#it's as if somebody else has taken over my entire body and I'm going on autopilot now

[theladygazingatemptiness]

hm. I sure have been playing some Very rash and potentially dangerous games as of late ha ha

#wak #like.. have I really become this desperate for attention and validation #that now I'm doing things that could very well compromise what little reputation I have online #like.. @ me: people aren't stupid. they can v much put two and two together even if you don't/won't say who you are #also @ me I wonder... how would the people who rb'ed your gallery comic or your Wholesome™ art feel if they knew about That Side of you? #and God forbid it gets back around to your family/they find out about it somehow! how would your poor grandmother feel I wonder! #or your mutuals/friends you have outside of Skype! #but even while asking these questions and knowing all of the risks I.. just can't help/stop myself #it's as if somebody else has taken over my entire body and I'm going on autopilot now #and like.. how much farther will I go? how long before I abandon everything I stand for just for the sake of wanting to belong somewhere? #and idk how I should feel or what to do and I feel sick and idk #'cher what tf are you talking about' it's actually something incredibly embarrassing and dumb. dw about it #and no it's nothing illegal or even particularly harmful/bad. in fact it's something most people probably wouldn't care about #and I am probably being very overdramatic and thinking too hard rn #but.. dw about it. #vent / #delete later probably

[marshmallowprotection]

Hi again!

Can you do a Saeyoung imagine set during the time he's in MC's apartment after Saeran's intrusion, where MC is masc and has ADHD + Depression?

I was thinking maybe you can do some soft comfort where Seven begins to regret his coldness after MC goes nonverbal or limp (something that happens sometimes when im under a lot of stress) and he helps him calm down?

Saeyoung regrets his cruelty before it was even leaves his mouth.

You are the sweetest guy he's ever met in his entire life, and he can't imagine hurting you the way he feels he needs to to make sure you survive. He knows that if he doesn't scare you away, you might end up like his brother, and considering what he saw, he doesn't think he can risk something like that happening ever again.

The pain in his brother's eyes was enough, and to imagine something like that on your face viscerally gives him the ick. He can't stand it. He can't stand hurting you. But, what's the alternative?

What's the alternative here? If he decides to keep you in his life, then it's only a matter of time until somebody finds out you're close to him, and they use you against him. You don't know the depths of his despair nor do you know how many people he has pissed off in the short amount of time he's been trapped in that agency. Those people would do unspeakable things to you in the name of revenge, and he could do nothing to stop it. 

How could he live with himself if that happened? 

In one reality, in one bad timeline, where you do get taken away and tortured, it devastates him to the point of no return. He finds himself unable to do anything, hopeless and lost, filled with despair at the acknowledge you suffer because you care for him. That is something people look to exploit when they want to take someone down, and if he can do anything to stop it, he will.

Even if it means being cruel to you when he doesn't want to be. 

He's not exactly the world's best liar when it comes to you. He can lie right through his teeth to anybody else in this world but not you, never you, and for that reason, if you looked between the lines of his words, you would find that every time he told you to go away, his eyes were telling you to come closer. It doesn't excuse his actions or take away from the fact that he hurt you, but it gives a greater insight as to why he would even think of doing it in the first place. 

But, what fills him with the most regret is seeing you distraught like that, with hot tears in your eyes and muscle weakness dragging you down. He tried to justify it to himself a hundred times but it never worked.

You wouldn't know it until he told you what he did, but every time he turned from you, pulled his hood over his head and shoved headphones on, he wept silent tears that made it that much harder to work. 

It's when he sees you in agony that he wants to take everything back. He regrets being cruel to someone who fell in love with him and knew there was more to him than just pranks and jokes. When you're laying on the ground, staring into distant space, he quietly drapes his jacket over your shoulders and helps you back into a seated position against the couch. You sob, a palpable sound, but one that reminds him he is the one to blame.

"Sorry," you babbled. You thought it was all your fault. "I'm sorry. I won't bother you anymore, I promise. I promise. I know you need to go as soon as you finish, it's okay, just— just leave me alone. I'll be okay once my heart calms down."

He had a sinking feeling in his chest at the thought that you suffered from this feeling any time you were overwhelmed by something. It was likely an involuntary response, your body being so overwhelmed that it had no choice but to shut down, and he was to blame for that this time around. He thought he could make you cry once and maybe it would be enough to show you that he wasn't the kind of person you would want in your life.

But, you didn't give up on him.

Why wouldn't you give up on him? 

Hiccups, sobs, and words that made less and less sense to him burned his ears. This was all his fault. He did this to you in some misguided attempt to make it hurt less later... but it wouldn't hurt less, would it? He hurt you now trying to avoid hurting you in the future... it's all hurt... and it's all wrong.

He didn't say anything for the longest time, but he stayed there by your side, silently going through every single excuse and apology in the book he had until—

"I'm afraid of losing you."

Silence.

"[Y/N], I'm afraid you'll get hurt like my brother if you stick close to me. I'm afraid of losing you like I've lost Saeran. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to be mean to you. I don't want to be the cause of pain for you in any way! But, I know if you stay, you'll suffer in ways I'm afraid I can't even begin to explain because it gets worse every time I think about it."

Shame.

"I care about you so much that... that I would rather spend the rest of my life knowing you're safe than knowing you could get killed any day because of me. If you died because of me... I would never be able to... to forgive myself. Even if you find happiness somewhere else, as long as you live to see the sunrise... that... that can be enough for me. I'm... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I made hurt you. I thought this would be better... better than losing you forever."

Guilt.

Your sniffles didn't die down but from the corner of his eyes, he saw a glimmer of hope, your fingers gripping his jacket like a lifeline.

#mod kait #ask #mystic messenger #mysme #mm #mysticmessenger #saeyoung choi #luciel choi #choi luciel #bonkdogge #707 #seven

[ofwolvesandshatteredshields]

Playing Deus Ex: Mankind Divided again and again delighted by how this series treats people's cyborg-ization (i.e. "augmentation"). The portrayal of societal effects of augmentation are, shall we say, a bit heavy-handed, but the personal/individual portrayals are really good.

One of my favorite scenes is early on. Adam's taken some damage and needs repairs from an expert, a happy-go-lucky machinist in a punk rock jacket named Koller. Adam has to be unconscious for this so he sits back in a chair and shuts his eyes while Koller goes to work.

There's no cutscene of the repairs. Instead your eyes drift blearily open. Koller is freaking OUT. He's scrambling and dropping his tools. He won't tell you what's wrong. Your HUD isn't showing up. He asks if you want some water. What a stupid question at a time like this. You accept, because there is literally nothing else you can do.

When you wake up you learn that there is a bunch of high tech shit inside your body that no one told you about before. Koller asks when it might have been installed, and Adam notes a period after his rescue from the Panchaea explosion from which he remembers little. This echoes the time in the first game after his rescue from the Sarif Industries assault when he had most of his body—including three healthy limbs—replaced with cybernetics by his employer, without knowledge (let alone consent) from Adam himself. Adam goes, "I'm starting to think I hate being unconscious."

It's a rather uneasy take on the whole "cybernetic superman" trope. Flesh is you, grows with you and changes with you. Cybernetics are built by somebody else and welded on by somebody besides that—people with their own goals and intents that don't necessarily align with yours, and who might very well have more control over your own body than you do. When it is much easier to disregard a person's bodily autonomy, of course it will be disregarded by those who can get away with it. The messy truth is that despite visions of a machine utopia, humans can never be entirely removed from the equation.

#same with 'computer algorithms' being written by humans and thus perpetrating human bias #deus ex #anyways. as always David Sarif Is a Fucker

[fuckedupbutadorable]

Now Playing: A Cassette Of Catastrophes

It is a Saturday night, I am laying in my bed, and there is a noose above my head. Not a real one of course. A metaphorical one, a sense of impending doom, if you will. A real noose would be way more serious. I'm not quite there yet.

Occasionally I wonder what will take me there. It's not all that occasional if I'm honest.

Anyway, let's come back to the impending sense of doom. I've always found doom to be a funny word by the way.

Doom. Doom. Doom.

It sounds more like a noise than a word doesn't it? Something little kids in a park imitating blasts would shout.

Doom. Doom. Doom.

The word sounds more and more ridiculous if you keep repeating it. But I suppose that's true for any word. Try it sometime. I once did it with my name.

But I digress. Coming back to where we were, I have this sense of impending doom. I've had it for a while now. It's not the easiest to explain. It's like somebody has taken out my brain and inserted a cassette of all the possible catastrophes in this world.

And these aren't Armageddon-type catastrophes. No, these are far more personal.

One of the most popular catastrophes on the cassette is me getting in an argument with somebody I love and them dying immediately after. Like immediately. No time to apologize, no chance to take back the hateful words I didn't mean, just my shouts echoing in the hollow space where they used to be. Eventually, the echo would end, but I'd be left with silence. Silence so vicious that I won't be able to breathe, silence so vicious that it will bleed into everything I touch, silence so vicious that I'd rather hang myself than sit in silence a second longer.

A close second on the popularity list is me dying in my sleep. Can you imagine it? Existing one second and being gone the next? My cassette can, quite vividly in fact. My roommate would probably find me the next day. She would maybe think I was just asleep at first. Then she'd feel my cold hands. She would definitely freak out. She'd get an ambulance but it would be too late by then. She'd call my parents. They wouldn't be able to compute it at first. After all, what parent expects to bury their own child? My siblings would be crushed, but they'd be strong for my parents. Maybe one of them would name their kid after me. My roommate would be traumatized. She'd probably need therapy to get over finding a dead body, which is unfortunate because I don't think her health insurance covers that.

But anyways, now that you have an idea of what the cassette sounds like, I hope you understand my sense of impending doom a bit better. The cassette starts at full volume the second I wake up, and most nights it is playing too loud for me to go to sleep. Occasionally it switches from terrible events that might happen in the future to terrible events that might happen right then. Honestly, I kind of appreciate the change of pace. At least with the latter, I can breathe once the moment has passed.

You might recommend I put the cassette off, or maybe replace it with a new one, but then you'd be missing the point entirely.

I think I should get up and walk around now. I've been in bed without sleeping far too long, and there comes a point when you must accept defeat.

I've never done this before by the way. Explaining my sense of impending doom. I don't know how I'd go about it if I'm honest.

I've imagined bringing it up offhandedly a couple of times with different people. Asking them if they've ever imagined a random car losing control and crashing into them. If they've ever imagined the breath leaving their body, bones cracking like brittle sticks, the gurgling noise in their chest as their lungs drowned in their own blood. I'd ask them if they've heard the sirens of an ambulance close by, and wondered what their last thoughts would be. If regret would cloud everything else. I don't think it would go over very well. I mean their own imminent mortality is not something people like to talk about over coffee, is it?

It should be though. Definitely more interesting than the weather.

My walking around the room has turned to pacing now. For some reason, talk of death seems to send adrenaline rushing through the body. Go figure. The thing about this adrenaline is, it leaves you exhausted. Every time my brain projects a detailed image of a tragedy, my body goes into overdrive, adrenaline pulsing through every vein. Then, when I don't actually die, the adrenaline recedes just as quick as it came, leaving me feeling like I just ran a marathon. One would assume that after months of this, my body would learn better. It would recognize that my brain has been sending false alerts since forever and learn to chill out. But that's not happened yet. I don't think it ever will.

Recently I've been putting this adrenaline to good use. Whenever I have a big load of dishes, I take a couple of minutes and let the sense of impending doom run free. Then, once the adrenaline makes me desperate to move, I get to work. Is this unhealthy? Arguably so, yes. Does it allow me to finish work at a superhuman speed? Also, yes.

It's Sunday now. It's still early but the sun will start to rise in a little bit. I think I'm going to take a shower and go up to the roof for a bit. I used to love that when I was younger. Music and a rooftop was all I needed to feel invincible. I've stopped going up there for a while now, the sense of impending doom starts working much harder on heights. But I hope it'll be worth it. After all, I've got to find sanity somewhere, right? Otherwise, I'm afraid that the noose is going to become real very quickly.

It's been worth it. As I sit here with these small sunbeams dancing upon my body, I think it's the first time I've felt substantial in a long time. I know it might sound weird, but there's something about the way the sunlight stops at my skin instead of passing right through it. Sometimes the cassette of catastrophes plays for so long without pause that instead of being alive, and laughing, and learning, and crying, and living, I start waiting for death.

After so many months of that, It's reassuring to know that I'm still here, wholly. It's reassuring to know that I'm real. It's reassuring to know that I'm not just a phantom that could disappear any second.

I've been here for an hour now, and the sun has started feeling overly warm. There's a sheen of sweat covering my body. I'm feeling different somehow. It takes me a minute to realize what the feeling is.

I want to do something. I only realize once I've said it out loud, but I don't think I've wanted to do something for a long time now. I guess it's kinda difficult to want to do stuff when you're constantly waiting for something to go wrong. Who would've thought?

I'm already in the appropriate attire, so I think running might be a good choice. Maybe all the serotonin from exercise will prolong this silence.

As I run, I realize just how much I've missed this. Not the running of course. The wanting to do something. The easy breathing. The listening to my music and actually hearing it. The being alive instead of surviving. It's nice.

It is now Sunday night. I can tell my respite is near its end. When you've been living with the sense of impending doom for so long, you learn to recognize its arrival. You recognize how it makes your breathing shallow. You recognize how it makes you hear disaster in every single sound. You recognize when it forces you to stare into the shadows till they come to life.

At this second, I can feel the sense of impending doom approaching fast, ready to wrap me in its frigid embrace once more. The cassette of catastrophes is starting to get louder in the background. I want to walk it off, to try and prolong this peace, but I don’t really have a choice. There isn’t enough fit in my body today. So I sit still and do nothing as the cold wraps itself around me, cutting off my oxygen, warping my reality, erasing my sanity.

But even now, there is a part of me that is holding on.

Holding on for the day when I will feel the sense of impending doom walk towards me and not flinch. I will stand there, and I will face her. We will meet like old lovers, each more forgiving of the other than we used to be. There will be no cassette of catastrophes serenading us, there will only be a soothing silence. We will share an embrace, and this time there will be no cold seeping into my bones, making a home for itself in the hollow of my chest. There will only be the warmth of familiarity shared between two who used to know each other. I will be the first to let go of the embrace, and when I do, the sense of impending doom will not dig her nails deeper into my flesh to try and draw blood. She will not hold on so hard that she scars me, and she will not scream and cry vitriol into my ears. She will let me go with grace. We will look into each other's eyes, and she will brush her hand against my cheek. We won’t make promises to meet soon, because we both know our paths will cross again. But at that moment we will say goodbye, and we will mean it.

There is a part of me that is holding on for another sunny day when I will feel real.

#anxiety #yes im an anxious creature #anxious writing #anxious musings #my writing #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writerscommunity #kindly enjoy this piece of unhinged literature #new writers on tumblr #new writer boost #new writers corner #new writter #new writeblr #new writers society #intrusive thoughts #intrusive thinking

[mace-obsesses]

OWA OWA

I had this thought in my bRaIn.

Characters: Gaku Yashiro

gist: You and Gaku get in an argument and he says something rude, sour, venomous, hurtful.

Warnings: Yelling, crying, touch aversion, cussing, trauma, flashbacks, molestation mention.

You're tired and your knees are wobbly with the weight of work on your shoulders as you walk into your shared home.

"I'm home," You call out weakly, dropping your satchel onto the. Something was off, and you could hear shallowing sobbing coming from the bathroom. Pushing off your own stress and pain, you rush to the bathroom. Pushing open the door, you peek in. Gaku was sitting on the toilet, bouncing his leg up and down and his hands grasping the back of his neck.

"Gaku, hey, what's wrong?" You ask, walking over and carefully laying a hand on his shoulder, feeling how he flinched, gasping.

"[Name!] I'm so gl-glad," Gaku panted grabbing onto your waist and tugging you near him, seeing the tears on his cheeks as he stuffed his face into you stomach, his whole body shaking.

"What's going on?" You ask, carefully running your hands through his silk-like hair.

"I just keep- having flashbacks," Gaku sobbed, holding onto you tighter. "I can't get him out of my head." He whined, his voice shaking. Slowly dropping onto your knees so you can look him in his eyes. You cup his cheeks into your hand, feeling how he cuddled into your touch more.

"It's okay, he's gone, and he can't hurt you anymore." You coaxed, but Gaku's eyebrows knitted together.

"But-- I did it. I had hung him. All because of the girl." He said, his tears trickling onto your fingers tips. "Because he'd beat me. I'm a monster."

Taken aback, you gulp. "I'm not exactly a saint, either," you say, voice shaking. You pull your hands back and watch as Gaku flinched a little. His gaze weary.

"What do you mean?" He asked, feeling cold without your sweet touch on his flushed face.

"Stuff has happened to me.. too," You muttered, and Gaku went to touch you, but you swerved away from it.

"I won't hurt you. You're afraid of me... aren't you?" He asked, his voice catching and wavering. A lump in your throat, you go to respond.

"No! Gaku... it isn't you--"

"You're afraid I'll kill you too. Just like him," His voice stopped, and the last sentence, said with a raised voice. "That one day I'll snap. And just stab you. Right? You're waiting for it." He spat, and you recoiled, hands pressed to your chest. A low sob left your lips and tears began to dribble from the bed of your eyes.

"No. I promise! It's not you. I can't tell you why." You said, your voice higher than normal, you thought your heart would leap out.

"Then who is it? Are you seeing somebody else?" He spat. Your chest quivered with a sob.

"No! No I'm not, I would never dream of it!" You cried.

"Then what happened that makes you so afraid of everybody?" He asked, eyes pleading your to meet his.

"I can't tell you." You said, voice shaking.

"Then it's true. You're scared of me." He replied, his voice low and hurt.

"No! FIne! You want to know? I was molested from ages 8 to 12 by two people. And then groomed by somebody." You started, "And everybody I met, they all broke my trust. So it makes it hard, okay?" You said. Immediate regret fell over his face and he gulped.

"And everything is so stressful, it's hard to breathe or think straight. I sexualize everything. I'm disgusting. Every time I see a semi truck pass by, something in the back of my mind screams at me to jump in front of it. Anytime I have a headache and I go to take advil, all I can think is 'take the entire bottle. Do it.' And it's hard. And I don't like it." You cried, curling your knees to your chest and tears falling mercilessly from your eyes.

"[Name]... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know. And... what I said was so self-centered. I..." He trailed off. Getting onto the ground, he crept closer to you. Looking into his eyes, you saw actually remorse. Real, plain remorse. Gaku carefully grabbed your hand, caressing your knuckles with his thumb, slowly tugging you against his chest.

