much about “debunking” as it is about understanding why spreading this kind of misinformation can be harmful to our conversations.

Often, when people bring up race in discussions where it’s not relevant, it seems like they’re not genuinely concerned about the issue—they might just be seeking attention or social media validation. It’s essential to recognize that social justice, at times, has become more about garnering retweets or clout than fostering meaningful dialogue.

I want to emphasize that this isn’t an attempt to bash anyone or encourage hate. I’m sharing public information to make it easily accessible for those seeking the truth and for those who might encounter false information and want to set the record straight in a respectful manner.

Don’t want to read all that? Read here:

The misconception: “Travis Kelce spent no money on Kayla Nicole or did anything for her. She had to pay half of everything & he never got her gifts.”

I don’t know this person by they’re attempting to establish themselves as a “pop culture writer”, but their approach involves spreading misinformation. Additionally, they’ve been disregarding corrections from people pointing out the inaccuracies in their tweets.

If you look at her bio, it looks like she associates herself with certain organizations, but there’s no evidence of her being a journalist or contributing to the mentioned publications. It seems her presence in those features is tied to a rags-to-riches narrative involving her success with NFTs.

She does however run a DIY blog about pop culture things and she has mentioned Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce before.

Here it is in its full glory:

Yes, that does embarrassingly say “goodbye fried chicken hello to green bean casserole”

But she says a lot of cringey things in this post alone. The insensitive police brutality joke, the racial stereotyping and the backhanded insults to Kayla Nicole.

If you’re trying to be a reputable pop media source then you should know by now that Barstool is notoriously known for lying to appeal to their bro audience. But she listed Barstool has a source for Travis Kelce apparently being a cheapskate.

But it isn’t about Travis Kelce being “cheap.” It’s more about him being apparently “cheap” to the former “black girlfriend” as everyone keeps calling her.

Let’s speak about Kayla Nicole now.

Who is she?

Kayla Nicole, an accomplished and intelligent woman, holds a bachelor’s degree in broadcast journalism from Pepperdine University. While she’s an ambassador for various brands, her passion for journalism stands out. Referring to her merely as an “insta baddie” or tying her identity solely to being Travis Kelce’s ex-girlfriend is not only offensive but diminishes her achievements.

What has she said about the rumor of Travis Kelce being “cheap” in their relationship?

This is what she said on her official twitter page:

What has Travis Kelce said about the rumor?

Travis Kelce previously called out publications for spreading false information, but he has since stopped doing so. There was an insinuation a year or two ago that Travis Kelce cheated on Kayla Nicole with someone referred to as a "becky" (eyeroll). He promptly denied the allegation by quoting it as false, although he later deleted the post. Travis also briefly addressed this matter during a podcast discussion.

The Pivot Podcast in January 2023, Kelce denied that he was "too cheap," adding, "don't buy into that s---." He continued, "I would never say that I was supporting her. She had a very financially stable life and what she was doing in her career."

He added, "But you've got to be crazy if you'd think I would never helped or gave her a couple thousand to grab some food or she gave me some money to go get some food.... we were in a relationship for five years. A hundred dollars here, a hundred dollars there wasn't even thought about.

My personal thoughts:

I sympathize with Kayla Nicole, not because of her relationship status, but because she is constantly defined by her past partner. It takes a special kind of strength and self-love to see your ex move on to become one of the biggest pop stars in the world. Usually, to heal from a breakup, you need to distract yourself, but Taylor Swift's presence is everywhere, and that's not Taylor's fault, of course.

However, individuals like the person who spread that false tweet should be more mindful of their actions. If you want to gain retweets by exploiting someone else's pain, go ahead, but don't be surprised when that person finally snaps. Kayla Nicole is her own person, regardless of who she chooses to date.

Taylor Swift isn’t the “white woman” who “stole” from a “victimized black woman” They’re both people.

Travis Kelce's dating history reflects the natural course of life, and reducing it to racial stereotypes is unwarranted. Relationships evolve, and assuming any racial motivation is unfair. Everyone's dating history is personal and diverse, and it's important that we do not reduce people (who clearly have no harmful intent) to who they date.

