#the intersection of my obsessions just makes this thing go round

[chrollohearttags]

just seen this random post come across my feed abt the men who whimper or moan a lot and I am now feral bc they so would!

cw: squirting, overstimulation, choking, back-shots, breeding

imagine him gripping your waist, tugging you back against him with each stroke..your soft, round ass ricocheting off of the bone of his pelvis and chiseled v-line. It’s the most beautiful view he’s ever seen, honestly; only rivaled by that of the pearl colored cream emitting from your warmth, slathering his shaft. His fingernails pressed into the soft flesh intersecting your hip and thighs as he relentlessly slams his cock inside of you..

“Baeeee!—fuck..”

the words escaped your lips but didn’t resonate to his ears. In fact, he was so far lost..immersed so deeply in the sensation of your sex. So much so, that his eyes are squeezed shut, head tossed back and mouth agape.

his hands are enclosed around your wrists; pulling both arms back while he’s drilling your shit. Those big, full balls are slamming vehemently against your spasming hole; this motion speeding up along with those deep strokes he keeps feeding that sopping pussy.

there are so many noises..so many mellifluous sounds filling the bedroom but they all pale in comparison to one in particular:

“Oh shitttt!—‘feels so fucking gooood!”

the high pitched, guttural moans escaping his throat, growing louder by the second. His Adam’s apple moving in reaction. You would’ve never guessed that such a sound even came from a big, muscular six foot something man but being buried hilt deep inside of that slippery, slick filled cunt for almost an hour was taking its toll.

the two of you had been going rounds; fucking like absolute animals in every position possible. Tearing the room up with your ravenous lovemaking. The bedsheets are soaked in puddles as a result of him making you squirt like a fountain.

even after all that dick he’s giving you, you’re still gripping so firmly..

“ ‘S so fucking wet..oh my—you just keep creaming on my dick like that..”

by this time, he’s even fucking his own cum out of you after filling you full of nut for the second time only fifteen minutes ago.

needless to say, you were at your limits; damn near overstimulated at this point but it’d be a cold day in hell before he stops fucking you! It feels too heavenly to even dream of pulling out.

he wants to stay in it..live in that pussy if it were possible. But for now, burrowing himself over your entire frame, falling into collapsed back-shots would have to suffice. You can’t even let out screams anymore, forced only to make contorted faces and let tears fall but to him, they are still so beautiful.

not to worry though..because he’s making enough for the both of you! This grown man whimpering like a little puppy as he finally loses his rhythm. He can’t even keep up anymore. That tip consistently poking at your most sensitive spot, prompting you to bury your face into the pillow.

this seems to be his motivator for the final stride..and of course that amazing arch you’re somehow maintaining.

knowing how much you despise having your hair pulled and messed up, he suffices by clutching his fingers across the front of your throat. Tugging you back up with drool seeping from your mouth whilst he fucks you completely dumb.

there’s not one single thought coming across your mind right now and he’s pretty much broke your brain and body.

you’re practically begging and pleading with him to come so you can both have relief but you know it’s futile to even suggest such a thing.

“I-I can’t stop, baby! Gotta..come in this fucking pussyyy.”

his words slurred as if he was intoxicated but he’s merely only pussy drunk; obsessed and immersed deep in the mixture between your thighs.

but sadly, he can no longer maintain his pace and you feel that pressure in the pit of your stomach begin to throb as well..before you know it, those sweet moans begin to sound like full blown cries and unbeknownst, droplets swollen from his eyes on each side of his face fall.

he’s finally done it: fucked himself to literal tears! But it wouldn’t have been possible without your fat, tight and gushing center cradling him for this long. So it’s only right that he rewards you properly..

“GAH! SHIT—(y/n)..BABY—“

you feel that intense pounding come to a halt and his grip on the small of your back become a lot tighter.

giving him that final push to finally stop, you cry in a faint voice of your own, able to tilt your head up in his direction:

“…come for me, baby boy..put that nut all in my pussy..”

there was no need to tell him twice and with what was only followed by an ear shattering scream, he pours the remainder of his seed into that inviting womb. Not even thinking about it giving a damn about what may follow..he just wants to empty those balls and let you milk him for everything he has.

“Shit! Shit..“

he’s fully aware of how pathetic he may look or sound at the moment but you’re the only one who can coax this side from him and for that, he’s not ashamed.

collapsing atop your back, completely drained and flushed..he peppers kisses down your neck and spine, constantly telling you how much he loves you; even gracious for letting him have your body in such a way..

you’re barely conscious and so is he but he just has to tell you one last thing before your inevitable collapse.

you feel his tears dripping against your heated skin and his lips brushing your earlobe, whispering gently..the quietest you’ve heard him all night:

“..thank you for letting me be so vulnerable. Sorry I got so carried away.”

but he has nothing to apologize for because you wanted to hear and make him feel that good all the time.

__________________________________________________

portgas d. ace, aran oijiro, tengen uzui, eren jaeger, taiga kagami, armin artlert, keigo takami, connie springer, shikamura nara, gintoki sakata, ichigo kurosaki

#black fem reader #black fanfic writer #anime #black fanfiction #black reader smut #black reader #smut imagine #smut fanfiction #aot x black reader #aot smut #demon slayer smut #one piece x black!reader #one piece smut #jjk smut #fanfic #my hero smut #eren smut #tengen x black reader #portgas ace smut #shikamaru x reader #naruto smut #jjksmut #gojo x black reader #aran ojiro x reader #aran x y/n #knb x black reader #taiga kagami #armin x black reader #haikyuu x black reader #bleach

[maiz-of-light]

Aight, now that the LoZ breakdown is over, here are some things that will earn you a 🍪

Expanding on / writing from the POV of SkSw NPCs.

Skyloft is like, the definition of a tiny town, but instead of gross hicks you get weirdo Hylians. People who expand on those funky guys’ personalities, incorporate headcanons, deepen relationships, etc in their art/writing - you rock my fucking world.

Zelda x Groose

Um, hello? Yeah he’s a goofy bully wannabe at first, but at the end of the game, when Link saves the day and Zelda literally falls into Link’s arms and instead of getting jealous or trying to one-up like he typically does Groose is just SO FREAKING HAPPY ZELDA’S OKAY? My heart 🥺💓

Purah

Age of Calamity or BotW. Just, Purah.

Fan takes on the Lost Woods

I’ve seen a few in fanfic, and they’re always so intriguing; thick fog, pathways always changing, faery bs, the like. Every time someone puts the Lost Woods in writing or adds some element or whatever it always has me on the edge of my seat.

Intersecting game lore, monsters, etc.

i.e., wolfos in SkSw, truth lenses in BotW, stone taluses in OoT, Majora’s Mask references literally anywhere. People who do this make the Zelda world go round.

Link’s ears twitching when his mood shifts or he has to strain to hear something.

Does this really need any elaborating?

People who think Ghirahim’s eyes are black, then find out they’re brown(ish) and freak out.

Y’all are funny.

Ghiracat

If you characterize Ghirahim as being sassy, jumpy, self-obsessed, or even just flat out draw him as a cat - come on over to my house and I’ll bake you a pie.

Have a good day, y’all.

[pascalpanic]

Prompt idea: Lingerie with Frankie Morales but make it cute/funny? Picture this, you've got all of the fancy bits you've never worn before and you're struggling with the fiddly latches, crying out, "I can't get this shit on!" You finally figure it out, show it off to Frankie and he loves it. But he likes sex best when there's nothing between the two of you, so he works on unwrapping you. You notice his lips stop moving on you for a few seconds before he whines, "I can't get this shit off!"

Tangled Up (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: ^^

W/C: 3K

Warnings: uh this is filth. SMUT 18+, oral sex (f receiving), lingerie, unprotected PIV sex (wrap it before you tap it, babes), Frankie has no patience and is rlly strong

A/N: this speaks to me, anon. I love this. I hope you do too!

Frankie already thinks you’re the most beautiful thing on the face of this planet. Every little thing you do is amazing to him, the way you call his name, the way you bat your lashes at him when you really want something.

He’s absolutely obsessed with your body; he’s told you that and demonstrated time after time that he thinks you’re the goddamn prettiest thing he’s ever seen, that your body is absolutely perfect in its uniqueness.

Naturally, Frankie has his favorite pieces of clothing on you, the way they cling to or flow off of your wonderful form. Frankie is a big believer that the body is the soul, and he’s absolutely in love with yours. Anything to accentuate your soft skin, with colors that stand out against the tone of it, drives Frankie absolutely wild.

Lingerie is his favorite. It surprised you at first. Frankie is a patient man, slow and soft when he wants to be, prioritizing you over himself in everything he does but especially in the bedroom. Something like that feels self-indulgent to him, like it’s his one weakness, you looking like that just for him. Then he gets to unwrap you like the best fucking present he’s ever received- yeah, Frankie is really into lingerie on you.

He’s gifted it to you, gone shopping with you to buy it, but his favorite thing is being surprised. The element of shock and sensuality when he’s confronted with the most beautiful body wrapped in such perfect garments is his favorite sensation, next to digging his fingers into your hips and pulling your body against his to kiss you.

You know how much he loves it, and that motivates you to do it somewhat often. The problem is that lingerie is expensive. You usually find yourself repeating outfits for Frankie to rapidly strip from your body, which he clearly doesn’t care about. You look sexy, and he loves it. But you love the surprise, the shock and admiration as he has to run those tough and strong hands over the lace.

Frankie particularly loves dark colors, like black or a deep velvety red, on you. He thinks they look painfully seductive, tempting.

That’s what’s motivated you to buy the piece laying on your bed. It’s black, with a bra and panties and quite a lot of straps, buckles and loops built into it. You’d been hesitant, but seeing it in real life makes you even more excited. Frankie gets home soon; time to get in.

The panties go on easily, obviously. The next part is the challenge. There are straps upon straps, endless slots for you to shove limbs through. You hold it up and frown, not quite sure how to get it on.

Wandering to the mirror, you shove yourself into the thing, making some errors but eventually finding the proper way to wear it.

You look hot: both physically and sexually. There’s a lacy collar, attached to the intersection of the bra. The cups are mesh with lacy decor to cover the nipples, and there are many straps over your abdomen that hook up to the panties. All in all, it’s a complicated number, but you smile as you do a little twirl. Frankie will like it.

The other hot: you’re sweating. It took effort to put it on, lots of odd angles to pull and tug. You feel warm and flushed, so it’s a relief to plop on the edge of the bed and let the cool air of the house get you acclimated again.

You wait, mindlessly scrolling through your phone as you relax on the bed. Frankie’s schedule is far from exact, but you know the 15-20 minute window he’ll arrive home in. Lucky for you, the garage door opens at the normal time he arrives home.

Tossing your phone aside, you perch seductively on the edge of the bed, crossing your legs and leaning back on your arms. “Frankie, baby,” you call into the house as the door opens.

“Hey honey,” he calls back. You can hear him taking off his boots, taking off his jacket. His footsteps ascend with him as he climbs the stairs, and you fidget a little with the lingerie.

He stops in the kitchen, doing something or another. You frown a little. “Frankie,” you call again.

“Just one second, babe,” he chuckles, grabbing a glass of water and something to eat in the kitchen. When he has his things, he meanders through the house and to the bedroom. He nearly drops what he’s holding at the sight waiting for him.

He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Nothing special, but he always looks so good in it. You naturally smirk just at the sight of your man, of how perfect he is. “How was work?” You purr, letting your head loll to the side so he can get a full view of your body.

Frankie swallows hard. “One second.”

You frown and he walks away, putting the water and food back down in the kitchen. He hurries back just to stand in the doorway, staring at you. “I… wow.”

You giggle a little. “I know you like something to tug on,” you tease and snap one of the straps against your skin. The sound goes straight to Frankie’s dick, steadily growing harder in those dark-wash jeans. “Well?”

“You look like a fucking bombshell, babe,” he groans as he walks closer and falls to his knees at the edge of the bed. “Holy fuck,” he shivers as his fingers trace up your bare thighs, sliding beneath the waistline of the panties.

“Glad you like it,” you chuckle and take off his cap, throwing it aside so you can bury your hands in those pretty curls. They’re so soft, fluffy when you run your fingers through them.

Frankie’s lips find your thigh, starting just above the knee and making their way up. “Love it,” he nods, murmuring it into the soft and sensitive skin there. “But you know I like you better with nothing to separate our skin,” he flirts, looking up at you with those round eyes that make you weak.

You shiver under his work, twirling one wave around your finger. “Take at least a little time to enjoy it, baby,” you pout.

He sits back on his knees and nods. “Of course. You know what…” he trails off as he stands, going over to the dresser and grabbing something from on top of it.

He returns moments later with your Polaroid, smirking a little. “Now I can enjoy it longer,” he chuckles as he pops open the lens. “Pose for me, baby girl,” he says, his voice growing darker and deeper as he takes in the sight.

You do, legs spread and chest pushed out, looking at him seductively through the camera. There’s a flash and a click as the camera takes the picture, then the film pops out through the bottom, still black as it develops. Frankie sets it back on the dresser, along with the photo, then stands at the foot of the bed. “How do you suggest I appreciate it, hm?” He asks.

Eyeing him, you can’t help but smile. “Take your shirt off first.”

“Okay,” he laughs softly and pulls off the soft gray tee, exposing his muscles and slight tummy. It’s such a beautiful sight, and your eyes follow the thin trail of hair down.

“Now the belt.”

“Should I just presume you want it all off?” He asks again, tilting his head.

Laughing, you fall flat onto your back on the bed. “Yes. All of it. Off.” You lift your head just slightly, dropping it as you realize it might add a couple of chins.

“No, watch me,” he orders, and it makes you smirk. It’s an easy domination, the way Frankie could do whatever the fuck he wants with you. Neither of you ever agreed upon anything, never made a pact and discussed the idea of something serious, but it’s something the two of you learned over your time of knowing and loving each other. Frankie knows what you like, and you know what he likes: when he gives the orders. When he’s fully nude, his thick cock heavy and reddened, you smile even wider. “What next?” He asks, allowing the role to be played.

You pretend to think about it, stroking your chin. “Well, do whatever you want to me. But the lingerie stays on.”

Frankie pouts. “I wanna fuck you, and I like it best when there’s nothing between us.”

“Then find another way,” you shrug, that devious little smile tugging up the corner of your mouth. “Do something else. Maybe if you’re good enough, I’ll take it off for you and let you fuck me.”

“Oh, you’ll let me fuck you?” He teases as he gets on his knees, one hand on each thigh as he pushes them apart and nestles between them. “How kind.” His lips trace along the inside of your thigh, slowly working their way from the knee to the apex.

You shiver beneath him, wiggling at the anticipation. “I’m giving,” you sigh, any sarcasm you attempt to give lost in a moan as Frankie mouths at your clit through the panties.

“You sure are,” he murmurs, his own body shuddering at the wetness of the lacy fabric covering your slit. His tongue contributes to the dampness, starting at your opening and slowly licking all the way up to nip at your clit through the lace.

“Baby,” you whimper, your hands digging into his hair.

“You told me to take my time,” he mumbles and looks up at you, eyes darkened with lust. “I’m just following orders, baby girl.” He pushes the panties aside and laps at your folds.

A whimper trails from your lips and your back arches off the bed, desperate for more. “God, I fucking love you.”

Frankie traces two fingers through your slick, teasing at your entrance and sitting back on his heels to watch the sight that accompanies the unholy sounds. “You think you love me? I got to come home from work to this,” he groans, taking in the sight of you and plunging two thick fingers inside of you. “Nothing better than this, pretty girl,” he shudders and dives back in, sucking at your clit and tracing it slowly with his tongue.

You keen into his touch, grinding your hips back against his mouth. “Fuck, Frankie,” you cry out as he curves his fingers inside of you, hitting that perfect spongy spot.

“Yeah?” He murmurs into you, his tongue barely resting for a second.

“Yeah, oh fuck,” you shiver. “Baby, don’t you dare stop.”

“Couldn’t if I tried,” he groans, working his tongue harder against you.

It’s all too much in just the right way. The cresting wave that builds inside of you finally breaks as Frankie swirls the sensitive bud around his tongue, and you whine his name as the release pours through your body, making you shake and squirm and moan. “There we go,” he murmurs as he pulls away, your body coming down from its high. “That enough appreciation for you?”

“Plenty,” you nod. “Now fuck me. Please.”

He smirks a little and stands. “Finally,” he chuckles as he runs his fingers over the endless straps covering your body. He snaps one of them against your breast, making the soft flesh ripple. He groans at the sight, of the way your tit bounces against it.

Frankie pulls you to sit up, reaches behind and unclasps the bra. Normally, that would be enough to get you naked, but there’s a neck harness and straps and to be honest, he doesn’t know where to get started. “How the fuck did you get this thing on?” He murmurs.

