#this could be somebody's grandparent today.................

[soracities]

i thrifted a copy of walden by henry david thoreau, and when i opened it up, it had the original receipt from february 28, 1958! the book was 65 cents. the receipt has been in there so long that it discolored the pages. there are notes throughout the book in pencil. it’s so cool to accidentally stumble across a piece of everyday history.

1958 ANON.............no but my heart is going to actually burst because truly this is one of my favourite favourite FAVOURITE things on earth anon i cannot BEGIN.....😭😭😭 imagine being in touch (literally!!!) w a complete stranger and their thoughts through this 65 year old thread this is so precious to me thank you thank you thank you for sharing this!!!!!!!!!!!

#this could be somebody's grandparent today................. #this is the best thing about secondhand books to me the absolute best newly printed cannot even BEGIN to compare........................ #once took out a library book that hadn't been checked out since the 50s and i nearly lost my mind looking at the due date stamps......... #ask #anonymous #humanity i love you

[imagineandwrite]

𝘖𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘷𝘴 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 - 𝘐

I'd Rather Not

Word Count: 2.6k Words Warnings: Cussing, Terrible Humor, Reader is a player, Shuri has a staring problem

Y/N L/N has built her reputation amongst the students and teachers. Teachers knew her as a young lady with a bright future, while the students knew her as the school's fuck girl and dealer.

Yesterday marked the third year since she left her kingdom, and she still hadn't gone to visit. Three years since she last spoke to her grandparents, three years since she'd seen her sister, Nuru. Today was the anniversary of her and her roommate's friendship.

Riri Williams is a young woman busying herself with small and big projects. She got into MIT with a scholarship granted by the late Ironman, who paid for her books, dorm, tuition, and everything.

"Happy Anniversary," Riri hums and flops onto the floor next to Y/N. She took pride in knowing everything about Y/N, like her real name, where she was from, and more. She even knew about how her parents died and when she lost her virginity. They developed a pattern of Y/N doing random things at odd hours of the night and Riri attempting to stop her. Like yesterday, Y/N drove to glue chicken nuggets to her least favorite teacher's desk.

"We sound like a couple," Y/N scoffs as she lifts her body onto her bed, dragging Riri with her. They sit with their backs against the wall and a laptop playing Scooby Doo in front of them. Her eyelids are heavy, and she feels like she's floating.

"We ain't ever gon date, said so yourself," The shorter girl denies, leaning into her friend's side as she remembered when Y/N turned her down. Y/N told her she would never date her, not because she wasn't attractive, but because it wasn't in her nature to date. She never fully dated anyone, only sneaky links.

"That don't stop you from liking me," Y/N chuckles as she shifts the two to lie down. 

"Go to sleep, T."

The first three classes were easy minus random girls coming up asking for a quick meet or boys asking when Y/N would swing both ways. As usual, she turned the heads of both students and teachers, men and women. Y/N knew she was pretty, had since she was six after she batted her eyelashes at the cook so he'd give her two cookies instead of one.

It didn't help that she carried herself with masculine confidence, or at least that's what Riri said.

"It's something about a masculine woman with confidence that just butters our biscuits," She chuckled, her lips pursed as she tried to stop the smile from showing.

"Never say that shit again," Y/N deadpanned.

"I gotta stop hanging with Kayla."

She had one more class today, then she could sleep, but before that, she needed to get her textbook. The teacher, Mr. John, was her least favorite teacher of all. He was your stereotypical creepy teacher. Telling girls off for showing skin, giving remarks that made girls giggle uncomfortably, and he always seemed to be looking at the girls' legs.

It took eight minutes for Y/N to get to her dorm. She was stopped by a group of boys paying her for supplying their party and two girls throwing compliments at her.

Though the dorm was also Y/N's, she still knocked on the door. It felt wrong to barge in. It was like your sibling barging into your room, and then leaving the door open.

"Ri," She knocks twice, pressing her ear against the door. "I left my textbook, and Mr. John is on my ass. Can I come in?"

"Took me a couple of months, but I had my friend- Did we piss off Wakanda?"

"Not just us, this place is no longer-"

Knocking on the door interrupts Shuri, and the two glance between the door and each other.

"Ri, I left my textbook, and Mr. John is on my ass. Can I come in?"

"Just tell me where it is," Riri shouted, shoving past the shocked princess and looking around for the thick book. She hears Shuri asking her who it was, she ignores it in favor of stopping the door from opening.

"You got somebody over or something?" The person whispers, her filed fingernails poking over Riri's head to wave into the room. 

"Just tell me where it is and I'll-WOAH!" Riri stumbles back, barely avoiding being hit by the door as it swings open.

Shuri and Y/N stared at each other before the woman glared at her while reaching back to slam the door shut. "Who is this woman?!"

"Why didn't you stay outside?!" Riri shouts back, running around the two to grab her bag.

"Why is she here?!" Y/N interjected, following after Riri as she waved her hand towards Shuri, narrowly avoiding her face. Riri sighed, she should've known her roommate would come back soon.

Her eyes widen in realization before spinning back to point between the two women, "She helped me build it! Why you ain't here for her?"

"Build what?" Y/N demanded, twisting so she could look between the two. Shuri tilted her head, her eyes trailing the taller woman's figure before shaking her head clear of any thoughts.

"Ms. Willams built a vibranium detector. Did you help her?"

"I did a little razzle-dazzle," She admitted, scratching her head as she looked to the side. Riri shouted at her, reaching over to smack the woman's arm.

"Razzle dazzle, my ass! You helped me find parts and made corrections," She corrected, using her fingers to list each task. "You used that thing from your alarm clock to make it work."

"Will you shut the hell up?!"

"I need you to pack your things and come with me right now," Shuri demanded, glancing between the two.

"I have class in like fifteen minutes, and Y/N's late for hers," Riri protested as she shared a look with her roommate. Flinching at the glare Shuri gave her, Riri sighed as she looked around the room.

"Ok, just let me go to the bathroom real quick," Riri said as she crept around the princess who watched Y/N. Faintly she hears her roommate mumble, 'Why is she staring like that?' Halfway through the door, she looked up and cursed, "Shit!"

She ran to the corner of the room, glaring at the bald black woman who entered from the bathroom.

"I had it under control," Shuri insisted, slightly irritated. Okoye shrugged, her eyes never straying from Riri, "You asked for five minutes, I gave you six."

Riri watched as both of them crept towards her, and Y/N stepped in front of her. Shuri held her hand out, "Calm down." She pleaded.

"Get out," Riri demanded as she waved her hands towards the door, peeking around Y/N's arm. "Get out of our dorm."

The shorter girl looked around for something and settled for the speaker on the desk. She snatched it and held it in her arms, ready to throw it. "I swear, you better not take another step towards us."

"Mmph see how they teach the children here to treat their guests," Okoye said to Shuri in mock disappointment. Riri took the opportunity to shove her roommate and heave the speaker towards them. Okoye whipped her hand out, and a small metal rod extended into a full spear, slicing the speaker in half.

Shuri and Riri's mouths dropped open in shock at the action, "You brought a spear in here?!"

"I like her," Okoye chuckled. She grunted when Y/N threw a pillow at her, and she shouted, "We don't like you, this is a completely one-sided relationship!"

A breathy chuckle to her left drew Okoye's attention from the panicking duo and toward Shuri, whose eyes were still on Y/N. Riri lifted a heater over her head as the general stepped forward and grinned at them, "You small small girl, you can either come to Wakanda with your giant friend, conscious or unconscious."

"You need to be conscious of the way that you look, walking 'round here all that ash on your head," Riri sassed, glaring at the offended woman.

"Since the ash has been acknowledged, I'm offering you help," Y/N grinned, stepping around Riri to grab a small bottle of oil. She spun back toward the glaring woman with a smile and presented the bottle, "Use this hair oil to get rid of the rolling in baby powder look."

Shuri laughed as she leaned forward slightly before she stood straight to avoid Okoye's glare. "That's funny?"

"No, no it's not," she answered, trying to control her laugh.

"Mhm, I told you," she said, hitting Shuri's arm. The princess smiled in assurance, "You look good."

"Now, wait a minute," Y/N shouted, stepping and glancing between the two. "You knew she was walking round here looking like that?"

