#richard (long dumb road)

[dwoality2123]

I am very late, but, like, I need a Long Dumb Road 2. Please, Jason and Tony have such a connection on and off-screen, I need more of their interviews

#long dumb road #tony revolori #jason mantzoukas #nathan (long dumb road) #richard (long dumb road)

[its-time-to-write]

Ok first of all I love Jamie and I love how you write him.

What about a secret girlfriend or wife that no one knows about who is really smart and they’re discovered but it’s the POV of others. And they’re all shocked that such a smart person is with Jamie.

Like Roy or some team members.

I have a hard time doing other’s POV’s. I’m sorry. This is the best I could do. Thank you so much for requesting!

island made of faith

You’re a familiar face around Nelson Road long before anyone realizes why.

You suppose people just think you’re friends with somebody else, like how Ted thought you were friends with Sam, Sam thought you were friends with Dani, Dani thought you were friends with Higgins.

Everyone finds out in their own, memorable ways, and by the end of it you just wish you had taken Rebecca up on her offer to post a public service announcement. 

You’re there because you’re dating Jamie, obviously.

How it took everyone so long to figure it out, you don’t know. You think it’s because you’re always talking to everyone that no one notices Jamie’s arm is slung around you in a more-than-friends type of way. I mean, to be fair, Sam slings his arm around you. So does Dani. Richard is constantly flirting with you and so is Bumbercatch, but that’s just how they are, so no one pays attention when Jamie does the same thing and you blush just a little bit deeper than the others.

Maybe they’re just dumb.

Anyway, here are a few of the more unique ways people find out:

Ted finds out because you and Jamie are making out in the parking lot late at night, after everyone else has gone home. He immediately recognizes Jamie’s bright orange shirt and ICON hat, but is unfamiliar with whatever girl he has pressed against his car. Ted isn’t one to shy away from embarrassing one of his kids, so he shouts, “Good night, Jamie!” from across the lot. You both jump and break apart, leaving Ted to see Jamie’s surprised face covered in lipstick smudges and your embarrassed one, illuminated under a light. 

Ted is surprised as well. He didn’t know you were dating Jamie, and he says as much. He says he’s happy for you both, but he still has that same look of surprise. The next day, he assumes you two are trying to be secretive about it, because he doesn’t say anything in front of anyone, and you and Jamie don’t bring it up.

Dani finds out right after Sam, and it’s because he’s showed up at Jamie’s house on a Saturday morning with a large bottle of tequila and taco supplies. Jamie had forgotten about their breakfast taco plans, so you’re not expecting Dani when you open the door in one of Jamie’s t-shirts, hair messy from sleep. 

Dani looks at you, you look at him, and you yell, “Jamie,” without breaking eye contact. Jamie thunders down the stairs, says, “oh shit,” and that’s how you, Jamie, and Dani come to be taking tequila shots at 10:30 in the morning while putting the most outrageous things in between Dani’s homemade tortillas and having the audacity to call them tacos.

You’re not too far into your second taco when Dani points between you and Jamie and says, “It doesn’t make sense, amigo.”

Jamie looks at him. “What do you mean, mate?”

“You and her,” Dani replies, “She has such intelligence, and you’re you.”

A Look flashes across Jamie’s face and Dani hurriedly says, “I mean no offense, Jamie.”

Jamie grins and says, “None taken, muchacho,” and leans over to kiss you. 

Dani ends up passed out on your couch by 1pm.

Higgins finds out two days after Van Damme because Jamie needed a ticket for you. “That’s sweet to look out for her,” Higgins says, “She’s kind of like the team’s sister, isn’t she?”

Jamie lets out a snort. “She sure isn’t my sister.”

Higgins looks up from his computer, surprised.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Jamie clarifies. “That’s why she’s around all the time.”

“Oh!” Higgins replies, “That’s, well, that’s a little bit, well, shocking if I do say so myself.”

Jamie nods once then shakes his head, confused. “Sorry, how d’you mean?”

“Well,” Higgins seems flustered, “she just- I suppose, she’s just incredibly intelligent, and well-educated, and usually girls like that don’t go for star footballers.”

Jamie just looks at him. Higgins shrugs. “You know it’s true, Jamie. Look at her friends and see what types of men they go for.”

Jamie’s just at the point of feeling like absolute shit when Higgins says, “She’s lucky to have you.”

Now Jamie’s really confused, but Higgins continues, “I’ve noticed she smiles a lot more since she started coming around. She isn’t as quiet as she used to be. Rebecca was just saying the other day that she seems more- comfortable. She’s special, you know. Not many women go beyond exteriors to get to a man’s heart the way she does. She knew you had a heart of gold the moment she saw you. Take good care of her, because she’s a keeper.”

Jamie says, “Oh. I will,” because what else does he have to say to that? He’s out the door so he almost misses when Higgins says, “I know you will, Jamie.”

Jamie tells you about it later that night, and, because it’s dark, he doesn’t see you frown.

Other people find out in similarly “interesting” ways. Richard asks you out and then when you say you’re dating Jamie, asks, point-blank, “Why? You are so smart and so beautiful and he is so, comment dit-on,” here he searches for the right word and settles on, “he is so not.”

You wrinkle your nose at him and say, “I’m pretty sure he’s smarter than you,” and then go to find Ted to ask him if he has any food allergies, which is why you’re even in the smelly weight room in the first place.

Roy hears about it from Keeley, and he walks up to you after training while you’re waiting for Jamie to finish showering.

“Why the fuck are you dating Tartt?” he asks, no preamble. By this point, you’re getting pretty annoyed with what people think of Jamie. You make a mental note to murder the next person who reacts like this.

You glare up at Roy. “What’s it to you?”

Roy shrugs. “He’s just a prick. And you’re not. You’re actually fucking smart. You use more words in a sentence than he has in his whole brain.”

“Don’t fucking talk about Jamie like that,” you say, anger radiating off your whole body. You’re shorter than Roy, but you swear you can be scarier. “Say something like that to me again and I will personally wax your eyebrows off.”

Roy takes a step back, hands up in defense. “Oi, look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit a fucking nerve. I say shit like that to him all the fucking time. I didn’t mean to set you off.”

He’s sincere, which causes you to deflate a little. You peer behind Roy to see if Jamie’s on his way out yet. He’s not.

“Look,” you say, “everyone has been giving us shit when they find out about me and Jamie. They say something really mean about me being smart and him being dumb, and I’m over it. He’s way smarter than any of you give him credit for, and you all just don’t pay attention because of his accent or his himbo energy or whatever, but I pay attention, and he actually has a fantastic grasp on the difference between academic and conversational language, a distinction many intelligent people cannot make. I just want everyone to back the fuck off.”

Roy says, “Shit,” and then Jamie’s bounding out the doors and you do your best to dispel the previous tension.

Roy looks at you both thoughtfully as Jamie gives you a quick peck and then opens your door. Maybe he and the team are too fucking hard on Jamie, although he’ll never fucking admit it.

—

You’re slicing carrots a little too violently when Jamie brings it to your attention by saying, “You trying to murder them, love? Pretty sure they’re already dead.” 

You look up from your pile of carrot shreds, pulled from your thoughts. Jamie smiles, the dopey one he does to make you laugh. You barely crack a smile, which wipes the grin off his face. Now he’s concerned.

“What’s wrong, babe? This about the fuckin’ carrots?”

You shake your head. “No. This is not about the fucking carrots.”

“What’s wrong, then?” he asks. “You’re obviously thinking the carrots are something else, so what is it? D’you need me to kick someone’s fucking nuts in? Is it Roy?”

You ask, “Why would it be Roy?” in a tone that states it wasn’t not Roy.

Jamie shrugs. “I dunno, maybe the fact that your face looked like a thundercloud two seconds before I kissed ya, or the fact that his fuckin’ eyebrows were scrunchier than usual.”

That makes you smile for real. “How did you even notice that?”

Jamie smiles back, relieved that you’re no longer hell-bent on chopping the carrots and pretending they’re someone else. “I’m a genius at body-science,” he jokes. “I’m as smart as you, I just hide it better.”

That statement brings back your cloudy face and suddenly you’re ranting about Dani and Higgins, Richard and Roy, and anyone else who made similar comments including (but not limited to) Beard, Bumbercatch, Jan Maas, and a goddamn pub regular who you think is named Baz. 

You’ve finished your knife-waving and put it down safely on the cutting board when Jamie pulls you into his arms and kisses you. It catches you off guard, so you pull back for a moment.

“Want to go upstairs?” he asks.

Incredulity is written across your face. “I say all of that, and you want to go have sex? Please explain your logic.”

Jamie grins. “Babe, they’re gonna think what they’re gonna think. Can’t change it. Been using it to my advantage actually. So, I don’t care. But-” he continues, “I think it’s fucking sexy that you care. Hence, me fucking asking you to go have sex.”

You have to admit, that is a good logical jump. And he used the word hence. Correctly.

You concede and let him pull you away from the carrots.

—

You’re at Nelson Road again, this time in the locker room. Sex with Jamie be damned (not really) but you still fucking care. It doesn’t help that someone from work commented on your relationship in the same way the Richmond team has, a comment you shut down with something along the lines of inappropriate workplace conversation and I’m technically your boss.

Basically, you’ve had enough. You storm into the locker room and climb on the middle bench.

“Oi!” you shout above the din. The team quiets down almost immediately. “If I hear one more word about Jamie being out of my league, or his intelligence, especially when all of yours is highly questionable, I’m going straight to Ted and I’m telling him what really happened that night at last month’s away game.” You hold up a hand. “And don’t say he won’t believe me, because I know for an absolute fact he will take my word over all of yours any day, especially in this because it makes more sense than that bullshit story you fed him and Beard. Under stand?”

The team nods and mumbles, “Yes ma’am.”

“I cannot hear you,” you return snappishly.

You’re almost deafened by the “Yes ma’am!” they deliver in unison.

“Good,” you say. “Now, since I’ve all got you here, who’s coming for family dinner this Friday?”

Hands go up around the room and Jamie just stands back in awe. How the hell he landed someone like you, he has no idea. But he’s not worried about it. He doesn’t need to know. He’ll let everyone else worry about that.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[revolorilution]

In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, let us know who your favorite Tony character pairing is!

Tried to include as many as I could think of. If you choose ‘Other’, we’d love to know who in the tags!

Reblog so your friends can vote too!

#tony revolori #willow 2022 #graydon hastur #flash thompson #jason carvey #zero moustafa #graydon #Take The 10 #the grand budapest hotel #spider-man #Graylora #Graythrax #PeterFlash #Peter Parker X Flash Thompson #Flash Thompson X Peter Parker

[itsrattysworld]

Without Prejudice Mervelee Myers MAPS 31 Years In UK Animals Treated More Favourably Than 100 Year Old Arnold E. Tomlinson Whose Jaw Was Broken In East Street Walworth Road Made 1st YouTube Incident A New Met For London Social Media Harvesting IP/CR/I/CPPDP Build Brands 18 Facebook Pages LinkedIn Stole 3 Accounts Oxeyes Guy Lawfull 1st Website I Built From Scratch There Are Richard Harty MIC June O'Sullivan Drag Queen Storytellers Traumatise Children Neil King Hilda Miller Rashid Iqbal Conor Bathgate Jump Ship In EYFS Some Judges Freer Simler Shanks Dight Parfitt Jones Doyle Kernaghan Bell Sterlini Zimmell Rand In Previous Miscarriages Of Justice Failure To Act Professionally Therefore No Unlawful Injunction During Crisis Of Bereavement Losses Makes Those Colluding Behind My Back Party To Deborah Gilchrist Set Up Surveillance Cameras To Bully Harass Intimidate Me Inside Communal Area Where Samantha Gibbs Bring Man With Key Copied From Mine To Assault Me Police Came To Join In Racist Terrorism 12/1/2023 She Is On Long-Term Sick Leave Whilst I am Enduring 10 Years Of PTSD I Wrote To LEYF Eve Mothering Sunday Depressed Dying Slowly Of Torture PC Chana Led Thugs To My Home Celebrate Mama Lou Birthday Mistake Made YouTube Email Acknowlede Me As A Content Creator They Monitize Whilst Discriminating Against Me I Adhere To Laws Legislations Codes Of Conducts Practices Every PCs Who Entered My Home After Holly Sweeney Led Her Thugs To Out My Life Under Cover LEYF Margaret Horn Lecture Listed Don't Worry About A Thing I Will Write The Haters Name On Paper Wear Them In My Shoes Seeking People Face Challenges For Series Windrush Oral History Resources Chronicles Of Strong Jamaican Woman Endorse Sir Mark Rowley A New Met For London Copyright Investments Create Generational Wealth For 6 Grand Children UK Is Most Racist Society Traumatise 100 Year Old To Cover Hate Crimes Judge A Society How Children Elderly Treated Expert Authority Subjects Cradle To Grave Subcribe To Social Media To Break Cycles... I Write Open Letters To Anyone Who Is Someone As Face Of ITV Windrush 70 Composer Brixton Market Who Will Gag My BOOK Poetry About Discrimination You Can't Teach Old Dog New Tricks I Was Not Sectioned Register DEAF Kevin Murray Misdiagnosed DEAF DUMB Language Delay There Is A Person Of Unsound Mind Above Me Who Spys On Me To Trigger Me To Put Me In Hospital Or Jail For Landlord Cowards Who Cap Fit Wear It Throw My Corn 24/1/2024

Refer to WITHOUT PREJUDICE refer High five Creating Mervelee Myers’ Family Legacies Channel ,you have enough fans to fill a jumbo jet! Your YouTube channel is up to 500 subscribers – that’s awesome! We can’t wait to see where you’ll take your channel next. Tag @YouTube and use #500subs on social to let everyone in on the good news!           SHARE ON TWITTER           Thanks,The YouTube team  …

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[mushiemadarame]

Trick-or-treat!

hi! thank you so much for sending this! i only have one KP fic in store but i do have others from other fandoms (way too many unfinished wips actually, i feel kind of guilty about it)

here's a sneak peek from a Jamie-centric Roy/Jamie one from Ted Lasso :D

~

Roy looks at his leg like he’s trying to assess if the damage he would get from walking from Heathrow to his flat is worth the pain if it means getting the last word with Jamie, but he sighs instead and climbs into the passenger seat with the exasperation someone who’s doing a favour - and not receiving one - might have. Jamie stares at the side of his face with incredulity, but Roy doesn’t flinch. He just keeps looking ahead outside the windshield and, after a couple of seconds of quiet, he asks, “Did you run out of gas or something?”

Jamie huffs out a laugh and turns on the ignition, speeding out of the temporary parking. For some unfathomable reason, Keeley’s pavlovian speech pops into his head and the ride to Roy’s apartment, which wouldn’t usually be all that long, seems to turn endless between Roy’s stoic silence and Keeley’s repeating “You don't remember how many times we shagged in this thing?”. But they do get there eventually, and Jamie thinks that’ll be it, Roy will pull out the suitcase he dropped on the backseat and disappear into his home and they’ll only see each other again at Nelson Road in four more weeks when the season is set to start back up.

When Jamie stops the car in the tiny driveway leading to Roy’s front door, though, Roy doesn’t get out.

“Thanks, Jamie,” he says, only turning to Jamie after he’s already done speaking. Jamie tries to come up with some kind of reply, but he’s too astonished by the sincerity in Roy’s voice and ends up nodding stupidly, which seems to be enough for Roy, who nods once too, and finally pushes open the car door.

He’s already got one foot on the ground when he pauses again. “You know,” he says, “I don’t really think you’re a prick anymore.” He doesn’t wait for an answer or look back at Jamie this time, only steps out and closes the door behind him. In the time it takes for him to pull out his bag from the backseat and disappear through the front door, Jamie’s left wondering how the hell he’s supposed to decipher that, and his whole ride home is cottony automation while his brain feels like it’s filled with static.

After a couple of days of on-and-off thinking about the incident that not even a small weightlifting mishap manages to distract him from, Jamie decides he’s over it. That was that, just some strange one-time thing that’s never gonna happen again from resident weirdo Roy Kent. It’s not like Roy has ever been a particularly open person, it’s just that most other times his inscrutability was directed at Jamie, it manifested in either sudden swearing that left Jamie wondering which dumb thing he did was pissing Roy off at the time or soccer-related or both, much easier to solve in any case.

The next Monday, after a weekend spent preferring to stay home in nothing but briefs rather than accept Richard’s invitation to some kind of club event that Jamie understands to have lasted from Saturday night well into the early hours of Sunday afternoon, Jamie makes his way to the entrance to the offices of Nelson Road with an iced coffee - although calling it coffee is a bit generous - in one hand and Dani walking next to him on the other side.

“I swear I didn’t know what to do, amigo,” Dani is recounting a run-in with a fan to him, “I signed the autograph and then after I gave it back he said: Thank you so much Mr Fernàndez, I loved you in Ben Fiasco. I had no idea what he was talking about, so I just smiled and waved.”