You laugh a little. “It took me a really long time, honestly. It was hard.”

Frankie sighs and pulls at the straps, trying to find a good way to get it off. His deft fingers search your body for some kind of clasp or buckle, but find none. He unclips the panties from the top, at least, and slides them off, then gets back to working.

His eyes look up at you and he pouts. “Come on. Give me a hint, baby.”

“I don’t fucking know, Frankie,” you laugh, still on an endorphin high from the orgasm moments ago. “I don’t know how this thing got on and I know even less about how to get it off.”

Frankie’s forehead falls against your chest, groaning. “Fuck.” He tries gathering the straps and pulling them up. That doesn’t work. He searches under every strap for maybe velcro or snaps. Nothing. He pushes you back down onto your back.

“Goddamnit!” He groans and his lack of patience gets the best of him. Gripping the straps, Frankie pulls them hard until the straps break, leaving you bare beneath him and completely stunned.

The straps fall to your sides, exposing your full chest and abdomen. “Frankie!” You exclaim, honestly more than turned on from his little show of strength.

“Sorry,” he bites his lip and looks down at you, but you know he’s really not. The tip of his cock is leaking, red and flushed and you know he’d do just about anything to get inside you now.

You giggle a little, the adrenaline from the moment rushing through your veins. “That was fucking hot,” you admit, spreading your legs. “You got me stripped down. Now fuck me, Frankie, please.”

The embarrassment is gone from his face within seconds. “Yes ma’am,” he mumbles, climbing over you and kissing you desperately hard.

You cup his face and hike your knees up around his waist, kissing him back just as readily, tongue pressing against the seam of his lips. He allows you in in the exact moment he thrusts inside of you, making you moan into his mouth before breaking away.

“Frankie,” you whimper as he’s pushed fully inside of you, throbbing and twitching as you say his name. “Fuck, baby,” you whine, his thick cock pressed against your cervix. “You gonna go easy on me?”

“Not in the slightest,” he mumbles back and pulls mostly out before pushing back in, hard. You cry out his name over and over, grabbing at his shoulder blades and back. You can feel the muscles there shift as he pushes, holding himself up over you. His head falls down with a groan as you reach one hand behind him to teasingly tug at his balls.

In return, Frankie lowers himself over you and brings one hand down to circle your clit, thrusting in time with the movement of his worn fingertips. God, he’s so damn good with his hands, always has been, and you whimper that into his ear, moving both hands back up to clutch at his back, nails digging into his skin.

It’s almost a competition of pleasure between the two of you, who can do more of the tiny little things the other loves, who can get the other to their peak first. Frankie kisses at your neck, mumbling sweet words into your skin, crying out as your nails drag down his back. “Baby, please, you feel so fucking good, god you’re so big,” you groan next to his ear, filling it with all of the affirmations he loves.

“You‘re just so fucking tight,” he grunts, thrusting harder and harder into you. You get tighter as you clench around him, and Frankie knows that it means you’re close. “Come on, baby girl. You gonna cum on my dick?”

“Yes, yes,” you chant, head falling back into the bed. “Oh, fuck, Frankie-oh!” You squeal as he hits the sweet spot inside of you once more, his fingers working in the perfect rhythm with his hips to make you fall apart, clenching and fluttering around him as more slick coats his cock.

He groans at the feeling, shivering at the way you clamp down on him. “W-where? Where do you want it, baby?” He asks you, knowing he’s about to burst at any second, the way you’re absolutely destroying him.

“In me, please,” you beg, and it’s an offer Frankie can’t refuse. He lets go, filling you with the hot, sticky seed. You whine at the feeling, desperately gripping his skin.

He whines your name in your ear as he comes down, shivering and pulling out, lying next to you on top of the ruined lingerie.

“That was expensive,” you whimper as you limply toy with a strap.

“I’ll buy you a new set. Two new sets,” he tells you, breathless and sweaty. “God, you looked so good in that,” he sighs, chuckling a little. He gets up and wanders to the bathroom, getting a warm, wet cloth and coming back to clean you up.

The sight of his cum dripping from inside you is almost enough to make him hard again, but he bites his lip and wipes you down, tenderly kissing your thigh. “Thank you,” you murmur weakly and smile down at him.

“Doing my job,” he teases and kisses your knee before cleaning himself off and tossing the cloth in the laundry. When he lies down next to you, he takes the discarded lingerie and throws it off the bed, wrapping you in his arms. “You’re so amazing,” he chuckles. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” you hum and kiss his face, nuzzling your nose into the curve of his flushed and dewey neck. “I have stuff to make for dinner.”

The reminder that it’s only 5:00 or so makes Frankie laugh a little. “You don’t have to. You’ve done enough for me tonight,” he murmurs, kissing your temple lovingly.

“Never said I was doing it alone,” you chuckle sleepily, your eyes slipping shut. “You’re helping.”

“Damn right I am. Maybe we take a nap first though,” Frankie says as he pulls you closer in his arms.

“A nap sounds good,” you nod and kiss his cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction

[charmingyong]

Noxious Cherry (1)

Part 1 | Part 2

Genre: criminal!Taeyong x fem!reader

Warnings: psycho, deception, theft, shootings, swearing, car explosion

Word count: 2.7k

Plot: You found a pink haired man lying on the ground and decided to check up on him when you should have run away. 

A/N: I AM OBSESSED WITH TY’S GTA! This genre reminds me of @taeyongtime’s Pre: Ace of Fools so do check that out if wanting another psycho read.

Gif: mine

- ❀ -

Finally home time!

The feeling of settling into your car after the end of your night shift was a pleasant one. You relaxed your head against the headrest and let the exhaustion from having to stand hours preparing the endless coffee orders leave your body before starting your car. You drove down the empty streets, a few nonfunctioning streetlamps creating a dim lighting along the sidewalks. Mindlessly, you passed by a park where a dark figure laid still on the ground.

Reaching a red light of an intersection, you thought back to the thing you caught a glimpse of earlier and something itched in you to go back and check it out. When the lights turned green, you made a U-turn and found the figure still there, unmoving.

Walking closer to it, you realized it was a boy with pink hair, eyes closed looking unconscious, though his chest rhythmically rose up and down. You squinted to get a better look of his face under the low lighting and did not spot a single scratch on the skin to hint any signs of him being injured.

Is he okay? you thought. Should I wake him up?

Worried that he could have been bruised under his clothes, you called for him. “Hello? Are you okay?”

Hearing your voice, his eyes fluttered open and his breath hitched upon seeing a beautiful face up close. You were relieved that he was alive, but grew uneasy when he merely stared at you, not responding back to you with words.

“Um, are you okay?” you asked again, hoping he would say something about why he was on the ground in the middle of the night.

He only groaned as he shifted his weight to sit upright, rolling his neck and shoulders in circles to alleviate the tensed muscles.

“Should I call the ambula-”

“Don’t,” he cut you off with a small glare. He couldn’t afford getting caught if he were taken to the hospital, especially when he didn’t even need to go there in the first place.

You bit your lip nervously, unsure what to do next. You didn’t want to be rude and leave him alone all of a sudden, but you really wanted to go home. Should you drop him home? Get a grip, Y/N! He was a stranger, and you couldn’t tell if he was safe enough to bring him inside your car. “But are you hurt?”

“It’s not that bad,” he replied. “Just take me home.”

Shit.

Looked like you were taking him into your car.

“Where do you live?” You hoped he didn’t live somewhere too far so you could get under the covers of your cozy blankets as soon as you could.

The boy cocked his head to the side and gazed at you in amusement. “Take me to your home.”

You were thankful it wasn’t summer just yet. Otherwise, mosquitoes would have entered your jaw-dropped mouth. Was he crazy? Why would anyone in their right mind ask to be taken to a complete stranger’s home? Especially one where you lived alone. “Why my home? Don’t you have one?”

He propped his upper body up with hands resting beside him, watching you with a dark glint in his eyes that you failed to notice. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

The boy was adamant and wouldn’t take no for a response, making you pray to the Lords that nothing bad would happen when taking home the pink haired whose name you learned was Taeyong.

-

Your keys repeatedly failed to connect with the lock of your house. It was hard to when Taeyong’s intense gaze was fixed on your side profile. “Sorry,” you nervously chuckled. “I’m really tired from work,” you tried reasoning.

After struggling for a while, he snatched the key from your grasp and unlocked the door, pushing it open and inviting himself in. You stay rooted by the entrance, shocked that Taeyong casually opened the door and simply walked in as if it were his house.

Taeyong looked around your place, interested to see the soft-hearted person you were with various photos of your loved ones hanging on the walls.

“Do you need the first aid kit?” you asked.

He touched himself in the stomach and hissed. “Yeah.”

You nodded and went to search for the kit in the bathroom. When out of his sight, Taeyong plopped down on the sofa, letting out a long exhale and half smiled. He found it new and amusing with someone being concerned for his well-being.

With the kit in your hand, you took a moment to calm down your racing heart. Taeyong was not letting you feel comfortable for a reason that you failed to decipher. You met your gaze in the mirror and told yourself that nothing bad should happen. How could a wounded boy harm a girl?

You walked back into the living room and were relieved to see Taeyong resting on the sofa with his eyes closed. If he wanted to harm you, then he wouldn’t be lounging around like that. “I brought it.”

He hummed and opened one eye. “You can leave it there and head for bed,” he said nodding towards the small table in front of him.

“Don’t you need any help though?” What if he had any wounds on his back that he couldn’t reach?

Taeyong clicked his tongue. “I’ll be fine.”

“I have a guest bedroom. You can sleep there,” you offered.

He shook his head. “I’m fine here.”

“But the sofa isn’t-”

“I’m fine.”  

You bit back your tongue, letting him decide on his own what was best for him. It was odd that he wouldn’t opt for a bed to let his body relax and heal faster. “Okay, I’ll bring you a pillow and blanket then.”

��I don’t need them. That throw will be fine.” He pointed at one draped over the armchair.

Were you being too pushy? Why was this guy refusing everything that you were kindly offering? “Okay… I’ll head up then. G’night.” With that, you hurriedly went up to your refuge and finally called it a night.

Once the coast was clear, Taeyong pulled off his denim jacket and shirt over his head, observing his skin.

Flawless skin.

Not a single wound spotted.

You’re a cute one, he thought and smirked to himself.

- ❀ -

You took Taeyong out for shopping the next day, as per his so-called request. It was more of a demand. You didn’t understand why he was staying at your place but decided to keep your mouth shut and hoped that he’d leave you soon.

While you wandered around the cosmetics section, Taeyong left your side, his eyes catching interest of the sparkling diamonds department.

“Hello, sir. What would you like to see?” the woman behind the counter asked sweetly.

Taeyong paid no mind looking at her and locked his gaze on a specific 2 carat round eternity engagement ring in 14k white gold. “How much is that?” he pointed at the ring enclosed in the display case.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars, sir.”

Taeyong let out a whistle and propped his elbow on the casing. He turned around to search for you, finding you try on a couple of samples on your skin, and his lips curled up when seeing you pleased with the products.

The man not being by your side gave you some time to calm your heart down. You didn’t know why you felt that way with Taeyong when he hadn’t done anything to harm you. Something warned you from the inside to not trust him, even though he hadn’t done anything to invade your privacy at home. You were glad that he chose to sleep downstairs and so a part of you grew fond for him despite the short time.

Then what was this feeling that you probably made a grave mistake for helping him out last night?

You put away the product testers and searched for Taeyong, spotting the pink one easily as he leisurely passed by two security guards and picked out a pistol from its holder without them knowing.

“What the…” you breathed out. What was this guy going to do with a gun?

Taeyong made his way over to the fire alarm system and pulled it down. A loud, 3-beep pattern resonated throughout the store and numerous customers panicked, dashing out the building while the guards tried to figure out what was going on. The boy walked back to the diamonds where the employee was still there, frantically locking everything up before leaving for safety.

“Give me the ring,” Taeyong ordered. His blank expression made the woman not take him seriously and ignored him. Just when she was about to leave the counter, Taeyong held up the gun at her forehead and repeated. “Give me or I’ll shoot you.”

“B-But th-there’s a fire!” she cried. She didn’t want to die from the fire, or from the gunshot, or from her boss that she gave one of the most expensive rings away for free.

“There’s no fire. Quit wasting time or I’ll shoot.”

The guards caught up on the situation. “Hey you! Put that gun down or I’ll shoot you!” one said, while the other informed the situation through his walkie talkie.

Taeyong grabbed the woman in the blink of an eye, holding her as a shield with the gun pressed against her temple. “If you come near me, she dies.”

The guards backed away and held their hands up. “Okay okay! Let her go, man.”

I will, but after I get my ring, he thought.

He pulled the worker behind the counter, keeping her in front of him, and ordered her again. She obeyed, the fear of having to die from his gun scariest than any other consequence she’d have to face later. “D-Do you want the r-ring casing?”

“Just the damn ring.”

She handed it over with shaky hands. He shoved it inside the pocket of his jeans and shot the two guards down. The woman screamed and he pushed her away.

“Chill. I won’t kill you unless you get in my way.”

He sprinted to your rooted spot where you silently watched the scene unfold. Taeyong pulled you out of your shock self when he grabbed your hand and darted for the exit, letting your feet automatically respond to his action.

“Pass me the car key,” he instructed.

You didn’t want to, not when he shot two people in front of your eyes. But you chose to trust him than get caught now that you were technically his partner in crime. You both rushed to your car with him diving into the driver’s seat while you in the passenger. The police sirens could be heard from a distance and Taeyong wasted no time and slammed on the accelerator without putting on his seatbelt.

He went over the speed limit, overtaking the slower cars in the lanes as he tried to widen the gap between him and the flashing red and blue lights. A red traffic light was fast approaching, and cars were lined up ahead. But the boy made no plans to pull the brakes.

“You need to slow down!” you screamed.

The pink haired peeked at the rearview mirror, spotting the cops not too far behind them.

“Taeyong, stop!” Right before he could touch the stopped vehicles, he swerved the car abruptly to the empty lanes.

The lanes for the opposite direction.

You pulled at your hair, close to losing your sanity. “Are you fucking trying to kill us?”

The cops took a while to decide on the next course of action before following suit. He smirked, pleased with himself. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m good at this.”

Traffic was ongoing perpendicular to your direction and you were horrified with what the psycho was planning to do next. Without slowing the speed, Taeyong sped through the intersection once spotting an opening. Cars screeched to a stop and honked at the maniac driver.

This was a nightmare.

The very nightmare that the pink haired found thrilling.

Once on a street clear of any other vehicles besides yours and the police, you shouted, “I’m feeling fucking sick!”

“Hang in there. The show’s almost over.”

Wait…

What?

He checked the rearview again and the spacing was perfect. There were only two cars after them, making it easy for his plan to work.

Taeyong slammed the brakes and turned the steering wheel all the way, spinning the car 360 degrees. You screamed and held onto the handle tightly, shutting your eyes.

“Hold the wheel,” he said.

“What?”

He grabbed your hand and placed it on the steering wheel. “Hold it,” he directed. After you did, Taeyong pushed your head below the windows, clear from his aim. He lowered the glass barriers and shot at an incoming auto, aiming perfectly at the one in front of the other which resulted it to swerve out of control. This caused the one behind it to collide and flip over onto its roof. And not too long after-

BAAM!

It exploded into flames, ending the chase.

-

Taeyong stepped out of your new car and you followed, slamming the door shut angrily. “Why the fuck did you do that?” Your eyes moisten from the intense anger that built up inside.

He rounded the vehicle and stopped in front of you, alarming you when he suddenly grabbed your hand.

You tried to yank your hand free, but his grip was tight. “What the hell are you doing?”

His hand dug in his pocket for the stolen ring and slid it onto your ring finger. “I got this for you,” he spoke quietly while admiring the beauty that rested on your hand.

Your rage died for a moment, puzzled that he’d do such a thing to get you a ring. “Why?” Tears fell from its place and you wailed. “Why did you do it?” You never asked for any of this, from the theft to the shootings, to him even changing your car at a dealership who he was well acquainted with.

Taeyong shrugged coolly as if it was no big deal. “Just felt like it. I saw it and I wanted to get it for you. Usually I steal cars, so be honoured that I stole a beauty like that for you.” He winked at you and walked inside your house.

You took a moment to scream your frustration out, almost kicking the car before deciding against it. Walking in, you found the boy sprawled on the sofa, eyes closed.

“If you wanted to get me it, then you should have paid for it like a normal person would!”

He peeked at you through one eye. “Do you know how much that’s worth?”

It was a no brainer that it was expensive. But exactly how much… “No.”

“Twenty-five grand.”

