#me being vulnerable? call the cops somethings wrong /silly

[lakesbian]

rachel and alec are specifically interesting to me re the undersider Situations as of early worm posting. thats right for the first time in my life im saying rachel specifically is interesting to me. everyone on the team is at least a bit lonely i think but it's so loud and obvious with rachel, because she's loud and obvious about everything. she's a disabled teen who's been homeless since she was very young. she was deeply abused by the foster home system, and the legal system responded to her wounded and confused outbursts as an autistic child by criminalizing her and hunting her down. she can't exist in public without the cops being called. society has done everything to demonstrate that it doesn't want her, and then blames her when she doesn't trust people.

brian says that the undersiders are the closest thing she can have to friends. alec says that they're the closest thing she has to a family. (which is an entire can of worms in itself wrt alec's relation to the undersiders.) and both of those things are true, but there's also something so tragic in their assumption that their tenuous connection w/ rachel where she can only just barely tolerate them is the best she can ever have. they're the only people she can even remotely trust to have her back or treat her somewhat fairly instead of fucking her over, but they're still fundamentally considering her beyond close connection, less of a friend or someone to attempt befriending and more of someone to keep on a leash. of course taylor is the only one to actually get close to her--taylor is the only one who tries to engage with her, as a person, on rachel's own terms, instead of begrudgingly tolerating her. rachel :(

& alec is the other team member who's in the Extra Lonely Isolation Club...he gets silly with the team sometimes, he has his little teenage banter w/ brian, he and lisa are clearly very familiar with each other in the way ppl who've been living together for a year and a half are. it's really good for him. it's the first time in his entire life he's gotten to have a consistent home with his own belongings, and he's getting to have it because he's part of the undersiders. the undersiders are literally the first people in his entire life that approach counting as a friendship. he gets SO FUCKING MAD!!! when he leaps to assuming that rachel stole the money from them. he gets So Mad he immediately goes "i vote we kill her" and then goes on a seething rant about how he wouldn't have thought she'd do that since the undersiders are the closest she has to family, but apparently she would. and the projection is so obvious! he's not wrong about applying the sentiment to rachel, but there's a reason he goes farther than brian's "closest she has to friends" and into the more intimate territory of "closest she has to family"--the two-way street there means that the undersiders are the closest he has to family, and the idea of being betrayed by one of them hurts enough to trigger the aggression he always displays when he's feeling vulnerable.

and he still doesn't tell them Jack Shit. he obviously lies to them all the fucking time, because brian is under the impression that he "dropped out" of school, when the reality is that he never went. even lisa brings up heartbreaker to taylor without any awareness that he's the father of the boy she's been living with for over a year. alec spends most of the early arcs in worm in dissociative, depressed fugues. the other undersiders have lengthy conversations where they're sharing personal info and he's just trailing along behind them, not speaking for so long that even the readers can forget he's there. lonely broken little shell of a boy who is so empty all of the time and does not even know it. aisha cannot get here fast enough if i have to see him being depressed and disconnected for one (1) more chapter i will explode

#wormtime 2 #wormtime 2 arc 4 #wormblr #parahumans

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

NSFW with Chuck Grant

~ ~ ~

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

 Charles Grant is a walking example of “acts like a badass, is actually a softie” bc BOY, IS HE HARD (lol) TO GET A READ ON. 

When you first start fucking, he doesn’t really have the instinct to stick around after and soak up the afterglow- mostly bc that’s not the dynamic that any of his previous relationships operated under, but also bc he’s like Lieb and doesn’t feel comfortable being vulnerable and potentially having you reject him. He only confidently leaves the first time, and then he judges whether to stay or not on how you look at him as he makes to get dressed after the second time you boink. If you want your space, he’ll go and be back the next day as long as you let him, but if you look even a little bit offended or hurt, he’s getting his ass back in that bed and doing whatever he can to get that sad look out of your eyes.

When he does stay, he’s down to give you whatever he can manage. 

He’s all for slowly kissing you while trailing his fingertips up and down your side, but if you just want to sleep beside him he is more than cool with it (he’ll probably still pet you a lil bit after you fall asleep bc he’s soft for you but shh shh shh don’t tell anyone). The only thing he isn’t very good at doing is pillow talk, especially right after sex. He’s too worried about saying the wrong thing and fucking up what he’s managed to establish with you. 

It isn’t until after he’s shot that he realizes how nice it feels to have someone else take care of him, and when you do so after sex it solidifies the fact that you don’t see him as a burden- you want him and you want to stay. Thank god, too. He doesn’t think he could recover without you (again, not that he’d ever tell you that)

 B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

 Your AhhhhhhHSSSSssssSSSSSs!!!!!!

Oh wow, look at you- owner of the cutest butt he’s ever seen. Can he put his hands on it? Can he squeeze it? Please please puh-lease can you let him watch it jiggle as he fucks you? If you’ve answered yes to any of these questions, then you’ve made each and every single one of his dreams come true. 

He doesn’t discriminate in his love for butts- he’s an equal-opportunity appreciator of the Majesty of the Female Ass™. If it changes size throughout your relationship, he’ll love it even more. Absolutely shameless.

On himself? He likes his legs- especially his thighs. 

He likes how strong they are, despite how much he hates Sobel for getting them to their current strength re: Currahee. But he gets over it quickly bc oh wow is he happy with their endurance while trying to keep up with you, both sexually and otherwise. The day he realized you could ride yourself to orgasm on them was the day he died and went to heaven and was sent back to sin again.

 C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

 He likes cumming on your pubic mound and then watching it slide down your pussy, thank you very much. If you guys are trying for kids or in a position where you don’t have to worry about not having kids, he’ll cum inside of you happily but oh wow he likes watching it slide down your lower lips. BONUS POINTS if he gets to catch it on his thumb and either stick it in your mouth OR circle your clit with it in order to get you off one more time.

Also, you asking him where he wants to cum on you gets him hot under the proverbial collar. 

 D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

 He’d do literally anything for you if you’d let him put his finger in your ass. He will genuinely kill an individual of your choice if you let him put his cock there instead. What a perv (jk it takes a lot of vulnerability for some people to convey their wants and desires to their partners plz remember that this has been a PSA).

The one thing he’ll never actually tell you about... EVER is that for a little while after meeting you for the first time in Georgia, he started hooking up with a girl who he didn’t realize (until much later) bore a striking resemblance to you. He’d had to end the relationship when he straight-up called out your name when he came (he was a lil drunk, just tipsy enough to slip up) and full-on booked it out of there bc not only had he pissed the girl off, but his shout had woken up her family- namely her very angry father- and barely escaped with his life.

 E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

 He’s had two lovers before you, but one of them was really experienced and patient and bless that woman. All he really has to do is learn what you like and he’ll commit it to memory. 

And you better be damn sure that he’ll use that knowledge against you/for his benefit. 

 F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

 Doggy style for all the reasons mentioned before. Or reverse cowgirl. Or normal cowgirl. His hands + your butt= dream combo.

 G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

 He can be goofy, but more than anything else he likes it when you’re goofy. Chuck can get a little too in his own head at times, which can lead to frustration/self-doubt- ESPECIALLY while recovering from his brain injury. You reminding him that sex is meant to be fun does him a huge favor, bc poor lamb will forget that every so often.

So please, nibble at his earlobe in that way that tickles him. Make a quip at the expense of one of your friends. Mock the silly sound of the moan you just let slip out.

 H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

 He’s not going to groom unless you tell him to, but he also doesn’t feel like you need to groom for him, either. Chuck’s not afraid to admit how much his personal hygiene has improved since meeting you. 

I can promise you that if you’re heavily invested in skin/hair care, he’ll probably be just as into building his own routine. 

 I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

 You always have Chuck’s full and undivided attention during sex, but he won’t necessarily show it unless he gets the guy feeling/you tell him that you want him to be. He’s going to whisper sexy things into your ear, call you a good girl (if not his good girl), and do everything in his power (at the time, at least (he can get a little distracted if you’re doing something particularly sexy)) to make sure you feel just how appreciated you are. He gets more and more confident in his PDA as your relationship progresses, but when it’s just you two? You’ll never meet a bigger sweetheart.

 J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

 Ok, so I’m deciding for you that mutual masturbation is a thing that you’re both into, m’kay? 

I'm also making the executive decision that you really enjoy watching him get himself off. You walked in on him one time, before you’d had sex, and were so stunned that you just watched in rapt attention until awkwardly backing out of the room and slamming the door shut. He’d nearly cum right then and there, and it got you extremely aroused. 

The next time you see each other, at some Georgia bar while on a pass, you offhandedly mention that you wish you hadn’t left and FROM THAT DAY ON he always lets you know when he’s feeling the urge and how you’re more than welcome to watch.

And when you do? It’s always a much shorter experience than he intends bc wow how hot are you?

 K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

 Frottage! Dry Humping! Grinding!

Allow me to explain:

In the months following D-Day, it was quickly understood that being on the frontlines meant having traditional forms of sex were no longer on the table (hehe) for you two. You’d experimented with rucking your trousers down your thighs, his thighs, both of your thighs, and each time it was a disaster (with one of the worst times ending up falling onto Tab after he’d inadvertently opened a door that Chuck had been fucking you against. Chuck had nearly thrown fists when Tab refused to look aware from your bare ass.)

So yall started grinding- quickly finding out that the bunches of fabric separating your bodies not only led to new forms of stimulation, but it also meant that you both started to utilize dirty talk. There’s something about your trembling lips at his ear, your warm whispers of ‘so good’ and ‘is this really all you need, Chuck? Me, writhing on you like this? What does that say about you, you desperate boy??’

Boy’s bought a one-way ticket to Boner City, USA.

PLUS! What a way to keep warm during Bastogne? Everyone is so jealous that they don’t have a super foxy megahot babe like you to grind upon.

 L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

 Hmm…..is saying anywhere a cop-out? Because he’s down for anywhere, he’ll follow your lead and rise to the occasion. Such a perv i s2g.

 M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

 ♫ YOOOUUUUUUUU!!!!!! ♫

You have this one eyebrow quirk you do when you’re in the mood, and it just so happens to be similar to the brow raise you give someone trying to outsmart you (which is another turn on for him- you putting some overly-confident sonofabitch back in their place after allowing them to mansplain at you for a little bit. First boner he ever got (since meeting you, obviously) came after witnessing you telling Joe Liebgott to stfu in cutting German after he’d made some off-color comment about your ass.) 

So, more often than not, he'll get a little turned on when you argue with people. Maybe even when you argue with him- who knows? not me. (i totally do, and he totally is)

 N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

 Any sort of pain play, on either of you. 

After being in genuine agony for so long while recovering from all of the surgeries, the idea of seeking any more pain out just doesn’t make sense. Chuck also doesn’t want to see you in pain- even if you’re asking him to make you feel it. You’d both suffered through the pain of hunger, frostbite, insect bites, sunburn, and just war in general (all of which had emotionally taken a toll on him bc he felt completely helpless and hated that he couldn’t do anything to take your hurt away). 

Sex and pain just doesn’t go together for him. Sorry not sorry 

 O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

 He loves having you go down on him, adores the way your eyes look up at him as if you’re challenging him to withstand your beautiful ministrations. 

He also is a big fan of going down on you, but PLEASE PLEASE PUH-LEASE ride his face. Good lord. 

He’s a sucker (teehee) for it- something about you using him like it’s all you keep him around for gets him hot. You also get this certain snarl on your lips when you are getting close that makes him lose his goddamn mind bc WOW YOU ARE SO ATTRACTIVE and HOLY SHIT YOU CHOSE HIM OF ALL PEOPLE? WOWOWOW.

 P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

 He’ll follow your lead/body language in terms of pace. Most sex sessions shift between both slow and deep as well as fast and hard anyway, so he is a fan of both. 

 Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

 A necessary evil, as far as Chuck is concerned. He’ll do them, and he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy the spontaneity of them, but he would prefer not to be rushed when he’s with you.

 R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

 He was riskier until that one time Tab caught you guys, after which he chilled out. Which you are thankful for, bc you’ve spoken with Lieb’s wife and BOY have those two gotten into some embarrassing situations bc of how risky that kid is. 

 S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

 The longest he's gone is 4 rounds (it was celebratory sex on VE day, with both of you in the best shape you'd ever been in and too high on relief to listen to your bodies. Ya'll were sore and dehydrated afterward but LORD was it worth it.

 T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

 He’d be very open to the idea of toys! On you, he’s automatically cool with it, but it does take him a little bit to get his head around the idea of using toys himself. Again, 40s/50s= somewhat repressed discussion about deviations from the traditional male sexuality- but Chuck is more willing and ready to challenge the societal norms than most. Very sexy of him.

 U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

 He always intends to tease you, but more often than not he gets so turned on that he can’t follow that intention through. You are aware of this and ABSOLUTELY weaponize this knowledge. Get it, fam. 

During day-to-day conversation, however, you both tease each other constantly. It’s been like that since you’ve met each other- always making innuendos and one-upping the other and for some reason that never even went away.

When Chuck woke up and the doctors brought you in to see him, the first thing he told you was that you looked terrible. When you’d replied with a sniff, a smile and a “guess the doc’s were full of shit when they said there was no change in your vision, huh?”- Chuck had smiled so hard it hurt.

 V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

 He’s a choked moan kind of guy. His face gets all scrunched up and his body shakes and he curses quietly under his breath (it’s vv cute and hot, FYI). he doesn’t even try and be quiet on purpose, he just seems to lose the ability to be vocal, tbh. If he’s drinking or if it’s been a hot minute since yall have gotten to do the do, he’ll probably be a bit louder. Like, maybe one loud cry of your name (see: the letter D)

It doesn’t bother him if you make sounds at all, just so you know. If anything, he likes that he’s a quiet cummer bc then he can hear any and all of your sounds.

 W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

 biting your ass while eating you out from behind is *bang* *bang* *bang* *click* *cash register noise*.

Especially if you squeal and smack at him after he does it.

 X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

 Average in all respects but OH MAN does he know how to work it to his advantage. Get ready for a wild ride, my dude. 

 Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

 Higher post-war, tbh. Chuck had had to be on bed rest for so long that he thought he may never get the chance to have sex again, so he totally makes a point to indulge in you every chance that he can get (but he’s cool if you say no, too).

But, as I mentioned in ‘risk’, he’s not going to be humping your leg in public or anything (ok but imagine if you were a dom to his sub and you made him do that holy fuck)

 Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

 He does not sleep very well, poor bb. He will be asleep but his mind will be working through all kinds of things ranging from PTSD to what shoes he wanted to wear to dinner with your parents that weekend. Good thing there’s a remedy to this ailment- your pussy sex with you!

While he can’t konk out immediately, he is able to relax. He will allow himself to get lost in the rhythm of your breathing, the weight of your hand on his arm or your arm wrapped around his middle. He will sometimes nuzzle into you as you’re drifting off to sleep, and when you press a kiss to his forehead he finally feels safe.

~ ~ ~

taglist: @sunsetmando​ @televisionboy​ @now-im-a-belieber​ @tvserie-s-world​ @holdingforgeneralhugs​ @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ 

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #chuck grant x reader #problematicfavesareproblematic

[boldlyvoid]

Only Time Will Tell | Part 2

18+

Summary: Fifteen years after a horrible breakup, Y/N and spencer figure out that time can heal almost everything.

Content Warnings: angst, parental death, mentions of cancer and suicide. Bi reader, bi spencer, recounting childhood relationships, slight angst, spencer's headaches, abusive relationships (not spencer and reader) blood tests, spencer's addiction issues, getting together, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, switch spencer, sub reader, smut (not super graphic)

Word Count: 6.5K

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

When she wakes up she’s incredibly confused. She stares up at the bumpy stucco ceiling and Spencer laying on her chest and it feels like she’s gone back in time. He’s so snuggled into her, but her body is different than when she was 15, a lot different. He has a handful of one boob and his face on the other and she just shakes her head at the sight.

She kisses his forehead and strokes his hair and she lets it happen, because this is how she’s wanted to wake up every single day for the past 15 years. She’s spent just as long away from him as she’s spent loving him and she never realized how much it would hurt to think about it when she got him back.

She expected all the pain to go away, and while she’s a doctor and she knows way too much about the human brain, she still expected him to make her instantly happy. It wasn’t going to happen like that. Yes the hormones and endorphins were going to help, hugs and kisses and cuddles, sleeping beside him and hopefully sex… all those would contribute to making her feel happy, but at the end of the day her depression was always going to sit in the corner and attack when she was the most vulnerable.

Even with her last crush, it was good until she was alone. She’d cuddle with her all night with her lips pressed to her shoulder, wishing more than anything that she could feel that good forever… and it faded away when she realized she’d never have her. Unlike how she feels with Spencer right now.

He starts to wake up, also confused she guesses because he pulls away and sits right up with wide eyes and a horrified look on his face that just makes her laugh. “It’s fine, lay back down,” she pulls him back in and he settles, but the hand that was on her boob is now on her arm and he doesn’t say a word.

“How was your sleep?” She eventually asks, it’s the slightest whisper as she runs her fingers over his back the way he liked when he was younger.

“Really good,” he whispers back, “I haven’t slept this long in probably 15 years.”

“That makes one of us,” she smirks, “I sleep so much, it’s never refreshing but I sleep a lot.”

“I have really bad headaches, and no one can give me answers for them, I want to sleep but normally I can't.”

“What do you mean no one has answers?” She feels a little defensive, “have you had a brain scan or done blood work?”

“I’ve done it all,” he sighs, and she lifts him off of her.

“Do you have them here? Can I look?” She starts to worry for him, wanting to see everything she can and help him.

“Yeah,” he gets out of bed and rummages through his things, pulling out a few manila folders.

She grabs her phone and turns the flash on, laying it face down on the bed and shining up towards the ceiling, she takes out his MRI, a CT scan and holds them over the light one by one. “Your gray matter is so thick…”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“You’re a genius, tell me what gray matter does,” she teases, remembering how she used to use him as a google before Google was even invented.

“It's found throughout the central nervous system and controls movement, memory and emotions…”

“You’re a genius, I’ve always wondered how it would look,” she is fascinated with these normally, but Spencer’s is her favourite so far. “Your brain looks good, there’s nothing alarming, nothing out of the ordinary, but that doesn’t mean it’s all working right.”

He just hums along, she places them all back in their folders and opens his folder of paperwork, reading all his blog tests, “this is just basic stuff?”

He nods, “they won't test anything without reason.”

“Come to my lab? I’ll run every test in the book, you’re technically a schizophrenia research candidate so no one will care.”

“Really?” He looks almost excited, “I can take the morning off?”

“Okay,” she smiles, “let’s get ready then.”

She makes a phone call in Spencer’s kitchen, he’s still in the shower but Y/N’s completely dressed and ready for the day with the little supplies she brought in her bag. But she needs help.

“What?” The man answers first.

“It’s just me, put her on.”

“I’ve got this—Hello,” her best friend snatches the phone from him and answers with a smile she can hear, “how are you, bestie?”

“Hi Maeve,” she whispers with a smile.

“Why are we whispering?” She teases, “are you at someone’s house?”

“Yes,” she smiles, “I’m at Spencer’s.”

“No fucking way…” she whispers, “why didn’t you call me after your coffee date on Tuesday? I was so excited to hear about it.”

“I tried, but Bobby picked up and said you weren’t available,” she replied with a deep sigh, not hiding the fact that she hates Maeve’s fiancé.

“Oh,” she sounds ashamed and it makes Y/N feel bad for her, “well, how’d it go?”

“Good, we had a very PG13 sleep over the way we used to, It was nice waking up with him again, but I’m taking him into work today to do some blood work, I was wondering if I could send you some of his results? He’s getting headaches that he says are pretty debilitating?”

“Hmm, I’m free this morning once Bobby leaves for work, has he had any prior tests? I can come by and meet my best friend's best friend?” Maeve all but begs, that same pleading tone in her voice that Y/N loves.

“Of course, I’d never turn down a visit from you, I’ve missed you a lot,” she smiles at the floor, “and you’re really going to like Spencer.”

“I’m sure I will, do you think everything’s going to work out between you two?”

“I’m not sure yet,” her smile fades at the admission, “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but given the fact he texted me worried for my well-being and he’s been so adamant about hanging out… I’d like to say things are going back to normal.”

“Awe,” she swoons, “I love stories like this, you know that. I’m so glad you’re finally talking to him again, I thought I was going to have to bring you into my marriage, sister-wife style, in order to make you happier.”

“You could still leave Bobby for me,” she teases. “If this doesn’t work out, I still need a wife?” She teases and Maeve laughs and it makes her smile wide and toothy.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” she whispers, “I’ll see you at work? In like an hour?”

“Do you want a coffee? We’re probably going to stop on the way,” Y/N offers, finally looking up from the pattern in the kitchen tile to see Spencer standing in the doorway.

“Just my usual,” she can hear Maeve’s smile, “but I’ll see you then, bye, love you.”

“Love you too,” she hangs up and stutters as she looks at Spencer, “I didn’t hear the water turn off?”

He’s standing there in a dark purple towel, one around his waist and one tightly wrapping his hair, he looks silly but she loves it. “Who was that?”

“My best friend,” she presses her lips together awkwardly, “she’s a geneticist, and if you have a deficiency causing these headaches she’s the best one to figure it out.”

“Thank you for caring this much,” it sounds so sad, she can tell he’s not used to this kind of effort being put in for him anymore.

“I’m very used to protecting you, it’s not something I can drop, even after fifteen years,” she reminds him, “I hate to think that you’ve had to do it alone for so long.”

“It’s been hard,” he agrees. “How is this going to work?”

“What?”

“Being best friends? Because as much as everyone on my team says they’re my best friend, I don’t feel close enough to anyone to give them that title anymore, not since I stopped talking to you,” it’s a lot to take in at a quarter to 8 in the morning.

Her eyes just go wide and she feels so bad for him, but at the same time, he did that to himself. He could have reached out, he could have stayed. There are lots of things he could do, and now the only thing she wants to do is let it go.

“Maeve means a lot to me, you’ll like her,” she steps into his space and pokes his wet chest, “she’s the only woman in her field, I’m the only woman in mine, we met at a talk a few years back and she’s been my person for so long.”

“Why couldn’t she go to get the time capsule with you?”

“She can’t leave the state,” Y/N admits, “she has a stalker and she won't tell me much, she doesn’t want me involved, she’s a little scared. And Bobby won't even let her answer the phone anymore, she’s why I reached out. She believes in fairytales and happy endings and after everything I’ve told her she said this love story has all the makings of a romantic comedy.”

Spencer laughs, “she’s not wrong.”

“She’s always going to be my best friend, but I can have two,” Y/N suggests, looking up at him and raising a brow.

“I don’t mind sharing,” he whispers.

It looks like he wants to kiss her and she desperately wants to lean in and let him, but he backs up. “I’m just going to change and then I’ll meet you back out here.”

“Yeah, course,” she lets him walk away and her heartbeat is audible in her ears.