"She knew!" Okoye shouted, pointing at Shuri over Y/N's shoulder. The two shared a chuckle at the general's obvious distress. "Sweetheart, that is just foul."

"Riri!" Y/N started, quickly spinning to the startled girl. "If you ever do that to me, I will shave you bald and put baby powder on your head, so you twinning with black Caillou over here."

"Who is this Caillou?" Okoye scoffed, looking over at Shuri, who shrugged.

"It don't matter, we not going," Riri chuckled, adjusting the heater when Okoye went to step forward.

"You know what?" Shuri began, stepping back to grin at Okoye, "Let's leave them here and let them deal with the merman with winged ankles, who wants to kill them, alone."

"You're right," Okoye nodded as the pair walked towards the door. Just before they opened it, Shuri turned back with a grin and danced, "You got this."

"Mhm, with your heater," Okoye grumbled.

"Hell no," Y/N groaned, shuffling around before running around to pack her things.

"T, what're you doing?" Riri asked, watching the girl put folded clothes into a bag. She spun around to glare at Riri and waved her arms at Shuri, "Did you not just hear what she just said?"

After a moment, Riri sighed and went to pack her bag, "We'll need to stop by the workshop, all our projects are there."

They walked towards the car with Okoye in front of them and Shuri behind them. A girl walking past grinned at the group, "Hey, Y/N, you got a new toy for yourself?"

Shuri raised a brow but continued to walk. She could hear another person running up to them. "Y/N, wait!"

They paused right at the car and turned to look at the approaching woman. She was average height with braids in a bun. Y/N rolled her eyes with a huff as the girl reached up to hug her. Her hands stayed in her pockets as she leaned down slightly for her, "What's wrong now, Nat?"

"Just wondering where ya going?" Nature pouted, huffing when the taller girl shoved her away.

"Not like it matters, 'cause we ain't together, I'm working," Y/N murmured, scratching her neck as she glanced at the group behind her.

Okoye was checking something on her beads while Riri was staring at the pair. Shuri seemed to be glaring at the two of them, looking away when she caught Y/N's eye.

"Who is that?" She whispered, staring at the pair out the corner of her eye. Riri sighed as she shook her head, "One of her crazy ex flings, she got tired of the girl following her around and getting jealous. They ain't fucking no more, but Nature has a bad habit of telling everyone she's dating her."

Noticing the way Shuri's jaw clenched, she quickly spoke, "They never were and still aren't."

"Ready to go, sweetheart?"

An arm wrapped around Shuri's shoulders and pulled her into Y/N's side. She could see Nature glaring at her over her shoulder and grinned. Wrapping her arm around Y/N's waist, Shuri snickered, "Of course, Sthandwa."

Y/N smiled to herself and opened the door to let Shuri in. "This is the passenger side," Shuri argued as Riri and Okoye got in the back.

"Do you know where the garage is?" Y/N asked, lifting Shuri into the car and closing the door after checking she was in her seat correctly.

Tags: @kgao

STORY MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

#imaginewrites: obsession vs love #shuri x black!reader #shuri x reader #shuri imagine #shuri x you #shuri x woc!reader #shuri udaku x reader #shuri udaku fluff #shuri udaku imagine #shuri fluff #shuri fanfiction #shuri fic #reader insert #princess shuri x reader #shuri angst #shuri udaku x yn #letitia wright x reader #shuri x y/n #black panther x reader

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Lost & Found - Chapter Nine.

So then, my beautiful, wonderful audience. Those who are not new around these parts know that sometimes, treats are given in the form of a double update day with my stories, and guess what? Today is one of those days! I know you've all been waiting patiently for the sexual side of Emma and Guero's blossoming relationship to finally flower, so I thought I'd share it today in the next chapter! Has that made you smile? I hope it has! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

Words - 3,434

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse.

The more she revealed, it seemed, the more comfortable she became with sharing memories of her nineteen years held prisoner. Guero lay there and let her recount it all, being exactly what she needed, somebody to simply listen.  

“Marie taught me how to shoot.” He had wondered at how well she seemed to handle the Beretta she’d pointed at his head, her handling of the firearm steely and confident. “There were guns kept all over the house, so there’d always be one within easy reach, just in case. With whom Rocco was, he was a target, or rather his family were. He routinely pissed off other mob families, so of course anyone he cared for became a target, a weak point.  

“She wanted me to be able to protect myself from such a threat, but mostly, if Rocco himself ever became so unhinged that I felt my life was in danger. “Shoot him dead, and we’ll figure it out somehow afterward”, is what she used to tell me. How we would have figured that out beyond running for our lives, I don’t know. His guys would have hunted us down.” 

She paused for a moment, tears beginning to swim within her eyes. “I hate myself, for leaving her. Joey, Alessia and Mikey, too. I loved them so much, they were like my siblings for Christ’s sake! It’s a guilt that’ll never leave me, that I ran and they’re all still stuck there! She became my mother, and I abandoned her!” 

“Hey, no,” he began, touching his fingers under her chin, gently lifting her head. “You don’t have to feel guilty about a thing. I get that you miss her, she made the hell he put you through bearable where she could, but Marie chose that life, Emma. Nobody forced her. 

“She knew who she was marrying, and I’m not saying that in the end she had an easy choice to get away from him, ‘cuz I can see from what you told me he’d have killed her for it, but you found a way out. You took your chance, and you got free. If she loves you as much as it seems she does, then she’ll be fucking happy as hell the girl she counted as one of her own got free of him.” 

She absorbed his words, realising that no matter how unpleasant it felt, what he’d said was the plain, simple truth. If she didn’t assume her to be dead via Rocco’s hand, Marie would be quietly rejoicing her escape. “Is it wrong that I feel more of a maternal bond with her than I do my actual mom? I feel guilty for that, too. When I hear the word mom, I think of Marie, not Cassie.”  

He shifted slightly beneath her, Emma moving a little as he turned onto his side, resting his head on his arm. “It might sound cold, but it’s fact. Marie was in your life longer than your birth mom. I kinda guess it’s only natural you’d think that. Doesn’t mean you love Cassie any less, or that you can’t reconnect with her now you’re free.”  

“But, but,” she began, her throat swelling on a rising lump, “that’s the thing, there is no Cassie. When I was twenty-five, we sat and looked on the internet, I begged her to look up my family. I just wanted to know if they were okay. Mom died back in two thousand and thirteen from breast cancer. My dad, he passed away six years ago, motorbike accident. All I have left is Dylan, who is still in Spokane. My grandparents, too, unless anything happened in the interim. 

“I’ll never see my mom and dad again, and I loathe him, I detest him completely that he robbed me of those years with them, that they both died not knowing what had happened to me! As if me being taken wasn’t bad enough. It left Dylan all alone, no immediate family, and it’s all because of him!” 

She fell apart at that point, naturally so, sobbing against his chest as Guero held her. Again, he had no idea what to say to that, knowing it would take a man greater with words than he was to offer verbal comfort. Instead, he was just there, not knowing that truly that was all she needed from him, just someone to be there. It wasn’t about words. Listening was enough, as he continued to do, Emma sharing more with him about her life within the gilded cage prison that was the Lombardi mansion.  

“He used to virtually pimp me out to his friends too at parties.” Once again, Guero felt his anger flare like a firecracker, grinding his teeth as his jaw tightened. “I always wanted to enjoy sex, but none of them ever made it feel good for me, all too consumed by their own pleasure to give a damn about mine. As long as they got to lie between the legs of a pretty, young blonde, that was good enough. 

“There was only one of them who was different. His underboss, Vincent Calabrese never laid a hand on me. I was offered to him, and for appearances in front of Rocco and the others he always accepted, but once we got into the bedroom, he just sat down beside me on the bed and we talked. He said he wasn’t in the habit of defiling little girls, but even when I was over the age of consent, he still wouldn’t.  

“He staunchly disagreed with what was being done, the child trafficking. ‘It’s an affront to god, snatching children from their families’ is what he always used to say. He always opposed it, and Rocco knew that, but ultimately went along with what was being done for the sake of a quiet life, and I guess not ending up with a bullet between his eyes either. This leads me to something that you guys should all know, EZ especially. 

“You’re running heroin for him now, but all that will change if Rocco has his way, and believe me, he will. You guys are in his pocket now, which means in his mind, he owns you. You’re all to do with as he pleases, and what he pleases is to start bringing children across the border. Undocumented migrants are much easier to move, and get away with moving, too. I overheard him talking about it, it was always a two birds with one stone deal for him. He’d get you used to the money first, and then tell you that your consignment would begin to include kids as well.” 