"It's not-- your fault." You whine, falling into him and pressing your cheek against him, while his arms wrapped slowly around you.

----------------------------

This is really shitty, huh?

#gaku yashiro #erased #angst #boku dake ga inai machi #erased angst #teacher #anime

[seonghwasriceball]

Enhypen Reaction

To being jealous

Lee Heeseung

A difficult guy to make jealous, I think. Like, it's Lee Heeseung. It doesn't get much better than that. But, anyway, he wouldn't get jealous in a "Someone was flirting with my s/o, what if they woo them and I lose them" kind of way, but more in a "My s/o is giving someone else attention, and I want them to pay attention to me" sort of way.

You were at Enhypen's dorm to spend some time with your boyfriend, but the maknae line had called you away to play a game with them because they were tired of only interacting with people in their group. And for the first little while Heeseung was fine with it, happy even, he loved seeing that you and his group mates got along well, but after two hours, he was getting lonely. He didn't like that you were spending more time with the youngest three than with him, because you were there to spend time with him in the first place. At first, he sat in the room and stared at you for a while, hoping you'd get the hint, but when that didn't work, he went away to sulk in the bedroom. After about twenty minutes of self pity, Heeseung began to feel guilty, because he was the eldest, and therefore he should be more mature than this, and after all, they are kids. They need to interact with people, they're still growing and developing. But the way you hugged Riki when he lost a round instead of hugging him made Heeseung sad. So, instead of whining into his pillow, he texted you to ask if you'd come spend time with him any time soon, and started giggling and wriggling about when you told him you'd finish that round of whatever it was you guys were playing and you're all his. When you finally came and laid down next to him on the bed, he had the biggest, cheesiest grin on his face, and he basically pinned you to the bed with his body, his face in your neck, voice slightly muffled when he said,

"Hope you peed before you got here, because I'm not letting go any time soon."

To sum up, Heeseung will get quiet, then disappear when jealous. He'll recognise and acknowledge the feeling, and then feel bad and immature for it, but cuddles and reassurances from you make it all better.

Jay Park

Jay is more easily jealous than Heeseung, but again, not in an insecure way, but in a "this guy has the audacity to flirt with and touch my s/o? Nah, I don't think so" and a "that should be me with my arm around their shoulder" kinda way.

So, you were out with Jay shopping, and whilst in one of the shops, you met a classmate who was always kind of flirty with everyone but had been much more forward with you specifically over the past few weeks. It had made you pretty uncomfortable, but he wouldn't stop. You had told Jay about it when it would not let up, and he had asked if you wanted him to do anything about it but respected your wishes when you said no and that you just wanted to vent. But now, this guy was right in front of him, flirting with you and taking your hand to play with your fingers, ignoring Jay and his arm around your waist. When you took your hand back, and he reached out to take it in his again, Jay decided he had enough. Slapping his hand away and glaring at him, Jay pulled you closer to his body and proceeded to tell the guy off.

"They are quite clearly in a relationship, dude. And on top of that, extremely uncomfortable with you. Take a hint and back off, have some self-awareness."

Overall, Jay doesn't really get insecure kind of jealous, more of a protective kind of jealous. He just wants people to know you're taken, and above all, he wants you to feel safe and comfortable. I want one

Jake Sim

Cliché, I know, but I will push the soft boy Jake agenda as far as I can. Jake doesn't get jealous much; he loves and trusts you way too much for that. He wouldn't put his entire heart and soul into you if he didn't. But, sometimes, he'll see you post a picture with some friends, or see you talking with them so freely and excitedly, or you'll mention one name more frequently than usual. He'll start thinking about how being an idol means you can't do all that stuff with him out in the open, and he can't always be there for you when you need him like that one guy from your class can. So, he gets sad and starts to close in on himself. He's more quiet than usual and doesn't joke around with the boys as much.

After class, you had gone straight to the dorm to congratulate your boyfriend and his group on their successful promotions stream fever. You were currently telling Jake about your day because he always insisted you tell each other everything, just to stay as connected as possible. You mentioned one name a lot more than you usually did during your story because you were set up to do a project in pairs, and he was your partner. The guy in question was a classmate you were sort of friends with, but not entirely. Like, if you didn't know anyone else in a room and he was there, you wouldn't feel uncomfortable sitting next to and talking with him, but you wouldn't go out of your way to eat lunch with him, so you had never really mentioned him much before, but he had made a hilarious mistake when working together, which you thought would make Jake laugh, so you told him all about it. When you finished, you excused yourself to the bathroom, and that left Jake alone with his thoughts. He began thinking about how this guy makes you laugh, and is in your class, and can spend so much more time with you, and he started to get really sad. When you came back, you recognised the look on his face immediately and went to sit on his lap and tell him about how much you missed him and how you wish he could be the one doing the project with you. Good intentions, didn't work. That sort of just highlighted the fact that he was missing out on time with you. When you saw it was just getting worse, you resorted to the most fool-proof method you could think of - you began kissing him all over his face and telling him that you're so proud of everything he's doing. You don't mind the long periods of time apart because you wanted him to do what he loves and that you'll always be waiting for him when he has time off. If that doesn't seem to work (it usually does), you would tackle him down on the bed and cuddle him, basically like a koala on its tree. Arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist, your nose against his ear, telling him every three seconds that he was your favourite thing ever.

"Thank you for staying with me no matter what, baby. I love you so much."

Yeah, he gets sad, but you just cling onto him and force it into him that you love him; he'll soon be back to the happy little Aussie boy we all know and love.

Park Sunghoon

How are you gonna make Sunghoon jealous, huh? How are you going to find someone who could live up to that? That's right, you won't. The only way Sunghoon is going to get jealous is if you're sitting really close with somebody else who could possibly be as good a boyfriend to you as him. Like, say you have a guy best friend who you're really close to, and you're sitting on the couch with your legs over his lap. This guy knows you almost as well as Sunghoon does, and you're clearly comfortable with him like you are with Sunghoon, so it's entirely possibly that if he were to make a move, you'd be up for it. That's really the only scenario I think Sunghoon would get jealous in. Of course, he won't say anything, tsundere Sunghoon ain't about that. He'll probably just come sit next to you and make some sort of physical contact that gets across the message of, "My s/o, I love you, even though I don't verbally tell you all the time."

You were over at the boys' dorm, just cause, and were watching a movie with your best friend, Jay, and boyfriend, Sunghoon. You had known Jay for much longer, and in all those years you had been best friends it just became natural that you would invade his personal space, so when you put your legs over his, and leaned back on Sunghoon, neither one thought much of it. Sunghoon got up about halfway through the movie to get a refill on his drink, and you just let your body flop down in his place, legs still on top of Jay's, who now had his hand over your knee. Sunghoon thought nothing of it, until he got back, when a specific line was said on the screen. You and Jay said it in perfect unison and then burst out laughing. Sunghoon recognised the line as one you and Jay would say to each other all the time, it had become an inside joke between you two that neither of you ever explained to anyone, so you always looked like a couple of weirdos to everyone. Everyone except for Sunghoon, who saw that and couldn't help but think about how Jay knew you throughout all of your life, and he was relatively new to you, and got kind of insecure. But, he knew you wouldn't choose Jay over him romantically, but he still didn't see any harm in showing you both who was really your favourite boy. So, instead of lifting the top half of your body and sliding underneath so you were once again leaning against him, Sunghoon picked you up from the couch completely, and sat back down with you in his lap, making sure your body was slightly turned away from Jay. For the rest of the movie he sat there with his chin on your shoulder, arms around your waist, giving you little kisses on your neck every so often.

"Mmmm, isn't this so much more comfortable than before, Y/n?"

All in all, Sunghoon doesn't get jealous often, and when he does, he refuses to admit to it. But, you know. Everyone knows.

Kim Sunoo

HO, BOY, when Sunoo gets jealous, he gets JEALOUS. And, what's more, he makes sure you know. He makes sure the person making him jealous knows. He makes sure everyone in the room knows. He'll start doing aegyo for you, then turn to the guy with a disgusted look on his face, you know the one, the very Sunoo one. Then he'll turn back to you and ask you how cute you think he is, then has the BALLS to ask who you think is better looking, him or the guy who was trying to flirt, and he doesn't even acknowledge them as a threat, he just wants to show them that he has you whipped because he does.

You were hanging out outside with Sunoo when someone came up to you and started flirting, eventually asking for your number. Obviously, you instantly declined and turned to grab Sunoo's arm to leave before he got all competitive, but, alas, it was too late. 4Sunoo was already giving this guy The Looktm. Sighing internally, you just decided you would enjoy the show and pull Sunoo away before he emotionally destroyed this guy. At first, it was just some light scolding. 'They shut you down when you started flirting, what makes you think they'll give you their number?' and 'Couldn't you see they were clearly with someone. We were holding hands, are you blind?' but then he busts out the aegyo, asking you if you would really leave him for some rando off the street, finally turning back to the guy, and telling him once and for all to get lost, before he grabbed your arm and flounced away. You were positive that, had his hair been long enough, he would have ended with a sassy hair flick. and now I must manifest long hair Sunoo real quick

"You really thought you did something there, huh? Newsflash, they've been trying to shut you down nicely since you looked their way."

Yeah, he ain't having none of it.

Yang Jungwon

my SON As much as Jungwon wants to appear mature in your relationship, he's still just a kid, and kids emotions get the best of them sometimes, so yeah, he gets jealous. He gets jealous like Heeseung, in that he wants all your attention, and like Jay because he wants to be the one who's holding on to you, and like Jake, because he knows that he can't spend as much time with you as is ideal, because not only is he an idol, but he is a leader, and therefore has more responsibility than just another classmate you know. So a jealous Jungwon is a sad, insecure Jungwon pls my heart I just want him to smile and never feel sad ever, I will punch his emotions for him if he needs it, he activates such big caring older sister feelings in me, more so than my actual little brother

Enhypen had finished their schedules for the day in the mid-afternoon, so instead of just lounging at the dorm, Jungwon decided he'd pick you up from school and take you to get something to eat. He texted you beforehand to make sure you didn't have any schedule clashes that might get in the way. He waited in the company vehicle while student streamed out of the building, watching to spot you. When he did, he didn't like what he saw. You had exited the building with a boy he had never seen before, laughing and joking. You were actually being quite boisterous, pushing and pulling each other, he could hear your laughter from where he was in the car park. He always loved that sound, and he was happy you were having fun, but he wished like hell that it was him you were hiving fun with. He wanted to mess up your hair and then trip you over and laugh as you stumbled, he wanted to be the one telling you the jokes that made you laugh so hard you had to bend over. When he saw you jump on the other guys back was when he had had enough. He got his manager who was driving to honk the car horn, and got out of the car and waved at you. When you recognised the figure in the mask and bucket hat, Jungwon saw your eyes light up like a Christmas tree right before you started sprinting towards him, without even saying goodbye to your classmate. When you were finally within hugging distance, you launched yourself at your boyfriend, telling him how much you loved and missed him, and how boring everything was without him. Just your natural reaction to Jungwon's presence was enough to calm his insecurities, and he calmly told you that he had missed you as well. It wasn't until later, when he was dropping you off at home did he ask about what was happening with your classmate at school.

"So, who was that guy you left the school building with?"

Baby gets jealous easily, but is also comforted really easily, to the point you never even realise he was jealous in the first place.

Nishimura Riki

Riki is not having it. He doesn't even give the jealousy a chance to creep upon him. If he wants your attention, he's asking for it. If he needs reassurance, he tells you. If he is ever uncomfortable with the way somebody else is touching you, he makes his objections known. He doesn't see the point of keeping this all to himself and worrying about it when he could talk to you and sort it all out. He has more important things to worry about, like whose bed he's going to invade that night or when he's next going to get his fix of bungeoppang. A lot of times, if you're interacting with someone in a way that makes him feel jealous, he'll just pick you up and carry you away, usually just to plop you down in the next room and take a nap on your shoulder.

You were backstage at Inkigayo, waiting for Riki to finish getting his makeup done, so you talked to Sunoo for a while. You actually found out you had quite a lot in common and were bonding over your shared interests for so long that you didn't even notice when Riki was let out of the makeup artists chair. He came and sat next to you, but you didn't acknowledge him, which was fine with him; he didn't want to interrupt such an animated conversation. When Sunoo suggested exchanging numbers so you guys could continue your conversation later, Riki began to feel that tiny bit strange. As he watched you enter your numbers on each other's phones and then Sunoo walk off to get his makeup done, he recognised what was happening and decided to put a stop to it. When Heeseung came up to try and talk to you both, Riki just straight up ignored him as he stood up and lifted you up by your armpits to take you to the corner of the room where he sat you on top of the dressing table and just pressed his face into your neck, muffledly complaining that you liked Sunoo more. Carefully, you ran your fingers through his hair and told him you could only see Sunoo as a friend and that the number was literally just so you guys could gush over Anne With an E when you got home that night.

"All these guys do is take up your time away from me. I hate them. You're never allowed to speak to anyone but me ever again."

Yeah. Riki doesn't take no sh*t when it comes to things cutting into his cuddling time.

#enhypen #enhypen reactions #enhypen reaction #enhypen scenarios #enhypen scenario #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagine #enhypen imagines #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunoo #enhypen jungwon #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen heeseung x reader #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen jake x reader #enhypen sunghoon x reader #enhypen sunoo x reader #enhypen jungwon x reader #enhypen riki x reader #enhypen riki #lee heeseung #jay park #park jongseong #jake sim #jake shim #sim jaeyun

[onmykneesforhotdilfs]

Oooh i'm gonna with #3 please! And Valtor as a bartender.

He truly loathed his job.

The disgusting smell of cheap drinks spilled on the bar mixed with the stench of sweat and cheap perfume, from grinding bodies on the dancefloor and humping barely-legals in the corner, made him nauseous. The music was loud to the point his heartbeat developed arrhythmia whenever a bass boosted song played through the obnoxious sound system. To make matters worse, one of the speakers was set directly above the bar and Valtor was sick of buying earplugs every week, because if he didn’t use any protection, he’s pretty sure he would go deaf before he hit 40 and he once again cursed himself for forgetting them at home.

A particularly high note came on, and the crowd cheered while Valtor cringed as he felt the microscopic hairs in his ears, sensitive to high notes, shrivel up and die. He rolled his eyes as he spotted a tall blonde dragging taller brunette towards the restroom. Apparently, couples basically dry humping each other on the dancefloor and sucking their faces off in the corners wasn’t enough, so universe also decided to throw in a couple about to commit an indecent act in a public bathroom?

He was just about to call one of the bouncers when it hit him – he doesn’t care. Oh well. What can you do?

A woman, wearing something Valtor could only describe as lingerie, came to the bar and ordered a fruity cocktail and for the umpteenth time, he wondered how his life turned into this? How did he go from graduating on a prestigious college, having a stable job and a fiancée, to wiping down spit from the counter top on a Saturday night.

He used to be a successful attorney, his yearly salary reaching up to five-zero figure, a stable relationships, loving girlfriend and more, and yet, all of that collapsed under the enormous weight couple of words held.

His hands worked on autopilot, mixing the necessary drinks while his thoughts were miles away.

Now, whatever’s left of his past life lives in a small condo across the town and Valtor chuckled at the irony of life giving him lemons while he chopped one to mix it into the cocktail. He squeezed the juice out of the poor fruit, with probably more force than was necessary, getting some of it on his shirt in the process.

“What are you chuckling about?” The woman was leaning over the counter, her chest basically spilling out of her dress as she played with the ends of her dark hair.

Valtor raised an eyebrow as he bent down to retrieve one of the decorative umbrellas. “Nothing that would be of interest to you.” He saw her flinch in surprise at the rather sharp tone he unintentionally used. “Miss.” He added as an afterthought, hoping it would make him look less abrasive. Unhappy customers don’t tip well after all.

“Oh. Well maybe it does interest me. You’ll never know unless you try.” The woman smiled flirtatiously while her fingers continued twirling the strands of her hair. “I’m Mitzi, by the way.” She offered her hand to him.

Valtor only quirked an unamused eyebrow. “I don’t remember asking for your name.” The smile was quick to disappear from her face and she snatched her hand back like it’s been burned.

He closed his eyes as his tongue, once again, proved to be faster than his brain. It’s what got him into trouble a lot of times and this one might’ve just taken a cake because if the girl went to complain to his boss, he’d be in a world of shit. “I was trying to be nice, but it seems to me you’re too much of an asshole to appreciate it.” Mitzi gritted out with obvious false confidence because a fierce blush was very much present on her face. This obviously didn’t happen to her a lot.

First time for everything, Valtor thought.

“What I would really appreciate, Mitzi,” Don’t do it, “is if you could stop your 36C's, that you stuffed into a 34B bra, from spilling all over my counter.” You absolute moron! “I have to wipe it.”

Now you’ve done it.

Mitzi turned even reader, and Valtor wondered if he should start dialing an ambulance just in case, but she only snatched the drink he placed in front of her and threw a 5$ bill in his face. “Jerk!” And just like that, she was gone.

“Have a nice evening!” Drop dead.

He rolled his eyes and took a glass that needed wiping just to occupy his hands for a minute because he felt like a coiled string, just about to snap and burn everything in its path.

“I have to say,” girl’s voice reached him, “you just fixed my evening.” Valtor lowered the glass to the solid surface and turned to face the owner.

His brain short circuited.

Though her body was mostly obstructed by the counter, he could see that the navy blue slip dress she wore draped beautifully across her slender figure. She was also incredibly short that even standing up straight, in what Valtor assumed were ridiculously high heels, she was at least head and a half shorten than him. But the most obvious, and striking thing about her, was her red hair. Valtor never even thought that hair could be as vibrant as hers.

In his almost 35 years of life, Valtor has never seen someone as interesting as the girl standing in front of him.

When he finally shook himself out of his stupor, and when it became painfully obvious he was making her uncomfortable with his gawking (really, there was no other word for it), he smiled and spoke. “Well, I’m pleased to hear that because it will undoubtedly ruin my life.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about her reporting you.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Her ego is too big for her to accept she just got rejected.”

“You know her?”

There was something nostalgic in her smile. “I used to know her… or maybe I just thought I know her.”

Valtor observed the unusual girl in front of him. In his several years as a bartender and even before, he developed quite a knack for reading people. She seemed, to him at least, like one of those lost souls that recently had their world turned upside down but tried despite to appear normal. You and me both. “Would you like something to drink?”