She’ll always love Spencer, and yet a part of her wonders what would’ve happened if she had actually asked Maeve out that week before she met Bobby. Then she’d be able to go to the cops about the stalker, then she’d keep her safe all the time, and then again maybe she wouldn’t be here with Spencer trying to make it work if she was with Maeve.

It’s a lot to deal with at 8 in the morning.

She walks down to the building's garage with Spencer, he’s all dressed and ready for the day and he looks great. He dresses better than when he was a teenager, everything matches, it’s pressed and clean and he honestly could walk the runway like this.

And then she sees it.

“You still have it?”

“Shit,” Spencer whispers, “we can take the subway or a cab or something if this is triggering at all?”

“No,” she assures him, “I’m not triggered, just shocked that Amy still runs?”

“I’m an engineer, remember? I know how to keep her going.”

She runs her hand along with the blue paint of Diana’s old Volvo Amazon, who they appropriately named Amy when they were kids. She looks in at the backseat, the tear in the seat is still there from when the button on her jeans got stuck, the light in the radio is still burned out, unable to tell the time. The seats are just as comfortable, she turns on just as loud as before, and she never thought she’d say she missed the smell.

They stop at a coffee shop by the university, Spencer orders first and then it’s up to her, “can I get an iced coffee and—“

“A white hot chocolate with a blueberry tea bag in it? Absolutely,” the barista smiles, “anything else today, Y/N?”

“Not today, Katie,” she smiles, taking out the normal amount and a decent tip, “how’s school going?”

“Good, thank you for that study guide, I got a 92 on my last Bio test,” she’s unbelievably giddy and it makes Y/N’s day.

“that’s amazing,” Y/N makes the most basic small talk before joining Spencer by the counter.

“How do you know everyone?” Spencer whispers and nudges her shoulder with his own.

“I talk to people,” she nudges him back, “you’d be amazed by what happens when you let people in.”

Spencer hums, they watch Katie make their drinks carefully and quickly, putting them in a tray and handing them to Y/N with a smile. “Have a wonderful day.”

“You too!” Y/N calls back and waits for Spencer to get the door for them.

And then he opens the passenger door for her too. “So, I have to ask…” Spencer says as they finally get back in the car. He places his coffee in the cup holder, “were you and Maeve together at some point?”

“No…”

“Oh,” he drops it when he realizes it’s not a question she wants to be asked.

The rest of the drive is quiet, she sips her coffee and looks out the window and he taps the steering wheel the way he always used to do. “Have you dated anyone in the last 15 years?”

“Not really,” he shrugs, “I have been on dates but nothing’s really worked out.”

“Hmm,” she says before she drops it.

Pulling into her work, he parks in her spot and the two of them get out and begin their walk to the elevators and then he asks another question.

“So you haven’t dated or been with anyone since we broke up?” He looks a little shocked.

“Not really,” she shakes her head, “I don’t feel the need to? I’m not lonely, I’m busy.”

“Oh.”

The elevator dings and she walks out first, through the main hall and towards the lab. She puts on her coat and hands Spencer a blank one, “these are my Ph.D. candidates.”

Inside she has 4 students all dressed up and doing their work and Spencer waves awkwardly as they look up at him. “Good morning guys.”

“Morning doctor,” they reply in unison.

“My friend Spencer here has a genetic predisposition for schizophrenia so I’m just going to run the basic tests but he’s not going to be in any of the trials.”

“Sounds good,” one of them smiles.

“We’ll be in here if you need me,” she points at her office and Spencer follows her inside. “Oh, and Maeve is coming in as well, tell her to come right in.”

“Why? How many people have you slept with?” She suddenly closes the door, resuming their conversation immediately.

“Including you,” he does the calculations on his fingers, letting out a deep breath he was keeping in. “Elle, Ethan, and a handful of one-night stands…”

“That’s not too bad,” she shrugs and then she can’t help but laugh, “but Ethan? Really?”

Spencer nods with a smirk, “I told you I would one day.”

She laughs, remembering how much they hated each other. Ethan was a pain in the ass, flirting with both of them to piss the other off, especially when they were all on opposite mathlete teams… but Spencer did have a crush and she was secure enough in their relationship back then to just laugh it off, like she is now.

“How did it even happen?” She asks, taking out all the supplies from the cupboard, and returning to him with an elastic band.

“I went to see him in New Orleans because I was addicted to drugs and he’s an alcoholic and I wanted him to tell me not to waste my life away because no one else was going to do it.”

“Wait, addicted? I thought it was just the one case?” Her whole body reacts, her heart drops and her breathing changes and she worries for him in a way she hasn’t felt in years. “Do you want me to do this in your hand so you don’t get triggered?”

He shakes his head, “no, it’s fine,” and then he takes a chip out of his pocket, “it was nice to not feel anything for a while.”

He hands it to her, it’s a 5-year chip and it makes her smile. “I’m always going to be proud of you.”

“I know.”

She hands it back to him and he puts it back where it belongs and the conversation dies there as she takes his blood and he looks away. She has a few vials, she puts his name on them and turns back to him. “Can I ask who Elle is?”

“She was on my team,” he presses his lips together and she knows there’s more in there.

“And?”

“She was shot and had terrible PTSD after, I checked on her one night and she was drinking and we got to talking about her feelings and she didn’t want to be alone… the next night she killed a serial rapist and claimed self-defence but I know she killed him because we couldn’t get justice for his victims. She put justice into her own hands, and then she left.”

“Do you live in a soap opera?” She teases, “damn, okay. I mean good for her, she probably thought if she was going to prison at least she could get some dick first.”

“That’s what I thought for a while too,” Spencer nods along, only slightly sad. “But then I thought about what I did to you, and I figured she didn’t need a reason to sleep with me and leave me, sometimes it just happens and there isn’t a good reason.”

“It’s different for boys,” she combats. “And you weren’t a virgin then, you were what? 24? You were almost a full-brained man.”

“I know.”

She needs to let it go, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, “sorry.”

“You’re not wrong. The damage I must have caused isn’t something that heals fast,” he explains and it starts to feel like a profile. “You haven’t just not slept with anyone because you don’t want to. It’s because you’re scared. We were really young, we were stupid, and I hurt you to the point where you can’t let in anyone who will leave you. I’m going to keep saying I’m sorry even though I know I can’t remove the scars, they’re always going to be there.”

“I hate you sometimes,” she whispers, turning away from him and gripping the counter. “You didn’t have to read me like that. Not everything is your fault you know, I’ve tried. I’ve wanted to and none of the people I’ve dated were good enough and the person I wanted to sleep with the most found someone else before I had the courage to do anything about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

She turns back to him with a straight face, “I wanted to feel loved more than I wanted to be fucked. You damaged my heart, not my vagina.”

He tries not to laugh, biting his lips and yet the air that leaves his nose sounds like a laugh, she turns her attention back to him, playfully outraged that he would laugh. “You’re a dick.”

“I missed you a lot,” he smiles, “and I’m really glad you reached out.”

—

When Maeve comes in, Y/N wraps herself around her so tight that Maeve laughs. “Hello lovely,” she whispers against her and Y/N’s heart flutters just a bit.

“Were you safe?” Y/N worries and brushes her hands along her arms as she looks her over. “You weren’t followed or anything?”

“No,” Maeve assures her and hugs her once more, “you look so good, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” she rocks her back and forth slightly and then turns to introduce her to Spencer, who’s now standing.

“This is Doctor Spencer Reid, Spencer this is Doctor Maeve Donovan, my best friend,” Y/N turns to him and Spencer looks at her like he knows her from somewhere.

“wait—

“Journal of Behavioural Psych… I’ve already seen your brain,” Maeve fills in the blanks. “I didn’t reply to your email because I knew you were Y/N’s Spencer.”

“Oh…” Spencer can’t really believe it.

“And I had no idea you have schizophrenia in your family either…” she stares at Y/N with her brows raised.

“Stop,” she whispers under her breath. “I told you.”

“It was between Alzheimer's in Texas and Schizophrenia here,” Spencer repeats. “I always thought I’d be the one to cure it for my mom, but I’m glad it’s you.”

Maeve just smiles at him and Y/N can’t stop smiling at her, it’s surreal to have her best friends meet.

They all catch up with their drinks in her office. Sitting at Y/N’s desk and sharing their stories, Spencer’s medical issues, Y/N’s flight anxiety and Maeve’s stalker.

“I actually got this yesterday…” she takes a letter out of her purse and hands it to them. “I think I’m going to dye my hair brown and move out of Bobby’s apartment. And I might hide for a bit.”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, “we can get Penelope and the rest of Spencer’s friends to look into this, please? Please you can’t hide anymore this is too serious.”

“This is classic stalker behaviour,” Spencer says as he reads over the letter a few times. “They want to murder you and then kill themselves… do they bring this up often?”

“Yeah,” Maeve agrees. “He has a thing with suicide he’s said I should just kill myself and spare everyone the stress…”

“Wait,” Y/N stands and flicks through all her paperwork, “that girl who you turned down for a Ph.D. handed in the same thesis to me about cell deterioration in people with suicidal ideation.”

“That sounds like it matches up,” Spencer agrees. “I think I can have Penelope email you some information on the student so you can take it to the police?”

“Thank you, Spencer,” she smiles at him and Y/N can’t help but feel like a third wheel somehow.

Because of course her straight best friend, who she’s been in love with for 2 years, would meet her ex-boyfriend and be instantly attracted to him. It’s her luck. And by the way, Spencer is smiling at her, she knows he thinks she’s pretty. She’s known him long enough to remember when he looked at her like that… she clears her throat and gets them to stop making googly eyes at each other.

“We have a flight to catch soon too,” she reminds him. “I’m going to go work with my students if you two want to stay here and talk to Spencer’s co-workers.”

“Yeah,” Maeve agrees quickly. “That sounds good.”

“Can I talk to you first?” Spencer asks, pulling her into the other room and closing the door.

“What’s up?”

“You’re jealous,” he reads her just as well as she reads him.

“And you think she’s pretty,” she bites back. “I’m not jealous, I’m envois. I wished for a very long time that she would love me back and all it takes is a single smile from you and she’s probably willing to leave bobby.”

“But she’s not you,” Spencer replies. “It’s not that easy for me to fall in love, you know that. It took us years to fall as in love with each other as we were and it never went away. Meeting her can’t replace how I feel about you.”

“We can’t do this now,” she stops him. “Sit on it, tell me tomorrow when we open the time capsule. Mean it when you say it, don’t just try and calm me down with your words.”

She leaves the room, walking right past Maeve and into the lab. Helping the first student to call her attention and leaving her best friends to mingle.

—

She has a nap on the plane, Spencer did too, their heads resting against each other as they slept through the turbulence and the crying babies, waking up for the landing and departure. They get a car for the weekend, and the drive to her parent's house is so, so, so quiet.

“I’m not ready for how weird this is going to be” She whispers.

“It’s not going to be weird.”

“Yes, it is,” she’s adamant.

Her bed is still there for them to spend the night in, so are her parent's and brothers' beds if he doesn’t want to sleep beside her. And the couches and the fridge and anything big that she couldn’t move out alone yet.

“Why? Because we have to sleep in the same bed again, because it’s the house with all our memories or because the time capsule has letters addressed to our kids?”

“Yes.”

They both laugh at her bluntness, “we were so hopeful back then.”

“We had no reason not to be,” he says. “Your parents were very good at reminding me that our dreams can come true if we work hard enough.”

“They were great parents,” she agrees. “I miss them so much…”

“Would it be weird if I went to the grave?”

“No,” she lets out a deep breath, “they loved you.”

He pulls onto their old street and her heart is in her stomach. She can’t believe they’re actually doing this, they’re actually together again at her parent's house. He pulls into her driveway, her dad's truck is still parked out front and it looks exactly the same as it used to.

They grab their bags, she opens the door and then they’re alone in her old house. “See,” she teases, “it feels fuckin weird.”

“It’s so cold,” Spencer whispers. “Not like freezing, it just doesn’t feel right in here.”

“I know,” she agrees, taking her things and heading up the stairs towards her old bedroom.

“It’s grey…” Spencer whispers as he enters the room. “What happened to the purple?”

“My mom was bored when she was recovering from the chemo and she wanted to paint, so we did it,” she shrugs, “it was a fun weekend.”

Spencer puts his things in the corner and somehow it feels like they’re 15 again. He used to put his backpack there, he’d kick off his shoes and dive into her bed, waiting for afternoon cuddles and a nap before dinner and then they’d do homework until her curfew when he’d walk back to his house and wave to her from his window.

He kicks off his shoes again and she just sits on the edge of her bed, watching him. He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it on the hook behind her door, another thing he remembered to do almost by instinct.

“It’s like you never left,” she whispers.

He nods, “can I tell you now that I feel the same way, that I miss being loved too.”

It’s way too early in the weekend to be here already. “No,” she whispers. “Don’t do this to me again, please? Don’t offer to love me if you’re not certain that you’ll stay.”

“No one can be?” He reminds her as he sits beside her on her bed.

“You dying and you breaking my heart are two very different things,” she replies. “It would be easier if you died.”

“How?” He looks offended.

“Because then no one else can have you,” she can’t look at him and the tears come back. It fucking sucks. It hurts and she’s embarrassed.

“It’s killed me thinking about you all these years, wondering if you ever replaced me. I spent my whole childhood dreaming about being your wife and then I had to just imagine you with someone else for the last 15 years and it sucked.”

He doesn’t reply.

She shakes the tears away, clearing her throat slightly, “we’re either together or we’re not. Pick one. I can’t be stuck in limbo anymore.”

“No, I can’t just agree to go back to how it was before,” he shakes his head, “I’m not going to live up to your expectations. We are two completely different people now, we can’t just pick up where we left off without us fighting about it. I’m never going to be the same to you as I was when we were kids because I don’t know who that Spencer is anymore. I haven’t been him for a long time and this Spencer is really bad at pretending.”

He’s more assertive now, he was never this confident to fight with her when they were kids and then again he didn’t have a reason to.

They were happy back then.

“Would you like to date again and get to know each other as we are now?” She compromises.

“What if you don’t like who I am now? What if I let you down?”

“You can’t,” she can’t help but smile. “Because even after everything that’s happened, just looking at you fills me with the same feeling it did when we were kids. You’re always going to be my best friend, no matter what, even if we don’t have the same interests anymore or if you’re a bit more annoying…”

It makes him giggle and that’s what she wanted, “see? Look at us? We can do this, we just have to talk about it. I’m open to the fact that you’re a different man now from your trauma and you’re accepting of the fact I’m incredibly damaged from mine, and that we might always be, but one day we’ll laugh about it.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be laughing,” he teases and it feels like it did back then.

“No? I’m going to bring it up to tease you then,” she warns him, “because you’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

“You’re also more annoying than I remember,” he teases her right back and moves in to tickle her the way he used to.

She’s still ticklish. And he still remembers where. He tackles her back against the bed and she tries to push him off but she’s already giggling too hard, eyes closed as she tries to squirm out of his reach. But his arms are somehow longer than before? He wraps around her and digs into her sides with a hearty laugh and then it becomes a hug.

She settles again and he’s still on top of her and her arms wrap around him. His face is in the crook of her neck and she rests her cheek on his head, brushing her jaw along his hair and breathing deeply. She’s missed this so much in the last 15 years.

“I still love you,” he’s the one to say it first and all the tension in her body drops.

“Thank god,” she sighs and holds him a bit tighter. “I still love you.”

There’s a weird feeling in the air, one she hasn’t felt in a very long time. Not since they were sitting in that field, in Spencer’s mom's car, trying to figure out how they were going to have sex in the back seat.

She kisses the top of his head gently and he kisses the side of her neck in return and her breathing hitches. So he kisses her again, this time on the pulse point and up towards her Jaw and her eyes close as she leans into the contact.

It’s been a very long time since he’s seen most of her body, and yet as he strips her clothes off and covers her with his lips, it’s like nothings changed. He did this the first time too, carefully kissing everywhere but with a lot more nerves.

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve done this,” she reminds him, “so please don’t stop.”

He laughs, kissing her cheek and looking down at her. “We’re doing this?”

She nods, “there’s no one here to stop us.”

“And no reason to stay quiet,” he teases back, looking around her room quickly, “it’s strange being back here.”

“We never actually had sex in here,” she whispers, pecking his lips softly and then realizing that’s the first real kiss they’ve shared in 15 years.

He lunges in and kisses her again, hand on her cheek as she rests back against the pillow, he slides a leg in-between her own, grinding against her softly as he kisses her, swiping a tongue along her bottom lip, he used to love making out with her.

They could make out for hours on end, hot and heavy, grinding together but never taking it anywhere. It was just as fun to them as anything else, up until they had sex for the first time. Then it was all they wanted to do, only back then they were both more scared of being caught than actually doing it, and it’s not like they hadn’t been experimenting with each other their whole lives.

They had baths together as kids, they spent a lot of time alone as children and they hit puberty at the same time… she’ll never forget the day they learned what masturbating was, they went home and tried it alone and reported right back to each other the next day.

It was always meant to happen, he was the only person she wanted to take her virginity back then. And she wasn’t mad at him for taking it and then leaving, she was mad at him for having sex with her a million more times before he left.

But he was always so delicate with her and she was just as soft with him, they loved each other and respected each other like it was second nature to them, and it was so easy to slip back into that. She knew everything he liked, he remembered what spots elicited the best responses from her. It was like they never missed a beat.

His clothes come off just as quickly as hers, she’s missed him so much over the years. Remembering their first time for far too long, thinking about him at the worst moments, typically right as pleasure overtook her. She’s been saying his name when she cums for so long it’s the only thing she knows how to do.

“Spencer please?” She whines as they grind together, her lips just as swollen as his.

She sits up and takes him with her, he kneels in front of her and she uses the free space to get off the bed and search through her suitcase. “I brought condoms for a reason,” she laughs as she hands them to him. “I figured this would happen at some point.”

“I did too,” he smirks, “but I also saw tonight that you’re on the pill?”

She nods and laughs, “you’re kidding?” She climbs back into her bed and suddenly she’s nervous, “I mean, yeah, we could? But how do I know you’re clean? You’ve slept with a lot of people since we were together.”

“6 isn’t a lot,” he retorts, “but I just thought I’d ask, I still want you to be the first person I do that with.”

“You’re asking and you can’t even say it?” She teases him, shoving him lightly and taking the condoms from him.

His whole demeanour changes then, “you’d let me fuck you raw?”

She forgets how to breathe then, simply nodding with her jaw dropped, mouth breathing, deeply, she’s shocked. She finally swallows, returning the moisture to her mouth, “yeah…”

“What else would you let me do?” He whispers, drawing her in closer until she’s sitting in his lap and running her hands down his bare chest.

“Anything,” she whispers back, “I’ve missed your touch.”

He hums, brushing his nose against hers before kissing her softly. “Do you think about me still?”

Of course he remembered when she told him that.

There was one day where he never came over, she was waiting and waiting and he wasn’t showing up so she eventually went over to get him. Finding him having an anxiety attack in his room, admitting to her and apologizing profusely for thinking about her when he masturbated the night before. He was afraid she would think he was gross and then hate him. When in reality she was thinking about him too.

She nods, “it’s hard not to when you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“I’m all you’ve ever had,” he reminds her. Or at least so he thinks.

“No,” she shakes her head, “there was another guy in high school.”

“What?” He furrows his brows, “I thought you said you didn’t?”

“I didn’t really want to, but, I had sex with Kyle VanNuss? Do you remember him?” She asks carefully, scared that this is ruining absolutely everything when she was just so close to having him again.

“I hated him,” Spencer replies. “I’m sorry it wasn’t good.”

“it’s fine it was 12 years ago,” she laughs, “I really wanted to sleep with people, I would have loved to have been able to, but I need this first. I need to feel totally and completely safe and loved and appreciated, the way you make me feel.”

“Demisexuality is defined by—

“Don’t quote textbook definitions at me, I love you and only you and no one compares. Now if there’s a spencer-sexual term, that’s me, and that’s how I’d like to keep it,” she tries to keep a straight face but she ends up laughing and dragging him down with her.

He rests his forehead on her shoulder, arms around her waist, they’re so close and completely naked and it feels right, “this is all I want.”

She sits up a bit, reaching between them and gripping his cock at the base and he moans. He’s bigger than she remembers, he still makes such beautiful sounds as she strokes him and then she runs the head of his cock along her folds and he tosses his head back with another delicious moan.

“Put it in,” he requests.

She sinks down onto him with more ease than she thought she would, always so turned on by him, it’s easy. She bottoms out and rests back against his legs, sitting in his lap, holding him incredibly close. It feels like every single part of him is touching her and she still wants more. Reconnecting their lips, his hands move down to her hips to help her move, grinding and bouncing they make a rhythm that is completely theirs, it works and she’s so lost in him.

Moaning into his mouth, feeling his hands on her body, his chest against hers and his tongue in her mouth. It’s all she’s wanted for a very long time, and it’s overwhelming. She tries to hold herself together but it feels so good, she’s on the edge of every single emotion in the book as she rides him there.

She breaks the kiss to hold him tighter, kissing his shoulder before he picks her up and lays her back against the bed, crawling between her legs and sliding back in. It’s easier at this angle, he slides in and out so easy, his thumb is on her clit and his mouth on her breasts as she lays there, blissed out and moaning, a tear slips down her face and she quickly wipes it away.

It’s all a lot and according to him, he’s staying forever. This isn’t the last time it’ll happen, it’s actually the first of many, the first of forever, and only time will tell how long that forever lasts.

Permanent tag list

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#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

[kinkymagnus]

five times alec and magnus tried something kinky (and one time they didn't)

ohhhh i like this >:) 

not sure this is a fic prompt or what, so i’m just gonna go with a sorta half fic post. if this were an actual fic i think it’d be half filthy smut and half crack depending on the entry. and then fluffy smut at the end ofc. actually, i’m going to try and make it a different flavor each time to see what happens. challenge myself. 

1. first time with bondage. alec ties magnus up and ravishes him. fun is had all around. this is the sexytimes one but there’s a hint of like.... Romance(TM) bc bondage is all about that trust and intimacy, and like, alec is amazed magnus trusts him this much, with magic-suppressing (not cutting him off or anything, and there’s still a safety protocol to get out without alec’s help, but still) ties or whatever, that magnus is letting alec see him so vulnerable, letting alec take care of him.... uwu 

2. they try like, roleplay and dressing up for the first time, but shenanigans are had and they both get way too into character. like maybe maid magnus is like *dodging alec trying to cop a feel* “wait let me dust this annoying top shelf i have the duster out and i keep FORGETTING” “babe you could just use magic if you w--” “i have the duster right here!!!” or like they’re doing the whole rival mob bosses thing but they keep doing banter and improving ridiculous businesses the other is infringing on/wants to get involved in (”you wanna get in on the... raccoon smuggling ring?” *muffling laughter* “....yes. love those....trash bandits”) and it’s a little silly but in the most fun and ridiculous way. 

alternatively, they keep trying to be serious but bursting into giggles and/or just generally being way more lovey dovey than the scene calls for. like, alec is supposed to be his strict boss “punishing” him but he keeps kissing magnus really tenderly and calling him my love. magnus is not helping. 