Guero pushed himself up, his eyes rounding as he looked down at her. “For real, that motherfucker wants us in on trafficking kids?” 

His horror at the very suggestion was telling over the person he was. Although still a criminal, he was a man with the kind of morals that had been few and far between in the world she had escaped from. “Eventually, yeah.” 

“And if we refuse?” He didn’t need to ask, really. He could guess. 

She made a gun motion against the side of her head, couple with a soft exclamation of ‘pow’. “He’d wipe you all out and move onto the next nearest charter, using your eradication as an example of what happens when people push back against him.” 

The weight of the mafia. That was a war they definitely wouldn’t win, and he knew that for sure. Rocco Lombardi could crush them all, very easily, too. “I have to take that to EZ. Not now, of course, but at some point over the weekend, call a templo. Will you be okay to come and tell us what you know?” 

She smiled, reaching to stroke his hair. “Of course, I will.” 

They remained quiet for a time after, Emma needing the silence. Her legs remained in tangle with his as she reached for the tequila bottle, taking a long glug, the alcohol burning her throat. She felt a little drunk and numb, which was what she had needed in order to sit there and offload it all to another person. “There’s more I could tell you about my life, but right now, I feel drained. Like I need air, too. Can you give me a minute?” 

“Yeah, take as long as you need.” He reached to stroke her face, Emma turning her head and kissing his palm, getting up and letting herself out of the front of the house. The cool air hit her, soothing to her frayed nerves, the residual effects of her revelation hanging onto her, though.  

“Hey, boo.” Of course, Tyrone would notice her out there, always keeping the watch. She walked over to his window, her shoulders heavy, watching him emerge from behind the swathe of curtain fabric. “Damn, you look all sad and shit. Fuckboy bin’ actin’ up?” 

She shook her head. “No, no he’s great. Listen, I know you deal, so I figure I’m in the right place. Can you sell me a joint? That’s all I want, just one.” 

He looked entertained at the naivety of her question, that it was the norm for dealers to exchange such a small amount. Tyrone, for all of this mouth and uncouthness was kind, though. “I ain’t selling you shit, white girl. This is on me, hold on.”  

She smiled. “Thank you, you’re great.” 

He beamed, reaching to grab his rolling tray, locating one of his pre-rolled joints. “Ain’t I, though? I know fuckboy rarely smokes it, so just remember I gotchu if you ever need a lil’ hit.” The truth was, neither did she. She’d occasionally partook of it back in her old life, secretly taking from Rocco’s personal stash which he smoked to ease his chronic migraines. It helped her feel more relaxed in the utter brutal chaos of her life. It smelled and tasted awful, but she enjoyed the calming buzz.  

Tyrone passed a joint and a lighter through the window. “Enjoy, boo.” She smiled, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “Aw, lawdy! I gotta kiss from a pretty girl, hell yeah!”  

She laughed softly, shaking her head and lighting up, moving to sit on the front step of Guero’s side of the house, taking a long drag. God, that was some nice weed. She coughed a few times, the usual, barky rasp associated with smoking weed, her throat tickling.  

“Yo!” She turned to see a large arm thrust through the window, a can of soda proffered forth. “If you don’t like mango then I can’t help you. Oh, hold up. I might have a Fanta somewhere.”  

Walking back over, she took the can. “Thanks, Tyrone. You keep your Fanta, mango and I are good.” She moved back to the step, opening the soda and sipping it, the tickle clearing nicely before she took another little puff, looking out across the street into the darkness. The only sounds audible were that of the game Tyrone was playing, and the chirp of cicadas. It was somewhat relaxing in ambience.  

The weed had an instant calming effect upon her, all of the brutality that would endlessly echo through her memories placated and pushed back again, back behind the fortress walls in her mind. She’d had to keep it there for years to have even had a chance of remaining sane through her ordeal. God, she couldn’t believe that she’d actually escaped it, found somebody who she could trust, someone who for all intents and purposes was slowly becoming all hers, too.  

“As if you’re out here getting high on my front step. Not even I do that.” Turning, she saw Guero emerge from the house, moving to sit behind her, his legs flanking her body as he stretched.  

“Well, that’s because you don’t smoke weed,” she chirped, watching him frown before plucking the joint from her.  

He took a few puffs, handing it back, holding in a cough until the tickle passed. “I do, but not often. It has too much of an effect on me, and I can never get the balance right.” 

“The balance between what?” 

“Between a nice buzz and ragingly horny.”  

“Ahh.” She nodded, looking entertained, the stoned giggled welling up within her. “I somehow don’t think you need any extra boosting in that department.” 

He moved her hair, kissing the side of her neck. “A hundred percent correct, mamacita. And since I guess you’re probably drunker now than you were earlier, I’m not risking that balance any further, so you finish it. Kinda figure you need the sedation after everything you told me.”  

“Oh, you’re not wrong there,” she spoke, eyes widening a little as she leaned back against him. “Even if I was sober, sharing all of that has kinda dampened my desire.”  

He snorted softly, arms tightening around her. “Understandable. S’okay, I can wait.” 

“Can you?” she giggled, the sound joining the noise of the cicadas. 

“Mm.” he hummed, kissing her neck again. “Just.”  

Just then, the curtains next door began moving, Tyrone’s boom sounding. “Goddamnit, will you two go back in that house and bust some furniture already? Shit!” They both snort laughed, Guero resting his forehead to her shoulder, Tyrone continuing. “You better sort yo’ damned mess, fuckboy! Because I am one pretty smile away from makin’ that fine assed lil’ honey mine, you hear?”  

“Yeah, I hear,” he called through his laughter, “and I see, too. Plying her with weed and soda.” 

“I know what the ladies like! If she’s still out here in a half hour, she gets the first slice of my pizza, too!” 

“Exactly, you gotta give me a head start against your half ton of raw charm, dog,” he chuckled, Tyrone emerging further from the curtains.  

“Hey, I might be a big fella, but I’m no fuckin’ half ton! I’m thick and juicy, drives the chicks wild!” 

“Tyrone, you ain’t thick, my man. Your ass is so fat, if I swerved my bike to miss you, I’d run outta gas.” There was a pause, a squawking laugh emanating from the window, Emma thinking it hilarious a man with such a low, rumbling voice had a laugh so high in pitch. All banter with their hilarious neighbour aside, they remained outside until she had finished the joint, heading back in and returning to bed.  

“Do you feel better for telling me everything?” 

Resting her head against his chest, she nodded, her nails tracing the outline of one of the spiderweb tattoos that spread out across each of his shoulders. “I do, you know. Whether the nightmares will stop because of it, I don’t know. I think I might need further help to recover from it all. Kinda scared about registering with a doctor, though, putting my name back out there. He’ll be looking for me, and if he finds any record of a twenty-nine-year-old woman named Emma Louise Taylor anywhere, he’ll come for me.” 

Her muscles stiffened at just the thought, Guero turning to wrap both arms around her, feeling her relax into his embrace after a few moments. “We’ll work something out.” She fell asleep in his arms, those early morning hours passing dreamlessly, neither waking until 10am the following morning.  

Rising from her place curled against him, Emma rubbed her eyes, looking down at the chiselled tattoo canvas that had been her pillow. Her safe person, the kind of man she’d dreamed would one day save her from her fate, and there he was... snoring like a brontosaurus. She couldn’t help but giggle softly, thinking that was a part perhaps not strictly included in the romanticism of her fantasies.  

He cracked an eye open, his grin widening. “What are you laughing at?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? The noise! You snore like something hell spat up for being too loud.” 

“I wasn’t snoring,” he began stretching, the other eye opening eventually. “I was doing mindful breathing.” 

Immediately, she cracked up, leaning to place a kiss against his stubbly jaw. “There’s nothing mindful about those sawn logs.” 

She had a point, he guessed, Guero turning onto his side and wrapping his arms around her. “Yeah, but I’m cute. I get away with it, don’t I?” 

“Yeah,” she agreed, turning her head back to kiss him, “you do have that going for you.” 

“And a whole lot more.”  

Biting the corner of her lip, she shifted against him, a little wiggle that stirred him exactly where she intended him to be stirred. “Feel like showing me?”  