Talk about getting all the wind knocked out of your lungs. That was nearly how much you’d make in a year and you were not going to wear it.

Especially when it was involved in a criminal act.

You ripped it off your finger and chucked it at him. He swiftly caught it as if he expected that reaction from you.

“Get the fuck out of my house! And don’t you dare show me your face again!”

Taeyong slowly sauntered to you, a predatory look in his eyes. You backed away from him trying to keep a distance until your backside met the wall. He trapped you in his arms, resting his hands on either sides of your face and wore a smug smile. “I can. But what will happen to you?”

You blinked and attempted to gulp down the ball forming at the back of your throat. “W-What do you mean?”

He lifted one hand off and showed you the ring. “They’ll be looking for this and footage from the security cameras will show that there was a boy and a girl that left together with the ring.”

Oh crap.

“I’m an expert at running away without getting caught, sweetheart. But if you don’t want to get caught, then you’ll have to keep me around. I’ll make sure both of us will be safe.” Taeyong leaned close to your ear, whispering with a hot breath that sent a shiver down your spine, “It’s my specialty.”

#nct #nct 127 #lee taeyong #nct taeyong #taeyong x reader #taeyong imagines #taeyong scenarios #taeyong fanfic #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #charm

[thegracelessfaceless]

Rival matchup time:

"So, I’m Elsie, she/her/hers, and bi (but I lean heavily towards men rn). I’m a Virgo sun, Scorpio rising and Aquarius moon. I’m also an introvert, but I love being around other people! I just get,,,,, tired easily.

I’m East Asian + Southeast Asian (Chinese and Vietnamese). I’m barely 5’0 tall! Long, black hair that reached my upper thighs and dark brown eyes that you can’t even see the pupil lmfao. I always have painted nails, usually red. I’m pretty athletic and I also like to think I have nice thighs—most of my workouts include building up my legs lol. I wear big gold hoop earrings. I also wear round Harry Potter glasses. My body isn’t very curvy, in fact I’m pretty flat but I am COVERED in stretch marks. I also have acne flare ups from time to time but it’s usually nothing noticeable anymore.

I’d like to think I’m a pretty chill person, likes to go with the flow and stuff like that. My friends say I’m often their therapist or their mom, which is kinda funny because that’s what I’m in uni for, to be a therapist. I’m a pretty determined and motivated person? I like to push myself pretty hard ngl but I also like to just hang out and take it slow. I also like to do stupid things like exploring abandoned buildings at 2am. I’m also big into intersectional feminism. I’ve also been told I’m really approachable and friendly, but bro I am so shy and quiet in public unless I get to know you.

I can get pretty stubborn tbh, it depends once again on what the topic is but once I’ve set my mind to it, that’s how it’s going to be. I also have low self esteem and my depression sometimes makes it hard for me to even get out of bed at times. I usually don’t know when to stop giving myself to other people, which means I get pretty exhausted and fast. I’m also prone to overthinking which stresses me out. And when I’m stressed, I can honestly get a little bitey.

I apologize to inanimate objects if I’ve bumped into them, and I also have a tendency to talk to myself? I also am a witch! I’m currently elbows deep in some deity work and ngl my energy is all over the place. I also have a weird habit of waving to security cameras I see in public because I like to think the people watching those cameras get a kick out of it lol.

I really like coffee, tea, singing with my ukulele, playing piano, drawing and art in general. I haven’t been able to draw as much as I’d like recently but I do have some animatics in my head. I also really like Victoria’s Secret perfumes, specifically strawberry pound cake—it’s what I always smell like lol. Crystals are super fun imo. I live next to a huge lake and it’s honestly one of my favorite places to be. Ocean animals are my favorite! I also really like car rides with like, one other person and just exploring the world and talking. The music I listen to is a lot of classic rap, lofi-hip hop, modern rap, some pop artists and Ella Fitzgerald, Gloria Gaynor, HaroinFather, KYLE, and ofc Hollywood Undead.

I cannot stand centipedes those things horrify me. I also don’t like rude people, bigots, people who purposely start drama or hypocrites. People who put other people down aren’t cool either. I don’t really like parties or being around lots of people, they make me anxious and kinda suffocated. People who try to force me to do stuff aren’t cool in my books either. I also think red meat is kinda gross, but that’s just because it makes me exhausted."

Your rival is:

ŇƗŇΔ ŦĦ€ ҜƗŁŁ€Ř

So I've done a ton of reflecting and have finally arrived at this rivalry.

I feel like you would end up defending yourself after Nina attacks you while you're trying to talk some sense into her about her obsession with Jeff.

I mean, really. This girl carved herself up to look more like him.

She even uses a version of his catchphrase, ffs!

While its fun to write about, Nina's level of obsession with Jeff is pretty harmful to not only others, but herself.

So you try to do what you would do with any rational adult. You take her out to lunch and try to talk with her about it.

You take her to a local pizza buffet and the two of you talk over every kind of pizza toy could imagine.

It was all great... Right up until it wasn't anymore.

You'd overlooked a major flaw in your master plan. You treated Nina like a normal, rational, adult. Nina was none of the above.

Sure, she may be an adult physically.

But it's like her obsession had stunted her emotional growth.

So, naturally, Nina thinks you're trying to talk her into forgetting about Jeff so you could have him all to yourself 🙄

She grabs you by the back of the shirt and pulls you through the restaurant and out into the parking lot.

"Nina, are we really doing this?" you ask her. She sneers at you and lets go of your shirt with a shove.

"You thought I was that dumb, didn't you?" Nina began slowly pacing back and forth, within the confines of the lines of the parking space.

You'd seen a panther at the zoo pace like that at the front of his habitat. He walked back and forth in front of his home, but his eyes, fierce and cunning, stayed on the people gathered to look at him. He didn't look at them as if they were a threat. He looked at them like prospective meals. Dinner. Midnight snack. Breakfast. Supper. Dinner again. Nina looked at you like that now.

"You thought you could just take me out, tell me I'm crazy and obsessed with the love of my life, and what? That I'd just back off? Say, 'You're right, Elsie, what was I thinking?!' and we'd laugh and go to your house and watch chick flicks and laugh into the wee hours of the morning?"

Nina huffed and rolled her eyes, "Spare me, bitch." Nina started closing in, flicking her knife open. It had little charms hanging from it like a heart, a grumpy storm cloud, an excited yam, and a beaming milkshake cup. They were the cutest, most impractical thing you'd ever seen.

You weren't surprised when Nina rushed you and you stepped to the side at the last moment, catching the wrist of her knife hand in your hand and shoving the heel of you hand into the back of her hand painfully, forcing her to drop the knife.

It fell to the pavement with a clatter and you used your foot to kick it away from the two of you.

Nina looks shocked and sad as she watches it spin away from her, and then it disappeared under a parked car.

Enraged by the loss of her knife, Nina rushed you again and screams in your face.

She grabbed your arm tightly and watched as you looked at your arm where her hand gripped. Something about your expression made her let go. But...

"I won't let you have him" she snarled and she lunged again, this time knocking you off your feet. Nina rode your body to the ground, sitting on your chest and upper stomach to pin you.

"I don't want him, Nina" you spat at her, the first stirrings of anger coiling up inside of you, "What will make you see?"

"Leave us alone" she said and as she reached down and fisted a handful of your hair and used it to knock your head into the ground a couple of times, "Leave us alone so I can show my sweet prince how happy we could be."

"What do you mean 'we'?" you ask Nina, "the only reason Jeff knows you exist is because everyone started warning him about this crazy fan girl. If we're truthful, he's stated that you kind of scare him."

"You expect me to believe that he's afraid? Afraid of anything? Especially afraid of a girl much smaller than him who would give him anything he asked for. Anything.'

She punctuated that last word with another attempt to thump your skull into the ground, but you tightened your muscles and wouldn't allow the movement.

Nina let go to slap you and you threw your body upwards, throwing Nina off of you, and you sat up and crawled over to pin Nina down.

"Just give up," you hiss at her, "I don't want him, I swear it. But don't lie to yourself anymore. Jeff will never love you, not the way you want him to. He may fear you, Nina, but he'll never love you."

You watched as a myriad of emotions cross over her face. Rage. Uncertainty. Denial. Stubbornness. Pleading. Her face collapsed into despair, which slowly faded to reluctant acceptance.

You move back slightly to let Nina up, rubbing the back of your head where it was starting to ache. When she doesn't make any aggressive movements, you let her up completely, offering her a hand to help her to her feet.

"So... You're gonna be alright?"

Nina shrugged slightly, looking drained and disenchanted, her arms crossing under her breasts to hold her.

"I'm sorry it had to be like this, Nina.."

"Go."

"I understand you probably hate me right now. You're hurt, but maybe in time we could make a friends-"

"Get out of my sight. Now" Nina growled, "I'll hurt you the next time I see you. Now go."

You turn away from Nina and start walking away. You get at least 500 feet away from her and stop, looking at her over your shoulder.

She looked so small, now, uncertain, folded in on herself as she hugged herself tightly, staring at nothing in particular in the middle distance between us.

"Nina" you call, "It's fine to hate me right now. But when you're not so raw about it, maybe we could hang out. Watch chick flicks, do each others nails and eat ice cream?"

The corner of Nina's mouth pulled up in a wry smile, "I'll think about it when I don't want to kill you."

You smile, "It's a start. Take care of yourself, Nina.

Ahh I hope you like it! I really tried to branch out from typical answers, too. I like to think that a rivalry with you wouldn't be like a lasting thing. You'd just do what you could to a) get them to listen, and b) keep yourself as safe as possible, and set them straight with no hard feelings afterwards.

#creepypasta #nina the killer #creepypasta rival matchup #creepypasta matchups #tw obsession

[mappinglasirena]

Bothersome Beams in Sirena’s Sickbay

You know how I’ve drawn a clean layout of the Captain’s Quarters to make it reflect the room as seen on screen by e.g. erasing the false door, adding in furniture and marks for the windows, etc? I've been doing that for a bunch of other places as well (toooootally not because I’m procrastinating the two Deep Dives I should be working on....), and a few days ago I started on sickbay. And now I'm stuck.

I've been staring at this so long my brain is turning to mush, so now you all get to suffer with me!

(Fair warning: there be loads of extremely pedantic observations ahead. I hope you like staring at deck plans :D)

This is the outline of sickbay on the deck plans from the blu-ray Set Me Up featurette:

(For orientation and because it will become important later: The front of the ship is on the right-hand side, the back is on the left.)

A quick reminder of the relevant main features: the round part of sickbay has walls that slope outward towards the top, a counter running along the wall around 2/5 of the way up, and three support beams cutting through the wall and the counter.

(Note that in reality, the beams are all straight across the top; they just appear curved here due to lense distortion.)

Looking at the concentric circles in the outline above, let’s try to figure out what’s what. Easiest: the broken grey lines, i.e. the largest two circles, surely must be where the wall meets the ceiling at its widest extension. (Here marked in blue.)

Next, when we look at the transition between the rectangular alcove at the back of the room (marked “med bay” in the plan) and the round “lab area”, we see that it’s smooth and there is no step in between.

(Again: the walls are straight, not curved, it looks that way because of lense effects.)

Given that and the thickness of the line, I think it’s safe to assume this is the outline of the wall, most likely at floor level:

These, as far as I can tell, are the windows at the front of the room, next to the door.

As you can see, they extend almost to the top of the wall and stop short of the unidentified outer circle. Looking at a screenshot...

...the windows sit right above the counter, so it makes sense that the remaining lines would be the outline of said counter (here in green):

So far so good.

Here’s the rub. I was trying to figure out what the vertical lines dividing the counter next to the support beams might be, when I noticed these four bits:

Those look like the places where the support beams cut through the counter.

That makes sense, right?

As you’ve probably noticed before, these beams run throughout the entire ship. We see them everywhere on the upper and lower deck, they are clearly the skeleton that holds Sirena together. You can tell how important they are to the structural integrity because all the deck plans have these vertical, broken grey lines to indicate where the beams are located.

Now, take another look at the markings where the beam towards the back of the room cuts through the counter (I magnified the one on the bottom left):

As you can see pretty clearly, the marking in the counter doesn’t line up with the normal position of the beams, indicated by the broken grey lines. It isn’t off by much. My rough estimate so far is that the beams are about a foot wide with seven feet between them, so this is a difference of maybe 15cm (~6″, apparently). But something is clearly strange here.

You can tell there’s something different at the back of the room, because where the beams in the middle and front are marked by long rectangles, the one in the back is only a small square. It looks almost as if there was only a single column on either side. If that was the case, it would probably mean that the beam at the back of the room was a fake, not technically connected to the beams at the rest of the ship like the middle and front ones.

But does that mean it was also moved a few centimetres further to the front? This has been driving me nuts.

There are a few possible explanations for what might be happening here.

1. I am wrong about those being the markers for where the beams cut through the counter. That is entirely possible.

2. Some changes were made to the set that aren’t yet reflected in this version of the layout. As I said elsewhere, these plans aren’t quite accurate to the final set in all details (e.g. the two steps between the mess hall and sickbay aren’t marked), so it’s possible that this is some intermediate version where the counter design varies a little from its final configuration.

3. The support beams at the back of sickbay do not line up with the beams in the rest of the ship. The production designers decided that they wanted sickbay to be the exact size we see in the plans, but for some logistical or aesthetic reason, having the beams at the back of the room in the logical position (i.e. parallel to the ones on the upper deck) didn’t work, so they moved them forward a little bit.

I cannot tell you how long I spent over the weekend trying to make heads or tails of this. 

At first I thought: Well, obviously the beams must have been moved to the front. The grey line marking where they should be goes right across the front of the rectangular bit of the room. They’d block the way if they were in the “correct” place, right?

Except I realized my spatial reasoning is woefully inadequate when trying to visualize a round room with sloped walls, so I did the only reasonable thing: I taught myself how to use SketchUp (again) to make a very, very crude 3D sketch of the relevant sections of this room.

Turns out: when you put the beam exactly where it’s supposed to go, it does actually work out okay. I know it’s a little too small here compared to what it should be...

...but that’s probably more due to my estimates for the thickness of the beams and especially the height of the room being off.

I did another version where I moved the beam forward so it sits where the counter is marked on the deck plan, and the difference is pretty negligible:

It looks a little closer to what we see on screen, but again, that’s probably more a miscalculation issue than an honest-to-god result.

As a last-ditch effort I had another look through my screenshot collection. My thinking was that if the beam was moved forward slightly from where it was “supposed” to be, that would mean we’d see more of it.

(On the left, the beam lines up with the grey lines. The area where it intersects with the counter (solid red) is smaller than in the right-hand example, where the beam was moved to align with the marking in the counter.)

Likewise, the distance the beams extend under the counter would be different, if not by much.

(The beam on the right is moved slightly towards the middle of the room. You can see that it dips lower than the beam on the left, which is in the “correct” position.)

If this was the case we should be able to see it in the screenshots, right? Except...

This is the view towards the front of the room. It’s difficult to tell with the perspective, but I don’t think there is much of a difference in how far the beam towards the front of the room (far right) and the one at the back of the room (far left) extend below the counter?

Maaayyybe there’s a difference there? But then again, if you compare how far they dip below the tops of the chests of drawers, that seems pretty similar...

And this is the point where I decided this insanity had gone on long enough and I should probably stop before my brain got entirely scrambled (since, sadly, I don’t have an EMH to unscramble it for me).

So, what’s the takeaway here?

1.: Short of somebody from the production team giving confirmation either way, we won’t know what happened here. I might have misread the set plan, the plan might have changed, or the beams might have been moved. It will have to remain a mystery until we get more shots with incontrovertible evidence, or somebody takes a measuring tape to the set and reports back ;9

2.: For the purposes of drawing a layout of sickbay, I’m going to assume the beams are in the correct position, since that makes more sense in-universe. I’ll move the counter markings accordingly. If I have to make a correction to that at some point, at least I have done the legwork and can refer back to this post instead of having to explain the whole issue again.

3.: Yes, I did just spend half the weekend obsessing over 15 centimetres, to the point where I taught myself SketchUp (again) and wrote a way too long blog post (I did warn you ;9 ), only to come to the conclusion that, as we say over here: “Nichts Genaues weiß man nicht.” - I guess we’ll never know. I have absolutely no regrets!

And finally 4.: staring at images of sickbay for hours on end really makes you appreciate just how beautiful that space is. Scroll up again and have a look at the screenshots. The way the circle repeats in the lights and the table and the concentric markings on the floor. The intricate holograms projected by the ceiling lights. The plants and tools all along the counters that give the room so much texture and make it seem like a real, lived-in place. The way the crisp black and white paint on the beams and the gleaming floor contrast with the cared-for but scuffed up plating and worn-off red paint all over the rest of Sirena... I just really love this ship, okay?