3. angst angst angst. or, more accurately, hurt/comfort. something goes wrong when trying out a new kink, magnus ends up not having a fun time, maybe he has to safeword or literally just something goes wrong (like the safety thing on his cuffs fails and he panics and obviously alec immediately lets him out but still Bad) and alec probably feels bad about it/blames himself and it’s bad times. but whatever happens they end up relocating to the couch and just like. cuddling with ice cream or some other treat, maybe watching a movie that they inevitably ignore to cuddle and probably talk about it and by the end of the night they’re as strong as ever and all comfy snuggled with each other, issue resolved, both parties thoroughly comforted 

or even if you wanna go less angsty they both just sort of. realize they’re not really into this kink halfway through and it’s like . “...should we stop?” and they end up stopping but they’re both just lying there like “hm. that was weird” and it’s a little awkward and they both are kinda like. hm. was that my fault? should i have just kept going? it’s not like i HATED it, but.... so it’s kinda this weird guilt thing, like, oh... i ruined our night.... but then they talk or just generally realize how kinda silly the whole situation is and end up just like. laughing together and they kiss and are like ok we can take that one off the list i guess lmao and that’s the end of that. communication kings

4. im running out of “genres” as im saving the designated fluff one for the end, and the ones i can think of (parody, salt, tragedy, friendship, or like. what, mystery? sci fi?) don’t necessarily work. well i suppose you could do friends, like i mean, they are best friends, which is why they’re such good husbands, maybe they’re like. mutually geeking out about something and end up incorporating it into a needlessly convoluted kink thing?? or like. fuck ok i give up on the genres thing, the last two are just going to be like the others

hm, maybe they try something really weird/embarrassing, and either like. they try it as like, kinda half as a joke, but then they’re both really into it and after are like “well. that happened” “.....” “......” “.....” “.....wanna do it again?” “hell yes” 

or like, they’re doing it because they’re interested and  you know, neither of them are judgmental, so that’s fine, but then like. it’s just that like kinda self conscious awkwardness at first? but they’re so comfy with each other it doesnt take long to get the hang of it and they end up having a lot of fun. 

5. i dont know why so many of these are “and something went wrong” i guess bc in post form im not writing out the full porn so much as fun concepts? i dont know. anyway, they decide to have fun with aphrodisiacs/an artificial heat, but accidentally overdo it a bit and end up fucking for like a day straight with very few breaks. well, not straight but--[i am booed off the stage] 

anyway it was very enjoyable but not fun to explain later. 

bonus 6: first sex tape! they knocked the camera over in the first five minutes without noticing. it was impressively long but caught nothing but muffled dirty talk and desperate moans 

+1 

look. kinky sex can be so intimate and fun and sweet, and the idea that vanilla sex is somehow better/purer/more intimate/more loving is silly. 

but there is something to be said about after like, nights and nights of alec tying magnus up or spanking him or magnus riding him while a camera watches or whatever, alec just. laying him down on the bed and kissing him gently and making sweet, sweet love to him, and despite the fact he’s not edging magnus to oblivion or tying up to see how he squirms or teasing him for being a slut or anything... it’s still overwhelmingly good, and soft and warm and loving, and alec can make him cum just as powerfully on nothing but his fingers while whispering sweet nothings in his ear as he can with a toy in his ass and a cock in his cunt while gagged and trying to beg for mercy. 

its also cute when its like their wedding night 🥺 super soft just like Lovemaking(TM) like just. kisses all over, soft praise, both of them touching each other everywhere and trading kisses and wanting to feel every moment....

and then the honeymoon is just 24/7 filthy hot kink hours and its just as intimate and loving and passionate 

#trans magnus smut

[misscrazyfangirl321]

OC-Tober Day 30: Flight

OC: Flora Silverton

Fandom: Grimm

Pairings: Vague hints of Flora/Wu. But it’s super vague. 

Warnings: Intense scene? This fic really gets into the major plot of 6IT, and was also the fic that solidified my change of major villain. It was going to be the Jabberwocky. Now... Not so much. 

@oc-growth-and-development

-

This is a dream. Some distant part of her brain knows this, even before she sees the Jabberwocky. 

It should terrify her, but somehow, she knows it isn’t here to hurt her. Besides, it doesn’t look anything like the hideous creature Sean’s mother described; it looks almost friendly, like a cartoon dragon that might start teaching her the alphabet at any given moment. 

“Why are you here?” She asks, and it tilts its head to the side, processing the question. 

“I want to help you,” it says finally, and its voice is ancient and lovely, a creature of great dignity and grace. “Come on.” 

It crouches down, and after a moment’s hesitation, she climbs onto its back. It’s only a dream, right? What’s the harm? 

As soon as she’s secured, it takes off, lifting her higher and higher into the air. She’s soaring, and she’s never felt so free. The worries of the world seem to fade away; it doesn’t matter that fairytales are real and her cousin has been brainwashed. It doesn’t matter that dead people are coming back to life and Wonderland itself is about to attack. All that matters is this moment, right here: The wind in her hair, and the life in her bones. 

“It’s marvelous, isn’t it?” The Jabberwocky asks, and she can only nod. 

“It is. But why-?”

“Because something is coming.” Its voice shifts, just slightly, but with it, so does the world. The ground beneath her turns to a raging battle, with flames and people scattered as far as the eye can see. She can hardly make out faces from this high up, but a few figures-Nick, Drew, Rosalee, Diana, and Juliette, to name a few-stand out, all battered and broken and dying. 

She gasps, shaking her head, and the Jabberwocky gives a huff. 

“This is coming,” the Jabberwocky vows, tone leaving no room for argument. Then, softening, it adds, “You can’t change it. But I can help you.” 

“Help me?” She can barely hear her own voice over the ringing in her ears. “Help me how?”

“Look.”

As she watches, Juliette rises to her feet. “Flora?” She shouts, looking around. Flora tries to call out to her, but her words are lost to the wind, and Juliette calls all the louder, “Flora?”

“She doesn’t have to die.” The Jabberwocky lets that hang for a long moment before continuing, “And neither do you. When I come-and I will-I can spare the two of you. Set you up somewhere far away, safe from all the wreckage. Your world will burn, but your cousin doesn’t have to.”

Realization dawns on Flora slowly, then all at once, and she stares in absolute horror. 

The Jabberwocky makes a sound that can only be described as a purr. “As an added bonus, I could always throw in…” It trails off, but Flora follows its gaze back to the ground. Now Drew is standing, smiling up at her like-like- 

No matter; none of this is real. In fact, she’s starting to think that even the Jabberwocky isn’t. After all, it isn’t supposed to have the mental capacity to talk, right? It’s pure beast. “You’re the Red Queen, aren’t you?” She demands, and the Jabberwocky-looking creature laughs. It’s a decidedly feminine laugh, and she knows she’s right even before the creature answers. 

“Ah, you’ve got me, I’m afraid. But I much prefer this form.” No longer does she sound like an ancient being. Now, her voice is rough and dry, cracked and cold. An angry queen, through and through. “That is the lovely thing about dreams, isn’t it? You can have whatever you want. Although soon, that will be my reality. If I were you, I’d accept my kind offer. All you have to do is walk away, and I will spare you, the Hexenbiest, and that silly little cop. Hm?” 

And she desperately wishes she weren’t tempted, but gosh, this has felt hopeless from the moment they started. If Juliette dies when Flora could have prevented it-or Drew, for that matter-how is she ever supposed to forgive herself?

“Why would you help me?” She asks, stalling for time.

The queen hums. “You and your cousin never asked for this life. You should never have been a part of it. You’re not Grimms. Neither of you were Wesen. Perhaps I could even return Juliette to a Kehrseite. Let the two of you live out the normal lives you always deserved. And I could cure Drew of that terrible curse.” 

Make Juliette not a Hexenbiest? Take away the thing that has caused so many people so much grief? And rescue Drew from whatever he becomes when he’s angry? Flora closes her eyes,, fighting against the racing of her mind. This isn’t right-it can’t be-but how on earth is she supposed to say no? 

“But why us? Hank isn’t a Grimm or a Wesen, either. Neither is Meisner.” 

“Meisner is a man with nothing to lose. He’s already died once rather than give up on his stubborn ideals; he’d never accept my offer.” The queen sighs. “And Hank will never leave his Wesen wife, or his Grimm best friend. But you? You understand what it means to do anything for family. You could save your family, child. Think about it.”

Child. She swallows hard, a horrible thought occurring to her. “What about Diana?” If that’s part of the deal-if she can protect that little girl from harm-how is she supposed to walk away? 

“Diana is, unfortunately, not something I can offer you. What she is, she is down to her bones, and she cannot be spared.” 

Something in her voice gives her pause. “You’re afraid of her,” she realizes, and the pieces start to fall into place. The queen isn’t making this offer out of the goodness of her heart; she’s trying to hurt Diana, to make her vulnerable. Because Diana can hurt her. 

“I beg your pardon?” The queen growls, looking back with Jabberwocky teeth bared. “I’m not afraid of her. I will squash her like a bug, and I’ll do the same to you unless you accept my generous offer.” 

Certainty settles inside Flora, along with a fierce fury. The woman tried to use her against Diana? Oh, she’s going to live to regret that. “You know what? Counter-offer: You wait. You stay in your freakish underground world for a few more centuries, until a completely different group of people has to deal with your stupid little schemes. Because if you come up here now? My friends are going to kill you.” Leaning forward just a little, she adds, “Diana will destroy you, and I’ll help her however I can. Are we clear?”

The creature’s eyes flash blood-red, and the queen replies, “Is that your final answer?”

“Yes-” Flora starts, but before she can say another word, the queen rolls, and Flora goes plummeting toward the earth. When she looks back up, the Jabberwocky form no longer resembles some cute little dragon; instead, it is every bit the nightmare Elizabeth told about, a mess of claw and scale and tooth that looks like it could tear her apart limb for limb. 

And this may just be a dream, but if she hits the ground, she still dies, so if she could wake up now, that would be great. (She tries very hard not to think of Diana, tears in her eyes, talking about the Bandersnatch that wouldn’t let her wake up. What if that same power is keeping her here now?)

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” she shouts, again and again, but nothing happens, as the ground rushes closer and closer. 

She doesn’t want to die like this. Whether she survives the upcoming battle or not, she doesn’t want to be taken out by a nightmare before she can ever even pick up a sword (or a frying pan, as it were). 

She pinches herself, and it hurts, which isn’t fair; you’re not supposed to be able to feel pain in your dreams, right? But she still doesn’t wake, and her stomach drops. This is it, she realizes. This is how she’s going to die. This is-

When she jolts awake, it takes her a few seconds too long to realize that it isn’t from fear, but from the ringing of her phone. She blinks, grappling for the device, frowning when she notices the caller ID. 

“Sean?” She manages, as soon as she answers. 

His voice is thick with concern. “Are you alright? Diana woke me up. Kept insisting that I needed to call and check on you. Said something was wrong.”

It hits her all at once: that little girl saved her life. Tears bubble up in her eyes, and she clears her throat, replying softly. “I’m okay.” She’ll tell him everything tomorrow, but for now… “I was just having a really bad dream.” 

#oc-tober #flora silverton #6it #grimm #my fics #my writing #my works #mine

[shadowthrone-ammanas]

I finished Nyakuza Metro and thought of this request! In the middle of Empress stealing all of Hat Kids time pieces, she goes to Subcon to unwind because she's upset about the whole thing and Snatcher sees upset Hat Kid and is just: Excuse me Kid, I'm the only one around here who's allowed to make you upset what's going on? So she tells him and now Snatcher has to go meet this Empress and let her know that bullying Hat Kid is His job. (It's not that He CARES About her! Nooo!! That's Ridiculous!)

First off, isn’t the ending of Naykuza Metro the single most disappointing ending since Mass Effect 3? I am so salty about it, I wanted to fight the Empress, it looked like we were going but nope we get a stupid cop out instead (and if that pun was intentional on Gears For Breakfast’s side then it’s not funny >:( ). Second, thank you for the request!

Good Kitty

Something was up. Hat Kid was in Subcon Forest but she wasn’t bothering Snatcher or seemingly even looking for him so she could. Instead she was just meandering down the path, her head hung low, hands in her pockets and idly kicking a stick along. She looked upset about something. What though? Well only one way to find out.

Snatcher teleported to pop up in front of her. “Boo!” he shouted loud enough to make her jump a little.

She gave him a disapproving look as he laughed at her fright as mild as it was. “Hello to you too Snatcher,” she said, her tone borderline annoyed. That wasn’t like her. Whatever was bothering had to be pretty serious.

“Hey kiddo,” he said grinning down at her. “What brings you to my forest?” He’d long since given up trying to tell her that their business was concluded, it only ever seemed to make her want to stick around more often and longer.

Hat Kid shrugged, kicking at the stick on the ground again. “It’s just a nice place to walk around and stuff.”

“Uh… ‘nice’? It’s a haunted forest full of dead things. What part of that is nice?”

“The haunted part.” Now she did smile up at him, only a little though. “It’s also the only place I can walk around aimlessly where there aren’t a lot people.” Implying she probably wanted to be alone, giving Snatcher a perfect opportunity to just leave her to it but…

“And why would you want that?” He was curious. What could’ve possibly brought her down. “Don’t you normally make a habit of annoying as many people as you possibly can?”

“Yeah but uh… I’m just really frustrated right now. And I hate it.” She stomped a stick, breaking it in half with a snap. “The stupid pecking Empress is sending her stupid pecking peck-neck goons to take my Time Pieces every time I find one in the Metro. And I can’t do anything about it because she’s got like I don’t even know how many goons, certainly more than I can take on by myself. If it was just her, I would beat the living shit out of her and make her regret ever crossing me. But I can’t and it’s not fair.” Her eyes were filling with tears of frustration now.

Snatcher grimaced. “Whoa kid, calm down there. No need to start crying or any of that.”

“Sorry.” She sniffled. “I just… really hate it and don’t know what to do. But I have to do something because I need my Time Pieces.”

“Well… good luck with that.”

“You’re not even going to offer to help me?”

“Nope, the fact that you thought I might is honestly offensive. I don’t care about your stupid problems and I certainly didn’t ask you to spill them to me. So yeah, good luck with that kiddo.” With that he teleported away.

-

 The Metro was bustling and busy with life. What little plant life there was, was all heavily manicured to match an aesthetic. Obnoxious neon lights were everywhere. And the place smelled horrible; a mix of trash, unwashed bodies, cats, trains, and the various food carts scattered about the place. Snatcher hated it.

He was half tempted to pop out his Hat Kid disguise – complete with dweller mask to hide his ghostly features – and raze the whole place to the ground. But that would take too much time and effort to be worth it. Besides he wasn’t into expanding his territory, he just wanted to keep and protect what he had. Taking over more would both make that harder and be pointless. So, grateful the mask would also hide his sour expression so he didn’t have to control it, he started wondering around to listen to conversations.

The more he walked the more he hated both the Metro and the very sensation of walking, especially on concrete. How did people stand this? It made him want to pull his hair out. He was never coming back here once he’d finished his business. Mercifully, the Empress was a pretty popular talking point amongst the cats wondering about the place and they all had a tendency to gossip just a bit too loud - possibly due to hearing loss from being around and in the trains making all that horrible noise all the time – so it wasn’t too terribly long before Snatcher knew where and how to find the Empress. Which was all he needed.

Once back in the central area, finding the jewelry shop didn’t take long. Hanging around outside were what was obviously members of the Empress’ gang. Most likely there were more hidden around the place too. Not even Hat Kid could take on that many opponents. Snatcher could, he could take down everyone in this Metro if he really wanted to – as long as no one had a way to make him vulnerable anyway. But if things went according to plan though all he’d have to deal with was the Empress herself.

Inside, the Empress was standing at the counter. She looked up as Snatcher strode in. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” she said, fooled by the disguise and mask. “But that’s fine. I just got word of another one of those hourglasses in Pink Paw Station. Go find it for me.”

“Hmm… I don’t think I will,” Snatcher said, using Hat Kid’s voice but changing it a little so that it would sound just wrong enough to give most sane people chills. “Instead I think I’ll…” Grinning wide under the mask, he lifted a hand to snap his fingers.

The door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the whole store. Next, he made the lights flare bright before bursting, shattering glass everywhere. He timed their bursting with pulling the Empress into his pocket dimension, surrounding them both in a void of dark purple. And to top it all off, he teleported to float behind her and took off his mask. He kept the Hat Kid form though, he needed it.

When she inevitably turned to face him, already rattled she hissed and back pedaled, her fur puffing up the rest of the way. He’d morphed his face so he had bunch of misshapen eyes, covering the entire top half of his face. Only two of which actually worked, the rest were for show.

Still using Hat Kid’s voice and altering it to sound wrong, he giggled. There were few things creepier than a little girl’s laugh especially when it wasn’t quite right. To add a little bit extra, he made it sound like it was coming from all around the Empress, making her glance around in fear.

“What are you?” she asked with an angry hiss as she turned her eyes back to glare at him. Her claws were out now too, they looked sharp.

“It doesn’t matter what I am, what matters is you.” He pointed at her. “You’ve been awful mean to a friend of mine and I don’t like that.” It grated to call Hat Kid a friend but for this little act of his, he didn’t have much choice. “I’m sure you’re smart enough to know who I’m talking about.”

The Empress hissed and lunged to claw him. It did nothing though so Snatcher just giggled again.

“Oh, silly kitty, that won’t hurt me. There’s nothing you can do that can hurt me. I don’t think there’s even anything on this planet that can.” Hat Kid was an alien so he was going to pretend to be one too. He needed to make sure no one ever connected this whole thing back to him. “So save yourself the effort and don’t try. Just do as I say and maybe you’ll get out of this alive.”

The Empress still looked angry but her fear was evident in the way her fur was still puffed up on its end, her tail curled. “What do you want?” she forced out through clenched teeth.

“I want you to give my friend back her Time Pieces, don’t interfere with her collecting any more, and once you’re done with that don’t ever talk to or have anything to do with her again.” To minimize the chances of her spilling the beans on this conversation. “I of course don’t expect you to do this just because I told you to so how about a little motivation?” He teleported to hover behind her shoulder again.

Before she could fully turn around, he pulled out her soul to hold in the palm of his hand. She froze solid for half a second before clawing at him again, more with desperation than anger this time. He ignored it.

“If you’re a good kitty and do as your told, I’ll consider giving you your soul back. If not, I know a guy who likes to eat souls who I’m sure wouldn’t mind being gifted one.” As he spoke, he bounced her soul up and down in his hand as if playing with a ball. “So is that enough to convince you?” He would’ve preferred a proper contract but other than snatching souls, contracts were what he was most well known for. And Hat Kid would certainly know it was him if he used a contract. This way even if she did find out about this, there should be some doubt about who was responsible. Her even suspecting it was him would be awful because then she’d think it was because he was her ‘BFF’ and that he cared for her or something when it truth it was because if he failed to make Hat Kid miserable no one else was allowed to either. That was his job and he was going to find a way to do it properly one day no matter how much she wanted to insisted they were BFFs and she loved spending time with him.

The silence stretched as the Empress glared at him, defeated but not yet wanting to admit it. But finally… “Fine,” she said. “I’ll give the brat back her hour glasses and then leave her alone.”

“You’ll order your goons to do so as well?” Snatcher wasn’t going to give her any loopholes. “As well as anyone else you might pay to deal with people you don’t like?”

She growled but… “Yes.”

“Very good. Now, after my friend has all her Time Pieces back, including the ones not yet found, I shall give you your soul back. If you break your end of the deal, I will not hesitate to give you soul to a certain soul eating ghost.” Meaning he’d eat it. “If you try to break it after you have your soul back, I will make your end a painful one and feed you soul to the Snatcher just because I can. Deal?”

“Deal.” Oh, no hesitation this time either, the Empress was a brave one as well as smart.

“I will see you later then. Remember to be a good kitty for your own sake. Buh-bye.” Snatcher lifted a hand to wriggle his fingers in a wave before transporting himself elsewhere, leaving her back in her jewelry shop.

For this drabble event.

#My Writing #Ahit #A hat in time #snatcher & hat kid #Hat kid & the empress #Snatcher & the empress #Snatcher is a tsundere noodle

[thran-duils]

Devils Look Like Angels (Ch. 5)

Title: Devils Look Like Angels (Chapter 5) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Psychotic!Castiel. An unhinged, criminal, supernatural artifact collector extraordinaire… and the reader caught his eye. It will not take her long to realize that beneath the charm and mystique is a crazed killer who will go to great lengths to woo her. Words: 1,933 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Stalking, angst, death/murder, violence

Author’s Note: I have reset my tag list. If you want to be added back, please DM or send me an ask!

Chap 4 || Chap 6 || Masterpost  || Fanfic masterpost

This time, Sam did not protest when Dean suggested calling Castiel. The fact he had bothered you at the hospital when you were vulnerable had seemed to cross a line for him. As it should have. You did not protest either, frightened because he had found you and you knew Dean was right.

Door closed, Dean paced as the phone rang, his jaw set in determination.

Castiel barely got out hello on speaker phone before Dean cut him off furiously.

“The hell are you playing at?”

Castiel scoffed, bristled. He told Dean coolly, “I said what I needed to say to Y/N. This is between us, not you.”

“She is my family, so, no, you are wrong. I am one hundred percent involved when it comes to my family’s safety.” Dean growled. “You listen to me, you absolute psycho: Stop stalking her. Leave her the hell alone or things are going to get really ugly.”

Dean did not give Castiel time to respond before he hung up the call and unceremoniously tossed your cell phone onto the end of your bed. He ran his hand through his hair angrily, throwing an expectant look at you and Sam.

Sam leaned forward, giving him a nod of affirmation. His elbows rested on his thighs as he asked, “How the hell did he even know where she was?”

“He could have someone watching us,” you said quietly.

Dean sighed heavily, “Which means we need to even more so keep our head on a swivel.” Sam nodded in agreement.

“Please don’t leave me alone again in here,” you begged, looking between the two, eyes pleading.

Sam assured you quickly, “We won’t. We promise.”

You relaxed a little, slowly reclining again. Nervousness was eating away at you still, your mind traveling to dark places. Images of Castiel coming back during the night in retaliation for Dean’s call. Or blowing up the hospital in anger. Would he do that? You could not be sure he would not.

Your call light, you remembered.

“He unplugged this,” you said holding it up. “It’s why I couldn’t call for help when he was in here.”

Agitated with the situation, Dean sighed, “I’ll go find someone to properly get your call light set back up.”

<> <> <>

The following day, you were deemed well enough to be discharged from the hospital. You had to be on crutches for at least another week, although the doctor recommended continuing to use at least one for another week afterwards for support. They had set you up with enough painkillers too. You would most certainly have leftovers though since the medication made your head heavy, which meant you wanted to wean off as soon as possible.