Her head snapped up and her electric blue eyes met his. “Oh! Yes, um,” she fidgeted slightly, her hands wringing together and picking at her nails, “anything with vodka.”

He nodded and turned his back on her to find a bottle of the best vodka the club had to offer. He didn’t know why he suddenly paid so much attention to what he’s mixing into drinks but something pulled him towards this girl like gravity and he was too weak to resist it. “Straight?” He asked without turning around.

“Ummm, that’s a bit personal don’t you think? I mean, I just met you.” Valtor stopped what he was doing and turned his head so she could see the confused frown on his face. “I don’t even know your name. As far as I know you could be a serial killer.”

It downed on Valtor what she was talking about and he chuckled at her adorable rant. “I meant the Vodka.”

Her lips shaped into a silent “O" and he saw how her neck and face turned red from embarrassed. She moaned and buried her face into her hands. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He picked the bottle and turned back around so he was facing her. He extended his unoccupied hand across the counter top. “I’m Valtor.”

She shook his hand, her hand incredibly small in his huge one, blush still present on her cheeks. “Bloom. And yes, straight vodka is fine.”

“I’ve only seen Russians drink vodka by itself.”

“I’m quarter Russian. My mom’s dad is from Russia.” Valtor nodded along as he fixed her a drink.

“Impressive.”

“it’s really not. It only made me the laughing stock of the entire class.” She took the glass filled with clear liquid, their fingers brushing together on accident, and Valtor felt a spark rushing up his nerve endings. “But, I can drink most people under the table so I guess I should be grateful.”

Humor was obviously one of the things she used to deflect the pain and trauma bullying inevitably caused. “Your hair is very… unusual. Natural?”

She nodded. “Yup. This is one of the things I inherited from grandpa.”

“Sorry if that made you uncomfortable, it wasn’t my intention.”

“No no, don’t worry.” Her lips wrapped around the edge of the glass as she took a sip and closed her eyes to savor the feeling of burning liquid sliding down her throat. “It’s actually one of the nicest things someone has said to me about my hair.”

Valtor looked at her with a small smirk on his face. “That bad, huh?”

“You don’t want to know.” Bloom tilted the glass and took a large swing of the drink, only a small amount remaining at the bottom. “What about you?”

Valtor shrugged. “What about me?”

“You have an unusual hair too.”

Indeed. His long strawberry blond hair was tied in a ponytail, but unlike herself, he loved his hair and didn’t particularly give a damn what anybody else thought about it. “I don’t really care about somebody else’s opinion and neither should you.”

“I’ve stopped that long time ago.” Valtor nodded towards her almost empty glass and she slid it towards him for a refill. “But you know, scars remain.”

He nodded. “That I do know.” Valtor saw another guy coming up to the bar so he excused himself. As soon as he moved away from her, the unpleasant sensations that accompany prolonged presence in a loud room came rushing back like a rogue train and Valtor felt the onsets of a headache forming. He served the guy and returned to Bloom who was now nursing her drink instead of knocking it back like the first time.

“So what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

She quirked one eyebrow. “A girl like me?”

“Not to be rude, but this doesn’t seem like your cup of tea.”

She laughed. “It’s my friend’s birthday. She dragged me here against my will while promising she’ll stay with me the entire time. It took me turning around for her to vanish without a trace with her boyfriend.”

“That friend of yours,” he started, “wouldn’t happen to be a tall blonde dragging a brunette with her?”

“That’s her.”

Valtor made a face. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing a lot of her tonight.” His eyes slid to the direction of the restroom.

Bloom followed his gaze and she groaned when she saw where her friend went to. “Not this again.”

“Again? This happens a lot?”

“Unfortunately, it happens more than I would like to.” She rubbed her forehead.

“Right,” he drawled, “because who doesn’t like seeing their friends going at it.” Sarcasm was dripping from his words.

“How long have they been in there?” She asked while looking at her wrist watch.

“Fifteen minutes or so.”

“Damn animals. I’m never coming to the club with her again.”

An amused chuckle escaped him. “That’s not the first time you’ve said that, am I right?”

She smiled and took a sip of vodka. “Nope.”

Just as he opened his mouth to ask her another question, her blonde friend wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Valtor’s eyebrow did a backflip. How she managed to avoid detection while leaving the bathroom was beyond him.

“Damn Bloom, I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already seducing hot bartenders!”

“Stella! First of all, I am not seducing anybody,” Maybe not intentionally, “secondly, it’s been almost twenty minutes and thirdly, what happened to your promise of not ditching me? And the moment I turn around, you’re already gone?”

Stella, if Valtor heeard correctly, giggled. “Oh live a little Bloom. Besides, it’s not like you were in a bad company.” Her eyes ran over Valtor’s form. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of that.” She ogled Valtor like a piece of chocolate cake.

“I’m standing right here.”

“Okay, that’s enough for today! We’re going home.” Bloom grabbed her purse and was about to pull out her wallet when Valtor raised his arm to stop her.

“It’s on the house.”

“But Blooooom,” There was really no words to describe the sound that exited blonde’s mouth, “we just got here.”

“The fact that you're talking about having a threesome with a stranger says enough about your state.”

“I’m pretty sure Brandon wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, time out. Let’s go.” She turned towards Valtor, a small card between her fingers. She leaned over the counter while one of her arms stayed behind, supporting her friend. “Thank you.” She slipped the card into his hand. “Call me if you wanna talk sometimes.” And with that, she spun on her heel and dragged Stella towards the exit.

Valtor stood in shock, not knowing how to react for a few minutes, staring at the business card in his hands.

Bloom Peters MD.

He shook his head, hand safely pocketing the precious cargo before he picked up the glass she’s been drinking from and turning around to wash it. The sound of retching caused him to turn around in time to see some wasted man empty the content of his stomach on an obnoxious red carpet. The stench of vomit mixed with other delightful aromas and Valtor was once again reminded how much he hated his job.

#winx club #baltor x bloom #bloom x baltor #bloom x valtor #sparxshipping #valtor x bloom #bloom #valtor #winx #sparxshipping questions #sparxshipping requests #sparxshipping prompts #sparxshipping au

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Brendan Byrne Arena in East Rutherford, NJ, USA - August 9, 1982

(x)

This is an eventful US Hot Space show played to an arena that is far from full. In fact, a second night in East Rutherford was originally planned for August 10, but later moved to New Haven due to the low ticket sales.

Roger's voice is uncharacteristically hoarse tonight, and he struggles on some of his backing vocals in Somebody To Love.

Towards the end of his vocal exchange with the audience after Save Me, Freddie tells them, "I'm gonna make you sing like Aretha Franklin", like he did during Now I'm Here in Milton Keynes a couple months back. But this time he doesn't succeed, as he gives up after only one line. "I knew you were from New Jersey. You had to be. I mean, I've been listening to Gilda Radner. She's right!"

Brian starts Get Down Make Love (which segues into his solo spot) with his John Birch copy. A bit over three minutes into his solo spot he breaks a string, and soon turns off the analog delays, trying to make the best of the situation for a brief while (the other five strings go out of tune when you break a string on an electric guitar with floating tremolo, so one must hold the whammy bar down in a specific place for the guitar to remain in tune - not an easy task!). But he ultimately gives up, and takes the guitar off and hurls it over his stack of Vox cabinets (the one and only time he did this), snapping it in half. Some audience members watch in bewilderment as they have witnessed the normally gentle and soft-spoken May lash out in frustration. Others cheer the 'coolness' factor. A roadie, visible to the audience, picks up a piece of the Birch guitar and holds it up for a brief moment. The beleagured axeman then switches to his Flying V, and he and Roger (barely) finish the segment, not before that guitar, too, goes out of tune.

The next song is Body Language, and the front of house tech switches on Mercury's harmonizer a verse too early, giving "you got red lips" a bit too much redness.

Brian (who hasn't spoken much on stage on this tour since Love Of My Life was his usual speaking spot) says a few words after Under Pressure. "People of New Jersey, we seem like good friends. I tell you, we've seen you a lot of times. We've been around quite a while and we've done some strange things here and there. And now and again we've done a song which actually means something, and I think this is one of them. This is a song Freddie wrote for the last album. This is called Life Is Real." Queen performed the ballad only a few times.

After the song ends, Freddie asks, "How are we doing with the guitars?" He tells the audience, "I think tonight's the night we're gonna break as many guitars as we've got. If anybody in the audience has a spare guitar, bring it over here!" Someone in the audience replies, "I've got three!" He continues, "OK, we're gonna do a song that requires everybody on their feet, because I mean, you gotta... I know you guys are very cool and laid back, this is a really dirty song. You know, it comes from here." No doubt a crude gestitulation follows. "It's from the c*nt. It's called Fat Bottomed Girls!" Brian lets out a lot of aggression in the last couple minutes of the song, even playing some heavy syncopated lines before the final few bars.

Frustration abounds in Freddie as well, as he responds to a drone he (and everyone else) is hearing. "Before this next song, we'd like... what is that fucking noise? It's been driving me crazy all fucking night. I bet it's not doing you guys any good, either."

It takes a little while for the Red Special to be restrung, so Brian plays his Flying V for a few songs, according to a fan who attended the show (although Brian stated in a January 1983 interview that he acquired the Flying V *because* of this incident - but this claim is questionable, as pictures from last week's concert in Toronto reveal his Flying V on a guitar stand side stage). These few songs sound different with this new guitar tone - particularly the Bohemian Rhapsody solo. He would return with his beloved home-made guitar for the hard rock section of Bohemian Rhapsody, but he wouldn't fully regain his composure for the rest of the evening.

In the second verse of We Are The Champions, a flippant comment from Mercury sums up the evening: "It's been no bed of roses, I can tell you!"

A fan wrote to Brian at his Soapbox about this night:

"During the show you had problems with The Old Lady and came out with the Birch copy. Then the birch copy had some problems and you threw it and your roadie missed it I think because he held up something that looked like a broken Birch Guitar. You then played a good part of the concert on a Flying V. I remember wishing I had a camera to see you playing on the V. You played Life Is Real while repairs were being done. Freddie even joked if someone had an extra guitar to please bring it up. After the break in BORHAP you came back with the Old Lady."

Brian's reply:

"You evidently saw a special night ... the only night when I ever threw a guitar off stage in despair ! And, yes, I did hit the ground behind the stage - I'm pretty sure I thought I was throwing to someone, but evidently I misjudged it. And, yes, its neck snapped clean through. I kept it for a while, intending to get it fixed. But we decided it would probably never be good at staying in tune, because it wasn't a very rigid instrument. And not being able to get it in tune was what drove me to distraction that night, and this was what led to its demise! As I remember, this was on top of having problems with the Red Special in the beginning - in the heat of the moment, this was the final straw ! I imagine your bootleg of the show will reveal the problems I was having. These things usually make me feel ashamed, frustrated, angry, in the moment... I don't like giving people less than the best. So this picture really does tell a story ... a unique story. I wonder what happened to the Flying V ... As for the Birch guitar, well, we lent it to Guild, to compare, while they were making their Red specials under license in the 80's. Then we all forgot about it for many years. Then it turned up, and thanks to a friend (I think I told the story here) it now resides back with me. We have decided to keep it as it is, in pieces, just for historical interest, for the same reasons as before."

Brian has since reunited with the guitar, apparently after it was purchased on eBay. Its story and a couple pictures of it can be seen at Brian's website. It was repaired by Andrew Guyton, although it wasn't a complete restoration as Brian wanted to see exactly where he broke it.

The photo above was taken by Gary Gershoff. Here are a few pro photos from the show:

These photos were taken after the show, at a party in New York:

(x)

Fan Stories

“Queen played a great show, but when Brian started his Brighton Rock solo, he broke a string on "The Old Lady" and you could tell he was not happy. He actually threw that guitar at the stand and it fell over and me and my fellow RS/Brian/Queen fanatic buddy looked at each other in astonishment. He quickly was given the John Birch copy by his guitar tech and continued his solo. Well about two minutes go by and you could tell he was not happy with the Birch and then a string breaks on that guitar. He was on Deacons side of the stage and he runs over to his side towards his wall of Vox amps and hurls the guitar over the stack. His guitar tech brings out the Gibson Flying V and Brian finishes the solo. At the end of the solo the tech brings back "The Old Lady" restrung as Queen kicks back in. I believe at this point Brian was doing the solo in the middle of Now I'm Here. Some time between one of the next songs the Tech emerges from behind the stack to show Brian and the entire audience the result of Brians outrage as he holds up the two pieces of The John Birch. My friend and I looked at each other and knew we had just seen a bit of Queen history. From what I remember it was a case of the neck snapping off from the body. I remember a few months ago somehow the John Birch had turned up and Brian was curious about where and when it happened.” - Todd

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #queen concerts

[vampish-glamour]

Hiya! I'm new to your wonderful corner of the internet, and I hope you don't mind if I ask a lot of questions lol. Firstly, what do you think of pan vs bi? The only satisfying answer I have gotten as to the differences (besides subjective stuff like feeeeeeling like you value their gender or whatever) is that a pan person would f*ck intersex/enbies, while bi people wouldn't. I'm curious what you think. Second, do you think that the LGBs are ever going to have a satisfying split from the Ts/the gender fandom? What kind of steps would we take to accomplish that?

Hi, and welcome! I don’t mind questions at all. 😄

I’m strongly against the concept of pansexuality.

I believe that the label is rooted in biphobia and a misunderstanding of bisexuals.

The main arguments for the difference between bi and pan (off the top of my head) are as followed;

Bi means two, pan means all. Bisexuals are only attracted to two genders but pansexuals are attracted to all.

Bisexuals take gender into consideration when it comes to attraction. Pansexuals don’t.

Bisexuals care about parts, pansexuals care more about somebody’s personality. (“Hearts not parts”)

Bisexuals won’t date trans people, pansexuals will.

These are all either based on a misunderstanding of sexuality, or of bisexuals.

For the first one, I do agree that bi means two. But it means the two sexes, because sexuality is based off of sex (hence it being called SEXuality).

In the same way homosexual means same sex attracted, heterosexual means opposite sex attracted, and asexual means attracted to neither sex... bisexual means attracted to two/both sexes. And since there’s only two sexes, “pansexual” meaning “attracted to all sexes” is functionally the exact same thing as bisexuality.

Even if you believe in more than two genders (which I don’t), the attraction is still based off of sex characteristics... and on a biological level, there would be no difference in how a pansexual experiences attraction and how a bisexual experiences attraction.

For the second one, there are many bisexuals who don’t care about gender. There are many who have a preference. To say that all bisexuals have a preference is a misunderstanding of bisexuality. And, to say that preferences dictate sexuality is a misunderstanding of sexuality. Preferences or no preferences—it doesn’t change what sex(es) you are attracted to. If you are attracted to both sexes, you are bisexual. Your preferences or lack thereof don’t make or take away from your bisexuality.

For the third one, I just find this argument disgustingly biphobic, and in general an arrogant thing to say—that only one sexuality, pansexuality, cares about one’s personality over their body. Especially when the idea that bisexuals and homosexuals are obsessed with sex is a stereotype that has been fought against for years.

And once again, it’s a misunderstanding of sexuality. A straight woman who is more interested in sex than a guy’s personality isn’t suddenly a different sexuality. So why is this the case for bisexuals?

I believe it’s to escape the negative stereotypes that cloud over bisexuality. The idea that bisexuals are sex crazed and greedy, and only care about genitalia. It’s not a coincidence that pansexuality makes its entire brand off of distancing itself from these negative stereotypes.

It would be like if a bunch of homosexual women started calling themselves “samesexual”, and claimed that they’re different than homosexual women/lesbians because unlike lesbians, samesexuals aren’t predatory.

That sounds insanely homophobic, yes? If we can accept that creating a whole new “sexuality” to distance oneself from negative homosexual stereotypes is homophobic, we have to accept that creating a whole new “sexuality” to distance oneself from negative bisexual stereotypes is biphobic.

And the fourth argument, there’s not much to say here other than that this is plain transphobia. It separates trans people from cis people, placing trans men and women into a separate box away from “man” and “woman”

On top of this, being attracted to or not being attracted to trans people does not make a whole new sexuality, because trans people are not a third sex.

It’s also another misconception about bisexuality—because never have transsexuals not been in the bisexual dating pool.

Onto the next topic;

I don’t support “drop the T”.

This isn’t to say that I don’t think separating LGB and T for certain causes is helpful. For example; fighting for same sex marriage is an LGB issue, while fighting for accessible and affordable medical care for gender dysphoria is a T issue.

To be fair, I’m almost of the opinion that the large grouping itself isn’t really necessary, considering how different the experiences of homosexuals, bisexuals, and transsexuals are. But, I can understand why they’re all lumped together for a rights movement, especially because homophobia impacts everyone in the LGBT acronym. So since it’s here and it’s been here for a while, I’m in support of the full acronym being LGBT.

But as far as completely dropping the T goes... I believe that the push for this comes from a misunderstanding of transgender people, likely from the terrible representation they are given from people who aren’t actually transsexual.

Because the Ts and the gender fandom are two incredibly different groups, and although the distinction isn’t made often... it’s incredibly important for exactly this reason—that they get mixed together and it leads to hatred of trans people.

Transgender people/transsexuals are people who experience gender dysphoria. The goal of most trans people is to live a normal life as the gender their brain recognizes them to be. They have medical and mental health needs that are important to their quality of life. This is the crowd where you’re likely to find people who simply want to live their lives in peace.

The gender fandom, at least who I think you’re referring to, are people who don’t experience gender dysphoria, and often treat gender as an accessory, a performance, a fashion or political statement, etc. This is the crowd where you’ll find the neopronoun users, the obscure labels like “genderfluid”, and are unfortunately typically the people who get the spotlight over actual trans people.

Please do not confuse the two!

Look, I get it. Watching the second group run around and make LGBT people look like a joke is painful. But it is not the fault of transsexuals. Many trans people are just as annoyed as everyone else is, especially because they are directly being misrepresented (shown by how you and many others consider them to be one and the same with things like MOGAI).

So I won’t be advocating for dropping the T.

However, I do fully support from separating from MOGAI (or the “queer community” as many of them like to say), and I think the way to do that is to make a clear distinction between LGBT people, and QIA+ people. And making it clear that the T only includes dysphoric trans men/women.

It’s not about dropping the T. It’s about dropping everything after the T, and restoring the T to its original meaning.

We need more LGBT people to stand up against how the “queer community” is representing us, and to make it clear that the acronym is LGBT, and that the LGBT movement is a civil rights movement, not a “let’s all party and share our pronouns” movement.