Jamie tries to remember if he’s ever seen anything with that title and an actor that looks like Dani but comes up empty. “Heh, it’s alright, mate,” he reassures Dani, “Your handwriting’s shit anyway, he won’t notice.”

When they get to the pitch, already changed into their training gear, they find Roy there, which is weird. Unlike the players, the coaches actually get to go on holiday for the season break. They don't have any obligation to keep in shape or get the regular physical check-ups that only give the players the chance to go away for a couple of weeks at the most - a chance that Isaac and Colin are currently taking full advantage of - and can just fuck off wherever for the full six-week break they get. Coach Lasso is doing just that, flown out back to Kansas two days after their last match, if Jamie remembers correctly, and even Coach Beard, though he hasn't left the country, only shows up one or two days a week lately and almost never for the entire time Jamie and the other teammates spend training.

It’s always been a source of much complaining in the locker room, even though Jamie doubts he’d like all that free time without direction or obligations. He’s only had two weeks without a regular schedule so far and he already has more free time on his hands than he knows what to do with, he’s not sure he’d be able to fill six entire weeks on his own or that he would even want to. Still, he would have expected Roy of all people to keep as far away from Nelson Road as he could for the entirety of the break. It’s his first one as a retired player and even though Jamie doesn’t love the thought of having many years of soccerless life in his - hopefully very distant - future, he’d still expect he would grab the first time off in ages like a kitten in a fire and run with it as fast as he can.

But Roy is there instead, like he’s been there for the last however many years, ever present, ever unyielding.

“Come on!” he shouts from the centre of the pitch, with that small break in his voice he gets whenever it has to go that bit higher, and gestures for them to start running.

Jamie does, follows his orders to a T and doesn’t even notice he feels purposeful like he hasn’t in the last two weeks. Roy moves them around like he’s still part of the team, and he is, all the Coaches are, but Roy knows them like a hand knows its arm and it does as much good to them as players as it does him. Jamie can’t be imagining it, doesn’t think it’s the breeze gliding through the grass and under their sweaty shirts, making Roy’s hair as curly as it never seems to be, what’s making the lines in his face look softer, his eyes lighter.

Jamie runs, and plays and lets his feet follow the wind to the goal and before he can even start getting tired or feel his calves burning, almost three hours have passed.

“Coach,” Bumbercatch calls for Roy with a wave of the hand and makes his way towards him, shoulders heaving and steps slow. “It’s almost lunch,” he continues, “can we go? I have something later.” Jamie stops and gets closer too. The others seem to be thinking the same as a murmur of agreement brushes over them.

Roy looks at his watch and then nods. “Yeah, go ahead,” he allows, leading the way to the doors to the locker room. The players follow closely behind and he keeps it open for them, Jamie at the rear.

Jamie tips his chin up to Roy when he passes. “Thanks, Coach,” he says, and makes his way inside.

Roy follows him in, letting the door close. When they get to the locker room, he squeezes Jamie's shoulder and tells him, “Good job, Tartt,” before disappearing through the entrance to the coaches’ office.

Jamie falters, eyes wide, but Roy doesn’t stop and doesn’t look back and Jamie’s left to watch his retreating back, baffled. For a moment, Jamie thinks he must have imagined it, but Roy’s hand was sun-hot and steady through the sleeve and Jamie can still feel its impression. He takes off his gear slowly, trying to clear his mind, and by the time he’s out of the showers, only Dani is still there, tying his laces and getting ready to leave.

“Are you doing anything after this, amigo?” Dani asks him, shouldering his backpack.

Jamie thinks for a second, shirt paused halfway up his arms. “Not sure,” he replies, “You?”

Dani nods and smiles. “Some old friends from Guadalajara are visiting for a couple of days,” he explains, “We’re meeting for drinks.” He looks Jamie over and then asks, “Want to join us? I can wait for you.”

Dani seems genuinely excited at the prospect of bringing Jamie along, but Jamie’s not sure he’s up for it. Dani tends to surround himself with friends who are as sunshiney as he is, and the thought of an afternoon drinking and being cheerful with a bunch of strangers would sound appealing any of the other times Jamie isn’t in the weird funk he’s been carrying with him since the beginning of the break. “Sorry, Dani, I just remembered I’m meeting someone,” he lies and hopes the expression on his face is apologetic enough.

Dani’s smile dims a bit, but he doesn’t seem too bothered. “Next time, then,” he promises and then exits the room with a wave of his hand and a Spanish tune on his lips.

Jamie takes his time getting dressed, only having to worry about a whole lot of nothing planned for the rest of the day and he’s sure the locker room and the coaches’ office will be well and empty by the time he’s done getting ready to leave. He’s brushing back his still-wet hair and putting on his cap when Roy’s “Hey, Tartt,” makes him jump almost clear out of his skin.

“Fuckin’ bollocks,” Jamie swears loudly and turns around, leaning back into the bench so his knees don’t give out on him, “What the fuck, Roy?!”

“Sorry,” Roy apologises gruffly, but he’s obviously entertained. He continues, “Just wanted to thank you again for the lift the other day.” He crosses his arms and waits for Jamie to reply. Jamie has no idea what exactly he’s supposed to say, though.

He slowly straightens himself away from the bench and adjusts the cap on his head, trying to figure it out. “It’s cool,” he decides to go with, “No big.”

Roy nods but doesn’t make a move to leave. “Are you busy right now?” he asks. Then, without waiting for an answer, he continues, “Keeley’s busy with work and I don’t really have anything planned. I was thinking coffee if you're free?” His voice is stilted, even lower than usual, and the way he points to the door behind him is almost fidgety. Jamie has no fucking idea what is going on.

He contemplates saying no to Roy for a moment. He doesn’t like the idea of being a fill-in for Roy Kent’s precious time but he still can’t stop thinking about the weird way Roy keeps thanking him like he cares, like they’re friends, and it makes him queasy and wrong-footed, Jamie doesn’t like feeling wobbly. He’s gotten better at putting himself in positions where he either doesn’t hold the control or doesn’t have the time to care if he doesn’t, he had to if he wanted to go back to Richmond, but that’s football and he doesn’t know what this is so he almost says no. Then he thinks of going home, of his empty flat and the dishes from yesterday he hasn’t done yet, of the empty bed and the empty sofa and the TV where only he gets to choose what to watch and his mouth moves before he’s fully decided to make it do so. “Sure, not like I have anything better to do.” Roy lifts an eyebrow and surveys him from the top of his nose but doesn’t say anything before he turns and makes his way to the car park, Jamie left to either follow him or be left behind. He follows.

#askeetie asks #ask meme #anonymous #mushiewrites

[nsrecovery2022]

Wholesale self-destruction was a given. But then, a plot twist: He fell in love with a French pop star and moved to the south of France, whereupon he began breeding in chic seclusion. “It gave me everything,” he says, stroking a tiny soul patch and widening the matte brown eyes fixed above the famously jutting cheekbones that create deep canyons where cheeks should be. “A reason to live. A reason not to be a dumb-ass. A reason to learn, a reason to breathe, a reason to care. It gave me everything, oh God.”

The “oh God” comes with a whiff of revulsion at what might have been, had his shit not coalesced when it did. “Oh man, I wasted so much time,” Depp says. “I had great experiences, and a great education from all of it, but what a dumb-ass. I was just confused, and I didn’t know what it was all about or what the point of anything was. I was just kind of pickling myself over a period of years. Self-medicating, trying to numb myself, and just being a self-centered prick, essentially.”

Depp tells me this over a glass of Merlot in the loungy anteroom of a discreet hotel located on a small, snaking side street in Paris. He came in wearing a poncho. His hair is shaggy and his manner gentle; there is something pleasantly world-weary about him. Even his voice seems mellowed and weathered by time. It is a measure of the years Depp packed on while we weren’t looking that one can easily picture him the sun-beaten paysan, the wise elder in wine country, chain-smoking cheroots and sipping strong coffee from tiny cups while his offspring laugh and tumble around him.

Today the curious outerwear obscures his station less well than he might have wished for, for his Dolce & Gabanna suit—a gift from the designers—is plainly visible underneath. Indeed, Depp’s bone-deep ambivalence toward his fame and good fortune is almost comically evident in his chaotic attire, accented by black work boots so scuffed they’re nearly white. Around his neck on black cords hang a tiger’s tooth, a Che Guevara medallion, and one of Ganesh. Adorning both hands are chunky silver gem-studded skull rings—the sort worn by his buddies Iggy Pop and Jim Jarmusch. Contrasting oddly with the Fisher King effect is Depp’s candy-color-bead bracelet, a gift from his four-year-old daughter Lily-Rose, whose name is tattooed over his heart (proudly, Depp yanks down the neck of his shirt to show me). Assembling a look like that must take a fair bit of time and thought, and maybe that’s the point. Depp has literally etched and layered himself with memories. He is ornamented with souvenirs of the road to here.

.

.

.

.

.

Depp made the classic fanboy mistake of focusing only on the glamorous, external trappings of his heroes. He views Richards et al as eternal rock’n’roll figures, and constantly retells anecdotes from their hellraiser years. But all of them wrestled with the question of how hellraisers deal with getting older in a way that Depp, apparently, has not. Richards quit hard drugs in 1977 and Iggy Pop also cleaned up long ago. Thompson killed himself at 67, ground down by poor health and depression; Brando ended up a bloated mess. Depp could easily have grown into a figure like Richards or Iggy Pop: clean, cool, critically acclaimed, a revered cultural figure. Instead, in the past few years, it has become clear he has chosen the other option.

[herrlindemann]

Interview with Richard for METAL HAMMER N°12 - 1996 

It goes on restlessly: While Rammstein's debut Herzeleid is currently aiming for the 100,000 units mark, the Berliners are busy working on the second stage of their plan for world conquest - new songs, new fire, new power.

They were just testing some new inspirations and new music in the battlefield of the concert halls - starting with a relatively chaotic concept concert in Berlin, where classical music, Moby, contemporary art and Rammstein entered into a creative symbiosis in front of 7,000 people for the purpose of reorientation. "The thing was definitely too big in the end," remarked Richard Kruspe, the Rammstein guitarist, a few days later. “Unfortunately we were already in the pre-production for the next record and therefore couldn't take care of the organization at all. The idea was to work together with completely different people, to get new impulses. If you always work in the same environment, you fall asleep, dumbed down in a certain way. The tour we're doing now (early October) is to try out live new songs that we have together in pre-production so far. Usually you write songs and record them without ever having played them outside of a rehearsal room. Certain things only work on stage and I want to play every song live once before I sign off on it.” Which in itself is just a copy of the long road from Rammstein to the first record. “That was a good principle. I don't think you can just sit down somewhere and make a song.”

Richard quantifies the current level of creativity with “twenty ideas that we're going to rub in with the old things.” Although he can get the effect mentioned from the endless touring activities, he sees them more as lost time from a purely creative point of view: "It's completely impossible to work on new material on tour. From time to time there's a little something going on at the sound check, but then the time isn't there. Most of the time we do other things: stay healthy, go swimming...” In short: times have changed. “More than us anyway. When we started with the first Rammstein songs back then, we never thought about success. We were a lot more naive, we went a lot more gutsy - but that's the only difference. Rammstein on the second record will be the same Rammstein as before, just more mature.”

Richard is excited to work with new material now that "there's a story to every note of heartbreak." Nevertheless, Rammstein's music has something strongly ritualistic, stageable right from the start - was that a mental help to play 'Du riechst so gut' even after the 300th time with pleasure? “I see it more like this: Our songwriting suits that. It's very monumental, rather... well, simply structured; we do not attach importance to distinguishing ourselves through virtuosity. The problem isn't that you still feel like the songs, it's just that you're totally overwhelmed if you keep playing the same thing. No more enthusiasm: Everything used to be great, today you play a riff that is maybe much better than on the first record and still think five times whether it's any good. In the last four weeks of pre-production, we've all noticed that music doesn't really appeal to us anymore.” Of course, pressure also plays a role, “quite automatically, unconsciously, you cannot deny it...”

In this euphoric rather subdued creative period, Rammstein helps the proven parallelism between lyrics and music in songwriting. “We've noticed that our creativity basically only comes from the meeting of these six constellations - all six of us have to be there when mixing, for example, otherwise it sucks. The basic ideas always come from the individuals, but from a very early stage people talk about them and work on them together. Of course, a hard riff usually comes with hard lyrics; a lot arises from simple associations, especially in the relationship between music and text. There are always a lot of quarrels, but that's what makes it special: Rammstein is democracy with creative scratching and hair-pulling. If everything was always straight it would be boring and we could all do solo projects.”

The plans up to phase two of the world conquest are already set: “After this tour we will do a second pre-production in Berlin, together with a producer. We'll be recording in Malta - we thought, let's treat ourselves to some sun. But just heard that it's not supposed to be that great there... Anyway: recording runs from mid-November to the end of December, then we'll take a break for a few weeks and then, from February 1st, just like with the mix for the first record in Hamburg.”

What remains after a hundred Rammstein (that's the motto of the Berlin event)? Thousands of other German bands who upgraded with 'Rammstein guitars'? A new sound? “I don't think anyone reinvents a sound. There is a kind of development: a certain artist becomes popular with a certain sound and then logically get copied. There must have been a bunch of grunge bands before Nirvana, but Nirvana were the first to succeed - not without reason, of course, but because they were good. They were then copied by thousands. It's similar with Rammstein. There are already many bands that wanted to combine techno, modern music elements with hard sounds - we were lucky enough to be successful with it, which is why such attempts are now associated with our name.” Of course, the reduction to catchy sound clichés is a bit annoying, “but of course it's also a compliment for us when people emulate us - which is also a form of development.” Richard doesn't necessarily want to admit higher musical authorities, but “the interesting thing is to be inspired. I'm listening to a lot of Prodigy right now; for me an electronic band that tries new things, is courageous. They take sounds that don't exist yet. That's important to us, also when it comes to our outfit: we don't want clichés! Musically, we are not interested in things that were already there.”

Outfit, lived out pyromania - all things that success has made more and more feasible. "Sure, that's a double-edged sword. It's fun, there's variety, and people want a show, they think it's cool: 50 percent good music, 50 percent good show.” Whereby Rammstein, in contrast to the American model - all entertainment - do a blatant balancing act between provocation, fetishism, extremeness on the one hand and entertainment. “Both are included. It's fascinating for me to look at the people listening to our songs. It starts with the cop asking our truck to stop traffic and with a 'Rammstein? Then see you tonight!' goodbye. And how many children are on the shows!” Although the predicate 'pedagogically valuable' is certainly anything but appropriate for some texts... “I also constantly think about what makes our attractiveness to them. Maybe it's because we're a very easy-to-understand band in terms of musical style elements. The problem is rather that we are becoming more and more the slaves of our effects - according to the motto: once a pyro, always a pyro. The most we could do is change the element...” Add a few cold showers? "Like this. We still have opportunities and it's exciting. We also sell a few records, so it can't just be the fire.“ Or else, albeit in a metaphysical sense: Jugend forscht, part 11 - playing with fire. But it is certainly true that, as Richard says, above a certain mass effect, fire, monumental music are perceived. If there's a future for a mix of Kiss and Einfallende Neubauten in the German music scene, then Rammstein are about to get seriously mega. As for you personally: It's progressing! And we keep at it...

#Rammstein #Richard Kruspe #Till Lindemann #Paul Landers #Flake #Flake Lorenz #Christoph Schneider #Oliver Riedel #1996 #interview #translation #* #*scans

[kirencer]

neon nights | chip taylor [18+]

Summary: it was a rundown car, one of the tail lights hung incorrectly as if the repairman hadn’t been too knowledgeable on much but the fact that it was broken. the road was insubstantial, flickering out of existence like the “no” on the motel sign ahead of us. the red echoes off of his cheekbones and eyelids in hollow waves. chip whispered my name brokenly — my tongue ached to say his in return.

Relationship: Chip Taylor x He/Him AFAB! Reader

WC: 4.8k

A/N: Hi my loves! This fic is for Pom (@imagining-in-the-margins) Discord Servers 5th Fic Swap! I was lucky enough to write this fic for Rory (@ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff)! And he wrote me an amazing fic as well, so  check his out! The reader is He/Him AFAB and intended to be a gay trans man. No mentions of breasts or a chest area is mentioned in any way shape or form.

CW: Mild Dub-con (Sleepy griding), a little bit of cum swallowing, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, it’s honestly just yearning and pining and dumb gays

Prompt(s):

A: What about this makes you think you’re dreaming? B: I’ve dreamt about you before""

“do you think of me when you touch yourself?” “what else is there to think about?”

“Your hand feels much better than my own.”

Reader is very very wrong about his assumption of his best friend, Chip, being straight. Why? Chip keeps on saying Reader’s name while touching himself

NSFW 18+ ONLY

----------

(crush by richard siken:)

(you’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. and you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. you’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.)