“Mm.” His arms tightened around her, kisses scattered against the side of her neck. “I need coffee and a shower, then trust me, I’ll spend all morning showing you.” 

Now that was a statement definitely on a par with her fantasies. He left the bed first, taking a shower, calling to her that he’d left in on for her as he made his way through to the kitchen. It was while she was under the warm water looking down at herself that a stab of panic prickled against her guts.  

He’d see her naked. All of her. 

While she had body confidence in her shape, the littering of scars that marked her sides and lower back made her feel ugly. Some had faded to white, but there were still a few dark pink markings that remained. All were raised scar tissue, triangular shapes of knife points pressed into her skin, the burning brand of a hot blade searing Rocco’s displeasure branded onto her skin forever.  

As she dried off, her eyes found them again, wondering if they’d really be all too noticeable if the blinds remained drawn in the bedroom.  

“Of course, they will," she muttered, beginning to sniff. All she wanted was to move on from it all, enjoy the basic human right of a consensual sexual relationship with another adult, someone of her actual choosing, yet the literal scars of the past held her back.  

A soft tap sounded upon the partly open door. “Em, you want a coffee?” 

Em. No one had ever called her that before. She liked it. “No, thank you.” 

“You alright.” 

“Yeah.”  

Her pinched voice alluded to the contrary. “No, you’re not. Can I come in?”  

“Yeah.” Tightening the large, white bath towel around herself again, she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, trying to compose her upset.  

“So, people who are alright stand here crying, huh?” Him and his smart mouth. He was right in his light sarcasm, though. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

Baby. He'd called her that back when he’d first found her. How different the intent behind the word was now. “The scars I have,” she began, gulping, hoping she could swallow down the lump she had painfully swelling in her throat. “You’ll see them, and they’re hideous. They make me ugly. You’ll think they look ugly.” 

He frowned, lifting her chin with a gentle touch of his fingers as he began shaking his head. “I’ve never liked people making my mind up for me. That includes you, mamas.” His hands pressed softly on her shoulders, resting his forehead against hers. “I’ve got no problem with whatever scars you have, and I’m not gonna think you’re ugly because of ‘em. Only thing that is, is that low opinion you have of yourself. If you want, leave a t shirt on. I don’t mind. I’d prefer you naked, but whatever makes you comfortable, I’m good with.” 

She could fetch a t shirt, or she could just be brave and let him see her. All of her. She’d bared her soul to him already, after all. Indecision made her heart quicken, the soft stroke of his fingertips at her upper arms soothing as she reached for the towel and untucked it, letting it fall. Fighting the urge to cover herself with her arms, she looked anywhere but him as he took in her nudity, her body tensing when he moved his hands to stroke the scars she detested so much with careful attention.  

Leaning close, he kissed the side of her head, his lips soft against her ear. “They aren’t who you are, and you’re not any less beautiful. They’re only the map of the journey that finally led you to me.”  

Her throat tightened with emotion, his words so beautiful, she wanted to cry. The desire in his eyes as she finally looked at him dictated it might be poorly timed, though. This was not a time for lament and sadness. No. This was the time to plant her lips upon his and let him carry her to the bedroom.  

#guero mayans mc #guero mayans mc fanfiction #guero fanfiction #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc #guero x ofc #guerl smut #mayans mc smut #mayans mc season 5 #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic

[that1-storyteller]

Starstruck

Pt. 1

Suguru x fem!reader

Warnings: Gore, angst

"Shoko! Shoko! Wait up!" The giggling girls ran through the grassy field. It was so sunny! Of course it was the perfect place for two kids to run free! So what if the grass was a little itchy and your ankles were dewy?

"Hurry up, slowpoke!" An equally smiley brown haired girl hollered back to you. She ran ahead, leading you to the old dirty fence. Shoko hopped up and patted the space beside her. "Sit,"

You hopped up, leaning into her. "I told you it was a good choice to stay here on break,"

"Oh whatever, smarty pants!" Gentle smiles blessed their faces; Their young, innocent, sweet, beautiful faces. They were only eight after all, not a care in the world as they spent their summer break on your grandparents farm. Shoko's arm wrapped around Y/N's shoulder, pulling her closer.

"Shoko, whaddya think we're eating for dinner today?" Your bright eyes gazed into her brown ones.

"Why don't we go ask?" You nod. Jumping off the fence with a little "hup" and taking off.

"Last one there is a rotten egg roll!" Shoko grinned at the challenge and sprinted after you. Wind whipped both your faces as you ran against it. You hop over the thin brook, glancing behind to see Shoko a mere few feet behind.

What was that behind her?

Oh god, it was hideous! Was that an arm hanging from it's mouth!? It looked slimy but dry. Grey and red hues painted it's rough looking skin. How many eyes did that creature have!? Too many to count! It's going to hit Shoko!

"Shokoo! Look out!" Your scream rang out, echoing across the open field. "Shoko!"

She barely moved out of the way, a narrow miss for sure. She tumbled to the ground, scrapping up her palms and knees. Her jean shorts didn't provide the eight year old much protection.

The creature's arms were like some sort of whip. Leaving giant gashes in the coarse dirt. It's teeth looked so sharp!

"Are you okay!?" You darted over, kneeling beside her.

"I think my ankle is twisted, just go! Go get gramps! I'll be okay!" Shoko, was a terrible liar. Your kind heart would never leave a friend behind. So, you slung her arm over your shoulder. "Just try your best, c'mon we're so close," Shoko tried her best, using her good leg to push them forward. "GRANDMAAA! GRANDPAAA! MAMA! SOMEONE PLEASE!"

The creature moved for another attack, slinging its arms about wildly. Thinking quickly, you pushed Shoko one way and yourself the other. Had you not, both of you would have been sliced to bits and left as nothing but a bloody mess on the ground.

With wide, fearful eyes you checked to see if Shoko was okay.

Her eyes were closed, she laid limply on the ground. A dull but large looking rock resided near her head, bloody. The rise and fall of her chest was visible still, meaning she was just knocked out.

Running as fast as your little legs could take you, you shielded her body with yours.

"Papa please save us, somebody...please," Desperate please spilled from your little mouth.

Someone must have been listening, because your father screamed like hell as he attacked the monster. Soft but firm hands guided you away, as you looked back, an unpleasant sight awaited for you.

Your grandma, grandpa, and dad fighting that thing. Grandpa's arm was nowhere to be seen. Blood. A lot of blood, but you couldn't tear your eyes away.

Mother rushed you inside and sat Shoko's still unconscious form next to you.

"Stay here, don't leave till Mama says you can, okay?" You nod. "I'll be back, keep your friend company. I love you."

She walked out, some sort of blade in hand that a little eight year old mind couldn't name. Curiosity and fear nagged at your mind, so with shaky hands you pushed yourself up to the window.

Blood. Blood. Blood. That's a lot of blood.

A leg hung from one of the monster's mouths. Two bodies laid strewn across the ground. Intestines hung out and decorated the grass, who they belonged to no one could tell.

Suddenly, your food decided it didn't want to be digested anymore. Within seconds of seeing the gory sight you vomited.

That was the last thing you remembered from that day, eight years ago.

The day you were shoved into Shoko's world, the one of jujutsu sorcery.

#jjk #y/n #jujutsu kaisen #shoko ieiri #geto suguru #x reader #angst #story #anime #fanfic #backstory #pt.1

[mrawkweird]

Someone on Twitter I followed showed they just got a Liger Zero model

It made me remember that I defiantly had a toy of that thing back when it was new that I lost or broke at some point cause I defiantly didn't have it when all my "baby" shit got put then lost in storage. (by lost I meant sold because my mom could not or forgot to pay)

Do you ever go back and realize how FUCKING STUPID we are as kids for not taking care of our toys? Cause so much of them are worth 5x what they were when you got them. Like those crappy western made DBZ toys.

Even the stuff you get from Happy meals

On a related note, I had a Growlmon toy, but I didn't get it from the store no no, I got it because someone left it by a tree at the park. I took it home cleaned it up and kept it for myself

Pirate rules bitch

That Gundam reminds me of the time I got a Gundam Wing model kit thinking it was already whole and was forced to get good and put it together from scratch. Learned about reality real quick.