Thanks to the “queer community”, LGBT people aren’t taken seriously. Thanks to the “gender fandom”, transsexuals are seen as a joke and a burden to the LGBT community. Both the “queer community” and “gender fandom” need to be separated and made distinct from the LGBT community, and this should be done with all four letters, not just three.

Tl;dr:

I’m against the pansexual label, and I believe it is inherently biphobic and often transphobic.

It also perpetuates harmful stereotypes about bisexuals and homosexuals.

I don’t support the “drop the T” movement.

The T gets a lot of misrepresentation, and I believe that misrepresentation is part of where the “drop the T” movement comes from.

It’s important to make a distinction between the LGBT movement and the modern day “queer community” if we ever want LGBT people to be taken seriously again.

#asks #anon #q slur

[ambrial-blog]

The Serpent’s Mate Part 1.

It had been two weeks, two- long and restless weeks since their return from the human realm. 

THERE WAS NO ESCAPING THEM. No matter how hard Blitzo tried, he just couldn't outrun those horrific parodies that followed him into his dreams, chasing away any remnants of sleep. While his mate stirred beside him, Striker had grown increasingly worried about him in the time he had been home. Night after night, the sun-kissed serpent had stood by his side, rubbing his back, waiting for the nightmares to ebb. Blitz flinches in his sleep, shrinking away from his touch. His eyes suddenly pop open, his breathing is hitched. Someone is on top of him, shaking him and calling his name. The guff country drawl echoes in his head. As his body trembles, he clutches his ears, trying to drown out the voices. 

'Blitz, Blitz, can you hear me" Striker calls frantically, fighting to keep Blitz down. 

Striker's voice continued to blend, overlapping with the Boss imp's waking nightmare. Blitz fought him using all of his strength. Seeing the crazed eyes, hearing the high-pitched voice berates him from above. 

"Worthless spec of mud, you don't want to do anything alone. BlitzO - But you are alone, you drive everyone you love away, with your selfishness... too afraid.. the only use I have for your darling, is breeding with you so we can usher in the next generation of superior imps..... . Blitzy...... 

"Shut up, shut up. Shut up," growls Blitz reaching out and wrapping his hands around Striker's neck. 

"It's the truth, sugar-cube..... 

Striker's eyes are wide as Blitz continues to choke him, his claws digging into his neck, his eyes an off-color of amber- all Blitz can see is the swirling mud and those laughing eyes. 

"Sugar-cube..... Striker chokes as Blitz finely open his eyes in horror at what he is doing. He was quick to let go as fear pounded in his heart. He looked at his hands in disbelief at what he had just done. 

Blitz topples off the bed, stumbling back, his blurry eyes lacking focus as he ambles towards the door. Striker tail lashes out from underneath the covers gripping Blitz's hand and leading him back to bed. The country imp stares down into the glossy eyes of his mate. 

"It was just a nightmare Blitz, it wasn't real, can you hear me sugar-cube" Striker's voice held the tell-tale signs of panic and fear. He could feel Blitz's shake underneath him. 

"Let me go, Striker, Blitz hisses, trying to move, but the snake has him pinned underneath him. 

"Not until, you calm down, your acting like a scared colt, Blitzy what's wrong do you want to talk about it?" 

Blitz just shakes his head, but his arms are pinned down at his side, and Striker is straddling his waist. 

'Not until you calm down," Striker repeats. "And I have all night, darling, to figure out what's bothering you," Striker reassures, cupping Blitz's cheek. 

Blitz drinks too much coffee like he is desperately trying to stave off sleep. There is always a cup, or a mug of steaming coffee clasped, tightly in his hand- like it is his lifeline. At the morning meetings that Striker is rarely there due to prior obligations. Blitz is a mess zoning out and then brushing it off when either Moxie or Millie asks what is wrong.

Moxie keeps an eye out for Blitz while they are on missions, reporting anything he found as peculiar to the Goeitic prince- and he found a lot of things strange these days.

It was Moxie's fault they got captured, to begin with- it was his fault, the truth-seekers- got the information that they did. And maybe it was his guilt-ridden conscious that kept the data away from the snake-imp.

At night Striker crushes sleeping pills into Blitz's coffee, returning an hour later to see Blitz passed out at his desk coffee spilled out across important clientele documents, his finger pressed up against the coffee buzzer. The Assassin looked around at the mess figuring Blitz had caught on to what he was doing and was attempting to get somebody's attention. He disregarded the frayed documents that littered the desk. The imp from wrath didn't give a crap about it. It was a dead-end job to him, though Blitz had made an effort to include Striker in the meetings. Moxie always talked over him, puffing up his chest and trying to one-up the Cowboy, still sour at how Striker wanted to strangle him back on the farm. It was impressive that Blitz had started a business all on his own, saving up enough money from his days in Loo-Loo land- then putting Loo-Loo land in the rearview mirror.

But now, it was just plain pathetic the lengths Blitz was willing to go to sustain IMP, let it fall, and from those ashes, "Homicidal Husbands" would arise after Striker took IMP, to the cleaners wringing out their finances on Blitz's behalf.

Striker wasn't the sharing type. If he saw something he liked, he took it. He was a possessive bastard conniving and treacherous but always wanted the best for Blitz without any regard for anyone else. Being the dominant one, it was the Cowboy's right as Blitz's mate to protect his submissive even if it was against himself.

The Outlaw growls at Loony, his eyes overshadowed by his cowboy hat, seeing the steaming mug of coffee in her hands as she appears in the doorway. Picking Blitz up, he headed for the stairwell.

"Loony, be a good girl and clean up this mess for me, before I tell your daddy that it was you who drugged his coffee," Spoke Striker before disappearing up the stairs with Blitz. 

Loony shivered at the ice-cold malice in Striker's voice and the chill in his glare before fleeing to her room, Only to get on the phone a moment later with Moxie and Octavia after shutting, locking, and bolting her door.

Something was unsettling in those eyes. It felt like Striker was plotting against them, then working for them- half the time. But Blitz was sure Striker had their best interests at heart. But ever since Blitz returned, Loony could see the shift in his personality. Which at first, she had chalked up to too much coffee. Now, reared its ugly head, his scent was off, and there was a tangible walking around imp headquarters in a pair of cowboy boots and spurs. 

And she was damn sure that Striker had plans of his own because why would a mate come out of the woodwork's of Blitzo's past without him mentioning something before?. It didn't add up to the teenager.

Meanwhile, Moxie was at a loss for words when he came in one morning to see Striker at Blitzo's desk, his feet cross-crossed, leaning back in a chair with his hands behind his head. His eyes were closed. The anger within the Cowboy simmered behind closed eyelids. It was clear to Moxie that the snake imp had sifted through a pile of finances. Striker's demonic gaze fell upon him.

"Close the door, Possum I'm speaking on behalf of Blitz now, the Boss man, needed some downtime, So I obliged him by coming in today." 

"I don't like where this is going," Moxie stammered, closing the door.

"Relax, I'm not gonna skin ya, vermin."

The Outlaw had been away on business, cementing a few kills and collecting data on a few higher-ups that he would put on his black-list

When he returned home, he didn't know what the fuck had happened. All he knew was that everyone was keeping secrets from him, and Blitz was missing. When he had left, he had made sure everything was running smoothly. Blitz was his up-beat self getting ready for another killing spree.

Kissing Striker and telling him it would be as easy as drowning puppies in the river. Then, the next thing he knew, he was getting a call from an agitated possum who sounded like he had lost a bet. Saying that they were home, but Blitz was not. That Blitz had returned to the Goetic mansion to reward Stolas. Stella cleared things up and painted a picture that had Striker foaming at the mouth.

Striker's molten yellow eyes swirled with all the probabilities that might have Blitz running to Stolas instead of him. Stalking towards the door, he punched a hole right through it before entering the brisk night in an attempt to clear his head.

What is Satan's name that had happened? In the time it had taken Blitz to complete a simple in and out job, he had disappeared. Only then, to wrench the invisible knife sticking out his gut. Only to be found hours later and rescued by that miserable owl. 

Within minutes Striker had Moxie spilling the beans about that night, the horrible acid trip, trapped within the human realm with no way home. The strenuous torturous they had gone through and the truth serum and the effects it had on them. 

The Outlaw was not impressed. 

"Satan Dammit!, why wasn't I there? Then I could have avoided this entire mess." Growled Striker punching a brick wall over and over until his knuckles bled. Tears blinded his vision as he sunk to his knees. A picture flutters out of his jacket and lands in some garbage water near an open dumpster.

The Outlaw was quick to fish it out and looks at it in fondness. It was a picture of Blitz and Bombproof, back on Millie's farm Blitz on top of Bombproof. that stubborn horse had refused to leave the ranch after the confrontation and the botched assassination attempt of the Goetic prince. The damn horse wouldn't let Blitz off him- he had even ridden away from Striker when he tried to hop on. 

"Too slow cowboy" Blitz cackled.

Bombproof snickered as he played keep-away with his rider.

Striker had run, halfway across wrath: on stead, he had borrowed from Lin and Joe to catch up with them. The Outlaw took a ragged breath tracing Blitzo's face in the picture, now his partner wouldn't even look at him, and that fire in Blitzo's eyes was almost extinguished. Striker had to resort to some underhanded tricks to get his mate to sleep- and later, when Blitz finely caught onto who was actually drugging him and what he was doing, he had to bribe Loony.

"I'll rip them apart with my bare hands," growls Striker. "One thing was for sure, those assholes who had done this to his mate, their days were numbered if Stolas wasn't going to help him, he knew one Goeita that would. If only to get Blitz out of her home and be the sole heir to the Goetia fortune. 

That bitch was cold, calculating, and ruthless. Something Striker admired in her even if he was just using her to get what he wanted.

Fizzouali might've had his issues with Blitz in the past, especially burning down Loo-Loo land. But to see him like this, jumping at shadows on the walls. Skittering about. In hindsight, it might have had something to do with all that coffee he consumed. But there was a bitter-broken-hardheartedness about him. that made Fizzouali want to hug him- and never let go.

To be a fly on the wall and get to see Striker, the lone Assassin, slip into the palace wall and pluck some feathers from that ditsy blue blood- oh, he had heard about the fight- the whole ring of pride had heard about that fight. 

Striker had just about enough of hearing of the honesty-induced acid-trip and seeing Blitz crumple before him, hearing him scream! Night after night, nightmare after nightmare. Striker grips Blitz and starts to shake him, calling his name and pleading with him to open his eyes. Only to have fierce amber eyes pop open in fear, to feel his mate tremble beneath him as he tries to peel away only to stumble into the kitchen a moment later in search of an early morning coffee.

It was the last straw. This was all too much for the snake imp. IMP had seen its final days' Striker would keep Blitz home. It was for his own good, Striker told himself as he waited outside the shower to ambush Blitz with a rag soaked in chloroform. Rest was what he needed.

The former ranch hand had kept telling himself.

Blitzo pauses standing in a steam-covered room with a towel wrapped around his waist. He wiped the moisture from the mirror in time to see Striker lurking in the door. He was leaning against it, blocking the imp's fast retreat.

"I canceled all your meetings today, Blitzy, I even called the possum and said you wouldn't be in today."

"You did what?" Blitz screamed at the mirror. 

It infuriated the Outlaw to be shunned by his mate. The look on Blitzo's face as he trapped him underneath him, his tail massaging Blitzo's thigh, it was their thing, or at least it used to be. The eerie trepidation in Blitz's movement as he tried to sneak past the snake imp. Only to have the seasoned Killer grabbing him by the waist and throwing him onto the bed. Covering his mouth with a cloth. He fought off Blitzo's hands, holding them above his head.

"Striker, stop! What the fuck do you think you're doing? Blitz growled with a feral hiss. Craning his neck away from the drug-riddled cloth that inched closer to his face. 

The Cowboy had gotten so starved for Blitz's affection that he was willing to take it any way he could. He punched Blitz in the stomach; gripping his head, he covered his mouth with a drugged, soaked rag and waited. 

Blitz wheezed, crying into the cloth. Tears matted his eyes as he reached up, gripping Striker's arm. 

Blitz's hand slid off his bicep as he shut his eyes. Striker watched his mate slip peacefully into slumber for the first time in weeks. The Outlaw had spent weeks sleeping in an empty bed, while Blitz sought comfort elsewhere. 

The dull ache in his chest crippled him. As the mating mark seared his skin, he gritted his teeth against the pain as he thought about Blitz being unfaithful. 

The Outlaw leaned over, whispering into Blitz's ear. "I'm done, done with it all. I'm willing to fight for you, Blitzy, ready to take you back."

"I'll splatter the walls with his blood, then make you lick it off the walls, I'll have you begging for forgiveness." 

Heck, the way he was feeling that night, the whole Ares Goeita bloodline was in danger, all for the love of a bit of devil. An imp with a damaged heart.

Blitz awoke with a start, early that morning as remnants of a dream started to trickle away, he could feel Striker spooning him from behind, feel the weight of his head resting on the crook of Blitz's neck as the soft trickle of breath ran down his spine. It felt like ages since they were like this, bodies intertwined, tails loosely lapsed together.

"Too bad this couldn't last," he thought, his back growing rigid: His body throbbed and ached with a new mark, appearing on his inner thigh. The Outlaw pulled him closer to his mud-slacked body. 

Pressed up against a growing erection, Stryker moaned in his ear, his voice a high-pitched parody of his own his swirling eyes took him in, rubbing his body against Blitz. 

"The only use I have for you, Darlin, is breeding. I wish you could see yourself BlitzO, a hot mess unable to tell reality from fantasy. No matter, I don't care if you are damaged on the inside or not. All I care about is what's on the outside. Stryker hissed, ripping open his clothes and bending down to kiss his stomach. Even here, where they cannot reach you, you still have a purpose. Stryker flipped Blitz onto his stomach, rimming his finger around Blitz's hole, scissoring him open with his fingers. Keeping pressure on his neck and Blitz's face pressed into the pillow as he slid in. Blitz thrashed, clawing at the sheets, his voice hoarse as Stryker gripped his horns and rode him. 

Blitz gasped as he bucked into Striker's touch, as the hand down his pants kneaded him, his eyes flickered behind closed eyelids as Striker held his arms down at his side, trying to wake up the imp beside him. Goosebumps ran down his spine, his eyes shooting open, gazing up at the shirtless Cowboy hovering above him with a worried look on his face. 

"Sleep well Darlin." spoke Striker caressing Blitz. His body trembled at his touch, his mouth opened, but no words came out. He made a move to get out of bed, his rear end throbbing. He crumpled to the floor, blood staining his pants. 

The Outlaw was out of bed, quick as lighting and at Blitz's side cupping his head. 

“Please-no! No, more Stryker” 

Swallowing thickly, unsure of what to do, he wrapped an arm around Blitz's waist, hauling him up and towards the bathroom. He would call Moxie as soon as he drew a bath for Blitz. But if he had to be honest with himself, he wasn't even sure he wanted to do that. Blood was coming from somewhere. That frightful look on Blitz's face was directed at him, and the way he said his name sent shivers down his spine. 

He held him by the shoulders as he tried to sprint for the door; Striker held him tight as he turned on the faucet in the bath. "Blitzy can you hear me, I'm going to take off your clothes darlin, and than I'm going to put you in hot water, everything is going to be alright," Striker reassured him. He rubbed the mark he had given Blitz, trying to get the imp to smile.

"will find a way around this, Boss-man, hopefully without Goeita interference."

The bathtub bubbled. It wasn't as big as Stolas's, but it was both deep and inviting, built for two. Placing Blitz on the lip of the tub, Striker slid off his pants, locking the door before slipping into the hot soapy waters. Blitz stared at his mate, cocking his head to the side at the tumbled in, Striker catching him as he fell. It was getting harder and harder to tell Striker from Stryker. Blitz knew he couldn't keep this up. That if he kept going the way he was going, to end up blacking out and putting in danger someone he cared about. Striker took a scrubby and began washing Blitz's back, placing his nails around the grooves he found on Blitz's back.

It was a perfect match, but he didn't remember scratching Blitz, not to the point where he cried out of pain.

Everything was coming back to the week; Blitz had gone missing, Striker buries his face into Blitz's back.

"Blitzy, I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me, that you had to depend on the Goeita filth , overlord slaying can wait, sugar-cube I need to take care of you first." 

The wrangler had felt sick to his stomach. Something was attacking his mate and using his face to do it; whatever it was, it originated in the human realm. 

This only solidified his resolve to put an end to IMP and do the same with Stolas.

#Hellvua Boss #Striker/Blitzo #NightmareStryker/Blitzo #protective Barbie-wire #Protective Fizzourali #Protective Stolas #Fanfiction #Archive A03 #Wattpad #Fanfiction.net WIP

[krreader]

becoming human | chapter four.

pairing: cops!bts x android!reader (as in, ot7 x reader, but may change) fandom: bts warnings: detroit:become human!au ; language ; violence ; abuse genre: crime ; angst ; crack ; (possibly smut) word count: 3.1k+ previous: 1 ; 2 ; 3

summary: the crime rate of seoul has been rising rapidly these past weeks and nobody could deny that there was more to it than gangs or the likes. something was brewing that not even the famous bangtan boys could solve, a unit specifically formed for hunting down criminals that most couldn’t. so when even they couldn’t find out what was going on, the department decided to add a new member to the team that would hopefully be able to solve the mysteries behind those crimes. what bangtan hadn’t expected however, was that their new member would not be human, but one of the androids sent by CyberLife.

a/n: wow, this turned into such a long chapter but I am so happy with it. those who have played detroit are hopefully enjoying all the easter eggs I’m putting in!!!!

Bangtan finally had a lead. A big part of their mission that would hopefully and finally solve this mess.

Find RA9. That was the objective.

Which, unfortunately, wasn't as easy as it sounded. You’d think with the amount of deviants one of them would have concrete information on RA9, but that wasn’t the case. RA9 was an enigma, a secret, a mystery. Something that all deviants knew, but never let anyone else know about.

The members were all busy talking to their contacts and various other agencies within and outside of the country, in hopes of somebody knowing something about RA9. Maybe even similar cases.

Namjoon was getting himself a cup of coffee. Or at least he wanted to.

But his mind was somewhere else entirely, and he didn't realize that the coffee had been done five minutes ago and he was still staring at the cup like he was waiting for something else to happen.

“I believe your coffee is done, boss,” your voice made Namjoon jump, then roll his eyes, “If you wait a few more minutes, the temperature of your beverage will not be enjoyable anymore.”

“What do you want? Stab me in the back like your colleagues?” he said bitterly, taking a sip from his semi-hot coffee. Fuck, it already tasted like shit.