When they (TnT) were later spotted together. Subsequently, a barrage of offensive tweets emerged. These tweets body-shamed Taylor Swift, supposedly in defense of Kayla Nicole, with men comparing their body types as if it held any significance, and reducing both women's worth to their physical appearance. Some men even brought up Taylor's wealth and how Travis had supposedly "leveled up," resorting to immature middle school notions.

I saw another funny tweet of someone stating Travis Kelce is a "gold-digger."

Rich people cannot use one another.

Travis Kelce signed a 4 year, $57,250,000 contract with the Kansas City Chiefs, including $22,750,000 guaranteed, and an average annual salary of $14,312,500. In 2023, Kelce will earn a base salary of $11,250,000 and a workout bonus of $250,000, while carrying a cap hit of $14,801,667 and a dead cap value of $19,155,000.

NFL players' paydays are highly contractual, whereas Taylor Swift's income is much more diverse and flexible. She earns money from concerts, streams, mentions, and merchandise, and her extensive experience in the industry has allowed her to accumulate a significantly higher income compared to Travis Kelce. This will happen forever.

[eddieredmayneargentinablog]

Happy Poetry Day!

The Waste Land , T.S. Eliot (1888-1965): II. A Game of Chess read by Eddie Redmayne and Felicity Jones for The Poetry Hour in 2012.

    The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,

Glowed on the marble, where the glass

Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines

From which a golden Cupidon peeped out

(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)

Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra

Reflecting light upon the table as

The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,

From satin cases poured in rich profusion;

In vials of ivory and coloured glass

Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,

Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused

And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air

That freshened from the window, these ascended

In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,

Flung their smoke into the laquearia,

Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.

Huge sea-wood fed with copper

Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,

In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam.

Above the antique mantel was displayed

As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene

The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king

So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale

Filled all the desert with inviolable voice

And still she cried, and still the world pursues,

“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.

And other withered stumps of time

Were told upon the walls; staring forms

Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.

Footsteps shuffled on the stair,

Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair

Spread out in fiery points

Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.

My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.

    Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.

      What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?

    I never know what you are thinking. Think.”

    I think we are in rats’ alley

Where the dead men lost their bones.

“What is that noise?”

     The wind under the door.

“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”

           Nothing again nothing.

           “Do You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember Nothing?”

 I remember

Those are pearls that were his eyes.

“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”

But that Shakespeherian Rag —

It’s so elegant

So intelligent

“What shall I do now? What shall I do?

I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street

With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?

What shall we ever do?”

           The hot water at ten.

And if it rains, a closed car at four.

And we shall play a game of chess,

Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said —

I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself,

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME

Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.

He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you

To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.

You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,

He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.

And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,

He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,

And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.

Others can pick and choose if you can’t.

But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.

You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.

(And her only thirty-one.)

I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,

It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.

(She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)

The chemist said it would be alright, but I’ve never been the same.

You are a proper fool, I said.

Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,

What you get married for if you don’t want children?

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME

Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,

And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot —

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME

Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.

Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.

Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night,

     good night".

Source: The Poetry Hour

[a-not-so-average-cryptid]

It is once again time for me to go on some silly weird rant about Molly O’Shea.

This is basically the same as my first post about her but I wanna talk more some other points or such I thought of with like one new example. so I don’t remember when this scene happens or what’s really going on but but I was watching a sad Molly edit on TikTok with it as the intro and it made me spiral. Basically it’s Arthur, Dutch and Molly and if I remember I think they were discussing some sort of plan and this seems to be early In Molly and Dutch’s relationship. Arthur says something like “I hope so” and Molly retorts “trust Dutch mr. Morgan, you have to” in a sorta joking manner. And I feel like that scene alone shows how deeply Molly cared and also how much power he had over her, she literally is making a only slightly teasing quip that you HAVE to listen to Dutch.

If you care that much about a person that you simply do whatever they say and feel deep down you don’t actually have a choice then imagine how gut wrenching it would be for them to start randomly treating you like a nuisance. Like you’re very existence in their space ruins their whole day, and when you even kind of try to mention this behavior you’re just bullied and gaslit into backing down as to not rock the boat, she’s trying desperately to mend her relationship and Dutch does nothing more than belittle her for it. We literally hear her timidly and gently ask why Dutch has been so different and he very rudely shoos her off.

