#and this is one of those fucking things that makes me consider grad school again so that I can become a professor who isn’t a pussy

[sassmill]

Also on the subject of bio musicals… jelly’s last jam is honestly the gold standard for me because it acknowledges the impact of his work as a musician while deconstructing the harm he caused as a man. It’s not just “this was his life and music” it uses his life as a framing narrative that facilitates questions of loyalty/betrayal/identity/entitlement/worth. It doesn’t glorify his legacy it examines and engages with it in a way that holds up really well. And maybe I’m just obsessing over it because I recently did a two day training on dialogic interpretation but like. The Chimney Man as a character asks the audience the kind of critical questions that we ask our interpreters at the museum as we actively work on how to better examine our own famous/problematic guy. The kind of role that that character fulfills could so easily have been developed as just a narrator but George C Wolfe made a conscious decision to make it the role of an active interlocutor. Which also ties into the history of minstrelsy and vaudeville. Which is directly tied to the history not only of the period in which the show is set but also the history of black music and dance and theatre in America. It’s so layered and intentional and it’s one of those things where I’m like why did we never talk about THIS in any of my theatre history or critical theatre courses in undergrad. We talked about so many examples of theatre as social commentary or theatre as history or theatre as education and this example was right there and a part of RECENT and ACCESSIBLE theatrical history. But it never once came up.

#probably because the entire theatre faculty is white and now that I think about it #I don’t think any of them would be comfortable with the amount of being uncomfortable that’s necessary to talk about racism in America #let alone colorism within the black community #as a bunch of upper middle aged white people with black and brown students #and this is one of those fucking things that makes me consider grad school again so that I can become a professor who isn’t a pussy #but the thought of grad school makes me physically ill #so I just do my museum theatre job and rework scripts to acknowledge the agency of the domestic servants that worked for this man #what do you do with a ba in theatre #this apparently #museum musings #jelly’s last jam

[olderthannetfic]

*Siiiiiiiiiiigh*

Guys, can we make a promise and stop being freaking fearmongers and conspiracy theorists or something? Because this is tiring as fuck.

With the most recent AO3/OTW news about a resignation, now a lot of people are demanding to know WHY she resignated, because "they don't even put it was for 'personal reasons', they're hiding something????" and a lot of people in the comments of the new on AO3 are linking her resignation with the shit about EndOTWRacism or whatever, with things like "OTW PROMISED to ADD THIS years ago and they didn't do it SO OF COURSE they're just a bunch of liars and racists".

As far as I know, considering something ain't promising. And saying that "we're developing something to make a better user experience" isn't also a promise, especially because it doesn't mention A DATE. But correct me on this if I'm wrong about this, I really can't recall if they PROMISED any kind of thing about the supposed racism "on OTW/AO3", with that exact 8 letter word.

And of course, besides this EndOTWRacism we have the "AI thing" and it's just tiring. Now they're linking the two thinks. I'm also TIRED of blocking and muting unreasonable stupid people on the Archive that are just to conspiranoic to be alive. Is incredible how my Tumblr dashboard has had more NUANCE with this shit that on AO3 itself. Like hell, even on Reddit there has been more nuance. (Can we blame Twitter for this one too?)

What a rough months to be a Board member and/or an OTW/AO3 volunteer for sure. Keep going, guys.

--

I will say, for those of you who don't follow all the boring news posts closely, many Board members drop out early, including me. The Board job isn't something people usually especially want; it's a grenade that someone eventually gets talked into jumping on. The minute a crucial personal life thing comes up, people bail.

I have no idea about the current resignation, but in my case, my dying mother wanted me to babysit her unmanageable dog so she could go to Italy the exact same week as the Board retreat.

It's probably something like that. Or an ultimatum from a spouse that they want weekends again. Or a sick child. Or grad school.

It's probably not anything interesting or anything actually to do with OTW.

[justsomekpopstuff]

Get to know me!

Thank you for the tag @irlkpop !

Do you make your bed: Yeah, its part of my "I need routine to keep my sanity" Routine - I know I don't HAVE to but it feels weird if I don't now

What's your favourite number: 2, 3, and 5 are my lucky numbers, so I guess those?

What is your job: I am an Associate Marriage and Family Therapist, working to be a licensed therapist! I work in private practice right now, and I have some cool specializations that I'm working towards!

If you could go back to school would you: I might end up doing that in the future to get my doctorate. Just one of the many options I'm considering once I have my license!

Can you parallel park: Definitely not. Not even a little.

A job you had that would surprise people?: I worked at the YMCA before going off to grad school?

Do you think aliens are real: Yeah I do! There's so much we don't know about space, so its definitely a possibility!

Can you drive a manual car: Absolutely not

What's your guilty pleasure: peanut butter M&Ms and Josh Groban's entire discography...does that count?

Tattoos: Yep! I have five total, but plan to get more. One on each ankle, a quote/saying on each arm, and then a heart with my grandparent's initials. I would talk about them more, but we do NOT have enough time.

Favorite color: I love teal, maroon (like a red wine color), and black

Favorite type of music: oh god I don't know if I can answer this, I listen to so much...anything from the 80s, kpop, musical theater, whatever the fuck Hozier makes...I listen to A LOT

Do you like puzzles: YES! I absolutely love them! I have a ton and I work on them regularly!

Any phobias: spiders for sure, heights is a close second

Favorite childhood sport: Baseball and soccer (specifically women's soccer, I really couldn't care less about the men's game...sue me). I didn't get into hockey until later!

Do you talk to yourself: sure do. Gotta talk myself through things sometimes, it happens.

What movie(s) do you adore: another hard question to answer...The Mummy (1999), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Inside Out, The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and SO many more!

Coffee or tea: coffee, 1000%. I can do tea every now and again, but I gotta have my morning cup of coffee to feel like a functional human being

First thing you wanted to be growing up: ironically the first thing I remember wanting to be was also a veterinarian

I now tag (NO PRESSURE): @vcrnons @welcometomyoasis @daydreamingyuta and anyone else who wants to!

#tagged #about me

[healthyveins]

I do not like being broke as fuck and having to worry constantly about how I'm going to pay for the next vial of insulin and when I'll be able to go get a couple of groceries again. I could be less precarious than I am if I was more diligent about this transcription thing but I have to finish the project that is way too late, and I'm considering just using the last stimulant I have to do that so that it's done and then I can with slightly less shame go back to them and ask about getting paid for the previous thing and whether I can still be of any use.

this temp stuff is just not keeping me afloat. I got turned down by walgreens and target. there are probably more low-end things like that around here but in this city there are a lot fewer than in a lot of places tbh

in a few weeks I'll start hearing back from grad schools and then the final terminal stage of my total collapse and humiliation can start. If I can't go to grad school what the fuck will I do? I literally don't know. I'll have to try to move back in with my parents for a while, most likely. I have debts I can't pay off and my credit score is in a downward spiral. I'm apparently just stone cold unemployable. If I can't go back to school then I don't know what I'm gonna do.

The gay thing is that you're not allowed to just die. But what else will there be to do, at that point? If I don't get into one of these stupid Masters programs then there is just literally no future for me other than dying in an interesting way. I'm unemployable, obviously romantic prospects are a complete dead end. In the past I've talked in praise of people being parasites but I can't handle it when it's me. I already feel like I can't show my face in public.

I don't even want people to like hurt me in some hyperbolic way. I just want to shrivel up and disappear. I'm incapable of providing any worth to anyone. I can't keep up this pathetic delusion that I'm some kind of admirable artist; that's just a sad sack last resort. I'm nothing at all. It was always going to end this way; all roads lead here.

If dying would really do anything other than making everyone's lives worse, I wouldn't entirely rule it out. But there's just no escape. Whatever I do I'm just burdening someone. If I could just hack some kind of a bare minimum living that would be one thing but that's evidently not possible.

And what's worse is that I threw away the transcription thing. I just lack the discipline, I guess. It's unrecoverable at this point. My last chance to keep my head above water. Once my credit score has reached rock bottom I'll have no options left at all.

I guess the adolescent delusion is thinking there's a way to fix this kind of thing by hurting yourself. Of course, at this point, for me, there's no way of fixing it. But there was, at one point, at many points. And what it takes is just working hard and not being... whatever the fuck is wrong with me.

Maybe if I had just listened and taken those stupid pills that I hate I wouldn't be worthless, and I could've had a life worth living.

I don't know.

[unknownjpegs]

taco tuesday

She peers over her glasses at him, fingers laced together under her chin.

“You got the panel?” 

He nods, then glances off to the side with that look students always get. When they’re thinking about whether the gas tank needs filled, or stomach. Or, in his case, if he can swing another three gallon of whatever illicit chemical he needs for an under the table project.

“It’s expensive.”

Bunny sighs as if it’s a great burden to even consider. “Great. How much you need?”

The number is expected. Standard, even if it’s criminal to charge already wallet-thinned students. His fidgeting isn’t expected — he’s twitchy in general, but he doesn’t do anxiety around her. Not like that, at least.

 Benson’s smart. He knows that a display of emotion makes her antsy; anxiety isn’t something Bunny handles well. She usually sends students off with more stress than walked into her office carrying. And Bunny’s students carry a lot of fucking stress. 

He’s not her student though, so his anxiety makes her snappy. “Spit it out.”

“I —” he sighs, blue eyes rolling up to the ceiling. Frustrated, but —  she stifles a laugh at a particular memory and sets her face neutral once more. “The department only gives y-you a certain a-am-amount per semester.”

“And you blew it —” Bunny pauses to snort “—already?”

Benson nods again, scratches at his facial hair. “I can cover myself for this one, but I want to bring s-somebody else.”

She blinks several times, mouth curling dangerously. “Lab partner?”

They stare at each other. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple.

“Yeah.” 

It’s a lie, but it doesn’t make her angry. If anything she respects it. She’s shrewd. She gathers the truth from his wringing hands, teeth in his bottom lip. And if he’d told her that, the truth, she would send him out of the office with empty pockets. 

“Are you asking me to break university funding guidelines, state code — because this is a public school — to get you a little extra spending money? For, again, a state-funded conference? So you can bring along a…lab partner?” 

She regards him down her nose, eyes narrowed shrewdly. When his lips part to answer, to confess with a worriedly pinched brow, Bunny cackles. 

“Jesus, Benson. Relax. Shoulda seen the look on your face.” She rounds the desk to where he slumps in the chair and claps him on the shoulder. His shirt’s fucking ugly. Awful cartoon character pattern. “Of course I’ll do it.”

*

Bunny squares the travel expenses. Even though he’s technically not in her department and thus not technically eligible for the grant she submits in his name. Well. A name. Forged, of course. If there’s one thing she loves, it’s bending the rules. That’s the excuse she uses, anyway, for how expertly she twists them to drop a grand extra into the grad student’s pockets. 

She’s carved, despite all efforts to the contrary, a little soft spot out for him. And that’s not entirely altruistic — if Benson wasn’t as smart as he is, if he didn’t remind her of herself at that age, she wouldn’t bother smudging the facts on some funding form. Also, it’s a good excuse to go pay pretty Ruby down at the financial aid office a visit. That’s motivation enough.

God, she loves excuses. Accountability never did shit for anybody. 

Happy meanders in after Benny leaves, casting an eyebrow-quirked look of moderate interest down the hall after him. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder.

“You still fucking that clown?” 

“No.” Her office window has a view of the department building’s front steps. It’s a good view. She’d gotten the previous occupant, some new hire Ivy League sweetheart, canned to take it for herself. She glances down at the paper in her hand, his scrawly, messy signature curved along the bottom. Back out the window, a few students gather in the courtyard. Her eyes scan them. “Conflict of interest with money involved.”

“You and money tongue over conflicts of interest.”

“Speaking of —” she twists to assess his mood, finds it amiable. “Got a bribe for you.”

“Love those.” He picks at his teeth with a pinky. “What kind?”

“Need you to expedite a request, make some funds available.” 

His dark brown eyes dart up to the ceiling, swooping in circles. “Guy that mows the lawn outside the office keeps starting an hour early. Ruins my bird watching.” He nods decisively to himself, because sometimes Bunny can be in a room and not exist until he wants her to. 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll skim it off maintenance.”

Bunny doesn’t express her gratitude, because she doesn’t have it. She simply steps to the side to accommodate another body.

Happy strolls over to the window, mirroring her pose. They both watch Benson stride down the concrete path. His pace picks up halfway down, chin tilted around the corner. Someone wearing a neon green beanie and clashing pastel pink shirt jogs to meet him halfway. The stranger bends slightly at the waist as Benson approaches — eager, practically vibrating with anticipatory energy. They share a few words, Benson’s blond mop of hair bobs, and then there’s a celebratory whoop so loud they can hear it from inside. 

Knew it, she thinks with a smirk. She fucking loves being right.

“Gross. Makes me want a shower.” Her companion notes as they watch him be swung around in a circle.

“Same.” Bunny scoffs, pats him on the arm. He pulls away with a low grunt. “Anyway, bribe. Taco Tuesday at Moe’s tonight. Three dollars margaritas, and I know Moe.”

Happy sucks his teeth. “Course you fucking do. Man. That means the margs will be six.”

She considers this, then turns away from the window to face him. Her eyebrows hitch up, chin tilted. “On me?”

 “Always is.” Happy shrugs one shoulder. Sure. Might as well. Got nothing better to do, I suppose.

Bunny likes that about him, that he truly couldn’t give a fuck one way or the other. She needs to get better at that. Instead, she spares one last glance out the window, then retches dramatically and reaches for her coat.

It’s already outstretched in Happy’s hand. There’s a new, gleaming gold watch wrapped around his wrist. The color compliments warm umber skin beautifully. 

“Nice, by the way.” She points out, tapping it with a finger as she tugs the peacoat on. “Maintenance?”

His mouth twitches. Happy never smiles; his mouth just twitches.

#writing #ua #bs #happy #jlb #college au

[unpassive-viewer]

Kings of Summer (2013) Review

“Hey Joe? Did you know we’ve been walking for half a mile? I can tell by how much we’ve bonded.” - Biaggio

“He took the Monopoly, too. As a way to spite me.” - Frank Toy

Hey gang, wow. It’s been like... eight months since I was here last. Still no Northman review in the works. To be honest I sort of forgot I had this account. I started grad school in January, so my other passion projects sort of went out the window. 

Instead of reviewing a movie that anyone remembers or is in theatres, I’m going to review/break down one of my favourites - Kings of Summer. I don’t think that many people know this one. It was Nick Robinson pre-Love Simon. I have endless love for this film. It feels like a warm hug. Every time I need to bring myself back to reality or chill the hell out, I watch this film. Considering the whole grad school thing, it’s likely I’ll need to watch it again pretty soon. 

The movie follows three teenagers who are frustrated with their families and decide to build a house in the woods to escape them for a summer. It’s a coming of age story about navigating relationships, self-discovery and growing up. Sounds simple enough, right? But this film is so much more than a typical attempt at engaging a teenage audience. In addition to the coming of age element, it’s also a look at a father/son relationship that’s on the rocks, as they tend to be when you’re 15. I really believe it has something for everyone, it is so funny and so wholesome. 

The cast is “star-studded” in the best way. Nick Robinson (as mentioned), Alison Brie, Nick Offerman, Megan Mullally, Moises Arias (maybe better known as Rico from Hannah Montanna), Lilli Reinhart (Riverdale), Erin Moriarty (The Boys), Marc Evan Jackson (Kevin from B99), Eugene Cordero, and Hannibal Buress and Kumail Nanjiani in smaller roles, among others. All of the adult actors are pretty established in comedy, and bring really interesting depth to the characters they embody. 

The soundtrack is fantastic. Like I could not think of better music for a coming of age movie. I regularly listen to it while studying or writing papers. ( https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2c86gY4Ehvpngyxx8LwnTX?si=c2f2381ee3c2468f for anyone interested). 

The art direction is phenomenal as well. This movie is very close to Arrival in that watching it feels like taking a breath of fresh air. There are so many shots that seem to place you into a cool summer evening in the woods. They remind me so much of the summers of my childhood, where I’d be out before noon and come home as the streetlights turned on. 

And it is funny. The humour is very much typical of Nick Offerman, paired with capitalizing on tension and awkwardness among all the characters. It gives me a little secondhand embarrassment, but some of the most effective humour is within the scenes you sort of wish would just end. 

So, clearly I’m already biased to this film. It’s in my top five movies of all time, if that says anything. 

From here on is more of an analysis, so spoilers inbound:

I’m going to organize the content of this movie into two sections - one which will follow the standard three-act play, and the other which I will affectionately label “fuck around and find out”. 