Tires couldn’t melt. Surely, if they could, then they would have already. The black pavement of the road drew any and all sunlight, stealing away that which should have helped to grow flowers or warm cheeks on cold days. However, Nevada’s desert didn’t have much in the way of plants besides the occasional cactus — so to the road, the light went. I knew if I stepped into it that the heat would sleep from the ground into my shoes.

It’s fickle like that, energy is. So very constantly moving and then spreading and staying and leaving. In a way it was almost like the boy sat next to me, with his hands gripped around the wheel, and his eyes glancing over at me in the few seconds when he could warrant looking away.

Not like there was much to look at besides me. The roads were the same in most places, black (or grayed with age), yellow and white lines, and the steering wheel beneath your fingertips. The whole world becomes this stretch of scenery that might never change. No energy would ever be the needed amount to change what is seen with the eyes of a traveler.

“It’s hot out,” Chip says simply, one of his hands moving to wipe away a bead of sweat that had started to slip down the side of his neck. My eyes followed the movement of his hands with mindless curiosity. Though to say my mind was completely out of the picture was wrong, I was thinking about how Chip’s hands would feel on me, in me.

Chip looked over at me, eyes of honey brown peering at me just because he wanted to look. I liked that about Chip, he never bothered himself with too much thought. Sure, he overthought at times, but Chip found his comfort in the life of complacency.

Truth be told, I had always wanted a man like him. Kind, comfortable, and loving, but also perfectly capable of wanting more. Chip could reach for the stars and then would be glad to land on a mountain top, as long as there were stars for his pretty eyes to look at.

“Should be a motel soon, we can stop there for the night,” I murmured. I didn’t bother to look away from the cut of his jaw as he peered out my window and through the distance, towards the horizon — eyes turning golden in the last few hints of sun that escaped the ever chasing sunset.

Somewhere, somehow, the road and time had both disappeared and left me with nothing but Chip. I didn’t care, he would always be enough for me.

If only there was a way that I would be enough for him — but Chip, my perfect man, Chip, didn’t like men. Or, so I thought.

That night, the only motel within a hundred miles was filled to the brim. No vacancies whatsoever, and the neon sign on the lot blinked without caring. It was what had made us decide to even try the motel, despite the copious amount of cars that sat in front of the building.

Luck was on our side, though, and the man at the counter said that we could sleep in our car in the lot. Which was better than the side of the road, albeit not exactly perfect.

The blanket we had stashed in the trunk worked fine.

It wasn’t too scratchy, and the soft yarn was broken in the right amount. Attached to the edge of the yellow and blue yarn-knit blanket was a hastily made tag. In large, scraggly letters, was written CT.

“Did … did you make this?” I asked, gracing a finger over the letters. I don’t know what pushed me to do so; I knew what it said, but I think I wanted to try and commit it to memory. This thing that Chip crafted so imperfectly in the best of ways. I wanted my brain to remember the smell of him on the blanket, and the sound of his voice paired with the plush as he answered my question with an embarrassed ‘yes.’

If in seven years — when my skin is wholeheartedly anew — I have come to lose the immortality of the brain's memory, my heart will forever remember the adoration I felt for him at that moment.

“A little granny needed a ride to her grandkids. She didn’t have much money, so she taught me how to.”

I practically melted. Chip was the most perfect man ever and I was so crazy to ever think that I had a chance. But, he hadn’t told me anything that made it seem like he wanted me gone. Plus, it always felt like he tried to stretch out our trip to milk it to the bone. A stop at a gas station that takes far too long than just for snacks, often full of laughter in the small aisles before getting eventually (and inevitably) kicked out.

“Chip this is … amazing.”

A bashful grin spread across his lips as he leaned back in his seat, the blanket stretched across the centre to fit both of us. “I’m glad you like it. There should be enough for both of us, but if I steal the covers, you can just steal it back from me or…”

Chip grew embarrassed, his eyes looked away from me, towards the blinking sign. “Or, you could just wake me up and sit in my lap so we can share.”

I nodded. I knew that I’d definitely not have the courage to do so but it was a nice thought. Especially considering it seemed like Chip wanted me to sit on his lap. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made the offer.

My cheek pressed against the leather of the seat as I prepared to go to sleep. The dash said it was almost 10 and I was tired. It wasn’t comfortable, though the closeness to Chip helped a lot. Drowsiness had come over me quickly, and with a mumbled G’night to Chip, I was asleep.

Sometime later, I was awoken by the blanket being suddenly pulled from me. I had gone to move and steal it back when I heard a whimper so sinful and heady with pleasure that I almost gasped in response.

See, while the tone was unfamiliar, I just knew it was Chip.

I hadn’t ever risked much in life. I was always the kid who did everything perfectly. I was never the perfect kid or the popular kid, but I was a good kid. The kind of kid that blends into the background and is content to do that. Yearbook club, a couple of friends, and A’s with one or two B’s. Never went to parties, never drank and drove, and never skipped.

But Chip was obviously taking a risk with what he was doing so close to me that I couldn’t not take the risk and open my eyes.

Fuck, was I glad that I did. Nothing would ever prepare me for what I saw there. Persephone, lips reddened with the juice of pomegranate would never compare to the sight in front of me. Chip’s eyes were pressed close, and his eyebrows twisted in pleasure. The light of the neon sign faded in and out, illuminating Chip’s eyelids, the curve of his open lips, his bobbing Adam's apple … My eyes dipped lower and followed every bit of the light. Till I saw the reason for the obscene sounds falling from Chip’s lips, not at all muddled despite the fact that he had bitten down into his bottom lip moments before.

His hand twisted down his cock. Thumb swiped over his leaking tip on the descent, rubbing his precum over his shaft.

Right away it was a blatant fact that Chip had a pretty dick. Soft looking skin flushed deep red with arousal, and softly curved towards his happy trail. Chips hand brushed his pubes at the base of his dick and held it there, I saw how his hand gripped down a bit holding himself as if to not cum so soon.

Chip released his swollen and pink bottom lip and his voice broke as my name escaped him. I froze for a half-second — afraid that Chip had discovered that I was awake and staring — luckily his eyes were still closed. Though, with two short and quick pumps, Chip came. His hand covered his head, hips bucking up. Chip’s red-illuminated hair fell back against the seat, another whine of my name crossing him, but it was softer now. My eyes slammed shut and I knew that he looked at me. The sign blinked red against the soft translucency of my lids.

I struggled to regulate my breathing as Chip’s finger touched my lips, a bead of his cum fell onto my lower lip. Chip hissed in a breath and said a low curse. I let my eyes blink open as if I was awoken from sleep. Chip’s hand had retreated from my face and I was glad to see that he had tucked himself back into his sweatpants.

My tongue swept over my lips and I saw Chip stiffen. I feigned curiosity and licked at my lips again. Deep down there was some part of me that liked Chip’s cum, but still would have rathered that I had tasted it on purpose.

“You stole the blanket,” I pouted. Sure, it was true but I had not exactly cared that much about it. Chip’s eyes held a galaxy of honey as he stared at me like I was going crazy. “What?”

The sign turned on, tilting his eyes cherry brown for a moment before back to his dim, night and lust darkened honey-treacle.

“Does anything … taste weird…?”

I shook my head no.

“Wait! Since you stole the blanket, does that mean I can sit on your lap?” I questioned — though I was already hooking my legs over the centre console and moving. Chip spluttered without indignance as my shins came to rest on either side of his thighs. I sat down and pressed my face to the crook of his neck.

“Do I get a say in this?” He said a bit jokingly, my lips felt the nervous thrum of his heartbeat. His hands came to rest softly around me and me even closer. His heartbeat sped. I was so glad for that little proof of life. Truth to that this wasn’t a dream. All I wished for was for my own heart to understand that lust can do a lot of things to someone’s mind — even for just a moment, make them say the name of the wrong person.

Still, my brain would forever remember the yearn and totality of longing that I felt when I wanted to say his name in return.

(i wanted to answer a call that only chip could have rung)

—————

Waking up in Chip’s arms was a blessing and a curse.

For one, his arms were strong as they wrapped around me. His hold on me did not falter as I awoke the next morning, some time after dawn had broken. Chip’s arms had always been fairly muscular from what I had seen but it was a different thing entirely to have them wrapped around you with the purpose of not letting go.

The curse, however, was that his arms weren’t just holding. No, they were moving. Chip was still asleep if his little even breaths against my neck had any say in it. So, what he was doing was subconscious. Chip was subconsciously using his arms to rock me against his erection.

Every few seconds his breathing would be cut off by a sleepy groan that ignited a fire in my belly akin to the voracious and tantalizing red light that had echoed against our skin the night before.

Chip’s lips dragged across my skin sleepily, lean-muscled arms holding me to his lap tightly. It was as if he knew in some deep-seated way that it was me in his arms like all he had ever wanted was to hold me. Chip settled back again with his lips — the ones that always seemed to be programmed into a perfect little pink country-boy pout — pressed to the hollow divot of my collarbone.

In one motion, Chip’s face is wrenched back from my skin and his arms loosen to pull away. What replaced the feel of him on me was the sudden heart-wrenching longing for his warmth, for his cheek to be back against the place where my shirt had fallen and skin was visible. It was scorching out already, though it couldn’t be too far past dawn. Still, a million suns could fall on me with their flames and it would never compare to the quenching warmth of Chip’s life. Or, possibly, a better analogy would be that I was a dehydrated man, and Chip was the most hydrating water there was. Hmm, no. Chip may be something the kind of man to hum in the background, but he would never let himself forget that he held a sting of poison.

Chip was better suited to be electricity. Like the gasses and spark that flitted through every single neon light in the whole world. Capable of both shocking and warming. I had hoped that Chip hadn’t pulled away to give me a taste of his bite, since he had already given me a mouthful of his warmth.

His cheeks were such a shade of red, one that not even the sign from the night could ever think of matching. A pretty candy apple color that reminded me of when we had been on a California beach and he forgot sunscreen.

“I - I think we should find a Hotel room tonight,” Chip made no move to push me away. I made no move to go away. Despite the fact that pressing against my ass was an erection that also wasn’t going away.

I nodded in agreement, though I truly wouldn’t mind sleeping in the car again. Chip was a pretty nice mattress and I quite enjoyed the show he put on last night. Even if he didn’t know he was putting one on.

Still, he had said my name and I was in the car, only a few feet from him. If anything he had wanted me to see, right?

Though, that would mean that he was not straight, which was an odd thought to think. He had only ever mentioned girlfriends and sometimes I noticed how he would talk to a girl he found pretty. Eyes tilted golden, words soft and not sure where to look. Chip’d flit all around her face and her legs and her chest. I hadn’t ever noticed him doing that to a man.

And, unless I was blind, he’d never done it to me either.

Three hours later, I was back in my seat and Chip was driving, per usual for our day. We were an hour from Las Vegas, and Chip remarked that he’d only seen the city in passing. He’d never taken the time to stop in Sin City. So, the most obvious option would of course be to have us spend the day there.

Chip wasn’t very lenient with money, he used it when needed but would rather not splurge. However, he always seemed to have a full wallet. That was fine, though. I had enough for the fairly small buy-in of some random game. Plus, I was fucking fantastic at gambling. It was one of the few times I allowed myself the chance to take risks. It was exhilarating, wondering whether or not you’d win big or leave empty-handed.

And, well, I never left with less than what I started with.

“Chip,” I called, a small grin forming over my lips. He looked over at me quickly, before bringing his eyes back to the road. His eyebrow quirked softly with a question. “Can you go faster? I want to do somethin’.”

He nodded at me with vigor and a big smile and we shot forward a bit. Chip’s tanned hands adjusted their grip on the wheel. I didn’t pay too much attention as I rolled down the window. Chip’s hair, which had grown to the bottoms of his ears in our trip, wildly flailed in the wind that flooded the car. I gripped the outside of the car as I slid to sit on the door, most of my body out of the car.

I saw Chip’s eyes grow as wide as dime plates as he grabbed my ankle with a hand — the knuckles of both of his hands went bone white as they gripped onto either the wheel or me.

A nervous but admiration filled laugh bubbled from Chip’s lips, though It really could have been passed off as a sigh. “You …” A look I couldn’t place fell into his eyes, “You’re crazy.”

I then let my head fall back a bit, relishing in the way the wind contrasted the warm sun against every inch of me. When I looked away from the desert horizon, I noticed how Chip’s gaze fell onto my legs and the few inches of midriff from where my shirt had been ridden up by the wind. His eyes slammed back to the road when I caught him, and his eyes widened a bit.

“In a good way, I hope,” I said while sliding back in the window. I saw Chip’s shoulders relax a bit, and his fingertips dragged up my shin a bit before he returned his hand. Shot it back so fast I might have burned him.

“In the best way,” he replied, lips stretching as if he was trying to stop from saying something. But there was still that lingering yank from when he had tugged his hand back. Did he know? Had he somehow realized that I feel deeply for him and didn’t want to even insinuate that we could be together?

At that moment I felt like I had ruined it all. Like I was free falling and there'd be no one to catch me and I was too close to the ground. I felt like I’d failed a class or killed someone.

Then Chip reaches out, and his eyes are full of the poetry I would croon to him if I could, his eyes are glowing honey red again and I must be on fire now. Nothing else could explain the painless burning that filled my chest when I touched his hand.

(love, my brain whispered, love could)

—————

I called his name as we lay on the fancy hotel bed, it had an attached casino that we had just returned from. Entered with three hundred, left with almost two grand. I had sat on Chip’s lap and called him my lucky charm, and he was. In murmurs, he spoke about his limited poker experience.

Now our knuckles brushed from how close we were on the sheets and I hadn’t needed to look over to know that he was looking at me. In a way, he always was. Eyes bright with their own hum of neon gold, bright little flecks of the sun, and lightning in his sea of clear brown. Almost like dirt. Strong, life-giving. Chip took a drag of his lit cigarette, the red-orange tip reminded me of the neon sign. Has it really just been last night? I had thought to myself.

“D’you ever think about stopping? Finding somewhere to stay, building a home?”

Chip shook his head, curls falling into their soft pattern as they air-dried and slightly damped the white sheets beneath his head. It was odd to me, seeing as Chip had always seemed like someone who was searching for his home. Through mile, after mile, his eyes were sharp with longing. The roll of every hill, every divot leading to a river, he always seemed like he wanted to stop. To stay. Chip would look at me, eyes clear and warm, and I would see the longing in his eyes and I knew that he wanted to be home. Wherever his home happened to be. A small puff of smoke fell from Chip’s lips. I had gotten us a smoking room.

“I am home,” Chip’s voice was soft but strong with the sureness of his own self. “I am with you.”

My lips froze on my words, my mind had been completely and utterly discombobulated by the man beside me.

Chip threw his cigarette butt into the trash and scooted closer to me, nuzzling under the covers. I followed his lead, still too stunned to think much past ohmygod ohmygod. Before long, I felt my mind slow and my eyes flutter close, the scent of soap and cigarette smoke on my mind.

Chip had used my body wash.

—————

When I opened my eyes, I half expected the sight of the car. Since, what I was hearing mirrored what had happened the night before. Except there was a desperation to the sound that hadn’t been there previously.

A sob of my name echoed from next to me. That was what had woken me up. Not covers being wrenched from me - in fact, I somehow had more covers on me than when I went to sleep. I was planning on just ignoring him, obviously, he wasn’t meaning to wake me up from his uhm, activities. But then his voice rang out softly, a sharp “No.”

I sat up quickly. The first thing I saw of Chip when I turned was how he reached for the blanket to pull it over himself. His hand didn’t make it that far, though. Before Chip had hidden his very obvious attempts of trying to get off, I had grabbed his wrist lightly.

“Chip. What are you doing?” I asked softly, curiosity and a flood of arousal pressed against my teeth, my tongue, and thrummed in my fingers. Everything of me was alight with the glow of what I was doing. I was giving myself a chance for risk, and I was taking it. Somehow, in the moments where Chip stuttered out an apology, I had become the neon light.

Suddenly, I wanted to stretch out and cover Chip fully. I wanted nothing more than to encapsulate him in my light, in me.

I moved as fast as I could, the covers falling off of me. Chips eyes were blinking in the quick pace of a faulty light, in the pace my heart surely must have also been beating. I used my grip on his wrist to guide him back to his own self.

“What are you doing?!” Chip exclaimed as I moved to straddle his thigh, not letting off my hold on his hand.

I let myself grind down on his leg for a moment, savoring the spark of friction it ignited in my tummy. There was stuff more important than that, though. “Last night and tonight, Chip. You’ve woken me up. Saying my name.” Chip’s eyes widened and a neon flush spread over his cheeks. I smiled a bit, so he really hadn’t intended on me knowing. His lips wrapped around soundless apologies. “Tell me, Chip: do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

“What else is there to think about?”

A groan fell from my lips. I moved from his thigh and rested by his stomach, moving his hand with me so that I could still grip his wrist. Chip’s erection pressed against my ass. Again. “Chip, you don’t gotta just think. If you want, right now, I’ll give you something to feel.”