At least over the next week, Dean and Sam were willing to wait on you hand and foot. You made sure to milk it as much as possible, reminding them because of you, you were all getting a two-week vacation. Dean scornfully told you unless his toes were in sand, it was not a vacation. You had merely held out your water bottle and gave him puppy dog eyes and smirked when he got up to assist.

Nearing the middle of the second week, as you and Sam headed out the door for a grocery run, you told them that you had a craving for takeout. Dean was quick to jump on board with this and texted Sam his order since he was staying behind at the bunker. On the way to the store, Sam pulled off at the restaurant to run inside and place the order for pick up on the way back home. The restaurant parking lot was empty except for a few cars, that could just be staff. This was not odd since it was late on a Sunday evening.

As he got back into the car, Sam made a quip about you needing to hobble faster when you were getting groceries since the pickup window was relatively short considering they were not being hit up for business at the restaurant. It was ten minutes into town, but you knew he was right, still you scowled, drawing a laugh from him.

When you parked back at the restaurant, you insisted that you ‘hobble’ your way inside to get some more exercise.

The bell rang on the door when you walked inside. You had been inside before a handful of times. The décor was a little outdated, but it was comfortable, and the food was good. Not to your surprise, the restaurant was indeed empty inside as you made your way to the front counter.

What did surprise you was that no one came out to greet you when you walked in and the bell rang. No host, server, owner… it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Despite all the alarm bells going off in your head, you reached out and hit the service bell. The ring echoed through the still air. You leaned on your crutch, craning your neck to see through the kitchen door windows.

You heard footsteps and saw a flash of brown hair through the window before they opened and your heart fell into your stomach.

Castiel smirked and said, “Well, I was expecting the tall halfwit, but what a lovely surprise. I guess my men do not get to lay their hands on anyone tonight. Pity.”

Your stomach was in knots and you turned, clumsily on the crutch, trying to leave. But two of his men were behind you now. They must have came from the hall at the same time he had walked out, while you were distracted. You barely wasted a second before turning back to face him, leveling him with a glare with more calm than you currently felt.

“I could scream. Sam would hear it,” you threatened.

“By all means, call him in here. I promised my guys here a brawl and if you would like to indulge them…” Castiel tsked you, waving a leather gloved finger, “But, my sweet, that is entirely unnecessary now that you are in here.” He held up the large back he was holing, the aroma of delicious food wafting. “I brought your food out. No need to scream. I even covered the bill.”

He placed it on the counter and reached into his pocket. You resisted the urge to flinch although you were entirely unsure of what he was reaching for.

When he presented you with a museum ticket, he looked proud of himself. ‘That is a good first date, no?” He placed it on the counter next to your food. “It is for anytime, just text me when and I will make time for you.”

He straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. His tone changed telling you tightly, “But… speaking of unnecessary… Dean. Threatening me. Me.” He took a step closing, his eyes burning into you. “Now, I do not fault you of course, kitten. He is an adult and made his own choices, albeit foolish ones.” Another step and he was close. “Can I request a favor from you regarding that?”

You did not think it was wise to refuse the request, so you gave him a small shrug of acceptance.

“In the future,” he reached out, resting his hand on your shoulder gently. You fought the urge to jerk away from him, more so due to your current altered state of balance. “Can you – silly me, we. We are a team. Can we make sure he keeps his nose out of our business? Hmm? I can guarantee he cannot conceptualize what ugly can really be.”

Silence suspended as he stared you down, waiting for an answer.

Swallowing sharply, you vowed, “I’ll do my best. He’s headstrong.”

A satisfied smile pulled at the corners of Castiel’s lips. “I daresay he would find a formidable challenge when put up against you, no?”

He stepped back, giving you breathing room. “I put two extra orders of crab rangoon in the bag for you. Courtesy of the chef since he made you such subpar rice and the girl was going to serve you it without batting an eye. I despise terrible service, it is unbecoming.”

Tapping the ticket on the counter, he requested, “Please let me know when you decide to go. I know the museum here is not grand, so this is for the National Gallery in D.C. I will need some time to arrange flights and lodgings.”

His men walked around you when he beckoned them. “An unexpected pleasure to lay my eyes on your charming face, kitten. Your face happened to save your friend’s.” With a wink, he told you, “I am glad to see you are doing far better. I will be seeing you.”

Following him, the men went through the kitchen door, leaving you standing by yourself.

Your eyes were trained on the kitchen door, dread swirling in your stomach. You had thought it the moment Castiel had walked out but there was no doubt deep down that something was wrong with the staff considering they had still not shown themselves. And he had sounded so upset with them, which you knew would not bode well for them.

A part of you did not want to check.

But the messiah complex was winning.

Slowly, you hobbled towards the swinging doors. Heart hammering, you swung one of the doors open and shuffled through the doorway.

At the first sight of what you assumed was the server with her hand pinned to the wood counter with a long knife and a gash across her throat, you almost keeled over. Your hand on the wall caught you, bile rushing up your throat.

The bell ringing on the other side of the door startled you.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Y/N?”

All the worry slipped away hearing Sam’s voice. It was not Castiel returning or another customer that would see your face and ID you to the cops.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to will the nausea away before leaving the kitchen.

“Hello?” Sam called again.

You emerged from the kitchen, pushing your way through the door.

“The hell you doing back there for?” he questioned, his brow pinched in confusion.

Shaking your head, you gestured at the food. “I… we just need to get out of here. As soon as possible. Can you carry the food? It’s too heavy for me.”

Cocking his head concerned, Sam asked you expectantly, “Y/N….?”

“We do not want to be here if the cops show up, Sam. Trust me.”

Sam eyes moved to the kitchen behind you and when he moved around you, you sighed, knowing you could not stop him even if you tried. He disappeared through the doors and you heard him exclaim in alarm. He was back out in the blink of an eye.

Pointing behind him, he demanded, “What the hell is that?”

“What do you think. Or for that matter, who?”

Sam’s face darkened. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m unfortunately not. But like I said, we need to leave or we are going to have a huge problem on our hands.”

Turning his eyes upward, Sam eyed the security camera above the door. You followed his gaze and reassured him quickly, “I don’t think Castiel would leave tape that would incriminate himself or me for that matter. Now can we go?” Sam shot you an incredulous look. “Don’t give me that look.”

Sam did as you asked, keeping watch around you as you both walked to the car.

You did not realize until later that the museum ticket had been left behind.

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass

#castiel x reader #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #castiel fic #psycho!cas #psycho!castiel #my shit

[hailey-halstead]

Oh, and I’ll be there waiting when you get frustrated

here’s a post 7x07 fic! instead of upstead’s usual drinking after work ritual, i had them change it up a bit! as always, i take prompts and i don’t own anything! also this lyric is from the same song as the post 7x06 fic’s title (dog years by maggie rogers) so of course i had to use these parallel lyrics these two !

—————

Voight sent Hailey home after their talk. She ignored the blatant stares of her fellow Intelligence members as she grabbed her things, wanting to get out of the building as quickly as possible.

She couldn’t help but keep an eye on Voight’s office though, where Jay went in right after she left. They must be talking about her, and she wasn’t sure how that made her feel. Because even though Jay was reaching out to Voight out of concern for her, the fact it was being done without her present made her uncomfortable.

Regardless, once she was done getting her stuff situated, she headed downstairs. She wasn’t going to hang around and ask Jay what was discussed. She’d do it later.

What she was refusing to acknowledge was her fear that Jay saw Cam’s death as her fault like Voight did. It was one thing to have Voight’s words on her shoulders, another to have Voight and Jay’s.

“Hailey?”

She grabbed her hat from her bag and pulled it down over her head, making sure to cover her ears. The sky was now dark, she hadn’t realized that much time had past since they started their paperwork.

“Hailey?”

Hand on the doorknob, Hailey turned back around as she heard Trudy call her name. The sergeant’s face was full of concern and sympathy that Hailey couldn’t bring herself to walk out the door just yet. She stood there, waiting to hear what Trudy had to say.

“You’re a damn good cop, Upton.” She told her, shuffling through paperwork. “You’ll get through this.”

Hailey nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Trudy Platt was the reason she became a cop, with her current state of vulnerability she just couldn’t talk to her.

When she stepped outside though, she let the words sink it. I’m a good cop. I’ll get through this. Deep breath.

And when was Trudy Platt ever wrong?

The burden was slowly lifting from her shoulders until she remembered why she felt down about herself. Cameron was dead, and no amount of positive self-talk would bring him back. It felt silly to try to make herself feel better, when there was someone in the ground because of her.

The frigid weather brought her some peace. At least mentally, as physically the coldness was a bit much to bear. A part of her felt like she deserved it though, as if freezing was punishment for her mistakes.

Regardless, she zipped her coat all the way up. Getting sick was a bitch, and it wasn’t worth it. She could picture herself now, stuck in bed self-loathing.

The walk to her car took longer than usual because of the ice on the ground. She already had her keys out by the time she got to her car and was about to get in until she heard footsteps behind her.

Her heart thumping with adrenaline, Hailey whirled around with her hand going towards her gun. Once she saw who it was though she let it hang limply against her side.

“You could have said my name instead of spooking me like that.” She said dryly.

Jay at least had the decency to look guilty. “Sorry.”

“You couldn’t have finished your paperwork that quickly.” She pointed out, eyeing the brightly lit Intelligence room on the second floor. Everyone else was still there, bent over their desks.

“I didn’t.” The expression that she had just seen on Trudy’s face was now on Jay’s.

Frustration got the best of her then. Yes, she she had her CI killed right in front of her. She would fully admit she was struggling right now, but having her co-workers treat her like a piece of glass was not acceptable. “I don’t need a babysitter, Jay.” She snapped, yanking her car door open.

Before she could get in, Jay grabbed ahold of her arm. “No, you don’t.” He agreed. “But I think you need a friend.”

The intensity of his voice had her turn back around to face him. His blue eyes held nothing but sincerity. She must have misjudged him earlier—Jay wasn’t the type to pity her.

“I’m not up for drinking tonight.” She admitted, the words feeling silly as they left her mouth. It seemed like the only activity they did outside of work was drinking and chatting at one of their houses. Turning their typical pastime down made her feel like she was committing a crime.

Jay shrugged, seeming unbothered. “Perfect. I already had plans for us.”

Surprised by his words, Hailey was distracted enough that she had too late of a reaction to Jay reaching out and grabbing her keys.

She started to splutter. The past few minutes seemed like a whirlwind to her. She didn’t expect Jay to show up at all and now he was planning on driving her car!

After he got in the driver’s seat, he gave her a look. “Do you really want to drive?”

She bit her tongue at that, stopping whatever words were about to exit her mouth. He knew her well. Driving was something she always enjoyed, except if it was snowing. She was Chicago born and raised, but driving in the winter was always dreaded by her.

He started up her car. She walked over to the passenger side, wondering where he was taking her. As she got in the car, she asked him. “Where are we going then?”

Jay didn’t reply, instead focusing on backing out of the parking spot with her car. She was tempted to interrogate him, but put her feet up on the dashboard and leaned her head back. Might as well take advantage of Jay driving.

“You shouldn’t have your feet up there.” Jay spoke right as she was closing her eyes.

She opened them back up to glare at him. Despite claiming he was here as a friend he was being incredibly nagging.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He didn’t even have to look at her to know. “Cruz and Herrmann were just talking about last week a woman who had her legs crushed from them being on the dashboard.”

At that reminder Hailey slowly put her feet back down. The story had completely slipped her mind, she was right next to Jay when Cruz and Herrmann were discussing the incident. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jay smirking.

“Is this your plan then?” She questioned, taking notice of their outside surroundings. They weren’t taking either of the familiar routes to their respective homes. “Driving around aimlessly, wasting my gas?”

“Tempting idea, but I’ll stick to my plan.” Jay replied. He finally took a turn onto another road after it seemed like forever going straight.

The distraction of both Jay and their little unknown adventure from her emotions was slowly slipping away. Guilt and grief replaced it, feeling even heavier than before. Letting herself forget about what happened today made her feel worse than the actual event itself. Doing so was like attributing it to something as mundane as forgetting to respond to a text message.

Jay’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Hating yourself won’t bring him back, Hailey.”

Damn did he know her well. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, as if Jay could hear everything she was thinking. It sure seemed like that at times with their relationship.

“I know, it’s just—“ Hailey squinted her eyes at the luminous McDonald’s sign in front of her. Jay must have turned into the fast food restaurant when she was zoned out. “Very funny, Jay.” She rolled her eyes. She has hated McDonald’s ever since she got food poisoning from their chicken nuggets when she was eight. He knew this, so why would he bring her here?

Her belief that he was joking quickly went away as he approached the drive through. “Don’t worry, we aren’t getting chicken nuggets.” Before she could question him further, the McDonald’s employee’s voice came through the intercom.

“I’ll have two cones, please.” Jay said his order, and when the employee confirmed it, drove forward. He didn’t have to go far because there was another car still in front of him waiting for their order.

“Ice cream?” Hailey scrunched up her nose. It was twenty degrees outside, not prime weather for a cold treat.

“The ultimate comfort food.” He told her as they approached the window.

She wasn’t so sure, but kept quiet as he paid. Today’s events had her in a bad mood and despite how tempting it was, she didn’t want to use Jay as a punching bag.

She was trying, but knew she wasn’t great company. Everything Jay had said has been met with an eye roll or a face from her. He didn’t deserve that. “I’m sorry.” She voices aloud as he handed her her cone. “I’ve been a bitch ever since we left the police station—“

“Hailey.” Jay cut her off with a shake of his head. “You’re acting like a saint compared to when I’m in my moments of crisis.”

Well she couldn’t argue against that. Jay was a piece of work when he was in a bad mood. Still, she had to let him know her appreciation. “Thanks for being here with my bitchy ass, though.”

He rolled his eyes, presumably at the derogatory words she called herself, but didn’t comment on them. “Anytime.”

She started to eat her ice cream cone, hesitantly as she was still warming up from being outside. Her car took what it seemed like lifetimes to properly heat up. But as her tongue touched the ice cream and the vanilla sweetness hit her tastebuds, she had to agree with Jay. Ice cream was the ultimate comfort food.

She was focusing on enjoying her cone, but out of the corner of her eye noticed Jay. He wasn’t eating his cone yet. Instead he was watching her with an unreadable expression on his face.

Jay then lifted his cone into the air and held it there. Hailey rose an eyebrow, perplexed at his behavior.

He let out a sigh of exasperation, but the fondness in his eyes said a different story. “We’re raising a toast to Cameron,” He explained. When she rose her own cone, he added, “and you.”

He mimed cheering with her right before she yanked her cone back down. “Celebrating me, the cause of his death?” She said distastefully, looking at the cone in her hand as if it was the gun that shot Cameron.

“No, celebrating a damn good cop who tried her hardest to help Cameron.” He corrected her. “You got Cameron involved because you thought he could help the case. He was the one who put himself at risk, and you tried to get him out.”

Hailey wanted to believe what Jay was saying, but it was hard to. She knew what Cameron was like with cases before she asked him. Ultimately it all led back to her.

“If I didn’t get him involved he would still be alive.” She pointed out.

Jay shook his head, not giving up his argument. “If he didn’t show up at the police station he would still be alive.” He countered back.

Hailey pulled her last card out. “Voight said it’s on me, Jay. He was my CI, I brought him in. Case closed.”

Jay frowned at that. “Screw what Voight said.” He was about to continue eating his cone, but stopped. “Don’t tell him I said that.” He added with a grimace.

Despite her mood Hailey couldn’t help but snort. Jay was Voight’s unofficial second in command and been in Intelligence for years, long before her, and Voight still had a handle on him.

Jay made a face. That only made a full blown laugh escape her. “Okay, I’m not scared of him.” He protested, talking louder over her laughs. “I just know I can’t be on his bad side.”

“Well I can’t disagree with that.” She gave him a smile. It was the first real one she had given ever since Cameron was shot right in front of her.

When he gave her one back, Hailey felt a rush of affection run through her. If she had it her way, she would have already been home self-wallowing. Jay bringing her here didn’t solve her pain and guilt, but made her remember that she was a bad cop or person.

Her cone, now half-eaten, was back in the air again.

This time Jay was the one confused. But unlike her, lifted his cone into the air without being prompted. “Are we toasting me now?” His grin was now a light cocky one. His eyes held curiosity though.

Hailey refrained from giving him both a smart ass response and a meaningful one. Instead, she told him the truth. “No, myself.”

#my post #upstead #upstead fic #jay halstead #hailey upton

[malcolmwhitly-bright]

Longing for Things Out of Reach

Chapter Two

No one wants to be friends with the cripple. 

It’s not completely true. His classmates could not care less about any of the many tools he needs to get around. His speech impediment isn’t that bad anymore and no one notices it except him. He’s pretty ‘ok’ in his classmates’ books. Everyone knows his story, every news station in America gave him his five minutes of fame for turning his father in. His lack of friends has nothing to do with him physically and everything to do with him mentally. 

“What do you want me to do, Jessica?”

Malcolm pretends like he can’t hear Gil and his mother arguing in the doorway. They blame one another for his failures but even Malcolm knows it’s all his fault. He’s slower than normal, more than taking his time as he walks to the steps. He doesn’t want to face Gil, doesn’t want to talk about another horrible week at school like next week will be any different. 

“Jackie said she’s making burritos,” Ainsley tells him. She’s hot on his heels and he’s expressed several times her doing so makes him feel self-conscious about the way he walks. She remembers this when he catches his foot on the carpet and curses angrily. “Sorry, Mal.”

Malcolm closes his eyes, breathing through his nose for ten seconds before opening them again. His voice is calm, his frustration melting away. “It’s not your fault, I-I wasn’t watching.” With more concentration, he manages to get his left leg over the carpet even if it means he leans heavily into the crutch at his side. 

Ainsley watches him falter at the top of the steps. The task is daunting. “Why don’t you move your bedroom downstairs,” she whispers, still worried her words will set him off like a ticking bomb. “No one would think any less of you.” It seemed to be a debate held monthly in their home. Staved off for when Malcolm had one of his severely worse days. Her mother would comfort him as best she can and asks if he’d like her to call Gil. That together they can move his things to the first-floor bedroom. 

His cold blue eyes find her and she can see he’s not mad. He shakes his head with a knowing smirk,” I would.” He takes the first step, leaning between the railing and the crutch. What he means is that he knows that his family would come at the drop of a hat to help move his room downstairs but he would feel awful if he moves it. It’s… It’s like being a kid again before his father was sent away. He’s a broken child all over again. 

“Hey my little G-man,” Gil rustles Malcolm’s hair and steps away from Jessica to take Malcolm’s overnight bag. Malcolm forces a smile for Jackie who waves at him from where Ainsley is now engaging her in conversation. “How was this week?”

Malcolm trusts his mother has already told the Lieutenant that he missed Tuesday and Wednesday. He forced himself out of bed Tuesday only to fall in the shower like a complete moron when his hip locked up and he was hit with such blinding pain in his knees that he had to army crawl out. He could live without the embarrassment of telling Gil that his mother had found him completely naked on the bathroom floor. 

He decides to smile through it, “I fell down the stairs yesterday morning but I aced my calc test.” He leaves out that he was home alone and that it took him ten minutes to find the strength to pull himself upright. His therapist calls this his ‘protective dome’. That only because it’s nicer to give deflections a different name. She doesn’t like his protective dome and he knows it’s because it’s not as protective as he likes to pretend it is. Lying to the people who care about him isn’t helpful for them or for him. 

“That’s one less fall than last week,” Ainsley supplies in their silence. She always wants him to appease the ground between Malcolm and others. She’ll smooth over his frustrated comments towards Gil or his mother. She’ll even brush off his mean comments. He doesn’t deserve it. 

He doesn’t deserve a lot of things. 

“Come on kid,” Gil sighs at Malcolm’s full plate. Malcolm hadn’t even bothered to pick up his fork. Jackie sends him a look from the kitchen, it’s a warning. Gil isn’t in a good mood and Malcolm’s disinterest in life is not going to make it better. “You’re not gonna eat your food? Have you eaten at all today?”

Protective Dome. Don’t tell him more than what he needs to know. 

Malcolm shrugs his shoulders, “... had a granola bar.” He can remember the day his life changed forever. One phone call. He wishes he’d never made the phone call. He didn’t save the woman in the basement with him so there was no point. He wishes… He wishes he would have died in that basement, in the teal room. 

There would be no crutches, canes, or wheelchairs. There would be no mornings where he’s too weak to stand or in too much pain to think. There’d be nothing. He’d be dead. Maybe he would have grown weaker, died in his sleep. Things probably would have escalated and it would be a slow, painful death but it would be a death. That’s more than he has now.

But he didn’t die. Gil saved him. 

Malcolm remembers that night perfectly. The way his father seemed warmer than normal as they made their way down the stairs. He can feel the gurney digging into his back and the needle piercing his flesh. The clouds over his eyes and in his skin. 

He can remember the banging as the cops filled the house. His mother and Ainsley’s crying as they realized they were looking for Martin. Better than anything else, he remembers Gil. Warm, strong arms that lifted him from the gurney, a soothing voice through the shouts and cries of the madness around. 

Gil. 

Gil with his spicy cologne.

Gil with his bear hugs and goatee.

“I’m sorry,” Malcolm whispers, his eyes falling just short of where Gil’s are. “I… I-” he doesn’t know. There’s no good excuse for his behavior. A heavy hand finds his shoulder and Malcolm looks up to find Gil smiling down at him. 

Gil squeezes his shoulder and says nothing as he pulls the plate away. Jackie smiles at him from the kitchen and Malcolm bows his head. His therapist had suggested that perhaps his fear was misplaced. That he needs to stop worrying about freaking his family out and worry more about what’s freaking him out.

More importantly, what led to his attempt. 

He can’t remember most of it, his therapist explained that sort of thing can happen when a person is traumatized. It’s the way the brain protects itself. Too bad it didn’t happen to the first ten years of his life, then maybe he wouldn’t have a suicide attempt to remember. His therapist hadn’t found that quip as clever as he did. 

He remembers waking in the hospital and the way they looked at him. The way they’re still looking at him now, almost a week later. 

He meets Jackie’s eyes, those intuitive blue eyes. Just like his. She brushes past Gil as they switch positions. She settles into the kitchen chair closests to him and his hand in hers. “Is this okay?” She means a hundred things, he knows. That was Jackie, clever. He nods and she runs her finger over the bandage on his wrist. It covers the angry red skin. “What were you thinking?” He understands... She’s not here to criticize his choices. “I’m not your mother, Malcolm.” She wants to understand.

He shakes his head like he can’t fathom an answer. Her eyes don’t move away and her thumb on his pulse makes him tremble with vulnerability. “I’m-” his voice is a rasp of nerves as he looks at her for any indication that he doesn’t have to go on. “I’m not- I’m not normal.” His protective dome of careful half truths be damned.

They both know it’s bigger than that. He knows, right now, as he thinks back to climbing into that too warm water. The way it settled on his chest like the night he found the woman. The razor felt like the needle slipping into his veins and his knees wobbled and his head was fuzzy. 