Before we start, some general character sketches of everyone so I don’t have to go through the entire synopsis.

Joe Toy: Fantastical thinker, head-in-the-clouds-syndrome. Rebellious, sort of petulant, and at least in the beginning expects to be able to do whatever he wants just because he wants to. Bottom line, he’s a selfish teenager. 

Patrick Keeney: Joe’s best friend. Cautious - a total reflection of his household. Patrick is caught between wanting to make Joe happy, his realistic thinking, and figuring out who he wants to be in relation to those around him. 

Biaggio: A-grade comic relief. Awkward, a little strange, but very loyal. We don’t hear anything about Biaggio’s family until the last 30 minutes of the movie. We don’t find out if they anticipated his disappearance or not since he seems to trust his father, but at the very least they were not worried that he’d gone missing. We can only imagine the kind of household he lives in considering his personality and the relative ease with which he returns after being gone for three and a half weeks. 

Kelly: Joe’s love interest. Clearly has her own shit going on. She opens with a boyfriend who is visibly a lot older than she is, and is working a job where she has to deal with idiots constantly. Kelly needs someone who is kind to her and treats her like a person, which is 100% not Joe for like 95% of the movie, which is probably why she ends up with Patrick. 

Frank Toy: Joe’s dad, widower, typical Nick Offerman character. Headstrong and combative. Not bad, just lonely and punishing others for it. 

Mr and Ms. Keeney: overbearing helicopter parents who love their son a whole lot, despite how in his business they are.

Heather: Joe’s older sister. Must be somewhat similar to her mother, based on the way that Frank describes their mother as being someone who just “let Joe be”. She’s a sort of voice of reason, but is also fed up with her father’s antics. She’s the quintessential “sibling who got out of the oppressive household” character. Often a catalyst for Frank’s realizations. 

And with that, I will break down the acts and the things that I noticed. This is mostly a commentary on how the acts set one another up, and the ways they transition between one another. 

Act 1: The transitions between acts are marked with the song “The Pipe”. The first time we hear this song is prior to the director giving us the first shot - it plays, and eventually opens on Joe (Nick Robinson), Patrick (Gabriel Basso) and Biaggio (Moises Arias) in what we will later learn is a flash-forward. They’re in-sync, hammering on a pipe in the middle of the woods. As any film major will say, the opening scene is always the most important of the movie. It sets up the entire rest of the film. This shot gives us an important look into their dynamic - Biaggio dancing, and Patrick and Joe complementing one another’s beats on the pipe. In this scene, they are still youthful. We then jump to “one month earlier”, with Joe in the shower dreaming about Kelly (Erin Moriarty), and Frank (Nick Offerman) pounding on the bathroom door, “you’ve been in there for fifty four, no, fifty five minutes!”. From these scenes we know several things - 1) Patrick and Joe are the best friends of the group, Biaggio is adding his very particular flare to the dynamic, 2) Kelly is Joe’s love interest, 3) Joe and Frank are at complete odds with one another. In act 1, we’re at the beginning of our character’s arcs. Joe is rebelling against his father, Frank is bringing down the hammer on his son, Patrick wants to get away from his helicopter parents, and... well, we don’t know much about Biaggio. It’s Biaggio and Joe who initially discover the clearing in the woods where they’ll build the house, and so the plan is hatched.

The crucial parts we learn in Act 1 are all the things that motivate the change which takes place in Act 2. The art direction here is more simplistic, since we’re just setting up the characters. Much of it is reflected between the beginning and ends of the narratives with the characters external to Joe; Biaggio is the first to find the clearing where they build the house, as they walk in darkness after escaping the beach party. Biaggio is conversely the last to leave, also under the cover of darkness. Patrick stumbles into the clearing with the two of them the following day, unsure of the plan, and is the one to tear a hole in the wall of the house they built together. I’m sensing metaphors all around...

Act 2: The second time we hear “The Pipe” it shepherds in Act 2. It comes after a scene with the parents of Patrick and Joe check a greyhound bus for evidence of where their children have gone, and find their phones and a single Monopoly piece. Frank’s Monopoly piece. The scene ends with Frank saying, “he’s taunting me,”. Act 2 begins with, of course, “The Pipe”. Now in the present, we return to Patrick, Joe and Biaggio at the pipe in the woods, followed by Joe’s speech about “being men and answering to no one”. This, of course, will be the catalyst to all of Joe’s character development. 

The art direction begins to take on a warmer tone leading up to Act 2. The boys have broken out - they’re free, they’re having fun. There are multiple shots of the scenery, of the sunlight coming through the leaves of the trees - this is the part that really speaks to my childhood. 

Act 3: Act 3 begins again with “The Pipe”, but this time we don’t see Patrick, Joe and Biaggio. The music starts after Kelly brings Frank to the hideout in the woods, and Biaggio shows up to try and redirect the attention of a copperhead that has backed Joe and Kelly into a corner. This is where we somewhat of a resolution to Joe’s struggle with his father, when they begin to work together as a team. There’s as much of a heart-to-heart as you can get between them. 

Leading up to Act 3, after Joe kicks Patrick, Kelly and Biaggio from the house in the woods, the shots take a cooler tone. Joe’s scenes are overcast, whereas Patrick’s are still warm now that he’s back with his family. Patrick’s narrative at this point has mostly been based around how he’s already mature, he had much less learning to do than Joe, and could go home. Joe on the other hand suffers a radical shock to his worldview, which is reflected in the scenery. I’ll discuss in a moment the divergence between the fuck around and find out sections of the movie, but I’ll note here that Patrick’s scene immediately follows a scene showing Frank and Joe. Patrick is mirrored in the same position, but is the only one of the three who is actually happy.

The resolution to Act 3 is somewhat ambiguous. We don’t totally get resolution between Patrick, Joe, and Kelly, but we can see that there’s at least forgiveness between them. Ultimately we don’t need to, because we can see that Joe has grown up, completed his character arc, and he’s less of a petulant child than he was before. This leads essentially into my next method of breakdown:

Fuck Around/Find Out: The Frank and Joe Dichotomy

This breakdown I am making based on the character arcs of both Joe and Frank in relation to one another. This is split almost evenly 2/3 to 1/3 of the runtime, and is how we learn that Joe and his dad are very much parallel to one another. As much as Joe’s is the critical character arc, the narrative underpins the entire film. Frank is really a grown-up version of Joe, navigating his own grief and isolation, with no interest in doing any of the things that would allow him to have a better relationship with his son. They exist in opposition to one another, with Joe perpetually looking for the upper hand on his father. Even when Joe disappears, Frank maintains a “he’s messing with me” narrative, which Patrick’s parents do not have. This childish back and forth is what I’d label the “fuck around” portion of the film, which translates to at least the first 2/3.

The “find out” part of this breakdown takes place once we see that both Joe and his father are alone - physically and emotionally. Joe has cast all of his friends aside after finding out Kelly is with Patrick, and Frank is alone after Heather leaves their house with the conversation, “Heather, am I a bastard?”, “no dad, a bastard would make everyone around him miserable just because he is,”. That’s the tie between them, when both of their arcs meet - they’re both making everyone else miserable because they are. 

The scene I’m most interested in is where their parallel scenes with food. Joe has run out of money for the chickens that he was “hunting” (buying form the Boston market) and elects to eat a mouse which we can assume came from inside the forest house, whereas Frank hasn’t bothered to cook anything and instead finally eats the leftover dumplings that he’d previously complained about. They are united in their pathetic meals, neither deciding to take initiative and eat something other than what’s immediately available to them. They’re feeling sorry for themselves, why would they? The scene then cuts between them, both lying on their couches, looking up towards nothing. They are both alone, and they feel it. 

This is the scene I’d mentioned which leads into Patrick’s; Patrick is also reintroduced to us sleeping on a couch, but he’s the only one who is in a good mood. He’s been able to rest, and he’s given up on his idea that his parents are the villains (it’s debatable that he ever thought that in the first place). Throughout the film Patrick’s family is cast in contrast to Joe’s. They have inverse problems with their parents, but at the end of the day what Joe has that Patrick doesn’t is a perpetual power struggle between himself and his father. 

The scenes in the “find out” portion of the movie are where we start to see divergence between the characters. Joe is thrust into the realization that he needs to grow up for real in his isolation. I’d argue that his father also has to come to terms with admitting that he’s wrong, but Joe’s is the arc that is more glaring in this instance. The reason I say this is that if Frank had his own similar character arc, it’s unlikely that Joe would have felt the need to run away in the first place. Their dynamic culminates, of course, in them being able to at least somewhat settle their grievances at the end of the movie. Like any tumultuous parent/child relationship, there’s no real “sorry” moment, just a mutual understanding that settles between them. It’s the equivalent of your parent bringing you a bowl of fruit after a blow-out, or waking up to find they’ve taken your car to get its oil changed. 

So yeah, that’s my little (not so little) stream of consciousness assessment of Kings of Summer. I may come back and edit this one later - I’ve been writing about Harry Truman for the last three weeks, which makes it hard to switch into coherent creative-style writing. 

Have you seen Kings of Summer? If you haven’t, please watch it. It would make my nerd heart so happy to know other people like my favourite movies. 

Oh yeah, and if it wasn’t clear already - 5/5 stars. or 10/10. I have no idea what metric I’ve been using to rate movies, or if I even had for the last few posts. All you need to know is it’s good, ok?

#Kings of summer #nick robinson #nick offerman #movie review #alison brie #movie recommendation #watch this movie #my favourite movie #favourite movies #good movies #coming of age

[angel-uhrr]

here we fucking go again

so you broke up. and this time, it seems like it’s the end. and you know logically that there’s nothing that can fix it but healing and time, but of course you miss him and of course you log onto this stupid fucking blog because of course you come in here everytime that you feel like garbage. 

the personal tag on this tumblr is rapidly becoming a diary of all the shitty things that have happened in your life - your first failed relationship (fuck you t*******), your depression from first year undergrad (and again in first year grad school), your rejection from med school, and now your second failed relationship. prime yourself for more entries from me when im too distracted to work because lord knows that this breakup hurts more than the last one because this guy is a genuinely good guy. 

or at least i think he is. i want to believe he is. i didnt spend three years with a guy who isnt a good guy. i didnt spend three years with a guy who didn’t love me the best way i have ever experienced in my life (although i don’t really have that much experience with it). i didnt spend three years with a guy who made me feel less than in any way, i spent three years with a guy who learned how to love me and wanted to keep loving me. 

he just mistook love for feelings when love is, in fact, choices. i cant really fault him for that. i cant even say i havent been there. but part of me will always wonder what couldve happened to us if the conversation went a different way. 

1) if he told me sooner, maybe. 

2) if i didnt rush into suggesting to break up, perhaps. 

3) if we took the time we said we would apart so he could make the decision that he had to make with clear eyes, i don’t know. 

that’s not what happened though.

here’s where i do a very long rundown of why those what ifs are not going to help you. 

1) if he told you sooner: he didn’t. that’s on him. you can’t do anything about this so don’t even consider this one. he didn’t. and even if he did, you don’t know if this outcome would’ve happened regardless. 

2) if you didn’t suggest breaking up: that’s not only on you. that’s on both of you for agreeing about it. 

but also, even if it was all on you, that’s a natural reaction to how things went. say you didn’t suggest breaking up, what would you be doing right now? calling him and feeling like he isn’t in it? doubting the kind words that he tells you because of his lack of feelings? trying to work things out with someone who clearly, so fucking clearly wasn’t sure if he wanted to? no. angela, no. you deserve to be with someone who, despite feeling that way, tells you firmly and confidently that he wants to make it work with you no matter what. no second thoughts or hesitation whatsoever just because of something as flimsy as feelings. 

3) if we took our time apart: that was also on him. he should not have played with your feelings by asking you out like that. he should not have tried to make you feel like he had a decision when he didn’t. he should not have used the words that he did to ask you out tomorrow when he didn’t know for certain that he wanted to be with you. no. no. that is not how it works. not to mention, this time right now? this is time apart.

it’s just time apart with no false hope that you will be together again. and that is what you need to properly focus on yourself. you know it too, you aren’t a dumb bitch. you’re in fucking grad school, near halfway done for pete’s sake. you’re quadruple published and are more than this relationship. you know it too. because you’re so smart, you’ll know exactly what im going to say next: 

getting better to get back together should not be your focus. 

get better for your own sake. get better so you can walk the earth proud of yourself. get better for the loved ones who did choose to stick around and walk you through this challenging time. 

you told him a billion and one times that “i was happy with my life before you, if we end, i can be happy again, because i am my own person.” you meant that shit. and he is the same, he can be happy on his own too. and should be. 

anyways, all this to say that you are amazing. come on here to vent anytime you’re bothering your friends a little too much. i’m always here to listen. 

#personal #112422

[silver-tongued-bby]

Discretion

Pairing: Dom!CEO!Loki x Reader

Summary: After dropping out of grad school and moving back home you expected very little of your summer. That is until you realise your neighbour, Mr. Laufeyson, has other plans. Set in the mid 90s!

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!! This is a Dom!Loki fic - though it's not super bd/sm heavy, it explores themes of voyeurism, dub!con spanking, humiliation and degradation. Sexual acts are described including vaginal fingering, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving) and sexual intercourse (f/m). Smoking is also described. Please read at your own discretion (hehe see what I did there?).

Words: 5,026

Author's Note: I'm excited to say that this is my first ever submission for a challenge! Specifically it's for @boxofbonesfic's Hot Girl Summer Challenge.

I chose prompt 12 (Home for the Summer) and a slightly edited version of quote 17 ("If I have to tell you again to take that off, you’re not gonna like me sweetheart darling.") then for kinks I chose voyeurism/exhibitionism and degradation though there's a sprinkling of praise kink in there too.

Not sure why when I think of summer I think of mid 90s summers but here we are. This kinda went places I didn't expect, nonetheless I hope you enjoy!

...

God you were bored.

Stretching out on the lounge chair you sighed, letting your shoulders droop with the long exhale.

“Oh honey, you can’t keep sitting out here in the sun.” Your eyes rolled behind your dark sunglasses, turning towards your stepmother as she came down the stairs from the deck of the house.

“It’ll give you wrinkles dear,” she was standing beside you now, hands on her hips as she stared down at you. She was wearing that ridiculous hat again- the one with the brim as wide as she was tall.

“Carla, darling, we can’t all hide away from life in hopes to look as good as you do.” You lazily gazed at her, sitting up to find your pack of cigarettes on the side table. Taking one out you brought it to your mouth and lit it with your gold plated zippo. You took a long inhale before exhaling right in her face, “when I tell people you’re 53 they can hardly believe it.” Her eyes widened- you’d found her drivers license months ago and held the knowledge of her true age over her since then. You continued, ”my compliments to your doctors. Oh and Botox, kudos to Botox.”

Her little hands formed fists, fake nails pressing tiny neon-pink crescents into her palm.

You laughed, lounging back in the chair as you leisurely took drags off your cigarette. Smiling to yourself as you counted- three, two, one, before Carla shrieked and turned.

“Arthur! Arthur!” She screeched, running back up the stairs to tell your father.

You were a little less bored now, but making Carla’s face turn red could only give you so much satisfaction. You knew your father could care less, they were both about to leave for the Côte D’Azur tomorrow for the rest of the summer, leaving you here alone to “consider the consequences of your actions.” Or however your father had put you dropping out of school after one year of graduate studies in Classics.

He couldn’t help himself from belittling your degree while you were studying, then once you’d decided it wasn’t for you his lectures changed to be about “never giving up” and “seeing something through.” You both knew he simply didn’t want you around- he just couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

“Now those will definitely give you wrinkles,” you heard a smooth, silky voice coming from behind you that made your heart race. Smiling, you swung your legs over the side of your chair, taking off your sunglasses and snuffing out your cigarette.

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you started, eyeing the lithe figure as he emerged from the shadows. He held his hands in his pockets, his crisp black trousers fit perfectly to his frame. The sleeves of his black dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the pale skin of his toned forearms. You were well aware of the small scraps of white fabric covering your body, and you enjoyed watching his eyes trace over your skin. You’d lusted after him ever since your father had moved here during your first year of college. You’d met him at one of Carla’s Christmas parties- she invited everyone from the gated community over, including your neighbour, Loki Laufeyson.

“I’m so sorry if my stepmother’s incessant shrieking ruined your afternoon,” you grimaced, taking a sip of the ice cold vodka soda beside you. “Is there anything I can do to remedy the situation?” you asked, your eyes innocently meeting his.