We also hear her talking to Abigail (as I mentioned in my last post) saying “well I love him, and I know he loves me but-“ before Abigail cuts her off by simply stating that even if Dutch does love her it’s not the type of love that Molly needs. But yet she stays. Because not only is it probably reasonable for her to think that if Dutch does still care a little bit then her just up and leaving isn’t an option, she’d have a dangerous outlaw or several tracking her down. Plus where would she go? She has no friends in camp. So no one would be likely to set her up with a favor from someone in town. She doesn’t know anyone outside the gang personally and the ones she did know outside the gang are high society people that probably wouldn’t accept her back in after she left to be with a criminal. Which brings me to the second reason she didn’t just leave. She probably just wanted to make it work to prove to herself she made the right choice.

If you went from riches to rags so rapidly for a guy you’d probably hate for it to crumble too, to her it probably feels almost like she somehow failed in life. Her life was great before and because she wanted romance she tossed her more than ideal quality of life aside for something grittier. And now it’s completely collapsed around her. The man who she left her old life for basically acts like he hates her, no one else wants her, and she’s probably got no idea how to fix it.

Molly had one thing keeping her feeling like this might be kinda worth the hateful looks and secret jabs made about her. One thing that helped her feel better about sleeping In the woods year round. ONE THING helping her cope with being surrounded by outlaws and that one thing without a single reason abandoned her.

[pacifymebby]

i think backgrounds is a thing but also kind of like what they stand for. R is rich and privileged living off her parents money (which is fine) and constantly jetting off to places lol (again fine) and doesn’t have a job or even need one tbh like that’s literally unheard of in the north like you literally need a job to afford a living

I get the crux of what you're saying here but I promise you there is a "posh" north and it's somehow even more horrifying than posh London

But aye those experiences are what shape your values

Thing is can any of us say we don't want to better our futures and give our kids better futures?

I for one hope that one day I'm well off enough that if my kids graduate uni and they don't know what to do with themselves and are trying to break into a tricky industry, they can come home to the family house and keep working on their goals? Like I wouldn't want me kids dossing but id fucking hate to think I'm working my arse off now so that one day in the future I can force my kids to slog it too?

Like I really get where all these anons are coming from about the culture clash and about like how it isn't fair that certain people have life so so much easier, and also like how it's weird that a man who's made a lot of being "rags to riches" is now seemingly dating someone with different principles so is kinda sacrificing his own BUT

1) it's only dating

2) no one in poverty wants to remain on the poverty line, I really don't blame him for "social climbing" he's having experiences that were barred from him by the class system for a long time and that can only be a good thing.

3) maybe he's not sacrificing his principles, I've seen very privileged women learn/grow when they've been in relationships with people from poorer backgrounds (relationships teach both people different things afterall)

4) he's not a hypocrite for shagging. He isn't sacrificing any principles by dating someone middle class. If anything it's weird to say that all working class people must remain completely true to their poverty stricken roots, that only reinforces class structure and makes certain things "not for us" like would you say it's sacrificing principles for a v working class lad from Stockport to go to Oxford? Is he a class traitor? Am I a class traitor for buying a gingerbread man in Morrisons or like idk Waitrose one time? Is it class traitory for working class people to go to art galleries, or listen to classical music, or learn to play the flute, or read lit fiction?

Do you see what I mean like, there's loads of things deemed middle class which have always been "not for the likes of us" but if we start saying any working class person who engages with those things is a traitor to their class then we're the ones reinforcing the structure that oppresses us?