She squeezes his fingers, shaking her head. “You’re seeing it all wrong,” she whispers, hand coming to the side of his head. “Think about the things you can do, the things you can control.” She looks over her shoulder, “if you’re so awful, why does your baby sister think you hung the moon and named stars?” She strokes his cheek, “who cares about normal. I like you better the way you are, dark humor and loud laugh.” She scoots closer, bringing their heads to touch. “You make life worth living, you silly boy.”

He struggles to keep his tears at bay, smiling and laughing oddly as a tear falls down his cheek. Jackie brushes it away and presses her warm palm to his cheek. He looks at her, lower lip trembling. “It-” he hasn’t talked about it. None of them have, not really. “It hurt,” he whispers. “It hurt so much.” She presses her lips to his forehead, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The weight across his shoulders suddenly doesn’t feel as heavy, his heart light. 

She unwraps him and he’s suddenly too cool without her right there beside him. Two fingers press under his chin and he lifts his head, smiling when he looks up to Jackie. She smiles with a wink but says nothing, Malcolm already knows. He’s a fighter. He’s smart. He’s the boy who gets knocked down and who gets back up and with love he’s learning to take his time. 

“Eat,” Jackie fills the empty space where his plate had been with a peeled orange. She’s not leaving it up for debate. Gil watches him out of the corner of his eye but Jackie doesn’t. Normally, he might venture to say something about Gil’s attention but after everything he’s put the poor man through he doesn’t have the heart.

Ainsley runs into the kitchen stopping when she realizes Gil can hear her. She smiles sheepishly and grins at him. They’re not supposed to run through the house, a problem mostly at Gil and Jackie’s because Ainsley gets so excited about being at their house.

“What is it, Ains?” Gil raises an eyebrow and puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping her twisting as she stands in place. His smile is soft as he regards her. It’s only been two weeks since he saw them and yet he missed them both unspeakably. It was weird, the house and station and the back of his car without one of them. No Malcolm to get picky over what station the radio played on or Ainsley to give him those sad little pouty eyes when he says no to stopping for sweets. 

She smiles, “I wanna play checkers. Will you play with me?” She can see his hesitation and pulls his hand off her shoulder, squeezing his fingers. “Please, Gil? Please?”

He caves, like always, and lets her pull him to the living room. 

Jackie watches the exchange with a smile, “he’s missed having you two around.” Malcolm knows she’s speaking to him but prefers placing another orange slice on his tongue so he doesn't have to engage in discussing exactly why it is they haven’t been over. “I have too.” 

It comes back to him, it always does. 

Ainsley can’t have horse riding lessons because Jessica doesn’t like missing Malcolm’s physical therapy. 

Gil missed two weeks from work because Malcolm decided to slit-

Right. He’s not supposed to think like that. Ainsley can’t have horse riding lessons because she’s already balancing ballet and school. Gil missed time because Malcolm was in the hospital and the station wrote it off because they know the relationship. 

Malcolm clears his throat, “she’s talked about it all week.” He can faintly remember on Tuesday when she crawled into his bed with him. Their mother had sent her up with a heated blanket and Ainsley had tucked it around the two of them before settling into his side. She had talked his ear off but hearing her excitement helped with some of the pain. 

“And you?” Jackie is the only person that pushes him to express his emotions. She tilts her head and watches him. Gil and Jessica always comment that when Malcolm and Jackie tilt their heads they look exactly alike. That heavy intuitive gaze in their blue eyes. 

Malcolm nods, “it’s…” He doesn’t want to say home but… This house is home more than his own could ever be. “It’s good to be home,” he looks down and realizes he’s finished the orange. His stomach rumbles, reminding him just how little he’s eating as of late.

Jackie smiles at the sound and she hands him a plate. This one has two sliced strawberries, half a banana, and another orange. He starts this one with a little more fever, smiling when the orange drips down his chin. She smiles too, “I love you, bright boy.” She rustles his hair.

He looks up at her and he knows she means it. He bites into a strawberry and smiles when he finds it to be sweet. He’ll spend his whole life wondering how it is that her love seeped into everything she made, even the fruits she cuts. “I love you too, Jackie.”

#prodigal son #prodigal son fanfic

[xingjieisbaby]

Vacation Ch 5

Xiao Gui then walked back outside to see his members still in shock.

“Are you guys dead?” Xiao Gui asked. Justin shook his head.

“I just can’t believe you’re dating someone.” Justin said.

“I can’t believe he’s dating Song Miu. She’s god tier man.” Wenjun said.

“How did a rapper start dating one of the greatest vocalists of all time?” Jeffrey asked. Xiao Gui laughed.

“Yeah I thought you’d like someone like Song Aria because she’s literally the god of rap.” Justin said.

“Or Kim Jennie, her energy is like yours.” ZhengTing said.

“Miu balances me out. I have to be mature around her because she’s so vulnerable. But I like that. I like protecting her. I like being the one she calls when she feels sad or scared. I love waking up to her calls whenever she has a nightmare. I like being the one she relies on.” Xiao Gui said with a soft smile.

“How come you fell for her and not one of the other Guardians?” Jeffrey asked.

“Jie ge and Aria are basically the same person except she’s a whole lot scarier and quieter. I can’t date someone like Aria because well, she’s so independent and mature. Don’t get me wrong, she’s my best friend. But she makes me feel like a child despite me being older than her. Jennie is me in a nutshell. She’s super energetic and vibrant. But I also can’t be with someone like because well, it’s Jennie and Jennie is something else. She’s like someone you think is one way but when you meet them, they’re actually freaking crazy.” Xiao Gui said with a laugh.

“Is Jennie single?” Yanlei asked. Xiao Gui wanted to laugh.

“Yes but she and Yanjun are basically dating. They’re not officially dating but everyone can tell that they’re together. Ari says he’s too much of a dumbass to realize that Jennie likes him back.” Xiao Gui said.

“Are any of the Guardian members single?” Yanlei asked.

“The older ones are. Actually I think Mira Jiejie might find Jeffrey cute. She voted for him during the Aini stage and every stage after that.” Xiao Gui said. Jeffrey looked at him in shock once again.

“Eh? Really? I’m cuter.” Justin said. Xiao Gui looked at him, disgusted. ZhengTing hit him with a pillow.

“Xiao Gui, you have to tell us how she fell for you. It’s Song Miu. She’s the epitome of elegance and grace.” ZhengTing said. Xiao Gui shrugged.

“I ask myself that too. I ask her that but she’s too shy to answer.” Xiao Gui said. He then felt his phone vibrate. It was Miu.

Kaikai?

Hey baby. You done?

Yep~ I feel better now. Jiejie and Jennie Jiejie are here. I’m seeing Jennie Jiejie blush because of Yanjun gege.

Did he finally ask her out?

I don’t know. But I ship~

Xiao Gui smiled softly. He could already imagine her squealing like she normally does when she finds something cute.

You know who I ship?

Who?

Us.

On the other side of the screen, Miu blushed. Aria quickly noticed her sister’s change in demeanor and smirked.

“Linkai being his soft ass self when it comes to you?” Aria asked. Miu blushed even more.

“He’s not soft to me only.” Miu said. Jennie looked over at her friends.

“Yeah right. The kid is whipped for ya Miu. He at least fights back whenever Ari and I pick on him. But with you, he just smiles.” Jennie teased.

“Truth.” Aria said.

“Xingjie gege is the same for you though Jiejie.” Miu said.

“I don’t deny that.” Aria said. Aria then looked over at her best friend.

“Ya know, Yanjun be pretty whipped for ya Jen. Linkai told me how much he smiles when talking to you.” Aria said with a smirk. Jennie blushed and threw a pillow at her.

“Stop teasing me.” Jennie said with a groan, making the girls laugh. Miu then turned back to her phone.

Baobei?

Baby~

Babeeee reply to me

Kaikai misses you. Love him.

Miu smiled softly at her boyfriend’s neediness.

Xiao Gui pouted when he saw that she didn’t reply. The boys looked at him when he pouted.

“What happened?” ZhengTing asked with a curious look.

“She stopped replying to me.” Xiao Gui said. That’s when his phone vibrated yet again.

Sorry I was talking to jiejies

And I do love you silly. I love you more than anything.

Well, except Jiejie

Understandable. Damn I top Jennie huh.

LOL. Don’t tell her please~ also she’s about to live stream. Tell your friends to tune in if you guys wanna see what it’s like with Guardians at night.

“Jennie is gonna live stream if you guys wanna watch.” Xiao Gui said. The boys quickly turned on their laptop.

Tuning in.

Okie~ live stream is starting right now.

“Hello people of Earth~ it’s ya girl, Jennie! I’m currently in my hotel room with the Maknae line of the Guardians. There’s Miu and there’s Ari. Excuse our faces, none of us have makeup on right now because we’re about to sleep.” Jennie said as she panned the camera over to her friends.

“Hi guys~” Miu said with a wave.

“Hi from Australia~” Aria said with a wave.

“Alright what do y’all wanna do?” Jennie asked the girls as she jumped on Aria.

“Ow.” Aria yelped. Jennie laughed as she sat on her best friend.

“Hmm, let’s do a Q&A session?” Miu said.

“Down, Alright guys, send in your questions for us! We got quadrilingual girl squad in here tonight so you guys can ask your questions in Chinese, Korean, Japanese or English tonight.” Jennie said.

“First question, who are you guys wearing? And why are you sitting on Ari.” Jennie read. She looked over at Aria and laughed.

“Alright y’all, ootd! Let’s go. I am wearing pjs from my clothing line. Shameless plug but you asked for it! Go to Cherrykoko to cop these pjs~ Ari what are you wearing?” Jennie asked.

“A hoodie. now get off of me.” Aria said as she pushed her friend off of her.

“Aria is currently wearing a hoodie that’s also from Cherrykoko. Miu over here is rocking her boyfriend’s hoodie like it’s a dress. Miu give us a spin.” Jennie encouraged with a smile. Miu got and did a little twirl.

“How’s your hoodie sis?” Aria asked.

“Comfy.” She said with a laugh.

“Did you take it from him today?” Jennie asked. Miu shook her head.

“I’ve had this one.” Miu said with another laugh. Jennie shook her head with a smile.

“Next question: what are the rooming arrangements?” Jennie read.

“Okay so back at the dorm, we have separated rooms. All of us as of right now because we all have schedules at different times and some of us just have trouble sleeping. Like Ari has insomnia so if she wakes up, she’s gonna be awake until however long it takes for her to go to sleep again. I usually have schedules until late night because of filming and I would come home really late. So yeah we just have separated rooms.” Jennie said.

“While we’re on tour though, we share rooms depending on how many rooms there are. So if there are three rooms, Rita unnie would get one room to herself. Jennie and Mira unnie would share a room and then Miu and I would share.” Aria said.

“If there’s only two rooms, then it would be the Maknae line and Unnie line.” Jennie said.

“I wanna send in a question but I don’t know if they’ll answer it.” Yanlei said.

“What do you wanna ask?” ZhengTing said.

“I wanna ask their ideal types.” Yanlei said.

“Me too.” Justin said, typing in the comment section.

“What are your ideal types?” Aria read. Jennie looked at Miu with a smirk.

“Maknae, what’s your ideal type?” Jennie asked. Miu hid her face in a pillow.

“Stop making fun of me~” Miu whined.

Xiao Gui smiled at her cuteness.

“Fine I’ll go first. But you have to answer Maknae. My ideal type is someone who can make me laugh.” Jennie began to say. Aria smirked.

“Someone that tells bad jokes right? Like really really bad jokes?” Aria said, holding back a laugh. Jennie looked over at her and threw a pillow at her.

“I’m going to fight you.” Jennie said.

“Yay.” Aria said, laughing.

“Anyways, back to me, I really like someone that can make me laugh because like that’s how you cheer people up. This person has to be sarcastic because I’m very sarcastic and I need that in my life.” Jennie said.

“Ari, you go. As you guys know, our Ari has a boyfriend and she’s been in a committed relationship for three years now. Let’s find out what type of guy he is…” Jennie said.

“My ideal type? Hmm~ I like tsundere characters. Like you know the type that seems really tough and mean at first. But when you get to know them, they’re like the sweetest person ever?” Aria said.

“Describe your boyfriend in one word.” Jennie commanded.

“Omg why does only one word come to mind?” Miu said with a laugh.

“I know, I wanted to say that word too but then it would be too obvious who it is. Hmm, magician.” Aria said.

“Explain what that means.” Jennie said.

“He does a lot of magic tricks. It’s pretty cool. But I said magician because he’s capable of anything. There’s always something new to learn about him and I find that very intriguing.” Aria said.

“I would also like to note that he’s also willing to change for the sake of Ari.” Jennie said.

“Alright Miu~ your turn. Also guys, Miu’s boyfriend is currently watching our stream.” Jennie said. Miu hid her face behind a pillow again.

Xiao Gui wanted to laugh. She was just too cute.

“Okay, so my ideal type is someone that has lot of layers to them. Like there are a lot of sides. My boyfriend has a side to him that only I see and then there’s a side to him that the rest of the world sees. I like that… it makes me feel special that I see all of him.” Miu said. Xiao Gui looked at the screen softly. He took out his phone once more.

You are special Baobei.

“Wah Gui, already texting her when you hear her words huh. Nice nice.” Jennie teased when she heard Miu’s notification.

“Alright next question, ‘Ari can you please sing? You always rap but I remember that you can also sing.’ Wah OG fan right here. Ari sing.” Jennie said. Aria began to sing to her own song, Why Don’t You Know. Miu began to dance to the song as she remembered the choreography.

“Okay next question.” Aria said with a laugh.

“Okay! Um hahaha I like this one. If you could date anyone in Idol Producer, who would it be?” Jennie said.

#New chapter that was too long for an author’s note #zhu xingjie #zhu zhengting #lin yanjun #wang linkai #xiao gui #nine percent xiao gui #gramarie #gramarie entertainment #gramarie boys #idol producer #fantasy restaurant #nine percent yanjun #ninepercent #j.zen #9% imagines #9% #npc #banana entertainment

[xoruffitup]

BlacKkKlansman: Double Consciousness & Extremist Identities

I saw BlacKkKlansman last night, and I’m still trying to properly breathe around the cold stone it left in my chest. I’ve been thinking about it constantly, and whenever that happens I always feel the need to write some sort of analysis to try to articulate why I’ve reacted so strongly to something. So, here’s my half-baked BlacKkKlansman review.

First things first, I’m white. Of course, that affects the way I view the world and whatever art/media I choose to consume. I fully recognize that my experience and takeaway from this film are likely very different from those of a viewer of color. And sure, I can say that I try to be progressive in how I live my life and I took college courses on race politics and minority marginalization, but at the end of the day, this is a film about black voices and black equality and those are topics I have no right to discourse on. So please, if something I write below seems misguided or uneducated, please let me know so I can self-examine and adjust.

First of all: The simple fact that this movie had such an effect on me as a white viewer. I was in a crowded movie theatre, with an audience of diverse age and race, and never in my life have I felt such a powerful moment of silent, unified shock when the credits started. The ending left every single person speechless. White privilege means that when I read news articles or books about institutionalized racism in our country, I have the option of closing the book, walking away and thinking about something else for a while. Not the case whatsoever with this movie - It didn’t discriminate in its devastating impact. While I’ve read about Black Power ideologies, there’s always an aspect of such movements that are designed not to be fully understood by those outside of it. These are not for me. This seems as intentional as it is justified. Black communities are excluded from so many mainstream ‘white’ narratives or locuses of power, these movements are the sole spaces that belong entirely to them and which they entirely control. They are designed to alienate, the same way these communities are alienated from so much else in society. However, BlacKkKlansman seemed accessible to a multitude of viewpoints and cultural/racial positions. The film does not strive to tell the audience how they should feel, but leaves elements of interpretation up to the viewer by presenting a chorus of voices, rather than a single one; By presenting multifaceted characters experiencing conflicts of identity - Rather than a single protagonist with a single political message. This is certainly not to say that a film is only good if it panders to the understanding of white viewers, but in this case I was impressed by the multiplicity of narratives and perspectives that were portrayed.

What’s so thought-provoking to me about the film was the decision to tell the story from the position of the undecided and conflicted center. By following Ron and Flip’s investigation, we watch each character grapple with the opposite sides of extremism. While Flip has to ingratiate himself with the Klan members who would revile his Jewish heritage, Ron has to spy on his own community at Black Student Union events as they call for war against the police. Both characters must play roles in order to pretend to fit into the groups they look like they should belong to. In Flip’s case, feeling threatened and despised by the Klan’s ideals makes him re-evaluate the meaning of the Jewish identity he never thought much about. For Ron, he feels torn between his loyalty to his people, and to his own hard-sought and prized work as a policeman (an institution equally reviled by Patrice and Klan members). Ron and Flip both wear masks, and their feelings of separation from “their” respective communities makes them each consider the conflicting identities within themselves.

Aptly, Patrice speaks to Ron in one scene about double consciousness. She questions whether it is possible to be both a black woman and American citizen. To her, putting her country first would be a betrayal to her black identity. In juxtaposition, the Klan members dress up their intolerance behind the values of “America first” (I can barely describe the chills that went through me when the Klan members all started chanting it.) Ron’s struggle throughout the film is exactly this - His determination to be both a black man and a police officer. He and Patrice disagree on whether it’s possible to change a corrupt system from within, and the movie leaves ambiguous how much Ron succeeds in this front. It’s crushingly infuriating when, towards the end of the film, Ron is himself detained and beaten by policemen who don’t believe he’s an undercover cop. But shortly thereafter, he enjoys a triumphant entry into the police station where all his white colleagues congratulate his work and embrace him. The scene when he calls David Duke to reveal his identity with his three colleagues giggling on either side of him is downright charming in its camaraderie and gaiety. It looks like acceptance; But tempered by the fact that all his hard work on the investigation was ultimately scrapped in the end. 

These themes of double consciousness and ambiguity permeate the film, and lend to its impactful success. Split-screen parallels are presented between Klan and Black Power movement meetings - Certainly not to equate the two, but to show in stark, unmistakable terms that these are the polar opposite, yet intimately interrelated effects of racism. This is how distantly racism divides our country - And how it leads to beliefs on either side that people will kill for. Towards the climax, a Black Student Union meeting listens to the horrific history of a young black man being brutally lynched, while the Klan members cheer and applaud a scene in Birth Of A Nation depicting the hanging of a black man. Neither side exists without the other to perceive it as a threat - And both stand firm in their respective beliefs that their hatred of the other side is justified. 

Yet, the film wasn’t the story of the Klan, nor of the Black liberation movement - It was the story of the two men caught in the middle, looking for footing on quickly-shrinking ground between the two sides, as their mutual hatred brings the two warring sides to an inevitable conflict. It is the same story of many modern viewers, wondering how in hell we’ve come to the present moment with “Black Lives Matter” on one side and Trump proclaiming “America First” on the other - with not an inch of common ground or even common perception between the two. 

Although I hope most viewers would intuit which side is truly more justified in their grievances, a strength of the film was its balanced, rather than caricatured depiction of the Klan members; Who believe that yes, they live in a racist country - “An anti-white racist country.” The chilling brilliance in the depiction of David Duke was how harmlessly normal he first seems - Cheerfully spouting off phrases like “you’re darn tootin’“ on the phone to Ron and ending the conversation with a chipper “God bless white America!” This is exactly how ideologies of hate become disguised as civilized, mild-mannered “values.” David Duke has given up the flashy title of “Grand Dragon” for the more innocuous “National Director” (or something to that end). The first time he goes undercover, Flip is quickly admonished never to call the Klan “The Klan,” but rather “The Organization.” In a conversation between Ron and one of his superiors at the police station, it’s even discussed how a high-ranking Klansman might have the long-term goal of placing “one of their own” in the White House, after they’ve disguised their intolerance and bigotry under the empirical rationales of policy. It’s one of the most painful moments of the entire film. 

Yet, while Flip has to endure the Klan members’ talk of killing black people, and Ron hears Kwame Ture speak about race wars with inevitability, another stroke of the film’s thoughtful genius is the choice of individual who actually enacts violence - Felix’s utterly apple pie looking housewife. She looks like the plump, harmless woman you wouldn’t want to be in line behind at the grocery store because she’s likely to have fifteen coupons. She is the last person you would expect on sight to leave a bomb at the house of a young black woman. And yet, this is another powerful message: How the vulnerable and susceptible can so easily become radicalized. I certainly don’t have sympathy for her because she’s an adult who made her own decisions; But I’m also aware of the way her Klansman husband manipulated her into becoming what she was, and it’s an extra layer of nuance I appreciated. 

Finally, I’ll wrap this up on a personal, perhaps silly, note. There were multiple layers of this film that really disturbed me, and it’s taken me a good 24 hours to put my finger on this last one: I’m not sure I enjoyed Adam Driver as Flip. Don’t get me wrong here, I’m all over that shoulder gun holster look and he looked 500% finer in flannel than any man has a right to. Also, I’m not sure I would feel this same discomfort if he’d been played by a lesser-caliber actor, or one who I don’t have such an attachment to. But I realized that on an instinctive level, it upset me to see his face under a Klan hood, and to hear him say vile racist comments. Rationally, of course I know that A) He’s acting, and B) Even his character is acting, but Adam’s an utterly convincing actor, playing an undercover detective who’s very good at his job. Maybe both his and Flip’s performances were too good. I asked myself why it didn’t bother me the same way to hear Ron spout racist bullshit on the phone. Part of it is because he isn’t played by an actor I happen to deeply respect and admire, but there’s more to it than that. There’s a passage in the NYT review that got as close to my nebulous discomfort as anything I could express:

"The most shocking thing about Flip's (Adam Driver's undercover detective role) imposture is how easy it seems, how natural he looks and sounds. This unnerving authenticity is partly testament to Mr. Driver's ability to tuck one performance inside another, but it also testifies to a stark and discomforting truth. Maybe not everyone who is white is a racist, but racism is what makes us white.”

Adam’s performance as Flip is discomfiting because it shows how easily a white person can take up the mask of extreme bigotry and intolerance, and how easily they can be perceived as supporting a hate movement, regardless of their true internal ideologies. I know Flip doesn’t mean the things he’s saying, but he’s damn convincing because he looks the part. His whiteness paired with his words - regardless of whether they’re genuine - is powerful and terrible. And racism is what lends him the ability to put on that convincing mask. And if racism is what “makes us white,” Adam as Flip makes me wonder if I could do the same. If, for whatever reason, the situation was such that I had to convince someone I believed in these things... Would I surprise myself by finding that I’m capable of saying things equally terrible? Is this a role that every white person is capable of, at a certain subconscious level, because of systemic racism and implicit biases? 

In conclusion: This movie has fucked up my life. It’s genius and I think I need to see it again. (If I can stomach it...)