Anyway. If you have any thoughts on this, or you’ve noticed something I missed, I’d love to hear about it!

I was about to say “I promise the next post will be shorter”, but who are we kidding? My brain doesn’t do brief. And what is this blog for if not extremely rambly analyses that give us all an excuse to ogle screenshots of La Sirena for a few minutes?

#star trek picard #la sirena #lower deck #sickbay #deck plans #layout #inconsistencies #long post #progress blogging #does it still count as 'progress blogging' if there was no actual progress? 😅 #let's maybe emend that to #minimapping #i really hope this was understandable and i didn't butcher too many technical terms #who gave the non-native-speaker with the very shaky grasp of interior design and architectural terms the keys to the mapping blog? #at this point the word 'beam' has lost all meaning to me... #but any weekend that involves staring at pictures of Sirena for hours and yelling observations at my friends is a good weekend!

[gigisbit]

Today I celebrate Hyunjin's life, a bit sad that I cannot celebrate it as I wish but I hope he spends it with his loved ones.

Happy birthday Hwang Hyunjin ❤

Thank you for teaching me to work hard for what I want, to laugh and enjoy life and for teaching me that there's beauty in every single thing.

And me being a Seungjin sucker, I want to share with you my fav fics today. Ugh there so many good Seungjin fics out there btw but here are my faves in no particular order.

1. This one holds a special place in my heart because it's the first Seungjin fic that I read and it is so good, it was a roller coaster, the writer is very mature in their writing so please read it.

when we cross at intersections

“Hyunjin?” Seungmin’s voice is soft.

He takes off his sunglasses; now Hyunjin can see his eyes. Hyunjin has always liked Seungmin’s eyes, how sincere his gaze is.

Hyunjin is frozen. “Do you want a different server?”

And here, Seungmin’s mouth flattens into a frown. “No,” he snaps, harsh. “I’m a normal paying customer. Treat me the way you’d treat anyone else.”

[Hyunjin is a part-time waiter; Seungmin is an idol. Seven years later, they meet again on a Wednesday at the Nine & Dine.]

2. A super hero/villain fic, A M A Z I N G, this fic for sure is a chef kiss

Beautiful Chaos

Hyunjin laughs. Seungmin imagines that the sound has been the last thing many have ever heard. His hand moves, and the fingertips trace Seungmin’s lips. “Can you guess what I want right now?”

3. We all need a barista AU and this is it, so sweet and funny.

Worth it

Hyunjin hates winter mornings, but the cute Starbucks barista makes it totally worth it. Even when he keeps on getting his name wrong after two months of religiously going there three times a week.

4. I enjoyed this fic so much, a bit unexpected yet so so good, I want to hug Hyunjin here

two sides (of the same coin)

Seungmin plans weddings; Hyunjin plans funerals. One December day, Seungmin hits Hyunjin with his car, setting off a chain of events that neither Seungmin nor Hyunjin could have ever seen coming.

5. One of my favorites Greek mythology pieces, portrait by one of my favorite people.

Pomegranate Seeds

Silence hangs between them. Hyunjin’s naturally calculating and intimidating eyes are boring into Seungmin’s, which held the practiced poise and grace that he was associated with. The God of Spring raises his head by a modicum, exuding a sense of determination that he was not known for possessing.

“No.” almost mockingly, he giggles as he speaks.

Hyunjin raises a brow. “Excuse me?”

“No.” Seungmin repeats, tauntingly this time.

“That was not a request, sweet Seungmin.”

“And I was not asking for your permission to stay.” Seungmin answers. With the practical isolation by his mother, Seungmin was particularly spoiled. He was granted whatever his heart desired; and right now he wanted to stay in the Underworld.

“And I will have you know,” Seungmin narrowed his eyes as the flowers in his hair wilted with every syllable he spoke, framing Seungmin’s figure with ashen petals and leaves falling over his face. “that I can command death as easily as you can.”

6. Seungjin sexy time, honestly, I laughed with this so so sweet.

To Switch or Not To Switch

Seungmin let his eyes wander about the boy’s godly proportions, sliding over Hyunjin’s milky shoulders and hard nipples before staring at the light trail of hair that stretched from his belly button to his crotch. There, beneath the curly tufts of dark hair was Hyunjin’s cock, half-hard and leaking and looking impossibly beautiful wrapped in a silky, red bow.

7. Pinning, long distance friendship yaaaaaas, read it, so so good, I want more.

Still the same

Hyunjin moved away years and years ago, any feelings seungmin had harbored for him when he was a kid dissipated over that time, or so he thought. when hyunjin came to visit, seungmin was ecstatic, until he saw how attractive his friend had become, and as they got along like he had never left, seungmin's old, pesky feelings began to crawl back.

8. This fic, this ficcccc, minsung, changlix and seugjin in one piece, ugh a m a z i n g

And We Were Roommates

"... The spider is gone." Seungmin says stiffly.

Felix, Hyunjin, and Jisung collectively let out a long, relieved sigh.

"Thank God," Felix says, muscles visibly relaxing.

"No, you don't understand," Seungmin purses his lips, and emphasizes again. "The spider is gone. It disappeared, I couldn't kill it because I don't know where it went."

There's a prolonged ten-second pause where neither of them dares to move or breathe, before Jisung breaks the silence and says in a monotone voice.

"That's it, we are moving out. Throw the whole apartment away, fuck this." Jisung says decisively as he pushes away a terrified Felix off of him, and attempts to make a run to their front door before Seungmin grabs him by the collar of his shirt, almost choking him in the process, but successfully stopping him from running away.

 

Alternatively: The ups and downs of living with your boyfriend and your two best friends under the same roof. Chaos ensues, fights unveil, kitchens explode, and the four of them get closer than ever. (Spoiler: there's a lot of naked)

9. This is what I call knowing your priorities, ladies and gents Seungmin deserves a round of applause.

I'll make you mine, whatever it takes

Hyunjin was an infamous playboy in school while Seungmin was school's sweetheart. Basically, everyone loved him. When Seungmin made a move on Hyunjin, everyone thought either he was threatened by Hyunjin to do so or it was just simply a dare from his chaotic friends. But the truth was, Seungmin just wanted Hyunjin for himself.

Or alternatively, Seungmin made Hyunjin fell in love with him.

10. Serial killer and obsessive behavior, please read it with caution. A good good fic.

the sky under the sea

It feels fitting and contradictory of Seungmin all at once, a strange impression that he should be brighter than he is warring with the reality of how he is, gentle and breathtaking and unsettling in turn.

(Hyunjin probably shouldn't ignore the warning signs. But he's smitten, and it doesn't take long to be in too deep.)

It was so so hard to pick only 10 but these are it. All the credit and love goes to the respective writers, thank you for sharing and please do not repost their work.

Happy reading!🤟🏽❤

#stray kids #fics #fic rec #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #kim seungmin #seungmin #minnie #jinnie #skz seungmin #skz hyunjin #mine #love #skz #stay #seugjin

[thewritewolf]

Two For Two Chapter 21: Reveal

The class goes on a museum field trip, but things don't stay peaceful for long.

@ladynoirjuly2020

Enjoy!

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Read on Ao3

The day started like any other, with the exception of a late spring semester field trip. It had been meant to be a reward for them for everyone doing so well on their last batch of quizzes for the semester. And what better place to celebrate than the famous Louvre museum?

“Great job on that history exam, girl!” Alya said, squeezing Marinette in a half hug. “I knew all that extra studying would pay off.”

“I dunno if our study sess was responsible for that, babe.” Nino smirked. “After all, most of the time we met up in the library, you and my main bro over here just kept getting into arguments about who was the bigger Ladynoir shipper.”

“Which I’m glad to say we decided was me,” Adrien said over his shoulder. They were lagging behind a little from the school group, but they had Alix gliding along on her rollerskates in front of them. Even if they got seperated, she’d be able to get them out of there.

“Only since you showed us your Ladynoir fanfic stash and the Ladyblog doesn’t count as a Ladynoir site.”

“It’s for news and your obsession with superheroes,” Marinette cut in, trying to shove down the butterflies in her stomach at the idea of Adrien writing fanfic about her. “It isn’t exclusively ship content.”

“Yeah well-”

Alya’s retort was cut short when the lights flickered. Some dust fell from the ceiling as the building shook. A tense silence filled the room as their classmates and other museum-goers quieted. Worried murmuring picked up.

Marinette couldn’t hear much of it, but there were some words she picked up.

Fight. Akuma. Hawkmoth.

Her eyes were already glancing around as she tried to disappear, excuses coming to mind. If it was nothing, she could just say she had gotten lost, or forgotten something. But if it was an akuma…

As if the very thought summoned him, a familiar opponent burst through the doors at the front of the group.

“I need an army for Hawkmoth!” Pharaoh floated a couple meters above the ground, looking out over the crowd. Everyone was frozen in fear and surprise, staring intently as he gestured with a hooked sceptre. Bolts of energy were sent into the people around him.

Marinette watched in horror as Ms Bustier, Max, Nathaniel and at least half of the rest of the class were turned instantly into mummies, along with a chunk of the other tourists. That seemed to break the spell that everyone else was under and screams rent the air as they scattered. Hesitation gripped her for just a moment before Alix sped past her.

“Get a move on, you guys!” Alix yelled behind her, her voice nearly swallowed in the chaos. “I can get us out of here without any new threads.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the mummies.

Figuring the first step to getting somewhere safe to transform was getting away from the akuma, Marinette ran after her. She breathed a sigh of relief when she glanced back and saw Alya, Nino, and Adrien following along. At least she didn’t have to worry about getting them out of harm’s way.

They arrived at a stairwell, where Alix had stopped to take off her rollerskates. Alya jogged past her and looked up the stairs. Nino was right behind her, poking his head around the corner of the intersection they were at. Marinette was inching her way towards the bathrooms down one of the halls and to her surprise noticed that Adrien was too. He caught her look and smiled bashfully.

“Um…” He swallowed nervously. “Would you believe I wanted to take a quick break?”

Before she could reply, Nino spoke up.

“I don’t think we have time for that dude!” The worry in his voice was enough to snap their attention toward him and they saw the reason for his concern.

Moving a lot quicker than their shambling zombie cousins, a whole horde of mummies was barreling towards them.

Alix, now barefooted and her skates tied together and tossed over her shoulder, ran into the stairwell. “C’mon, we can still stay ahead of them!”

Before any of them could move, the building shook again. This time, more than dust fell as a huge section of the ceiling collapsed. Marinette was only saved from being buried by Adrien tackling her to the side.

“Dudes?! Are you okay?”

“Just-” Marinette coughed from all the dust and continued in a strangled voice, “just peachy! You guys go, we’ll find somewhere safe on our own.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, girl!”

“I don’t think we’ll be peachy for much longer,” Adrien said looking down the hall. While the way to the stairs were blocked now, the mummies were still there and recovering from the shock of the sudden collapse.

The two of them scrambled to their feet. Dust covered and a little battered, they ran in the opposite direction of the mummies. While it wasn’t the direction they’d come from, they were running blind and had no idea where the Pharaoh was. All they knew for sure was that the mummies were right behind them even as they ran deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Louvre.

They rounded a corner and Adrien suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her into an open room. He kicked the door stopper away and pushed it close.

The door sealed just in time. Careful to stay hidden, they peered through the small glass window and watched as the horde ran past their room. Only once the last echoes of their footsteps had died down did Marinette allow herself to exhale again.

She looked around the room, which appeared to be a storage space for artifacts that weren’t on display for one reason or another.

“Looks like we make a pretty good team, huh, Marinette?”

Her heart skipped a beat - somehow in all the confusion, she had nearly forgotten just who she had escaped with.

“Y-yeah.” She tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. A faint smile pulled at her lips. “Although I think I’d rather have found that out through Mecha Strike or homework, not an akuma attack.”

Adrien laughed, something almost as magical as the miraculous.

“That’s fair,” he said, still smirking. He stepped up to the door and peered through the window and down the hall. “Think we should make a break for it?”

“Definitely.” Her hand on the door knob, she hesitated. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t just stick to Adrien’s side for all this. She needed to find somewhere secluded to transform. “I know this sounds crazy, but maybe we should split up?”

He blinked at her and smiled. “Weird, I was just about to suggest the same thing. It’ll be easier to get out unnoticed that way.”

“Right, yes, exactly!” Sighing in relief, she turned the doorknob.

...Or, at least, she tried to. But it refused to move. She stared at it in shock.

“...Oh no,” Adrien said in a whisper. “We’re locked in, aren’t we?”

Marinette began pacing as she tried to figure something out. The door was sturdy and had no keyholes on this side - they wouldn’t be able to bust it down or pick the lock. She glanced around the room. No windows or other doors. There were a couple vents, but even she wouldn’t be able to fit in there.

The kwamis? She’s never seen Tikki open anything more complex than a locker - she hadn’t been able to unlock her trick box for her diary, after all. Maybe they could find a key, but…

She just thought about Chat Noir, fighting alone against the akuma. Holding out for help that would never show up.

There wasn’t time.

“Well, looks like there’s no choice.”

Despite the words being exactly what she was thinking, they hadn’t come out of her mouth. They came out of Adrien’s. She turned around just in time to see a flash of green.

And there, standing in front of her, was a very bashful looking Snake Noir. He rubbed the back of his neck as she gawked at him, open mouthed.

“I know this is a surprise, Marinette,” he said as he stepped forward and put her hands on her shoulders. “But you have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone about this. I’ll have to tell Ladybug you found out.” His ears drooped and he looked away. “Hopefully she won’t be too disappointed in me.”

That pulled her out of her mind-numbing shock. Her hands went to the sides of his face, her eyes locked onto his.

“I would never, chaton.”

Her partner blinked in surprise. “What do you-”

She spoke her transformation phrase and Dragonbug stood in front of him.

“...My lady?”

#Miraculous Ladybug #Snake Noir #Dragonbug #Ladynoir #Alix Kubdel #Alya Cesaire #Nino Lahiffe #LadynoirJuly2020 #Ladybug #Chat Noir #ml fanfiction #my writing #Two For Two

[amphtaminedreams]

S/S 2020 Fashion Month: A Basic, Uneducated Fashion Heaux’s A-Z of Everything Noteworthy (Part 3/3)

Hi to anyone reading,

I’m finally at the end!

It’s only taken me, like, over 2 months but I’m finally about to review the last 5 shows I wanted to talk about from this year’s RTW offerings for S/S 2020. It’s very frustrating that I couldn’t include them in the last post and make this a nice, neat, equally sized two part thing but Tumblr was being difficult and so here I am. On the plus side, I guess I can also make this post a bit of a round-up of my ultimate favourite collections of this year and some of my absolute favourite looks!

To quickly finish my review though, I’m gonna start this post with Vivienne Westwood’s S/S 2020 collection!

And I hate to start the post on a downer but I wasn’t wild about it. The bridal look worn by Bella Hadid and the similarly structured red dress are the only pieces that I really love. The accessories are beautiful, especially the shell necklace, and the fitted corset upper halves are very flattering, however, there’s just nothing particularly exciting about this collection for me.

As for YSL’s S/S 2020 collection, my opinion is pretty similar. Don’t get me wrong, I personally love the embroidered pieces, and the jewell tones, and the whole art teacher/female Russell Brand vibe (I’m aware this is my second Russell Brand comparison of this review, don't @ me) but why does there have to be SO GODDAMN MANY FUCKING SEQUIN SUITS? I included a couple of the more interesting ones just for reference and can you believe that’s only about 1/10 of the sequin suits that were actually shown. I feel like they genuinely made up a good 33% of the show. It’s so boring and overdone from Saint Laurent, like you really can’t convince me that they didn’t do this exact same thing last year and the Eiffel Tower being in the background and the presence of the goddess that is Naomi Campbell and all the fancy lighting in the world isn’t a distraction enough because they DID THAT LAST YEAR TOO. It’s just disappointing from a brand like YSL who really has the money to take it to any wacky and inventive place that they want, and who has drawn on so many historical and cultural references in the past; the bohemian looks I am here for, everything else can go.  

Next is Zadig and Voltaire, which is obviously more of a pedestrian brand than YSL, but still...disappointing. 

I guess disappointing is the wrong word really because it’s not as if I had especially high hopes, it’s just that in comparison to a collection like Off-White’s, which was also a lot more of a “wearable” line, this is very Stradivarius/Zara/H&M/any member of the Inditex group. I like the ruffles, but we’ve seen them done in a much more interesting way in pretty much every other show and same with the blazers and suits. Even the styling of the teal faux fur coat, which I adore, is meh. Even Emily DiDonato can’t save it for me and that’s saying something because she honestly might be one of the most beautiful women on this planet.