He chuckled. “Oh I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve already thought of something,” he said under his breath loud enough for you to just make out. He strolled towards you and took a seat on the lounge chair beside yours. “I’m actually here to see your Father. He’s asked me to check in on things here while him and Carla are away.”

You rolled your eyes- of course he did. You caught Mr. Laufeyson staring at you as you did that, his expression darkening slightly and his eyebrow raising before he continued. “I am surprised to see you here- last I’d heard you were studying in Europe. Graduate studies in Classics, right?”

“Yeah. It didn’t exactly pan out.” You looked down, cursing yourself for feeling your face grow hot. The last thing you needed was your gorgeous neighbour feeling sorry for you.

“Laufeyson you bastard, you’re late!” Your Father was coming down the stairs, jovial with his greeting.

Loki got up from his seat to meet your father. “Arthur,” he said, shaking his hand. “My apologies, I got held up at the office. It’s been insanity since the new acquisition.”

You tuned out the rest of the business jargon and settled back into your seat, facing the other way. You put your sunglasses back on, wincing once your heard Carla’s shrill voice coming from above.

“Is that Loki Laufeyson? Oh it’s been ages!” she gushed.

“I suppose it has.” You could tell she’d pulled him in for a hug and a kiss on either cheek. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself at the clear discomfort in his voice.

“So I can trust you to keep an eye on the place?” your father chimed in.

“Certainly, although it seems your daughter is perfectly capable of doing so herself.” Mr. Laufeyson rightfully pointed out. You raised an eyebrow, wishing you could see the expression on your dear dad’s face from your position. Mr. Laufeyson was probably the only person in this community that could and would tell your Father that- his annual appearance in Forbes certainly cemented the position.

“You never know with kids, Laufeyson. No matter how old they get you can’t trust them to carry through with something. Just wait until you have one of your own- then you’ll know what I’m talking about." He laughed loudly. You scoffed. Fucking asshole.

“I see. I’ll keep an eye out then.” Mr. Laufeyson said cooly.

“Right well feel free to pop by anytime, we leave tomorrow morning. Here’s the number of my cellular telephone- I always have it on me you know.” Your father was obsessed with his clunky mass of plastic- he brought it everywhere he went, mostly to brag about it to strangers or talk obnoxiously on it to avoid conversations with you or Carla.

“He really does. Even in the bedroom!” Carla giggled, causing you to shudder in disgust.

“Of course, well I should be on my way.” He stepped back over to you. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you around. Here’s my information,” he placed a thick, black and white business card onto the small table beside you. “In case of emergency.”

You pulled your sunglasses down your nose and slid your eyes up his body, biting your lip as you met his stare. “I’ll be sure to remember. See you around, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He considered you for a moment and you thought he was about to say something else before he nodded and turned, heading for the gate.

You settled back in your seat and nestled the headphones of your discman over your ears. You pressed the play button, the beat of Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy” drowning out whatever Carla and your father were arguing about once their guest had left.

...

It was much later that evening that you finally slipped from your room to find some dinner. The house was dark- you knew your father and Carla had an early flight. Grabbing a wrapped plate from the fridge that the housekeeper had left you you headed to the back deck to eat. You kept the lights off as you watched the dim foamy white of the ocean’s waves hitting the rocks below, finding peace in the sound.

Finishing your meal you were about to head inside when you saw a light come on out of the corner of your eye. From where you were sitting you could see into a room on the top floor of Mr. Laufeyson’s house. Interesting- you’d never seen into this room before, the windows that faced your father’s house were usually shuttered. You laid back and lit a cigarette, choking on the inhale when you saw Mr. Laufeyson emerge, shirtless, his eyes dark and hungry. He was pulling a woman behind him, a blonde, her shirt unbuttoned to expose a lacy red bra. Once he stood at the edge of the bed he turned around to kiss her, his hands moving to the clasp of her bra. Undoing it, he pulled away to slide it down her arms before turning her around and unzipping her skirt, leaving her in just a high waisted red lace thong.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. You were transfixed by the scene unfolding in front of you. He flung her on the bed- from your position you could see it all as if it were happening in a room adjacent to yours. Climbing over her he dipped his head to capture her lips once more as he ground against her. Your legs clenched together as you continued to smoke your cigarette, the combined effect of the nicotine and the scene in front of you making your head spin.

His hand trailed down to the red lace covering her heat as he continued to kiss and grind against her. Slipping his fingers in you found you were doing the same to yourself, feeling the hot wet of your arousal. He had pulled away from her now, watching her face intently as her back arched up off of the mattress, her hands clutching his toned arms. He was saying something to her, his eyes going from her face to her heaving breasts as he continued to work his hand inside of her. A flush was blooming on her chest, her mouth open and her eyebrows drawn together. You were moving your hand in time with his, your arousal coating your fingers. His movements became faster as he continued to speak to her, smiling menacingly before her back arched fully off the bed, her hands grasping at him. Withdrawing from the dampened red lace his fingers glistened in the light, wet from her release.

He easily picked her up off the bed, carrying her to the window sill. He roughly pulled her panties down before he undid his trousers then lined himself up at her entrance. He pressed into her, her back flat against the glass and his face visible beside the back of her head, his eyes closed. You imagined how it’d feel, the cool glass against your back, his warm hand firmly gripping your thigh, his strong arms holding your legs open as he fucked you. He began to move inside of her then his eyes opened, staring straight at you in the darkness. Your heart beat faster as you felt yourself blush- surely he couldn’t see you out here, you were shrouded in the dark. You could barely see the outline of your hand as you brought it to your face for another puff. You froze- the cigarette.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hissed, quickly removing your hand from its position and shakily putting out the cigarette on your dinner plate. Sliding your chair out quietly you chanced one last look towards the window- he was smirking in your direction as he continued to move against the blonde. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you backed away towards the porch door. You could swear his eyes didn’t leave you once and it sent shudders through you. You made your way back to your room and lay awake for hours, each time you closed your eyes you saw his piercing blue-green stare and filthy smirk.

You must have drifted off at some point since you eventually awoke to silence- an anomaly. You’d usually wake to Carla’s screeching laugh as she spoke on the phone to her friends, or she’d send the housekeeper Marie to wake you. You checked the clock beside you- 9AM. Carla and your father were long gone by now.

You smiled at that, stretching lazily before cranking the radio and dancing around your room as you got ready, the sunlight beaming in through your window. Making your way to the main kitchen you froze, last night coming back to you. The way Mr. Laufeyson had looked out at you as if he were expecting you to be there. Did he leave the blinds open on purpose? You shook your head, no way he’d be that forward. Sure he flirted with you every now and then, but nothing beyond that. You pushed the thought from your mind for the rest of the day.

...

A week passed quickly, you spent a lot of time with your friends, going shopping, to the beach, or local restaurants. You didn’t spend much time around the house so you hadn’t seen Mr. Laufeyson since the “incident”. On Friday you met up with some friends midday and got a ride to one of their parents’ beach houses. You spent the day there, drinking and laughing as you enjoyed the sun. Your friends dropped you back off at your place at around 7pm, you were pleasantly buzzed but looking forward to a quiet night in.

It was so hot outside you decided to take a dip in the pool. Cranking the radio in the backyard you decided to skinny dip- no one was home anyways. You sighed as your heated skin met the water, cooling instantly. You did a few laps before lazily swimming a backstroke and humming the music on the radio when you saw something coming towards you out of the corner of your eye. Standing upright you saw Mr. Laufeyson walking towards you from the door to the backyard, a smirk playing at his lips. Your heart started beating quickly as you realised the position you were in, remembering his hungry stare from last week. You swam over to the side of the pool to meet him.

“Hi,” he smiled, looking down at you.

You bit your lip and innocently looked up at him. “Hello, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“I’m sorry to intrude.”

“No worries. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Laufeyson?” you asked, noticing his eyes taking in your body under the water. He definitely knew you were naked. Your thighs clenched together at the thought.

“I was coming to see you about something that happened last week that had me… concerned. I thought I saw someone out on the balcony, late at night. Was that you?”

You felt your cheeks grow hot, your heartbeat picking up to a mile a minute. “What day was this?”

“Last week Friday.” His face was serious as he strolled over to a pool chair, pulling it closer to the side and taking a seat.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think anyone was out there then.” The words came out a lot quicker than you’d meant. You were usually pretty good at lying but something in his voice made you want to tell him the truth, to please him.

He tsked. “I’ve seen you lie better than that. Try again darling.” He sounded bored as he reached for your pack of cigarettes on the side table. He raised an eyebrow in question as he drew out a cigarette. You nodded, nervously biting your lip as he lit it and crossed his legs, leisurely smoking while he stared you down.

“No words, little one?” he teased, smirking down at you. “Did you at least enjoy the show?”

You huffed- this was humiliating. How dare he? You found anger quickly overtaking your initial shock and embarrassment as you made your way to the pool stairs and got out. You raised an eyebrow at him and smiled when the smirk slid off his face at the sight of your naked, wet body. Two can play this game. Walking over to him you grabbed a towel off the chair and wrapped it around yourself.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply here,” you grabbed the cigarette from between his long, muscular fingers and took a long drag. “But I didn’t see you last Friday night. And I definitely didn’t see you fucking that blonde-” your eyes widened at your own confession.

He stood to his full height and stepped closer to you, looking down at you once more. You backed up a step, feeling the lounge chair behind you.

“Drop the towel,” he growled, the hungry look in his eyes fully directed at you this time.

“Listen-“ you started to explain yourself.

“Drop. The. Towel.” He enunciated each word with his crisp accent and perfect voice.

“I knew it- I knew you wanted to fuck me.” You smirked at him triumphantly as you took another drag.

“If I have to tell you again to take that off, you’re not gonna like me darling,” he threatened, stepping closer.

“Oh really?” You laughed, taunting him. “And what are you going to do, Mr. Laufeyson?” You blinked innocently at him, enjoying the way the muscles in his jaw clenched.

Suddenly he grabbed your jaw, firmly but not painfully as he brought his face inches from yours, your eyes locked.

“You fucking brat.” He roughly pulled the towel down, exposing your body to the warm air. He pinched the cigarette from your fingers, extinguishing it under his shoe on the concrete. “I’m going to have to teach you some manners, aren’t I?”

Before you could answer he spun you both around and sat on the lounge chair then pulled you over his lap, angling you so your top half rested on the chair, your hips over his. One hand firmly held your lower back in place, the other smoothed over the skin of your ass and you squirmed. His hand came down to spank you, hard. “First lesson- don’t fucking move until I tell you to.” You whined, your face burning.

His hand came down again in the same spot, causing you to hiss and grip the plastic of the chair in one hand and his thigh in the other. “Second lesson- always answer me.”

You were humiliated but you found yourself growing even more wet with each spank. First there was the pain, then a wave of pleasure that intensified when he smoothed his hand over the skin he’d hit.

He gave you another slap, “what did I just say?” He growled, his hand roughly gripping the skin this time.

“T-to always answer you.” Your voice was small as you stuttered, overwhelmed by the way he was making you feel.

“Good girl.” You'd felt a tiny swell of pride at that. “I’m going to spank you three more times. Count them for me.”

“Okay,” you nodded, worried if you didn’t answer he’d add more to the list. His hand came down on your other cheek, hard and fast.

“One,” you counted, taking a deep breath. Before you could forcibly relax your tense muscles his hand had struck your cheek once more, causing you to hiss.

Your finger tips were pressing into his thigh as you let out a breath, the sharp pain receding. “Two,” you licked your lips and tensed in anticipation of the third and final slap.

After a few seconds you relaxed then turned to catch his eye- he was darkly observing you with his jaw clenched. Suddenly he hit the skin once more, this time the hardest, causing you to cry out.

You composed yourself with a quick breath. “Three.”

“Well done, darling.” He was gently running over the sore skin with his large hands. You could feel his erection under you.

“I wish you could see how lovely you looked on my lap, taking your spanking so well.” He dipped his hand between your legs. You sucked in a breath when you felt his fingers brush along your wet slit causing you to writhe on his lap.

“My poor, little thing. You’re dripping,” his voice was pure sin as he brought his glistening fingers up to your face.

He shifted, his strong grip helping you off his lap so you stood before him on shaky legs. You bit your lip, face growing hot as suddenly became fascinated with your fingers, twisting them painfully.

He stood then, and brought his finger under your chin to guide your eyes to his. He wore a satisfied expression, a slight grin at his lips as he took in your naked form.

“Do you think you’ve learnt your lesson darling?” He asked, his eyes mocking yours.

You quickly nodded, feeling fully exposed in front of his fully clothed form.

He licked his lips. “Do you want to go upstairs so I can fuck you?”

Your cheeks burnt as you nodded quickly again.

“Answer me darling,” he dropped his hand from your chin.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

A slow, filthy grin spread across his face. “Lead the way,” he motioned towards the stairs.

You bent to reach for your towel on the ground. “Ah, ah, no need for that darling.” His words stopped you. You shivered as you stood back up, another wave of heat pulsing through your core.

You tentatively walked up the steep stairs and he followed closely behind. You could feel his gaze on you with each step.

Once up on the patio you looked back at him, his eyes dark with hunger. You gave him a shy smile before leading him inside. You stopped- should you bring him to your bedroom?

Before you could finish your thought he slid up behind you, his hands coming to grip your waist. “Where shall I take you, darling?” He whispered in your ear, his breath making you shiver.

He let go of your waist to circle you, stopping before you. “Do you want me to ruin you on that god awful couch?” He looked over his shoulder to the gaudy floral couch Carla had ordered special from Italy. She wouldn’t let anyone who wasn’t company sit on it in fear of stains.

You smiled at the idea of ruining the couch with Mr. Laufeyson, knowing Carla would lose her mind- even more so if she found out how it got there. “Yes please.”

He pulled you towards it then gently guided you to sit at the edge of it, angling you so you were in one corner. His hands splayed over the skin of your legs, gently pushing them apart. The feeling of the cool air of the house on your slit gave you goosebumps.

He kept his eyes locked with yours as he knelt between your legs before he turned to press a kiss to your thigh close to your knee. He then bit the skin there, earning a sharp inhale from you before he soothed it with his warm tongue.

“Tell me, darling. Did you touch yourself? Did you play with yourself as you watched me?” His velvety voice sent an involuntary shudder through you, his eyes capturing yours.

He nipped at your thigh with his teeth, marring the skin. You yelped then swallowed. “Yes! Yes, I did.”

“Good girl.” He moved to repeat his actions further up the inside of your thigh while he gently ran his fingers up and down your other thigh.

You were trembling while you watched him, each bite a little harder than the last as he got closer to your wet core. His eyes met yours once more then he blew a stream of cold air over your slit, causing you to gasp sharply. He smirked before letting his lips barely graze over your clit, your hips moving slightly before he brought his arm down over them to hold you in place.

He ever so gently pressed a kiss to your clit before gently running his tongue over the sensitive flesh, pulling a moan from you. You could feel your wetness dripping down onto the couch below as he continued to delicately tease you.

“You taste divine, darling. Better than I’d imagined.” You whined at his words- the idea of him alone, picturing what your cunt tasted like brought you to the edge of an orgasm.

He smiled wickedly up at you. “So close already? Poor thing.” Bringing one long finger to your slit he gathered some wetness before pushing it fully within you, forcing a loud moan through your lips.

“It’s okay darling, let go. Give into me. I promise it’ll make you feel so much better,” he hummed against your clit before tenderly sucking on it. He bent his finger within you, hitting something deep that made you cry out. You quickly came, your release squirting around his finger and wetting the couch below.

He kept up his movements as you rode out your high. Once your breath returned to you he pulled away and removed his finger, licking his lips as he wiped your release off his chin.

“Third lesson- good girls always get to cum.” He winked at you with a grin before standing.

He leaned over you, caging you in on the couch before capturing your lips with his. You hummed at the taste of yourself on him, his tongue gliding against yours.

He straightened back up then pulled you up off the couch and guided you to face the other way. He led you so your knees were on the couch, your arms resting against the back of the upholstery. You heard the sound of a zipper before feeling the tip of his hard length slide against your folds. You instinctively arched your back at the feeling, pressing yourself up against him, causing him to groan.

“Such a greedy little brat,” he said, smoothing his hands over the skin of your ass. “You want me to fuck that pretty little cunt, hm?”

“Yes- yes please, Mr. Laufeyson. Please fuck me,” you begged, rubbing yourself on him once more.

With that he thrust into you, holding himself still once he was fully seated within you, giving you a chance to adjust. You’d gasped at the sensation- he was clearly well-endowed and you were thankful he gave you a moment. Willing your muscles to relax you looked back at him before grinding your hips against his.