If I could describe how Chip looked in one word, it would be thunder-struck.

Though he was the electricity and the lightning, Chip was the one electrocuted. When he moved into motion, I expected him to push me away. Instead, his free hand rested on my cheek, his pinkie finger under my jaw, and his lips were moving for mine. If his lips against my throat were mind-numbing, then this … this was mind-melting. Any thoughts I could have had escaped me, and this warming field of electricity swallowed me whole.

Chip kissed like he wanted love, and cuddling under homemade pink blankets, and hand-holding, and everything good. Chip kissed me as though he loved me. And he did.

“Let me touch you, please,” His breath was warm against my lips. I nodded, using my free hand to unbutton my pants, then guiding Chip’s hand to my boxers. A gasp left his lips as his fingers slid over my wetness, Chip’s thumb moved up and rubbed a soft circle into my clit and my hips jerked against his hand, rutting against him a bit, a moan falling from his lips.

Chip dragged two of his fingers between my folds, and before I could grab his wrist again, he pulled his hand between my legs and pressed his fingers into his open mouth. I could see from the hollow of his cheeks that he was greedily sucking on them. Words tumbled from my lips before I could even think through what I was saying.

“I wanna fuck you.”

He pulled his fingers from his mouth, a bead of spit connecting them to his lips. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

I shoved myself out of my boxers, throwing them somewhere across the room. I wasn’t in any hurry, but in a way I was. Chip’s hand moved back to me, this time his finger pushed into me.

I was prepared, yes, but in a way, I also wasn’t.

There was this expression of pure adoration pressing into every curve, dimple, and freckle of Chip’s expression.

He got in a few pumps and curls of his finger before I was practically shaking with desperation. Chip went to add another but I stopped him, using his wrist to pull him out of me. Chip leaned back on his elbows as I grabbed him from behind me, his skin warm and flushed under my fingertips, giving it a few pumps before lining the head of his cock up to me.

“Your hand feels so much better than mine,” I could see Chip’s eyes struggling to stay open as I sunk down on him, a whine falling from my own lips. Despite the mild preparation, Chip was still bigger than I had expected. He wasn’t overly thick, but like his own stature, he was long.

Once our hips were flush, I spoke, “You can close your eyes, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

Chip shook his head, “I’m afraid I’ll wake up from this dream.”

I rocked myself slightly on him, more of a grind than a thrust. I was still too tired to actually put much motion in, but I could feel that we were both already close enough for it to work.

“Oh, love, what about this makes you think you’re dreaming?”

It’s Chip that actually thrust up, hands sliding under the hem of my cotton shirt and settling against my hips. “I’ve dreamt about you before.”

“What exactly have you dreamed of?”

I knew what it was like to dream. Before I woke I was seeing a candy apple red sunset and a never-ending road, a home with two wheels, I was smelling honey soap and looking in honey brown eyes; watching as energy flickered there while a black hole overtook that sliver of sun in his eyes.

“Sometimes, I dream of fucking you,” Chip punctuated his words with a thrust into me, one of his hands moving to rub eager circles into me. His voice was then softer, more hesitant, a whisper. “Mostly, I dream of loving you.”

I press a sweet kiss to his lips and Chip sighs against me, sparking across my flesh. “Don’t dream, make it real.”

In one smooth motion, he flips us. One of my legs pressed up high, placed over his shoulder. “I love you,” Chip thrusts deeply, but gently. His hand snakes to hold mine. I press a kiss to his lips. Our bodies were entangled and entwined like yarn.

(in the morning, the mirror would show us both that it wasn’t a dream as his lips would leave bruises against my skin. but reality or not didn’t matter as we both whispered our affections. we reached the end of our journey together, and glowed brightly with neon love)

[END]

#chip taylor x reader #chip taylor 68 kill #chip taylor x male reader #bi chip taylor #chip taylor x he/him afab reader #mgg x reader #chip taylor #chip taylor x gay male reader #mgg #mgg smut #chip taylor smut #chip taylor fluff #mgg smut and fluff #mgg fluff #road trip #friends to lovers

[kawareo-main]

the rot, PART 1

((hello im gonna try something new, this is a Rick trager fanfic, no real smut but heavily implied))

this is all my idea of Rick’s background, it started as a writing exercise and he was a good subject for it lol

TW: gore, descend into madness, 18+, disturbing

Rot.

Everything rots, the blood flow stops and everything goes to shit. Except maybe bugs – do bugs rot? Have you ever seen a rotten bug?

Richard sees his first rot when he is too young to remember, back when he would go play in the forest behind his parents’ mansion whenever they are too busy for him, and that is often.

He can’t remember properly, but it is a few months before his birthday, perhaps fifth, perhaps sixth.

He knows that dog, she is the neighbour’s, an old girl that Rick likes, even though she’s almost as big as him she was old and fragile and could only really wave her tail when he snuck over to pet her, Molly is her name.

Strange name for a dog.

Apparently she got too old for the neighbours though, proven by the bullet hole in her dumb big forehead.

It couldn’t have happened so long ago, she is still soft to pet – so Richard does just that, sits next to her and pets her, until she gets rigid and cold and his nanny calls for him to come back to dinner.

He visits Molly again, every day, he has no better company and she’s a good listener.

He watches her rot.

Her tongue turns pale and greenish, her big loving eyes sink into the skull, and Richard watches her fall apart. He can’t pet her anymore after a few weeks, her skin isnt connected to the flesh and it moves as a whole under his hands.

He watches the worms come.

Worms in her ears, maggots in her mouth, under her skin, making it move as if it’s alive, some sort of a monster, wearing Molly’s skin.

Richard celebrates his birthday with the maggots.

Sits next to them and Molly’s bones, sings himself a happy birthday, puts a cupcake in what is left of Molly’s mouth, maggots watching from what was once her eye.

Richard is lonely again when the maggots leave.

He doesn’t see his first human rot.

It’s one of the rare regrets Richard has, that he couldn’t put her in the woods next to Molly and watch maggots infest her pretty blue eyes, to touch her curly blonde hair, the silky skin as it goes cold and rigid...

But his father is as pale as a corpse when he fails to find a heartbeat, he jumps when he hears another car approaching.

It passes them without noticing, and Richard is too entranced with rain washing away all the blood to care until his father is yanking him away, back into the car. He drives away and tells him to never talk about this to anyone, that it didn’t happen, that there is no woman with a bloody forehead and tire traces down her broken back laying on the road, and Richard nods and never says a word. Promises to forget about it.

When he lays awake at night, breathing heavily with a sticky hand, he can’t help but remember.

Some people might be rotten, rotten and still alive.

Richard becomes Rick, for a friend, it’s the first time he can talk about the rot without being bad, Jeremy (Jer, its Jer, because they are friends) sits down and listens with his clever blue eyes. And he talks back, the two talk about rotting and blood and Molly, the man Jer saw die, the woman Rick saw dead.

They push a teacher down the stairs and watch the blood, Rick likes it more than his friend does, but Jer seems perfectly happy sitting there and getting away with it, he has a nasty grin and Rick loves it, the pain they cause and that they’re smart enough to get away.

Having a friend is much nicer than he expected.

He hopes Jeremy doesn’t rot.

 It’s wrong if women rot when you love them.

Rick’s aware of that, it’s why he uses pills to get as close as he can, he prefers if they lay down and pretend they’re dead, wraps his hand around their necks and feels the pulse, one he could silence with just a bit of a harder squeeze... He wants it, to dug into them, cut them open with a scalpel he isn’t licensed to use, cover himself in hot blood and feel it go cold on him, feel her go cold around him and him being the only hot thing left inside.

He doesn’t, though.

Jer says it would be too hard to clean up, and Rick tends to agree.

At least until they join Murkoff, and suddenly, Rick’s allowed to do anything he ever wanted.

And oh man, is it dark.

People rot at Mount Massive, Rick noticed.

Patients, doctors, guards, the asylum doesn’t discriminate and ruins everyone equally.

Rick feels just fine though.

Perhaps a little high constantly – but he blames the cocaine for it.

Perhaps a little... itchy.

Like there are maggots in his brain.

Cocaine, though.

He can blame cocaine for the itch.

He can blame cocaine and pretend that he doesn’t pick up a letter opener and find himself thinking of shoving it in good ole Jeremy’s skull down to the handle.

Rick sometimes thinks women have rotten brains, he agrees with Gluskin on that.

He doesn’t complain though, when a cute redheaded secretary starts looking at him with doe eyes, with a few more buttons popped open on her blouse.

He smiles and gives her a wink, and she giggles – it’s all so easy, Rick knows his way around women.

She doesn’t see him roll his eyes when he turns away.

Michelle Haas is her name, he has to remember it, can’t say the wrong name when he asks her out – he asks her and she says yes, she would love to go on a date with her rich and handsome boss, who wouldn’t?

Apparently, Jeremy wouldn’t.

But Jeremy was always smarter than average.

Which Michelle, oh sweet Michelle with a bland name and nice tits, is not.

Rick knows she’d let him fuck her, she wanted him to, even, but that was boring. Michelle was boring. He doesn’t like how bright her eyes are, and he doesn’t care for anything she says. So in the end, he still slips her the pill, still watches her slump in her chair and become soft in his hands.

He prefers it this way, it’s as far as he can cross the line before he would fall from a monster to the bottom of the barrel, same as his ‘patients’.

It’s what the asylum does to you, he realized, it takes good people and monsters and makes them all equal, equal in insanity.

Rick is better than that, better than them.

Rick refuses to rot.

Michelle Haas pulls an Uno reverse and fucks Rick over just a few months later.

It’s shit, it’s all shit, Rick’s house of cards is collapsing in on him and for the first time in his life his charm and quick mind aren’t helping him. If only he knew any other way, but he doesn’t, he doesn’t, so he does what he always did best and

  sinks

     deeper

       into shit.

 And it smells down there. Perhaps its not even shit, perhaps it’s rot, rot Rick’s been collecting his entire life, and now he’s neck deep in it, flies in his eyes, piles of rotting flesh threatening to bury him like how he refused to bury Molly.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, asking the bitch of a detective for drinks (pointy nose, beady eyes, a weasel in a pencil skirt). He doesn’t know what made him put the roofies in her drink, as if she was just another sloppy cunt (bet it isn’t, bet she’s tight, bet she doesn’t get any.) he could get away with.

 Rick claims it was madness.

 (he doesn’t like pointy tits, that bony neck, no way he’d do her sane of mind)

 Jeremy claims it was ego.

((that bony neck, he should snap it, she’d deserve it for fucking with him))

Rick silently agrees         and            blames                  madness.

  ((beady eyes, beady eyes that see him rot, he wants to eat them)))

  He sits in his office and thinks, his heart is beating and maggots in his brains are eating away regrets he has, coke burning through his nostrils and his trust in Jeremy.

He knows Jeremy is talking to the detectives (the Pauls, the Pauls, Paul and Pauline, what a stupid coincidence is that?) in his office right now (fancy office, fancy suit, he wants to bend Jeremy over that table and strangle fuck strangle fuck him), he knows Jeremy’s trying to save his ass (would he get fucked in prison? Part of him hopes so, hopes years haven’t eaten off of him that much yet).

He knows that he knows and yet he can’t sit still, what if Jeremy fucks it up like how Rick did? What if he makes it worse?

 .....

 ..............

 What if he fucks Richard over?

 (would he? Is he selfish enough to betray his friend just to avoid taking the bla-)

  Rick’s marching down the hallway, legs carrying him as if they’d be piloted by the maggots in his brain and not him.

He bursts in the office (feels crowded with so many people here) and he sees them, their faces melting away in the features they share (beady eyes, they all have beady eyes, they all climb the glass ladder) until he sees the red hair.

Jeremy let Michelle whatshername come, and not Rick, not letting him defend himself, and Rick wants to call him out for it.

He takes a deep breath (air feels so stiff right now).

He walks forward, to explain himself (his hand reaches out, reaches for the desk).

He’s sure he can explain, puts on his trademark grin and  

 (( snaps ))

 gets away with it.

 (( “Liar, fucking liar!” ))

 He’s a charming guy, he knows he can do it, can fix what Michelle die die FUCKING DIE has done to him!

 Belly bursts, letter opener it hand, it opens bellies now, not letters, instead of paper guts spill out and its beautiful, red fills Rick’s hands and the belly bump the cunt refused to abort is gone, its gone, he solves his problem like how he should solve it months ago before

(( Pauline )) kicks him, she’s stronger than ((      ))

 got mixed in, and it can all be fine again, he can go back to golf with Jeremy

 (( Jeremy )) watches with a martini in hand and a smile on his face, ((      )) meets his eyes before (( the bitch )) slams his head in a paper shredder.

 Hair rips.

 Hair grows back.

 Rick can go back, back to what he was, a monster in the shadows, untouchable

 Pauline holds his head there while he screams, the hair being torn off, Jeremy’s pants tenting, Paul helping Mariane while she’s bleeding on the floor, her baby dead, dead, fucking dead like how Rick wanted it from the moment he learnt it was in there

 because Rick always WAS always untouchable, out of reach, better than everyone, better than shitty patients he oversees

 doctors strap him on a table while he trashes, screams his name, screams for Jeremy to               stop it.            but Jeremy just watches and doesn’t touch, Jeremy doesn’t like touching patients.

 i’m Richard fucking Trager, executive at this fucking

 Doesn’t like to touch a crazy man.

 crazy, you’re crazy.

 words blend in, bugs eat, devour, and they’re so much like Jeremy, praying on the rotten, the moment the meat isn’t fresh anymore

 rick and jer

 jeremy smiles and his face melts and he doesn’t have it anymore, jer is gone and jeremy follows, leaving nothing behind

  rick

nothing but Blaire, murkoff executive, mount massive director, lone wolf of wallstreet.

  richard

  blaire looks as the machines close and richard bangs on the glass, he screams so hard he thinks he bursts a lung before machines had the chance to, and

   patient 21-B03

                       morphogenic engine activation, phase 1

 PART 2 still in working :)

#i am aware its scissors he stabs michelle with but i liked it more with the letter opener #richard trager #outlast #outlast whistleblower #jeremy blaire #madness #mount massive #Murkoff Corporation #the murkoff account #fanfic #tw; body horror #morphogenic engine #Walrider #dr trager #might add tags later

[mostlymovieswithmax]

Movies I watched in May

Sadly, I kind of skipped writing a post for April. It was a mad month with so much going on: lots of emails sent and lots of stress. I started a new job so I’m getting to grips with that... and even then, I still watched a bunch of movies. But this is about what I watched in May and, yeah… still a bunch. So if you’re looking to get into some other movies - possibly some you’ve thought about watching but didn’t know what they were like, or maybe like the look of something you’ve never heard of - then this may help! So here’s every film I watched from the 1st to the 31st of May 2021 Tenet (2020) - 8/10 This was my third time watching Christopher Nolan’s most Christopher Nolan movie ever and it makes no sense but I still love it. The spectacle of it all is truly like nothing I’ve ever seen. I had also watched it four days prior to this watch also, only this time I had enabled audio description for the visually impaired, thinking it would make it funny… It didn’t.

Nomadland (2020) - 6/10 Chloé Zhao’s new movie got a lot of awards attention. Everyone was hyped for this and when it got put out on Disney+ I was eager to see what all the fuss was about. Seeing these real nomads certainly gave the film an authenticity, along with McDormand’s ever-praisable acting. But generally I found it quite underwhelming and lacking a lot in its pacing. Nomadland surely has its moments of captivating cinematography and enticing commentary on the culture of these people, but it felt like it went on forever without any kind of forward direction or goal. The Prince of Egypt (1998) - 6/10 I reviewed this on my podcast, The Sunday Movie Marathon. For what it is, it’s pretty fun but nowhere near as good as some of the best DreamWorks movies.

Chinatown (1974) - 8/10 What a fantastic and wonderfully unpredictable mystery crime film! I regret to say I’ve not seen many Jack Nicholson performances but he steals the show. Despite Polanski’s infamy, it’d be a lie to claim this wasn’t truly masterful. Howl’s Moving Castle (2004) - 8/10 Admittedly I was half asleep as I curled up on the sofa to watch this again on a whim. I watched this with someone who demanded the dubbed version over the subtitled version and while I objected heavily, I knew I’d seen the movie before so it didn’t matter too much. That person also fell asleep about 20 minutes in, so how pointless an argument it was. Howl’s Moving Castle boasts superb animation, the likes of which I’ve only come to expect of Miyazaki. The story is so unique and the colours are absolutely gorgeous. This may not be my favourite from the legendary director but there’s no denying its splendour.