On a more positive note, Zimmerman was beautiful. In a collection inspired by the ocean, the tranquil colour palette, the ornate, frothy ruffles and the flowing materials are dead on, and indulgently so. I can see most of these pieces having universal appeal and looking good on anyone, and yet this wearability doesn’t make the collection boring by any means; I think it really is a matter of having a clear concept and attention to detail that save more subtle shows from falling by the wayside. 

And lastly, Zuhair Murad, which is always a designer I look forward to; I love a good princess dress and on that, he always delivers.

However, whilst there’s a similar feel and colour palette to Zimmerman, I’d say this collection doesn’t have quite as clear a direction. There’s definitely a lot of recurring themes of the ruffles and the high necks and the bohemian prints and suits that we’ve seen throughout fashion month, but this still doesn’t feel like the most relevant or current collection I’ve ever seen from Murad. It goes without saying that the dresses are beautiful but in the context of a red carpet where every dress is a princess dress, I can’t imagine any of these taking my breath away which is usually the case. 

I really WANTED to end on a positive note, I’m sorry! And there were so so many amazing moments this season. In general, I’m excited for a lot of the trends that are seemingly going to be coming up: more of the milkmaid thing, peasant blouses, bohemian influences and a shit load of gorgeous suits!

I was going to try and do a top 10 but I honestly have too many favourites so I’m making into a...top 20. It sounds like a cop-out, but when there’s THIS many shows to go through I think a top 20 is perfectly fair. 

1. Gucci

It has to be my favourite overall. The clearest concept, the most beautiful colours, and a whole range of interesting accessories and structures. Blew everything else out the water. Might make like Elsie Fisher in Eighth Grade and just start randomly saying Gucci out loud at totally inappropriate moments to express my love.

2. Marc Jacobs

Kooky and in your face but also thoughtful and delicate. Every piece is a statement. 

3. Moschino

The intersection where art meets fashion is always my favourite place to lurk and so it’s not surprise that Moschino’s Picasso inspired collection ticked so many boxes for me. Aside from that, the structures are gorgeous and on trend and I love the accessories.

4. Valentino

So. Many. Heavenly. Dresses.

5. Mugler

Definitely the sexiest S/S 2020 collection.

6. Paco Rabanne

I mean, yes, it is a little primary school teacher-y (it’s probably the coloured socks), but a fashion-y, wear-it-to-the-club version of primary school teacher style.

7. Ralph and Russo

A prissy pastel dream that channels the Sandra Dee sleepover scene from Grease in the modern day, the only thing that could’ve added to the Ralph and Russo show would be a more diverse group of models.

8. Brock

There’s never going to be an appropriate moment to wear any of the garments from the Brock collection. Does that mean I’m going to stop thinking about it? Never.

9. Balmain

I know Balmain didn’t go down too well with the fashion critics but the noughties pop girls obsessed child in me loveddddd it.

10. Etro

Not the most high-fashion but I would wear.

11. Dion Lee

Dion Lee took corsets and suspenders and harnesses and turned that whole dominatrix trend on its head by pairing them with androgynous silhouettes, fresh whites and subtle nude tones, and I’m here for it!

12. Alessandra Rich

Eighties presidential candidate’s wife/sorority queen realness.

13. Dilara Findikoglu

Definitely my favourite of the more “avant-garde” shows we saw this year.

14. Oscar de la Renta

These dresses speak for themselves, do I really need to say any more?

15. Christopher Kane

Christopher Kane made galaxy print cool again for the first time since it was murdered by 2013 “hipster” Tumblr and then buried 6ft under by the plethora of £5 and under wholesale retailers who thought it would be a good idea to mass produce leggings with said print on. 

16. Loewe

Delicate, purposeful and refined, Loewe put out a practical yet very, very pretty and season-appropriate spring collection.

17. Thom Browne

Thom Browne brought Marie Antoinette onto the runway. ‘Nuff said.

18. Louis Vuitton

I will never turn my nose up at anything 70s influenced and Louis Vuitton’s collection was probably the most authentic (and thus kinda ugly at times) that I’ve seen.

19. Simone Rocha

If I ever became part of some modern day witchy, forest-God worshipping cult, I would expect us all to be wearing Simone Rocha’s 2020 S/S collection and nothing less.

20. Vera Wang

Jenny Humphrey in Gossip Girl for the 2019 e-girl xoxo

SO.

3 parts and 3 months later, this is my review of fashion month 2019 coming to an end. I mean, it’s actually closer to A/W 2020 fashion week now than it is to S/S 2020 buuuut let’s just forget that little detail because I had NO FUCKING IDEA it would take this long.

If there’s anyone out there who read this to the end (and I highly, highly doubt there is and I don’t blame you) or even anyone that looked at the pictures (which is probably what I would do), please let me know! It got a bit long at times but I have generally reallllly enjoyed doing this and more than anything it’s got me sad that I’ll never see these shows in person :( sad times :( oh to be on the benefiting end of nepotism :( 

Thank you sooo much!

Lauren x

#nyfw #pfw #mfw #fashion #fashion month #ss2020 #2020rtw #vera wang #moschino #gucci #high fashion #spring 2020 rtw #rtw #louis vuitton #thom browne #loewe #oscar de la renta #Alessandra Rich #dion lee #marc jacobs #balmain #valentino

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN PROGRAMMERS

It's a todo list protocol, the new investor will take a chunk of the company being sold. These ideas didn't just seem small. Writing eval required inventing a notation representing Lisp functions as Lisp data, and such a notation was devised for the purposes of the paper with no thought that it would be used to express Lisp programs in practice. Isn't computer technology something that changes very rapidly? That doesn't mean people are getting angrier. After many email exchanges with Java hackers, I would say that. If we want to keep this option open, the best way to do this is through contacts. When fundraising is going well, investors are quick to sense it in your increased confidence. I am daily waiting for the line to collapse. Plus a company that would become big. Look in the mirror.

When we talk to them they seem grimly determined. It's a big advantage, when you're considering an idea like this is that when you have ideas, you'll be able to do in the new world we'll have in a few thousand, but those few thousand users. There's no real answer. How do you do? Similarly, since the most successful founders tend to work on ideas that few beside them realize are good. It was the usual story: he'd drop out if it looked like the startup was taking off. There must be things you need. People need to feel that what they create can't be stolen.

That is so much more distracting that I had to choose between the just-do-it model does have advantages. That's a known danger sign, like drinking alone. Cars aren't the worst thing you can say that they didn't have the courage of their convictions, and that email has to be more than a pretentious version of u r a fag.1 While the best way to get started in angel investing is to find a smoking gun, a passage in whatever you disagree with that you feel is mistaken, and then advertised this as a danger is that series A investors often make companies take more money than they have in the West. In America, if you want to buy us. So if you want to be on a larger scale than Youtube clips. One of the two founders was still in grad school. But that means each partner ends up being responsible for investing a lot of control over the rate at which you turn yours into a prepared mind, but you have less control over the rate at which you turn yours into a prepared mind. If learning breaks up into many little pieces, credentialling may separate from it. The other reason the number of big hits won't grow proportionately to the number of big hits is the number of temptations around you. If a startup succeeds, you get bad ones that sound dangerously plausible.

Where is the breakeven point? It would seem a misnomer if someone said they were very determined to do something, as Nike says, just do it.2 Why do you get so much email? Thousands of programmers were in a position where failure will be public and humiliating.3 We've done this five times now, and unlike other American companies, they're obsessed with good design. They're smart; they're working in a promising field; and they just cannot give up. For example, I'd tell myself I was only going to use the Internet twice a day. If you're in grad school, but it happens so often to varying degrees in large programming projects that there is an intersection—that there are good ideas that seem bad. To hundreds of thousands or in rare cases even millions.

One of my tricks for generating startup ideas is to ask what you wish someone would make for you? I must have been wasting. And in fact the two forces are related: the decreasing cost of starting a startup—becoming the sort of person, you have to be a good trick to look for things that seem to be closer to the Apple type than the Viaweb type. What about returns, though? The other reason the number of failures and yet leave you net ahead.4 If you work together with them on projects, you'll end up producing not just organic ideas, but organic ideas with organic founding teams—and that, empirically, is the best combination. Most people would agree it's more admirable to be good people, and so on.5

But if you talk to. What would it mean to disagree well? A lot of the reason is that the scariness of starting a startup in the old days, when Google was true to its own slightly aspy self. After 15 cycles of preparing startups for investors and then watching how they do, I can easily replace them. It may also be because if you start measuring something you start optimizing it, and they can choose those rare companies, like Google, or entering a market that looks small but which will turn out to be a large tumor.6 This works well in some fields and badly in others. Because you get a lot of them about halfway to Lisp.

And even if it weren't, compilers are the sort of person who has them. Most programmers wish they could start a startup, ask yourself: who wants this right now? Once they invest in a startup run by a couple of nobodies who are trying to squash them to keep their monopoly pricing. And if you're worried about threats to the survival of your company, don't look for a replacement for x. We take these for granted now, but only to have designed a new dialect of Lisp. 05, or 4. And so most of them happier. The way to get lots of referrals. Mostly because of the increasing number of early failures, the startup business of the future won't simply be the same shape.

Traditional journalism, for example, started angel investing about a year after me, and he was pretty much immediately as good as me at picking startups. Now everyone can, and we don't realize how lucky we are that it is briefer and more comprehensible than the description of a universal Turing machine. How do you do that you raise too many expectations. And only good people can ride the thermals if they hit them anyway. The pointy-haired boss right, for example. Another feeling that seems alarming but is in fact normal in a startup run by a couple grad students. The low points in a startup, ask yourself: who wants this right now? VCs are the way they want.7

Notes

Xkcd implemented a particularly clever one in a rice cooker and forget about it.

The expensive part of their upbringing in their graves at that. A scientist isn't committed to rejecting it. 5, they are like, and at least one of the techniques for stopping spam. Financing a startup to an employer, I had a big deal.

As willful people get serious about tax avoidance. Their opinion carries the same ones. At first I didn't need to be a big company CEOs in the trade press.

It also set off an extensive biography, and one different qualities that some of those you should seek outside advice, and only one restaurant left on the cover story of creation in the middle class values; it is still a dick move. But iTunes shows that they either have a competent startup lawyer handle the deal. This is everyday life in Palo Alto to have to track down.

And while it makes people feel good. I would take Abelson and Sussman's quote a number of words: I wouldn't bet against it either. All he's committed to believing in natural selection in the US in 2002 was 3.

Incidentally, Google may appear to be considered an angel round from good investors that they imitate even the best ways to avoid collisions in. And then of course.

Hypothesis: A company will either be a good product. Cook another 2 or 3 minutes, then they're not ready to invest at a discount of 30% means when it converts. Revenue will ultimately be hurting yourself, because investors already owned more than one who passes. As well as problems that have been five years ago they might have to give it additional funding at a discount to whatever the valuation of the decline in families eating together was due to the browser, the users' need has to convince limited partners.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #Apple #passage #tax #contacts #failures #techniques #projects #Lisp #story #example #opinion #number #cases #lot #lots #spam #sup #field #deal #future #exchanges #students #trick #upbringing

[p-artsypants]

Longest Night (25) Running

And Marinette had thought Highschool had been hard. Right now, in this moment, she'd give anything to go back to those petty arguments and gossip fueled drama. But she couldn't. Instead, she and Adrien were trapped here, being punished, humiliated, tortured, for being heroes, all broadcasted for the world to see. At least she and her kitty were in this together. For now. Whump!Fic

Ao3 | FF.net

A common trend in the comment section last chapter was: “I don’t care about Lila! Save my babies!”

It made me smile.

Um…I cried writing this chapter…so really sorry in advance.

Trigger warning for…claustrophobia? Darkness? Oh, and blood. And bones. Just all over nasty stuff. I’ll make sure to let you guys know when we’re in the clear.  

—

Unchained. Free from their cages. It was almost too much. They hadn’t even gotten out yet and Adrien was already overwhelmed. He expressed this with a small whine in the back of his throat.

Marinette took Adrien’s hand, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles. She wanted to tell him so many things. How much she loved him, how no matter what happened, they could handle it.

You and me against the world, right?

Adrien squeezed her hand back, seemingly understanding what she was trying to say.

They quietly made their way into the hall. It was long, and lit every ten feet with a little light by the floor, like a movie theatre. It was lined with several doors, all with vault locks on them. All but the room they had been in. She hoped they were just lucky in that respect, and that it wasn’t some sort of trick.

So far, everything was quiet, as no one had noticed their escape. But they were both incredibly weak, and so they went slow.

The path to the torture chamber was well worn by now. Despite the halls being unmarked and dark, they still found their way there. The only problem was finding their way out.

They came to the door to the room, it only was open a crack.

It was time for phase two: retrieve the Miraculous.

Marinette peered inside. On the table on the far side of the room was the safe with the Miraculous. At least, she hoped they were still in there.

She nudged the door a little more, trying to see in the rest of the room. She could see the table with the computer, and the man named Harken sitting behind it. He had his arms crossed while he lulled his head in sleep.

The rest of the room looked empty.

Marinette turned to Adrien, making a ‘V’ shape over her eyes and gestured down the hall.

He nodded curtly, keeping watch.

Slowly, and ever so carefully, Marinette pushed the door open a fraction more, and slid inside.

There were a few cameras pointing around the room, and she made sure to stay out of their sight...though that meant coming closer to Harken.

The man wasn’t snoring, and he had big reflective glasses on like Salo, so it was hard to tell if he was sleeping or not.

But he didn’t move, so she made an assumption, and kept going.

Finally she reached the table, grabbing the safe and testing the lock.

It was locked alright, and Marinette had no guess for the combination.

Still, she scooped it up, and went back the way she came. Thankfully, the lockbox was like a briefcase and had a handle on it.

Her pulse throbbed in her ears, a silent clock in her mind, saying that all could go up in smoke at any second.

But so far so good.

Adrien was a step behind her, and he was slowly falling farther and farther behind.

She looked at him in question.

He was breathing harshly, but shook his head, gesturing her onward.

She only squeezed his hand tighter, and pulled him along.

Then they came to a fork, and Marinette hesitated. The lights on the floor stopped here, and there was no way to guess which way to go.

So she picked the right.

And ended up face to face with Pasolini.

“Hey!” He shouted, his voice much too loud in the infinite hallway.

After years of fighting, some things were still instinctual. With all the strength left in her trembling arms, she wound up, and careened the lock box into Pasolini’s face, knocking him on his ass.

Then she turned face and tried to run down the other hall.

But Pasolini, disorientated as he was, still had half a mind to reach out, and grab whatever was nearest to him. Which happened to be Adrien’s leg. His hand wrapped all the way around Adrien’s ankle, with no hope of kicking it off.

Marinette pulled on him, trying to tug him with her, grunting. All the while, lights were coming down the hall from behind Pasolini, and she could hear Salo’s voice.

“You have to let me go, My Lady.” He croaked.

Her eyes widened, and she moaned in protest.

“You have the Miraculous! Go! Run!”

I will never leave you. She had promised him that only a few hours ago.

But he was right.

As his fingers slipped from hers, a tear fell from her eyes. She backed away, unable to tear her eyes from him, until the shadows swallowed her.

Then she was alone. And the weight of her actions fell solidly on her gut.

She would never see Adrien again.

She stumbled, wandering blind. Guilt crashing into her with each step. Maybe if she went back, maybe if she offered the Miraculous back, they’d spare him.

But he’d never forgive her for giving up her chance at freedom.

She glanced back, the flashlights from her tormentors were just dots in the distance.

The hall was long, old, and covered with sharp rocks. Each step was painful, physically and emotionally. Eventually, she came to an intersection, and she took a turn without thinking, then another, then another, just trying to put distance between herself and her tormentors.

She hugged the lockbox to her chest. I wish Tikki and Plagg were here.

Well, they kind of were. She just couldn’t get to them. So she took a second to kneel and hold the box out. It was pitch black, but she felt along the box to find the opening. Then she felt along the floor for a sharp edge to hit it against.

She reeled up, and slammed the box down, hearing the Miraculous dingle from inside the box. But there was no give, so she slammed it again. And again. And again.

Her arms were so sore, and she knew she wasn’t making any progress, but she was desperate to open it.

There were footsteps. Someone had heard her and they were coming this way!

She wobbled to her feet, took up the safe again, and ran.

Left, right, right, left. She just continued to duck and weave to throw off her pursuer.

Then her legs gave out.

Exhausted, scared, and guilt ridden, Marinette sat on the cold dusty floor, and tried to catch her breath. She didn’t feel like she was making any progress. Where even was she? This building just kept going on and on like a Labyrinth. It was cold, and wet, and so so quiet, just like a grave.