#BlacKkKlansman #Adam Driver #John David Washington #Flip Zimmerman #Ron Stallworth

[scifimagpie]

The Secret of Evil

I’d been sitting on this concept for a while, and then I found myself relaxing on Youtube one night, watching a film reviewer’s analyses — and I was jolted from my comfortable mood and into a flurry of expository frothing.

Possible content warning for talk about cults, general acts of violence, the dark side of humanity, cops, abuse — you get the idea.

Now, I think Ryan Hollinger does a great job of analysing this giving the constraints of his expertise and knowledge. I generally love his channel, and would recommend it. However, the underlying concept of this movie bothered me so greatly that, well — here we are.

What is evil?

For our purposes, “evil” refers to socially unacceptable, transgressive acts that cause harm to others. Examples include violent acts, sexual assault, murder, theft, fraud, lying — you get it.

Now, as long as humanity has been living in groups, squatting near our little fires, we’ve quarreled and bickered and occasionally wronged or harmed each other — sometimes, more severely than at others. The call to understand both our own dark impulses and bad decisions and to understand those taken by others appears to be pretty universal. Narratives and folkloric tales about evil, good, punishment, and morality appear in every single human civilization and culture, from small subsistence clans and tribes to our modern era.

I have a strong interest in cults, extremist groups, new religious movements, and that kind of thing. I’ve always wondered how “evil” came to be. It was a while before I understood that evil is a verb, not an actual force in the world.

But writers — especially in Hollywood, but in the general creative sphere as well — don’t all have degrees in the human condition. And while that’s fine, what is not fine is the way that evil is portrayed and continues to be portrayed. Not to mention the fact that criminality is often portrayed as “evil,” regardless of whether or not the criminal actions harmed anyone (i.e. an expired license plate vs a speeding ticket vs an assault charge).

Now, fun, lighter-hearted portrayals of evil aren’t really the issue here — I’m talking more about the serious portrayals, where a movie or story is really trying to Say Something. The silly portrayals of things, however, are rooted in the more serious stuff — so let’s talk about what we see as evil.

There’s no such thing as “born evil”

Take a minute with it. If you already know that, and are going, “yeah, duh,” then let me explain the whole “evil” thing in the context of murderers. I’m so tired of these bad, stupid true crime narratives about someone who just “wakes up and does bad things”. They allow us to ignore the massive preponderance of people who a) commit crimes for survival purposes, b) the misunderstandings of how mental health issues and neurodivergence works (i.e. “evil autistic” etcetera), and c) socio-economic factors, not to mention d) the cycle of abuse. That’s not even including e) cultural dehumanization of others caused by privilege — such as with wealth, perceived moral authority, or racist or gender-based ideas, to name but a few.

Let me run through those again with examples. Now, I’m not saying these are actually all “causes of evil,” but they’re various examples of causes of harmful acts, that some people might label — fairly or unfairly — as evil. Some of these groups and people are especially vulnerable to maltreatment, and especially innocent of what they’re accused of, but culturally, we don’t usually act like that’s the case.

a) survival criminality — doing something bad for either good reasons or personal safety. Example: stealing a TV to pay for a child’s school fees; stealing to pay for drugs in the case of an addiction

b) mental health issues and neurodivergence — people who experience impaired empathy and/or struggle to conform to societal cultural norms. Example: an autistic child slapping a caregiver during a meltdown, because they feel angry and/or threatened.

c) socio-economic factors — poverty is often criminalised, and some people — in Canada, that includes Indigenous, Metis, and First Nations people, and Black, African, and Caribbean Canadians in particular — are disproportionately accused of and suspected of crimes. This can lead to being forced into the prison system, loss of opportunities, prejudice, and murder. If you’ve heard the phrase “school to prison pipeline” regarding the way Black people are treated, you’ll know what I’m talking about. (If you don’t, look it up; it’s very important. Also horrifying.) Example: a store manager points at a Black child for acting “suspicious,” assuming the child has stolen a candy bar. (Depending on the portrayal, either the child will be implied to be “evil” or the store owner will be “evil”.)

d) the cycle of abuse. Abuse survivors who don’t deal with their experiences in some way go on to abuse others. Example: a man who is assaulted by his uncle may later go on to assault his daughter’s friend in her teen years. Alternately, an abused child may go on to abuse her spouse in adulthood.

e) cultural dehumanization of others caused by privilege — such as with wealth, perceived moral authority, or racist or gender-based ideas, to name but a few. The trope of the Evil Rich Executive from the 80s is a good example. See also, President of the US #45 for abundant and horrifying examples of dehumanizing and abusing others.

Does evil even exist?

I mean, colloquially, sure. As a primeval force? No. Even companies that profit from true crime content will, with some bashfulness, admit that a significant majority of the “terrifying killers” they love to portray are just severely abused people who’ve ended up lashing out in the worst possible ways. In the exceptionally rare cases where multiple murderers aren’t actually abused in childhood and/or suffering severe adverse effects, there’s often neurological damage involved.

However, as you can see from this brief analysis, it’s pretty clear that evil is more of a verb than a state of being. Someone’s actions can be evil, but defining a person as “evil” assigns a certain kind of evaluation that is both dehumanizing and oddly absolving. I won’t dive into the depths of Christian theology about evil right now — but even in games like Dungeons and Dragons, confronting the question of “evil races” (yikes) has required some updates and changes. And frankly, that’s a good thing.

How do we write about bad things and evil, then?

Don’t take this essay as the vituperative howling of an inveterate killjoy. Rather, it’s a plea for authors to realise that the old stories we’ve been telling are not only dusty and boring from overuse, they’re deeply inaccurate. The real world’s cues are so much more interesting and fertile, and trying to tell the same old mortality tales that have already been explored — without adding to them — is both artistically annoying and actually pretty harmful.

All of these things can still make for incredible, nuanced, interesting, gripping stories…but NoOoooooo, Hollywood still loves, “but what if just pure evil?” At this point, the thought experiment side of it is no longer a good argument. It’s become the predominant understanding of how crime, especially murderers, work — and that’s really, really bad.

We learn about the world from the narratives we take in — whether that’s pursuing true crime tales late into the night or listening to harrowing tales of social justice and fights against societal forces, or even just watching a fun, dumb horror movie. Luckily, there’s a lot of wonderful work that’s been coming out that does take these nuanced, complicated stories into account — to list some podcasts I love, How We Roll, Dungeons and Randomness, Campaign: Skyjacks, The Adventure Zone, and Critical Role all tend to feature plenty of nuance in the “evil” characters, as well as in the “good” ones.

So ask yourself — who are the heroes in this tale, and in the world? Who do you instinctively take the side of when you see a real-world conflict? Although we all pride ourselves on being able to tell the differences between facts and fiction, our construction of the world comes from stories — and that means we have to be honest about who we label “the bad guys,” and why.

***

Michelle Browne is a sci fi/fantasy writer and editor. She lives in Lethbridge, AB with her partner-in-crime and their cats. Her days revolve around freelance editing, knitting, jewelry, and learning too much. She is currently working on other people’s manuscripts, the next books in her series, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible.

#evil #writing #how to #morality #sociology #psychology #true crime #commentary #podcasts #editing #narrative

[my-mystic-messenger]

Why Rika is poorly executed character and villain

See, here is the thing - and please don’t take it the wrong way - but in a fandom like Mystic Messenger where the fanbase is predominantly underaged, the general consensus tends to be off, in my opinion.

People say that there is no right and wrong in opinions and to some extend that’s true. What someone else thinks is bad can be golden to you, however there is a difference to personal opinion and critical one. Critically speaking, I don’t think Rika is a well executed character or villain and here’s why:

Writing:

So to explain my point for why I think Rika is a poorly written character and villain I will use a list I found of what makes a good villain as well as villains from other movies that I would actually consider good villains. Let’s start by determining what the most important thing is for a good villain: their motivation! Why they act the way they act can make or break a villain, because it does so much more then tell you why they do it. The motivation gives you their backstory and makes them human and relatable, which is very important. A really good villain, in my opinion, has to be so clever and manipulative it will make you question your own morals. A good example of such a villain would be Light Yagami from Death Note, who despite being a serial killer of unimaginable magnitude still has a large fanbase and many people who support what he did, in fiction as well as in our world. His motivation is to actually do good and the nice thing about Light is, that he does not have one of those silly, over the top backstories. He’s just a cop’s kid who saw how the system never allowed his father to actually safe people, so he takes matters into his own hands. However, there are even villains who have absolutely no motivation or known backstory and are still highly enjoyable, I call them the psychotics. It is something that is much harder to pull off and often times fails, but if done right can be amazing. Best example; the Joker. We know nothing of his past and even the bits and pieces of his ‘traumatic childhood’ he tells us about are presumed to be lies and manipulation. Because he is psychotic with no motivation other than chaos he’s unpredictable and keeps us on his toes. Rika, on the other hand, is neither of those despite trying to be both. She is definitely psychotic and with a twisted mind, but she isn’t the 'fun’ kind like the Joker and she most certainly isn’t as clever about it or half as unpredictable. He actions are foreseeable and have been done over and over before. Be it her torturing and manipulating vulnerable people into her personal slaves or the whole shtick of I’ll try to make everyone you care for believe I’m actually the good and innocent person in all of this to make you look bad. I mean “The important thing is not to discredit her message, but discredit her” is literally a quote from the Handmaid’s Tale. A book written in 1985 that in one sentence summarizes Rika’s obviously unoriginal actions. Then of course there is this whole thing about wanting to allow people to be their dark selves, but yet again has been done and done better. That’s kind of a Lucifer thing to do, in every media ever created, and Rika does it poorly as well. Again, she says she does it for others – which would be a Light thing to do – but actually does it for herself – which would be a Joker thing to do – because she can’t handle her own darkness. However she doesn’t do it for fun, she does it because she’s weak which discredits her as a villain immediately. Also, let’s be real, what has Rika really achieved? She started a cult, sure, but she never tried to actively harm the RFA. She didn’t have some kind of greater plan beyond trying to get them to Mint Eye where they’d mostly live peacefully. What she did was manipulate a bunch of innocent, mentally unstable people into joining a cult. Even in a hero-villain story of a smaller frame like Mystic Messenger that’s hardly interesting. Scientology does the same thing and I don’t call them villains, just idiots.

Motivation isn’t all, of course. Remember how motivation gives us backstory? It does in Rika’s case too, sadly as I mentioned before Rika is a walking, talking cliché. Boohoo, my parents didn’t love me and I was bullied at school. Haven’t heard that one before. 

Beyond her ‘tragic backstory’ being unimaginative as hell, the whole things is also highly convoluted, messily executed, rather unrealistic despite being such a simple premise and beyond all that does not excuse any of her actions. Like no offense, but people who choose to adopt a child – which is a messy and expensive process usually very carefully planned and thought through – abusing said child doesn’t make sense. Not to mention that there would be social workers checking on them regularly. Also, honey, this is a bit personal but I was physically and verbally abused by my mother my whole life. I was bullied in school until I graduated and I too am mentally ill. It still doesn’t make me relate to Rika and her bullshit at all. Those things usually make people kinder, because they know better than to mistreat others the same way they were mistreated or it makes them aggressive and lash out. Rika again tries to be both and fails at being both. At this point I’d also like to add that for a website like Tumblr where everything has to be PC and unproblematic, I find it quite strange that a mentally ill person like Rika is allowed to call her mental illness a bad, evil darkness. Just saying. Then again, motivation and backstory aren’t everything. Neither Moriarty nor the Joker have those and they are still some of the best villains in history. There are other traits a villain should have and I have a list. Let’s have a look:

✓convinced they’re the good guy

✘ has many likeable qualities

✓a worthy enough opponent to make your hero look good

✘ you like when they are on stage/appear

✓clever and accomplished enough that people must lend him begrudging respect

✓can’t be a fool or a bumbler

✓has many of the same characteristics of the hero, but they’re misdirected

✓should occasionally be kind, and not just for show

✓can be merciless, even to the innocent

✓persuasive

✓stop at nothing to get what they want

✓proud, deceitful, vengeful

✓jealous, especially of the hero

Now looking at this you might say hey, Rika has a lot of those! That makes a good villain right?! Wrong, because Rika has a lot of those! This is like checking off a very obvious bullet point list to make sure you got everything right.

That is precisely why Rika is so goddamn flat and boring, because someone sat down, made sure to stuff everything from this list into a character and call it a day. Worst of all, not only do they follow a well-known grid, they aren’t even innovative about it.

I could go into detail about all the things on the list she does have, but then again sadly enough, those speak for themselves and there is very little to elaborate on. I mean the fact that I cannot elaborate on bullet points already gives away just how poorly the character is constructed.

However, there are two things not checked off that are rather important to talk about and in my opinion outweigh most of the other bullet points anyway: “Likeable qualities” and “liking when they appear in the story.” Neither of which can be said for Rika. Name one (1), likeable trait Rika has. I can’t think of a single good thing about her, not a single one. She isn’t funny – like the Joker or Loki – she isn’t extraordinary intelligent – like Hannibal or Moriarty – and she doesn’t make you question your morals like Light or hell Jigsaw if you will. Beyond being a cliché villain, she’s also a failure as a character. Ever character, even the worst villain, have likeable traits. Rika has none. She literally doesn’t have a personality, if you think about it. All there is to her is her tragic backstory, her mental illness and her darkness. That’s it. As for liking when they appear, you better believe that whenever Stayin’ Alive plays I think of Moriarty or that I care more about Loki than I ever did about Thor. Whenever I got a VN with Rika I rolled my eyes and tried to get through it as fast as possible. She was boring, repetitive and talked in this silly metaphors that were so utterly basic I’m sure that if I dug through my writing during primary school or early teens I’d find something similar. She sounded more like an angsty teenager than a well through out villain. So to summarize, before the writing part gets even longer, she is hardly original, has no abilities of her own and instead uses goons for all her work, has no personality and no redeeming traits. What usually makes the movies and shows interesting – hero and villain going head to head – was by far the worst part of the V route. If I ever have to read a conversation between V and her again, I’ll smash my head.

Design:

Now one might thing that there isn’t much to talk about when it comes to Rika’s design and even less to criticize and there really isn’t much I have to say on the design itself, but more so the three designs of Rika we have and the changes in design and personality in the V route.

Rika has three main designs. Her main-main design – that brown dress – her Mint Eye grown – that thing she wore in the secret endings – and the latest addition that sleek, black dress with that pretty mask that still makes me wonder what the point of it was, MC didn’t know her anyway.

Let’s start with the main design. Frankly, it’s quite basic, although I get where they were going with it. The colours are all light and pastel, trying to make her seem approachable, sweet and innocent. Long wavy hair and that big bow on her chest add to that whole lolita-childlike innocence thing.

The dress is brown, because brown is a simple, 'cheap’ colour probably supposed to show how humble she is, that she doesn’t dress up herself to invest more of her money and time into people who need it more than her. I get it, I’m still not a fan of the design.

Everything about her is too light and similar in colour. Rika kind of drowns in that dress. Like her blonde hair faints into even lighter colour she fades into the dress. Compared to the vibrant designs of everyone else, she sticks out like a sore thumb and they could have done better.

Also, that whole looks like an angel but it actually the devil thing is like yet another cliché they knocked off with Rika. It’s like those little Grady twins from the Shining or ever Yandere in every anime ever. Yet another unimaginative rip-off.

Her second design, the whole Mint Eye ruler gown thing, not particularly pretty design wise as well as having a confusing colour palette that has literally nothing to do with neither Magenta – which is her code name in Mint Eye, right? - not you know mint?

Also the whole now I am evil therefor I give up my modesty and wear fancy ass clothes to show how much better I am than everyone else also leaves this Mean Girls vibe in my mouth. Especially when you consider that it looks like a pastors robe so it’s like Mean Girls meets God complex.

Again, it’s not horrible but better and smarter choices could have been made. What really ticked me off through was her third outfit, what that kind of said about Rika and how her behaviour changes while she wears that black dress.

Let me preface this by saying that sex isn’t a bad thing. It’s a natural process, it’s enjoyable and it brings life. While I personally think people should wait a little longer and be a bit more modest to fully enjoy the experience, there is nothing wrong with sex itself. Oversexualization, on the other hand, is a problem.

Throughout the entire V route I was actually shocked how sexualized the entire thing was compared to the main game and it made me so uncomfortable, especially when Rika was involved since they’d worked so hard to establish her as this innocent, childlike girl.

Be it the strange photo series that she shot with V or her dress that became black, tight and with a very suggestive cut out on her chest. Now mind you, I don’t have a problem with sexy characters, but I do have a problem when innocent characters become sexy once they turn evil.

Her being overly sexual in the V route to show that she’s given up her innocence and everything good is nothing new. Anyone reading comics or watching superhero movies knows that female villains are always overly sexy instead of practical. I just hate the message behind it.

It leaves a foul taste in my mouth that a game supposed to be for young girls basically, subconsciously teaches them that being sexy is dirty and evil. Even worse, however, is that she not only becomes overly sexy, she becomes lesbian!

You cannot imagine how I fumed at that bad ending. I really wanted to toss my phone against the wall. A previously straight established, innocent character becomes a prying, sexualized lesbian once they turn evil. Grade A writing, Cheritz. Grade A.

You have an entire route with Jaehee where you can’t romance the poor woman and never get so much as proper CG together until the DLC’s where it’s still a thing of blink and you miss it hidden romance and yet we have this whole thing with Rika.

To me, honestly, that was a double slap in the face. Being sexy isn’t evil. Seduction shouldn’t be a goddamn weapon. Prying on someone physically is fucked up, no matter the gender, and being lesbian is not a fucking trait you unlock when you turn evil.

Once again, nothing but clichés, overused tropes and at this point even harmful messages for a young, impressionable audience that really makes me question decisions that are made in the Cheritz headquarters.

Voice Acting:

Finally, we get to the voice acting. This time I really don’t have much to say other that I found it weak, especially compared to the other voice actors who did amazing jobs while having much less to work with than Rika.

Every actor dreams of getting to play crazy characters, because you can really go bonkers with it and do things normal characters can’t and wouldn’t do. You can be creepy, over the top, crazy and hysterical. You can scream and shout and then split seconds later switch to eerie and quiet.

Playing a villain properly is one of the hardest things to pull off, but also the most fun and rewarding. While voice acting makes it a little easier, since you only have to focus on your voice instead of every single body movement, it’s still the most fun and with lots of options.

Rika didn’t do any of those things. Even when she had that whole breakdown towards the end of the V route I was majorly disappointed at how subdued and small the whole thing was, especially in comparison to the actual CG.

That is why I really thing Rika’s voice actress did a poor job, because she didn’t even take into consideration what CG’s she was working with, let alone the facial expressions of the render in the general game. Her voice acting never freaking matched!

So we have a CG where Rika is on the floor, bawling her eyes out and obviously screaming in agony and the voice actress just…doesn’t do any of it. There is way too much almost calm talking in the middle of a break down and honestly I’ve cried and screamed more about series finale’s than she did in what was supposed to be a heartbreaking and defining moment. Talking about subdued and calm, I also don’t think that the voice actress worked a lot with the voice to begin with, just read the texts mostly as herself, since Rika sounds the same no matter the situation or the render. That feels out of place especially when she has that freaky render where her eyes get all black and spooky but he voice actress just keeps on talking like normal, the render changes back to her sweet personality – showing how twisted she is – but the acting doesn’t change along. It’s just a job poorly done especially in comparison to say V, Jumin and Yoosung, who in my opinion did the best jobs despite having little to work with in some cases. The others were good too, but those three really stood out. V, because despite having very little lines in comparison and being a relatively calm character managed to convey every single emotion necessary and always perfectly fitting to the render. Despite not being a big fan of V, his voice actor really tugged at my heart. Jumin, because he is such a cold and calculated character and gives you so little to work with – something the voice actor even talked about – and yet he gave him this vulnerability and human side with just his voice. The things this voice actor made me feel…oh boy. Yoosung’s voice actor literally made my jaw drop when I heard him speak in the Valentines Day special. While Yoosung was still almost a child with a high voice during the main route here he actually sounded like the same boy but older! Then I heard the guy speak and he sounds literally nothing like Yoosung and you manage to capture something so youthful despite not having that voice and then capturing it while aging it up at the same time is just amazing work. In comparison Rika’s voice acting was just as bland and boring as her character. Which is ironic, really, because Rika could have been and should have been the most interesting and facetted character of the whole game. Instead her side-kick stole her spotlight every time. Sad, but hey I love me some Saeran.

Conclusion:

3000+ words in and I have not written a single positive thing about Rika and I still can’t think of anything positive to say. The only time she made me feel any kind of emotion was when her theme was playing, because that is literally the only good and emotional part about Rika.So, after having read this piece I’d really like to know why people consider her a good or eve interesting villain, because to me she clearly is neither.

#mystic messenger #mysme #Rika #analysis #request

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story Part 62

When I left the alt. school, I took with me three books unintentionally from the school – which turned out being great for me, and it probably didn't hurt the school too much (in any case I went back and returned them a year later). The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter, The Painted Bird, and Native Son. In a way, I look back at these three books as having a very big impact on who I am, and I suppose it's in part because I think these books are fantastic and in part because books in general were replacing contact with other people. But a lot of my later insight was built off the ideas of the books I read for these years of my life They are hard to put into words. They effected my psychologically.

I was taken to go get my GED – so at least I would have that. I figured it would be easy enough. They in later years set up the tests a lot harder with mandatory classes you had to take for about four months, but when I got my GED it was definitely easy. I arrived early at the LCSC college, was taken down long confusing downstairs twisty college hallways. Most of the rooms were empty and silent. I wondered what schools did with all these empty rooms and facilities. I suppose they all serve a function and may not always  be empty, but they were that morning. I was put into the room they had mistakenly thought I was supposed to go to – and then twenty minutes in they realized I was not there for the courses. I was there to test out and I was in the wrong room. So I was lead into a room where I now had fifteen minutes to finish mathematics testing that I should have had all that other time I wasted in the other room for. Fortunately, I finished and passed it. Not with flying colors mind you, but it got finished. The rest of the tests were essentially basic grammar and being able to assess information that you read tests. I made a day of it, and I got out of there passing. Getting my GED wasn't ideal of course as opposed to a high school diploma, but given the circumstances, I still felt as though I had achieved something. I had at least – some filed away fact about the legitimacy of my basic abilities, and something to show for twelve years of getting up at ungodly hours of the morning to go to school five days a week.

I worried about fighting with my dad. We didn't fight, at least not that fall from what I remember, but I felt especially vulnerable given my new found set of circumstances that basically left me stranded with no future. I no longer had school to go to, or any friends to turn to. The idea of going out and becoming a musician on my own now felt a bit silly. I had to sort of face up to the fact that some of my younger teenage dreams didn't seem quite the same to me as they once had. It felt as though something had come and taken everything away from me. I felt very distant a lot of the time. I felt very alone. In a sense I enjoyed it. At best it had that pleasant tingly feeling of being in a quiet house that has been full of people for several days, and they just left, and now you are alone and you can hear the ticking of the clock and your own heartbeat and everything in the fridge is yours. I guess I was emotionally exhausted. I didn't know who I was really. I mean, I did know to an extent who I was, but I didn't at the same time. This was the first time I think I consciously realized that we can be more than one person when we are by ourselves, if we are with a significant other, coworkers, friends, a grocery store, in a position of authority, with our parents individually and together. I am particularly divided in this regard. There is no telling who I am actually. It can be a little frightening and confusing for me to this day. Identities are very fleeting, but seem very real and unshifting in the ever present moment.