Bāhubali: The Beginning (2015) - 3/10 The next morning I watched some absolute trash. This crazy, over the top Indian movie is hilarious and I could perhaps recommend it if it weren’t so long. That being said, Bāhubali was not a dumpster fire; it has a lot of good-looking visual effects and it’s easy to see the ambition for this epic story, it just doesn’t come together. There’s fun to be had with how the main character is basically the strongest man in the world and yet still comes across as just a lucky dumbass, along with all the dancing that makes no sense but is still entertaining to watch. Seven Samurai (1954) - 10/10 If it wasn’t obvious already, Seven Samurai is a masterpiece. I reviewed this on The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast, so more thoughts can be found there. Red Road (2006) - 6/10 Another recommendation on episode 30 of the podcast. Red Road really captures the authentic British working class experience. Before Sunrise (1995) - 10/10 One of the best romances put to film. The first in Richard Linklater’s Before Trilogy is undoubtedly my favourite, despite its counterparts being almost equally as good. It tells the story of a young couple travelling through Europe, who happen to meet on a train and spend the day together. It is gloriously shot on location in Vienna and features some of the most interesting dialogue I’ve ever seen put to film. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

Tokyo Story (1953) - 9/10 This Japanese classic - along with being visually and sonically masterful - is a lot about appreciating the people in your life and taking the time to show them that you love them. It’s about knowing it’s never too late to rekindle old relationships if you truly want to, which is something I’ve been able to relate to in recent years. It broke my heart in two. Tokyo Story will make you want to call your mother. Before Sunset (2004) - 10/10 Almost a decade after Sunrise, Sunset carries a sombre yet relieving feeling. Again, the performances from Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke take me away, evoking nostalgic feelings as they stroll through the contemporary Parisian streets. There is no regret in me for buying the Criterion blu-ray boxset for this trilogy. Before Midnight (2013) - 10/10 Here, Linklater cements this trilogy as one of the best in film history. It’s certainly not the ending I expected, yet it’s an ending I appreciate endlessly. Because it doesn’t really end. Midnight shows the troubling times of a strained relationship; one that has endured so long and despite initially feeling almost dreamlike in how idealistically that first encounter was portrayed, the cracks appear as the film forces you to come to terms with the fact that fairy-tale romances just don’t exist. Relationships require effort and sacrifice and sometimes the ones that truly work are those that endure through all the rough patches to emerge stronger. The Holy Mountain (1973) - 10/10 Jodorowsky’s masterpiece is absolute insanity. I talked more about it on The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast.

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014) - 10/10 Another watch for Grand Budapest because I bought the Criterion blu-ray. As unalterably perfect as ever. Blue Jay (2016) - 6/10 Rather good up to a point. My co-hosts and I did not agree on how good this movie was, which is a discussion you can listen to on my podcast. Shadow and Bone: The Afterparty (2021) - 3/10 For what it’s worth, I really enjoyed the first season of Shadow and Bone, which is why I wanted to see what ‘The Afterparty’ was about. This could have been a lot better and much less annoying if all those terrible comedians weren’t hosting and telling bad jokes. I don’t want to see Fortune Feimster attempt to tell a joke about oiling her body as the cast of the show sit awkwardly in their homes over Zoom. If it had simply been a half hour, 45 minute chat with the cast and crew about how they made the show and their thoughts on it, a lot of embarrassment and time-wasting could have been spared. Wadjda (2012) - 6/10 Another recommendation discussed at length on The Sunday Movie Marathon. Wadjda was pretty interesting from a cultural perspective but largely familiar in terms of story structure.

Freddy Got Fingered (2001) - 2/10 A truly terrible movie with maybe one or two scenes that stop it from being a complete catastrophe. Tom Green tried to create something that almost holds a middle finger to everyone who watches it and to some that could be a fun experience, but to me it just came across as utterly irritating. It’s simply a bunch of scenes threaded together with an incredibly loose plot. He wears the skin of a dead deer, smacks a disabled woman over and over again on the legs to turn her on, and he swings a newborn baby around a hospital room by its umbilical cord (that part was actually pretty funny). I cannot believe I watched this again, although I think I repressed a lot of it since having seen it for the first time around five years ago. The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part 1 - (2011) I have to say, these movies seem to get better with each instalment. They’re still not very good though. That being said, I’m amazed at how many times I’ve watched each of the Twilight movies at this point. This time around, I watched Breaking Dawn - Part 1 with a YMS commentary track on YouTube and that made the experience a lot more entertaining. Otherwise, this film is super dumb but pretty entertaining. I would recommend watching these movies with friends. Solaris (1972) - 8/10 Andrei Tarkovsky’s grand sci-fi epic about the emotional crises of a crew on the space station orbiting the fictional planet Solaris is much as strange and creepy as you might expect from the master Russian auter. I had wanted to watch this for a while so I bought the Criterion blu-ray and it’s just stunning. It’s clear to see the 2001: A Space Odyssey inspiration but Solaris is quite a different beast entirely. Jaws (1975) - 4/10 I really tried to get into this classic movie, but Jaws exhibits basically everything I don’t like about Steven Spielberg’s directing. For sure, the effects are crazily good but the story itself is poorly handled and largely uninteresting. It was just a massive slog to get through.

Darkman (1990) - 6/10 Sam Raimi’s superhero movie is so much fun, albeit massively stupid. Further discussion on Darkman can be found on episode 32 of The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast. Darkman II: The Return of Durant (1995) - 1/10 Abysmal. I forgot the movie as I watched it. This was part of a marathon my friends and I did for episode 32 of our podcast. Darkman III: Die Darkman Die (1996) - 1/10 Perhaps this trilogy is not so great after all. Only marginally better than Darkman II but still pretty terrible. More thoughts on episode 32 of my podcast. F For Fake (1973) - 8/10 Rewatching this proved to be a worthwhile decision. Albeit slightly boring, there’s no denying how crazy the story of this documentary about art forgers is. The standout however, is the director himself. Orson Welles makes a lot of this film about himself and how hot his girlfriend is and it is hilarious.

The Mitchells vs. The Machines (2021) - 4/10 More style over substance, Sony’s new animated adventure wants so much to be in trend with the current internet culture but it simply doesn’t understand what it’s emulating. There’s a nyan cat reference, for crying out loud. For every joke that works, there are about ten more that do not and were it not for the wonderful animation, it simply wouldn’t be getting so much praise. Taxi Driver (1976) - 10/10 The first movie I’ve seen in a cinema since 2020 and damn it was good to be back! I’ve already reviewed Taxi Driver in my March wrap-up but seeing it in the cinema was a real treat. Irreversible (2002) - 8/10 One of the most viscerally horrendous experiences I’ve ever had while watching a movie. I cannot believe a friend of mine gave me the DVD to watch. More thoughts on episode 32 of The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast. Don’t watch it with the family. The Golden Compass (2007) - 1/10 I had no recollection of this being as bad as it is. The Golden Compass is the definition of a factory mandated movie. Nothing it does on its own is worth any kind of merit. I would say, if you wanted an experience like what this tries to communicate, a better option by far is the BBC series, His Dark Materials. More of my thoughts can be found in the review I wrote on Letterboxd.

Antichrist (2009) - 8/10 Lars von Trier is nothing if not provocative and I can understand why someone would not like Antichrist, but I enjoyed it quite a lot. After watching it, I wrote a slightly disjointed summary of my interpretations of this highly metaphorical movie in the group chat, so fair warning for a bit of spoilers and graphic descriptions: It's like, the patriarchy, man! Oppression! Men are the rational thinkers with big brains and the women just cry and be emotional. So she's seen as crazy when she's smashing his cock and driving a drill through his leg to keep him weighted down. Like, how does he like it, ya know? So then she mutilates herself like she did with him and now they're both wounded, but the animals crowd around her (and the crow that he couldn't kill because it's Mother nature, not Father nature, duh). Then he kills her, even though she could've killed him loads of times but didn't. So it's like "haha big win for the man who was subjected to such horrific torture. Victory!" And then all the women with no faces come out of the woods because it's like a constant cycle. Manchester By The Sea (2016) - 6/10 Great performances in this super sad movie. I can’t say I got too much out of it though. Roar (1981) - 9/10 Watching Roar again was still as terrifying an experience as the first time. If you want to watch something that’s loose on plot with poor acting but with real big cats getting in the way of production and physically attacking people, look no further. This is the scariest movie I’ve ever seen because it’s all basically real. Cannot recommend it enough. Eyes Without A Face (1960) - 8/10 I’m glad I checked this old French movie out again. There’s a lot to marvel at in so many aspects, what with the premise itself - a mad surgeon taking the faces from unsuspecting women and transplanting them onto another - being incredibly unique for the time. Short, sweet and entertaining!

Se7en (1995) - 10/10 The first in a David Fincher marathon we did for The Sunday Movie Marathon, episode 33. Zodiac (2007) - 10/10 Second in the marathon, as it was getting late, we decided to watch half that evening and the last half on the following evening. Zodiac is a brilliant movie and you can hear more of my thoughts on the podcast (though I apologise; my audio is not the best in this episode). Gone Girl (2014) - 10/10 My favourite Fincher movie. More insights into this masterpiece in episode 33 of the podcast. Friends: The Reunion (2021) - 6/10 It was heartwarming to see the old actors for this great show together again. I talked about the Friends reunion film at length in episode 33 of my podcast.

Wolfwalkers (2020) - 10/10 I reviewed this in an earlier post but would like to reiterate just how wonderful Wolfwalkers is. If you get the chance, please see it in the cinema. I couldn’t stop crying from how beautiful it was. Raya and The Last Dragon (2021) - 6/10 After watching Wolfwalkers, I decided I didn’t want to go home. So I had lunch in town and booked a ticket for Disney’s Raya and The Last Dragon. A child was coughing directly behind me the entire time. Again, I reviewed this in an earlier post but generally it was decent but I have so many problems with the execution. The Princess Bride (1987) - 9/10 Clearly I underrated this the last time I watched it. The Princess Bride is warm and hilarious with some delightfully memorable characters. A real classic!

The Invisible Kid (1988) - 1/10 About as good as you’d expect a movie with that name to be, The Invisible Kid was a pick for The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast, the discussion for which you can listen to in episode 34. Babel (2006) - 9/10 The same night that I watched The Invisible Kid, I watched a masterful and dour drama from the director of Birdman and The Revenant. Babel calls back to an earlier movie of Iñárritu’s, called Amores Perros and as I was informed while we watched this for the podcast, it turns out Babel is part of a trilogy alongside the aforementioned film. More thoughts in episode 34 of the podcast. Snake Eyes (1998) - 1/10 After feeling thoroughly emotionally wiped out after Babel, we immediately watched another recommendation for the podcast: Snake Eyes, starring Nicolas Cage. This was a truly underwhelming experience and for more of a breakdown into what makes this movie so bad, you can listen to us talk about it on the podcast.

#may #movies #wrap-up #film #follow for more #Twitter: @MHShukster #tenet #nomadland #the prince of egypt #chinatown #howl's moving castle #bahubali: the beginning #seven samurai #red road #before sunrise #tokyo story #before sunset #before midnight #the holy mountain #the grand budapest hotel #blue jay #shadow and bone #shadow and bone: the afterparty #wadjda #freddy got fingered #the twilight saga: breaking dawn - part 1 #solaris #jaws #darkman #darkman ii: the return of durant

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

SECOND CHANCE

Prompt: Just some good old fluff with Finny boy

Word Count: Long, bitch! So fucking long

Pairings: Finn Bálor x Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut (implied)

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Tag: @theworldofotps , @new-zealand-chic , @sassymox , @waywardwrestlewritingwaif , @yungbludjazz360 , @starwithaheart

Notes: Found this in an old file (wrote this about two years ago, maybe?) But I kinda like this little story ❤️ If you’d like to check out my previous works, you can find them on my Masterlist 😉

A deep sigh of relief left my lips as I brushed my damp hair. I heard a commotion in the living room, and began to dread the potential fight I would have to break up between a four and six year-old over a remote control.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy!” Caleb screamed in excitement, while bursting through my bedroom door like a maniac

“You’ll never believe who’s downstairs with us” He jumped with a cheeky smile

“Cal, who’s downstairs?” I ask worryingly, instinctively reaching for the gun that I kept in my nightstand

Caleb laughed and ran downstairs again.

As a homicide detective, my cop instincts combined with my motherly instincts took over me and I ran to the living room in only a tank top and panties, with my gun already aimed to shoot.

Although, the last person I thought I would see standing there, braiding my daughter Maeve’s hair in a style reminiscent of queen Elsa, and watching Caleb showing off his somersault technique was HIM…

That caught me off guard and he must have sensed it, because the first thing he did was look up.

“Hi” He said shyly

“What are you doing here, Finn?” I asked, putting my gun down on the dinner table

“I swear I didn’t break in” He laughed, attempting a joke

“What do you want?” I decided to ignore the small talk...there was no need for that, not after everything he did

“I have an injury. So I have some time off for a while and I wanted to stop by to see the kids and you” He whispered the last part

“Injury, huh? Is it bad?”

Even after everything he did, I couldn’t help but worry about his well being, you know, for the kids sake!...

Ok fine, I still love him, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“No, nothing serious. But I got two months off and I was excited to see my family” He looked at me when he said that

“Are you going to see your parents?”

“Yeah and I was thinking if it would be ok with you if I take the kids with me?”

“Of course! Why would I mind?”

His family was always very loving and kind to me, and we became very close once the kids were born. Sometimes I would take them to Ireland on my vacation so they could see their grandparents or they would travel to New York so they could see the kids.

“Because of...you know” He trailed off

“Neither your family or the kids have anything to do with that. I’m a grown woman, Finn. I know how to separate the sheep from the goat, ok?!”

I could feel the air becoming thicker with the tension, until Maeve said

“Mommy, why aren’t you wearing any pants? Are you feeling hot? I can get you the Japanese hand fan daddy gave it to me, if you’d like” She smiled

“Thank you buttercup, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll be right back”

......................................................................

Now, properly dressed, I made my way towards the kitchen to get dinner ready.

“Do you need any help?” Finn asked from behind me

“No, thank you. You can go stay with the kids” I didn’t even bother to turn around to face him

“Y/N, can we talk?”

I sighed “There’s nothing worth talking about, Finn”

“Please?”

“What can you possibly say that will change what happened? Nothing! It will be a bunch of empty sorry’s and excuses, so let’s just save it, ok?!”

“It’s not empty, I truly am sorry”

“You should’ve thought that before you believed the bunch of lies she told you”

He opened his mouth to say something but Caleb began calling for him to go watch the cartoons with them.

......................................................................

“Mommy, can daddy have dinner with us?” Maeve asked

“Of course, pumpkin. If he would like to”

“Yay” She screams “Daddy, come!” She beckoned him

The subjects of conversation at dinner were mostly controlled by the kids. They, as per usual, asked me how many bad people I had taken down that day, but also asked Finn about his traveling, which state or city he liked the most, the best foods he’d eaten, which LEGO set was he building, if the hotel beds were soft and ‘what about the blankets?’

“Alright, I know you two are very excited to see daddy, but we need to brush those teeth! So, let’s go kiddos” I got up from my chair

“I’ll do it” He grabbed both kids, resting one on each side of his hip and went up to brush their teeth

When he came back down alone, I give him a questioning look

“They’re asleep” He smiled softly

“Oh, you already put them down for bed?! Thank you” I said, cleaning the kitchen island.

He nodded “I just didn’t bathe them because they said you already did”

“Yeah, that’s the first thing I do when I get home. Or my mom does it for me if I get caught up in a case, but most of the time I do it”

“How’s work?” He asked, sitting down on one of the high benches.

“Good, Richard is my superior again, so he helps me a lot with my shifts, because of the kids” I smiled

“The old man is still working?” He laughed, amused

“Yeah, he already said he will only leave his badge when he’s dead” I cackled “How’s road life? Amazing, I presume”

“Nah, don’t let the bright lights fool ya” He laughed, bitterly “I love wrestling, being in the ring, performing for the audience, but once I pass through the curtains backstage it gets lonely” A little bit of sadness could be heard in his voice “It’s very lonely... it’s different from when I came back home to you and the kids. Now I just get back to an empty apartment, wishing I could get back home” He looks at me

“Finn, please”

“I love you! Why can’t we just try again?”

“Because no!”

“Why?” He pleaded

“Because you don’t know what it was like ok?! You don’t know how much it hurt me, the things you said, the fact that you believed some envious woman’s gossip about me having an affair with Lucas! He’s married for fuck’s sake! To a man!”

“I- I didn’t knew Lucas was gay, Y/N”

“Yeah, you didn’t! And why is that? Oh yeah, because you did not trust your own wife, all you saw was the fact that he is a man and my work partner so you just bought the assumption that woman sold you, choosing to believe her instead of me!”

“It wasn’t like that, ok?” He tried to explain

“It wasn’t like that, you say? When you were the one who came in here filled with accusations! Saying that I had an affair with him, that I cheated on you, that you wished you would’ve slept with half of the women who throw themselves at you everyday, doubting that those kids upstairs are yours, when they’re the fucking spitting image of you! You said all those horrible things, Finn. Not me!”