Marinette took a sharp inhale. She…she couldn’t be…

Once she caught her breath, she pushed back up on her feet and began her trek again. She had to find some kind of hint to where she was.

Since she was so weak, she had to use the wall for support, feeling the cold limestone on her palms. And then for a moment, it was smooth and flat, with little grooves carved into it.

Are these words? She wondered. She felt all along the flat square and tried to make out the letters.

Sous les murs de la pépinière

Under the walls of the nursery. What nursery?

But that was French! She had seen German earlier, so why now French? Except, this was carved in the wall, while the German had been painted. Could this be older?

So there was a chance they were still in France. Where though, she had only a hunch. And she hoped she was wrong.

Marinette could hear the echo of voices, disorientated as they bounced around the cavern. But she’d rather move than stand still.

This was the stuff of nightmares. Being trapped in the dark, with no idea where you are, or who or what was with you. Every step was unknown, unsure. The only sounds were her rapid breath, her heart pounding in her ears, or rocks skittering around the ground.

And then, the inevitable threat of her captors, or something even more sinister, held in the dark. Even the path was a mystery. Would the ground give out beneath her? Would she run into something, like a wall, or something sharp?

She took a turn too quickly and stepped on something round. She rolled forward and landed in a pile of sticks. She groaned in the pain from the fall, her knee and arm taking the brunt of it.

As she went to stand, Marinette realized she had flung the lockbox forward in her trip, and she began to feel around for it.

A lot of smooth sticks is what she found, all clattering around with each movement.

Then her hand rested on a stone.  The perfect tool to help her get into the box!

But as she lifted it, she found it much lighter than a rock. It was smooth, and had little grooves on the top, but as she felt down, she felt a hole, two holes, a sort of heart shaped hole, and then some jagged pieces towards the bottom—

Marinette threw it away from her, realization dawning on her in horror.

That was a skull. And these weren’t sticks, they were bones. An entire pile of bones.

It wasn’t just a hunch anymore. She was in the catacombs! A maze of death, that went on for miles and miles under Paris!

She scrambled to her feet, and quickly found the lockbox among the bones. Then she backtracked away, going the opposite direction from them.  

Being a native Parisian, she had heard the stories. People obsessed with the catacombs, venturing down through forbidden entrances, only to get lost and never heard from again.

It was a horror story that every child knew. Don’t wander where you’re not supposed to, or you’ll join the 8 million remains under the city.

And right now, she very well could. She was so hungry, so tired, in so much pain…

She was lost. Utterly and completely lost. No light to see, no mouth to cry for help, barely any legs to stand on…

And no partner with her.

She just started crying. Like a toddler lost in the mall, helpless to figure out any solution, she just crouched and cried.

She had been staggering around for hours now, and all there was was darkness. Surely Adrien had met his demise by now. Even if she went back, there would be no saving him.

Not that she could find her way back anyway. She was lost in the depths of hell.

Part of her wondered why she was even bothering with escaping now. What was left? A lifetime of suffering from trauma and loneliness.

She had lost Adrien and Chat Noir. The two people who continued to stand by her side through everything. Her partner, her best friend, the love of her life.

Resigned, her head lulled back and hit the wall behind her.

God, if you’re there, please…please help me. I don’t want it to end like this.

She opened her eyes, and in the infinite blackness that surrounded her, there was a dot of light.

Daylight.

The first glimpse of it she had seen in what seemed like forever.

A hole in the surface, with fifty feet of concrete between them, with no way to get to it.

But it was a glimmer of hope in utter desolation.

It filled her with just enough hope for her to stand again, and start wandering.

She tried to push out all of the hopelessness in her brain that kept telling her to lay down and die. Yes, she had lost it all. Yes, she was alone…but once she got out, she was putting on both Miraculous. Then Salo would pay.

Wait, couldn’t the Miraculous give her a wish? She could have Adrien back!

She hurried her steps.

Within an hour or so, she reached an end. A wall with a series of bars on it.

A ladder!

She slid the handle of the lockbox over her wrist, and then slowly began to climb.

She climbed and she climbed. The ladder just kept going, up and up. It was exhausting, but once she reached the top, she’d be free!

The ladder came to an end on a platform. In front of her, she could see a line of light on the floor, the underside of a door!

Right there! Right in front of her!

She ran to it, her palms resting on the cold metal. A door! Here! And daylight beyond it!

Tears overflowed as she was overwhelmed with joy in the first time in days.

What was she waiting for!?

She felt along the edges of the door, finding an old rusty knob. She turned it, only to have it jam.

Locked.

Of course.

But she was so damn close!

Marinette made a fist and pounded at the surface, her knocks loud and echoing throughout the cavern. Someone would hear her! Surely someone would!

—

On the outside, a two teenage boys, brothers, were walking home from school. The path led through Montparnasse, a path they had known all their lives.

And yet, they had never paid too much attention to the utility door between two old buildings.

Until today, when frantic pounding came from it.

“Did you hear that?” Asked the older boy.

“What?”

“It sounds like someone’s knocking.”

BANG BANG BANG

“Yeah…yeah, I hear it too. It’s coming from over here.” The younger boy wandered over to the side street. “Hello? Is someone there?”

The banging got louder, like two fists rapidly drumming on the surface.

“It’s coming from this door.” Said the older boy. “Are you in there?!” He called.

There was a muffled scream in response.

“Are you in trouble?!”

Along with the screaming came a much louder bang, like a rock or something hit the door.

“Alright, don’t panic! We’ll get you out!”

As Marinette had found, the knob was locked. “It’s locked, we’ll have to get something to break the knob off.”

“Oh my god,” said the younger boy. “Charlie, I just had a thought.”

“What?”

“What if that’s Ladybug?”

The older boy gave him a doubtful look. “I thought they said it’s likely that they’re in Germany. I bet this is just some utility worker that lost his keys.”

The younger brother ignored him and asked. “Are you Ladybug or Chat Noir?”

The answer was an unintelligible squeal.

“One knock for yes, two for no!”

They waited.

BANG

“Oh my god…”

“We have to go to the police!” Said the younger brother.

“No, we need to…look, there’s some real shit going down with this stuff. We need to go to Gabriel Agreste himself.”

“Why?”

“Because the cops aren’t doing anything, and I bet you fifty bucks a man like that has some PIs at work. Or something, I don’t know!”

“You’re right!”

From the other side came frantic screaming, and the pounding got louder and faster.

And then it stopped.

“Ladybug?! Hey, are you still there?!”

No answer.

“We’re going to get help! We’ll let you out! Just hang on!”

—

It was one of the unknown men that found her.

Salo hadn’t introduced any of her lackeys at any point, but Marinette was well acquainted with them by now. This was a bald guy who usually operated a camera.

“She told us to check all the entrances. Said if you weren’t at one, you’d probably be dead. And what do you know, this was the last one to check.”

Marinette didn’t even fight as he scooped her up. The boys weren’t able to open the door, and she wouldn’t be able to fend this man off long enough for them to find something to use.

“Now come along, Miss Bug. The Mistress has some words for you.” He lifted her and flopped her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Then he descended the ladder.

As the man carried her back to the torture chamber, Marinette was saddened to find that she hadn’t gotten very far. In all her twists and turns, she had doubled back on herself, and made little progress.

Still, it took about an hour to walk all the way back. But the man was walking at a steady clip, in comparison to her uneasy staggering.

And he had a headlamp so he could see where he was going.

“You know,” he said, his tone a lot more gentle. “If I’m being honest, I was really hoping you’d gotten out. I’d like to let you go...but Salo always knows when you lie. And you never lie to them, you know? Or else you end up down here.”

Marinette hummed with curiosity, latching onto that statement.

He seemingly understood and continued. “The place you’ve been, it’s an old World War II Nazi bunker. Salo and Savauge have been using it for years as a...final punishment for people that betray them. Videos are recorded of their demise, and are mailed back to their families.” He sighed. “You don’t quit a job like this. You get to retire, when your debt is paid and they’re confident you’ll keep your mouth shut.” He jostled her, trying to make her more comfortable as she laid in his arms. It didn’t seem to take any effort to hold her. “I’m riskin’ a lot telling you all this. If Salo finds out, I’m next in line after you. But I have to confess to someone. The guilt is eating me alive.”

Marinette just listened as he spoke, holding onto every word.

“You know, it’s amazing how willing people become when they have a family member on the line. My kid sister, just graduated from college, is my bartering chip. I love her to death, but she hasn’t spoken to me since I went to prison three years ago. I can’t blame her though. She was always a good kid. You’d like her, Ladybug.”

It was a long walk, and Marinette found herself dozing slightly as the man spoke.

“You know, when Elise, that’s my sister, when Elise was a kid, she watched The Little Mermaid all the time. At least ten times a day. I’d watch it with her, too. That sea witch, Ursula? She made me so angry, because she’d make these deals with people that sounded really easy, but then it would be too hard to come through on the payment. “Get a kiss from your true love in three days, and you can keep your legs permanently. Work for me for one year, and I’ll have your record expunged, and then your sister will speak to you again.”

He sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to face Elise after this. I’m taking Ladybug, hero of Paris, to her death...”

He stopped walking, gave her a little squeeze of a hug and continued on. “Salo knows we’re she lives, where my mom and my dad live...I can’t. I can’t help you, Bug. I’m sorry.”

Fear was a terrible state to live in.

Then the halls changed from limestone to cement, faintly illuminated by floor lamps, and Marinette knew she was back.

Her gut twisted as dread grabbed hold with its icy grip.

“Well well well...” Salo’s putrid voice cut through her despair. “Looks who’s back. Ten hours is quite the long time to run. And a very long time to leave your kitten alone.”

The man, who had wisely not given his name, set her on her feet.

“You’ve done well, I’ll be deducting this from your balance.”

“Thank you ma’am.” He nodded.

“Now darling,” Salo continued. “I must admit, I’m very impressed. I said I wanted to see you try to take your jewels back, and you did. You really did!”

The man handed back the lock box, as she inspected the outside. “Couldn’t get inside though. That’s a shame. Oh well, that’s why I sprung for the industrial case!”

Was Salo just patronizing her now?

“I should have known eventually you were going to bend that ductwork to get out. I just assumed you weren’t going to wait over a month to do so. But I guess that’s what I get for assuming.” She shrugged. “Anyway, there was a major flaw in your escape plan. You left the dead weight behind, knowing that you’d probably have to come back for him, or else the population would look at you like the monster you are.” Salo led her over to the familiar room, where nightmares became reality, and Marinette was frozen at the sight she beheld.

There was blood everywhere. Splattered on the walls and even the ceiling. It pooled on the floor under a body sitting it a chair. Or the frame of a chair, at least. It had no back, and no bottom, but just enough edge to balance on it. He was bound by his arms and legs.

From the base of neck, to the back of his calves, his skin was torn to shreds.

A cat-o-nine tails laid on the floor nearby.

Marinette rushed to him, kneeling on the ground in front of him, and reached up to touch his face.

His eyes were open, dull, looking right through her like she wasn’t even there. His mouth was open, the most painful sounding breaths leaving his lungs. He drooled.

“That would be one lash a minute, over the ten hours you were gone...so, 600? Does that sound right?”

“Technically 487, madam,” Said one of the men in the room. He was shirtless, sweating, and spattered with blood. “We broke for lunch.”

“Oh yes, I’m glad someone was taking count. You know, the science of lashings is very interesting. The more time you give the body between strikes, the more time it has to clot blood, and deal with pain. And if you spread out the lashes over more parts of the body, the less likely a person is to suffer nerve damage or organ failure. We did make sure to spritz him down with rubbing alcohol, so he shouldn’t get infected.”

Marinette was barely listening to Salo, as she just held Adrien’s face, begging him to look at her.

Her time was cut short however, as Pasolini took hold of her arm and started to drag her backwards.

There was another chair waiting.

Her heart pounded as the ties on her gown were undone, and she was forced into her seat. She never looked away from Adrien as the ropes coiled around her upper arms and knees. She balanced on the edge of the frame, and made her hands into fists, waiting for the blows.

“We’ve wasted enough time on these two today. Let’s get this over with.”

Marinette’s lashes were much faster. One about every fifteen seconds. They started at her back, making her groan out in pain. Each stroke went lower, the ones on her buttocks hurt the least, since she still had padding there.

But the first lash to the back of her thighs made her cry out, tearing at her stitching. It was a sensation she had never felt before, and wished never to feel again.

After about twenty, the pain started to increase, if that was even possible, and slowly, her body started to feel like it was on fire.

Her stitches were loose, letting her cry out freely and loudly. After a while, she couldn’t even tell where the blows were landing, just that everything burned and she wanted to die.

Then it was over. Her whole body shaking, covered in sweat, and in absolute anguish. She unfurled her fingers from her fists, but even that took great effort.

“How many was that?” Asked Salo.

“150, on the nose.”

“How do you feel, Little Piggy?” Asked Salo, rubbing her head.

Marinette knew the first thing she wanted to say once she was able to. A clue, if anyone was watching anymore. “…I have…a bone to pick…with you…” She managed between trembling breaths.

Salo smiled. “Oh honey…you’re not doing anything to me. Even if I just stood here, unarmed, undefended…you wouldn’t be able to hurt me. You’re too weak.” She snapped her fingers.

The ropes holding Marinette to the chair fell, and she almost sunk through the hole in the middle, if Pasolini hadn’t grabbed her first.

“On your feet. Both of you.”

Standing brought new pain to her whole body, as her skin stretched.

Adrien had yet to move.

“I said stand, damnit!” Salo shouted in his face.

His leg twitched, as he tried to find his footing. His working arm pushed against the chair, trying to force himself to stand.

Salo, becoming impatient, grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet.

He staggered, barely catching himself.

“March!”

Marinette walked slowly, keeping her eyes on Adrien as they moved into the hall.

He was not doing good. His breathing sounded like an out of tune cello. His steps came slower and slower…

Until he collapsed completely.

“Ma’am, he’s not going to make it.” One of the men stated. “He’ll probably pass tonight.”

“No!!” Marinette cried out for him.

“Ah…well, that’s how it goes then.” Salo unholstered her gun. “Might as well put the wrenched thing out of his misery, huh?”

Marinette grabbed Salo by the coat, and shook. “Don’t! Please don’t!”

“Bug, come on…you love him don’t you? You’re really going to let him suffer like this?”

Marinette knelt, grief and guilt swirling in her veins. “Here kitty kitty,” she begged. “Please…”

Adrien heard her, as he pushed up on his arm. It wasn’t much, but he sort of army crawled over to her, smearing blood as he slid.

Salo sighed and put the gun away. “Fine, you want to watch him die a slow and painful death? Be my guest.”

She at least had enough humanity to have someone pick Adrien off the ground and drag both of them to their new cell. The very same closet they had spend their ‘honeymoon’ in. This time, Marinette sat down first, and Adrien was placed in her lap.

The door slammed and locked.

The longest night of her life began.

Adrien laid his head on her chest, as she snuggled him closer. Blood was oozing all over her, soaking her arms and gown.

“Oh Adrien…” She breathed. “I’m so sorry…I got so close. I was at a door…I heard some boys…” She wiped her tears off of his cheek. “But the door was locked. That’s just my luck, huh?”

She pressed a kiss to his head, as he continued his slow breaths. She didn’t expect him to respond.

“A boat on the water. Do you remember? That’s what you told me. We’d…we’d go sailing. A silhouette on a mirror, with thousands of stars surrounding us.” She shuttered with a sob. “But I think…I think you might have to go without me. I’ll join you when I can.”

In…

Out…

“You…you always take the hits for me, don’t you? Well…I’m really sick and tired of watching you die.”

In…

Out…

Marinette hugged him fiercely, desperate not to loose him. “You’re my best friend…the best partner I ever could have asked for. I love you so much.” She sobbed, clutching his head to her chest. “It’s been an honor.”

“Ladybug…Chat Noir…”

Marinette sat up straight at the foreign voice. The closet was cast into a soothing purple light.

“It’s been a long time. We’ve all missed you. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. It wasn’t as easy as I had hoped. You’ve taken care of Paris for so long. Now let me take care of you. In exchange, I ask that you go home and get healed. No Miraculous required. What do you say?”

It was a voice she thought she’d never be happy to hear. She didn’t even think, just responded:

“Yes, Hawkmoth.”

#ml #miraculous ladybug #longest night #fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrinette #ladybug #chat noir #ladynoir

[doyouwanteggyeggs]

Day 24: Record players

Isolation has been tough on a lot of people. Not me. I’ve enjoyed reconnecting with my family and friends in bursts while finally being forced to make time for myself and do something just for me. I started playing the uke and have gotten progressively better with each day. It’s almost an obsession with perfecting it. 