Like idk, I tryyy very hard these days not to judge people who are middle class, because I do know nice people who are, my dad's got some lovely middle class friends... lots of the people I've met in Scotland that are southern English middle class snd have moved up here for cheap rent are nauseating cunts but idk, best to give people the benefit of the doubt until they actually start on the "i just dont see why we should give free school meals to children just because their parents smoke 40 a day and want the latest iphone" rant

The best situ for them is class divide causes misunderstandings and mild irritation but they are happy together anyway and it's not a deep problem. the worst is that the relationship falls apart because they can't understand eachother (this is usually what brings down all relationships though even ones that are class balanced? Is that a phrase that felt weird to write?) Like I grew to fucking despise my ex for being privileged and out of touch but I wouldn't wish that on anyone lol I lost a bestie and it sucked!!

Anyway my point is mostly just that you don't know them at all and to hold your horses accusing anyone of abandoning their principles just for dating someone from a different class background that's meh

Obvs btw anon not all of this is aimed at you in anyway because you aren't the one who has sent me all these things, it's just yours is so far one of the only ones that's on theme with the other anons that's polite enough to post. Some of the stuff in my inbox right now is harshhhh

[masterwords]

a hundred years of blood (pt. 2)

Summary: One of Jessica's favorite clients is an old hermit who lives deep in the woods. When he stops answering his phone, she fears the worst and asks Hotch to come with her...just to check it out. Bad things are about to happen. When Derek realizes Hotch is missing and he might be in danger will the team be able to save them in time? Or will they, too, only find themselves in danger?

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan (established as usual, they just exist as husbands in my head)

Warnings: in this chapter, we talk about cannibals and heroin and broken arms and hotch is definitely drugged and being held captive.

Words: 2.9k

Notes: This chapter is all Hotch being held captive and marched through the woods and...unhappy. Next chapter we'll see where Jess is and what she's up to.

Read on AO3: a hundred years of blood

** CHAPTER LIST **

**

“There are cannibals in these hills.”

Aaron scoffed; his attention faraway on the echoes of footsteps through the woods. His steps, familiar, one then two at a cadence he found fascinating. Left foot heavier than the right, he thought. Maybe, maybe not. His gun was gone and yet...it still felt heavy. Every so often he stumbled and was jerked upright by rough, sure hands. Back onto his uneven footsteps.

“That's what they say, anyway. I been here all my life and never seen 'em, I guess, but maybe you wouldn't really know huh? Probably look just like you and me. Not like they'd just out and say hey the name's Bill and I ate ol' Larry the mechanic's left butt cheek last night with potatoes and carrots like a pot roast, huh? But you might just make their acquaintance tonight. Little further now.”

He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, out in this starchy bright sunlight filtered through scabby old pine trees, ragged and overgrown with wizard beard lichen. Everything looked dried out, smoked woods, lazy silvery greens and dusty oranges and sickly yellows. Up here, elevation so high, nothing lush grew...it was all barely alive, like a movie with all the saturation turned way down, littered with giant rocky growths that looked like half-buried Stegosaurus. A paleontologist's playground. he thought of Jack and his chest constricted painfully.

The air was thin, and he sucked it eagerly into aching lungs through his nose.

“Right up here,” came Elmer's foggy rich voice, so thick with the hills that Aaron got lost in the words. Every sentence was enchanting, a spell spoken in a whisper of wind through molasses. “This was my daddy's cavern. Kept his stills here. Granddad, he kept his in the old mine down below. See what my daddy didn't realize is that this cavern, you go far enough in, you dip and you wind and maybe you trip a few times over wet old rocks...you get to that mine. They were connected, see, and didn't even know it. Spose no one ever thought to look, what with the tale of the trolls in the hills scaring the kids away. Course there's no trolls, least I don't think there are. Maybe they're about as real as the cannibals, huh?”

Aaron whimpered, the pull of the rope on his broken arm getting to him. He was able to ignore it while it was loose, while there was slack, but when his feet stuck in the murky underbrush, and he stumbled that rope pulled at broken bones bandaged with rough old materials that only pressed and ground them together. The feeling, painful as it were, was far away too. It still belonged to him but was estranged.

He thought the cannibals were a far likelier threat than trolls, but at this point he couldn't afford to pick and choose what he believed and what he didn't. Trolls, sure. He'd be on the lookout for trolls. Why should I worry? Why should I care? Billy Joel's voice echoed through him, became an off-kilter mantra to drown out Elmer's spells. Derek would find him, would bring him home and they'd watch "Oliver and Company" and maybe after this ordeal Derek wouldn't be mean about Billy Joel's singing...it was just enough to keep him putting one foot in front of the other.