His eyes were dark with lust, his jaw clenched in a way that made you involuntarily squeeze him as he started to move within you. You were panting as he set a pace, the angle of his thrusts hitting the same spot he’d found quickly before.

You’d turned back around and folded your forearms over the back of the couch, arching yourself against him even more. He growled and picked up his pace, his hand firmly gripping your hip. The angle had you moaning desperately, the feeling of him so deep within you making your fingers and toes numb.

“That’s it darling, take my cock within your needy little cunt. Fuck- I’ve wanted to ruin this tight little pussy for so long. I’ve wanted you for so long,” he rasped out between thrusts and your mind went blank, all you could respond with were desperate moans.

He stopped abruptly and pulled you up before sitting himself on the couch and pulling you over his lap so you were straddling him. He’d unbuttoned his shirt and your mouth went dry at the sight of the musculature under his pale skin. You slid your fingers under the fabric, gripping his firm shoulders as he positioned himself under you.

You moved your hips in a circle over him, enjoying the feel of the very tip of him swirling within you.

“You little tease,” he grinned darkly, running a hand through his hair. “Ride me, darling. Show me what you can do.”

Your cunt clenched at his words and his wicked smirk spread. You took the opportunity to bring yourself down to grind against him, wiping the smug look off his face.

You quickly set a pace as you rode him, his hands on your ass guiding your movements. You were panting as you continued your movements, the angle bringing you close to your finish.

“Are you going to cum, darling?” His voice vibrated through you, and you nodded.

“Yes- fuck, Mr. Laufeyson. You feel so good-“ he continued to guide your movements, moving his head closer to your breast. He brought his mouth around one of your nipples, gently sucking at the nub. You arched into him, moaning at the sensation.

His tongue ran against your skin in his mouth, bringing another moan from you before he sharply bit down on your nipple, pushing you over the edge into another orgasm. You moaned his name over and over as you rode out your high, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulder. As you came back to yourself you felt him twitch within you, filling you as he reached his own finish.

You watched him as he came, mesmerised with his blissful expression, his long eyelashes touching defined cheekbones. His eyes fluttered back open and he gave you a smirk- god help you he was fucking gorgeous.

He gave you a chaste kiss before helping you up, the combined fluids from your finish trickling down your thigh. You were happy to see some hit the couch as you moved off him.

You strolled to the bathroom to clean yourself up and throw on a t-shirt and panties, passing a damp cloth to him once you returned. You pulled a cigarette from the pack you had on the kitchen counter, then headed to the balcony as you lit it up.

You were leaning on the balcony, watching the now dark waves when he joined you. You smiled at him, offering him your cigarette. He took a long drag as you leant on the balcony’s edge.

“So,” you trailed off, not sure what to say.

“That was fun,” he exhaled then smiled at you, his expression mischievous.

“Yeah,” you agreed, relief filling your chest. “I’d love to do it again.”

“Of course darling, we have all summer.” He came behind you, pulling you against his chest as he ducked his head so his lips were beside your ear. ”And you have quite a bit to learn.”

End Notes: Want to read more Loki fics of mine? My masterlist is here.

#loki mcu #dom!loki x you #dom!loki x you smut #dom!loki x sub!reader #dom!loki x reader #ceo!loki #loki x you smut #loki x reader smut #loki x you #loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki smut #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston loki #loki fic

[kingexpl0sionmurder]

Body Electric - Kaminari Denki - Smut

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder Pairing: Kaminari Denki/F!Reader Rating: 18+ (contains smut) Words: 5,491 Warnings: Sex work (Cam boy/girl), Quirkless AU, Aged-up Adult characters (someone is in grad school! wow!), mentions of masturbation (both male and female), mentions of casual ShinKami, established KiriBaku, Idk they are all just really sexually liberated and don’t care about watching each other cum. Is that voyeurism? I’m bad at tagging things. Title taken from a Lana Del Rey song. AN: Another BNHarem collab piece! The theme was sex work, and I have wanted to do a camboy Denki for a long time so here we go. This was really smutty in my head but Denki makes me soft and it turned out really cute in the end, I’m sorry? He’s such a dork I feel like any sexual encounter with him would just turn out like this in some way, idk.  Thanks to @unbreakablekiribaku​ and @sailorsero​ as usual for being supportive of me. Happy birthday to @lady-bakuhoe and @burnedbyshoto​ 🎂🎂 There is no one else I would rather be birthday triplets with!

Please check out the Collab Masterlist: HERE Look 👀 at My Masterlist: HERE Buy me a Kofi if you’re scared of clowns too: HERE

---

Sighing, you sat up on your elbows, squinting at the chat on the screen, willing your heart to stop pounding and your breath to even out. The donations were pouring in, the chat moving so fast you couldn’t even read it. “Alright, lovelies, I hope you enjoyed that. Be right back and we’ll chat a little bit, okay?”

Donations popped up, the chat slowing a little as the clients who only came to jerk off to you left, leaving those who considered themselves true fans. You stood and made your way to the bathroom to pee, rinsing your toy off in the sink and washing your hands. You went back to your room, pulling on a hoodie and settling in front of the screen again.

“Alright, I’m back! I have some time for a few questions and then I have to go for the night. Let me see what we got!” You scanned the chat, ignoring the normal inappropriate questions. Mindfucker:  Do you know who Chargebolt is? Cause I heard he watches your stream.

Your heart, which had finally slowed to a normal rhythm, picked up again. You most definitely knew who Chargebolt was. You gave him a good amount of money from your donations when you watched his cam shows yourself. “I do actually, he’s pretty popular on here, isn’t he?” You sat back a little, furrowing your brows. “How do you know he watches me?”

RedDaddy: He did a Q&A and mentioned your channel! Told everyone to check you out.

You recognized the names of the viewers and knew they were also regulars on Chargebolt’s streams as well, so you believed them. Chargebolt was gorgeous and funny, just your type. The knowledge that he was interested in you enough to watch you get off on camera was flattering. You hoped your blush wasn’t showing on your face. 

“I’m surprised he knows who I am!” You had missed the last Q&A he’d done, since it hadn’t been on his normal streaming day, and you’d been stuck at work late. Leaning forward again, you bit your lip, looking into the camera from under your lashes. “Can I tell you guys a secret? I watch him, too. Why do you think I never do shows on Thursdays? That’s Chargebolt day.” With a wink you sat back, trying to will the blush from your cheeks. Mindfucker: I knew it! I bet he’s watching right now. You smiled, shrugging. “I hope he enjoyed the show, then!” You tried to hold it together, suppressing the urge to burst into a fit of giggles at the thought, answering a few more silly questions from your regulars, before signing off for the night, promising to be back again the following week.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, leaning your head back and groaning. It was wild that the guy whose cam shows you watched on the regular, the one who had inspired you to start your own, who you thought of half the time when you were filming yourself getting off on camera for strangers, knew who you were and was one of your viewers. 

It brought you down a whole rabbit hole for a second, wondering if he got off on you getting off. Why else would he watch? Did he ever donate? You assumed he had a secondary account so you wouldn’t know it was him even if you tried to look at your past viewers, just like you had a secret account so you could watch him as well. 

Cracking your eyes open, you clicked to view the donation tallies for the evening. You’d made enough to pay the rent on your apartment for the month in just one night. Sometimes you wondered how you ever managed to survive before you started doing this. It was meant to be a temporary side job, but you’d been running this cam channel under the screen name Neko for over six months, and you had clawed your way out of debt in such a short time, it didn’t make sense for you to stop.

You viewed a few more visitor stats with interest, before logging off the computer and shutting the laptop. You had to get to sleep for your real job in the morning, so you figured it was time for bed, pushing thoughts of Chargebolt to the back of your mind for now.

It wasn’t until later when you were lying down to sleep, that you thought of him again. Your eyes closed as you ran through a scenario in your head, wondering if he would mention you on Thursday, and what would come of all this? You had noticed your viewer numbers had spiked that day, so it was definitely beneficial that you’d caught his eye. You just weren’t sure what would happen next.

--

Denki was grinning into the camera, wiping the cum off of his abs with the towel he kept beside him, his chest and cheeks flushed pink. He adjusted in his chair, tugging the toy out of his hole and chucking it to the side, pulling his boxers back up over his softening cock. “I hope it was as good for you as it was for me, babes.” 

He chuckled at the comments flooding the chat as he reached for his water and took a sip. 

Tapeman: As always, you never disappoint me, Chargebolt.

“Hey thanks, Tapeman! I appreciate you always coming to hang out...get it? Coming?”

Mindfucker: Ridiculous.

“Aw, you love me, Mindfucker.” He winked at the camera. “So, did you guys enjoy my Q&A the other day?”

The chat filled with praise, making him grin. He loved to talk to his fans, and sometimes they had some great questions for him. He knew a lot of people just watched him as a way to get off, but he liked to give a little piece of himself to them because he knew that most of the people who watched were probably lonely, and he wanted to help with that in some way. He kept things laid back, joking and laughing with his viewers before and after the show, taking requests and doing his best to remember some of the regulars. Some of the few who had been with him from the beginning he’d made into moderators to help with keeping things somewhat orderly in the chat. Some of them he actually knew in real life, like his roommate Hitoshi, who used the alias Mindfucker.

Mindfucker: So are we going to talk about Neko? Denki’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, you mean the stream the other day? It was…” He made the appropriate motion as he said it. “Chef’s kiss, immaculate. She’s so beautiful…” Trailing off, he let himself think back to the way your chest heaved and the face you made when you came. “I would do anything for her, man.”

RedDaddy: Dude, I agree! She’s also super sweet, like, the total package.

Sighing, he leaned his elbow on the desk, his cheek resting on his palm. “I am a simp, my guy.” He sat up, squinting at the chat. “She said she watches, right? Is she here right now?” He scanned the names of the viewers, frowning. “She probably has a second account. Well, if you’re here, Neko, you should hit me up. I read all of my DM’s okay?” He grinned, winking again. “Alright, I have to go feed the cats so I’m outie 5000, thanks for hanging out and I’ll see you guys next week!”

He said his goodbyes, ending the stream and sighing. He wiped off his toy with the towel and clicked through his stats for the day, smiling at some of the comments that came with the donations. Hitoshi came into his room a few minutes later, holding one of the cats, an orange tabby named Miso, in his arms. “I fed them, you don’t have to.”

Was it weird that his roommate watched him fuck himself on toys and jerk off on the internet on a weekly basis? Nope. Denki had forgone all sense of modesty when it came to sex a long time ago, and Hitoshi was the same. It helped that they fucked around on occasion, best friends who got lonely and lived together sometimes did that, he guessed. Or maybe they were weird. It was whatever, he didn’t like to think about it too much. 

“What would I do without you, Toshi?”

“Kill the cats, probably.” He deadpanned, leaning in the doorway. “Burn all the toast you try to make, buy the wrong peanut butter, eat Cheese-Itz for breakfast every day, forget to pay the cable bill.” He raised his eyebrows. “I can keep going.”

“Fuck off, I got the all-natural peanut butter once, it was an accident!” Denki threw his soiled towel into the laundry basket by the closet and picked up the toy he’d used, waving it around a bit. “Did you enjoy the stream?”

Hitoshi snorted, eyeing the dildo warily. “I didn’t really watch, I had my eye on the chat. I was looking for Neko.”

“Man, I can’t believe she’s a fan!” He waved the dildo some more, watching as it jiggled. “I would let her do unspeakable things to me.”

“Look out, your sub is showing, Denki.” Hitoshi teased. “But I agree, she’s pretty great. I wonder if she’ll ever do private shows.” Pausing to scritch Miso behind the ears, he continued. “I’m sure they’d be in high demand.”

Denki stood, pointing at Hitoshi with the dildo. He really needed to put it down somewhere and stop brandishing it around like a sword. “Don’t even, I’d spend all my money on that girl.” 

“I know you would.” He chuckled. “I did try to go through the usernames and see if I could find out who she could be, but I didn’t have any luck.”

“It’s okay! I’m leaving it up to fate now, man. If the universe wants us to know each other, we will.” He stuck his thumb towards the ensuite. “I’m going to wash my ass and then we can play Among Us if you want.”

Hitoshi, completely unphased as usual, nodded. “I’ll get a team together. Check the discord when you get out.”

Humming, Denki made his way to the bathroom, picking up his phone on the way. It buzzed as he closed the door, and he glanced down to see he had a message from his other moderator and friend, Eijirou, aka RedDaddy. Tossing the dildo in the sink, he looked down at the screen and opened the message.

Eiji: No luck on finding Neko on the stream, but she said she never misses a Thursday, so I bet she was there.

Denki: Thanks for keeping an eye out, man. I appreciate you. Among us in 30?

Eiji: Bet. I’ll ask Kats to play too.

--

Your next stream day had you feeling nervous. Chargebolt had talked directly at you on his last stream, asking you to slide into his DMs, and you had yet to take him up on it. You didn’t know what you were so scared of, Chargebolt was a nice guy. You chalked it up to the fear of the unknown. If you sent him a message, what would you even say? ‘Hey dude, nice cock?’ It was bound to be a disaster.

Pushing your nerves back down, you made sure you were ready for your stream, excited for the news you were about to drop on your viewers. You were needing a little extra cash due to some unfortunate car trouble, and you’d figured out a way to make up what you needed in record time.

“Hey everyone, welcome!” You smiled at the camera, waving your fingers. “Thanks for coming! I see a lot of familiar names here tonight. Hi Mindfucker, Dynamight, RedDaddy, Tapeman, LightningMcQueen!”

LightningMcQueen: Hey, beautiful! I’ve been looking forward to this all week.

Dynamight: Chill out, McQueen, you look desperate.

RedDaddy: Be nice, Dynamight. Hi, Neko!

Dynamight: Fuck off, Shittyhair.

Mindfucker: How’s your cat, Neko?

“Be good, Dynamight. You’re lucky I know you don’t mean that!” You giggled at the antics of your regulars, smiling at the question about your cat. “Ichigo is doing good, Mindfucker, thanks for asking! I’ll bring her on camera after the show if you want to say hi!”

Minfucker just sent a cat emoji and you laughed, shaking your head. “I’m beginning to think that you’re just here for Ichigo and not me.”

The chat went crazy with people denying it, telling you how much they loved watching you every week. You lit up, feeling more excited about your news.

“So I have something I want to discuss before we get started today. I’ve decided I want to try out doing some private shows, so I’m going to be offering up a few spots. I’m going to give some of my longest and most frequent supporters a shot first, and if all goes well, then I’ll open them up to the rest of you! I’ll be adding a signup link at the bottom of my page after tonight’s stream, so if you’re interested you can apply and I’ll pick a few of you and we’ll work out a schedule! How does that sound?”

Dynamight: McQueen already has his credit card ready I bet.

“Aw, you don’t want to play with me, Dynamight?” You teased, giving the camera your best pout.

Dynamight: You couldn’t handle me, Princess.

LightningMcQueen: Hush. You’re a bottom, Dyna.

Dynamight: Die you fucking extra.

LightningMcQueen: Love you too, blasty.

“I was going to let you pick the toy today, Dynamight, but if you can’t behave then I’m just going to have to let someone else have a turn.” You gave the camera a disapproving look, frowning. You’d picked up that these guys were friends, so you knew they were just messing with each other.

A donation popped up from Dynamight with a comment attached. 

Let McQueen choose this time, babe.

“It looks like Dynamight is going to let you choose, McQueen. Which one?” You pulled over the box you kept your toys in and showed it to the camera. “Pick a color.”

LightningMcQueen: Yellow

You pulled the yellow silicone out of the box and showed it to the chat, smirking. “I call this one Chargebolt because it’s the same color as his hair. Are you sure this is the one you want me to use?”

--

When your stream ended, Denki leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath. The fact that he’d watched you fuck yourself with a dildo that you’d named after him was the hottest thing he could have imagined. He was jealous of that piece of bright yellow silicone more than he should be. He’d still enjoyed it, if the mess across his abs and chest were any indication. 

He cleaned himself up and pulled on a shirt, clicking on the link for the private show signup. It was pretty straightforward, listing the price and how long the show would be, and asking for his username and what he would be interested in doing or seeing and what day would work best.

Staring at the form for a moment, he contemplated his options. He could sign up with his LightningMcQueen account, and he might have a chance. He was the first one out of his friends to find your channel one night when he was bored and horny. Then he’d shown it to Hitoshi and then shared your info with Eijirou, Katsuki, and Hanta. He would be considered one of the longest and loyal viewers like you had said.

However, if you got a request from Chargebolt? What would you do? Would you ignore it? 

“Toshi!” He called out, knowing his roommate would hear him without him having to get up. “I’m having a crisis!”