He stared at his knuckles as I continued, now crying

“How do you think that made me feel? To listen from my own husband how much he wished he had cheated on me. Bragging about all of the hot young women who are waiting to be fucked by a wrestler...You know it was always hard for me to accept that you wanted me and not some hot girl in the locker room, that you had chosen me, that I got lucky enough to not only marry a man who’s physically breathtaking but also such a beautiful person on the inside. And still, it was that same Prince Charming who became the frog! I never thought that” I had to stop myself from saying the next horrible words roaming through my mind

“You never thought that, what, Y/N?”

I shook my head

“Say it”

I shook my head again and he got up from the bench, coming to where I was standing

“Say it, love. I can take it”

“I don’t want to say it” I whispered as more tears rolled down my cheeks

“Shhh, it’s ok, love” Finn pulled my head to his chest “Please don’t cry, I hate when you cry” His arms are tightly locked around me, providing me the sense of comfort that only he could give. And I hated that!

“Let me go” I tried to push him away

“What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“Just don’t touch me” I said, shoving him away

He knew that I was closing him off, I could see it in his eyes

“Say it! You never thought that what?” He insisted, more forcefully this time

“I never thought that someday I would regret meeting you! Marrying you, starting a family with you. If I could do it all again, I wouldn’t!” I spat

“You wouldn’t?” He scooted closer

“No” I answered with venom in my voice, trying to turn my undying love for him into hatred

“But I would!” Finn said firmly

I shook my head in denial, as he cupped my cheeks in his calloused hands, making me look up to meet his blue eyes

“I would do it, all over again. Meeting you, dating you, marrying you, having kids with you, in the future seeing the kids graduate high school, college, be at their wedding, take our future grandkids to the park, and spend the rest of my life with you! I would choose you over and over and over again! I choose you everyday, Y/N”

I squeezed my eyes shut

“You’re lying! Stop lying, Finn” I whispered

“Am I though? Open your eyes and look at me. I was never able to hide ANYTHING from you, I can lie to anyone but you. You can always see through me, so just look at me and tell me if I’m lying. If I am, then I promise you, I’ll leave this house right now and you’ll never have to see me again! Just open your eyes” He kissed each closed eyelid

After a few minutes, I gathered the courage to finally look at him and I could only see love, regret, pain and truth.

“I love you Y/N and always will. Yes, I was dumb to listen to some random gossip and I’m paying the price for it, but the only thing I ask you is: please, don’t give up on us! I’ll give you whatever time you need, just promise me that we’ll fix it. That we’ll be together again...You, Caleb and Maeve are my life! I would die to save you in a blink, love. If I had to choose between your life or mine I would choose yours, becau-“

I placed two fingers on his lips

“Stop talking like that! You know I don’t like it. It attracts those bad vibes, you know?”

Finn lightly chuckled “But I mean it”

“Stop! I don’t like when you talk like that... I hate to think that something bad could ever happen to you. You know, because of the kids” I tried to hide my feelings

“And you wouldn’t miss me, not even a little bit?” He teased

“I miss you everyday” I quickly slapped a hand over my mouth when I realized what I just said

He smiled sweetly, leaning down to place sweet and innocent pecks all over my face.

Finn started on my forehead, then he went to my temples, followed by the cheekbones, apple’s of the cheek, jaw, chin, side of my lips. Finn pulled back to search for any resistance signs and when he found none, he kissed my lips. A lazy kiss, that grew more urgent by the minute.

“Fuck, I missed you so much” He moaned, now kissing my neck

“Finn, wait. Wait a minute” I tried to pull his head back by his hair but that only made him moan.

“Finn!” I said harshly, finally having his attention

“What’s wrong, love? Don’t you want it? I thought that-“

“Have you seen anyone since we broke up?” I asked, not even letting him finish his sentence

“We didn’t break up! You asked me for some time and-“

“Finn, just answer the fucking question please” I pleaded

“No, I haven’t been with anyone in those 8 months. Except for my hand when I look at your pictures” He smirked

“You’re so ridiculous” I whispered in relief as my arms circled his waist

“So...do you still want to make love?” He eagerly asked

“We never made love, Finny. We’ve always fucked senseless” I laughed

“No! We’ve always made love it’s just that we’re more frantic about it” He chuckled

“Ok, we sleep together and then what?” I asked

“Then you stay here and I go back to my apartment” He simply said

My heart sunk in my chest as a faint “Oh, ok” left my lips

“So I can pack my clothes and bring them back home” He said, as a devilish smile grew on his face “That’s of course, if you want me here”

“Asshole” I lightly punched his chest “I thought you just wanted a one night stand and that’s it. You scared me!”

Finn chuckled, beckoning me closer to him

“You could never be just a one night stand, love. You fuck too good to be just a one time thing” He winked

“So you just want me for my bedroom skills, huh?” I teased

“Yes and no” He giggled “Yes, because no other woman fucks like you do” He bit my neck, growling “And no, because there’s so much more about you than the bedroom” He hugged my waist “You’re my best friend, my nurturer, my supporter, the air that keeps me alive, my everything!” He kissed me passionately

“Can we try again? Start over and leave all that shit behind us?” He whispered

“If you promise me that if we get back together, you won’t listen to other people’s gossip and will come to me whenever you hear somethi-“

“Yes!” He pecked my lips excitedly, as a wide smile took over his face “I promise you, love! That’ll never happen again, you have my word!” He gave me a bear hug and spun me around the kitchen

“Finn!” I squealed, when we almost fell to the ground “We’re going to wake up the kids” I giggled

“Oh no, shhhh” He shut me up with a kiss “We can’t let that happen! Because as much as I love our children, I haven’t gotten any in eight months and I can’t wait to change that with you right now” He pushed us towards the couch and laid on top of me

“But I thought you were going to go and get your clothes”

“I don’t need clothes, woman! You know I like to sleep naked” He winked

And roamed his head down to...

Please, if you’re comfortable with it, let me know your thoughts on this? Feedbacks are always appreciated 🥰😘

#finn balor one shot #finn balor x reader #finn balor fanfiction #finn balor imagine #finn balor #nxt x reader #nxt imagine #nxt #nxt wrestling #wwe nxt #nxt fanfiction #masochist writes

[hournites]

Hournite Week Day 1: Light vs Dark - Hoax

Summary: When a distraught Beth visits the Farmlands one late night, Rick offers his support.

(read on ao3)

~.~

At the end of the day, Rick prefers to sit alone. There’s a chair in the living room, the room he used to play and sit with his parents in on the couch. The room he’d opened gifts on birthdays, watched television with his mother and sat by the window, looking out at the field for his father to come home. Matt has claimed that couch now. Rick doesn’t care to use it except when he’s forced to clean. It’s stained with beer and food that’s fallen through the cushions. His uncle brings women there, rarely ever the same woman twice. Rick knows it’s dirty and defiled and as beat up as the rest of the furniture Matt touches.

Rick prefers his father’s old recliner, shoved in the back dark corner where he can get the best bandwidth for the internet connection. Behind his uncle, it’s almost like Matt forgets Rick’s there. He studied those chemistry textbooks there, half-assed homework there, and fell asleep on rare occasions too. Outside of locking himself in his upstairs bedroom, it’s the closest to being invisible Rick gets. The closest to peacefulness he knows.

It’s on a Saturday night like that the doorbell rings, interrupting the tense quiet they’ve carved to share space.

Matt lifts his head from his phone, half-slouched on the couch, disgruntled when it rings twice more. “The hell?”

Rick stares ahead at the front door from the hall, startled by the foreign noise. “Um.”

Nobody uses the doorbell. They don’t even get visitors. The mailman drops parcels and bills off at the mailbox half a mile down the dirt walkway.

He looks at Matt.

“Ignore it.”

Rick stands. “It’s probably some real estate agent or something.” He’d notice a lot of the property nearby has gone up for sale. If he said they weren’t interested in buying, then they’d know not to come again.

“Exactly. So, leave it be.”

But the doorbell rings again just as he turns to walk away. Rick makes a move to the door.

“I said ignore it.”

He rolls his eyes. Well, now Rick was definitely going to do it. He glares at his uncle over his shoulder, twisting his wrist to unlock the door. “You can’t just tell me to—”

The door swings open and his eyes flit forward to address the figure at the arch. “Beth?”

Dressed in a dark purple cardigan and light-wash jeans, she’s clenching the rubber bars of her bike, fingers scrunched up like she wants to scratch it off with her nails. Like she’s moments from ripping it off entirely. She’s holding herself too stiff, head raised and chin jutted out. Rigid like she can’t move, twitching like she wants to fight. The irises of her big brown eyes skip from left to right, pleading.

“Can I stay here with you?”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Please —” she begs, voice cracking. “Can I stay over with you?”  

“Tell them to fuck off!”      

Rick glances back awkwardly over his shoulder, wary of his uncle, not sure what to say.

“Rick, please—”

Rick steps outside and shuts the front door behind him.

“Why are you here? Are you okay?”

Beth drops the handles and her bicycle falls to the porch with a clatter.

His eyes widen when she lurches forward, catapulting across the creaking wood. Rick grunts softly at the force of her hug. He stumbles back with her, wrapping her arms tight as they stand in the doorway.

Her body shudders and whatever storm she had been withholding inside releases with a bursting sob. Beth sniffles into his shirt, the angle of her round glasses pressed into his ribs. Rick looks down, at a loss.

“Hey,” he rasps out, taking a firm grasp at her shaking shoulder. “Beth. Okay. Shh. Jesus, don’t cry.” Matt’s going to hear this. He’s going to hear and come and see and make this a mess. The thought makes his blood run cold. Rick peels her off. It hurts and is jarring and she seizes at the rip of comfort he just tore away that he knows she needs, but hair stands up on his arms, hyper-cognizant. It’s not that he thinks Matt will—Rick doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he’d do and that’s been why he’s avoided letting the girls show up here.

“This can’t happen right now.” The last thing Rick wants is for Matt to find out about the hourglass or the JSA. The girls are his tether to that and he can’t risk Matt taking advantage or robbing anything he has no right to. Again.

Beth recoils. He’s quick to pull her back in, panicked. It’s not that he doesn’t care.  “I didn’t say that right. We just can’t do this here.”

“What do you mean?”

He leads her off the porch by the hand to around the side of the house. Rick can tell she’s biting down her lip to stop from asking another question, but it becomes clear where they’re going when they reach his parked car and she relaxes. He hops onto the hood and makes room for her. Beth looks reluctant, but joins him there, still brushing close, wanting him near.

“You don’t want me to stay?”

“It’s not that,” he promises. “I just don’t know how he’s going to react.”

Her wet eyelashes get stuck against the wall of her thick lenses. “Your uncle Matt?”

“I’ve told you. He’s not a good person.” His tone edges on sharp. “There’s a reason why I don’t want—” He pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting down his belligerence. Rick takes a breath. This isn’t going to help her. “He doesn’t treat women right.” He pauses, wanting to say more, but can’t bring himself to say the words.

She stares at him. “You think he’s a racist.”

“Well.” That too.

Beth slides off the car.

“Beth. Wait.”

She rubs at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan, turning back in the direction they came.

“I’ll go home.”

“Tell me what’s wrong first.” He follows her along the muddy grass. “You wanted to stay overnight.”

“You don’t want me here!” She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. “This was stupid of me. I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve asked first.”

“Beth, that’s not true. I do. I always want to see you. It’s just...” His implication is obvious, but it came out worse than he’d meant it to. The point is, she could’ve gone to anyone else. She could’ve gone to see Courtney.

She should’ve called Pat. They trust Pat. He’s safe and is a good problem solver as annoying as his methods are.

She came here instead. And yeah, he does wish she could’ve texted or called, but the fact she’s now thinking it was wrong seems strange.

Rick knew something wasn’t right the moment he saw her in front of his doorstep, but now he’s very worried as he hears her curse herself and blinking back more tears. Beth has always been so confident in herself, regardless of how others perceived her. He had never heard Beth call herself dumb or pathetic or stupid. He didn’t believe she had ever seen herself that way either. Why would she?

According to their high school, she might be a loser, but there had never been a day she wasn’t unapologetically proud to be herself. There’s nothing wrong with being outspoken or bold or self-assured, trusting or smart and self-sufficient. She’s all of the above and maybe that had intimidated or even annoyed Rick sitting across from her to overhear, but it didn’t make it less true.

Doesn’t Beth know that?

She looks at him again. “I thought we were—”

“We are.”

She lets out another long breath and swallows.

“We are. It’s not that I don’t… My uncle is a real asshole. That’s it.” He grabs her hand. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She lifts a helpless shoulder, glancing back at the mustang. She lingers on it like she wants to go in.

“What?” Rick asks.

“Do you wanna leave Blue Valley with me?”

She doesn’t mean a road trip. The question throws him. Not because it’s terrifying to hear that from her. Though it fucking is. It throws him because he’s had the same thought pass through his mind at night a thousand times. A thousand times a week. Everything could be better, away. Without the memories or the roads or the trees and the people who’ve made this town an awful place. But their perspectives on Blue Valley had always been Rick and Beth’s stark difference. What happened to her unwavering devotion to caring about the town and everyone in it? It’s what Rick liked so much. The light from within her pushed her bravery, eradicating her limits.

“Beth,” he speaks carefully. “Why are you running away?”

Beth turns her face towards the farms, letting go of his hand. “I love my parents so much.”

Rick’s face softens. “I know.”

“No. They’ve been my inspiration my whole life. How can—I can’t fathom how…it’s all...”

“What are you talking about?”

Beth tugs her fingers into the sleeves of her cardigan crossed over her chest, refusing to meet his gaze, miserable. She takes so long to answer, but Rick can see the fight in her mind in the way she sticks her jaw. Whatever it is she’s torturing herself with it, Rick can feel it just by standing nearby. “Beth?”

“It’s the ISA, Rick. I didn’t want to believe it but it’s been them all along. My—” She chokes on her words.

Dread sinks to his gut. “Which one?”

“Both.” The blankness that shadows over her face, Rick has seen it before. The ghost of Yolanda’s detachedness after she was betrayed. The shattering shake in Henry’s voice moments before he was gone. “Chuck found out a while ago but I kept pushing it back and pushing it back because it wasn’t true? It wasn’t true and I couldn’t accept that until...They’re close with Richard Swift.”

He touches her arm, lets his hand slide down the expensive sweater to reach for her hand when she cries again.

“Can’t we just go?” When she asks Rick again, he understands. The slimmer of hope she’s threaded through her request. What it’s costing him not to say yes.  

“Come inside,” he whispers instead, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. It's a dead weight like a stone in his hand. It shouldn’t be like this. Beth shouldn’t be like this. She’s not okay. “You can stay.”

She shoots a nervous glance at the house. “I don’t want to if it’s a problem.”

“I’ll make sure it’s not a problem,” he cuts in, sharp.

Beth mutters something, but Rick doesn’t catch it. He jogs back to the front porch and bends over to pick up her bike and lock it in the shed.

He returns, awkwardly holding her school bag, leaning against the wall.

“Stay here,” Rick says, “I’ll come to get you.”

He goes back inside and stands in front of Matt.

“My friend is staying over.”

“You have friends?” Matt scrolls on his phone with a snort. When he realizes Rick isn’t joking, he glances up. “No.”

“I’m not asking.”

“I babysit enough after you—”

“Is that what you call it?” Rick snarks.

Matt’s eyes flash at him. They say Don’t test me.

Rick steps away. He won’t. The plan isn’t to piss him off. He wants Beth to survive the night here. “She’ll stay in my room and I’ll sleep on the floor or something. It’s just for today.”

To Rick’s horror, Matt leers. “She’ll stay in your room?”

“Don’t.” Rick makes it clear. “Don’t. Don’t talk to her. She’s upset enough. She doesn’t need you in her business.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m serious,” Rick says. The flippant way Matt goes back to his phone has him unnerved. If it wasn’t for the fact he has the hourglass tucked away in his room, he’d walk right out and drive Beth to Pat’s instead. It’s not worth it.

But Rick can take Matt on now. If that’s something he ever needs to do.

“What’s her name?”

Rick doesn’t even want to tell him. He turns around and brings Beth in.

She wipes at her face and sucks in her hurt, attempting and failing to gather her emotions. “Sorry, Mr. Harris. I’m—”

“—No.” Rick pushes her past the living room before she could even finish her sentence. “Nope.”

“Is that any way to speak to your father? ” Matt yells after him.

Rick rolls his eyes hard and shuts the door to his room pointedly.

Beth sits gingerly onto his unmade bed. “You could’ve at least let me introduce myself. I’m in his house.”

“This is not his house.”

“Oh.” Beth picks at his linty sheet. “Right.”

He waits as long as he can before he can’t help himself. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she mutters. Beth reaches into her bag for Chuck and hands him over. “It’s all there.” Next, she pulls out a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. “Sorry. Can I change?”

“Uh. Sure.” Rick moves. “Tell me when I can come back in.”

Rick leans against the wall, waiting, wondering what he should do. Chuck is in his hands, half-lit. The last time he learned the truth through green hue, his life had changed for good. Was this what it felt like for her?