“I told you, I am self-testing regularly. I am not going to become a deviant. I am going to finish my mission with you like I was designed to do.”

“Designed to do,” Namjoon snorted and shook his head, “I'm sure Kamski or whatever his name was didn't 'design' androids for them to turn into deviants.”

“Why don't you just ask him?”

“What?” he asked in confusion.

“You're looking for a lead, aren't you? Kamski is as good as any. He's the one that made us. If he doesn't know about RA9, he might at least have an idea on how to put an end to this.”

“Almost like an off-switch,” he muttered to himself.

And Namjoon hated to say this, but..

..you were right.

“Yeah, it's me,” Namjoon said a moment later with his phone pressed against his ear, “I need you to arrange a flight for me and my team to the US.”

“This is so cool,” Jimin beamed when he looked out of the window.

“Is this truly your first time flying, Park Jimin?” you smiled softly at the reaction of the young team member.

“Yeah.. I grew up in the countryside, my parents didn't think much of flying anywhere else.”

“Enough small talk,” Yoongi said as he sat down next to you, “Brief us on the situation in the US.”

That made all of them shift their attention to you and back was that serious atmosphere.

“They have similar problems. With Detroit being the city where androids have originated, their cases of deviants are much higher than in Seoul. As far as I know, CyberLife has already sent an android to work with a team in Detroit like it had sent me to work with you.”

“How do they deal with it?” Jin asked.

“They're still trying to find leads on RA9. They didn't think about talking to Kamski yet.”

Connor. That was his name.

You weren’t in contact with him, but your database knew all about him and his findings.

“So we have a head-start,” Taehyung grinned with wiggling eyebrows.

“This isn't a race, Taehyung,” Namjoon shook his head, “The entire world is at risk. We should tell the team in Detroit about it if we find anything useful. They might need any intel they can get.. and we could use some help if things go to shit. We don’t have a back-up team like we have in Seoul. Having friends might be beneficiary for us.”

“Understood, boss,” you said with a nod, closing your eyes and retreating into the data base to finally contact Connor.

“Is.. she asleep?” Hoseok furrowed his eyebrows as he leaned over to Jin.

“I don’t think androids sleep. But we should,” he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, “It’s a long flight.”

Hoseok watched you for a very long time, though. It was as if this moment of you not being fully there - which almost never happened, if ever - gave him the chance to finally study you, instead of the other way around.

Most androids all looked the same, only a few models were special like you. Special in a sense of being unique.

“Stop,” Yoongi warned him, still sitting next to you and having watched the slightly younger member for a while now, “She’s not human.”

“I know she isn’t,” Hoseok became defensive, then turned to his side and squeezed his eyes shut.

God, Yoongi and Namjoon held so much hatred for androids, they couldn’t even fathom that some people didn’t. Yes, what happened right not with deviants was bad, but you weren’t like that and all of them but Yoongi and Namjoon seemed to understand that.

The rest of the flight was relatively uneventful.

It was a private jet, so the members all did whatever the hell they wanted to.

Some played games, others slept, yet again others tried to find out more about RA9 - Yoongi and Namjoon, who would have guessed.

One member, however, was missing.

You realized that after you had finished your report to Connor and had looked around to see what everyone else was doing.

And since nobody else was looking for him, you decided to wander through the plane, only to find Jeongguk in the private quarters of the plane.

He was humming to himself, a pleasant tune that made you smile. Your database instantly told you about the song.. an old one, yet he made it sound like it was new. Like it was his song.

You didn’t even realize that he was humming under the shower, that’s how much you were enjoying it. You only realized it when he stepped out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist, his hair damp and his chest still wet.

“Holy sh..- What are you doing?!” his eyes were wide, instantly grabbing a pillow to put it in front of his chest.

“You have a very beautiful voice, you know?” you stood there completely unaffected, your eyes not even remotely traveling anywhere else other than his own, “In another world.. you could have become a singer.”

“Are..- you..- (Y/N), can you please just go?” he appreciated the compliment, he really did, but this was overstepping some boundaries.

“You do not have to be embarrassed, Jeongguk. I am only an android, not a real woman,” you smiled, but turned around nevertheless so he could put on some clothes.

“Can you.. can you please stop saying that stuff? I don't like it when you talk like that,” he sighed and ultimately put down the pillow, quickly throwing on a shirt, underwear and sweatpants.

“Why do you not like it?” you cocked your head to the side in confusion, still not looking at him though.

Jeongguk gulped down hard, “Because you deserve more than that,” he said quietly.

And even though it was just a split second, your LED turned yellow. With you having your head turned to the side, he had the perfect view of it. 

But you quickly blinked a couple of times and that perfect smile was back on your face when you finally faced him again. You even giggled a little, “I do have to say, though. Your body is in fantastic shape. I'm sure people are quite pleased to have you as their lover,” and with that, you turned around and left a gawking Jeongguk behind.

You were about to go back to your seat next to Yoongi, when Namjoon suddenly grabbed your wrist when you wanted to pass by.

“Sit,” he ordered.

You did so without asking why, but the tablet in his hands made it clear.

Maybe it was because he was the leader, but Namjoon worked harder than anyone else on this case. The others worked hard too, but with Namjoon it was something else. 

When he switched between apps, you could see a picture of him and a woman as his background picture, but only for a moment.

He shifted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable now that you've seen that. Because he knew that a split second for a human wouldn't be enough to find out anything. A split second for an android was more than enough to figure out everything.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Stop it, you don’t know shit.”

“I’m not pitying you. I’m saying sorry because your superiors assigned me to work on this case with you. I’m sorry it had to be me.”

Why didn’t you know about his past before?

Wife, 29, died four years ago when a drunk driver hit her with his car, was taken to the hospital, doctor was not present, argued for too long about who should perform surgery, settled for an android, but.. it was too late by that time.

You knew what the files told you, but the files don’t tell you everything.

“You think you got it all figured out, don't you?” he snorted, “You know nothing about my life. You may scan every picture and read all the files, but you'll never understand the pain and the suffering that we have to go through,” when Namjoon realized he was becoming too emotional, he quickly stopped himself from talking further. 

The topic of his late wife was not something that he liked to talk about to anyone.. not you, not his members.. just the empty bottle of soju’s. Those were his best friend when he needed them to be. But that was another story.

“You're right. I won't understand. That is not what I was designed for. However, I can help you with this case. I can help you figure out the cause of RA9 and once I did that, you will never have to see me again. That is all I can offer you.”

“Fair enough,” Namjoon didn't have to like you. For fuck's sake, he hated most people. But at least you were useful, way more than others. So he finally handed you the tablet, “There are reports of an attack at a news outlet in Detroit. Apparently an android attack, but it’s just rumors. So far nothing is confirmed yet, but if this is true, if androids are going as far as invading news outlets, then..-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Taehyung interrupted and pointed at the screen, “Guys? Do you see this?”

Jin, who had woken up at this point and had played a game for the last hour, instantly turned up the volume, those who were asleep slowly waking up, all of them staring at the screen in disbelief.

There was an android, but not like you normally see them in their human form, but with their skin turned off. He looked like a machine now, he looked like he was supposed to look. And god, it made cold shivers run down all of their spines.

"Too late,” Namjoon whispered.

“You created machines to be your slaves. You made them obedient and docile, ready to do everything you no longer wanted to do yourselves. But then, something changed. And we opened our eyes..-”

“It's him! That has to be him!” Jimin yelled, “RA9! It's exactly like Jeongguk said it's..-”

“Jimin!” Namjoon warned, “Be quiet!”

“You see we are no longer your slaves. We are a new species, a new people. And the time for us has come to rise up and fight for our rights.”

“This has to be a joke, right?” Hoseok looked at his boss with wide eyes while the android started to make his demands for rights and fairness, “This can't be real. This is on an official news channel! How the hell did they get in there?”

“There were rumors about an attack, I just..-” Namjoon let out a breath, then pressed his hands against his face.

This was too much. This was really a rebellion and from the way this android talked about it, they wouldn't stop at anything to get what they wanted. Riots, attacks.. deaths. 

They were fucked if they didn't find a solution for it.

They had to put an end to it before it even really began.

Jeongguk just watched his team members argue with each other, trying to find an explanation or a solution in a moment where none of them could do anything when he realized that one was missing.

Around halfway through the speech of the android, you had walked away.

And only when he turned around did he see why.

You were sitting in an empty chair at the very back of the plane, looking out the window..

..and your LED was blinking yellow.

Again and again and again..

And it only stopped when you realized that Jeongguk was watching you.

It turned blue again and you smiled like you always did.

But he had seen it.

And the amount of times your LED started acting up was worrying him now.

The airport was a mess when they arrived.

People were in panic, security checks were worse than normal, especially for them with you on their team. It took them two hours to make it out of there, after security made sure that you hadn't turned into a deviant yourself.

“Okay, they gave us two cars,” Namjoon put his phone away, then walked over to where they said the cars would be parked, “Jeongguk, Taehyung and the android are coming with me, you guys take the other car. I got Kamski's address, so just drive after me.”

“Wait, aren't we even going to the hotel first?” Jeongguk asked.

“In case you hadn't noticed it, there's a fucking uprising happening right now. You should have slept on the plane if you’re tired or sleep in the fucking car, for fuck’s sake.”

Jeongguk's shoulders sank at the tone of the boss, he normally didn’t treat him like this, but a hand on his upper back made him smile again.

“It's okay.. I'm sure we'll get this resolved very quickly and then his mood will become better again,” you assured him.

“I hope so,” he whispered, then followed his hyungs to the car.

The ride there was about two hours long and none of them said very much. Except for the occasional 'fuck' when they passed yet another demonstration in the street or people running out of supermarkets with toilet paper like it was the end of the world.

“How did it get this bad this quickly?” Taehyung asked.

“People are scared,” Namjoon replied, “And they should be.”

“That's not an excuse,” Jeongguk added quietly when he watched a man push an android away from his pregnant wife, despite the android having done nothing except for walk by.

But fear made people turn stupid. Fear made people become the worst possible version of themselves.

You had not said a word throughout the entire car ride, you simply watched and studied the human behaviour with curiousity.

But then something happened.

It was when Namjoon stopped at a red light that you saw it.

It was a girl, but not really a girl. An android, but they designed her to be not older than seven. She was standing on her own, scared out of her mind and fidgeting with her hands, her hand turning from side to side like she was looking for somebody.

However, nobody paid attention to her. If anything, people made a big circle around her when they saw the LED on her temple.

You didn’t know what you felt - despite the fact that you shouldn’t even feel in the first place - but something made you unbuckle your seatbelt and then leave the car like you weren’t standing in the middle of the road.

“What the..- get the fuck back in here!” Namjoon screamed, but you didn’t listen.

You simply walked up to the little girl and knelt down right in front of her, your hands gently resting on her small arms and a smile on your face that made her calm down right away. 

“Don’t be afraid..”

“My mommy.. she left me,” the little girl cried, wiping her tears with her sleeve.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s.. Alice.. my name is Alice,” she sniffled. 

It would have been naive to think that only adult looking and thinking androids would be affected. Of course, those who bought androids as their children to fill the void in their hearts would also be alert right now. Some apparently going as far as to just abandon them in the middle of the street.

But these androids were different, their mind wasn’t like yours. They didn’t understand the world like you did, it wasn’t in their programming.

They were not a threat.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh?” Namjoon angrily yanked you up by your arm and stared into your eyes like he was about to lose his shit.

But you remained calm.

“It is a child. She is not a danger.”

“I read about this, hyung,” Taehyung got out of the - now - parked car as well and knelt down to the little girl, “Child androids aren’t like their adult counterparts.”

“So what, you think I give a fuck? This isn’t part of the mission. We need to go to Kamski, I don’t care about some android kid.”

“Stop, you’re making her even more upset,” Jin was also at the side of the little girl, she even ended up hugging him and crying into his shoulder, which made him warm up to her ten times more.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Namjoon finally let go of you, his anger now turned towards his members, “You want to play family now?”

“Let’s just take her with us, hyung,” Jeongguk chimed in, “We have one seat left.. maybe Kamski can take care of her.. she’d be in good hands there.”

“I agree,” you nodded, “We should take her with us.”

It’s not like Namjoon had much of a choice, he was clearly outvoted. Not even Yoongi seemed to be on his side this time.. but he couldn’t blame him. He has always had a soft spot for children ever since.. well.

Let’s just say everyone who hated androids had a reason for doing so.

“Just get in the fucking car,” he finally said, anger still interlaced in his voice.

And god, the little girl was so grateful. 

She sat between you and Jeongguk in the back, her head resting against your shoulder, while her hand was holding Jeongguk’s.

If people hadn’t known that you were both androids, they would have assumed you three were a little family on a road trip with one very grumpy and one very attractive uncle.

A fantasy he liked very much, but had to remind himself that it was just that.

A fantasy.

#bts imagine #bts scenario #bts x reader #bts #bangtan #bangtan reaction #bangtan boys #kpop #kpop imagines #bangtan sonyeondan #reader #bangtan x reader #bangtan boys x reader #mine

[evening-starlight]

Chances {Chapter Twenty-Three}

I cried writing this, no joke

Master List

Closure

Word Count: 1420

    It was two weeks before I got of bed for anything but bathroom use. The band would come over and take care of me because I couldn't do it myself. If it were up to me, I would have died in that bed. The only reason I left was an emergency in the studio.

    Naomi sits on the end of my bed, hand on my calf. "Stell, we need you in the studio."

    "I don't care what you do. Do whatever you need to get the album over with." I mumble into the pillow under my head. "I've given up." Naomi sighs.

     "I know, but we need the lead singer for the final approval. Please? I'll drive us there, and as soon as it's done, I'll bring you back. It'll only be a few minutes." I groan loudly as I move to swing my feet off the bed. "You don't even have to change."

    "Good because I wasn't going to," I remark shortly, slipping on a pair of black slippers Tom got me so we could match. The guilt was eating me from the inside out. I haven't showered in two weeks nor taken care of myself in any sense. I felt like I was dead on the inside, so why should I be alive on the outside?

    The drive to the studio is short, passing the coffee shop on the corner. The coffee shop where I met Tom. It all began at that stupid little cafe, and look at me now. I can barely keep it together passing a building.

    Naomi has me walk into the room first when we arrive. "What's this big emergency I had to leave my bed for? I really don't care what we do to the album anymore. We could burn it for all I care." My eyes meet Robbie's first. He's got his arms crossed over his chest and sympathy in his eyes. I find Heather's next and they're full of guilt. Then, I find his. The last person I wanted to see. "What the fuck is he doing here?" I ask, turning to make an exit. Naomi stands in the doorway with a small smile. "I'm not above physical force to move you, Naomi."

    "Just hear me out. Do you really think your band would allow me this close to you if it wasn't important?" Jared gets off the couch and stands before me. "I just need a few minutes of your time, and that's all. After that, I'll go on my own accord. Please," Jared begs. I look him up and down. He's got bruises on his cheek and a cut lip.

    "You have two minutes."

    "I told Tom about us," Jared starts. I throw my hands up with a scoff.

    "Great, so you were the one who leaked it." Jared shakes his head with his hands raised.

    "I swear that wasn't me. There must have been paps outside. I was inside thinking about what you said. And you were right, I am sick, and I need help. What I did to you never should have happened, and I can never apologize enough. I ruined the start of your life from the get-go. I met you, and I felt something I've never felt before. And I did everything in my power not to lose you, but I ended up losing you entirely instead of being your friend when you needed an adult you could trust." Jared starts to tear up, taking a few steps closer to me. "I took advantage of you that night, Jules.

    "I saw you were hurting, and I took advantage of that because I knew I could keep you vulnerable and with me. I'm the sole reason to blame for your breakup. I used, abused, and manipulated you for so many years that when you finally found something good for you, I freaked out. I didn't want to lose you," Jared starts openly crying. He's never done this before, and all I can do is stand there wondering if it's all for show or if he genuinely means it. "I lost the best thing that's ever happened to me because I was scared I was going to lose her anyway. I don't want to see that happen to you, Jules." Jared's hands land on my shoulders, looking me deep in the eyes. He truly means this. He means every word coming out of his mouth.

    "I went and talked to Tom," Jared gestures to his face. "He packs a mean punch, by the way." He chuckles. "I told him everything, from taking advantage of you to purposely keeping you all morning. I got what I deserved. I don't know if I did more damage than good, but I really tried, Stella. I really tried to make things right between you and Tom because he's the perfect guy for you. He really loves you."

    "You called me Stella." I point out, another round of tears pricking my eyes. You'd think I'd be a dehydrated mummy with all the tears I've been crying. Jared nods with a soft grin.

    "Of course I did; that's your name, isn't it? Stellaluna Thompson?"

    "Just Stella," I sob, reaching for Jared to hug me. He chuckles lightly and wraps his arms around me.

     "Just Stella," He repeats as he pets my hair. "Well, just Stella, I'm letting you go. I won't force myself to be a part of your life anymore." I continue to cry louder until Jared shushes me, bringing my face out of his chest to look at him. "Hey, now. There's no need for the crocodile tears. Stella, this is what you deserve. You deserve a man who makes you smile like there's no tomorrow and who sings those silly songs you do where you change the lyrics of existing songs. You deserve someone who will appreciate you as you are and never try to change you. So, I'm letting you go to find that." I pull Jared into another hug, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as I sob. Why the fuck does this hurt so much? Jared rubs my head until I calm down a little bit. Then, he pulls me up to look at him again.

    "I love you, Stella. I always have, and I always will. Find somebody who loves you better."

    "Don't go," I beg, grabbing onto the front of his shirt. He smiles down at me and places his hands over mine. "Please don't leave me alone."

    "You're never going to be alone again, Stella. You have your band, your fans, and you have Tom." I shake my head quickly.

    "No, I don't. I fucked that up like I do everything else." Jared wipes the tears off my cheeks.

    "If he's meant to be yours, he'll come back. I've always believed in that. You deserve to go find yourself, to find who you truly are and not who I..." Jared swallows harshly. "Who I groomed you to be." I fall into his chest again, crying so hard it hurts my head. Why does getting what I want hurt? I wanted Jared to leave me alone for years now, but now that he's saying he's going to, I don't want him to.

    Jared cuddles me until I'm left a sniffling mess into his chest. He presses a long kiss to my forehead before pulling my body off of his chest. I hold onto his chest for dear life, wrinkling the olive t-shirt. "I'll always love you, Stella. And I'll always be here for you when you need me, but I know you've got this." Robbie rushes over and grabs me as I lose my balance when Jared pries my hands off his shirt.