The door opened, and the purple-haired man stood in the doorway. “I am not prepared to handle your bi panic right now, Denki.”

“Are you going to put in for a private show from Neko?” Denki pushed on, ignoring his friend’s exasperation. 

“I spoke that into existence last week, you know. You’re welcome.”

Flopping back in his chair, Denki closed his eyes. “Should I send in the request with this account or with the Chargebolt one?”

Hitoshi shrugged, watching their cat Sashimi wander into the room. “You’ve wanted to talk to her for ages, man. You could have messaged her forever ago and you wouldn’t be playing this game with her. Sign up with your actual account.”

“I mean, she must think I’m cute, right? Otherwise, she wouldn’t watch.” He sat up, logging out of his secondary account and into his main one. He had a few unread DM’s, so he clicked, his breath catching in his throat. “Dude, look.”

There was a message from you, short but sweet.

Hi, Chargebolt. I don’t know if you saw the stream today, but you should check it out if you haven’t. I left it up for you.”

“She wants you to see her use that dildo she named after you.” Hitoshi patted his shoulder, and then bent down to pick up Sashimi. “I signed up but I told her I just wanted to have a date with her cat. She probably won’t pick me.”

“She will, she loves cats.” Denki clicked on your page and scrolled down to the bottom where the signup was again, letting it populate his main account in the information, and writing ‘any day except Thursday’ in the section for the time that worked for him. “I’m going to get this girl to date me, just you watch.”

Snorting, his roommate closed the door behind him as he left. “I believe in you, Pikachu.”

Once his request was submitted, he went back to his DM’s and sent you a message back.

“I was there, Neko. I never miss a stream. I submitted for a private show, so I hope you’ll pick me. I’ve been one of your viewers since the beginning, you know.”

---

In your head, you tried to plan what you would say once you were face to face (via camera) with the one and only Chargebolt. Everything your brain seemed to come up with fell short. What did you say to this guy, who you’d been simping over for over 9 months, who lit up your screen every Thursday with terrible puns and panty-dropping smiles? You knew exactly what he looked like and sounded like when he came. It was a strange thing to think that you knew that but you’d never actually spoken to him before.

It made you feel a little better when you realized he knew just as much about you. That he watched you fuck yourself on a dildo you’d named after him, and then spent the rest of the stream showing off your fluffy white cat Ichigo. 

It was time to put on your big girl panties. You could do this. 

Chargebolt had been one of the few that you’d chosen to do these shows with. He was also the last one. You’d met with 4 others, the ones who were the most active in your chat, the ones you assumed were actually friends. 

Your first one was with Tapeman, who asked you to call him Sero. He was cute, with the widest, prettiest smile you’d ever seen. He made you laugh, and called you beautiful, and spoke to you in Spanish. You didn’t feel uncomfortable once with him, and the experience gave you hope that the rest would be just as nice.

Mindfucker was next, whose name was Shinsou and lowkey your favorite one. He didn’t want anything sexual at all, which surprised you. You sat with him and drank tea and you got to meet his two fur children, Miso and Sashimi, while he told you about his roommate. You let him admire Ichigo, and talked about music. He was sarcastic, but not in a mean way, and you were pretty sure he was going to be your new best friend.

RedDaddy and Dynamight had asked to do theirs together since they were dating. You wanted to question why they both watched your stream but RedDaddy, who was actually named Kirishima, answered it for you.

“We’re both bi, and we think you’re cute!”

“Yeah, plus McQueen has a thing for you so we like to be in the chat to help him out.” Dynamite, aka Bakugou, added in his gruff voice, folding his arms across his chest.

“Aw, that’s sweet!” You smiled at them. “He didn’t request a private show though, so I guess he doesn’t like me that much.”

Bakugou coughed and Kirishima grinned. “Maybe he was nervous! I’m sure you’ll meet him in one of these someday!”

“Enough about that dumbass.” Bakugou leaned forward, his hand on Kirishima’s knee. “Give us a show and we’ll give you one in return. Use that orange and green one for me, Princess.”

And give you a show they did. You got lost in how they looked at each other while they jerked each other off, and you were pretty sure they forgot you were even there at some point. When it was over, you suggested that they start their own channel.

Bakugou scoffed, but you could tell he was blushing a bit.

“I don’t know, Neko. I don’t think I could share him with anyone else. Except you, you’re the exception.” Kirishima grinned, winking at you.

But now it was Chargebolt’s turn. You made sure you had everything you needed, making sure Ichigo was out of the room, and then signed into your account. 

Chargebolt was online, so you made the private room and sent him the request. You felt like you were shaking, and you checked yourself in the camera to make sure you didn’t look like a wreck.

You barely had time to breathe before he entered the chat, his camera screen coming to life and showing you his smiling face. You melted a bit, biting your lip, gazing at how attractive he was. 

“Hey, Neko!” Chargebolt was as vibrant as ever, tucking his hair behind his ears, the black lightning bolt in his hair dark against the bright yellow of the rest of it.

“It’s nice to see you, Chargebolt.” You tried to relax, rolling your shoulders back. “It’s kind of weird knowing you can see me too.”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. You tried not to stare at his arms in the tank top he was wearing. Chargebolt had a small frame, but his muscles were defined. You’d seen him plow through an entire bag of chips on stream once, without pausing to breathe, so you assumed he must be one of those people with amazing metabolism that you envied. “You can call me Denki if you want, kitten.”

You choked on air at the nickname, trying to compose yourself. “Kitten?”

“Well, Neko means cat, doesn’t it?” He raised an eyebrow. “I won’t call you that if you don’t like it.”

“No!” You practically shouted. “No, I mean, it’s fine. I like it.”

“Sweet.” He grinned. “Man, I’ve wanted to get you alone like this for so long, and now I’m just feeling really nervous.”

“You’re nervous?” You were surprised. The always cool but super dorky Chargebolt was nervous because of you? “So am I.”

Chargebolt- sorry, Denki, rested his elbow on the desk, propping his head in his hand. “Well, glad to know I’m not the only disaster here. I’ve been trying to get the courage to talk to you for months, and then finally Hitoshi got me to talk about you on stream a few weeks ago, and now here we are.”

“Who’s Hitoshi? One of your regulars?” Knowing that you weren’t the only one who was sweating bullets had you relaxing a bit. 

“Oh yeah, Mindfucker! You know him right? He did a thing with you the other day, didn’t he?”

Eyes wide, you stared at him. “Shinsou?”

“Yeah, that’s my best friend and my roommate. He said he showed you the cats.” He shrugged. “You picked all my friends for your private shows. Sero, Kiri, Bakugou, Shinsou.” He paused, smirking. “I forgot that you don’t know that I’m LightningMcQueen.”

“That’s you? I was wondering why they didn’t send me a request, but it all makes sense now.”

Denki shot you finger guns and winked. “Kachow!”

“Oh god, stop it.” You rolled your eyes.

He chuckled, grinning at you. “So, did Shinsou talk about me?”

You giggled, remembering back. “He told me a story about how his roommate mistook a fuzzball for a spider and spent the afternoon sitting on a table waiting for him to come home and kill it.”

“It looked like one of those freaky poisonous ones from where I was sitting. I was afraid to let it out of my sight in case it got away and then multiplied and killed me in my sleep or something.” He took a deep breath. “Spiders are terrifying.”

This man was amazing. “You are everything I always thought you’d be, you know that?”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” He sighed. “You have to have some kind of embarrassing story to tell me so I don’t feel like a fool. You’ve got to make it even.”

“One year my dad hired a clown to come to my birthday party. He walked in the front door and I jetted out the back door and hid in the garden until he left. Clowns are just as terrifying as spiders.”

Chargebolt laughed, and the sound made your stomach do a somersault. It was just as bright and happy as he was. “That is the cutest shit I’ve ever heard!”

“I’m glad my childhood trauma is amusing you.” You deadpanned, trying to keep the smile off your face.

“Aw, don’t be like that kitten! I’m glad we can bond over our irrational fears like this, you know?” He 

You shivered happily. “Okay, okay.” You cleared your throat. “So, you didn’t write anything down here for what you wanted out of our chat today.”

“Oh, okay, down to business then.” He sat up straight. “Well, I wanted to tell you myself instead of submitting it on the form.”

Intrigued, you raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t want to give me a chance to back out?”

Snorting, and shook his head. “Nah, I think you’ll like it, kitten.” He folded his hands behind his head. “I want you to tell me what to do. I’m at your mercy.”

Swallowing thickly, you blinked at him. That was...really hot. “You like being told what to do?”

“I would love nothing more for you to pull my hair and peg me within an inch of my life while calling me your little cock slut.” He stared at you with an eyebrow raised, looking pleased with himself when he saw your expression.

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, right? I mean, I’m a switch, I’d do the same to you if you asked.  But we can save that for next time.” He smirked. “So, you down?”

Next time? This man was going to kill you. “Take off your shirt, Denki.”

“Fuck yes.” He groaned, reaching behind him and tugging the garment over his head. 

His chest and abs came into view, and you let your eyes linger on the barbells through his nipples. “Pants too.”

He pushed his chair away from his desk and shimmied out of his shorts, kicking them to the side. You gazed at him in his blue boxer briefs, eyes lingering on his thin waist, strong thighs, and the outline of his cock. He was a sight to behold, honestly.

You held the fangirling back, leaning forward to get a better look at him. “Do you have any toys, Denki?”

“Of course, Kitten.” He moved out of view for a moment, coming back with a box. 

“Let me see.” He tilted the box towards the camera, your eyes flitting over the different colors and shapes inside. “The pink one.” 

“Okay, hang on, let me-” He cut off, standing up and throwing the pink toy on the bed. He picked up the laptop and moved it, laying down beside it and angling the camera so you could see what he was doing.

“Did you stretch yourself, baby?” 

He made a noise that sounded like a whine in the back of his throat at the pet name, obviously pleased by it. “Yeah, of course I did.” He glanced at the screen. “You should, uh, take your shirt off too.”

“I thought you wanted me to tell you what to do, not the other way around.” Teasing him, you crossed your arms over your chest.

He pouted slightly. “I’ve been good so far though, right?”

“All you’ve done is take off two items of clothing and move to the bed. You’re gonna have to work harder than that!”

Huffing, he lifted his ass off the bed and tugged his underwear down his legs, kicking them off, his hand already moving to wrap around his already hard cock.

“Did I say you could touch yourself, Denki?” It was getting hard to keep up the stern act you were putting on, but you knew it was what he wanted. You wanted to watch him touch himself, watch the way his eyes fluttered closed when his thumb brushed over the leaking head of his cock, and the way he would bite his lip when he moved his wrist a certain way.

You could be patient though, so you continued.

“If I was there right now, what would you want me to do first?”

He stilled, blinking at you a few times. “I would want your mouth first, I think.”

Humming, you sat back, pulling your shirt over your head, letting him admire the lacey purple bra covering your chest. “You’d want my mouth on your cock? Trace my tongue along that vein along the underside and suck on the head a little?”

Denki groaned, closing his eyes, his grip visibly tightening around his shaft. He looked like he was trying not to get worked up too fast. You were amazed at how your words were affecting him, so you pressed on.

“I’d take you all the way down until I was choking on it, and I’d let you hold onto my hair and fuck my face. God, you don’t know how many times I've dreamed about doing that for you. What would you say to that?”

The blush spreading down his neck and chest made him look so pretty. “Ugh, fuck kitten, you’re killing me.” He swallowed hard, opening his eyes to look at you again. “I’d tell you how good you made me feel, but I wouldn’t let you finish me off that way.”

“Oh no? Tell me what else you’d do.” You took the opportunity to move to the bed yourself, pulling off your leggings and panties all at once. 

Eyes glued to you while you unclipped your bra and threw it across the room, he continued. “Fuck, um, I would...god, you’re beautiful.”

Flushing at the compliment, you looked down shyly, breaking character. “I’ve heard you say that before and I still don’t believe it.”

Denki scoffed. “If you need a daily reminder, I’d be happy to be the one to tell you, kitten.” You could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it made your heart do a little flip. “I might seem like a dumbass but I’m using this camboy money to pay off my student loans for my masters in English lit so I can quote you entire sonnets from Shakespeare without hesitation if that will help you believe me.”

Your eyebrows shot up, impressed. Realizing you’d ruined the moment, you sighed, covering your eyes with your hand. “I’m sorry, I’m crap at this. I really just want to watch you cum.”

Chuckling, you heard him shifting on the bed. “Okay, how about this? Forget the toys. Just close your eyes and listen to me.”

“Okay.”

“If you were here with me right now, just like that, I’d spend so much time exploring every inch of you with my tongue. I’d start with your lips, your jaw, your neck. Collarbones, shoulders, your chest, those cute nipples-”

“How are nipples cute?” You interrupted with a snort.

You could hear him trying not to laugh, his voice pitched a bit higher. “Shh, don’t ruin it.”

“I think you just did when you said ‘cute nipples’.” You’d never had this much fun with someone in a situation like this. “If I had a dick, my boner would have just died.”

Denki wheezed, and you opened your eyes to look over at him. He was gazing back at you, his eyes bright as he laughed into his palm. “God, I like you so much, kitten.”

Your grin softened, your heart pounding at his words. “Me too, Denki.” 

#kaminari denki #kaminari denki x reader #kaminari denki smut #denki kaminari #denki kaminari x reader #denki kaminari smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #kingexpl0sionmurder writes #bnharem collab

[musiclovingmoth]

types of scientist each pkmn prof would be irl as seen by a biology major

1. professor oak

according to bulbapedia, oak concentrates on the relationships between humans and pokemon- seems like an animal behavior scientist and professor! definitely also a famous scicommer since he hosts a radio show across kanto and johto! probably the bill nye of the pokemon world at this point. what if he was this Friendly Science Man all the 90s-2000s kids knew and like 20 years later he goes on a late night show and delivers this swear-filled rant on the global biodiversity crisis and how people need to keep their meowths and liepards inside

2. professor elm

elm gives me HEAVY recent postdoc vibes. i love how his hgss artwork portrays him to be a klutz. he’s so busy and frazzled he forgets to eat. see my post about how like half the men in biology i know look like this man. it’s also fun seeing professors who have families of their own, i like hearing tidbits here and there about their spouses and children. the *lore.* i don’t think he’d be to the level of maes hughes but when he like squeezes in a tiny thing about his wife or kid during lecture or to other members of his lab people can’t help but be like aww. he just seems wholesome! since he’s credited with the discovery of pokemon eggs, he probably would study reproductive/evolutionary developmental biology (one of my fav subjects!).

3. professor birch

(disclaimer: i have not played rse/oras) the only thing i know about this guy off the top of my head is how you get to pick your starter only because he’s getting chased around by a poochyena in the field. i love this fieldwork mishap energy. look at him, he’s wearing sandals and shorts into TALL GRASS. himbo scientist vibes, even tho those things kind of conflict. according to bulbapedia, he specializes in... HABITAT AND DISTRIBUTION?? oh my god also one of my loves. one of the phd students i work with who also kinda studies distribution once fell into a >6 ft soil pit doing field work. if birch is getting chased around by wild animals as a professor, i can only imagine the shit he got himself into as a grad student.

4. professor rowan

one of the oldest professors at the school, to the degree where everyone considers him an enigma and takes his classes at least partly out of curiosity as to what he’s like. most people say the same thing, which is that he seems really scary at first but basically he’s just grandpa! has office hours that somehow work for everyone and has a huge bowl of candy at his desk. if you go, he’ll encourage you to take some and he’ll probably also take and eat one during your meeting. as per bulbapedia, literal evolutionary biologist. i feel like all the pokemon professors are somewhat of of evolutionary biologists by their trades, which may make rowan the Big one out of all of them. maybe neil shubin-level famous...

5. professor juniper

ONE OF MY FAVS!! i love her energy so much. she also gives me recent postdoc vibes but i could also see her as the weird (in a good way!) and spunky pi (principal investigator, basically the research manager) of her own lab. definitely active on scitwitter where she keeps up with the latest papers and advocates on academic issues. specializing in the origins of pokemon sounds a lot like an evolutionary biologist to me, though again i feel like all the professors are to an extent because “evolving” is pokemon’s thing. probably also works a lot with extremely old fossils, maybe from around the cambrian. if so, that definitely makes her an invertebrates person, my favorite kind of person (the lab i work with is full of them and they’re all wonderful). ohh maybe she even does research on the jump from unicellularity to multicellularity! definitely a close colleague of rowan, maybe even a former student!