He didn't know what it was, exactly, but he knew he'd been drugged. That was about all he needed to know. He had just enough experience with that disconnected from your body feeling, no longer Captain of your own ship floating lost at sea, to know this was no accident. No way his mind should be wandering off to the land of Disney movies when he was in mortal danger, and yet here he was.

“You know I did some digging. Looked your family up. Hotch-ner. Seems you got a lot of sway through these old hills, your name carries some weight...what I understand, you got a little shine in your bloodline too. But your mama, she's too proud to admit she's got cousins up here huh? Yeah, figures. You got some hill in you, that's what makes you...right.”

Aaron couldn't have spoken if he wanted to, his mouth duct taped shut with a sock stuffed deep inside. One of his own, he knew and though it wasn't ideal he figured it was better than any other alternative. Maybe that was why his left foot felt heavier, it was still socked. Right foot was slipping around sweaty in his shoe and he could already feel the blisters rubbing themselves into existence. His tongue felt dry, wasted, the taste of river water and air drying all he could think about. Every sense he had was on overdrive but disconnected from anything corporeal.

The tea, he'd been force fed more of that tea. At first it was just a gently seductive quieting in his skull, and it did dull the ache in his arm. Jess had smiled at him dreamily and drifted off to sleep on that sofa bed snuggled up beside him while Elmer told them stories about...something. Hill people. Aliens. Moon People? But the tea didn't keep him beneath the pain in his arm and after a while he started coming to, eyes open watching Elmer whisper in the shadows to something oily and shapeless in the corner of the room. Elmer must have heard him move, because he'd come flying toward the bed so fast and he came with the tea, but it wasn't really tea anymore it was more of a syrup that tasted like ambrosia and evil and Aaron floated away on a thick honey golden ray of light into the ether. He had no idea what was in it, didn't really matter now, not really.

By morning, he'd woken with a beat at his skull so hard he really thought something was wrong. That he was dying. It was sharp, an ice pick in his eye. His memories of the night before were vague, floaty and painful. It took more time than it should have just for him to come to his senses and realize that Jessica wasn't beside him.

Her car was gone, and he was alone with Elmer Chambers.

“She's gone to fetch a doctor for you, alright son. You just lie here and stay quiet. You're sick as a dog. Musta come on you sometime in the night, fever sky high.” With every thread of rational thought, everything he could cling to like water through his fingers, he just hoped that she'd called Derek. The team could figure it out from there if she could just get them to Elmer's house. He had to assume Elmer had led her away on a wild goose chase though...that doctor couldn't possibly be real, could he?

Jess and her heart of gold. Her unfailing and unyielding belief in the good of people. Isn't that why she stuck beside him, even after what happened to her sister? To her family? He couldn't blame her, not seeing this side of Elmer, he was good. Probably one of the best Aaron had ever seen. He'd laid back on the futon with his eyes closed for most of the early morning, miserable and willing himself not to be sick in the bed sheets while Jess visited with Elmer and worried over him. He remembered hearing her wind chime voice. It had soothed him to sleep more than once, no matter how bad he felt she was there. And Elmer was endearing. Sweet, charming old man. Anyone would have been taken in. He wasn't hiding anything; it was almost like this was a wholly separate person.

Without actually being that. This wasn't an act; this wasn't a diagnosis...this was something else entirely and Aaron in his drug addled mind couldn't figure it out. It had taken him too long to even realize that he was being drugged, that's how good Elmer was.

“Drink this son, it'll help the pain in your arm...old family recipe. Gosh, I am sorry about that.” Yeah, easy. He drank it, set that ceramic mug right to his lips and sucked that mug dry. It tasted good, all those fleeting summery flavors of honeysuckle and blueberry. Like something his mother used to give him at night when he was anxious or sick. It tasted like the most saccharine comfort. “The ginseng will settle ya right to sleep.” It didn't sound right, but he was in no condition to argue. His arm hurt so bad he probably would have done anything to make it stop howling. Truthfully, no matter how he hated that sticky resin in his veins, it had taken the pain away even faster than the tea and he hadn't minded it a bit.