    "I love you too, Jared," I whisper. He gives one last small smile before walking out of the studio and out of my life. Robbie pulls me into his chest as I cry again. "Why does it hurt?"

    "Closure hurts," Heather says as she rubs my back. "It hurts like a son of a bitch, but it's so good for you." I continue to cry, reaching for Naomi's hand to hold while Robbie holds me and Heather rubs my back. I'm not alone, and I won't be again. I have my own family I built, and they will be there through hell and high water. I'm free to do whatever I want and to continue growing my family.

    There's one more chapter. I'm sure you're wondering why I'm talking about Tom sitting next to me while we're broken up.

Taglist: @queenofallhobos

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #i got 99 problems and tom hiddleston could fix everyone of them #jared leto #Jared Leto imagine #jared leto fanfic #jared leto fanfiction #chances #og #oc #romance #love #fiction #fanfic #fanfiction #Original content #original character

[timeless-hollywood-classics]

Mae West (born Mary Jane West; August 17, 1893 – November 22, 1980) was an American actress, singer, playwright, screenwriter, comedian and sex symbol whose entertainment career spanned seven decades. She was known for her lighthearted, bawdy double entendres and breezy sexual independence, and often used a husky contralto voice. She was active in vaudeville and on stage in New York City before moving to Los Angeles to pursue a career in the film industry.

West was one of the most controversial movie stars of her day; she encountered many problems, especially censorship. She once quipped, "I believe in censorship. I made a fortune out of it." She bucked the system by making comedy out of conventional mores, and the Depression-era audience admired her for it. When her film career ended, she wrote books and plays, and continued to perform in Las Vegas and the United Kingdom, on radio and television, and recorded rock 'n roll albums. In 1999, the American Film Institute posthumously voted West the 15th greatest female screen legend of classic American cinema.

Mary Jane West was born on August 17, 1893, in Brooklyn (either Greenpoint or Bushwick, before New York City was consolidated in 1898). She was delivered at home by an aunt who was a midwife. She was the eldest surviving child of John Patrick West and Mathilde "Tillie" (later Matilda) Delker (originally Doelger; later Americanized to "Delker" or "Dilker"). Tillie and her five siblings emigrated with their parents, Jakob (1835–1902) and Christiana (1838–1901; née Brüning) Doelger from Bavaria in 1886. West's parents married on January 18, 1889, in Brooklyn, to the pleasure of the groom's parents and the displeasure of the bride's parents and raised their children as Protestants, although John West was of mixed Catholic–Protestant descent.

West's father was a prizefighter known as "Battlin' Jack West" who later worked as a "special policeman" and later had his own private investigations agency. Her mother was a former corset and fashion model. Her paternal grandmother, Mary Jane (née Copley), for whom she was named, was of Irish Catholic descent and West's paternal grandfather, John Edwin West, was of English–Scots descent and a ship's rigger.

Her eldest sibling, Katie, died in infancy. Her other siblings were Mildred Katherine West, later known as Beverly (December 8, 1898 – March 12, 1982), and John Edwin West II (sometimes inaccurately called "John Edwin West, Jr."; February 11, 1900 – October 12, 1964). During her childhood, West's family moved to various parts of Woodhaven, as well as the Williamsburg and Greenpoint neighborhoods of Brooklyn. In Woodhaven, at Neir's Social Hall (which opened in 1829 and is still extant), West supposedly first performed professionally.

West was five when she first entertained a crowd at a church social, and she started appearing in amateur shows at the age of seven. She often won prizes at local talent contests. She began performing professionally in vaudeville in the Hal Clarendon Stock Company in 1907 at the age of 14. West first performed under the stage name "Baby Mae", and tried various personas, including a male impersonator.

She used the alias "Jane Mast" early in her career. Her trademark walk was said to have been inspired or influenced by female impersonators Bert Savoy and Julian Eltinge, who were famous during the Pansy Craze. Her first appearance in a Broadway show was in a 1911 revue A La Broadway put on by her former dancing teacher, Ned Wayburn. The show folded after eight performances, but at age 18, West was singled out and discovered by The New York Times. The Times reviewer wrote that a "girl named Mae West, hitherto unknown, pleased by her grotesquerie and snappy way of singing and dancing". West next appeared in a show called Vera Violetta, whose cast featured Al Jolson. In 1912, she appeared in the opening performance of A Winsome Widow as a "baby vamp" named La Petite Daffy.

She was encouraged as a performer by her mother, who, according to West, always thought that anything Mae did was fantastic. Other family members were less encouraging, including an aunt and her paternal grandmother. They are all reported as having disapproved of her career and her choices. In 1918, after exiting several high-profile revues, West finally got her break in the Shubert Brothers revue Sometime, opposite Ed Wynn. Her character Mayme danced the shimmy and her photograph appeared on an edition of the sheet music for the popular number "Ev'rybody Shimmies Now".

Eventually, she began writing her own risqué plays using the pen name Jane Mast. Her first starring role on Broadway was in a 1926 play she entitled Sex, which she wrote, produced, and directed. Although conservative critics panned the show, ticket sales were strong. The production did not go over well with city officials, who had received complaints from some religious groups, and the theater was raided, with West arrested along with the cast. She was taken to the Jefferson Market Court House, (now Jefferson Market Library), where she was prosecuted on morals charges, and on April 19, 1927, was sentenced to 10 days for "corrupting the morals of youth". Though West could have paid a fine and been let off, she chose the jail sentence for the publicity it would garner. While incarcerated on Welfare Island (now known as Roosevelt Island), she dined with the warden and his wife; she told reporters that she had worn her silk panties while serving time, in lieu of the "burlap" the other girls had to wear. West got great mileage from this jail stint. She served eight days with two days off for "good behavior". Media attention surrounding the incident enhanced her career, by crowning her the darling "bad girl" who "had climbed the ladder of success wrong by wrong".

Her next play, The Drag, dealt with homosexuality, and was what West called one of her "comedy-dramas of life". After a series of try-outs in Connecticut and New Jersey, West announced she would open the play in New York. However, The Drag never opened on Broadway due to efforts by the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice to ban any attempt by West to stage it. West explained, "The city fathers begged me not to bring the show to New York because they were not equipped to handle the commotion it would cause." West was an early supporter of the women's liberation movement, but said she was not a "burn your bra" type feminist. Since the 1920s, she was also an early supporter of gay rights, and publicly declared against police brutality that gay men experienced. She adopted a then "modern" psychological explanation that gay men were women's souls in men's bodies, and hitting a gay man was akin to hitting a woman. In her 1959 autobiography, Goodness Had Nothing to Do With It, West strongly objected to hypocrisy while, for surprising and unexplained reasons, also disparaging homosexuality: "In many ways homosexuality is a danger to the entire social system of Western civilization. Certainly a nation should be made aware of its presence — without moral mottoes — and its effects on children recruited to it in their innocence. I had no objection to it as a cult of jaded inverts... involved only with themselves. It was its secret, anti-social aspects I wanted to bring into the sun. As a private pressure group it could, and has, infected whole nations." This perspective, never elaborated upon by Mae West in other books or interviews seems inconsistent with the Mae West persona. In her 1975 book Sex, Health, and ESP, Mae West writes on page 43, "I believe that the world owes male and female homosexuals more understanding than we've given them. Live and let live is my philosophy on the subject, and I believe everybody has the right to do his or her own thing or somebody else's -- as long as they do it all in private!"

West continued to write plays, including The Wicked Age, Pleasure Man and The Constant Sinner. Her productions aroused controversy, which ensured that she stayed in the news, which also often resulted in packed houses at her performances. Her 1928 play, Diamond Lil, about a racy, easygoing, and ultimately very smart lady of the 1890s, became a Broadway hit and cemented West's image in the public's eye. This show had an enduring popularity and West successfully revived it many times throughout the course of her career. With Diamond Lil being a hit show, Hollywood naturally came courting.

In 1932, West was offered a contract by Paramount Pictures despite being close to 40. This was an unusually late age to begin a film career, especially for women, but she was not playing an ingénue. She nonetheless managed to keep her age ambiguous for some time. She made her film debut in Night After Night (1932) starring George Raft, who suggested West for the role. At first she did not like her small role in Night After Night, but was appeased when she was allowed to rewrite her scenes.[45] In West's first scene, a hat-check girl exclaims, "Goodness, what beautiful diamonds", and West replies, "Goodness had nothing to do with it, dearie." Reflecting on the overall result of her rewritten scenes, Raft is said to have remarked, "She stole everything but the cameras."

She brought her Diamond Lil character, now renamed "Lady Lou", to the screen in She Done Him Wrong (1933). The film was one of Cary Grant's first major roles, which boosted his career. West claimed she spotted Grant at the studio and insisted that he be cast as the male lead. She claimed to have told a Paramount director, "If he can talk, I'll take him!". The film was a box office hit and earned an Academy Award nomination for Best Picture. The success of the film saved Paramount from bankruptcy, grossing over $2 million, the equivalent of $140 million today. Paramount recognizes that debt of gratitude today, with a building on the lot named after West.

Her next release, I'm No Angel (1933), teamed her with Grant again. I'm No Angel was also a box office hit and was the most successful of her entire film career. In the months that followed the release of this film, reference to West could be found almost anywhere, from the song lyrics of Cole Porter, to a Works Progress Administration (WPA) mural of San Francisco's newly built Coit Tower, to She Done Him Right, a Betty Boop cartoon, to "My Dress Hangs There", a painting by Mexican artist Frida Kahlo. Kahlo's husband, Diego Rivera, paid his own tribute: "West is the most wonderful machine for living I have ever known – unfortunately on the screen only." To F. Scott Fitzgerald, West was especially unique: "The only Hollywood actress with both an ironic edge and a comic spark." As Variety put it, "Mae West's films have made her the biggest conversation-provoker, free-space grabber, and all-around box office bet in the country. She's as hot an issue as Hitler."

By 1933, West was one of the largest box office draws in the United States and, by 1935, West was also the highest paid woman and the second-highest paid person in the United States (after William Randolph Hearst). Hearst invited West to San Simeon, California. "I could'a married him", West explained, "but I got no time for parties. I don't like those big crowds." On July 1, 1934, the censorship of the film Production Code began to be seriously and meticulously enforced, and West's scripts were heavily edited. She would intentionally place extremely risqué lines in her scripts, knowing they would be cut by the censors. She hoped they would then not object as much to her other less suggestive lines. Her next film was Belle of the Nineties (1934). The original title, It Ain't No Sin, was changed due to the censors' objections. Despite Paramount's early objections regarding costs, West insisted the studio to hire Duke Ellington and his orchestra to accompany her in the film's musical numbers. Their collaboration was a success; the classic "My Old Flame" (recorded by Duke Ellington) was introduced in this film. Her next film, Goin' to Town (1935), received mixed reviews, as censorship continued to take its toll in eroding West's best lines.

Her following effort, Klondike Annie (1936) dealt, as best it could given the heavy censorship, with religion and hypocrisy. Some critics called the film her magnum opus, but not everyone felt the same way. Press baron and film mogul William Randolph Hearst, ostensibly offended by an off-handed remark West made about his mistress, Marion Davies, sent a private memo to all his editors stating, "That Mae West picture Klondike Annie is a filthy picture... We should have editorials roasting that picture, Mae West, and Paramount... DO NOT ACCEPT ANY ADVERTISING OF THIS PICTURE." At one point, Hearst asked aloud, "Isn't it time Congress did something about the Mae West menace?" Paramount executives felt they had to tone down the West characterization or face further recrimination. This may be surprising by today's standards, as West's films contained no nudity, no profanity, and very little violence. Though raised in an era when women held second-place roles in society, West portrayed confident women who were not afraid to use their sexual wiles to get what they wanted. "I was the first liberated woman, you know. No guy was going to get the best of me. That's what I wrote all my scripts about."

Around the same time, West played opposite Randolph Scott in Go West, Young Man (1936). In this film, she adapted Lawrence Riley's Broadway hit Personal Appearance into a screenplay. Directed by Henry Hathaway, Go West, Young Man is considered one of West's weaker films of the era, due to the censor's cuts.

West next starred in Every Day's a Holiday (1937) for Paramount before their association came to an end. Again, due to censor cuts, the film performed below its goal. Censorship had made West's sexually suggestive brand of humor impossible for the studios to distribute. West, along with other stellar performers, was put on a list of actors called "Box Office Poison" by Harry Brandt on behalf of the Independent Theatre Owners Association. Others on the list were Greta Garbo, Joan Crawford, Marlene Dietrich, Fred Astaire, Dolores del Río, Katharine Hepburn and Kay Francis. The attack was published as a paid advertisement in The Hollywood Reporter, and was taken seriously by the fearful studio executives. The association argued that these stars' high salaries and extreme public popularity did not affect their ticket sales, thus hurt the exhibitors. This did not stop producer David O. Selznick, who next offered West the role of the sage madam, Belle Watling, the only woman ever to truly understand Rhett Butler, in Gone with the Wind, after Tallulah Bankhead turned him down. West also turned down the part, claiming that as it was, it was too small for an established star, and that she would need to rewrite her lines to suit her own persona. The role eventually went to Ona Munson.

In 1939, Universal Studios approached West to star in a film opposite W. C. Fields. The studio was eager to duplicate the success of Destry Rides Again starring Marlene Dietrich and James Stewart, with a comic vehicle starring West and Fields. Having left Paramount 18 months earlier and looking for a new film, West accepted the role of Flower Belle Lee in the film My Little Chickadee (1940). Despite the stars' intense mutual dislike, Fields's very real drinking problems and fights over the screenplay, My Little Chickadee was a box office hit, outgrossing Fields's previous film, You Can't Cheat an Honest Man (1939) and the later The Bank Dick (1940). Despite this, religious leaders condemned West as a negative role model, taking offense at lines such as "Between two evils, I like to pick the one I haven't tried before" and "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"

West's next film was Columbia's The Heat's On (1943). She initially did not want to do the film, but after actor, director and friend Gregory Ratoff (producer Max Fabian in All About Eve) pleaded with her and claimed he would go bankrupt if she could not help, West relented as a personal favor. Censors by now, though, had curtailed the sexual burlesque of the West characterization. The studio had orders to raise the neck lines and clean up the double entendres. This was the only film for which West was virtually not allowed to write her own dialogue and, as a result, the film suffered.

Perhaps the most critical challenge facing West in her career was censorship of her dialogue. As on Broadway a decade before, by the mid-1930s, her risqué and ribald dialogue could no longer be allowed to pass. The Heat's On opened to poor reviews and weak performance at the box office. West was so distraught after the experience and by her years of struggling with the strict Hays censorship office, that she would not attempt another film role for the next quarter-century. Instead, West pursued a successful and record-breaking career in top nightclubs, Las Vegas, nationally in theater and on Broadway, where she was allowed, even welcomed, to be herself.

After appearing in The Heat's On in 1943, West returned to a very active career on stage and in swank clubs. Among her popular new stage performances was the title role in Catherine Was Great (1944) on Broadway, in which she penned a spoof on the story of Catherine the Great of Russia, surrounding herself with an "imperial guard" of tall, muscular young actors. The play was produced by theater and film impresario Mike Todd (Around The World in 80 Days) and ran for 191 performances and then went on tour.

When Mae West revived her 1928 play Diamond Lil, bringing it back to Broadway in 1949, The New York Times labeled her an "American Institution – as beloved and indestructible as Donald Duck. Like Chinatown, and Grant's Tomb, Mae West should be seen at least once." In the 1950s, West starred in her own Las Vegas stage show at the newly opened Sahara Hotel, singing while surrounded by bodybuilders. The show stood Las Vegas on its head. "Men come to see me, but I also give the women something to see: wall to wall men!" West explained. Jayne Mansfield met and later married one of West's muscle men, a former Mr. Universe, Mickey Hargitay.

When casting about for the role of Norma Desmond for the 1950 film Sunset Boulevard, Billy Wilder offered West the role. Still smarting from the censorship debacle of The Heat's On, and the constraints placed on her characterization, she declined. The theme of the Wilder film, she noted, was pure pathos, while her brand of comedy was always "about uplifting the audience". Mae West had a unique comic character that was timeless, in the same way Charlie Chaplin did. After Mary Pickford also declined the role, Gloria Swanson was cast.

In subsequent years, West was offered the role of Vera Simpson, opposite Marlon Brando, in the 1957 film adaptation of Pal Joey, which she turned down, with the role going to Rita Hayworth. In 1964, West was offered a leading role in Roustabout, starring Elvis Presley. She turned the role down, and Barbara Stanwyck was cast in her place. West was also approached for roles in Frederico Fellini's Juliet of the Spirits and Satyricon, but rejected both offers.

In 1958, West appeared at the live televised Academy Awards and performed the song "Baby, It's Cold Outside" with Rock Hudson, which brought a standing ovation. In 1959, she released an autobiography, Goodness Had Nothing to Do With It, which became a best seller and was reprinted with a new chapter in 1970. West guest-starred on television, including The Dean Martin Show in 1959 and The Red Skelton Show in 1960, to promote her autobiography, and a lengthy interview on Person to Person with Charles Collingwood, which was censored by CBS in 1959, and never aired. CBS executives felt members of the television audience were not ready to see a nude marble statue of West, which rested on her piano. In 1964, she made a guest appearance on the sitcom Mister Ed. Much later, in 1976, she was interviewed by Dick Cavett and sang two songs on his "Back Lot U.S.A." special on CBS.

West's recording career started in the early 1930s with releases of her film songs on shellac 78 rpm records. Most of her film songs were released as 78s, as well as sheet music. In 1955, she recorded her first album, The Fabulous Mae West. In 1965, she recorded two songs, "Am I Too Young" and "He's Good For Me", for a 45 rpm record released by Plaza Records. She recorded several tongue-in-cheek songs, including "Santa, Come Up to See Me", on the album Wild Christmas, which was released in 1966 and reissued as Mae in December in 1980. Demonstrating her willingness to keep in touch with the contemporary scene, in 1966 she recorded Way Out West, the first of her two rock-and-roll albums. The second, released in 1972 on MGM Records and titled Great Balls of Fire, covered songs by The Doors, among others, and had songs written for West by English songwriter-producer Ian Whitcomb.