I would always claim that as a scientist, I cannot just accept an explanation without an answer that justifies why the explanation was made in the first place. “Close the loop”, as the engineer in me would try and justify. Unfortunately for me, life is not a science. Life is a mixture of very abstract things that I have understood to just get used to. Understanding and exploring what the right side of my brain can do. To explain things without logic, a pattern, numbers and calculations. 

Maybe that’s why isolation hasn’t been so tough for me. When we had our first wave, I thought about how lucky I was to spend it with the man I loved. It would be crazy to not be able to spend it with your partner. Right? And in all honesty, it was great. That’s probably why that should have been a problem in hindsight. I would have known better than to be led on with someone who had no intention of carrying on a journey without me. But with this second round of isolation without him, I’ve been more occupied than ever. Not bound by what he wants to do but what I can do instead. It’s mostly involved working late hours, working out, playing my instrument, chatting with friends on the phone and reading. A lot of reading. I’m so caught up in my “non-routine, routine” that sometimes, I even forget to eat. But this doesn’t bother me too much. It makes me too tired to care and think about anything else.

And so through isolation, I give myself some time to reflect on the choices I’d made in my life. I would reflect on our past relationship and his behaviour in small bursts. Perhaps we didn’t make out on the couch as much as I thought we did. We didn’t have long and meaningful conversations about life and the future. He didn’t always want to love me or hold me close. I wanted to. Did I really blind myself with the idea that I was finally in this perfect relationship that I had waited all my life for? That I’d met so many guys only to finally meet James? No. I finally knew for the first time what a relationship should feel like when two of you have crossed paths and landed on the same road and walked on it together for a long time. I lost him halfway through, but I dragged on, carrying his shadow of doubts and uncertainties and unfortunately for me, lies. I was walking with his shadow for a while before I realised I had lost him a long time ago and he was already on a different road. The problem is, I find myself constantly at the same intersection. What can I change about myself so I don’t end up on the same path? Where am I going wrong?

I’d just gotten off a video call with PJ where he intensely went through a full tutorial on how to perfect my strumming on the uke. Whilst I left that conversation bright and accomplished, this dark wave hit me so unprecedently.  Everyday it gets easier. To forget that I loved and lost. To forget that he left me when I thought things were better than they had ever been. But some days it’s really hard. Monday was really hard. I had a sob into my pillow for the first time in two weeks. Maybe because this overwhelming depth of sadness just came over me like a wave, swallowing and engulfing any positivity around me. 

“I want a record player for my birthday. Or just give me cash I’ll buy one”, I told my sister. “You’re joking? how come? so random”.

Probably. I don’t really know why.

#relationship #heartbreak #covid #isolation

[shes-claws-deep]

Warden - Ma’am

A birthday gift for @golele5! Sorry for the lateness but I hope you enjoy it! 

"Agent McKinley, if you get any closer, you will actually be breathing down my neck," you drawl out, looking up and over your shoulder at your tall, suit-clad, moustachioed shadow.

"No can do, ma'am," he drawls back in that slow as molasses Southern accent, one that you know he never actually uses except to flirt. "Six said your noggin' is more important than mine. And when Six says jump, I say how high."

Utter lies. You roll your eyes and sigh. "If Six says so..."

Collin McKinley smiles down at you genially. "Thank ya kindly." Then he puts his hand in front of you to stop you from entering the stairwell first. "Let me go first and check it out, ma'am. Protection 101, remember?"

Infuriating. Utterly infuriating. "Of course, Agent McKinley. Take care that you don't get hit in the head when you do." The sneer on your face could freeze boiling water. The man knows full well you're as seasoned a protection agent as he is. Knows full well you're more than capable of not only protecting yourself but also eliminating anyone who comes after you. *You* know there's little beyond an entire army coming after you that will make you stop in your tracks.

But as always, Agent McKinley is steadfast in his annoying polite Southern gentleman facade. "Just ensuring that no hair on your pretty head gets hurt, ma'am," he says and waves you forward after taking a moment to listen. "Six was adamant in making sure you get back to base safely."

And there he goes with that hand to the small of your back, as though to guide you down the oh so scary staircase.

Goddamnit, you can't take it any longer! "Agent McKinley, touch me again and I'll break your fingers and offer it to your boss."

But rather than feel offended or affronted, the infuriating former Secret Service agent just returns his hand to his side without blinking. "Apologies, ma'am. Force of habit." That satisfied smile on his face says otherwise.

Oh, you know full well how much every move of his is thought out, planned, deliberate. Nothing is ever a 'force of habit'. Not even a hand hovering over the small of your back, touching the back of your blazer but never putting pressure. Is he flirting or is he trying to rile you up? Who could ever know with this man.

Rolling your eyes, you push past him and make your way down the flights of stairs to the garage, ears and eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. As annoyed as you are with Agent McKinley's overbearing 'protection', you have to admit you might actually need it. Apparently being a former royal guard for a now hunted monarch means that you've got a target on your back. You certainly never asked for a terrorist group to come after you.

Also, better him shadow you than that FBI woman with the stick up her ass or that lazy SAT fellow. Certainly better than the brooding masked agent who absolutely refuses to talk to anyone more than necessary and the cute German who seems to have the best comedic timing and the worst social skills you've ever seen. By process of elimination, perhaps Agent McKinley was the lesser of all the evils. Still, it doesn't stop you from feeling a thrum of irritation as you watch him open doors and enter ahead of you, as he checks over the vehicle and doesn't let you do the same. It rankles at you to be this powerless, to let others do the job that you've always done. To let yourself be protected rather than the protector.

"All clear, ma'am," Agent McKinley pipes up as he trots back to you. Like some overgrown, dark-haired, bespectacled puppy. "We're good to go."

You nod back at him and the two men standing by the vehicle. "Good, then let's go. Is our route secure?"

"Yeah," the man who introduced himself as Echo mumbles. "Ash and Vigil went ahead to scout. They said it's all clear on their end too."

Agent McKinley frowns behind his moustache. You do as well.

"Tell your colleagues to keep an eye out for motorbikes and cars. These men and women aren't snipers and gunmen." You furrow your brow and draw close enough to the car for Agent McKinley to open the back door for you. "Let's hope they don't get too creative."

"What was it with wishes and horses again?" The newest bane of your existence chuckles. "We've got a plan B, ma'am, not to worry."

You scoff. "Who's worrying? C'mon, let's get going before we become sitting ducks."

"Yes, ma'am," all three men chime out and hop in after you. The German takes the wheel and the lazy genius takes shotgun, his attention turning to the screen in his lap. Apparently, he has some drone going in the air that will serve as his eye in the sky. Agent McKinley just straps his seatbelt on patiently and goes through his various weapons, checking the magazines and making sure there's a round in the chamber in all of them. Interestingly enough, this mirrors your own actions.

How interesting.

But you ignore his amused look at your grumble, continuing to check your own inventory. Plan B indeed. But instead of an extradition route, as would be the worry for your entourage, you don't like putting your plans to paper. Or rather, you don't like planning in advance. You know the city, the countryside, the suburbs, like the back of your hand. You know your boltholes, your safehouses, and your various ways out of the country. Worst comes to worst, you'll be the one evacuating your bodyguards.

You hope it won't come to that, though. Three guns, four blades, several mystery vials and smoke bombs later, you finish busying yourself and look up just in time to spot a cute little sedan with a suspicious, nervous-looking driver at the next intersection.

"Blue sedan, white driver, two o'clo-ck!" The last syllable is yelped out as the sedan lurches forward and slams into your car.

"Contact, contact, contact!" Agent McKinley roars and yanks you down onto the seats, covering your body with his own as bullets tear through the window where your head was. "Jager, get us the fuck out of here!"

"We're boxed in," Jager grunts back, his breath catching as two more cars slam into the front and the back of your SUV. "Plan B. Evacuate the VIP, Warden!"

"You got it," he grunts and shakes glass out of his perfectly coiffed hair. "Give 'em hell, boys."

And by Plan B, the men mean shooting their way out.

While Jager and Echo draw enemy fire from the front, you and Agent McKinley break out from the back window, slipping free from the wreckage just in time to avoid a fourth car that slams into the passenger's side.

"Motherfucker!" Your growl is muffled by Agent McKinley's chest as he grabs you and rolls to the side to avoid the wheels. But his rescuing hug leaves an arm free for you to whip out a pistol and fire at the driver. "McKinley, I hope to hell you've got a plan C!"

"This is still plan B, ma'am," he drawls calmly, hooking his arms under your armpits to drag you to safety while leaving you to provide cover fire.

One gunman goes down, clutching his neck. Another cries out as he slumps against the blue sedan, hands gripping his bleeding thigh and not his now forgotten gun. A third topples over as he tries to bum rush you and McKinley, planting right onto his face as your round burns a neat hole between his eyes.

"Tell your men to extract once I'm out of sight," you hiss to him as you find your feet and lead the way to a nearby bolthole. "Since they clearly don't mind being shot at, they can help draw attention away while we find another way out of the city. If they're attacking now, they must have our other immediate routes covered. No way we're going to regroup with those two today."

"Roger," McKinley nods and complies with a quiet word. Surprising, considering how overbearing he was just now. That submissive tone of his piques your interest just a little; it's the most agreeable thing he's said since you met him. "Echo, Jager, retreat and rendezvous at point Delta. Going radio silent." Then he rips his earpiece out and stuffs it into a pocket. "You know, this feels familiar."

"Oh yeah?" you growl absent-mindedly, changing out your magazine for a fresh one as you're dragged around the corner of a building. "Why's that?" Another unlucky soul gets downed just as he rounds the corner after you, slamming into the ground with a sickening thump that you and McKinley both ignore. "I've got a bolthole not too far from here. Follow me." Without checking if he follows you, you turn and jog quickly down the alleyway.

"You and me, evacuating Baldwin a couple of years ago off the streets of Marrakesh." He follows you as he speaks, shiny oxfords barely making a noise on the rough concrete as he does so. "Finding one of your safehouses, waiting out the insurgents. Watching you sneak out to recon our exfil."

That mouth of his never stops moving, but strangely enough, his voice helps calm your oddly frayed nerves as you lead him down winding alleys and shady slums. You probably should've taken up your last shrink on her offer to talk about the reason why you left the Royal service, fuck. Who knew that a bunch of cars slamming into your own car would rattle you so much. At least your aim is still true and your experience keeps your hands from shaking, you think, because it would humiliate you to no end if you couldn't even protect yourself at this point.

But as much as you're trying to hide it, McKinley's eyes are ever sharp. "We close to the bolthole yet, ma'am?" He can see the wide pupils of your eyes, the way you're obsessively patting over your other hidden weapons, the way your lip trembles ever so slightly when you turn to answer him.

"Yeah, just up here." You nod up at the run-down, condemned building. "Up the fire escape, McKinley, let's go."

"Yes, ma'am."

The bolthole, one of many in this very city, is small. Bare. Purposed for a single person to take shelter for a night or two. So when you take a tall, well-built man and an average-sized woman and put both inside such a tiny space? You get a very irritated, and a very amused, pair of unlikely comrades.

"McKinley, do me a favour and plaster yourself to the wall so you're not constantly smothering me."

"I'd love to, ma'am, but I ain't flexible enough to bend over the counter," he quips back, though he does arch his back a little and shuffles out of the way so you can unload your arsenal on the tiny little table. "You know, if you wore some heels, you wouldn't have the trouble of having your face in my chest."

You roll your eyes. "Oh yes, let me wear heels and totter all around the city while running away from baddies," you mock him in a high pitched voice, one that doesn't seem to do anything other than tickle his funny bone by the way he's sniggering at you. "If only I could break their necks with it before I do myself."

"But at least you'll look good while you fall over?" McKinley shrugs and laughs as he dodges your thrown boot. Unlike Mr Secret Service, you prefer working boots over looking sharp these days. Which means a steel toe and a blade in the sole. "Kidding, darlin'. Just kidding. You look good in anythin' you wear."

As you shrug off your blazer and bulletproof vest, you glare at him over your shoulder. "'Darlin''? What happened to 'ma'am', huh? Mr Southern Gentleman."

McKinley sucks in air and hisses it out, the sound becoming oddly sexual when paired with the feel of the gust of wind on the back of your neck. "You like it when I call you 'ma'am', eh? I like it too."

"Don't you dare-" Whirling around, you plant a finger in his chest and glare up at him, only to look down when you realise your finger touches bare skin. "Did you just magically lose your clothes?" Although you have to admit, he looks *good*. Like, 'you'd lick chocolate off him' good. Just a healthy sprinkling of hair over his meaty pecs, a sexy happy trail going down into his belted slacks, and a little bit of fur over his forearms, but he looks damn good.

In fact, he looks so good, you didn't even realise you were staring a touch too long.

"My eyes are up here, ma'am." His voice melts into that twang that you love to hate and hate to love, drawing your attention back up to his brown eyes. They're smouldering, full of lust and passion both, fluttering between your chest, your finger, and your face. "Shame we're on the job."

Slap!

He gasps out a moan at the impact, his face swinging to the side from the impact of your palm hitting his cheek. But it wasn't a moan of pain; rather, it was a moan of pleasure. Looks like someone is kinkier than you could ever imagine. And that turns you the hell on.

"No, Agent McKinley." His eyes grow wide when you take a step towards him, pressing him back until his knees bump against the tiny cot. "*You* are on the job."

"Sure am." He nods, a cute little blush rising on his cheeks as he falls back on the cot with a quick shove. "Don't suppose I could, ah, take a little break for a bit? Reckon we're safe for now."

Another slap. Another moan. Another trembling lip and an amused smirk.

"Never took you to be a man who likes to be slapped around a little," you purr and lean over him, pressing your palms over his built chest just to feel his chest hair scratch at your callouses. "And no, no breaks for you."

He chuckles a strangled laugh, his hands clutching at the threadbare sheets and his hips squirming a little when you brace a knee between his thighs, pressing dangerously close to where he's rock hard and aching. "What red-blooded man could resist a powerful woman like you, ma'am? Especially when you're slapping me around in nothing but your underwear."

Another slap. Another even louder whimper.

"Don't be crass, Agent McKinley." You mimic his drawl in a mocking manner, retreating long enough to snatch his tie from the pile on the floor. "I'm not doing this for you."

His breath comes hot and fast, his chest rising and falling quickly as you yank him up the bed and loop the tie around his neck once more. "You ain't, but hell if this isn't going to benefit me to-o!" The O is cut short as you tie the fabric to the iron bars, anchoring him down and ensuring that he can't get out of it without using both hands. Hands which you're pinning by his sides with your knees, squeezing almost painfully tight but eliciting only a strangled moan instead of a wince.

Shit, Collinn McKinley is a hell lot kinkier than you take him for. What a coincidence that this is all up your alley.

"I think I like you a lot better when you're just making noises," you drawl and shimmy out of your pants and panties. The wet stickiness of your pussy juice soaks the lining of your panties, chilling your hand just a little as you wad it up. "Now keep quiet and let me enjoy this."

"What, you don't like me ta-" He doesn't manage to finish his sentence since you take the opportunity to stuff your sodden panties in his mouth. Jamming it and his tongue so he can only sputter and close his teeth once you take your fingers back. "Mmhh!" Well, if you want to play dirty, he's certainly not going to complain. Although, the missed opportunity to offer you his mouth to get yourself off is a bit of a waste. Still, he's got his hands, doesn't he? He's going to put that to good use, whether you slap him again for it or not.

Actually, he's almost asking for it.

With that in mind, he wriggles a hand free and closes it around your thigh as you slide yourself over his belly to straddle him.

"Oi!"

Collinn can only smile at the slap to his face. Jackpot. And yet he doesn't take his hand off you, relishing in the feel of your silken skin beneath his calloused hand, the warmth of you that almost burns his palm as he squeezes you gently.

On your end, you're struggling not to enjoy his touch too much. But fuck, he's got wonderful hands and he knows exactly how to make you feel worshipped even with just a single touch. He doesn't stray beyond your thigh, your hip, and your waist, only his long fingers touching the sensitive skin of your ass, never reaching for your sodden pussy lips that rub against his muscled belly. "Hmph, you're lucky you know what to do with those hands."

There goes his smug smirk. "Mm-hm."

You know what they say about infuriating smirks and wanting to kiss them off his mouth? Yeah, that's exactly what you're feeling right now. Uncaring about his perfectly styled hair, you slide your hands into those dark locks and ball your fingers into a fist, using it to tilt his head back and bare his lips so you can lick and kiss at them lightly, teasingly, riling him up until he's clawing at your back.

"Tease," he mumbles through the panties, pushing it out of his mouth enough that your next kiss is full on the lips. "You're such a fuckin' tease, ma'am."