“Why are you doing this?” he'd asked when Elmer tied the ropes too tight around his wrists and began tugging him toward the door.

“Well, son, you see...I ain't got no choice. One of those Dumont morons went and violated the contract, and that means he got himself killed. I was well within my rights. But retaliation laws as they are, my Trudy was taken as collateral. Ain't fair, see...I can't...it ain't right. She bein' all I had left in this world. But they said if I sacrifice something important maybe I get her back.”

Aaron stumbled and fell to his knees with a cry, curling himself up around his painful arm. “I'm not important.”

“Naw but see...that's where you're wrong. I thought maybe Jessie was the one I should pick, but that'd only hurt me, and I don't think that's good enough cos I love her. I love that girl. She's like the daughter I never got. Killin' her won't do no good, they'll seek more. No, I gotta break her heart and let her live...breakin' her heart, that's already killin' me. So, I know it's right. You. Losing you will break her heart, see?”

Aaron didn't think that sounded right, it sounded insane, like the ravings of a complete lunatic but he wasn't in any state of mind to argue logic. Especially not with a man who had so completely given logic up long ago. “My team...” he whispered, waiting for Elmer to tug him to his feet again but Elmer only let him rest. He was old, he needed the moment too. They had plenty of daylight left.

“Yes, your team will come, I reckon. Maybe not today, if they're smart, but tomorrow when they got enough daylight. Sure thing. And hell, one of 'em might kill me...but not before the others get to you. Lotta blood gonna be spilled in these hills, they'll be fed good tonight.”

Everything was unnaturally still, no wildlife chirping or buzzing or mewling. It was just the sound of their breath. Elmer's was heavy, winded, he was too old for this trek and his body was letting him know. Aaron should have been able to do it easily except for the strange concoction of Elmer's drugs in his system and the intensity of the swollen, black and blue throbbing in his arm.

It was quiet after that, the way they trudged through the pine needles and oak leaves, scattered, dried to a crisp but wet far enough beneath to know that some slippery slimy creatures were enjoying themselves plenty. Feeding on a bountiful harvest of sweet decay. He thought about offering Elmer a deal, something to make him stop, plead for his life with some sort of dignity but there wasn't a single damned thing he was willing to offer a man who would try to hurt Jessica. Claim to love her and then do this to her. No, he wouldn't offer a thing, he would just have to resign himself to staying alive long enough to bring her back up that mountain with a doctor and the team in tow.

“What was in that tea?” he asked, almost thoughtfully, coherently. He'd gathered enough of his wits to know he needed to keep Elmer talking...he wasn't any different from any other old man. He loved to talk, to tell stories, to ruminate like a cow chewing cud on the past and spit it out thoughtfully. Old memories made anew on the tip of his tongue.

“Old family recipe,” he replied quietly, tugging at the rope fast enough to make Aaron skip a step and stumble again. His legs flew out from under him, and he struggled to get them back, to land upright, but he hit chest first right on that arm and he cried out again. Couldn't help that. Wasn't going to try. Eventually it would get old. “Oh we got some peppermint, some chamomile, some turmeric and marshmallow root...” his voice was soothing, in direct opposition to the way he jerked Aaron to his feet harsh and fast. Strong for a man in his eighties. “Ginseng, of course. And you promise not to give away the secret ingredient?”

Aaron swallowed hard and nodded, as if he cared, as if it was important. Just stalling. Elmer smiled.

“Papaver somniferum...” he drawled that last bit and Aaron shut his eyes, closed them tight and willed his stomach to stop flipping and flopping anxiously. “I see you're familiar with it. Well, son, guess you might as well know my fortune doesn't solely come from those decades' old stills or that damned rotten root that eats up my life, makes me and everyone around me bleed...no, I got my own gig. When I was a kid, I thought they were pretty. Wanted a field of 'em, just like in Wizard of Oz see. First color movie I ever saw and it was somethin'...never seen poppies before, couldn't get 'em outta my mind after. You ever seen anything so beautiful in your life? But just like my granddaddy and his ginseng, my daddy and his moonshine, those lights in the sky opened a door into my head and they spoke to me...boy you know what they said?”