Because of the fact that I was afraid of the emotional violence towards me from my father, I flirted with the idea of moving to my mom's. Allison and David would be left sure, but my mom worked a lot at the nursing home, these really long shifts that nurses sometimes work that are sixteen hours with a small break. I guess there are times when watching over the patients is relatively easy – like you can sit down and stuff, but still – who wants to be at work that long? My mother has/and does volunteer to take absurd amounts of hours whenever she can. She will go several months without a day off at these understaffed facilities. She didn't get paid all that well at the nursing homes she's worked at, but she worked so much that she managed to have money. And when she wasn't working, she was of course doting on her boyfriend Danny. She ended up getting this very cheap rundown apartment on the outskirts of town in some old buildings that were built in the seventies that occasionally got the cops called. It was for the most part quiet. I didn't mind the apartment or the occasional noises of the neighbors, in fact I rather welcomed the sound of people running water. I didn't feel so out of touch or alone. I don't know. The sound of people doing something in the next apartment has always given me this strange tingly sense of comfort.

I would be alone all the time in this apartment when I visited, sometimes for nights on end. There was no internet. We did have about forty channels of cable, most of them totally boring, but seeing as I was raised without television I found it really a step up for me to have it going. I sometimes would watch the History channel when there was history, or I would watch the travel channel or ghost hunting shows. I took a strange comfort in listening to insane religious infomercials in the middle of the night. I surely cannot be the only one that thinks there is something perfectly insane about television. Like, TV rapidly changes the dialogue or the premise for your thoughts. It subconsciously has recreated the thinking patterns of modern man – it's an altered image of our own creating that has taken the reigns and decided to recreate us. The media and it's effect fascinates me. I am not even per say going about that thought on the preconceived notion that television is bad and we should all be doing something else (though we probably should). I am just fascinated about the underlying psychology of it and how mindless it is. It made me feel extremely comfortable and unsettled and mysteriously empty at the same time. I like that madness and I do not.

It was a one bedroom and the bedroom was filled to the top with my mother's boxes – and it would never in my entire time with that place, ever be something you could call a proper bedroom, though people did manage to fit a mattress in there. My mother would sleep on the couch when she was home. She set up a bunk bed in the corner of the living room where I would generally sleep – and Allison and David when they came over. She always blasted the television so loud – and I found that rather frustrating to sleep through. On a good night she would turn it to old movies. So randomly in the night I would hear that old screamy noise from the intense moments of old movies. I would listen to Clark Gable or Bette Davis professing their love, or hear Shirley Temple hear once again that her parent had died and the innocent sobbing that came with that. I rather like old movies and could sleep any old time I wanted now, so it was okay for the most part. But she would also watch Lord of the Rings, and though I sort of like Lord of the Rings okay, it could get a little obnoxious. You would listen to Gimley's lines over and over. How many times did I wake up to Soromon and Gandalf the Grey having it out? She would set it on repeat. I would eventually sneak out of bed and try to turn it off, but as soon as I tried that she would wake up and be cantankerous about it.

I didn't exactly live at my mom's at this point, but I stayed there about half the week most of the time. My father had the internet while my mom did not. My mother didn't even know what the internet was fully, so I could not convince her to spend her money on it. I was mostly divided for this reason. I had to keep up with Sarah and I simply had to tend to my MySpace account. Just thinking of all those MySpace notifications gave me this strong incentive to never want to leave the computer. Having this time to myself though held a lot of value for me as well. It gave me sense of childlike peace I had almost forgot about for the years I had spent in school, living in delirious anger or despair about boys or longing for some big dream of the future. I had forgotten how to enjoy the small details. And in that I had lost my ability to really achieve anything since everything that ends up being big starts out being pretty small. I remember spending hours watching Bob Ross, just like I had when I had been four. I remember Jenni telling me that I was likely going to waste my time when I left school, and maybe she was more right than not, but I had to argue that I needed this time. Or I would listen to Neil Young, who was a new and permanent fixture of my musical existence. I would listen to Down By the River sometimes three or four times in a row. I connected with his guitar style very deeply.

I went to the nursing home with my mom on a couple of occasions. It was a very weird experience. Personal aspects about who my mother actually is to me aside, her working in the kind of jobs that she does really gave me this strong understanding of our society as a whole. Because she worked with the feeble, the mentally disabled, the unstable and the dysfunctional folks that we pay not to see. This is what we do in modern society. We hide it away. Just like we hide from death and decay in most everything we do. It's not something I particularly like to think about either, but we do it to the point of being dishonest with ourselves. We are afraid of it happening to us. I know that European sometimes saw the elderly differently. They were seen as examples of God cursing the wicked, or sometimes those with schizophrenia were seen to be possessed by God, or Lucifer himself. Nazi's would likely have done away with a society that cared for the unwanted and elderly by killing them in many cases had they won World War 2.

I got used to a lot of the elderly patients in the home. The atmosphere in the morning was very strange. These old people were unlike anything I was used to. It fascinated me that they all used to be highschoolers just like I had not long ago been. They had all had lives. And this was the end. One of them would be walking around the room. It would take him forty minutes to make one round. Some of them didn't move or blink anymore. They all seemed highly aware of me though. They all stared at me intently. Their eyes were gleaming with fascination. One old man named Olly who was senile would like his lips sadistically with this mad glint in his eyes as he looked at me. It was the most perverted look I have ever received – but I let it pass realizing his mind was gone. I am sure the teenage Olly would have been horrified by old man Olly's behavior towards women.

There was also an old man named Lou. He had had a stroke that had turned him from a fully functional elderly man who still chopped and brought in his own wood to a sort of vegetable. He would begin speaking randomly in this loud clear voice that was alarming in the quiet room, but it would soon fizzle out into the most insane gibberish I have ever heard. It was language and it was not at the same time. I spent a lot of time trying to make sense of it. It always degraded from gibberish into this weird buzzing noise that didn't sound even human. He would be silent then for five minutes before starting up again. I asked my mom about it, and she didn't seem as curious about what he was trying to say. Maybe I am more curious than most, and she had probably seen a lot of old folks come and go and she was pretty used to it.

Allison sometimes went too, but we always went on separate days. I don't know that the facility really wanted my mother's entire family coming in. Allison made friends with this old woman named Raquel. She didn't understand English, but it didn't particularly matter because she didn't understand very much. Her family did come and see her frequently which was good to see. She was a very sweet lady – though very far gone mentally. She would giggle and clap her hands in delight when Allison even used one or two Spanish words. It was also very easy to make her cry. She was afraid of spoons and nobody knew why. Getting her to eat was a challenge.

The old lady that latched onto me was this ninety five year old ex school teacher from I imagine the thirties through seventies named Jenny. It was amazing to look at her and know she had been around for so long. She had been born before world war one. She had been alive when pictures were black and white, and people danced to Al Bowlly and Glen Miller and stuff like that. I was told that she had been a very strict teacher in her day, and she had been a perfectionist. She first came up to me because she wanted me to straighten things in the room. She had lost most of her clarity and could no longer reason very well or speak very much, but she still knew when something was wrinkled or crooked. She was too old to fix these things herself and they must have constantly been eating at her that she no longer had control to do anything about it. So she came up to me and pointed to the corner of the table. The table cloth that was set up was slightly wrinkled. I went over and straightened it. She then started pointing to other tables, to random things in the room that were ever so slightly askew. If it was reasonable, I would attempt it. Occasionally she would point to someone's shirt, or to something hanging up on the ceiling and I would have to gesture that I couldn't do it.

The one thing I ever heard her say was she started calling this one other older woman who was there fat. It was a bit alarming. Jenny was of course too old to scold. The woman in question was this very obese woman who could no longer stand. She wasn't as old as the others were, but she had nobody to care for her and was eventually taken to this home which I imagine was very hard. Jenny would look at this other woman with this bitterness in her eyes, and she would sort of croak, FAT! And she would point at her as though she expected I might be able to do something about it or I would agree with her. I felt a little sheepish and embarrassed. It amused me though to realize that she had probably been that way her entire life. I imagine she had had this prejudice when she was a capable young school teacher. I stated earlier that identities are fleeting, but at the same time can really stick to our core perceptions of the world. It also was amusing to me, because I generally came in wearing a hoodie, and for that reason I could use my hands in my pockets to stretch the hoodie over my own belly. It seemed that in Jenny's mind, as long as there were no wrinkles in the clothing, and you couldn't see the fat, that therefore meant that there was no fat.

Lastly, there was this quiet mysterious woman who always sat in the corner. I never had any dealings with her directly. She was incredibly tiny. I guess she wasn't that old. She was in her early sixties, however, she had drank her mind away. She had once been a San Francisco hippie, well read with a liberal arts degree. But she couldn't put down the alcohol, and it took her mind away. What was really so shocking about her was that she had this flowing beautiful straight shiny hair without a single bit of gray in it. It looked honestly straight from an ad in a magazine. It would have been striking in a crowd of random people my age, let alone, on this vacant old lady in the nursing home. As far as I know, the only person who ever visited with woman was her ex husband, who would come in sometimes baring flowers.

Honestly, my mother was one of the nicer nurses. I never saw any mistreatment of the older folks who lived here, but there was an impatience in the eyes of most of the orderly. Allison eventually had to stop going because she got openly mad at one nurse who was aggressively and angrily trying to make Raquel eat from the spoon that she was afraid of. She started yelling at Raquel which made Raquel cry and throw herself on the ground. The woman was even angrier then, and she kept shouting at Raquel even though it was clear that Raquel didn't understand and had obviously not chosen this for herself. My mother came over and smoothed it over, but Allison ended up getting in this nurse's grill and it was unsaid after that, but my mom stopped bringing us.

I don't know why at this point my mom was dating Danny still. He was completely degrading. The situation was degrading. I didn't particularly care at this point, but it was degrading to watch. She would sometimes come home drunk, and it just seemed sad. She seemed uncertain if he even loved her or liked her at all. He would do the thing where he pushed her away and insinuate that they were no longer a couple, but then when she gave him space, he would call her up in the middle of the night accusing her of cheating on him. He was still cheating on her when he could get away with it. I sort of wanted to punch him in the face. He was still calling her stupid and gaslighting  her. And yet, their meaningless relationship went on and on. I remember once she came to pick Allison and David up on Friday after school to come to her house for the weekend. We went to the store to get our cheap ass dollar store food and cheap ass TV dinners and maybe some cheap ass dollar menu McDonald's (if we were lucky [gross]), and maybe a carton of cheap ass ice cream, and he drove by her house, noticed that the motorcycle helmet he bought her was no longer by her door and accused her of going out on a night ride with some other dude she didn't even know. He kept calling her and demanding she tell him the truth. I felt incensed enough to yell in the background while she was on the phone to confirm that yes, we were with her – it was Friday and that is what we all did on Fridays and in any case it was none of his business. He then accused all of us of being liars.

Soon after this, we were driving her car to go get Allison and David one night. It was getting to be winter  yet again and it got dark early. It was pitch black and probably not even eight pm yet. About four miles out of town with all of us in the car, the vehicle broke down in a very inconvenient place. There was nowhere we could legally park where we wouldn't get towed. We were not strong enough to push the car anywhere. My mother didn't have money to pay for someone to tow the vehicle. We were left in this conundrum. We had no one else to call except for Danny. He was amused and mean spirited about it over the phone. He seemed to want to use this as an opportunity to berate my mother on how worthless and stupid she was, which of course pissed me off, but furthermore was not helpful in any way. In an attempt to maybe bypass having to pay a towing company, my mother decided to push the car into gulch on the side of the road. It wasn't that deep, and she figured it would be cheaper to pay to have it towed out of that one area than it would to pay the money it would take to bring it all the way to the place where they take cars, which was quite a ways away. When Danny came to pick us up, he called my mother stupid for having done this. She then began talking in her pathetic baby talk voice, saying she had made a stupid mistake, and she should have not done that. Which Danny then told her was also a stupid idea. Basically, nothing she could have done was right. She apologized for calling him to have us pick us up, which he then humbly told us all was not a problem since he was 'a nice guy'. But then he just continued to berate her about any of the options. It got to the point where she was cornered and no matter which option she chose, she was stupid for it. He had never been quite so open about his psychological abuse around me before this. I had tried to hold my tongue initially. We all just wanted to get home, come what may – but it was getting to the point where I definitely couldn't listen to this anymore, and I was confused in a very technical way of what he was even trying to say logically. So I was like '..So, like, she couldn't just turn the car back on and continue driving. She had few options given the situation. She had those two options pretty much. There were not any better ones. What is it you think she should have done? I don't know what you are trying to say and I don't appreciate how many times you have called her stupid.' He got really annoyed then and sort of backed off. He low key accused us all of 'ganging up on him'. After this, I don't know that I ever had any personal contact with Danny at all, though my mother continued to see him for a time.

My mother ended up having a bunch of legal troubles for her driving. She had driven for years without insurance.  She didn't drive horribly, but she wasn't always a decent driver either. It started one night while driving back to Lewiston and there was this sting operation in Lewiston that night, about a month after my mother's vehicle had ended up getting towed regardless. We actually got pulled over for going two miles over the speed limit. It was more or less some excuse to pull everyone over. People were getting pulled over left and right and searched. There were a bunch of state police driving about. She not only didn't have proof of insurance on her, but she also didn't have her license on her at the time. My mother seems to not understand cops very well. She started telling the cop about how she was divorced and had to find work that she could barely feed us with on the weekends, and how she worked in nursing homes and had two older daughters and grandchildren and on and on.

The cop looked at her blankly and  bored, with no interest in her life story. I was a bit embarrassed for her actually since he wasn't going to let her off on the basis of anything related to her life as it was. He stated that he would have thrown her in jail if she hadn't had me, David and Allison with her. He wrote her up heavily. He then demanded that I get out of the car to be searched. I don't know that I would have minded on the account that I had nothing on me – though, on looking back. I don't trust that he might have slipped something on me. It would have been highly unlikely, but you never know. Fortunately for me, my mother started getting mad and telling him he was not allowed to search me. I was her daughter and he needed to leave me alone. He was caught off guard, his attitude softened and he complied. So we had to take a taxi home. Which ended up being really awful, because when we were nearly at the apartment, she realized she had left the apartment key and her wallet in her car that she needed to pay the taxi, so we ended up driving all the way back to the car. It costed sixty or seventy dollars.

She ended up driving anyway, and getting pulled over three times. The cop who kept pulling her over liked her car, and wanted her to sell it to him and kept asking every time, so she stood out like a sore thumb when she was commuting. Her fines were enormous. Then she got a  DUI from her drives home from the bar. Which I actually did understand since driving drunk is legitimately awful and dangerous. She eventually started walking home or getting rides which was good I guess. She tried to fight the DUI given she wasn't that high over the legal limit. In her fantastical silly vision of the world, she took this fighting back against her DUI as some kind of courtroom drama where she was going to change history by proving to the courts that the cops were corrupt for collecting money from DUI's and she was innocent and not even drunk. Which didn't work out. All told, I believe she was pulled over in one year period about ten times. Eventually, she got her license back and was insured. But it was a time consuming costly ordeal to say the least. I was in the car with her about six times when it happened, so I started wondering if I was bad luck.

When we weren't getting pulled over, or she was not working, we would sometimes drive up these strange roads that paralleled the Washington side of the Snake River till the sun would go down. In this really hard to describe way, my mother and I have some core similarities even though we function and express ourselves differently. It's not in how we talk (I don't see a lot of my behaviors being all that similar to hers), but I think in an inner self kind of way – like that part of us that exists before there are words to describe it. Like, I can tell that when she looks into the distance at a sunset, she gets that same sparkly delusional romanticism about life that I do. She has the same needs to express herself and live on a certain vibration that is hard for people to understand, feels suppressed by the world – much like I do. And I feel this wasn't something she raised me to be. We didn't do much talking growing up. Like, there is some kind of inner delusional traits that are similar enough to mention. It must be genetic. So even though I know there are elements to my mother that make her a truly awful person – I can't help but feel that kinship. I know what it's like to be one of our kind.

During these mini road trips, she would always want to listen to this Eagles Greatest Hits tape on the tape deck of the van she was driving (she avoided driving her white Camaro now at all costs). I would sing along even though I have never  been quite sure how to feel about the Eagles. On one hand, there is something incredibly cheesy about them. On the other hand, I associate them with a certain love I have for the area I grew up and all the good times I have had with my mother. I hate the culture as well as all the limitations of growing up where I did, but there is a certain love I have for the mountains and greenery of northern Idaho and the dry eastern Washington deserts, the dingy gas stations, the quiet streets at night, the rivers. The sky looks different somehow in every area you are in. I don't know why. Both of us were terrible singers, but it almost made it even funner and I will admit that I never tried to sing well in these situations. One time, skip to years later, we were singing You're So Vain by Carly Simon which was on the radio and for some reason I had a tape recorder in the car with us, and we decided to tape record ourselves singing, just the two of us. So we drove around just singing our hearts out, and we eventually ended up in some strange dead end part of Clarkston. We stopped at an empty church parking lot to listen back to our singing, and though we knew it was going to be bad, neither of us even imagined just how much worse it was than even our lowest of expectation. We both shrieked, and decided to never tell anyone what we had created. This is the first time I have ever mentioned it to anyone as a matter of fact.

I still spent a good deal of time at my father's however. Allison and I would share a bed to stay warm in the winter nights, and we would often talk till midnight or later. I ended up finding The Kink's album, The Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society, and I adored that album, and grew over time to absolutely fucking adore The Kinks as well. It's unnecessary to make this some kind of contest since they are both decent, but The Kinks were so much better than what they ever got credit for. They were theatrical, experimental, I felt that they stayed decent a lot longer than any of the solo Beatles did – or the Rolling Stones. This isn't to say that the Rolling Stones and the Beatles don't deserve their due, but – had the Kinks not been banned from America for inciting a riot I feel like they would be remember with a lot more clarity for much more than just 'You Really Got Me'.

I would space off a lot and a part of me felt like I was almost living a double life. One side of me was here in the present, eating saltines, feeling poor, dirty, futureless, postmodern without prospects, lost and defining myself only by the past and if I let myself think about it – which I did everything I could not to – completely and totally unlovable and pointless in a very fundamental way where every breath I took seemed totally wasted. But there was this other version of me that lived in the 60's. I liked listening to older music, to Bob Dylan and others. I would reminisce about Woodstock when I most certainly was never there in any fashion. I would imagine a world where the late 70's, 80's, 90's and 00's had never happened at all. I tried to experience what living in that new reality of the 60's must have been like. I suppose I grasped the spirit of it to a certain extent. Though in reality obviously, I was never there, and I was/am very much a person from the age I was born in, whether I like it or no.

Winter was very cold that year I remember. My sister's friend's grandfather Harvey, who was mentally challenged and lived at the end of town found this cattle dog outside his house that winter. She was starving and sick. She seemed to have been dropped off by someone to die. Her leg was broken. Harvey had a problem with animals in the town swarming his home since he left food out frequently for some of the cats, and I believe he was afraid of dealing with this poor dog, so he ignored her and refused to feed her – probably taking on a false sense of harshness he gathered from the truckers down at the diner downtown who often bragged of taking unwanted kittens, putting them in a bag, tying that back to a brick and throwing that bag into the icy river. Harvey I suppose really just didn't know how to feel, or what to do in a number of different situations, this being a tragic example. My father didn't like the idea of that poor docile dog dying out there at the end of town, so he volunteered to take her in, and for a time we had a pet dog.

She was a very sweet girl. She was a little skittish, and you could tell that she was afraid of men, who had likely abused her. She never tired of being pet. Her leg was really messed up. It looked as though it had been broken, and had grown wrong, and wasn't very usable. She had a swollen bump on her chest that didn't look good. We tried to wash her, but she just wasn't well enough for a lot of that. And she smelled too bad to be in the house with us. We set up a bed for her in the back room. We gave her an electric blanket to lay in. I named her Pegasus. She didn't resemble the flying elegant mythological horse in any way – in a great many ways, she was the bitter opposite of mythology. A suffering old dog. I tried to pet her and visit her as often as I could. At some point though she stopped getting up. She stopped eating food. Obviously, dogs are natural gluttons so this gave us the strong indication that something was very wrong with her. She began to smell worse and worse. I pet her anyway. It sort of broke my heart. Someone had known she was sick and had decided to dump her to die alone. She was too old to be anyone's exciting new pet. She also didn't smell too good. But she needed to be cared about just as much as any social creature.

Obviously, we had to take her to the animal shelter eventually. I knew it was the right thing to do. She obviously had cancer. She was old, and her leg being broken as it was would be a major challenge. Her body was shutting down, hence the smell. And still, she was so sweet. I sat in the back seat with her, and pet her the entire trip to the animal shelter. She looked lovingly up to me for much of the time, with this glazed over look. I truly believed that dogs feel love. She cared more about being given affection than she cared about food or even her own freedom. When we got to the animal shelter she couldn't walk and this woman who worked at the pound had to grab her and carry her in. I pet her one last time. She looked scared, though I could tell that the people at the animal shelter felt badly for her, since she was such a sweetheart. Honestly, I am fairly confident they put her down. As I waited for my father to make some kind of of final contribution to her welfare, maybe giving the shelter a few weeks worth of food money, I sat in the area with all the caged up cats. There were so many of them. Some of them hissed at me, many looked at my inquisitive and bored. This one cat in particular was yowling for me desperately. Purring and cherishing every spare second of attention and contact that could be had. I felt so bad for all these animals. I know there are a lot of differences between human being's cognitive awareness and animals, but it was easy to tell all of these animals felt abandoned. I imagine many of them never found homes. I also imagine it would be very hard to work in one of these places, being put into a situation where the most financial and humane thing to do would be to put them all down. It really irks me to no end when people get animals and don't take care of them. I hate it when people don't get their cats neutered and spayed. Ignoring all the animals in the wild we ignore as they go extinct, or the slaughterhouses or whathaveyou, we aren't even good to our own pets. Between abandoned pet dogs and cats that people simple , puppy mills, and so on, we bring these creatures into the world that they cannot survive or thrive in on their own, and they suffer. Call me crazy, but I honestly believe in some wild reforms in pet ownership.

That Christmas was probably the best Christmas I ever had. I had professed that all I wanted for Christmas was paints, canvases and brushes. For whatever reason, possibly guilt from the years my father had primarily bought gifts for girlfriends, he spent close to three or four hundred dollars on Christmas just for me. We went to Michael's and he bought me brushes, every color of high quality acrylic paint I would ever need, several different sizes of canvases. He also bought me some art books, for inspiration. They were these strange little books that presented different kinds of Art. One was simply called The Art Book, and the other was 20th Century Art Book. There was a House book, a Face book (of photographed people). It was from these two little books that I would flip through and study for hours that I got some grasp of what it meant to fill a canvas with pure expression. It was to date I think, easily my favorite Christmas besides a few I experienced as a child because I believed in Santa and all that.