I'm glad that at some point I started valuing my shit, still keep a box of the most valuable ones stored somewhere, but I will always mourn the things that I lost on the way to that revelation.

I had the fucking Cubix toy and I let that shit fall apart. I was obsessed with the show so I got it for Christmas one year and sometimes I'm still in disbelieve that I just let it fall to the wayside. There's another thing I think about and I would pay to have this memory erased like Eternal Sunshine but I also got the OG season 1 Digivice Tamagotchi that they had....and I threw it away when the battery died.

It was this one exactly and I kick myself every time I think about it. For a time there was a part of me that thought somebody found it and went on to become a Digidestined and I just threw away the opportunity like a fool.

Also, there's a whole conversation that needs to be had about the toys they were given out at places like McDonald's and Burger King in the day. Like, let's just compare real quick Beyblade at 2 different eras with Burger King.

No other generation of kid will ever have it that good with their happy meals again. They were giving out some pretty good quality toy store shit and if you look at what they have now it's some ol' hollow bullshit. I also had the silver Gohan, Vegeta and Krillin from that BK DBZ set. I even got the gold plated Pikachu card they were giving out for Pokemon: The First Movie. That's still somewhere around here.

And it's funny you have that Growlmon story because I also have something similar where I was trying to collect all the Recess toys they had a McDonald's.

I'd keep getting every kid but fucking TJ until I lucked out and the universe said "we got something for you today" and I found that shit in the grass at the park. Pirate life is THE life.

Also, this is a loss that really hit at my core at the time mainly because I feel like it was out of my hands.

I had this Spawn figure. The coolest figure I ever had in my life at that point, maybe even ever, and I fucking lost that shit within days. Didn't go outside with it or anything. It just vanished out of thin air along with the comic it came with. Really thinking about it now I would not be surprised if my grandparents lowkey got rid of it thinking my mom brought some demonic shit into the house. Either way I genuinely hope to get it again one day.

#Action Figures #Awkweird Life

[the-rewatch-rewind]

My love for this movie is difficult to express, but here is my attempt.

Script below the break

Hello and welcome back to the Rewatch Rewind. My name is Jane, and this is the podcast where I count down my top 40 most frequently rewatched movies in a 20-year period. Today I will be talking about number three on my list: Paramount Pictures, Guber-Peters Company, PolyGram Pictures, and Debra Hill Productions’ 1985 comedy mystery Clue, directed by Jonathan Lynn, written by John Landis and Jonathan Lynn based on the board game Cluedo designed by Anthony E Pratt, and starring Eileen Brennan, Tim Curry, Madeline Kahn, Christopher Lloyd, Michael McKean, Martin Mull, and Lesley Ann Warren.

Six strangers are invited to an ominous, secluded mansion to meet the man who has been anonymously blackmailing them. But someone wants to protect their secret badly enough to kill for it, and as the bodies begin to pile up, the butler, maid, and guests race to discover the culprit before the police arrive.

I grew up in a board game playing family, so I learned how to play Clue soon after I learned how to read. We also had a slightly more complicated version of the game called Master Detective, which had more possible suspects, weapons, and rooms and included a couple extra features, and that has pretty much always been my favorite board game. What I particularly loved about it, especially as a child who never had much hope of beating my parents at games that required any skill, was that it was fun regardless of who the winner ended up being. I just liked seeing how close I could get to the solution before someone else inevitably solved it. I remember my parents mentioning that there was a movie version of Clue that had three different endings, and that they had seen Ending B in a theater, which confused and intrigued me.

The first time I ever watched this movie was when it happened to come on TV when I was visiting my grandparents. I think I was around 10 years old, and I actually thought it was kind of scary. Watching seven murders take place in a creepy old house was a bit much for me. But even then, there was something about it that grabbed me. The characters were all kind of despicable, and yet I liked them. I wanted to see more from them. So we started renting this movie from our local Hollywood Video, over and over again, and eventually we bought it on VHS and later on DVD. Once I got over my initial fright and started appreciating it as a brilliant comedy, I could not get enough of this movie. I can’t even begin to guess how many times I watched Clue before I started tracking my views in 2003, but I know it was a lot because every moment of the movie was already committed to my memory. If I was ever bored, I could close my eyes and play the film for myself with the projector of my mind. I wrote out the entire script so I could count how many words each character spoke. I used toys to act out the entire movie, along with the only person I knew who was more obsessed with Clue than I was: my brother, who was also fascinated by these characters and their antics, although as a preschooler he certainly did not fully understand the plot. But that was fine because ultimately, this movie’s appeal is not its plot, which is basically nonsense; it’s the ensemble. And it was so great having somebody close to me who understood that the same way I did. I think the rest of our family liked this movie too, but they definitely ended up watching it way more than they would have without my brother’s and my insistence.

My need to rewatch this movie was already beginning to wear off before I started keeping track, since the whole thing already lived rent-free in my brain, but even so, I watched it six times in 2003, four times in 2004, once in 2005, three times in 2006, twice in 2007, once in 2008, once in 2009, four times in 2010, twice in 2011, once in 2012, three times in 2013, once in 2014, twice in 2015, once in 2016, once in 2017, once in 2018, and once in 2021. I think part of why I’ve been watching it less in recent years is because ever since 2016, when I’ve felt like watching something like this, I’ve tended to watch Poe Party instead of Clue. But that’s not to say that I don’t still absolutely love Clue. I’ve just seen it enough that I don’t need to actually sit down in front of a screen to experience it.

One thing that I learned relatively recently that explains a lot is that apparently, Jonathan Lynn screened the movie His Girl Friday for the cast of Clue to demonstrate the feel he wanted for this movie. Even though Clue was made in the 1980s, it takes place in the 1950s, and was intentionally mimicking the style of fast-talking screwball comedies from the 1930s and ‘40s. So while I still consider watching Singin’ in the Rain in 2002 my proper introduction to Old Hollywood, falling in love with Clue a couple years earlier really prepared me to fall in love with old movies. Characters who look glamorous and sophisticated but are actually goofballs getting involved in ridiculous situations is my jam, and Clue takes what classic screwballs did with that to a whole new level. The script brilliantly combined several different types of both old-fashioned and updated comedy, and the perfect cast brought it to life in the best possible way. I don’t know if the His Girl Friday screening had any real impact, but regardless, every member of the cast fully understood the assignment and absolutely crushed it. A big part of what makes this movie so rewatchable is that everybody is so on all of the time that it’s fun to focus on what they’re doing in the background. Martin Mull is an amazing confidently clueless Colonel Mustard. Lesley Ann Warren gives Miss Scarlet just the right amount of sass. Christopher Lloyd makes Professor Plum sleazy enough that we get the picture without it ever getting too uncomfortable. Eileen Brennan nails Mrs. Peacock’s barely-holding-it-together-but-can-still-judge-you temperament. Mr. Green is accident prone which means he brings in the physical comedy, and Michael McKean fully commits to it. Of the main characters, Mrs. White has the fewest lines, but Madeline Kahn makes her presence known, doing absolutely everything possible with what she’s given, and improvising one of the greatest, funniest speeches in movie history. Jonathan Lynn discouraged improvisation on the set in general, but Kahn going on and on about the flames on the side of her face was too hilarious not to include. This devotion to delivering the lines exactly as written meant that Tim Curry as the butler Wadsworth, who ultimately figures out what happened and explains the whole thing, had to basically memorize a dictionary, and he killed it and I love him for it. When I was younger, I used to think I had a crush on Wadsworth, but I eventually came to realize that I just wanted to be Wadsworth, with the confidence to solve a puzzle and the eloquence to explain the solution in a highly entertaining, if long-winded, way.

The supporting cast is also excellent, and I wish that we could have seen more from them. Lee Ving’s name alone made him the perfect murder victim, but I also love the way he plays Mr. Boddy as sort of a cool mobster type of guy. Colleen Camp as the voluptuous, scantily clad maid Yvette is almost a throwaway joke of a character, but Camp manages to make her seem like a real person, or as real as any of these other ridiculous characters anyway. When I took French in high school and we all had to pick a French name, I chose Yvette because of this movie, even though I never even remotely identified with this character. Bill Henderson as the cop is an excellent straight man for the shenanigans with the bodies, which is either one of the funniest or most disturbing parts of the film, depending on how you look at it. Jeffrey Kramer, Kellye Nakahara, and Jane Wiedlin barely had anything to do, but they made their brief moments as memorable as possible. Basically, as fun as the script is, this movie would not have worked without an incredible cast, and thankfully, it has that. In some ways I wish the actors had been allowed to play around a bit more because then maybe we could have gotten other moments as epic as the flames speech, but at the same time, I feel like the pressure to say everything exactly as written in long takes added to the stress the characters were meant to be feeling. And the script is full of great jokes and excellent banter; it’s just that since the mystery aspect doesn’t really track anyway, I feel like the director could have let the actors have more fun with it.