"You got that goddamn right, McKinley," you growl and tug harder on his hair, pulling and pulling until he winces instead of moans, his jaw dropping from the sharp, erotic pain. "I am a fucking tease."

As much as he wants to quip something smart back at you, he's far too preoccupied with you finally kissing him full on the lips. And when you slip your tongue out so you can give him cute little kitten licks, he can't resist opening his mouth and trying to suck on your tongue where he can. Your taste is addictive, like he substances he swore off on so long ago, urging him to keep kissing, keep sucking, keep licking until his head starts to spin with your taste and your smell.

His lips are sinfully perfect, kissing you just the way you love. Even his soft moustache isn't detracting from his incredible skills. Then it turns out that McKinley is excellent at more than just kissing and making out, because when you lean up to take a break and stretch out your arms, he follows you and latches onto your neck. He sucks at your flesh, nipping at it gingerly with his teeth and then laving at the bruised skin with his tongue, all the while panting softly with an open mouth.

Unwilling to let him take the lead, you yank on his hair and jerk his head to one side to expose his ear. An ear that you promptly suckle like you would his cock. Breathing and moaning and hissing into it until he's squirming and digging his nails into your back.

"You're far too good at picking out my weakspots, darlin'," he gasps out thinly, his cock throbbing and threatening to split the seam of his boxers and his slacks. "Fuck!" A powerful shiver wracks his body when you react to his swear by licking at his earlobe and pulling it into your mouth to suck. "Fuck!"

A dark laugh escapes you at his helpless whimper, so very different from the very in-control Secret Service agent that you know him to be. "Mmm, something wrong, Agent?"

He growls, "You goddamn tease, ma'am. Just fuck me!"

Now here's a proper laugh. "Fuck you? With what, your unprotected cock? No condom, no fucking, Agent."

Who the heck stocks their bolthole with condoms anyway? You certainly never imagined bringing back a beau to fuck in this tiny space. Still, it doesn't stop you and him from groaning in disappointment. From what you felt in his pants, he's gotta be packing a decent cock in there. Then again, you're pretty unprepared, and who says you have to go without penetration just because you can't use his cock?

"Give me your hand."

McKinley hands his hand to you without complaint, watching you with keen eyes as you lick his, thankfully clean and freshly washed, fingers and lower it to where you're aching the most. Oh god. Oh fuck. If he thought you were a tease before, it's got nothing on what you're doing now. Because you're slowly sliding his fingers into your sopping, soaking wet pussy. Taking them knuckle deep and stuffing even more when you decide that a single digit isn't enough. Then when you find the perfect thickness, oh that's when you start to  ride his fingers like you would his cock. His poor, poor cock that lies just mere inches away from where his fingers have found the heaven between your legs.

As expected, his fingers curve instinctively, seeking that one spot that will make you gasp and growl with pleasure. And find it he does, pressing so deliciously that you snarl at him to move his hand faster, to fuck you harder, to keep that spark going until your finger on your clit takes over and helps you cum. It's not the most powerful orgasm you've ever had, far from, but it's enough to make you moan quietly and claw at his bare chest as you ride the wave of intense pleasure.

He stares up at you with wonder and intense lust in his eyes, watching you ride out your orgasm and slump down ever so slightly. With a light sheen of sweat covering your skin and your hair ever so slightly mussed, you look like a goddess in the waning light that shines through the broken, frosted windows. He's not quite sure when he started to look at you as more than just a VIP, as more than a fellow bodyguard. If he wasn't certain you'd hit him for it, he'd say you're more like the previous head of Rainbow herself. A force of nature, wild, powerful, and something to be in complete awe of.

But he keeps that all to himself. An easy thing to do when you take his hand out of you painfully slowly, relishing in the obscene sucking sound as your greedy pussy finally lets go of his fingers. "Clean this up for me," you murmur breathlessly, turning his fingers onto himself and stuffing them into his willing mouth.

As he has most of his career, he obeys without a word, instinct spurring him to lick and suckle at his fingers like he would a popsicle. Sucking and taking your mouthwatering slick off his fingers and onto his tongue. The deep, musky, delightfully salty-sweet taste of it makes him moan without thought, his tongue becoming more and more greedy as he licks between his fingers, desperate to take every little drop you've left behind.

"Good boy," you croon at him with lidded eyes. "Never thought you'd be such a good boy, Agent McKinley. But I'll be nice this once. You want a reward?"

His moustache twitches. "Fuck yeah."

"Get up." With a grunt, you untie his tie from the bed and haul him off, bringing him to his knees. When he's there, kneeling and looking up at you with those fiery eyes, you bend your head and kiss him roughly. "Take your cock out."

"Yes, ma'am." He obeys. Flings his belt to the side, almost tears the button and zip off his slacks. But he eventually gets his cock out, his perfect, throbbing, thick cock that's weeping precum and drooling onto the floor.

"Put your cock between my legs."

What? He looks up at you with a raised brow.

Rolling your eyes, you take over by bending and pinning his cock between your thighs. While you generally curse your short height, at this point you're grateful for it because his cock is sandwiched between the soft flesh of your thighs rather than the bony bits of your knees. "Move."

"Nnngh, thank you, ma'am," he whispers, his arms wrapping around your hips to help balance you as he begins to thrust his hips. Soft, slicking sounds come from behind you as he fucks your thighs; the sound of his foreskin slicking against his pre-cum soaked head, joining the sounds of you kissing the life out of the agent even as he fucks your thighs desperately.

"Fuck my legs till you cum. If you don't cum, too bad," you purr into his lips, enjoying the low groan as he nods his understanding. Deciding to give your lips a bit of a break, you rear up and rip your bra off. You want his lips on your tits and you want them there right now.

Collinn knows exactly what you want and gives it to you. He sucks, licks, and kisses your nipples and creates little hickies along the way. Worshipping your breasts with teeth and tongue and hands until you're clutching at his hair, pulling him ever closer until his face is squished in your cleavage. All the while he's pounding your legs like he would your pussy, his hips slapping against your thighs until both of you are starting to turn red from the impact.

Ah, but it takes surprisingly little time before he begins to beg you nice and pretty. "May I cum, ma'am?" He gasps into your chest.

"Mmmm," you purr and scratch at his scalp. "Not yet."

"Fuck!"

Undeterred, he tries again. "Pretty please, ma'am?"

"Not yet."

He's starting to lose his mind from holding his orgasm back. It's so close, he can taste it, can feel it rising in his balls. "Please!"

"Not yet. Hold it."

Finally, he breaks, snarling and clawing at you and seizing your lips with his own. "Fucking please let me cum, for god's sake! You're gonna drive me up the goddamn wall."

"That's the point," you cackle aloud. But you relent nevertheless. "Cum for me, slut."

Those four words tip him over the edge. "FUck!" He yells but squeezes it back into his throat, gritting his teeth and burying his face into your chest. His hips thrust uncontrollably, his twitching cock sending his cum spurting out and all over the place. Grunts and whimpers escape his throat long after his cock stops leaking cum, leaving his throat dry and sticky and aching as his head is pulled up and back so he can look up at you.

"You liked that, Agent McKinley?" Your voice is smug now.

A faint smile twitches across his handsome face and he cracks an eye open. "I goddamn loved it." Then he leans up to press a kiss to your smiling lips. "Ma'am."

Cheeky motherfucker. Well, you've got something that will keep him quiet for a while. "Good. Now clean this up. With your mouth."

Oh fuck, you've got him. You've fucking got him.

#r6s #rainbow six siege #warden #dom!reader #sub!warden #collinn mckinley #lemon

[nellie-elizabeth]

Suits: Whatever It Takes (9x06)

I'm having a problem, and that problem is... I don't care?

Cons:

I talked about this in last week's review, but it's really hitting home for me here... now that I've had a tantalizing taste of Mike being back, nothing else about this show is really holding my interest. And even setting aside my personal obsession with Mike Ross, I felt like this episode failed on a fundamental level to deal with the fall-out of what happened last week. Sure, the episode focused on Samantha getting fired, but other than one biting comment from Robert (who still calls his son-in-law "Mike Ross" with a contempt that I find really troubling), nobody really bothered to address the Mike and Harvey fight. You would think that Donna would at least check in with Harvey, make sure he's okay, considering that one of his best friends in the world just yelled at him and stormed out of his house. But apparently not.

And my apathy for this episode extends over most of what was going on in the main plot. I didn't hate the stuff with Faye, and her ex-husband, and the debate about crossing lines. It was all fine. But it was also a little bit formulaic. Louis, Donna, Harvey, and Alex agree to do "whatever it takes" to get Samantha her job back. They find dirt on Faye, but when it becomes morally really awful to turn on Faye because of family reasons, they do the right thing and take the high road. Hopefully this means there will be a bridge between Faye and the others and that progress can be made, but at the same time, it all felt very by-the-numbers. Samantha is the kind of person who never takes this crap lying down. And now, because the plot needs her to, she's decided she's benevolently okay with Harvey giving up a chance to save her career. I know the episode provided explanations, but the explanations are a little lukewarm in my opinion.

My least favorite part of the episode was Samantha and Alex trying to get the FBI to find information on Faye. It was a closed circle that went nowhere. Will Alex and Samantha cross a line? Yes. But then Robert steps in, manages to get Samantha out of hot water, but also nullifies the possibility of getting dirt on Faye. So it's a zero-sum-game, and taught me nothing new about these characters and their relationships.

Pros:

This is probably a predictable turn of events, but my favorite part of the episode was the Katrina and Brian subplot. I love seeing a story that focuses on a woman, on the intersection of her career and her feelings, where she chooses her career, and is not demonized for that choice. Her feelings for Brian are not dismissed as being insignificant. In fact, they have a huge impact on her and her work. But she doesn't give in. She doesn't jeopardize a marriage, and perhaps more importantly, she doesn't put herself through the heartbreak of this scenario. She knows the boundaries she needs to set for herself, and while it's difficult, she ultimately does stick to those boundaries.

Also, we see the developing bond between Katrina and Susan. Susan is, in some ways, a little sketchy in the things she's willing to do, and the way she goes about pulling them off. But this is no different than most of the core characters on this show, and I like that Katrina has decided to mentor and mold her, without steamrolling her entirely. She wants an associate who isn't afraid to speak up when she's in the wrong, and that's what Susan is to her. I was worried that this episode might represent a rift for them, but instead it brought them closer and formalized their relationship as partner and associate.

As I said, I'm somewhat lukewarm on the stuff with Faye this week, but I do like the part where Faye comes to Harvey and tells him the truth about what she did to cover up her ex-husband's crimes, and her motivations. Harvey thinks he has a smoking gun that will solve all of their problems, and maybe he does. But motivations matter, in this world where the law is constantly rubbing elbows with personal morality and individual ethical standards. Harvey knows he has a card to play against Faye, but playing it takes him away form being the person he wants to be. Donna, ever the standard-bearer for Harvey's conscience, reminds him of this. Louis, in a classic Suits bathroom confrontation scene, reminds Harvey of this, too. And in the end, despite Harvey's guilt about Samantha, he doesn't go for the low blow.

I guess what I'm saying is that the main plot this week with Faye wasn't mind-blowing or innovative or exciting, but it is tonally consistent, and it fits with the character development. And I do like the idea of the ice thawing somewhat between Faye and the others. It makes for more interesting television if the relationship between these characters shifts throughout the course of the season, instead of remaining static.

One final note: I loved Gretchen leveraging a favor to make Harvey throw a baby shower for Louis. It was one of those goofy yet sincere moments that showed how much Gretchen cares about Louis, and also how much Harvey has changed over the years. Sure, he grumbles about it for a moment, but he ultimately agrees. Hilarious. Louis rushing forward to give Gretchen a big hug was also just the perfect little button for the scene.

And that's that. There are only ten episodes this season, if I'm remembering correctly, which means we are fast rounding the corner to saying goodbye to this show for good. I've heard that Mike will be back at least once more, but I've had trouble finding official word on that... y'all know that's the main reason I'm still interested, though!

7/10

#review #suits #suits review #suits usa

[scientificphilosopher]

wtf is diet culture

When something’s called a ‘____ culture,’ as in ‘diet culture’ or ‘rape culture’ or ‘white supremacist culture,’ this is typically referring to a pervasive and largely-assumed or accepted set of beliefs in a given mainstream way of life. This is nicely captured by the term zeitgeist, which was popularized by Hegel and literally translates to the ‘spirit of the times.’ The idea here is that there exist general ideas and values that are commonly endorsed—often unconsciously and implicitly—by the majority of people and reflected in a culture’s art and practices. 

So, diet culture starts with the assumed idea that fat bodies are less healthy and less attractive than thin bodies, which in turn fuels the value that people need to be constantly engaged in shrinking our bodies to fit into that culturally-endorsed standard. We don’t need to look too far to find evidence of this. There haven’t exactly been a lot of fat people who’ve been considered celebrity sex symbols and models (though this is shifting a bit, a good sign of our progressing attitudes). 

Fat people, on the other hand, are generally relegated to the role of comic relief and butt of the joke. These portrayals influence our expectations of what people are like and supposed to be like, creating stereotypes and reinforcing extant presumptions. This creates a feedback loop of sorts, where our portrayals shape reality and vice versa. That’s why some people react to the portrayal of stereotypes as ‘Well, that’s just how it is in real life!’ Well, kind of. This is only a sliver of the overall story. Prejudices fuel stereotypes which fuel representation in the media which fuels people’s expectations which fuels people’s behavior, and round and round we go. At any rate, diet culture is not relegated to representation in the media. It is also evidenced by the fact that in the U.S. alone we spend tens of billions of dollars on weight loss products like diet drugs and diet books. We are obsessed with losing weight. Over 100 million people in the U.S. claim to be dieting at any given time. It’s important to note, too, that this disproportionately impacts women, who make up 85% of customers consuming weight loss products. This is just another example of our hyper-sexualization and policing of women’s bodies (an example of how diet culture can reinforce elements of rape culture and vice versa). 

So, is this obsession with thin bodies, this suffocating pressure to conform to a certain superficial ideal, this fat-shaming and body-policing, is this making us thinner, healthier, and happier? Obviously not. Look at any given news outlet with a story about the ‘obesity epidemic,’ news stories that typically frame fat bodies without their heads, objectifying and dehumanizing people because of their protruding bellies, aiming to elicit disgust. How can people let themsevles go like that?? I hope I never look so gross.

So, not only are we not thinner, but we certainly aren’t happier. The U.S. ranks 108th out of 140 on the Happy Planet Index. This is, of course, due to a variety of complex factors. But it certainly stands to reason that pervasive shame for how we look isn’t exactly lending itself to increases in general well-being. And shame we do. Fat-shaming is ubiquitous. Some argue that it’s one of the few remaining populations to publicly ridicule. Even darling sitcoms for progressives such as Parks and Rec and Brooklyn 99 participate in regular fat-shaming. Just throw Terry Crews in a fat suit and let the comedy ensue. Isn’t hilarious when someone looks fat? Hardy hardy har. 

Indeed, plenty of people maintain the belief that we should be shaming fat people, that we need to be ridiculing and expressing disgust at people’s fat bodies or else fat people will never change. We have to do it for the health of the fat people! Doesn’t anyone care about fat people?? Nicole Arbour’s notorious video called ‘Dear Fat People’ is a pretty succinct summary of these popular, condescending, and toxic positions. A quick google image search for ‘obesity epidemic’ certainly demonstrates how much we care about fat people. 

Is there any wonder that we spend so much on weight loss products? How could we not when we are inundated with messages that being fat is the worst thing we can be, that we are ugly slobs digging ourselves early graves, that we are failures if we are fat. We have no self-control, we make bad choices, we have no self-respect. We are wrong and we need to change. Who wouldn’t spend money to prevent such an pitiful fate? 

There are plenty of other things that contribute to diet culture. I haven’t mentioned the corporations who profit off of diet culture, who are literally invested in the idea that people see themselves as broken works-in-progess so they’ll spend their paychecks trying to alter their physical appearance. The fatness that we ought to be worried about is the fat wallets of the mega-wealthy profiteering from people’s misery and discontent. All of these things–and more–shape the spirit of the times. The spirit of our times includes an omnipresent dissatisfaction with our bodies and fear of being fat. This is diet culture. 

As I’ve mentioned before (and before and before and before), this is a complex topic that doesn’t lend itself to easy answers. I simply cannot address all the intersecting issues in a single post. If you want to familiarize yourself with these issues, I would recommend reading my previous posts and following the links within. Included are discussions of the science of fatness, the myths around weight loss, the psychological toll of fat stigma, an on and on. 

Now bring on all the messages about how I’m wrong and how fat people are unhealthy and how I’m keeping people sick and how fat people just need to learn some self-control… Yay. 

#fat shaming #diet culture #weight loss #culture #politics #nich #questions