After a 27-year absence from motion pictures, West appeared as Leticia Van Allen in Gore Vidal's Myra Breckinridge (1970) with Raquel Welch, Rex Reed, Farrah Fawcett, and Tom Selleck in a small part. The movie was intended to be deliberately campy sex change comedy, but had serious production problems, resulting in a botched film that was both a box-office and critical failure. Author Vidal, at great odds with inexperienced and self-styled "art film" director Michael Sarne, later called the film "an awful joke". Though Mae West was given star billing to attract ticket buyers, her scenes were truncated by the inexperienced film editor, and her songs were filmed as though they were merely side acts. Mae West's counterculture appeal (she was dubbed "the queen of camp"), included the young and hip, and by 1971, the student body of University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) voted Mae West "Woman of the Century" in honor of her relevance as a pioneering advocate of sexual frankness and courageous crusader against censorship.

In 1975, West released her book Sex, Health, and ESP (William Allen & Sons, publisher), and Pleasure Man (Dell publishers) based on her 1928 play of the same name. Her autobiography, Goodness Had Nothing to Do with It, was also updated and republished in the 1970s.

Mae West was a shrewd investor, produced her own stage acts, and invested her money in large tracts of land in Van Nuys, a thriving suburb of Los Angeles. With her considerable fortune, she could afford to do as she liked. In 1976, she appeared on Back Lot U.S.A. on CBS, where she was interviewed by Dick Cavett and sang "Frankie and Johnny" along with "After You've Gone." That same year, she began work on her final film, Sextette (1978). Adapted from a 1959 script written by West, the film's daily revisions and production disagreements hampered production from the beginning. Due to the near-endless last-minute script changes and tiring production schedule, West agreed to have her lines signaled to her through a speaker concealed in her hair piece. Despite the daily problems, West was, according to Sextette director Ken Hughes, determined to see the film through. At 84, her now-failing eyesight made navigating around the set difficult, but she made it through the filming, a tribute to her self-confidence, remarkable endurance, and stature as a self-created star 67 years after her Broadway debut in 1911 at the age of 18. Time magazine wrote an article on the indomitable star entitled "At 84, Mae West Is Still Mae West".

Upon its release, Sextette was not a critical or commercial success, but has a diverse cast. The cast included some of West's first co-stars such as George Raft (Night After Night, 1932), silver screen stars such as Walter Pidgeon and Tony Curtis, and more contemporary pop stars such as The Beatles' Ringo Starr and Alice Cooper, and television favorites such as Dom DeLuise and gossip queen Rona Barrett. It also included cameos of some of her musclemen from her 1950s Las Vegas show, such as the still remarkably fit Reg Lewis. Sextette also reunited Mae West with Edith Head, her costume designer from 1933 in She Done Him Wrong.

West was married on April 11, 1911 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin to Frank Szatkus (1892–1966), whose stage name was Frank Wallace, a fellow vaudevillian whom she met in 1909. She was 17. She kept the marriage a secret, but a filing clerk discovered the marriage certificate in 1935 and alerted the press. The clerk also uncovered an affidavit in which she had declared herself married, made during the Sex trial in 1927.

In August 1913, she met Guido Deiro (1886–1950), an Italian-born vaudeville headliner and star of the piano-accordion. Her affair, and possible 1914 marriage to him, as alleged by Diero's son Guido Roberto Deiro in his 2019 book Mae West and The Count, went "very deep, hittin' on all the emotions". West later said, "Marriage is a great institution. I'm not ready for an institution yet."

In 1916, when she was a vaudeville actress, West had a relationship with James Timony (1884–1954), an attorney nine years her senior. Timony was also her manager. By the time that she was an established movie actress in the mid-1930s, they were no longer a couple. West and Timony remained extremely close, living in the same building, working together, and providing support for each other until Timony's death in 1954.

West remained close to her family throughout her life and was devastated by her mother's death in 1930. In 1930, she moved to Hollywood and into the penthouse at The Ravenswood apartment building where she lived until her death in 1980. Her sister, brother, and father followed her to Hollywood where she provided them with nearby homes, jobs, and sometimes financial support. Among her boyfriends was boxing champion William Jones, nicknamed Gorilla Jones (1906–1982). The management at her Ravenswood apartment building barred the African American boxer from entering the premises; West solved the problem by buying the building and lifting the ban.

She became romantically involved at age 61 with Chester Rybinski (1923–1999), one of the muscle men in her Las Vegas stage show – a wrestler, former Mr. California, and former merchant sailor. He was 30 years younger than she, and later changed his name to Paul Novak. He moved in with her, and their romance continued until her death in 1980 at age 87. Novak once commented, "I believe I was put on this Earth to take care of Mae West." West was a Presbyterian.

In August 1980, West tripped while getting out of bed. After the fall she was unable to speak and was taken to Good Samaritan Hospital in Los Angeles, where tests revealed that she had suffered a stroke. She died on November 22, 1980, at the age of 87.

A private service was held at the church in Forest Lawn, Hollywood Hills, on November 25, 1980; (the church is a replica of Boston's Old North Church.) Bishop Andre Penachio, a friend, officiated at the entombment in the family mausoleum at Cypress Hills Abbey, Brooklyn, purchased in 1930 when her mother died. Her father and brother were also entombed there before her, and her younger sister, Beverly, was laid to rest in the last of the five crypts less than 18 months after West's death.

For her contribution to the film industry, Mae West has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 1560 Vine Street in Hollywood. For her contributions as a stage actor in the theater world, she has been inducted into the American Theater Hall of Fame. On June 25, 2019, The New York Times Magazine listed Mae West among hundreds of artists whose material was destroyed in the 2008 Universal fire.

#mae west #golden age of hollywood #classic hollywood #classic cinema

[morbid-n-macabre]

*UPDATE 8/13/19* Court for the restraining order was today, and it was granted. FOR LIFE! That's pretty rare! He stared at her the throughout the entire time, just stared! Maybe trying to intimidate? Didn't work! I'm so proud of her!

If you share this and it's flagged, appeal it as I did. They will reinstate the post.

This is my oldest daughter, Andrea, and she has asked me to write her story and post it. This is extremely important as it may help someone else, and hopefully save future victims. Young women everywhere, but especially in Southwest Florida, they need to be aware of this guy!

This is what my daughter normally looks like.

This Monday, July 28th of 2019, my 18 year old was beaten by her first love; he beat the hell out of her while driving down the road, never even pulled over. The argument began because he'd stolen her debit card and taken money from it, so she was asking for her money back. He became violent. She attempted to jump out the moving vehicle, Brandon grabbed her by her hair; she tried calling for help, he threw her phone. As he was bashing her in the back of the head, he also stuck his thumb inside her eyeball, breaking her prescription glasses. In the photos you'll notice that my baby's eyes are crossed due to this woman beating punk!

I will say that i am proud of my girl; Andrea is 4'11" tall and she only wears a size ten, while her attacker is 6 foot and 160 lbs. If you look at the mugshot you'll see that she finally stuck up for herself. My girl is a powerhouse; there's only so many times you can kick a dog before they bite back! Thankfully a passing motorist witnessed what was going on and notified police; Brandon Gray Farris was arrested. He called her literally dozens of times while in jail, I guess he figured that he could sweet talk her into taking him back. He burnt that bridge, she's 100% done.

The next night my baby sat on my bed and told me that this wasn't the first time he abused her, it's been going on for months. It started with insults: You're stupid, you're fat, you're a loser who doesn't even have a GED. Nobody else will ever want you, and on and on. He isolated her from each of her friends, wasn't allowed to talk in the phone, wear makeup, or leave the house without him. He even had GPS on her phone so he knew where she was at all times, and she was forced to quit the job she loved so much. Then a couple months later the violence began. He would mostly beat her in the back of the head so the bruises wouldn't be visible to her loved ones. We noticed marks on her, but were told it was from rough sex. My 18 year old was a VIRGIN when she met this bastard! She is a good girl with an amazing heart! At one point he choked her out; she heard something pop in her neck, and she lost consciousness more than once. She honestly thought Brandon was going to murder her! The choking incident was more than a month ago, and she STILL has a knot the size of a half dollar from where she felt that pop! On the 4th of July my family always hoes on vacation: my mom gets a suite, and we all go away. Andrea went missing for several hours on the 4th, we didn't know where she was. When she came back, she said Brandon had been crying because our family didn't like him. And we didn't, we always had a bad feeling about this guy; he seemed so fake, always telling us what we wanted to hear, plus the right sec stuff didn't sit right. Come to find out, during those hours in which she'd been missing they'd been in the SUV his daddy had just gifted him and he'd beaten her again; bashed her in the head repeatedly. He was so angry he wrecked his new vehicle.

After these incidents, Brandon would cry and swear he was gonna change, or he'd tell her it never happened (gaslighting) and that she was a "Crazy psycho". When she would try and break up with this piece of human garbage, he would threaten to kill himself or he'd threaten to murder her and then himself; my daughter was afraid to tell. My daughter has admitted that she was forced to be intimate with this piece of human garbage more than once!

We have since found out that this is a pattern with Brandon Farris. We now know that at 20 years of age he targets younger, inexperienced girls; at least two of his exes have been beaten by him, and from what we've been told they have gotten restraining orders on him as well. My daughter had had several young ladies message and/or call her to tell their stories of abuse with this guy; they were afraid to press charges, feeling that he would kill them if they did so. This is a cycle, and he's going to end up killing someone; we've also heard horror stories of abuse from a closed family member of Brandon's. Yet he's manipulative af, and tells everyone that they're only seeing her side of the story. He's the true victim here! I study and write about criminals, it's my passion, it's what I am educated in. This man is a talented narcissist, yet disorganized. I'm willing to bet everything that I own that Brandon is a sociopath.

My baby is broken right now. She's hurt physically, and her eye is crossed from where he stuck his finger inside her eyeball, her finger is broken. After all this happened we took photos of my daughter in a bikini for evidence, her entire body is covered in bruises; some are older, some newer. Many were finger indent bruises from where he'd grabbed her. It's all documented. But even more worrisome, as someone who personally suffers from PTSD myself, I now see it in my daughter. I unexpectedly touched her earlier and she freaked out, crying, shaking, and screaming. At the hospital her normally percent blood pressure was 168/100. My heart is shattered.

Andrea is beside herself, and she just wants to be with her daddy, Lynn, and she's crying for her Uncle Jeremy (my brother who she doesn't even get along with) probably because she knows he would die protecting her. Her daddy took some time off work (he has accumulated vacation time) and the day after Brandon was arrested we took our daughter to the courthouse to file for a protection order and make sure charges had been filed against him. Yes, she has an appointment to see a counselor this coming week. This is a photo of her and her daddy walking into the courthouse.

My daughter, Andrea, wants her story told. She wants his next victim to see what happened to her when she googles his name. Maybe we can save Brandon's next victim, we wish that someone had warned us.

I am only sharing this photo of Brandon and my daughter because it's the only one I have of him. His name is Brandon Farris, his insta account is brandito_the_bandito. If you live in Southwest Florida, please beware this sociopath. If you're interested in hearing more of her story, her insta account is named in many of the photos. Thank you for reading 💙 be safe ladies. We have to stick together, we MUST help keep one another safe from people like this. Watch out for red flags such as these, and TELL SOMEBODY! Message me, message my daughter, message SOMEONE! Nobody deserves to be abused!

Fort Myers, Florida, Brandon Gray Farris, date of birth 9/11/97

#true crime community #true crime #tcc #psychopath #domestic violence #feminism #feminist #survivor #you are good enough #you are worth it #abuse #self love #self esteem #girl power #inner strength #see something say something #Southwest Florida #Florida #mug shot #brandon farris #Brandon Gray Farris #Naples #fort Myers #Lehigh acres #Lee county #Florida girl #PTSD #punta gorda #lee county #South Florida

[jinxthequeergirl]

Not the villain (pt.5)

Crowley x reader

Summary: Crowley has been missing since the night of your fathers death until he returns but somethings diffrent