I understand that they were trying to use the multiple endings to represent how the game is different every time, and also as a bit of a publicity stunt, but it kind of backfired. Theater-going audiences found it confusing, and the movie initially flopped. Thankfully with the home video version that included all three endings, Clue eventually did gain the cult following it deserves. But the problem is, in trying to accommodate three different solutions, the mystery gets lost in the middle, and none of the endings actually track. Yvette’s death is the part that makes the least sense – we clearly see that Mrs. Peacock and Mrs. White were both elsewhere seconds beforehand, so endings B and C don’t work, and in ending A Yvette was working with the killer so what she says right before she is killed doesn’t make any sense. For all of Wadsworth’s explanations, each ending leaves many unanswered questions, and they kind of draw attention to this in two of the endings, with one character saying, “There’s still one thing I don’t understand” and somebody else interjecting, “ONE thing?” Clearly this was meant to be a comedy rather than a serious murder mystery, but I do feel like if they weren’t trying to be so gimmicky, they could have made the mystery part work too (see Poe Party). Although in some ways, I kind of love that Clue doesn’t make sense. It feels perfectly consistent to have these characters who are pretending to be serious and dignified when they’re really all very silly people get caught up in a murder mystery with three endings that don’t work. When I point out Clue’s plot holes, it’s more like gently ribbing a friend than cinematic critique. I have to analyze the flaws in the story because of who I am as an overthinker, but I don’t think the flaws make it bad; if anything, they increase my enjoyment of the movie. It’s like a game: spot all the inconsistencies, and then realize that none of them matter. Because ultimately, fans of this movie aren’t here for the story; we’re here for the cast and the vibes. I don’t really know how to describe it, but while there are certainly other fun mystery-parody-type comedies out there, none of the others I’ve seen has quite the same tone as Clue, and that’s another reason I keep rewatching it.

And from an aroace perspective, Clue is great because there really is no love story. I mean, people mention spouses and affairs, and jealousy is floated as a possible motive for murder, but none of the characters that we see fall in love with each other during the course of the movie. Professor Plum does hit on Miss Scarlet a bit, but her reaction is very, “What the hell is wrong with you? We have way more important things to worry about right now.” When the cop shows up, in order to prevent him from finding out about the murders, some of the characters pretend to be making out with the bodies as if they’re alive, which is very weird on many levels, but it’s kind of a great illustration of the ridiculousness of allonormativity. If the cop had looked twice at them he would have noticed something was off, but of course adults at a party are going to be making out, nothing to see here, moving on. I always thought this part was hilarious when I was younger, and now that I understand my identity better I can articulate my appreciation for the way this movie portrays people who are focused on romance as the weird ones. Obviously that’s specific to this situation – like, I think most alloromantic people would agree that being locked in a murder house is not the best time to pursue romance. But aromantic stories are so rare that I’ll take whatever I can find. When Clue mentions sex, it’s usually either as a punchline (“Life after death is as improbable as sex after marriage”) or part of a motive, since most of the blackmail victims are being blackmailed for something to do with sex. The sexual content is mostly in the background, adding to the vibes without pulling too much focus, kind of like some of my favorite classic films noirs. And this whole movie is so silly that I don’t feel like the sexiness is really meant to be taken seriously. Asking how an asexual person could possibly enjoy a film filled with so many blatantly allosexual characters would be just as ridiculous as asking how a person who had never killed anyone could possibly enjoy a film filled with so much murder. These characters clearly weren’t meant to be too relatable. But I still appreciate getting to see them on an evening when they’re at least mostly focused on things besides romance and sex.

I know I keep going on about how this movie is just silly fun, but one aspect that I do think was meant to be taken kind of seriously is the satirical criticism of McCarthyism. The exaggeratedly horrified gasps in response to Wadsworth's revelation that his wife had friends who were socialists is funny, but also, people’s lives were legitimately ruined because of that attitude. The only line that all three endings have in common is “Communism is just a red herring,” which is relevant to the movie because characters were trying to tie the murders into Cold War-related motives that ended up being irrelevant, but also kind of describes how trying to stop communism was used as an excuse for atrocities that didn’t always have much if anything to do with communism. It’s a little odd to stick that message in this movie, and I don’t exactly know why it’s there, but I like the way it adds to the Old Hollywood connection. Filmmakers in the 1950s had to be very careful about the messages they put in their movies, and what they said outside of their movies, for fear of being blacklisted as suspected communists, so it seems fitting that this movie set in the 1950s would be calling that out. Although there were very much still Cold War tensions in the 1980s as well, which is perhaps why this message is all but buried in silliness. And maybe I’m wrong and this aspect was meant to be silly as well, but it feels rather pointed to me, so I wanted to bring it up as one of the many fascinating aspects of this film.

I truly believe that Clue is a great movie that has something for everyone, and highly recommend it to anyone listening who hasn’t seen it, but at the same time, I am incapable of separating the movie from my own nostalgia. I can’t imagine what I would think of this movie if I watched it today for the first time because I would be a fundamentally different person if I hadn’t seen Clue a zillion times when I was young. Not only did it inform my taste in movies going forward, but it also shaped my understanding of the world, in a way. I think like most children, I once assumed adults knew what they were doing, but this movie showed me a bunch of adults who didn’t have the slightest idea, which was simultaneously terrifying and comforting. It also changed the way I talked, because I used to quote this movie constantly. I do it less now, but there was a time when instead of “I wasn’t talking to you” I would always say, “I was asking Miss Scarlet!” Or when somebody was looking for a key, I’d go, “Never mind about the key; unlock the door!” If anybody said, “Maybe…” with a long pause, I’d have to follow it with “Mr. Boddy killed the cook!” And similarly, “Oh who cares?” always had to be followed by, “That guy doesn’t matter! Let him stay locked up for another half an hour! The police will be here by then, and there are TWO DEAD BODIES IN THE STUDY!!!” And if anyone got confused about numbers, I’d helpfully chime in, “Even if you were right, that would be one plus one plus two plus one, not one plus two plus one plus one.” I could go on, but I’d end up quoting the whole movie, because I’m pretty sure I’ve managed to work every single line into a non-Clue-related conversation at least once. Often people just stare at me blankly, but it’s fun quoting it to my siblings because they usually respond with the next line, and we can go through whole scenes if nobody stops us. I have so many fun memories of reciting and analyzing this movie with them, arguing about things like whether Mr. Boddy says, “It’s only glass” or “It’s hunky glass” about the conservatory wall – it’s definitely “only” but my sister will not be convinced. Memories of my little brother adorably misunderstanding lines, thinking that Mrs. White’s husband had a “big fair” with Yvette, or that Mrs. Peacock said, “Oh I got a horse!” instead of “Oh my god of course!” or that blackmail was what those dark brown UPS trucks delivered. At one point, I wrote a script for Master Detective, which had the same basic premise as Clue – a bunch of blackmail victims congregated in a house to confront their blackmailer and his accomplices – but made even less sense. I didn’t back it up so it disappeared when that computer died, thankfully, but I still remember enough of it to cringe about. Since all the suspects had color names, I decided all the murder victims needed themed names as well, so I named them all after body parts to go with Mr. Boddy and thought I was so clever. I don’t remember most of them anymore, but I know there was a Mr. Elbow and a Mrs. Toenail. I also remember at one point I wrote in the directions something like, “It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. In fact, Miss Peach drops a pin” and again was delighted by my own cleverness. My brother and I used to act it out with toys, and one time, after the dead body of the butler had been thrown out the window for some reason right before somebody else was arriving, my brother was being silly and had the new person pick up the dead body and say, “I brought your butler back!” seemingly without realizing that the butler was dead, and I thought that was so hilarious that I added it into the script, and it’s still my favorite part that I remember. It was a bad script, but in my defense I was very young, and anyway my point is, Clue inspired me to be creative in a fun way, without worrying about taking my work or myself too seriously, which is the attitude I’ve tried to take into making this podcast.