6. professor sycamore

god if this man ever did a guest lecture or visiting professorship at a foreign university (like in “america” vs. “france”) everyone would go fucking nuts. his classes would fill up instantly. he teaches like. an introductory course on cell bio and there’s a not-insignificant portion of students there who are upperclassmen. i don’t really remember much from xy but that letter he leaves as a young man to his future self is very nice, i think he’d be a very supportive advisor/mentor and would be great at encouraging underclassmen to take their time and pursue their dreams. studying mega evolution, an instantaneous temporary change, reminds me of phenotypic plasticity, which is when individual organisms can change physical form in response to environmental stimuli. a really cool topic!

7. professor kukui

another professor where everyone signs up to take his classes. i feel like his chill yet enthusiastic attitude make him a good candidate to teach gen bio for freshmen, he’d be a great communicator and also probably puts actual good memes in his lectures. i feel like on the about page of his class/professional website he’d have this professionally-done photo of the masked royal, not even one some other fan took at a match, and it would be captioned “i’m a big fan of the masked royal! check out this sick picture i got of him” and he’d just do such a terrible job of hiding the fact that it’s him. i think due to the rigors of academia, it would be a retired thing he used to do, but the new students all lose their minds when they find out about it. WHAT IF HE TOLD EVERYONE A SURPRISE GUEST LECTURER WAS COMING IN AND IT WAS JUST HIM AS THE MASKED ROYAL AND HE MADE A BIG DEAL OUT OF HOW “HE AND KUKUI ARE FRIENDS” BUT EVERYONE KNEW BUT STILL WENT WILD ANYWAY. an irl analog to studying pokemon attacks... maybe the specific defense/attack mechanisms of a specific group or species. he likes rockruff and lycanroc right? maybe he’s also a behavioral biologist who studies how wolves hunt in packs and how their sociality evolved.

8. professor magnolia

(disclaimer: i have not played swsh) since she studies dynamax, she might also study phenotypic plasticity. apparently her work on it was so influential it started the trend of using it in big flashy galarian stadium battles, so she probably travels to do guest lectures a lot and it’s a BIG DEAL wherever she goes! uhhh idk what “galar particles” are? sounds like molecular or cell biology. oh maybe she studies differences in metabolism between form changes and what physiologically changes to keep up those different structures.

#pokemon #professor oak #professor sycamore #professor kukui #professor juniper #professor rowan #professor birch #professor magnolia #professor elm #rse #oras #dppt #bw #xy #sumo #swsh #sorry magnolia's was so short i really know nothing about swsh #lab notebook

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Rain Check

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2860

Warnings: Lots of sexual tension and pining and ~heated glances~ or whatever but no actual sexy times. Author plays fast and loose with the canonical details of Spencer’s teaching sabbatical, as well as the logistics of grad school. There’s a teacher-student thing going on, but no weird age gap or whatever. Excessive objectification of Spencer’s hands, because really, what else do you expect from me? 

A/N: For the “mutual pining” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

You trail off. Spencer’s staring like he’s waiting for you to say something else, even though you’ve been rambling for a while now. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. 

“For what?” 

“You probably didn’t need to know all of that.”

He blinks, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. 

Something about him makes you want to open up; it’s been almost an hour of nonstop conversation, and you haven’t told him what you’re studying or even where you’re studying, but you feel like you’ve known him for years. You’ve talked about your favorite books and assorted high school traumas. He keeps insisting he’s not good at small talk anyway. 

“I really like listening to you talk,” he says, soft and sweet. “I just… I like watching you talk, too. I noticed your eyelashes and — and I got distracted.” 

Your cheeks feel hot, suddenly. You know the feeling. 

“Oh,” you manage.

There’s something about his hands; they’re just very fucking distracting, and every time he tucks his hair behind his ears, you lose your train of thought. It doesn’t help that he keeps absently-mindedly twirling a pen as he talks, long dexterous fingers moving with precise little movements, and — yeah. Distracting is putting it mildly. There’s this constant low flicker of want in your gut. 

“It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself this much in a bar,” he admits, with a self-conscious little half-smile. 

“Me too.” 

Probably helps you’re not actually inside the bar. You’re tucked in the corner of the deck, leaning on the railing, and even though it’s crowded, you’ve barely noticed your surroundings. Every time you look at him, the rest of the world feels distant, like one of those perfect movie moments where the crowd parts and the hero and heroine walk toward each other in slow motion, meeting in a spotlight as everything else fades away. 

It’s just… those moments don’t happen, not in real life and certainly not to you. It’s never as simple as that: see — want — have. 

You can’t help but hope that this time might be different. 

Spencer’s smiling, and the way he looks at you with those big soft eyes makes you feel like you’re standing in a spotlight. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. It’s just unusual, this jittery, excited, not-exactly-stage-fright thing happening in your chest. 

You have to remind yourself to breathe. 

The pause stretches a bit too long, and in an effort to fill the silence you blurt out, “What are you thinking about?” 

He hesitates, and his tongue slides along his lower lip, drawing your attention to his plush pink mouth as he says, “I was thinking—”

“Spence! There you are!” someone says loudly, and you’d be embarrassed by the way you jump, startled, if Spencer didn’t do the exact same thing. 

“Hey. Emily. Um… what’s up?” His voice cracks. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar; it’s flattering and oddly endearing. 

“We have a case.” The woman seems to be holding back a smile as she glances apologetically at you. “Meet you up front.” 

Spencer is visibly disappointed as he turns back to you. He gives you a helpless sort of shrug, and for a second, neither of you say anything. 

Your throat feels tight as your eyes lock on Spencer’s parted lips again. It’s been such a long time since you felt this drawn to a person; his closeness feels hypnotic. 

“I’d like to see you again,” he says shyly. “I — can you—” 

“Phone number?” you supply. His hands flutter and his eyebrows rise, like he forgot, for a second, that cell phones exist. Then he pats his pockets, pulls his out, and passes it to you. Once your number is saved, you give it back with a small smile. 

“I’ll probably be out of town for a few days, and then — maybe next weekend,” he says. 

“I’d really like that,” you admit, trying to make yourself take a step back. “This was — yeah. I’m glad I met you.” 

“Spencer!” someone says, from the door, and he waves them off without turning to look. 

“Earlier, when you asked—” He pauses, frowning, shifting his weight like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I was thinking about how much I’d like to kiss you.” 

His voice is soft and husky, and it cracks on the last word like maybe his throat is tight too. You feel hot all over. 

You never even shook hands; there’s been no physical contact whatsoever between the two of you, and now your head is spinning with the urge to reach out, to touch, to get closer... but it feels like you missed your opportunity for that — it doesn’t feel right, not when you know it’d be over much too quickly. You can tell Spencer feels it too. 

Once two magnets snap together, it’s a lot harder to separate them. 

“Rain check on that,” you say breathlessly, and he nods, raising one hand in an awkward wave as he steps back. 

-

This is Spencer, by the way. I’m really glad I met you.

The text comes in just an hour or so later, when you’re sitting in the cab on your way home, and you smile so wide it feels like your cheeks might split with it. 

-

The giddiness lasts until Tuesday morning, when you walk into the first session of your six-week-intensive graduate seminar and see Spencer at the white board, writing down page numbers for your reading assignment. 

Your eyes lock, and there’s another of those moments where you can’t see anything other than him. It’s not so pleasant this time, though. 

Spencer drops his pen, and you promptly forget how to walk, stumbling and spilling coffee down your front. You curse so loudly that the rest of the class turns to stare at you. 

To add insult to injury, the only open seat is directly across from Spencer’s. 

Fantastic. 

You spend the next hour and a half trying very hard to avoid eye contact, and for the most part, you’re successful. He doesn’t seem to want to look at you either. 

You do sneak one glance, though, and he’s just as pretty in the harsh fluorescent light of the classroom as he was in the golden glow of the bar lights. It seems really fucking unfair. 

If it were any other class, you would consider dropping it, but you were lucky to get a spot; this is big for your resume. It’s a special, one-time-only class, and your advisor had described the guest professor as “a genius, and one of the leading names in his field.” 

...fuck. 

Spencer dismisses the class. You start packing hurriedly, convinced he’s going to ask you to stay back, but you get out the door without incident. You’re already halfway down the hall when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. 

Can we talk? 

It’d be so easy to lie, say you have somewhere to be, put the rejection off for another day, but instead you take a deep breath and turn around. 

Spencer is sitting right where he was, except now he’s cross-legged in the chair, twirling a pen and frowning at it like it contains the mysteries of the entire universe. He gives you a twitchy attempt at a smile, eyes wide with worry. 

You move closer, sitting down next to him, trying to ignore those fucking fingers as he plays with the pen. This would be a whole lot easier if he would stop doing that, because it’s just like the bar — the same hot, fluttering sensation low in your belly, no matter how much you try to ignore it now. 

“I thought you worked for the FBI,” you mumble and he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh. 

“I do,” he says ruefully. “I just — also teach, sometimes?” 

“Yeah. I got that.” 

His tongue does that slow swipe across his lower lip. You bite your own lip, trying not to stare, and Spencer drops the pen with a clatter. 

“Sorry,” he says, shoving both hands through his hair. “I’m so sorry if I — if this is — is this going to make you uncomfortable?” 

You frown, looking at him blankly for a second, because that was so not the reaction you expected. “Uncomfortable?” 

“Knowing that I — that I’m attracted to you? I’m aware of the power imbalance inherent in the situation and I promise I would never—” 

“Present tense?” you blurt out, and Spencer stops, blinking at you. 

“Well… yes. I thought that was obvious. I meant it, you know; I don’t just meet people like that,” he says, agitated. “It’s usually difficult for me to talk to strangers, and you’re — you’re just — yes. I’m attracted to you.” 

“I figured you would think I was immature, and — I mean, it’s such a fucking cliche,” you laugh, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I usually try to avoid modeling my life on Van Halen songs.” He gives you a blank look and you add hastily, “Never mind. Point is, a student with a crush, throwing themselves at a professor? Seems like a recipe for embarrassment.” 

“Oh,” he says, as a smile spreads across his face. “So… maybe after the class is over, we could—” 

“Yeah?”  

Spencer is blushing. Jesus pogo-jumping Christ, you want to kiss him. 

“It’s just six weeks. We’ll keep it strictly professional — appropriate — for six weeks.” The words are quiet, all husky and promising, and you can’t tell whether it’s intentional or not, but something about that tone sounds very fucking inappropriate. “And then… we’ll take that rain check.” 

You nod and clear your throat. “You’re on.” 

SIx weeks, two classes a week, ninety minutes per class. Easy enough. 

-

It’s not easy. Not in the fucking slightest. 

Part of you wishes he could be a bad teacher, or something. If he was boring — if he had an obnoxious laugh — something. Instead, every goddamn minute spent in his classroom seems like another reason to fall for this guy. 

And yeah, sure, he’s pretty. You catch yourself staring, sometimes: his long lashes, the hint of gold in his eyes, the sharp angles of his jawline, the messy hair… and you’re not the only one. It seems like the entire class is crushing on him by the end of the second meeting, boys and girls alike, and maybe you would make fun of the Indiana Jones-style lash-fluttering that’s aimed his way if you weren’t guilty of doing the same thing yourself. 

Once word gets around that there’s a cute new professor in the criminology department, rumors start to fly left and right. You’ve heard other students talking about him, speculating about the apparently “way more badass than you’d think” Doctor Reid. You hear stories about how he got shot once — was kidnapped and tortured — overdosed on heroin — saved a train full of people by talking down a lunatic with a gun — hooked up with a movie star — went to jail for murder — you name it, every story more far-fetched than the last. 

Well, he did mention getting shot one time, but you’re pretty sure the rest are too absurd to be true. 

Either way, it’s not the looks or the legends that have you hopelessly head-over-heels. 

It’s the way he lights up when he gets started on a subject that interests him. It’s the joy in his expression when a student asks a good question, or when they draw the right conclusion; his smile is bright and brilliant every time. 

The first time one of those smiles is aimed in your direction, along with a half-shouted, “Correct!” and an excited wave of his pen, you’re just about blinded. It quickly becomes one of the driving goals of your day-to-day life: make Spencer smile. 

He’s beautiful, in those moments when he’s grinning and enthusiastic, but the quiet moments are even worse. 

Sometimes he stares as you work your way through a train of thought, eyes glinting as he fixes them on you with a breathtaking intensity and this fierce pride. Sometimes, his voice is firm and sharp, and sometimes when he says things like, “Yes, exactly like that,” it sounds so much dirtier than it should. 

Sometimes — sometimes — once or twice or a dozen times — you fantasize about that voice. You’re only human. 

You never realized there was such a thing as a “praise kink,” but… yeah. That about sums it up. 

At first you worry that he’ll lose interest: that you’ll say something stupid or he’ll find someone else, because in your experience with men, they don’t wait around for six hours, let alone six weeks, once they’ve realized they can’t immediately have what they want. Instead, it only gets worse as the weeks pass. 

It’s nothing obvious, nothing that could be labeled as inappropriate — you still haven’t touched Spencer, not so much as an accidental brush of his hand against yours when he passes back a graded essay. It’s just that his gaze lingers, whenever he looks in your direction, just a moment longer than it would on anyone else. Every time your eyes meet, you have a hard time remembering that the rest of the world exists. It might as well just be the two of you. There’s this heat between you, this crackling electricity, like touching a live wire every single time, like you can’t pull yourself away to break the current. 

It’s the longest six weeks of your life. 

-

“That’s our time,” Spencer says, glancing at his watch. “I’ll get your essays marked and returned to you before break, and on Sunday evening, I’ll submit your final grades, at which point—” His eyes flick to you, and you bite your lip. “— my responsibilities as your professor are complete. It’s been a pleasure.” 

-

“Hi,” Spencer says, without preamble, when you pick up the phone on Saturday evening. “This is — um. This is Spencer?” 

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning so hard you can barely say, “Yeah, I know.” 

“Right. Um… where are you?”

“Just dropped off a few library books.” 

“I got grades done a little early,” he says hesitantly. “Do you want to… meet me at my office, maybe? We could go out for dinner?” 

You’ve never been there before, but you know where it is. Open office hours with Spencer always seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, because your self-control only goes so far.

“Sounds good,” you say, voice strained, heart racing. “Be there soon.” 

You walk fast. 

The building is mostly deserted, at this hour, and as you walk quickly down the hall, the catch and release of breath in your lungs seems too loud for your quiet surroundings. 

You might be panicking a little bit. There’s still a part of you that’s just waiting for him to change his mind, to realize how dorky and awkward you are, to find someone more polished or accomplished or… something — fuck, this seems to good to be true. 

Spencer has one of the old, cramped temporary offices used by visiting professors, and even though he’s only been here for a month and a half, he’s amassed quite a collection of books in the small space. When you step through the open door, he’s got his sleeves rolled up as he places a couple books gently in a box. He runs his hands through his hair with a sigh, making it even more hopelessly touseled. 

“Hey,” you say, and he turns around, wide-eyed and nervous for a moment before a smile — one of the brilliant too-bright ones you’ve become so fond of — transforms his face. 

“Hi! Um, I’ll come back tomorrow to finish cleaning, I was just — we could go out, I don’t have to — dinner? Are you hungry?” He picks up a pen from the cluttered desk, twirling it like he just really needs something to do with his hands; he seems just as anxious as you feel. It’s comforting, for some reason. At least you’re both awkward dorks. 

“Not hungry,” you say shyly. You close the door, slow and deliberate. 

Spencer’s eyes widen and then go dark, all heavy-lidded and heated. 

He drops the pen, closes the distance between you in two long strides, and cups your face in his hands before kissing you, deep and urgent, dizzyingly perfect. It’s desperate, after all this time, all that pent-up longing and suppressed electricity surging through you all at once, making you gasp at the sharp incredible sting of his teeth nipping your lower lip. 

It’s one hundred percent worth the wait. 

You’re both breathless when he breaks the kiss, but you sway closer anyway, trying to follow his mouth, and blink like you’re coming out of a trance. His lips are red and swollen. 

“Rain check on dinner?” he asks. His voice is suggestive and smoky — there’s nothing appropriate about it. 

When you nod, he just reaches behind you and locks the door. 

.

.

Smutty bit is now here!

.

More CM fic here! 