We had a perfect Christmas dinner, and my father had thought to get me Blue Velvet. He didn't know very much about David Lynch, but he knew enough to know that David Lynch was something I would really like. And he was correct. He didn't want Allison and David watching Blue Velvet, so he made them close their eyes when Dennis Hopper's character was being a disgusting pervert. Call me weird, but as long as you have good communication with your children, and given they are eight or older, I am not that strict about what children watch. Obviously not just pure out of context snuff films or porn for the most part. Though I am not apposed to strong violence or sex within context of the story. And i imagine it is possible to put context into what you are watching. For instance, you could show when Saddam Hussein was being hung in context to showing what capital punishment looks like. If you want to eat meat, you should watch the full reality of what the animal goes through. It’s painful, but life was never meant to be jolly.

Raising children into being aware adults, I think it's important for them to grasp complex concepts, moral dilemmas and realities of our depravity and fragility mentally and physically. Media can be a great way to show children this stuff - if put into context - i cannot stress enough. Obviously if your child shows strong levels of delusional behavior than perhaps it's not a good idea. If you child suffers from severe anxiety as well perhaps take baby steps. I mean, it’s individual with each case, but more or less i think you should always present the challenge as best you can.I think earlier than eight a child is more or less in strictly monkey-see monkey-do mode, and it's not useful or desirable to confuse them about what is appropriate when they are still learning how to engage with the world as an individual in a fundamental fashion. My father was trying to be decent by telling Allison and David to shut their eyes, but what I thought was funny was the fact that the disturbing Frank Booth scenes were even worse if you close your eyes and simply listen to his lines. God what a fucked up character.

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#text

[ariswagbrams]

Party Rocking || Aritty

WHO: Ari Abrams & Kitty Wilde [ @awildecard ], ft. Evie Miller

WHEN: Evie’s birthday party

WHERE: Evie’s apartment

WHAT: Awkwardness, tbh. Just lots of that.

Ari

“Y’know, in a way, I’m like, your very own Drogon.” Ari’s kinda tipsy. Just kinda. It’s a party and she doesn’t drink much, so whenever she drinks even just a bit, she gets a bit tipsy pretty fast. But it’s fine, cause that’s what parties are for. For getting kinda tipsy, and for wheeling the birthday girl around like she’s a badass Targaryen dragon. Rawr, etc. “Wheee!” Well, that’s not super dragon-like. But it’s whatever. She can be a badass dragon anyway.

“Mmkay Drogon needs a dorito break, Khaleesi.” She sort of nudges Evie off her lap, but in a nice way cause she’s her friend and Ari loves her. She’s not horse-faced at all, where’d Kitty come up with that, anyway? She’s obviously friend-faced. “We can go find you a Jon Snow later.” Ari chuckles as she pushes her chair away from her friend, cause she knows Evie is about as interested in having a love life as Ari herself is. Which is to say, super interested in theory but like, totally not into putting herself through the endless pain of making it happen.

 “Heck yes, come to papa.” She practically sing-songs, wheeling herself to the snacks table and reaching for the dorito bowl that’s totally calling her name. Except- “Aw, man!” Someone left the bowl too far away from the edge of the snacks table, and she can’t reach. Luckily for her, Kitty is right there, and Ari’s face lights up at the sight. Cause she can hand her the doritos. Of course. “Hey, K-Dawg. Can I get a hand?”

Kitty

She’s not jealous. It’s not in her nature. And even if it was (a very real possibility she’ll never cop to), she’s certainly not jealous of horse face. And the way Ari is gleefully wheeling her around -- buzzed on the vodka she’d brought to share with her.

No, she’s not jealous. She just thinks’s it’s ridiculous for a woman of her age to be acting so childish. (Though if she like falls off and breaks her nose or something, Kitty supposes it won’t be the worst thing to happen). Honestly, can’t she find someone her own age to play with? The guy from the Six Flags commercial is probably free. 

Whatever. 

It's not a thing, her eyes are always green thank you very much! She’s just glaring because the lighting is poor, obviously. 

At least that’s what she tells herself when Ari rolls up to her and asks for the Doritos. She doesn’t even try to hide the eye roll. “Why don’t you ask your Khaleesi to help you?” she says pointedly, even as she reaches for the bowl and shoves it a little harder than necessary in Ari’s direction - she’s not a monster, she’s not going to keep a girl from her snacks, even if she is unreasonably annoyed. Annoyed. Not jealous. Becuase she’s definitely not that.

Ari

Dayum. Kitty’s mad. Ari’s not like, the best at reading body language or anything, but even she can tell Kitty’s mad. There’s the near-shoving of the bowl, and the stank eye, and the way she says Khaleesi, like it’s a bad word or something. Which don’t even make no sense, man. Khaleesi is, like, the best. And she knows Kitty loves her some Daenerys T. So her problem is clearly with... 

“What’s poor E-Mill done to ya, K-Dawg?” She munches on a Dorito, pleased to find it’s her beloved cool ranch flavor and not tex mex. Don’t get her wrong, she likes all doritos, but cool ranch is like, the Khaleesi of doritos. “You’re lookin’ at her like she’s Daenerys and you’re, like... Cersei, or something.” Ari grins, clearly teasing. “Told ya you’re a Lannister.” She pops a dorito in her mouth and winks at Kitty, cause she’s kinda tipsy and being kinda tipsy makes her do stuff like winking. Alcohol. Not even once.

“No, seriously, tho. You all right?” She tries to look concerned, but the eating is kinda making it hard so she swallows and leaves the bowl on the table with the rest of the snacks. Concerned face. Right. “It’s a party!” She shimmies her shoulders, hoping it’ll help Kitty crack a smile or something. “What’s botherin’ you, Your Grace?”

Kitty

Ari’s pretty tipsy. Kitty can tell because, well, Ari doesn’t drink often so it doesn’t take a lot. And it’s kind of cute if she’s being honest, but like -- in a way that only makes her annoyance grow. Because she’s happy. Ari’s happy wheeling horse face around her stupid party, and she doesn’t get that a lot. That carefree drunken silliness. 

And who is Kitty to ruin that with her -- somewhere in the back of her mind she shudders -- feelings. 

This is why it’s better when she doesn’t have any. Why she’s taken to shacking up with people she doesn’t have a ton for, and who definitely don’t have any for her. Becuase feelings make you vulnerable. And Kitty’s never been good at that.

“Nothing,” she shrugs, forcing a smile as if to prove her point -- see look how fine I am! “I’m a Lannister.”

Ari

Lies. Shaaaame. If she had a little bell, she’d start going ding ding ding while chanting ‘shame’ after Kitty cause that was a lie and it wasn’t even a good one. So Ari rolls her eyes dramatically and then pretends she’s hitting Kitty with a switch, complete with sound effect and everything. “You are not fooling me.” She points to her own eyes and then at Kitty, in the universal gesture for ‘I’m watching you’. At some point she stopped being Jaqen and started imitating some kind of Mr. Miyagi type character instead, but it’s whatever, cause she’s being serious. 

Kinda. 

“C’mon. You can tell me. I’m Ari!” Friendly, inoffensive Ari with the open ears and nothing else. Friend, friend, friend. Yep. A friend. That’s what she is. Not friends, however? “You havin’ Puckertroubles?” Ari likes both Puckergals, don’t get her wrong. They’re pretty cool. Hot and tall, and like... yeah. Cool. Not just friends, those two. They’re...def on a diff level. She doesn’t mind them. She just kinda minds their relationships with Kitty. 

In a friendly way. 

Sure.

Kitty

She’d hate Ari right now, to be honest. If like, that was a thing a person could actually do. Hate Ari. She’s pretty sure it’s scientifically impossible. She’d ask Miss Science Queen, but honestly, she’s pretty sure she’ll blurt out like five offensive things before she gets to the question, so it’s better this way.

But the point is, Ari makes it impossible. So while it’d be a hell of a lot easier to totally hate her for the feelings she didn’t ask to have. She can’t. 

She also apparently can’t lie about it, which is also a total drag. What’s the point of being a hot southern Christian gal if she can’t tell a convincing lie? Or pull an I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-genuine smile? 

So instead, she’ll focus on truths she’s comfortable.

“Nah,” she reaches for her -- vodka a mountain dew (more vodka than dew, but whatever), a weird combination, kind of like them -- and casually takes a sip. “Taking a break from Puckergals. It’s whatever.”

Ari

“Good.” 

Her eyes widen. Like, wider than normal. She knows her eyes are big af always. But that was like, so not what she should’ve said, cause Kitty seems sad and she’s prob sad she’s no longer doing whatever with the Puckergals (she knows ‘whatever’ is prob all sorts of like, acrobatic sex, but she doesn’t really wanna think about it) and Ari is supposed to be her friend. So ‘good’ is def like, the last thing she should’ve said. 

“I mean.” She clears her throat, suddenly wishing she’d never even had a sip of alcohol cause her brain is foggy and normally she can, like, be Kitty’s friend separately from someone who kinda likes Kitty but not in a creepy way or anything, just in a ‘you’re heckin beautiful and smart and I’d def love to date you but I’m not an awful person so I wouldn’t wish me upon you’ way. You know? She’s panicking, is what she’s saying. 

“I mean I’m glad you’re good? That’s good.” Her hands grip her wheels and she pushes herself back a couple inches, just like, putting space between herself and Kitty because damn, son. She’s bad at this. “The whole Puckerlovin’s prob not all it’s cracked up to be.” A shrug. She wouldn’t know. She hears it’s the bomb diggity and she’s sure it’s true, but whatever. She’s not here to tell Kitty she should go back to them, right? “You feelin’ ok about the break thing?”

Kitty

“Yeah.” 

She is good. Not like, in this moment, exactly. Honestly, she’s still a bit miffed that Bill Nye got to live out her personal wheelie fantasy like right in front of her or whatever. But she’s good with the Puckerbreak. 

Or she will be. She likes them both. In like a sexy way and as people, but she knows it’s not going anywhere. Puckerladies have to be free. And Kitty’s kind of done with the jealousy every time Jackie looks at Marley for too long or flirts with some loser trampy girl. It’s not going to be more than sex ever with either of them, so there’s really no point in racking up hell points over it. 

Besides, she’s kind of sort of realized lately, against all odds she actually likes spending time with Ari. And it doesn’t leave her feeling weird about herself or jealous (with the exception of this particular moment, obvs) - she actually, sort of feels good? 

But like, she can’t just say those words. Outloud. To Ari. She’s a lot of crazy (beautiful, talented, smart) -- but she hasn’t totally lost her marbles. 

 So she settles for, “Like I said, it’s whatever. Jackie’s got a weird third nipple anyway,” or so goes her story, and she’s sticking to it. “It’s super gross.”

Ari

“Good.” She doesn’t take it back this time. If anyone deserves a gross, weird third nipple, it’s a Puckerman. Both Puckermans. “Gotta balance out all that...” she gestures at her own body, even if it’s frankly like, the saddest comparison ever when she actually means the P-sisters’ bodies, but she thinks Kitty will know what she means anyway. “All that.” Yeah. Let’s leave it at that. Kitty knows like, way better than Ari does, what ‘all that’ means. And Ari doesn’t really wanna think about it. 

“So whaddaya wanna do?” Kitty is obv not happy, and she obv doesn’t wanna talk about it, so... what’s a nerd to do to help? “I have Netflix on my phone.” Wow. Impressive. Not like she’s been mooching Kitty’s HBO to watch GoT with her all this time. Smoooth. “Or uh... you can have my Doritos? Cool ranch.” That’s Ari’s love language right there. What else? She doesn’t have like, a ton of stuff to offer. Like she wants Kitty to not be sad or in whatever funk she’s in, but she’s like, the last person who should be in charge of cheering people up. Normal people, she means. If this was Evie or Sammy, she’d be pulling out Mario Kart or starting an impromptu D&D campaign. But Kitty is... Kitty. 

“I just wanna cheer you up, K-Dawg.” She shrugs and smiles and sort of rolls her chair back and forth for a second, cause she doesn’t know if Kitty wants her to get lost or stay and she’s kinda giving her a choice, she figures. “So just tell me what you want. We’ll make it happen. I’m like, a director. I make heckin’ good magic happen.”

Kitty

It’s probably bad -- like, she definitely knows it is. Somewhere Sweet Baby Jesus is frowning and shaking his little baby head. But like this, right here, Ari sort of jumping over herself to make Kitty feel better is... actually making her feel better. And like she said, it’s wrong, she knows. 

But fuck. 

Regardless of whether or not it’s true, she’s always played second fiddle in the eyes of like every girl she’s ever liked. And then here’s Ari. Making a show of putting her first and it feels really good. 

And while she doesn’t show it outwardly -- her expression still neutral and hard to read -- she does bend her knee just so, knocking it against Ari’s. (Is that weird? Can she feel that? Is that like super insensitive?) 

“I mean... I wouldn’t pass up a ride to like the balcony. Pop culture has taught me that fresh air heals, like, all things,” and it’s also a really great way to change the topic, so it kind of works on both those levels.

Ari

Ari doesn’t really feel Kitty’s knee against her own, but she sees it, and she appreciates the gesture. She’s sure she’d like it if she’d felt it. Like, she’s sure she’d like to feel anything of Kitty’s against her to be honest, not that she should be thinking about that, because she’s not a creeper and this is like, totally the alcohol talking. She should drink more. Like, she should prob have drunk less, but that can’t be fixed now, so she may as well just drink herself into a stupor at this point to stop her brain from thinking about feeling Kitty against-

“Oh.” A ride, really? Ari doesn’t know if Kitty’s like, just saying that to make her feel less useless, like ‘yes, Ariana (why is she always Ariana in her head? prob The Mothership’s fault somehow), I totes need you to take me outside’. But you know what they say about horses, gifts, and mouths. If Kitty wants to like, sit on her lap and go out into the balcony? Aint’ nobody gonna complain. 

“Hop on, Your Grace.” Ari pats her lap and then puts both hands on her wheels just to keep them from accidentally touching Kitty cause she’s not about the creeper lifestyle. “Just for the record, I hope Drogon never, like, lets Cersei ride him. We’ll just make an exception for right now.”

Kitty

Ari agrees, albeit a bit awkwardly, but Kitty doesn’t take it personally. Frankly, Ari runs a bit on the awkward side. And because she’s like the hottest person Ari will have on her lap all night (Kitty knows how to toot her own horn) so like she can’t even blame her if the nerves are a bit extra tonight, can she? 

(and like... okay, so maybe she has a few anxieties of her own, too.) 

Rolling her eyes, Kitty slides onto Ari’s lap, her heart doing a funny thing as she settles in. And despite the fact that Ari’s body is like... super tense, it still kind of feels.... nice? Not like, in a friend way. But in a ‘well this wouldn’t be the worst mode of transportation to take for the rest of my life’ sort of way, and kitty feels...

She feels a lot. 

“It’ll be our secret,” she agrees, then taps Ari’s shoulder, “Get it, Drogon.”

#post::para #para::party rocking #para::kitty

[theaveragekenyan]

And Justice For All...

Cameroon 0 – England 3.

I’m a big believer in, that no matter whatever happens within a football game, the above result will be the only long lasting importance. To the real purists, it can be distilled even further to simply, England beat Cameroon, verbatim.

The Women’s World Cup 2019 will be no different to any other major Footballing competition, they come, they go.

That said, the game between Cameroon and England was a real treat. The football game was excellent, but the actions of the Cameroonian players during the game was by far the best entertainment. They cried, they argued, they spat, they threatened careers, they looked silly and yet, amongst all of this, they played some nice football.

This is what former USA footballer, Hope Solo, had to say.

“This Cameroon team, they don't have the resources. They don't have the quality coaching in their country, they don't have the experience like England or somebody like Phil Neville. We have to try and understand that. Perhaps they weren't even told about the rules, the laws of the game and the evolution of the game. So, your heart has to go out a little bit to this Cameroon side. They played with emotions and brought this emotion to the tournament. As much as we want to see a little bit more class from Cameroon, they did bring that beautiful emotion and packed this entire stadium, You have to look at it both ways”

It’s such a diplomatic way of looking at the game, and largely I agree with it, however, just which resources are required to educate a football team about spitting, elbowing, shoving the ref, the off-side rule? Let’s not even go there with the stereotypical view that women don’t understand the off-side rule, many football fans don’t understand the rule. It is a rule that whichever way is tweaked, in an attempt to make it easier to implement, will mutate into something more complex.

“Perhaps they weren't even told about the rules, the laws of the game and the evolution of the game” Whilst the evolution of the game right now is VAR, the introduction of the off-side rule came in 1863. Every decision made by VAR concerning the off-side rule was 100% accurate.  

The Cameroon team were visibly shaken by the off-side rulings, crying, arguing with the officials, huddling together in the center circle, claiming FIFA is racist, essentially the team “blew their shit” and wasn’t prepared to accept a decision go against them. It was if they were not prepared to accept the rules, as if there was perhaps another way to get the decision overturned, sadly that option was not available to them.

I can’t say it was a macrocosm of African life, because I haven’t lived within enough African cultures to speak for the whole continent, but the Cameroonian Ladies attitudes definitely resonated as far as Kenya.

The petulance displayed by the Cameroon team throughout the game made me draw direct comparisons to how the average Kenyan lives life. A life that perhaps hasn’t been told about the rules, laws and evolution of life, or as more than likely, chooses to deliberately ignore them.

Upon on your first arrival to Kenya you’ll hear very quickly about authority and justice, usually from the driver as you exit the airport into Nairobi.

Every single Kenyan knows just how corrupt their country is, and yes, whilst they are all utterly ashamed and embarrassed about the ‘C’ word, we are all fundamentally enslaved by the “system”.

Recently, I’ve heard at least five friends or associates tell me of their experiences of refusing to pay Tea Tax, and how now, each and every one of them says, that will be the last time they fight the system, next time they’ll just pay the bribe.  

It took me a while to learn how to deal with “The Police” here and certainly, my first initial reaction with the police was to challenge. Why have I been stopped? I’ve done nothing wrong. Of course, that’s a perfectly natural way for everybody to act, well, not in Kenya as it turns out, there can always be something “wrong” and you’re guilty until proven guilty.

Growing up in the UK you become aware of your rights from an early age, you develop and become armed with a robust set of civil rights and unless you’ve been hacking the matrix, you’ll be able to exercise them.

Most offences you are likely to stand accused of here will be similar to an episode of Scooby-Doo, they’ll be vague, tenuous and carry little legal credibility. Had the criminals, that Freddie, Velma and Daphne caught, possessed any sense, they could have switched the legal tables around and had the Magical Mystery Bus Crew up for Trespassing, Criminal Damage, GBH, Slander, False Imprisonment, Zoinks, I doubt they even had a Dog License.

So, with this in mind, my advice when confronted by a member of the Kenyan Police Force is to be cooperative, dumb and submissive…ok mainly dumb and submissive. Act like you’re stupid, but very friendly…you know, a very stupid friendly person, we all know one of them. Act respectfully, but perhaps as if you’ve just left hospital after being awoken from a 12 year coma. Do NOT let the officer know that you understand how the road works or even what a car does.

Sorry, how presumptuous, I’ve forgotten to say, the only time you will ever come into contact with a police officer is whilst in a car.

Just answer every question you are asked, make no sub-plots, second guesses, or even worse still, fall into the trap of attempting to translate what the officer is saying into any western logic, quotes from your Highway Code are not going to work.

“But Sir, there is no sign to obey?” or “The white solid line?…errrr which white solid line are you talking about?” or “Could you please show me the exact speed I was traveling at?” that type of smart-ass clever clogs logic ain’t gonna fly, just stick to “oh” “ok” and “sorry”.

Of course, answer where you are from, respond with where you are going and NO, you don’t know why Kenyan’s are not allowed to drive on International Driving Licenses, answering “because very few Kenyans know how to drive” is not going to lighten the mood.  Just stick to the basics as listed, with possibly a “terribly sorry, I’ll never drive again” or “I will speak to God as soon as I get home” In most cases, if your car has insurance, your brake lights work and you’ve acted out your best Jim Carey in Dumb and Dumber role, then you will be asked to continue your journey without any hassle.

It’s just that, when it comes to any level of confusion or reasonable doubt, that is when PC Chai will strike. Although there are much needed and continuing road upgrades occurring all over Kenya right now, many of the roads haven’t evolved well and road designation hasn’t been respected, so over time, there have been many glitches appear. When I say glitches, I mean in particular, junctions that are tenuous with their intended execution. There will be a sign missing, a marking lost, an invisible lane and this is where you’ll always find a cop waiting to pounce upon any vulnerability.

Also, whenever you’re stopped by a cop, you’d best hope it’s a male specimen. If you get a female cop you are going to jail. I can only assume that sometime in the 1990’s when women began to become more mainstream on the beat in Kenya, the then Inspector General found a book called “The Essential Guide to being a Female Officer in the East German Stasi” and based his whole outlook for Women in the KPS upon that. The Women Officers have zero personality, zero compassion, zero smile, they are Lucifer in fancy dress. It’s best to just plead the 5thamendment and demand to speak to your Ambassador immediately, good luck.

The Kenyan Police Service is now so widely and openly corrupt it’s normal. Chat to any Kenyan, Listen to any Church Service, look on any Kenyan News-site, watch Kenyan News TV, read Kenyan Transport Twitter Feeds @Ma3Route @KenyanTraffic and you’ll see video footage and photographs of cops taking bribes, cops about to be bribed or cops looking for bribes. It’s common knowledge and I’m yet to hear of a sustained plan to tackle it.

I’m not advocating for 1984, but to tackle the “system” would mean Kenyan’s being patrolled by VAR equivalents such as Speed Cameras, Average Speed Checks, Regulated Bus Lanes, Traffic Light Enforcement Cameras, Emission Detectors or even far more desirable a credible Police service. Sadly though any of that would infuriate the average Kenyan. Imagine, an automated justice system able to bypass the cops and not be swayed with a pithy excuse or any bribe or even a decent cop issuing a deserved fine, this is not 1984 just 2019.

Put simply, this would cause civil-war. There would be protests, riots, burning tyre’s (the most symbolic of all African protestation instruments), all of the cameras would be destroyed and all because the average Kenyan does not want to understand the rules, ergo the “system’ continues.

Let me be clear, It’s not just the Kenyan Police Service blighted by the “C” word, unfortunately the whole fabric of society has been riddled with the disease. The Kenyan President is very vocal in his “War on Corruption” and I hope he maintains the great work, however, to me, it still feels like the Anti-Corruption Agency has been given a watering can to put out an exploded nuclear power plant. 

For now though, let’s not judge Women’s football on one game, I just wish we could say the same about Kenya.