I feel like there is so much more I could say about Clue, but it’s hard to find words to adequately express how deeply I love this film. It feels wrong to call this a “comfort movie” when there are so many murders in it, but somehow it does feel comforting. It’s like an old friend, whose jokes I’ve heard a hundred times but still make me laugh, whom I love in spite of, and in some ways because of, their flaws. I know not everybody is into movies the way I am, but I think everybody needs at least one story or piece of art that they feel that way about. Not that experiencing art is a substitute for real friendship, but art is a form of human expression and connection that I think we all need in addition to relationships. And yes, I consider Clue to be a work of art. It’s a frickin masterpiece.

Thank you for listening to me discuss another of my most frequently rewatched movies. I fear these episodes are becoming less coherent as I get into my top films that I can’t even with, but I hope they’re still enjoyable. Next up will be my second most rewatched movie, which I have seen 37 times in its entirety even though it is by far the longest movie in my entire top 40. As always, I will leave you with a quote from that next movie: “Shelves in the closet. Happy thought indeed.”

#clue #clue movie #the rewatch rewind

[skruffie]

okay, so "descendian"

if you're not in a lot of online Indigenous communities you're probably not sure what these "-dian" terms are. You probably have seen pretendian floating around, which is somebody who claims to be native with zero ancestry to back it up. The newer one in the mix is descendian. It's not as common as a term but here's a graphic I saw today that had been reposted by one of my cousins:

Descendian - is a person who has a remote indigenous relative WAY back in their family genealogy, and then take that indigenous Ancestor from multiple generations back to lay claim to full indigenous benefits today. That is wrong!

There's a lot that can be unpacked on this image and what this is mostly geared toward, I think, is more like... either the white people that would otherwise be called pretendians, or unfortunately this could result in lateral violence against a lot of eastern coast tribes that were the first to have contact with settlers. When my cousin had reposted this I had to really consider if or how I would respond because it makes me feel a lot. My own ancestry and reconnection journey has often felt like it was too far away and yet also too close at the same time.

(Also not to nitpick but it's not actually guaranteed you have 16-128 individual great+ grandparents because pedigree collapse is a very real thing but that is beside the point)

I really wonder whoever wrote this considers the tribes that do in fact rely on an ancestor from a specified period of time rather than concepts like blood quantum. The more generations of people we have, the farther removed those ancestors on the documents become, so at what point is that nation going to die out? When is the genocide going to be completed?

The other part of this is that even within tribal communities and with enrolled members it is not an immediate guarantee that you'll be connected to your culture. Sometimes people just... don't. Or they can't. Or their nation rejects them due to disenrollment, homophobia, transphobia, etc.

The part about this that is valid is that if you're like me and trying to repair the connections that almost got lost, it is not the same as having grown up around the culture and being recognized as part of that. Part of the reconnection journey, especially when you're also racially white, is balancing unpacking the privileges that you do have with the knowledge you have about your ethnicity. That is where you have more expertise: your own individual journey but not necessarily that of your ancestral background. A lot of the criticisms I've described here I've seen laid out from other people.

In the end I responded to my cousin with "this is an interesting one because I am constantly wondering what it actually means to be raised in an Indigenous way. My grandma got orphaned and though she was not raised with the culture or stories, she was raised to value keeping a family together" and my cousin thankfully knows that the descendians outlined here are not at all the same as the people who are earnestly trying to reconnect in a good way. That's something I appreciate, and I also know at the same time this term is going to gain more traction and be used as a paintbrush against every other person who is still reconnecting no matter if it's in good faith or not. It's not as big a deal offline as it is on the internet, but I've still seen bits of it in action and it makes me feel acutely aware when I'm walking through an Indigenous space/event/etc and especially if I'm wearing something culturally identifiable.

Sidebar: it is actually incredibly difficult for me to know the difference between what is "my right" to reclaim versus if it's just an extension of unpacking the ol' white suitcase. Ironically, there was an essay written by Gwen Benaway that compared whiteness to that of a specific cryptic I will not be naming--one that is cannibalistic and consumes everything but is never satiated, and it's something that really resonated with me when trying to work through my race versus ethnicity. Then, naturally, it came out that she was a pretendian and it left me just kind of hanging in the air about what I'm supposed to do now.

#i think i need a tag for all of this #where it's not really genealogy related but it's... whatever this is #ndn stuff tag #sure there we go

[voraciousvore]

In the Belly of the Giant (9/39)

***Contains fatal hard vore!***

Chapter 9

Mr. Henderson decided not to go back to work after his doctor’s appointment, as he had initially planned. He went straight home instead. He just wasn’t feeling right in the head. He walked through the door and plopped down on the couch, kicking off his shoes and leaning back. He got himself a glass of water and took his medication that the doctor prescribed. Merely swallowing the pills made him queasy. He reminded himself that pills weren’t people. Pills weren’t even food. Pills were pills. Not nourishment, just medicine. Nobody was harmed by him taking medicine. 

Having puked his meal up all over the sidewalk on his way home, Mr. Henderson was still hungry. He had barely eaten all day. All he had for breakfast was a cup of coffee and a poppyseed bagel with cream cheese. In fact, he might have even seen the half-digested mush floating in his belly on the monitor. He didn’t find that mental image very appealing, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how his pink, fleshy viscera looked on the screen. He recollected the physical sensations of swallowing the human and feeling him stroll around inside his stomach like an explorer. He winced, moving his hand to his belly, as if the miniature doctor was still trapped within, being digested. 

His stomach wasn’t hurting anymore, and his headache was fading fast. He felt much better, physically. He was nauseous, but he recognized the sensation was more psychological than physical. He glanced over at the fridge. With a soft groan, he got up off the couch and lumbered over to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and looked inside. Milk, eggs, cheese, bacon, fruit, salad, condiments, leftovers in a tupperware bowl… all appetizing options. His eyes drifted over to half a roll of ground beef that was stored in a clear plastic bag. He had used the other half to make spaghetti and meatballs a couple days ago. The meat was a garish red, raw, shredded, and dripping blood. Mr. Henderson stared at it for a while. He shut the fridge. 

He went back to the couch. He didn’t need to eat anything yet. Sure, he had skipped lunch, but he could have dinner later tonight. In fact, he could probably skip dinner too, and just start fresh tomorrow, when his memories weren’t so vivid. His stomach grumbled in aggressive protest, but he ignored it. He would be fine; he wasn’t going to starve. He’d have to eat eventually, right? Once he got hungry enough, his inhibitions would be overwhelmed—overwhelmed by a freakish craving for meat. Meat. Bloody flesh. Fresh and hot, maybe even still squirming in his mouth or belly, desperate to escape. Carnivorous urges, natural to a giant as big and monstrous as him. 

Mr. Henderson rubbed his face with his hands and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to push the unsavory thoughts out of his mind. He wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be. He was kind and gentle, not a primitive beast. He was the principal of an integration school, for crying out loud. He worked around humans, carried the small, vulnerable, innocent people carefully around in his hands. Definitely not in his mouth. 

Except he did, and he had. He had just eaten somebody earlier today. He was in denial over his true nature. Mr. Henderson grabbed the TV remote and flicked on the screen to distract himself. He watched the news, the weather. The people on the screen droned on, but he couldn’t focus. He was becoming progressively more agitated. A cursed memory that he had long sought to repress was surfacing in his mind. 

He was a young lad, maybe seven or eight. His parents had dropped him off at his grandparent’s house to stay the night. He recalled, dimly, that the night was stormy. He was asleep and it was very late when his grandpa woke him up, telling him to stay quiet so he wouldn’t wake up his grandma. His grandpa was carrying something in his hand, something alive that was squealing and squirming. He turned on the bedside lamp to reveal two tiny creatures clenched in his fist. 

Mr. Henderson had only been a young child at the time. He had never seen humans before. He was curious, fascinated even, to see miniature versions of people that looked so similar to himself, only so much smaller. To this day, he never knew where his grandfather had procured the humans, whether he had purchased them on the black market or stolen them right out of their homes. To be honest, he didn’t want to know the answer either. His grandparents had died a long time ago. 