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction

[himboarcher]

reasons i've seen folks say that grad critics hate grad:

they hate travis (in fairness, i’ve def seen some comments of people shitting on trav for the sake of shitting on trav, but it’s not super common and typically gets downvoted into oblivion on reddit.)

it's not balance / travis isn't griffin (???????)

they hate neurodivergent people (again, in fairness, i have seen a handful of comments that could come across this way! but most of the time when travis being ADHD or his NPD is brought up, it's by defenders saying that criticizing travis is ableist because he's neurodivergent or, in one particular comment, infantilizing him bc of it and literally comparing grad to putting a kid's artwork on the fridge. there were some comments early on that pointed to him being a narcissist as the reason for things people disliked about grad, but everyone seems to have realized that that's a shitty train of thought and left it behind.)

they're just toxic haters (again, there are a small handful of people like this because this is the internet, but the genuine criticism greatly outweighs their bullshit. i 100% think that the people, which is mostly just one dude who is also insufferable on reddit, who have been responding rudely to positive tweets under the episode announcements lately are out of line and need to stop. there's been an influx of that lately, presumably because people are frustrated that after over a year of grad going on, there's been no improvement to most of the major issues. that's still no excuse to be a dick to folks, though.)

vs some of the actual reasons i don't like grad:

the racism / racist tropes, and the way that they’ve straight up ignored this criticism and will likely never acknowledge it. pretty wild considering a core tenet of their brand is their willingness to acknowledge when they’ve messed up and do their best to course correct.

clumsy attempts at inclusion that are shallow and often end up being fairly offensive ("...ask me about my wheelchair," anyone?)

on a related note: i don't think that travis had bad intentions, but as an nonbinary person, it feels othering to me that travis only has enby characters give others their pronouns unprompted. i'm thinking specifically of kai here. having listened to their introduction, i don't think it's as bad or awkward as some people have said, but i can't remember travis ever having another NPC tell the PCs their pronouns, especially not a cis character. it's not a huge deal, but it's something that rubbed me the wrong way. admittedly, i don't think it would bother me so much if travis hadn't dropped the ball so much with performative inclusion in the past.

okay i'm putting the rest under a read more because even without getting into all of the problems i have with it, this got Long.

little to no player agency. player choices are ultimately meaningless and have little to no effect on the world. even when he seems to go along with a plan they come up with, it always ends with them having to go back to travis' pre-written script (see: subpoenaing the xorn, but not really because they had to go with travis' original plan of "send the xorn home through the rift".) the players repeatedly get told things about what they think or feel or what they've been doing to an unnecessary degree. fitzroy is the only one who really gets space to play and decide things for himself, and that's only because travis has decided he's the main character.

the NPCs are all too nice and willing to give the PCs anything they ask for and more, unless the PCs are trying to follow their own plan and then the NPCs are completely useless. but honestly, aside from gray, all of the NPCs are just.... nice. travis refuses to even let his antagonists be mean or cruel or even more than just slightly rude, because that'd be a bummer and we don't want that! the "twist" of gordy the lich king actually being polite and chill is not a twist at all because everyone is like that in this world. the NPCs are also wildly overpowered, but then suddenly absolutely useless when the PCs actually want their help.

too many cliffhangers that are dropped immediately at the beginning of the next episode. i feel bad for travis because so many of these cliffhangers actually set up good momentum and seemed like things were gonna get interesting, but almost every single time he just dropped them at the beginning of the next episode. like when althea showed up to interview the boys and the next episode started with travis being like "actually you went to sleep, she said she'll be back tomorrow!"

that time travis specifically said in his exposition dump that the thundermen left their horses behind because they thought the centaurs might be offended by them riding horses, only to later on rag on them for being surprised that the centaurs had horses they could ride.....

also the centaur arc in general, but i already listed racism above, so.

the way that the toxic positivity and parasocial tendencies in the mcelroy fandoms have made a large portion of the fandom take ANY criticism as a personal attack on travis and/or on themselves for enjoying something others consider bad, either morally or just quality-wise. it’s okay to admit that something you like has problematic elements or just isn’t as good as it once was. you can and should engage critically with the media you consume.

related to above: the way travis has handled genuine criticism, which is to throw public tantrums on his twitter or make weird passive aggressive tweets & ultimately ignore all the genuine criticism and advice he's been offered by claiming it's all subjective, even after he specifically asked for it and set up an email for folks to send in genuine, objective advice for him (after he threw a tantrum on twitter and replied to someone's criticism publicly, which resulted in his followers dogpiling on that person bc how dare they insult their internet best friend). while i was writing this last night, he actually announced that he’s taking a break from Twitter and acknowledged that he’s been using it as an echo chamber where he can easily get validation from folks, and honestly i’m happy for him that he’s recognized this problem and is stepping away for a while! i hope he’ll genuinely use this time to reflect on how he’s been behaving and find a more healthy way to use social media. i’m leaving this point in because i think his Twitter being such a positive echo chamber was encouraging him to do stuff like this, and him somewhat acknowledging his behavior doesn’t mean it can no longer be discussed.

rainer. extremely cool concept in theory and i was very into it until that awkward "does anyone want to ask about my wheelchair?" moment. also when travis had her use her mobility aid to RAM INTO A DOOR instead of just fucking knocking???? also all the times travis has tried to force a romantic relationship between her and fitzroy, despite fitzroy displaying no interest in her in that way. also, just to clarify: as an ace person, i don’t think this is aphobic! (and it’s kind of a stretch to call it that imo, especially since griffin never explicitly said that fitzroy's aromantic!) i just think it’s weird and awkward and a little uncomfortable for me personally, mostly because it reminds me of the times i’ve been in similar situations.

less of a problem than a lot of the other stuff and more just bad writing, but the forced emotional moments. in general, nothing in grad feels earned (why are the boys heading a war? when they have multiple actual heroes with combat experience on their side and a supposedly powerful secret organization? and the thundermen are like 21 years old max and have only had like ~10 fights in the entire campaign?) but there've been a couple times where travis has tried to force unearned emotional moments, presumably because he knows people enjoyed those with the last campaigns. but the difference is that in balance, the big emotional moments happened because they were earned. in grad, it's just travis throwing a baby pegasus at us for a few minutes and then the next time she shows up, it's supposed to be a tearful goodbye.

there are absolutely no stakes. remember when the thundermen got told that if they left, gray would kill 10 students? and then they left and came back and it turns out that what gray actually meant was, "i'll tie ten students who are mostly nameless NPCs to a tree and throw some dogs at them that you can easily stop in time, then throw a tantrum because how dare you but i'll leave before you can really do anything to hurt me lol" travis did have fitzroy's magic get taken away, but like. it didn't really do anything? also all he had to get it back was be coerced into using drugs by an authority figure and trip in the woods?

we're told that the school is weird and the hero system is corrupt, but the world of nua is still presented as more of a liberal utopia than anything? althea getting fired because of a corrupt villain is the only time we've somewhat seen corruption, but even then, she was still allowed to get (what seems to me, anyway, but admittedly i don't know for sure bc nothing about the HOG makes much sense) a fairly important job from the very people who stripped her of her hero license or whatever the fuck heroes need?

travis doesn't actually seem to understand how capitalism or bureaucracy works and just chalks up everything to "red tape." also more on the rest of the boys than him specifically, but the "let's destroy capitalism!" thing turning into just pushing some filing cabinets over................... okay.

and one last piece of extremely subjective criticism: it's just kind of.... boring. i think a lot of people, myself included, would be willing to overlook 90% of the problems with graduation if it didn't feel like such a slog to get through.

also people saying that we can't or shouldn't criticize graduation because it's "free" is absolutely absurd for several reasons. first, something being free does not make it above criticism. second, there ARE people who directly financially support the show with monthly donations. three, there's a difference between something being free and something being not for profit. podcasting is their full time job. they make their living off of money made from TAZ and MBMBAM (and probably their other shows to a lesser extent). this not a fun home game that they are graciously recording and sharing with us. it is a product they are producing that they make money off of, both from ads in the episodes and merch & books based off of these podcasts. they have marketed themselves as professionals, and both griffin and travis have been on panels where they are marketed as professional DMs and appear alongside other professional DMs (which makes it incredibly frustrating when people say that travis is just a newbie DM and we can't criticize him because of that. if he's a newbie, then he should not be taking part of panels as a professional DM where he speaks as an expert). TAZ is free in the same way that an episode of NCIS is free. i may not pay for it directly, but the creators are paid to create it and profit off of me consuming this product. so saying we should be grateful for any mcelnoise that the benevolent good boys share with us and that we're not allowed to criticize it "because it's free" is absolutely wild.

#negativity cw #i guess #anyway this is not meant to say that you cannot enjoy grad. #but i'm tired of folks on this website acting like there aren't genuine problems with it #and saying that people just dislike it bc they hate travis etc etc #taz graduation #i genuinely don't expect anyone to read this bc it's so long #but here ya go. #long post

[ziamhaze]

My Future in Fic

Yeah, so, the 100k fic that I’ve been working on for the past six months?  The one that was going to be uploaded to AO3 last week?  Yeah, it’s accidentally getting published...

Where do I start?

I suppose with a massive thank you to anyone who’s clicked on any of my fics over these past two years.  I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again.  I never ever thought about writing as a career.  I’ve never written anything prior to my Harry Potter AU Compartment 451.  I didn’t even take an English class in undergrad or grad school.  I genuinely just had an idea for a fic I wanted to read and since no one had written it, I had to do so myself.  Since then, I’ve written every single day for 2 years.  I left my job in the entertainment industry, got accepted to one of the best creative writing programs in the world on a scholarship, and now one of my stories is being considered at Harper Collins.  Yes, the Harper Collins.  It’s the longest shot in the world, but for legal reasons I was not allowed to upload the fic version on any website prior to submission.  Even if they don’t pick it up, I’ve been advised to continue to shop it around to agents.

What I can do, however, is share the premise.

If you’ve been following my tumblr and watching my tags - I SEE YOU ALL OUT THERE - then you’ll know that this fic was meant to have Zayn with his signature undercut hairstyle and one more little thing...

Someone sent me an ask a while back about what this fic was supposed to be about.  I believe I said something about it being an adaptation fic, but not from a film/tv show/other piece of literature, from a song.  This next fic was meant to be an adaptation of the song Younger by Ruel.  Later on, it also took shape with the help of Remember by Liam and a few others that you can find here.

The miniature summary is as follows:

When his father suddenly passes, twenty-nine-year-old Liam Payne is brought back to the Sydney suburbs where he grew up.  He doesn’t plan on seeing his childhood best friend, Zayn Malik, at the burial service.  They haven’t spoken since going from brothers to strangers one fateful day fifteen years prior.  But Zayn puts an end to this when he approaches Liam after the burial, offering his condolences and asking if Liam can help his archaeological research team with photographing their newest project.  The unexpected closeness forces each man to wade through uneasy emotions.  For Liam, a mixture of grief, lost identity, and confusion over why he’s willing to interact with the one person he swore he’d never forgive.  And for Zayn, a tidal wave of anxiety that comes from finally facing a part of himself he’s always chosen to deny.  When We Were Younger is a story heavily rooted in blurred identities and exploring what loss can look like in two different scenarios: death and friendship.

For obvious reasons, their names will be changed.  Liam, to Hutton.  Zayn, to Cairo (his ethnicity will also be changed to Egyptian).  As you can see, it was meant to be my big ‘enemies to lovers’ fic.  Technically, it’s ‘best friends to enemies to lovers’, but you know.

Right, so what does this mean for me going forward?

I still have so much inspiration when it comes to writing Zayn and Liam as characters.  I don’t plan on putting a complete stop to writing them, but with my career taking this large of a turn, I do have to prioritise my time.  That said, as of now, I can’t afford to write long-form fic any longer.

Soon, I’ll be starting a PhD program where I’ll be writing another full-length novel for mass publication.  For fun, here’s a little insight on the two ideas that I’ll be pitching:

1.  Underground boxer (loosely based off Liam) falls in love with arms gang leader (loosely based off Zayn).  Throughout their love story, the latter has to outrun the psychological trauma his father (the leader of Zayn’s rival gang) still throws his way. 

2.  Cold War AU.  Paris, circa 1950/51.  Ambassador’s son (loosely based off Liam) befriends new student (loosely based off Zayn) at the international school.  Paris is a ticking time bomb; war is about to break out at literally any second.  The two clearly have feelings for each other, but can’t act on them because homosexuality in the 1950s...yikes.  When war does break out, the two are separated, and as Liam’s character goes out to find Zayn’s, he learns a secret of his that changes everything.

Whichever I don’t write for the PhD will be the novel I write following it.

In the meantime, I’m going to continue to write (and edit) like crazy.  Ever since I randomly wrote C451, there hasn't been a day that’s gone by where I haven't written something.  It may have only been a paragraph or two, but never zero.  This is how you get better.  This is the equivalent of going out and shooting free throws for 30 minutes a day.  You have to put in the work in order to get better.  I'm very lucky that I'm incredibly self-disciplined and I've been able to crank out as many stories as I have over the past 2 years.

That said, I’ll be writing shorter little oneshots.  I have several ideas that I’ve been sitting on, but haven’t ever thought to write because I HATE writing short stories.  Little ideas that don't have huge plotline/climax potential, but that I want to just see on paper, I'll probably end up writing.  If I had to guess, I'd say they'll come out to around 10-15k.  Also, sequels?  Prequels?  Haha, you never know...

I’ve also got a series called “Sleep Drabbles” that are, yes, you guessed it, a series of drabbles based around one theme: sleep.  I also have a few scenes that I want to write which are based on ziam’s kids, not actually ziam themselves.  If there’s enough demand for that, I can upload those too, but they’re quite niche, so I don’t think the general fandom would be very interested.

As far as frequency for all of this, I have no idea.  I’ve always done things at my own pace and written stories that I want to write, for myself.  That won’t ever change, so I don’t want to commit to one drabble a week or one short-length fic per month.  It takes me weeks (months for this last fic) to research and interview the necessary people to get character arcs correct/believable.  I love that part of writing, and so if I have a little story that I want to write that may only be 10k but takes me ages to put together how I want, then so be it.  I will always be around to answer asks/messages and please, continue to tag me in your writing tag posts!  But please, no prompts.

So, that’s my future with fic.

Again, I cannot say thank you enough to every single one of you.  Every single thing that people tag me in (@malik-payne , @zqua1d , @zentiment , @liamisthesun , @redyellowberry I’m looking at you), I appreciate and love!  The recommendation lists that people have put me on, THANK YOU!  It’s wild to think that I used to look to rec lists for years and now I’m on them.  @ziamfanfiction THANK YOU for always having my back with exposure!  @paynefulperiods , my beloved beta reader, THANK YOU for always encouraging me and putting up with shit first drafts.  @march-z5 , THANK YOU for always being on call for ideas and listening to me bang my head against the wall at 4 am.

Now, might fuck around and make a fake picspam for the fic that never was...

Also, all of the behind scenes pages for each of my fics are now public, so feel free to check those out here.

I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for making this journey possible. I know people say that a lot when they gain a following of any sort, but I truly truly mean it.  You have to have talent in order to be an author, but you also have to have people who want to read your stuff.  Proof of concept is a real thing.

So thank you a million times over.

Speak soon my friends.

#ziamhaze #my writing #ziam #ziam fanfic #ziam fanfiction #not sure what to tag this #also gonna be reblogging for a while bc I know people are going to be curious about where the next fic is and won't have seen this

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Together 5: Shock.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

CW: explicit language and content, torture, captivity, conditioning, fear of potential noncon, dehumanization, electrocution (shock collar), being watched, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, possessive whumper, whumpee as caretaker, letmeknowifimissedany

He looks young, too young, like the kind of barely-adult who’s still carrying around a duct tape wallet they made themselves in high school. Maybe old enough to have graduated from college, but still doing whatever he can to delay wearing a tie behind a desk for the rest of his life. Even if that means working at a job that doesn’t even require a diploma so long as he can still surf on weekdays before work. Considering grad school just to avoid a forty-hour week and his parents will pay for it anyway.

“Hey, I’m August,” he says, giving me a confident smile and holding out his hand as he towers over me.

I back into the wall, shake my head, and wonder if I’ll get a warning shock even though I dodged his handshake. None comes, but I don’t take it as an invitation. Those don’t exist in this universe.

“It’s okay, Honey. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, tilting his head to the side so his bangs clear off his eye and backing away to sit on the bed with his hands held up.

God, he’s like a poster boy for Division One lacrosse. All tan, lithe muscle, white teeth, and that stupid, floppy hair. He looks out of place not wearing some bullshit nautical motif printed chino shorts with a collared shirt tucked in—probably a polo. The type to drive his Audi (his mom’s old car) into the seedy part of the city to buy pot but he’ll 'never smoke before a game.' Christ, what was this dipshit doing mixed up with Wyatt?

I push off the wall, staying out of arms reach, and go sit on my bed across from him. I pull my legs up off the floor for good measure and settle into staring him down. He better not try anything. Last thing I need is this douchebag forcing his sure-to-be-pint-sized manhood on me.