“Opium,” Aaron whispered to himself. Elmer clapped his enormous hands, tugging Aaron's together painfully too.

“Right oh! Boy, it's easy, and just like those lights changed the ginseng and the shine til they were something special, so they did my poppies. Can't get anything like it in the whole world. Course Ms. Brooks doesn't know about the poppy field. Thinks all my money comes to me from my daddy and his stills. Seein' as either you or me is about to die I figure it's fine if I divulge. Just a little. I'm a lonely old man and unburdening myself to a good listener such as yourself feels downright nice.”

“You gave me...” he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around it.

“Opium. That's right. It's easy enough to hide in tea, at least small amounts. The rest you'll find went in easy in other ways once you were dead to the world. And when it starts wearing off...”

That was when the sock went in, pulled out of the sawdust and dirt filled pocket of Elmer's pilled old flannel, followed by a strip of duct tape that was going to rip out more than a few of his hairs and maybe his lips when all was said and done. That was when talk of cannibals began. Aaron thought he'd be sick but that sounded damned awful, and he did his best not to give much thought to the way his stomach lurched, fought to eject everything he'd put inside over the last day. If he didn't give it power, maybe he could hold it at bay. Why should I worry? Why should I care?

The cave was cold, the sound of water dripping echoed through every one of his senses. It hummed a deep earthy song that rattled around in the marrow of his bones. Through the inkblot shadows they walked, he stumbled, and then down down over crumbling rocky steps...so far down. The steps seemed carved into the stone, so crisp and clean they couldn't have been as old as Elmer claimed they were. So far, so far down.

He kept his back to the cave wall, dragging his shoulders against it for some relief to the falling feeling of going so deep. Above them, there was only a pinprick of light left, nothing to walk by, and Elmer seemed to know the way by something other than light. He just...knew. “You just keep followin' me, don't try to look for nothin, don't stumble...we got a long way here, son, but you just keep pressin' forward and the steps will guide you. Don't know how, but they will. Darndest thing.”

Solid ground came after a time, but his legs stumbled and turned to jelly as he tried to take another step that wasn't there. He crashed to the ground and couldn't get back up, not on his own. He just lay there panting, half-breathing the dank musty air. Around them were walls covered in old barrels, piled high high high. Stacked precariously, some of them, leaning like a child's block tower and ready to fall. Elmer didn't bother to try and move him, just left him lying there sprawled on the ground with his sweaty face in the dirt and his heart thundering a wildly erratic drum beat in his chest.

“Gonna take that sock outta your mouth now. You can scream and holler all you like from in here, ain't no one gonna hear you 'cept the wrong sorts of people I reckon, so it might do you good to stay quiet. There's bound to be someone guarding each of the tunnels, see. Never know who you'll run into, who lives so deep in here. Might be best you stay put in this cavern, see. Don't try to go back up, neither, you'll never make it without me. Just stay put and maybe this turns out okay for us both, huh?”

[p-isforpoetry]

"The Waste Land" - A Game of Chess by T. S. Eliot (read by Fiona Shaw)

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble, where the glass Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines From which a golden Cupidon peeped out (Another hid his eyes behind his wing) Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra Reflecting light upon the table as The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it, From satin cases poured in rich profusion; In vials of ivory and coloured glass Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air That freshened from the window, these ascended In fattening the prolonged candle-flames, Flung their smoke into the laquearia, Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.

Huge sea-wood fed with copper Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, In which sad light a carvéd dolphin swam. Above the antique mantel was displayed As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale Filled all the desert with inviolable voice And still she cried, and still the world pursues, “Jug Jug” to dirty ears. And other withered stumps of time Were told upon the walls; staring forms Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Footsteps shuffled on the stair. Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair Spread out in fiery points Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.

 “My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me. “Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.  “What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? “I never know what you are thinking. Think.”

 I think we are in rats’ alley Where the dead men lost their bones.