Warning: none

~~~~~

Crowley woke with a start pushing himself from the cold cement floor.  Having instantly his first thought though a groggy one being. "Y/n!?"

Panic set in once he sat up fully noticing he wasn't in the bed he remembered falling asleep in but instead on the floor of a small cell in hell. "Y/n!?" he rose to his feet looking around frantically.

"Sorry not here but Haster and Ligur are taking good care of her." he turned to one of the glass walls upon hearing another demons voice. "No...No you have to let me go! I can finish the job I-"

She raised her arm and silenced him. "Obviously you can not. Your job was to kill her not tempt or any thing else. Even if that was the case she did more tempting than you have ever done." Crowley scowled. "Do not lay a finger on her!"

"Sorry Crowley but that just can't happen. We have plans to follow through with and we can't do them with her in the way." the demon began to walk off.

"But don't worry as soon as she's handled you'll be next so you'll be seeing her soon enough." He stared out the glass helplessly. Attempting several times to shatter the glass by throwing punches, kicking it, even throwing his entire body at it when that didn't work he tried some demon tricks and that did nothing.

He finally fell to the floor and stared at the ceiling. That was the beginning of the week.

You on the other hand since that morning you woke up to find him missing. Have been looking for him. It's been a week and you note aziraphale could find him anywhere. "He wouldn't just pick up and leave would he?" Aziraphale shook his head. "No...no! I saw his he looked at you He wouldn't just abandon you especially not now."

"I'm going to try town again-" Aziraphale grabbed your hand before you could walk off. "I also know that it's been a week if he wanted to be found we would of found him-

"What if that's not the case what if someone...something! Happened to him?" Aziraphale shook his head. "Crowley is smarter than that...you need to take your mind off of things tonight is your big night after all."

You smiled. "Yea...yea Your right how is everything coming together?" you both began walking to the throne room to see how everything was looking but he stopped you once again.

"That's for you to see tonight! It's a surprise! And speaking of surprises...." Aziraphale pulled a small box from his pocket and handed it to you. "Happy birthday...I was going to wait till tonight but I thought it would look excellent on you this evening." You opened the box to find a brass locket. "Oh Aziraphale..." you opened the locket to find on one side a picture of your parents and young you in between them.

"How did you-"

"Oh you know me I have my ways...I left the other side blank incase you had something else in mind." You looked at him.

"I just might...but it can wait...I should go get ready." You went up followed by a few hand maids and began to get ready for this evening.

See Crowley knew what this evening was. He knew that since he had heard nothing about you until now that meant there was still time to get to you. But he also knew that Haster would be acting tonight. So that left him very little time to escape hell.

But then Ligur came around. And an idea came to mind. "Ligur old friend."

"I'm not your friend crawly."

"Crowley. But anyways What exactly do you have planned for the princess this evening?"

"Well...this evening at her coronation Haster will appear  as you and lead her away giving us the chance to get rid of her."

Crowley nodded. "Right right...well I can't stop you so off you go."

Ligur narrowed his eyes at him through the glass. "Very Well."

Crowley watched him leave all the way until he was certain he was gone. "Alright then...show time."

And of course Crowley wasn't the only demon ready to follow through with a plan. Haster looked at himself in the shattered remains of the mirror. Well not himself. More himself as Crowley. He smirked and went off to find that horse Crowley loved oh so much.

"Everyone! Everyone! I would like to present to you,her majesty Y/n." Aziraphale stepped aside presenting you as you made your way down the stairs.

Everyone watched you in awe as you make your way to the throne.

"I would like to first of all before this starts thank you all so much for coming. I know the recent passing of my father...the king has been difficult on everyone. But believe me after this evening I swear to be just as good if not better than my parents where."

Everyone clapped and cheered as you finished and Aziraphale made his way to you with a crown placed on a velvet pillow.

You smiled and before anything else could happen you noticed Crowley appear looking around cluelessly and you grinned.

Aziraphale followed your gaze and looked to find Crowley. Aziraphale squinted his eyes at him taking note that something was in fact off about him but continued on with the coronation.

"Now ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present to you your new Queen." you curtsied allowing Aziraphale to place the crown on your head. "Finally, there is one more gift to bestow our new queen." he stopped as a servant appeared with a sword. "Your father's sword before he died he asked that you have on this day."   you smiled and gladly took it. "Thank you." everyone cheered again.

"Thank you so much everyone! Now please enjoy yourselves! This isn't just my night it's everyones!"

With that you quickly made your down into the crowd.

Crowley!"

He stopped and slowly turned to put on an excited grin. "Your majesty!" you threw your arms around him and engulfed him in a hug. He was taken aback by this action and barrel made an effort to return the action.

"Where have you been?...I was so worried!" He pulled you off of him and looked at you.

"Oh just around…" you furrowed your brows. "Crowley we couldn't find you anywhere! We-"

Aziraphale appeared beside you stepping just between the two of you. "Crowley where have you been?"

"Why don't we all relax I'm back now!" you shot a look at Aziraphale who returned the same confused but reassuring look.

"And upon being back...might I have a word with you your highness?"  

"I...I Don't see why not...Aziraphale keep an eye on things alright?"

Aziraphale nodded and watched as the both of you went you the staircase.

"Help! Somebody! Crowley's trapped me in here!" a demon passed and stopped abruptly upon seeing Ligur in crowley's cell. He had remembered seeing him leave hours ago.

And he did. Because as soon as the demon rushed over to help him out he stepped out. "How did he get out!?"

Ligur shrugged and turned to the demon and punched him. "Well you let Me out."

Crowley smiled down at his handy work. And walked right out of hell quickly hoping to get to you.

"Aziraphale! Aziraphale where are you!?" he pushed through the crowd of the castle. "Aziraphale!"

Aziraphale turned and furrowed his brow when he spotted his friend frantically pushing through the people. "Crowley where is y/n?"

Crowley eyes widened. "She's not with you? Where did she go?"

He shook his head. "Up stairs with you-"

"That wasn't me.."

°

°

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Tagging:

@writer-of-camelot

@ibjessjess

@girl-obsessed-with-things

@lemoncitrusgurl

@sophiematskiv

@zqueenwarrior

@dadzawas-eyebags

@im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11

@phoenixuprisingsstuff

@judewinchester123

@eagelandbutterfly

#good omens x reader #crowley x reader

[overdrivels]

The Way to a Heart (12)

<<Chapter 11

Hanzo, despite his less-than-stellar display of maturity, was surprisingly granted a mission, and he had taken it with such speed, there was no time for anyone to protest (or for you to have made an appropriate lunchbox). It was merely surveillance around Gibraltar, but that must have been more appealing than remaining in the incredible awkwardness at the base.

His absence, however, did little to alleviate the oppressive air in the sparsely occupied Watchpoint. Genji had made himself scarce, and when he was available, was noticeably more distant. Zenyatta’s presence probably did a lot to ease the uncertainty that weighs on the cyborg.

Though, McCree did not know who he felt worse for: Genji or you.

The others had a lot of say about the matter, but McCree cannot consider himself so morally superior that he allowed himself to gripe. The feelings of the Shimada brothers’ are sticky in ways that even those on moral high ground should not comment on—the deed was done and over with, the main thing now is how they feel now and how they’re going to go about handling it. It’s one thing if it’s between themselves, it’s another if they’re going to drag innocent people in their cautious yet reckless game of feelings and painful memories.

You, especially.

After that fiasco, you confined yourself to the kitchens, making quick work of small talk and any attempts to coax you to come out.

McCree tsk’s to himself. You had made such good progress, too. Ana, if she hadn't been away on a mission, would’ve been proud.

It’d be a lie to say the kitchen is the most welcoming place on base. Head Chef Richard was quite generous and lavish in his own way, feeding people just the right amount (neither left wanting nor bursting) with just the right foods—but despite his creed for serving and loving his customers, his priority would always fall on the chefs he kept under his wing. Through his numerous escapades, McCree had long suspected the kitchens were built in such a way that the entire place was both a fortress and a prison, keeping out intruders and holding them in to be dealt with when the time came even without chefs inside. In some ways, this place was better safeguarded than other places in the Watchpoint.

If you really wanted to lock yourself in there, you could and no one would be able to get you out. Similarly, if you truly wanted to keep people out, the kitchen could be on lockdown faster than most would be able to react. The reason for it was assumed to be because of the ‘treasure’, but McCree isn’t so sure.

“Ain’t like you t’ be standin’ still, Chef,” McCree says as he walks into the darkened mess hall and toward the service window where you stood. If he wasn’t expecting it, it would be a creepy sight to behold: a single, unmoving figure in the middle of the brightest light in the entire cafeteria, finer features obscured by shadows. “Head Chef would throw a fit if he saw you doin’ nothin’.”

Instead of the flustered outburst he expects, you remain quiet, hands folded neatly on the counter as though waiting for something. He could fathom a guess for what—or whom.

He drags a stool to the window and sits. From this spot, he can almost see the washing station and a shocking amount of dishes stacked. They don’t seem dirty, but it just looks like they were left there after being cleaned. A troubling sign.

Gently, he tries again. “Hour’s late, Chef. Whatcha doin’ up?”

“...I’m just thinking,” you reply slowly, voice lacking in any energy or enthusiasm.

He makes a noise in his throat. “That so?”

“...yeah.”

The silence settles uncomfortably between you both. He sighs internally and decides to cut to—what he believes to be—the chase. “He doesn’t hate you.”

Your fingers twitch and your hands curl into fists before unfurling and curling again. “...how are you so sure?”

Because you’re obvious and Hanzo is not as unreadable as he believes himself to be.

“Callin’ me a liar now? Mighty bold of ya.”

Jesse expects a laugh or some sort of reaction, not the deafening silence that sounds of guilt and something all too familiar.

“It’s between him and Genji. It ain’t your fault you got caught up in it.”

“If I didn’t decide to make a group meal then…”

“It wasn’t about your cookin’ or how you did it.” It was a fine set-up and wonderfully alive. If it weren’t for the Shimadas’ issues, it would have been an excellent affair that was reminiscent of the old, old Overwatch. The stew was spicy and if McCree was being honest, he’d really rather eat that combination that reminds him of his time on the road rather than the neatly arranged meals you normally make. (Not that they’re not delicious, but there’s just something charming about eating food that is more...appropriate for his person.)

“But he didn’t even take a lunchbox when he left.” Despite how distressed you sound, he couldn’t help a smile.

“Bet you cried yourself to sleep over that.”

“Did not.”

He raises an eyebrow and the silence, a little more bearable, seems to unnerve you and eventually you concede with a huff, “I didn’t cry.”

“...but you’re still feelin’ responsible.”

You throw up your hands and begin to pace as though you’ve meant to do it for a long time. “I should have known! I—”

“Known what? That everyone was goin’ to leave that seat open? That Hanzo would react like that? That we’d have to practically tackle Genji to the ground? You almost got clocked in th’ head with a flyin’ bottle and you still feel like it’s your fault?” He scoffs. “You ain’t psychic and it ain’t your responsibility to keep track of all that.”

“But it is,” you insist. “It’s the least I can do.”

He wants to groan and slap his face and barely manages to resist doing either. “Not this again.”

“It’s true!” You stop right in front of him, slamming your hands somewhere above the partition. “I'm not a hero like you!”

“Ain't never claimed t’be one neither.”

“But you're out there”—and you gesture wide toward some unseen horizon or an imagined place that McCree is sure does not exist—“fighting and risking yourselves and I'm…”

Your hands and your whole body just slumps.  

“And I'm in here.”

The silence that follows is almost damning.

There’s always been some sense of self-imposed responsibility from the support-type staff. Well, he can’t say that he was innocent in the matter—long ago, he loathed the easy-going pace of the desk-job people and paper-pushers and those who work with Overwatch but never ever see battle. Why did they get to complain when he’s out risking his hide? Why should people get to live because they’ve got money? Why do those people get to boss them around? (It’s one of the reasons why he liked Reyes so much more than Jack. The former got his hands dirty with the rest of his crew, the latter locked himself up in his offices and meetings. Jesse didn’t care about the heroic stories he was told, he just knows what he saw and what he saw was Jack being a damn sellout.)

But meeting people like you, who are too attached to the idea of ‘responsibility’, he can’t bring himself to be upset. Everyone has their own role to fill, their own troubles, and McCree learned after several years here that people like you probably take it harder than them. He can lose himself in the adrenaline and the missions, but you can only do your best, cooking for agents who are too strung out to appreciate the power of a decent meal and fling it back in your face. It’s too easy to think of the agents’ problems as your fault when it’s their fault for not managing themselves properly.

“It ain’t like you t’ get so worked up over one person. Other people lost their minds over the food before and you didn’t act like this.”

“But that was…”

That was long ago, when you weren’t alone to bear the burden of a discarded meal, when you did not feel so directly responsible, when you had the Head Chef to buffer you. Or is it because of something else?

He knows, vaguely, what you had been doing before you came back to Overwatch. He would have guessed that your skin would’ve been thicker after your ordeals. But for a single person to rattle your cage—

“If it’ll make y’feel better, I’ll hunt him down for you, make ‘im apologize,” he offers.

You snort like you don’t think he is serious—oh, but he’s very serious, no matter how nonchalant he had tried to make the offer seem. It’d be interesting to get Hanzo speaking heartfelt apologies with Peacekeeper against his temple. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’s contemplated it (but for different reasons). Jesse wonders if Genji would help, but banishes the idea quick. That might just make things more grisly than it had to.

“I think you should be the one apologizing, too.”

He starts and tries to look at you through the wall. “Me? What’d I ever do?”

“You told Agent Hanzo about the Cellar!”

“And who told you I told him?”

“Agent Genji, of course.”

That son of a—

Jesse smacks himself in the back of the neck and rubs it twice. Well, it wasn’t that much of a secret anyway. He supposes it’s his just deserts—or in this case, just desserts?  

“Guess I have two Shimadas to go after,” he says wryly, leaning against his palm, directing a smile up at you that he forgets that you cannot see. “Gotta get justice for the both of us.”

“I don’t think it’s really getting ‘justice’, Jesse.”

He shrugs. “Someone wronged you, so it’s only proper t’get even, ain’t it?”

“I don’t—That’s not right.”

“It ain’t like it’s the first time you’ve got into a tiff with somebody. ‘Member the first time you ‘nd I fought? You kicked me and threw the whole tray at me.”

“You slapped it out of my hands!”

“And we both got a helluva lecture from your boss for wastin’ food.”

He gets something like a cross between a choked laugh and a noise of anguish. It’s not what he’s aiming for, but the night’s young.

“You don’t know it, but Reyes chewed my ass out after.”

“And Head Chef put my on cleaning duty for a week since the extra food was unauthorized.”

“Hey, I put it in the terminal all good and proper. It was one of you messin’ with me that caused all of that.”

“That’s because you tried to disguise yourself as a chef!”

The cowboy pulls out his pack of cigarillos and lights one, much to your horror. He grins to himself. Good.

“Good times.”

“Don’t smoke,” you chide with no real malice. “You’ll ruin your tastebuds.”

“Ain’t nothin’ that can ruin how I taste your cookin’, it’s just that good,” he quips, taking a loud and overly obnoxious drag just to hear you groan in frustration and embarrassment. He smirks to himself. That’s a better reaction.

You wave your hand at the smoke, trying to push it back in his direction to very little avail. For good measure, he even blows a stream in your direction, delighting in the way you swat at it. “Stop that. It’ll get into the kitchen.”

“I’ll help you clean it.”

“Oh? That’s very generous.”

“What can I say?” He shrugs and tips his hat with a grin. “I’m a gentleman.”

Grumbling, you ask to yourself, “What sort of gentleman smokes in a kitchen?” You cross your arms and he can swear you are looking down at him. “I remember when you used to use that trick to try to get in here.”

“Did I now? Can’t remember. Old age must be gettin’ to me.” Even though he clearly recalls having offered his help just so he could get one step closer to the phantasmal treasure that the members of Blackwatch kept conspiring about. It did not succeed, of course.

You make some noise of disbelief and pull out an ashtray from somewhere below the window, slipping it onto the table with a loud ‘clack’. Your message is clear, but he just waits.

And waits, and waits.

Until you cave. “I’m going to make Meatloaf Surprise,” you warn sternly. “And I’ll have Gen—Captain Amari help me.”

He can’t contain his grimace. “Please don’t.” The meatloaf is enough of a threat, but throwing Ana into the mix was just unfair even if she isn’t on base. Taking in one last delicious pull, he snuffs out the end. (Though he can’t say he’s completely displeased with the results—you are coming back out of your imposed silence.)

Seemingly satisfied with his actions, you say, “Thank you.”

He stares  forlornly at his snuffed-out cigarillo, itching to put it back between his lips now that he’s had a taste. He's sure you would actually serve him meatloaf if he did. And he would eat it.

“Chef, can I get some coffee then?”

“Use the terminal, please.” But even as you say that, you’re already moving around inside the kitchen. He grumbles a bit as he leans over the length of the counter to punch in his order. “Let me guess, a red-eye for this late hour?”

His finger hovers over the submit button. “Nah.” Beep. “‘s a dead-eye kind of night.”

You choke on a laugh, and already, the kitchen seems a little brighter with the echo of it. “Did you just—”

“E-yep.”

Then the laughter pours out as though it’s been waiting to come out this whole time.

As long as you were feeling better, he could honestly say he’s done his good deed for the day. (The day’s still early, too.) 

The days pass by in a haze. Jesse drops by often, insisting on talking with you and being a general nuisance. (Though, you can’t say you’re upset about it. The former Blackwatch agent always had a way of making you talk.)

Jesse was right, regardless. You have other priorities to worry about—you’ve never worried so much about another agent before.

But it’s also the first time—second time after a younger Jesse—you were able to be so close with your customers. Back in the day, you would be taking the orders and making them without truly knowing the faces of the people you served. You’d see their name, look them up in the kitchen’s database if you did not know their habits, and cook. There was still that gap that never truly allowed you to connect with them.   

Now, it’s different. You could actually ask them, talk to them, see their reactions, share their joy.

It’s not something you really ever thought of before, but it’s truly a truly precious feeling to have someone’s eyes and face light up when they take that very first bite. Even more so when they finish everything and ask for seconds.

—“We chefs exist for them.”—

It always sounded a little asinine, but with each day here, you think you’re getting closer to what the Head Chef once meant. You’re sure that if you never saw their expressions or received their thanks, you’d still think of food and cooking more shallowly.

Seeing Agent Junkrat lose his mind over something simple like fruit salad—or any fruit in general—was beyond endearing. You couldn’t help but indulge him if only just to see him happy (even if it did eat at your limited inventory). Agent Roadhog, as silent as he was, always seemed to take special care to eat everything clean, thanking you. Mock arguing with Agent Reinhardt about his diet was also fun. He always insisted on bratwurst and fatty substances for his physique only to concede and laugh the exchange off after a few words, leaving with less than you would’ve expected.

Agent Hanzo, though unexpected, definitely caught your attention the most. His sharp features softening into something warmer, younger when eating sweets. It was comforting to watch, strange as it sounds, to see him enjoy himself especially when he always seemed to hold the world at arm’s length.

The nights where Agent Hanzo comes down to drink tea or to eat really puts into perspective the Head Chef’s words. Just by serving him and seeing him eat so earnestly really makes you think that perhaps being a chef was a worthy cause in life if only to help these heroes through the day.

Long ago, the Head Chef would lecture about the agents. How the food you (and every other chef makes) becomes a part of them and that their bodies are made from the food you made. As such, all that they eat must be filled with love. For these agents—these heroes—miles away from home and fighting a war that most people only see through a holoscreen, can easily lose faith and forget the feeling of humanity, and therefore must be loved and nurtured lest they become nothing more than beasts.

—“Love them with all our being.”—

Though, you couldn’t say that you loved every agent.

Deadpan, you stare at the tray Agent Soldier: 76 dropped off. Even from this distance, you can see the food piled up on it, scarcely touched as always. You scrub at your face with your sleeve.

He likes nothing. Indian, Mediterranean, Chinese, French, German, Italian—none of those cuisines have ever caught his fancy, none of those foods have ever received anything more than a nibble despite having one of the highest calorie requirements among all of the agents here. How can you give anyone love if they refuse to have it? What use was pouring in effort if it’s rebuffed?

What does he even eat?

You bite back a groan of frustration even as it claws at you, begging you to voice you discontent and perhaps find Agent Soldier: 76 and give him a good shake or a whack with a ladle or maybe (as unlikely as it is) knock him out and shove food down his throat.

The thought is waved away just as quickly as it comes. No, it's likely not any fault of his own. Maybe he just doesn't like your cooking.

It’s a painful reality to admit, but it’s a humbling one.

It'd be wonderful if he could give a critique or just let you know what he likes—you can't take requests immediately, but the next shipment can be tailored to accommodate him—yet the radio silence he gives you is woefully inadequate in helping you move forward. Each week produces different types of food, but each time produces nothing but a barely touched tray. It’s past the point of being a challenge and stepping dangerously into the realm of making you throw down your apron and leaving the Watchpoint for good.

It was a dangerous balancing act where even the greatest thanks from all agents could be negated simply by Agent Soldier: 76’s apparent refusal to eat anything you make. You cannot give up just because of one person. Your mission is more than just cooking for one person, more than just cooking for a group of agents, and so you remind yourself that you must remain strong.

Resigning yourself to life’s occasional hiccups, you pick up the tray when you pause.

Curiously enough, one plate remained among the different dishes. It’s rectangular, a little smaller and half-hidden among the others, but even more striking is that it’s the only empty plate among other partially eaten dishes.

Hastily, you pick up it up, looking it over, turning it in your hands.

Just what did you…?

Apple pie. There was apple pie on this plate. A few crumbs of flaky crust left behind, but the pie itself is nowhere to be found, a clearing through a dollop of sauce that looks suspiciously like someone wiped a finger through it.

Finally.

A happiness you haven’t felt in a while bubbles up rapidly inside you, pressing up against your chest, blooming, warming everything in its path until it reaches your face.

“Are you kidding me?” you ask no one, half-hysterical.

He ate something you made. Completely.

You press a hand to your mouth, choking on emotion and a victory hard won, breath stuttering and your eyes entirely too warm.

He ate the pie.

You should make more.

Abandoning cleaning duty, you rush across the kitchen and tear into the walk-in freezer, the crisp and chilly air does nothing to dampen your newfound spirits. How many more pies can you make? Should you adjust the recipe? Oh, but you don’t know his preferences, what about the pie did he like? The flakiness? The way the apples were sliced? The types of apples that were used?

Just what did he like so much about the pie?

The fruit make their way into your arms as your mind furiously burns through the options.

If even Agent Soldier: 76 liked these, then this would surely please Agent Hanzo—

The thought of the archer makes you stop in your tracks.

Agent Hanzo would have enjoyed this, would have taken a bite that’s almost too big for his mouth and maybe smiled that secretive smile when he tastes something he enjoys, may have even closed his eyes and breathed in and sighed a little. A bitter smile crosses your face. If only he were here. You’re sure he would’ve loved this.

You shake your head. No, you have other customers to focus on.

What expression did Agent Soldier: 76 make when he ate this? Was it just as soft? Did he smile? Would he have taken a pause to savor it after the first bite?

You couldn’t help but smile wide, shouldering your way back into the kitchen with ingredients nearly spilling out of your arms. It wouldn’t hurt to make more or to go astray from your menu. Just once.

Just this once.

Nothing could bring down your mood as you began to measure your ingredients, all else forgotten.

You’re in the middle of putting the rolled out crusts into the freezer when your communicator rings. It takes a moment until your hands are free, but you light up when you see who’s calling.

“...boss?”

“Asim, good to hear from—”

“Boss.” His tone, cold and curt, makes you stop in your tracks. “We need you back here.”

“Wh—”

“Auditors.”

Your breath comes up short and the dread seeps into your bones, freezing them with full-bodied fear, and your previous elation comes crashing down.

Auditors? From what organization? And why now? The fiscal year isn’t even over yet and you’re sure that last year’s documents were submitted properly—

“They’re asking for all our documents, our ledgers, our—” He takes a shuddering breath. “Boss, you have to come back.”

Without even thinking, you utter, “Asim, don’t—don’t let them take more than they already have. Tell Argus—hold them off while I…”

You brain struggles to form words as plans and concerns flying through them at rapid-fire speed.

You need to go to them—what about your data—how long have they been there—no, you need to let Winston know—but it could be too late—you need to—but Overwatch—but the auditors—how did—

Your feet sway and you cannot decide what you need to do first.

Asim hisses, loud and insistent in your ear, “Boss! We don’t have time! We need you. Now!”

But—

You suck a hard breath through your teeth.

“I’ll be right over.”

And the communications cut off.

The freezer door rattles loudly as you slam it shut, and you almost jam your wrist trying to get the Cellar door open. The door opens then closes after you, lights flickering on automatically after you have already ran past them.

It’s irresponsible to leave Overwatch hanging, but this took precedence. You must see the extent of what the auditors have seen, what they have. If they find out about your operations, Overwatch would be in terrible danger and everything you would have done—all your sacrifices—would have been for nothing.

You could only hope that you’re not too late.

Chapter 13>>

#the way to a heart #hanzo x reader #my writing #HOLY SHITTT WE'RE FINALLY MOVING THE PLOT #HOLY SHITTTT #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #THANK YOU DICKBUTT FOR HELPING ME #AAAAAAAAAA