He looks around the room again before returning his gaze to me. “I’m not really sure what the etiquette is here. Should I make small talk and ask you where you grew up?” he asks, sounding as much like a tool as he looks.

No, Jackass, you should keep your fucking mouth shut so I don’t wind up paying for your uninspired commentary.

“Can’t really tell what the weather is like with no windows,” he comments.

Please stop talking. Don’t you dare start—

“Honestly, it’s not as bad as I thought. I was terrified when they first—”

The electricity zips through me, tensing every muscle.

A warning buzz, the lowest setting, but still strong enough that I have to catch my breath after. I keep it soft and quiet, always careful not to double-dip by being loud. “Seen, not heard, Pretty Thing,” is what Wyatt had said, years ago, when he introduced me to my new constant companion. Sound activated and remote-controlled with several levels of intensity for all your everyday sadistic needs. The first week was an awful cycle of fuck ups. They were constantly shocking me with the remote. I’d cry out, only to be shocked by the human-bark-collar feature and wind up trying to claw it off, which would get me a third shock. Each time, the voltage increasing, over and over, until I’d pass out.

He’s paled at the sight of me. “Uh, you okay, Sweetheart?” His voice is lower, softer like it was before when he said he wouldn’t hurt me.

I glare at him. No, Fuckface, I’m the unlucky, unwitting barometer for the class. I just got electrocuted because you started talking about a no-no subject.

I consider putting a finger to my lips to tell him to shutthehellup even though I know I’ll get a shock for the gesture. If I do it with my middle finger, will they shock me twice for killing two birds with one stone? Is it worth it anyway?

I look at the camera.

I’m sure Wyatt is watching. He lives for this. He watches every time his henchmen toy with me, too, even though that usually happens when he’s busy or away, so it’s on a recording. He loves watching me be as he made me. Pushing, testing, and dissecting his intrinsic control in different contexts. I know he loves correcting me, for the thrill of it, but it’s always with a hint of disappointment because perfection is what that twisted motherfucker is chasing.

August—shit, what a name—follows my gaze and must be noticing the camera for the first time because he swallows audibly and looks back at me with wide eyes.

This one’s going to fold like a lawn chair. He’ll be unhinged the first time they hurt him. By the looks of him, that hasn’t happened yet which is a bad sign for sure. Hopefully, he gets that this isn’t open mic night, but he still looks anxiously confused. It’s not like I can pull down the top of my shirt to show him the collar either. That will get me a top-notch, skip all the low gears and jump straight to the chip-my-teeth, muscles-sore-for-hours, flooring-it kind of shock. Although, if I pass out, he’ll probably can it.

“I—” He stops, shakes his head, and drops it into his hands. Whispers “Oh, man,” under his breath.

Idiot. What did you think this was? A chance to network?

I watch him try to collect himself. He’s raking through his auburn hair one hand at a time while he keeps his head hung. He might be the same age as me. I have no idea what year it is. Time flies when you’re having imprisoned-in-a-windowless-basement-fun. August looks like he’s just been hit by reality.

Damn, kid. Don’t fall apart yet.

I rise to get him a drink of water before he completely loses it.

He watches me out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t lift his head until I’m holding the cup out beside him. He sniffles and wipes his face with the back of his hand pathetically before taking the little paper cup.

“Thanks, Angel,” he says huskily.

Drop the pet names, you’re not a southern grandma. I refrain from rolling my eyes. That one is a grey area. Sometimes Wyatt thinks it’s funny, other times, not so much. I go back to my bed and hug my legs to my chest so I can rest my chin on my knees.

August tosses back the water like it’s a shot and then leans over to put the cup on top of the cabinet. He scoots back so he’s leaning on the wall and fiddles with a paracord bracelet on his wrist. I’m surprised they let him keep that. He’s clearly not wearing his own clothes, just some cut-off sweatpants, and a plain white t-shirt. Either that or they abducted him in his pajamas.

He’s quiet until the light shuts off a little while later.

“What’s going on?” he asks. He must have stood up because a second later he walks into the foot of my bed. “Ow, sorry, I can’t see.”

No shit, Numb Nuts. Go sit back down before you hurt yourself.

He finally does and when my eyes adjust, I see that he’s lying down, but facing me with his head propped up on one hand. “I guess if you’re not freaking out, this must be normal. Does this mean it’s night? I was hoping we’d get to eat something. Did you eat already? I haven’t eaten today. I think it’s been—”

It’s too dark for him to see my reaction when they shock me. Assholes. It’s not going to work to stop his chatting unless he sees the consequences of his topic choice for himself.

“—a few days since I got here, but I don’t know for sure. I’ve been in—”

Another shock, stronger than the last. Fuck me, he’s not going to stop talking.

“—basement rooms the whole time, but it hasn’t been that bad. All they ever did was—”

I’m having trouble fully catching my breath with how fast these are coming, the voltage ramping up each time. God, just go to sleep, please.

“—ask me a whole lot of questions. It reminded me of my college admissions interview but more like a—”

Holy hell does it hurt. It’s been a while since I was reprimanded up to this level. I’m not stupid or brazen enough to fuck up twice in a row anymore, let alone four times. There are tears running down my face. I guess this is more about telling me not to listen. If I block my ears will they stop? Probably not and that’s way too close to touching the collar anyway.

“—personality quiz. I guess that’s over now. I don’t know what’s going to happen—”

Stopstopstopstop.

“—next but I’m happy to have some company. Although, I guess you don’t talk much…”

Breathe, Emma, justfuckingbreathe. I do it through clenched teeth. My face is wet with tears and snot from the last two. I never have figured out if the duration of the shocks increases as the voltage does or if it just takes my body longer to recover. I can barely hear August ask if I’m okay over the sound of my pulse hammering in my head and my own breathing. Fuck. Get it together before you give yourself the shock that knocks you out.

Something taps me in the arm. I open my eyes as I shove myself back into the wall. August quickly steps away from the edge of my bed.

Ohmygod, Dumbass. Did you just touch me? Can’t give me a goddamn minute? I hold my breath but nothing happens.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you, Baby,” August repeats in a whisper, “I just brought you some water.” He holds out the cup, staying a full arms-length away, fingers gripping the top like a claw. He must have tapped the bottom of it against my elbow if they haven’t shocked me. It wasn’t his hand after all.

I exhale and carefully take the water by the bottom, trying not to shake so much that it spills.

He moves away, slowly, keeping his hands out at his sides again like I’m holding him at gunpoint. “I’m sorry,” he says, so softly I almost don’t hear it.

He thinks I was emotionally upset by his monologue. If only you knew, buddy. At least he won’t do it again or mention anything similar.

Eventually, he falls asleep and I’m thankful for the silence. Wyatt and his goonies talk to me plenty but it’s different when someone is expecting me to answer, and then I can’t. I stay up as long as I can because once I’m sleeping, I get shocked on a timer. Thankfully just with the lowest setting, but I’m not in any rush to feel it again. Sometimes, I swear it's every twenty minutes. Wyatt intentionally varies it. Snapping me back to my jacked-beyond-belief reality so I don’t ever forget it. As if my dreams haven’t also bowed to Wyatt’s will, but he knows that, of course.

He just likes me better on my toes.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

Taglist: @deluxewhump

#whump #lady whump #multiple whumpees #hurt no comfort #angst no comfort #conditioning #dehumanization #captivity #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #whumper oversight #on camera #whumper listening in #poor emma #someone needs to teach august a lesson #emma and august

[bellamyblake]

Yeah, as a Russian that’s grown up in the US, I look at sab and just cringe. And if I think about it too hard, I honestly feel offended. I’ve also had the benefit of studying Russia and Cold War politics through college and grad school, so I know I have more context for this than the average viewer. But all I see is Bardugo exoticizing our culture and aesthetics with no understanding of their meaning. And the totally unnecessary and avoidable language faux pas are just the tip of the iceberg, but they really show how her work wasn’t run by a single slav/Russian because any would say, “yeah, this makes no sense.” Like, if you really wanted to use Grigorii as the base for this group of people, there are other, more grammatically relevant ways use use that etymological stem than settling on Grisha?? I know that seems like a trivial complaint, but it speaks to her carelessness and is just one example of many.

I’ve ultimately felt like her use of Russian culture has further contributed to othering Russia from a US/Western perspective. Because this doesn’t only happen through Slavs being the “baddies” or villains, but also through misguided “positive” depictions. Once again our culture is used to make something seem fantastical and foreign, but the western audience this show is aimed at doesn’t even recognize this is happening! Ugh.

Absolutely agree. Whilst I'm not Russian (but am slav) I studied Russian language/history and literature in very great depth in college and it was honestly my favorite part about it so I absolutely understand what you mean.

Continues under cut cause it got long.

But to all people within that entire context I feel like it's just an injustice.

I absolutely have no fucking idea, and that still is the funniest thing to me, as to why she decided to use the shorter name of Grigorii or Grigor aka Grisha to denominate a group of people with magical powers????

Like....

Why?

I really do not see absolutely any sense in this? Why do they have to be called using a shortened slavic name? It's like writing a novel about medivial england and calling the magicians Idk...Joey or Jimmies.

It's fucking DUMB, that's the first thing that I ever found dumb even before I began reading the novels.

I think the reason why I liked Nina and why I think that she's the closest to the slavic people as a character is because she broke the stereotype you're also talking about like the blond big boobies prostitute with a red lipstick that you see in western movies. She's big, like big boned big, she's fat, unapologetically so, she has dark hair and she just has that fullness of life that one can see described in Natalya in War and peace aka she has that slavic enthusiasm, that slavic spark that she brings everywhere with her-she doesn't necessarily has the strength say In/ej possess to fight to be badass, or at least not at first, but she has that enjoying-the-life-around-you vibe so to say that slavs care-she eats what she wants, she drinks what she wants, she loves her friends dearly but she can also be strong, stubborn, she has that slavic stubborness and she has the absolute I think key thing that saves their asses and that is that she sacrifices herself for them when she takes the drug and saves their little rats asses. So all traits very typical for a slav.

But then they absolutely fucked it up by the casting. That and I just hate that they made her love this nazi character, I think it speaks on a more personal, historical level to Russians especially, considering the way history went, how germany starved people out, how many died, for her to fall for this character. It's fucking offensive it's what it is. So that for me was a very bad choice. And why I never shipped them too.

like you I just can't get it out of my head, perhaps I have too much information and make too many conclusions in my head that annoy me when I read something like this/or watch.

I’ve ultimately felt like her use of Russian culture has further contributed to othering Russia from a US/Western perspective. Because this doesn’t only happen through Slavs being the “baddies” or villains, but also through misguided “positive” depictions. Once again our culture is used to make something seem fantastical and foreign, but the western audience this show is aimed at doesn’t even recognize this is happening!

And I very much agree with this. It speaks into the narrative they have created for us all as people and it speaks too loudly, way too clearly. I remember after I watched the last S/tranger things season I couldn't stop thinking about how it's just another way of enhancing the war between those two countries. I won't go into chernob/yl either but this is just another show that fits into that whole idea/narrative that the west creates. Or perhaps you want to remember Boris in The Goldfinch?

We’re always the crazy drunken idiots, the exotic insane character that will FIT into a bigger, broader picture.

We’re interesting but not enough to be thoroughly researched as is the case with Bard/ugo who admits it blatantly, without any shame in numerous interviews. 

I recently watched a video of Deutche welle about my country and I had to laugh at the places they chose to film just to make it look like the worst place to live in. If someone tells me western media doesn't use propaganda to this day to paint slavs as bad I'll laugh in their faces. It's an ongoing thing, and especially in the EU and it's never stopped being about they're bad and we're good, they're gypsies and we're fine, they're poor, we're rich, they're drunken savages and we're good gentlemen.

I think that can also be seen when it comes to s/oc too where Kaz and Ma/tthias talk to Nina in one way especially Kaz and think about this hard and think hard about WHY-they argue, they disagree, but it is not just banter-Nina holds disdain for him for his GREED and think about why that is for he comes from a place generally speaking that is richer than her country/her place.

That speaks into reality now.

I think Leig.h may have not done reasearch on Imperial russia or the ethinicities constituting it but she didn't have to-she built her world on a few articles she read here and there and the modern day reality.

#answered #anti sab #anti shadow and bones #anti six of crows #anti leigh bardugo

[kariachi]

Finale for this chunk, we’re down to about a week of posting shit before it’s all over and done with now.

Final year of undergrad, start.

~~

Bags on floor. Spider on desk. Door locked.

Kevin collapsed onto one of the beds.

“I’m gonna have to deal with communal bathrooms again.”

“Consider- these ones have working plumbing.”

“…I’m never leaving this dorm.” Upon making sure Christine was securely in place, Gar strode over and dropped on top of him.

“They’re going to kick us into graduate housing next year.”

“Will the graduate housing have hot water?”

“Presumably.”

“I’ll take it.” After weeks of struggling to get a proper shower, Kevin would’ve put up with a lot in the name of hot water. “If I just keep taking classes, do you think I could hold off student loans and we could just, stay forever?”

“You’re the expert, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.” Gar pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I take it you’re feeling more encouraged to go for your Masters?”

“I’ve never felt more encouraged in my life.” It’d never actually been in question, a Masters would put him higher up the ladder when he started working full time than a Bachelor’s alone. Between having to answer to less people in the long run and pre-existing plans for him to support their asses, or at least hopefully get some of their debt paid off, in those years between his Masters and Gar’s Doctorate, it was an appealing thought. But damn was that a lot of money to owe. “And hey, hopefully once I’m working full time we’ll be able to afford a semi-decent apartment.”

“With a dishwasher?”

“Fuck yes. And the option of a dog.” Gar made a pleased noise.

“We’re simple men, we don’t need much. Dog, dishwasher, decent apartment, space for a larger enclosure for Christine.”

“If nothing else the last one won’t be a concern until about when I’m licensed, so we’ve got time. Then we just have to worry about getting your shit together.” Four more years, he just had to survive four more years and he’d be where he wanted to be and could focus entirely on making sure Gar survived the years after that to get where he did.

“Fingers crossed. Have to get though this year first.”

“We’ve managed the last three, we’re stubborn enough to get to graduation.” Before that though, they had to get settled in. Unfortunately. Giving him a brief kiss, Kevin gently rolled Gar off and forced himself upright with a groan. “Come on. This year you get to help me rearrange shit.”

“Another plus for getting through undergrad,” Gar said as they stood back up, immediately going to help Kevin move the dresser between the beds, “couples housing. Apparently that three-month span before grad school is where people get into committed relationships. Goddamn this is heavy.”

“Yeah, try doing it alone. The bed’s gonna be worse.” He’d nearly thrown his back out moving things the year before. Much as he would love to have his man just sit back, relax, and watch him move large heavy things, he also needed to preserve some form of health.

“How did you survive to pick me up?” Despite all attempts to gently place the dresser down next to their bags it still hit the floor with a thud that sent Christine darting straight into one of her burrows.

“You’re fine, little girl,” Kevin said to her despite that having not worked at any point in the month they’d had her, understandably, then stretched his back. “Love for you kept me going, babe.” Not a lie, he’d considered saying fuck it multiple times only to keep at it so the place would be set up for Gar. With the dresser out of the way, they started working on dragging one of the beds away from the wall.

“Awww, thanks hun. I still don’t want you doing something like that again though.”

“Oh yeah, no, I learned my lesson. Besides, you’re gonna be here to help from now on.”

“Damn right I am.” As soon as it was far enough out, they switched to the far side to shove it into place. “Never again will you have to move heavy shit on your own.” Fuck he loved that man. Once the bed was nicely wedged against the other one, Kevin leaned over to press a kiss to Gar’s hair.

“And never again will you have to call someone to fix shit for you.”

“Unless you doing it would fuck our security deposit.” Because he’d needed to be reminded of that shit, thank you. Kevin huffed.

“Nearly lost it, babe, I swear.” It was true. “If I’d had to deal with that damn fan one more day I’d have started taking down the entire ceiling.” Laughing, Gar took his face in his hands, stretching up for a proper kiss.

“Lucky us the dorms opened when they did then, huh?” With an agreeable hum, Kevin flashed him a smile, wrapping his arms around him. Little moments like this made any trouble or aggravation worthwhile. If it made his Gar happy. Their clothes and shit could wait another minute.

“Yeah, well, better the bullshit you know.”

#fanfic #i make no promises on this one i half rewrote it yesterday on a whim and just don't have the brainspace to do another full edit today #especially not when i've got to go over tomorrow's parts #went in end edited all of the last chunk yesterday but still #someday these boys will be able to afford to live off campus full time #someday #something just like this