The projection skittered across the off-white peeling walls.

James Chapel. The American Dream. Hired by Jordan Mahkent, January 2006. James Chapel, MBA Keynote Speaker - Geopolitical Realignment in the Pursuit of an American Dream. Funded by Richard Swift. The Theoretical Abnormalities of Frontal-Cortex Reconfiguration published by Blue Valley Medical Centre Press. Authored by Henry King Jr, Bridget Chapel et al. 2000. Scholarship funding provided by Swift Inc.

It is followed by grainy photographs of a tall slender woman in a blue and red polymer jumpsuit with the youthfulness of Beth’s face. The pixels dissolve away and return with one that resembles her father. There’s more evidence, hard core pictures. Records of Henry Jr’s faked autopsy. Medical records on Joey Zarick. Notes on the political numbers in William Zarick’s campaign.

“I’m sure this comes as a great shock.”

“How didn’t you know?” It feels ridiculous to hiss accusations at a piece of tech no matter how special. He does it anyway. The damage, it’s done. He has half the mind to smash Chuck against the floor. He doesn’t hate Chuck, he knows how important he is to Beth. It’s just the gratification Rick craves to break something that hurt her.

“A glitch in my system. The Gambler had scrambled their affiliation well. It’s not until I’ve reloaded my servers and Beth brought me into Dr. Chapel’s work office that she uncovered any peculiarities.”

“This is going to break her.”

“Bruise,” Chuck corrects. “Not break.”

Rick shuts it off when his door cracks open.

She stepped out looking as cozy as one could with red-rimmed eyes.

Rick tilts his head up from his crouched position in the hall, passing Chuck back to her. She hugs the goggles close.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asks. “I won’t let you on the floor.”

“I have a chair.”

“Where?”

“The living room?”

She considers it, peering down the stairs. “Isn’t that where your uncle passes out?”

“I can bring it up here.”

“We shared a bed at Pat’s cabin.”

“That was before…” Besides, Barbara was there checking in like every two hours.

“Rick,” Beth whispers. “I just want you near.”

~.~

She is near, nestled in his arms. The sheer closeness makes his heart jump, the solid feel of her body beside his. Beth trusts him, confides in him. Looks up at him when he hears her.

“I don’t believe they’d ever hurt me,” she says at last. Rick bites his tongue. Physically? No. Indirectly? He’s seen the way she’s vied for their attention. Idolized herself after their values. The dependency they’ve fastened to leech onto their ideals of transparency and complete openness from her side when they don’t return the favour. Some of their FaceTime calls at lunch had been flat-out weird. Rick assumed it was his irritability flaring out whenever they bothered to check in on her. What if it was surveillance?

Beth catches his hesitation and frowns. “I know what you’re thinking. My parents are different. I know they’re…on the wrong side but they’re not like Tigress and Sportsmaster.” She’s defending them. Naturally, and in spite of her grief. He squeezes her arm, unthinking.

“I didn’t think they were.”

She turns and pulls on the sheet, staring up at his ceiling. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“Ever since I found out, my mind always circles back to you.”

“Me?” Rick’s brows crease against his pillow. “Why?”

“I was wrong about you too. I thought you were this unfeeling aggressive person that sat next to me at lunch all those years because you were indifferent.” She glances at him. “That’s not true.”

“It was a little true.”

She ignores that, carrying on. “But I wanted to be wrong about you from the beginning so I fought against my feelings to prove myself right that night. And I was. There’s so much more to you.”

He props his elbow up to study her quietly.

“I thought if there was more to you, there has to be more to my mom and dad. I didn’t think they could just leave me in the dark. That’s why I didn’t say anything for so long.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

He knows that she knows they’ll be talking to Courtney and Yolanda and Pat soon. That the world as she knew it was gone now. For now, Rick listens, being there for her.

Beth might’ve been left in the dark, but she navigates well in it. Her heart and wisdom are a bright light in themselves. And she’s touched him with it, seared him with her brightness and truth in a way he can’t ignore. Beth lightened him in a way he’s only more drawn to. And if she loses it now, if it dims out of her, Rick swears he’ll find it. He’ll find it and bring it back out if he has to.

#hournite week 2021 #hournite #stargirl #dctv #rick x beth #angst #hournites fic #day 1: light vs dark

[thevindicativevordan]

I really like this blog, your analysis and ideas for Superman and his characters was great to read! I hope you don't mind, may I ask what do you think about Hank Henshaw? Do you have any ideas for him?

I think he needs to be radically changed in order to keep working, because as of right now his entire character is "hey remember Reign of the Supermen? That was cool amirite?"

Henshaw was created in an era where the editorial mandate was "the only survivor of Krypton is Clark", and that meant Superman didn't have an "evil Superman" counterpart Rogue in the Post Crisis era the way Pre Crisis did. So the writers had to come up with ways to get around that, some of the workarounds I liked such as Bizarro becoming a clone that Lex makes, and some of which were just so goddamn stupid like the Pocket Universe. But all of the Post Crisis evil Superman counterparts got killed off relatively quickly, including both Bizzaro and Zod after they were used.

Henshaw though was in one of the most popular Superman stories of all time, and he was Jurgens baby, so he got to stick around. But he was a character who was created to serve a purpose in that one specific story, and outside of that what does he have to offer? Disguising himself as Clark and setting out to ruin Superman's reputation since Doomsday robbed him of killing Clark was a great motivation, but once Clark returns and exposes him as a fraud, Henshaw just doesn't really have the character potential to justify keeping him around as is.

Henshaw wants to kill Superman. Great! That sums up the complete motivations of 90% of the rest of Superman's Rogues (which is in part why they aren't on the same level as Batman or Spider-Man's). Henshaw is really strong and tough and can hurt Superman with brute force. Again, a lot of Superman Rogues can do that too. Henshaw is an "evil Superman" design wise. Putting aside the multiple evil Supermen we get these days, most of them just variants on "real" Superman gone bad, Zod and Bizarro are better known and more popular. Henshaw can manipulate technology and rebuild himself from anything. Brainiac, Livewire, and Metallo also do that. Henshaw can't die? Well he's eclipsed in that regard by Doomsday.

He's overshadowed in the aspects that most people focus on by multiple other villains, with only his ties to Reign keeping him relevant which is why Jurgens always calls back to that storyline with him. His motivation is just generic revenge which doesn't work because if he has no goal other than killing Superman, all he can do is fail. His name "Cyborg Superman" is dumb because it only works within the context of Reign when people thought he might be the legit Superman reborn. It's just not a particular inspired name for him to keep using anymore.

If it sounds like I'm just ragging on him I totally am. He just doesn't work for me in his current role as 90s nostalgia. But I do have some ideas for how he could be reworked to be better utilized in the modern day.

What I Would Do With Hank Henshaw

So first we need to change a lot about him while still working with what came before. Right off the bat I'm having Henshaw ditch the "Cyborg Superman" name and form, and use that all too brief "data form" he had in Action Comics Rebirth.

That looks cool! Now we need to address Hank's biggest problem: what does he want exactly beyond just killing Superman? What are some goals he can feasibly achieve that make him a compelling threat? They've tried giving him a new motive a couple times, such as making him a nihilist who only wants to die in Sinestro Corps War, but ultimately he needs a reason to keep existing. If he just wants death he can track Doomsday down or throw himself into a black hole. I've got two roads to take Henshaw down, one that's pretty simple but justifies keeping him around as a threat and allows him the ability to maybe "win", the other more complex.

The simple route is that we merge Henshaw with the Metaleks. These guys were an army of xenoforming robots who were sent out by some unknown alien race to transform planets into something that's more to that race's liking.

Their creators are long dead, but the Metaleks continue the task they were built for. Henshaw catches wind of them, decides they'd make for an excellent army to do his bidding in the same way the Manhunters were, and attempts to seize control. Instead he gets absorbed into their collective hive mind, his hatred infecting them until it warps their programming, his malevolent mind guiding them and lending them his intellect. Now the Metaleks are a swarm of locusts, out to cleanse the entire galaxy of all life, with Henshaw as the Metalmind behind it all (yes that is his new name, shut up I'm not getting paid for this). With Clark going cosmic, this makes for a good way to keep the two foes fighting each other. Henshaw doesn't have enough control to make the Metaleks focus solely on killing Superman, but his upgrades and coordination means the Metaleks are a much greater threat to other planets than they were previously. Henshaw can now potentially "win" by cleansing a world of life, something that is going to hurt Clark bad given Clark's entire background, and because anywhere not named Earth gets wrecked all the time.

That's the simplistic route. Upgrades Henshaw as a threat while reducing his motives to "kill everything". The more complex route leans into Henshaw's origins as a Reed Richards expy, by basing him off that other evil Reed Richards:

Jurgens had Superman imprison Henshaw within a fake life with his family and friends who died in the accident that gave him powers. I'd have that fake life knaw at Henshaw until ultimately he realizes that his feud with Superman is a pointless waste of time, and what he really wants is his family back and his status as a respected leader restored. But he's a mass murderer and there's no redemption for him at this point, so Henshaw embarks on a quest to build his own little world for him to rule over.

First he seizes control of the Metaleks as in above, but in this route he manages to bring them under his control, christening himself their Metalmind. With an army of terraforming robots on his side, Henshaw begins terraforming his own world. He also retrieves the corpses of his family who died from their mutations and begins working on resurrecting them. At this stage you can have Henshaw in any number of schemes to acquire the resources or tech he needs to build his own kingdom, or to acquire the bodies.

At the second stage once he's got what he needs, he'll start building. First he revives his family (while ensuring that they will be loyal to him above all else). Then he starts creating his "children":

He's been around long enough to know either Superman or someone else will come after him eventually, and Hank Henshaw is prepared. He creates a race of beings who view him as both father and god, who will give him the adoration he craves and showcase his intellect. At this stage you can have stories involving Henshaw where he dispatches his "children" on missions to prove their worth and test their capabilities. Clark has to find and stop these agents while also trying to figure out where they're coming from.

The final stage is when Henshaw is confident that his forces are powerful enough to take on Superman, and then he does the unthinkable. He petitions the United Planets to join as a member. To Clark's horror they accept, and as the head of a planet Henshaw now enjoys intergalactic diplomatic immunity. His creations are now seeded inside the United Planets itself, and Henshaw can put his efforts wherever he wants. He can run twisted science experiments with his family, be the fist of the United Planets alongside Zod, helping the organization grow in ways Superman would abhor, he can try to kill Superman whenever Clark attempts to block his schemes, with his ability to still wrangle concessions from the UP as a way to keep him from just losing all the time. He can be Clark's Dr. Doom in other words, that long term opponent who is always working an angle, and has an entire nation/world behind him he rules as a god.

To me that's a much more interesting angle than him talking about that one time back in the 90s when he was cool anyway.

#superman #cyborg superman #dc comics #hank henshaw

[period-dramallama]

Spanish Princess Episode 5: many many thoughts

Strap yo selves in 

-WHERE WAS THE APOLOGY?? Lina’s just back with Catherine like nothing happened?? 

-Katherine, I get why you’re upset, but you kind of should be unsurprised?? Your dad was unfaithful to his wife, most kings were. Henry VII and Richard III were the exceptions, and even they had illegitimate sons before their marriages. Many kings also had official mistresses that everyone knew about, so by the standards of the time Henry and Bessie are actually being pretty tactful in at least trying to keep their affair out of sight. (Sexy dancing aside). 

-Honestly it would have been so much more moving if KoA was like “I know kings take mistresses...but I thought...I was so sure... he would be different...”

-”they gave me a purse of gold!” It’s expected that you give the monarch lavish presents, lmao Ursula and Stafford would do that even if they hated each other and you

-”everybody loves a masque” the only sensible thing Henry has said so far in this show. Also court probably had way more masques than we see in the show, and it would standard to have a masque every holiday. 

-”she is not a boy” hurry up with your character development and learn to love Mary already i am so TIRED of this miserable BS

-seems a rather depopulated masque? If the Chateau Vert pageant is anything to go by putting on a masque was a court activity, with most of the ladies performing.  

-Bessie Blount in her cute masque costume... sweet mother i cannot weave Aphrodite has overcome me with GAAAAAAAAAAAAY

-”I never enjoyed carousing...my mother scolded me” look i love the Neville sisters with my whole heart but a) Margaret was 3 at most when her mother died, how does she remember her? She’d have clearer memories of her double-uncle and double-aunt, Richard III and Queen Anne b) Isabel Neville in the White Queen was established as very prim and proper, a well-bred girl who cared about enforcing decorum, she refused to ‘carouse’ and she certainly would never bring a 3 year old to a party c) we saw little Margaret as a girl at the end of the White Queen and she didn’t seem at all shy. 

-”she died young, didn’t she” ...yes? most people did?

-”they both did” understatement of the year. Isabel Neville died young because she was ill, George died young (in the universe of The White Queen, at least) BECAUSE HE WAS FORCEFULLY DROWNED IN A VAT OF MALMSEY WINE. THESE TWO THINGS ARE NOT THE SAME! I do at least trust the writers of this show that the understatement was intentional, I’m sure even Emma Frost couldn’t forget a major character getting violently drowned.

-So the court only noticed the plague when one of their own got it so obviously and then died? Yes, plague could move fast, but if there was a whiff of plague the court would flee with the speed of the Looney Tunes road runner. If an acquaintance of an acquaintance of a cook had a cousin who saw someone with the plague, the court would flee to the country. How have these people not died of terminal stupid?! Like Compton was in the same building as the heir to the throne

-To be fair, it makes sense that they’re surprised Compton’s dead. Because the real Compton died of the sweating sickness. In 1528. Also he was involved in Buckingham’s downfall so... you just wrote yourself into a corner.

-Oh wow an actual good reason for More and Pole to be quarantined together i am amaaaaaazed

-”attend the queen” Boleyn, what do you think your daughter’s been doing all season if not attending the queen? Playing tetris?

-Katherine helping Anne into the wagon...I actually like that little moment. Like it does make sense, because the two have no reason to hate each other yet. (And who couldn’t like Anne? She’s such a babby!)

-Thomas More in the Tudor equivalent of casual clothes... much better. Shame about the 1930s lady’s wig.

-”what else should we do?” Maggie, this cannot be the first epidemic you’ve ever lived through. Have you forgotten the sweating sickness of 1485? You’ve probably lived through more epidemics than Oviedo has, you should know the protocol better than him.

-Oviedo continues to be the only man with rights. I wish we could see him crying and missing his wife and babies, but then my lil heart would break so maybe it’s for the best.

-They burn Maggie’s weird blue hood AS THEY SHOULD! IT WAS UGLY AND STUPID! I NEVER HAVE TO LOOK AT IT AGAIN NOW! THANK YOU SO MUCH! yes they also burned her nice dress with the strawberries on it but honestly it’s worth it, bc now i can rest easy, knowing the evil hood has been defeated.

-”you were a plaything” Katherine is so obviously insecure. I’m getting second-hand embarrassment. Like if she really was certain Bessie wasn’t important, she wouldn’t need to say it, would she? Except to rub it in. Which this KOA would absolutely do. 

-literally all Bessie said was good morning?? Like Bessie is doing her best?? The masque was Henry’s idea, not hers, she hasn’t shown off about her affair, she hasn’t demanded money or titles, she hasn’t demanded any status to rival Katherine’s, she doesn’t flirt with or even speak to Henry when Katherine’s around, she acts like they’re strangers, she doesn’t even react when Katherine loses her temper...someone please please stick up for Bessie!

-”the rocking of the cart is unsettling to the stomach” is Anne naive, or is she covering for Bessie? I hope it’s the latter, in which case Anne is the one person looking out for Bessie...the babby is Soft, I repeat the babby is Soft!

-the irony of Mary being cold to Bessie when she’s next in the firing line...

-”it is not the rocking” Thank you Lina, where would we be without your gift for stating the obvious?

-”where did Wolsey get his money”...He’s a churchman...at the top of the church hierarchy...how do you fuckin think he got wealthy. Have y’all not been in the sixteenth century for five minutes? Why do you think Luther is so mad at the church?

-”I know of no other man in her bed most nights” Honestly wow I’m surprised KoA wasn’t like “well :/ a girl like that :/ who knows how many men process in and out of her bed :/” KoA gets half a point for being less bitchy than usual. Also Bessie looked so uncomfortable with Henry groping her stomach in front of Katherine. I pray the next man in her life treats her right and that Fraham don’t prematurely kill her off like they did with Compton.  

-”the future king” if you’re regent on his behalf, then he’s already king! “Civilised companionship” back at it again with the Scots-are-barbarians.

-Laura Carmichael is utterly stunning this episode, with her hair down. The cinematography was beautiful in general this week.

-”freedom to speak and licence to speak are two different things” hey look at that one of Thomas More’s actual beliefs. I am giving all the credit to the historical advisor for that, I don’t believe for one second Fraham knew that beforehand.