 “What is that noise?”                          The wind under the door. “What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”                           Nothing again nothing.                                                        “Do “You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember “Nothing?”

      I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes. “Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”  

                                                                          But O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag— It’s so elegant So intelligent “What shall I do now? What shall I do?” “I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street “With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow? “What shall we ever do?”                                               The hot water at ten. And if it rains, a closed car at four. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

 When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said— I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself, HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart. He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there. You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you. And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert, He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time, And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said. Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said. Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look. HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said. Others can pick and choose if you can’t. But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling. You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique. (And her only thirty-one.) I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face, It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said. (She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.) The chemist said it would be all right, but I’ve never been the same. You are a proper fool, I said. Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said, What you get married for if you don’t want children? HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon, And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot— HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

Source: The Waste Land

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Lance, don’t even try me.”

Lance stops in his tracks, fancy shoes scuffing the floor, and huffs, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t need it, Hunk. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I won’t be taking that risk. You won’t, either. We promised your mother, remember?”

Lance huffs again, but stomps his way over after a moment of stubborn hesitation.

Hunk rolls his eyes, looking beyond exasperated as Lance yanks a fabric bag out of his hand before stuffing it in his pocket.

“There, see? Now my pants looks all stretched and stupid.”

“Somehow I think you’ll survive it,” Hunk drawls. “You know what you might not do if you don’t have that? That’s right. Survive.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Lance grumbles.

“What are you two talking about?” Pidge finally asks. “What’s in that bag?”

“Lance’s Epi-Pen,” Hunk answers.

“Oh. I didn’t know you had allergies.”

Lance rolls his eyes again. “Barely. They’re not that big of a deal. We’re in space, anyway.”

“I dunno,” Shiro says, brow furrowed. “I think it might be pretty important. I mean, we’re going to a banquet, right? You never know.”

“I’m not gonna choke on a fuckin’ peanut in space, alright? This is ridiculous. I’ll be fine.”

“Lance,” Keith says with a fond grin, “yesterday you tripped on a rag, which was the only thing in the ground in a room that was the size of fucking Union Station. The day before, you sneezed wrong and fractured a rib somehow. I don’t know how to tell you this, but you are the most accident-prone person in the actual universe. If anyone is going to end up with a wayward peanut on an alien planet, it’s gonna be you.”

Allura snorts. “Someone’s been paying some awful close attention,” she mumbles to Pidge, who giggles.

Lance scowls at him. “Don’t patronize me!”

“I’m not patronizing you! I’m just saying that it’s better to be safe than sorry, alright?”

He shoots Lance a small smile, all moony and soft. Lance visibly melts, a little.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes. “I’ll bring the damn thing. Not like it matters, anyway. It’s fuckin’ expired.”

Everyone looks a little panicked at that, until Hunk rolls his eyes — yet again; at this point his eyes might get stuck — and socks Lance in the arm.

“Stop freaking everyone out, you dick.” He turns to the rest of the team. “Epi-Pens still work after they’re expired. He’s fine.”

There’s a collective sigh of relief, before the heckling begins.

“Lance, you scared me!”

“Man, I can’t believe I was genuinely a little freaked for you. Asshole.”

“Do all humans have such inconspicuous downfalls? You seem so hardy, otherwise.”

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who dies at the hand of a tiny legume.”

The last challenge comes from Keith, because of course it does. What would the disaster duo be, if not constantly bantering to hide mushy affection?

Lance does not hesitate to fire back.

“Oh, piss off, you goober. I can be killed by lots of things. You think I’m limited to a measly peanut? Please. I am like a rich Victorian noblewoman. I frequently fall ill to many an ailment.”

Keith huffs, nudging Lance in the ribs. “So it’s not just peanuts, then? What else are you allergic to?”

Lance’s smirk is diabolical, making everyone immediately wary. He’s wearing that face, the one that promises the worst joke maybe ever to have been uttered.

“I’m allergic to all types of nut —” he winks at Keith — “except for one.”

Keith sputters, face lighting up, and Hunk sighs.

“Never a dull moment with you around, Lance.”