-Maggie I love you but no, God does not sanction adultery. For any reason. 

-KOA smirking and gloating about Bessie’s pain...she has never been so punchable. I would understand, if not condone it, if Bessie was manipulative, or greedy, or ambitious, or trying to supplant Katherine. But Bessie’s been betrayed by Henry too, and there’s no concrete evidence she ever gloated about her affair, to anyone let alone Katherine.  

-”You think only of your own fate while London is struck down with plague” Earth to Katherine?? What concern have you shown for the Londoners?? Also calling Bessie selfish...Bessie’s not the one who lashed out at Lina, was jealous at Lina for having twin boys, and who wanted to continue a war for personal reasons. And then Bessie proves KoA wrong 5 hot seconds later by sticking up for Mary. Bit rich of KoA to be all “how dare you leave my daughter unattended” when she herself won’t even hold Mary. 

-”Louis didn’t last a year” What! Is! The Timeline!

-Meg in that cloak reminds me of the Scottish Widow adverts. Georgie is so greedy- she steals every single scene she is in! Even when she’s raging she has more dignity and more presence than KoA ever has.

-”YOU LYING SOD” i burst out laughing it’s really not the little two-timing shit’s day, is it?

-Mary receiving Charlie B in the most Extra way possible. A++

-Why does Wolsey look like he’s about to cry?

-”thoughts are not actions” Lina I love you but... that is NOT what the New Testament says. Jesus said evil thoughts are very very much sins. I’ll give you a pass because maybe you haven’t been Catholic as long as Katherine has? Idk your backstory.

-Aaand now she’s wishing death on Bessie and her unborn baby and Lina isn’t disgusted? At least Katherine is feeling guilty. AS SHE SHOULD.

-”must it always fall to me to be magnanimous?” Katherine, you think only of yourself, for 23 out of every 24 hours. 

-”God wants me to be compassionate to Bessie because of my sins” God wants you to be compassionate because that’s how Christianity is supposed to work. It’s not very selfless of you to decide to be selfless so that you can get what you want. 

-oh wow look at that! She’s getting some self-awareness, i never saw that coming.

-”you betrayed Bessie” 5 points to Katherine of Aragon for standing up for Bessie when Henry screwed her over. Finally, some positive character development.

- MINUS 20000 POINTS FOR BABY STEALING

-WHAT THE FUCK

-is henry so dumb he thinks that baby is Katherine’s? Katherine was so obviously not pregnant

-When a baby’s born his skin needs to touch his mother’s skin so they can bond. They should have at least an hour’s cuddle time. Katherine of Aragon is literally traumatising a baby the very minute he is born. For her own selfish, selfish desires. 

#the spanish princess

[genuineviolence]

located in southern california, 

goliath valley is a high-profile private neighborhood, home to a variety of stars and those connected to them.  painters! poets! actors! musicians! directors! you name it. one of goliath’s key selling points is its exclusivity, only accepting the best of the best--or so they say. money can’t buy you happiness, but it certainly can buy you a mansion. this gated community isn’t the utopia one might think. with a clear divide between those living at the center of goliath and those closer to the gate, it’s difficult to completely leave the real world behind. 

tldr: a small-town style rp about wealthy/celebrity neighbors. themes of fame, class, and identity are at the center of our story ! but really: this is pretty low stakes.

RULES: muses and muns must be 18+ as there are mature themes involved. there is no set activity rule but you will be contacted if you are inactive for more than three days with no notice--this includes ic or ooc.  this is discord exclusive. no need to make a tumblr. no need to use any gif icons in replies.  do not godmod. be kind to each other. please respect triggers. any nsfw should be placed in a nsfw tagged channel. nsfw and triggers should be hidden by spoiler text.  drama ic is great. drama ooc is not. boundaries should be respected at all times. no bubble roleplaying.  no problematic fcs. please contact me if there’s someone you are uncomfortable with. please follow the yes, and and no, but rules when writing and plotting. keep the flow going!

APP SAMPLE + LOGISTICS: you can send your app to me through submit or tumblr dm! please do not take a lack of acceptance personally, it’s first come/first serve. those who just miss the cap will be the first to know about any extension! each mun is allowed two characters to start.

( faceclaim, gender, pronouns ) wait, you didn’t know first last lived here ? they’re what they’re rich/famous for living on road name. i read they’re a age in numbers zodiac originally from location. apparently they’re pretty two positive traits but also two negative traits. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting song by artist. they’re so different in person, they remind me of 3 character aesthetics. written by alias, age and pronouns.

LOCATION OPTIONS:  (there are obviously more streets than this, but these are the important ones) shiloh circle. the center of goliath, where the richest of the rich will live. eastman drive. the next tier of houses, slightly less expensive than those on shiloh. bristol lane. the next tier, typically home to c & d listers.  scott street. the last tier, closest to the gate. they’re the smallest of the houses.

currently at a cap of eight muns. may expand to ten under special circumstances !

8/8 SPOTS TAKEN!

( sky ferreira, non-binary, she/they ) wait, you didn’t know heaven fields lived here ? they’re an ex-child star living on shiloh circle. i read they’re a 26 year old pisces originally from orlando, florida. apparently they’re pretty captivating and friendly but also erratic and secretive. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting delete forever by grimes. they’re so different in person, they remind me of the resurgence of fairycore, the legacy of the olsen twins, and the soothing sound of synth . written by syd, 23, they/them.

( aaron tveit, cis-man, he/him ) wait, you didn’t know luke bradley lived here ? they’re the son of famous actors living on bristol lane. i read they’re a 30 year old cancer originally from los angeles, california. apparently they’re pretty charming and easygoing but also vain and cowardly. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting the rat by the walkmen. they’re so different in person, they remind me of people who vape at inappropriate times, the tendency to deflect with dumb jokes, and unmistakable wasted potential   . written by syd, 23, they/them.

( im jinah, cis female, she/her ) wait, you didn’t know tallulah “tally” hong lived here ? they’re an heiress/socialite living on shiloh circle. i read they’re a twenty-seven year old aries originally from new york, new york. apparently they’re pretty astute & alluring but also darwinian & supercilious. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting out the bottle by lolo zouaï. they’re so different in person, they remind me of treating walks of shame like a runway, three passport photos & a bite as big as her bark. written by jules, 23, she/her.

( sian lilly, cis female, she/her ) wait, you didn’t know annick warner lived here ? they’re an actress/influencer living on bristol lane. i read they’re a twenty-three year old gemini originally from toronto, ontario. apparently they’re pretty enchanting & creative but also risqué & careless. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting the worst in me by kaytranada ft. tinashe. they’re so different in person, they remind me of treating most spaces like a concert venue when any of “your songs” are on, fogged-up car windows and lux lavender baths with prosecco and plenty of natural light. written by jules, 23 and she/her.

( richard madden, cis man, he/him ) wait, you didn’t know donny lister lived here ? they’re a photographer living on bristol lane. i read they’re a 32 year-old leo originally from hoboken, new jersey. apparently they’re pretty observant and social but also pretentious and proud. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting ahha by nate ruess. they’re so different in person, they remind me of empty train cars at 2am, always carrying a lighter despite quitting smoking years ago, and rambling about ephemerality and commercialism every time he walks into a gift shop. written by jace, 23, he/him.

( zoë kravitz, cis? woman?, she/her ) wait, you didn’t know meadow fields lived here ? they’re an ex-child star living on shiloh circle. i read they’re a 28 year-old gemini originally from orlando, florida. apparently they’re pretty adventurous and intuitive but also abrasive and closed-off. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting killing boys by halsey. they’re so different in person, they remind me of scuffed doc martens, campy horror movies, and trying just a little too hard to act like you don’t know all the words to disney songs. written by jace, 23, he/him.

( katie stevens, cis woman, she/her/hers ) wait, you didn’t know andrea matthews lived here ? they’re a singer/songwriter living on scott street. i read they’re 26 year old cancer originally from paradise, california. apparently they’re pretty adaptable and creative but also insecure and paradoxical. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting body in a box by city and colour. they’re so different in person, they remind me of freshly made beds, a cracked iphone case, and always nodding. written by diana, 24 and she/her/hers. 

 ( froy gutierrez, cis man, he/him/his ) wait, you didn’t know sebastian 'bash' guerra lived here ? they’re an actor living on bristol lane. i read they’re 22 year old leo originally from san diego, california. apparently they’re nurturing and protective but also self-sacrificing and irresolute. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting frank d fixer by jason mraz. they’re so different in person, they remind me of family dinners around the table, always having sunscreen, being the knight in shining armor. written by diana, 24 and she/her/hers.

( delilah belle, cis woman, she/her ) wait, you didn’t know riley hargreaves lived here ? they’re an actress living on shiloh circle. i read they’re a 25 year old pisces originally from santa barbara, california. apparently they’re pretty intuitive and charismatic but also spacey and docile. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting boys by charli xcx. they’re so different in person, they remind me of layers of gold chains around her neck, a wardrobe full of denim and neutrals and the constant pressure of needing to charm the whole room. written by jay, 23 and she/her.

( kail peery, demi girl, she/they ) wait, you didn’t know maxine ‘max’ hill lived here ? they’re a musician living on scott street. i read they’re a 21 year old leo originally from chicago, illinois. apparently they’re pretty fervent and loyal but also dogmatic and temperamental. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting i am king by nasty cherry. they’re so different in person, they remind me of the obnoxious sound of popping gum, making deliberate eye contact from across the room to assert dominance and unintentional all-nighters. written by jay, 23 and she/her.

( lorenzo zurzolo, cis male, he / him ) wait, you didn’t know bandit knox lived here ? they’re an actor living on eastman drive. i read they’re a 23 year old scorpio originally from reno, nevada. apparently they’re pretty resilient & convivial but also facetious & heedless. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting debra by iDKHOW. they’re so different in person, they remind me of under eye circles so dark that they look like he  just came back from the dead, a messy head of curls that hair & makeup are always badgering him about on set, and anxiously fidgeting with the rings around his fingers. written by gray, 24 and she/her

( christina nadin, cis woman? (she doesn't rly know), she/her ) wait, you didn’t know juniper darling lived here ? they’re an artist living on scott street. i read they’re a 21 year old aries originally from chicago, illinois. apparently they’re pretty jovial & observant but also pigheaded & gullible. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting dog years by maggie rogers. they’re so different in person, they remind me of mistaking paint water for a cup of tea, modern music played exclusively from vinyl records, and long hair wound up in a messy bun that's held together with a paint brush. written by gray, 24 and she/her

( diana silvers, cis woman, she/her ) wait, you didn’t know charlotte arnault lived here ? they’re an artist living on eastman drive. i read they’re a 24 year old leo originally from paris, france. apparently they’re pretty talented and charismatic but also lazy and irritable. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting dinner & diatribes by hozier. they’re so different in person, they remind me of expensive cocktails with ridiculous names, diving into a pool with all of your clothes on, and the need to be the most interesting person in the room . written by morgan, 19, she/her

( riz ahmed, non-binary, he/they ) wait, you didn’t know rasul rajani lived here ? they’re an up-and-coming indie film director living on eastman drive. i read they’re a 35-year-old capricorn originally from newton, ma. apparently they’re pretty ambitious and hardworking but also aloof and mercurial. sometimes, when you drive by their house you can hear them blasting money machine by 100 gecs. they’re so different in person, they remind me of chain smoking cigarettes to stay awake, a dog-eared notebook filled with scribbles and storyboards, disappearing into the wallpaper at a film premiere’s afterparty. written by char, 24 and she/her.

#discord rp #discord group #group rp #small town rp #new rp

[starculler]

Whumptober 2021: Day 7

Word Count: 1103 || Read on AO3

Tags/Warnings: Batman, Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Is Stray, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Death, Emotional Hurt

baby bats are called pups, apparently, and i love that lol

Dick slumped back against Selina’s couch, the same old and worn thing he’d crashed on after training and long circuits through Gotham’s nightlife as a kid, and tried not to be sick. Selina continued to fiddle with her phone, tapping aggressively at the screen and looking every inch the frightening villain she had the potential to be. He listened to her mutter, threats and swearing and the singular, fierce promise to personally put the Joker in his grave while he sat. Silent. Boneless against the cushions and swamped in a veritable ocean of novelty pillows.

He hugged one to his chest — didn’t remember when he’d grabbed or if Selina had handed it to him before burying him in the rest — and stared at her apartment’s blank, white ceiling. A cat meowed somewhere nearby. Traffic crawled across the old, narrow roads. People shouted, laughed, lived beyond the thin walls and old windows. Time moved — Gotham moved — but he remained there, seemingly untethered from the rest of the world. Numb to it. He blinked. Selina hissed at something or someone. He blinked again.

Jason Todd stayed dead.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled a short, shuddering sigh. Static seemed to buzz under his skin, a faint feeling to accompany the low roar of it in his ears. Selina squeezed his ankle and the single point of contact, skin on fabric, burned. Some distant part of him wished he’d had the forethought to strip out of Stray’s suit, wanting nothing more than to curl up and sleep and hope that he woke up to find this awful night had been a nightmare. The rest of him didn’t hope — didn’t feel — much at all, though he knew he’d be glad once he got to his feet to find the clown himself and… And do something.

He’d done a lot of things as Stray, both kind and the sort that had landed him in prison a few times. Taking a life had never appealed to him much, not as a kid new to the scene and not now after over a decade at Selina’s side, but an exception could be made. Just this once.

Jason had been fifteen. A child.

Yeah, he thought to himself as Selina’s hand squeezed a little harder. Just this once.

He forced his eyes open again. The apartment’s lights were off, but the room remained dimly lit regardless. Gotham never slept, after all, and Selina didn’t believe in wasting money on a sheet of fabric that the cats would tear to shreds in a few hours’ time. He sighed and might as well have not been breathing at all.

Jason had been all of ten years old the first time Dick met him — rail thin and bruised, but a little spitfire nonetheless. The kid had been cornered and Dick hadn’t bothered to figure out why three grown men had decided to pick a fight before quite literally dropping in. He still remembered those wide, blue eyes watching him, mouth agape and too stunned to run even when provided with a half-dozen opportunities. After that, though, the kid had gotten good. Smarter, faster, fitter.

Dick hadn’t found out the Bat had plucked him off the streets to keep for himself until Bruce Wayne adopted Jason not a week after the Bat’s tiny sidekick made his debut. Selina had laughed at him for a month.

“Richard. Dick. My sweet little kitten,” she’d purred, far too amused at his expense. “How many times have you watched that man leave the apartment? You’ve seen him without a mask at least once,” she’d said and Dick had flushed bright red, nose scrunching at the reminder of his mentor’s activities.

“Well, what did I care about some ditzy rich guy?” Dick had thrown his arms up and huffed. “I thought he had a line right to Bat’s phone for Pete’s sake! What am I gonna pay attention to him for if I can’t even touch his shoes without the terror of Gotham catching up before I’ve even left his dumb manor.”

Selina clicked her tongue, the sudden displeased sound pulling him back from his memories. He shifted, twisting so he was wedged between the armrest and cushion, one leg pulled fully up onto the couch while the other remained firmly planted in the carpet, to better see her. She didn’t so much as glance in his direction, one hand still on his leg while the other did something on her phone. Silence settled between them, tense but comfortable enough, while he waited. He didn’t mind much. She’d always done things in her own time and he in his.

He let himself drift, no thoughts or memories pressing in on him. Just emptiness. That same nothing he’d coasted on just after his parents had died. Shock, they’d told him and he knew, now that it was. But he’d always been partial to reaching for this, finding it easy to let himself drop into something not unlike plunging into a metaphorical ice bath. Nothing stuck like this. Nothing hurt. He was, and he wasn’t. And Selina was content to let him do this — to wallow, she’d said — for a time. Later there’d be anger. Action.

Dick Grayson had never been much good at staying on the sidelines long, if at all.

Jason Todd had died. Alone. Alone in a warehouse in the middle of nowhere because the Joker had wanted to hurt the Bat. Alone because the little vigilante’s disappearance and the Bat’s subsequent hunt for his pup had sent nearly every major and minor player to ground to weather the storm. Even Selina. Even him, though he’d done his best to help where he could, even if it had all amounted to nothing in the end.

The Bat had been left to mourn while his rogues kept to themselves for a few days at least. For as long as Dick had been Selina’s partner — nothing more than a nine-year-old with a grudge against the man who’d murdered his parents — there had been rules among Gotham’s major players. Honor among thieves, to an extent, and while they didn’t apply to the Bat, Dick had staked a claim on Jason. An honorary cat for all that he’d been on the boring side of the law.

Dick had staked a claim and Selina had backed him up and the Joker had fucked them over and spat at their feet. When — not if. When -- they found the clown there would be hell to pay.

For now, though, he remained in that void between what had happened and what would, feeling everything and nothing at all.

#whumptober2021 #no.7 #numbness #batman #dick grayson #fic #death mention #grief #stray!dick #my fanfic