Regardless, his grandpa had brought these two little humans to him. Mr. Henderson remembered how scared they looked, with their open mouths and wide eyes on their diminutive faces, writhing wildly in the old man’s fist, unable to escape. The giant separated the two, placing one in each hand, and they seemed to become even more upset, reaching for each other with desperation. As the memory sharpened, Mr. Henderson recognized the two as a young man and woman, likely a married couple, very clearly emotionally attached to each other. 

His grandpa brought the tiny man up to his mouth and bit him in half with a wet, grotesque crunch, severing his body completely in two. The tiny woman screamed and sobbed. Lurid blood ran down the giant’s lips and fingers as he consumed the top half of the body, then gobbled up the rest. He licked the blood off his fingers with savage delight. The woman was horrified, begging him to stop. He didn’t listen. 

His grandpa gestured to him next, indicating he should do the same to the woman. He looked down at her. She looked so fragile and scared; he didn’t want to. His grandpa grew wrathful and insistent, demanding he take her. He refused, more emphatically this time. The old giant wrenched his mouth open by force and shoved her in, then jammed his jaw closed with his leathery, bloody hand. His teeth came together and snapped her femur, filling his mouth with the coppery tang of blood. Droplets of blood dribbled through his teeth and lips and down his chin. 

He tried to pull away and spit her out, but his grandpa held his mouth closed with his superior adult strength. He could feel the woman inside his mouth, struggling dreadfully, her small limbs flailing against his tongue and palate. As she lost blood, her movements became more sluggish, more spastic. She was dying inside him. He realized he had no choice and swallowed, feeling the feeble kicks all the way down his throat to his stomach. 

Mr. Henderson had lived with terrible guilt and shame for this event for his entire life. He never told anyone about the sin he committed, not even his parents or former wife, holding onto his damning secret with a wretchedly tight grip. In some ways, he had overcompensated for his wrongdoing by being exceedingly gentle and generous, especially towards humans and those who were generally smaller and weaker than him, such as children. He had even gone so far in his repentance as to adopt a human, after all. Deep down, he was thoroughly disgusted with himself for ever having eaten a human, especially in such a violent fashion. 

He had learned, in later years, that some giants of his grandfather’s generation believed that ingesting humans, in particular feasting on their blood, granted giants superior strength and fortitude. His grandpa had been trying to awaken in his grandson a bestial bloodlust that would toughen him up. To deny the giant his natural prey would not only weaken and diminish him, but deny the natural order placed upon the earth, with giants at the apex as the ultimate lifeform. 

Mr. Henderson vehemently rejected this repulsive ideology. However, he could not deny that the experience had indeed roused something deep inside him that he grappled to control. It was a primordial instinct, a barbaric desire to hunt and kill and devour what he intuitively knew was intended to be his primary food source—humans. Giants who had never eaten humans before did not usually feel such a powerful compulsion, not until they tasted human blood for themselves. The fact that he was so young and impressionable when it happened made the craving that much stronger. 

That urge, in fact, was the true reason he had clung to his guilt for so long. Over the years, he painfully accepted that the incident had not been his fault, that he had been forced to swallow the human woman. The part he failed to resolve, unfortunately, was that as horrible and unpleasant as the whole thing had been, a primeval part of him had enjoyed it. This fact terrified him, made him feel like a monster. He couldn’t reconcile his inner beast that he hid from the world with his nobler self, the façade of a man he presented on the exterior. And now he had been forced to face his internal demon again, after repressing it for so long. 

His stomach audibly whined again as he stared blankly at the television, not processing any of the programming. He hated himself. He hated the man that he had become, tormented and pathetic. He hated living a lie, pretending he was a good person on the outside when inside he was such a repulsive ogre, thirsting for blood. He hated his grandfather for the monster he had created. His blood boiled with black hatred, out of control. He wanted to cry. 

He tried to temper his spiraling thoughts with reason. Since that fateful day, he had tried his best to be good, to reign in his depraved temptations. Excluding the human doctor, he hadn’t eaten anyone or hurt anyone. Plus, he only ate the doctor for a medical procedure, not because he hungered for the taste of his raw, living flesh. The doctor even wanted to be eaten! Mr. Henderson took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. Nobody had been harmed, and he hadn’t committed some unspeakable offense. Everything was fine. 

His belly complained for food again. He moaned with frustration and folded his arms around his abdomen. He got up out of his chair and wandered over to the fridge again. Opened it, closed it. Opened it again, stared inside. Maybe he could eat a salad. Regrettably, a bowl of leaves didn’t sound very filling. He fixated on the dripping, raw meat again. He fantasized about what it would taste like to bite into fresh meat and slurp up the blood. If it were a human, it would scream and flail around as he gulped it down his throat alive. He’d feel it thrashing in his gut as it was digested. He slammed the fridge shut with a shudder. He couldn’t allow himself to entertain those sorts of brutish thoughts. 

He returned to the couch and laid down on his back, closing his eyes to clear his mind. These intrusive images hadn’t been a significant problem for him for a while; he figured swallowing the human doctor and feeling his movements in his digestive tract triggered them and awakened them from their dormant state in his subconscious. He knew that the hungrier he became, the worse his voracious, twisted fantasies would become, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat anything, without sickening himself. He would have to overcome his own physical and moral revulsion just to feed himself. 

As his thoughts raced around in circles, he was interrupted by his phone ringing. He groped around for it on the coffee table and answered. “Hello?” 

“Eren’s gone missing!” Joey’s frightened voice sounded off from the other end of the line. 

Mr. Henderson’s stomach dropped. He forgot everything, including his hunger. “W-what?” 

“She’s gone. I can’t find her. I… I think she was… kidnapped.” Joey was crying. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve looked everywhere for her.” 

His mind raced for a solution. “You’re already working with the police department?” 

“Yeah. It’s been reported. They’re trying to find the suspect.” 

Mr. Henderson couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was in shock. It couldn’t be. Not Eren, his sweet, innocent little girl. All his other problems suddenly seemed trivial by comparison. He didn’t want to think about the horrors she might be subjected to, particularly in his current state of mind. 

“Keep working with the police, Joey. I’m sure we’ll find her soon.” He didn’t know if he could believe his own words, but he still tried his best to comfort Joey. 

Joey sniffled. “Alright,” he said faintly. 

“Call me and let me know right away of any updates,” Mr. Henderson requested. 

“Okay,” Joey replied, his voice fading fast, like his life force was draining out of him. He hung up. Mr. Henderson stayed on the line, listening to the dial tone dumbly. Finally he cast his phone to the side, losing all will to live as black despair crept into his heart. 

He may be a monster, but there were far worse monsters out there in the world, and one of them had Eren. 

Chapter 10

Chapter 1

#fatal vore #hard vore #unwilling vore #unwilling pred #unwilling prey #g/t vore #gt vore #g/t #giant/tiny #giant #tiny #g/t writing #giant tiny #size difference #vore writing #vore story #in the belly of the giant

[queenofbaws]

Well good morning darling! Please consider this ask a a down deposit for whenever the next six-sentence weekend may be. For i come bearing lyrics that while the chorus fits the Hackett family to a fucking T, literally none of the rest of the lyrics do so you get them as a prompt and not a recommendation lol.

'I figured

"Oh, hey, maybe just ignore it, it'll go away

Keep it in the family for today"

Everybody knows

Everybody knows somebody with something to hide'

All you had to do was keep an ear open; in towns like theirs, small towns, close ones, ones where everyone knew everyone else's business, you heard plenty of it out in the open, so deeply rooted and so well known that people didn't bother covering their mouths as they spoke on it. It came in snippets, half-heard in grocery aisles or out back of the bar, said in the same matter-of-fact tones the weather was discussed in: "...cancer, you know, like his father had..." "...whole damn family's got it, that, oh whatsitcalled, with the thyroid..." "...once they start bleeding they just don't stop, and I heard it's all on account of that mother of theirs..."

You never heard them talk about the Hacketts that way, though - if you listened close, you realized no, they never had anything to say about the Hacketts that they couldn't say with a full chest and straight to their faces.

Mostly because no one could figure out just what it was, the thing that was wrong inside of them, whether it was borne in the blood, bone, or brain. Anyone who was anyone in North Kill had grown up at the knee of someone - a grandparent or great-uncle - who'd filled their heads with talk of Septimus Hackett's wicked temper or Francis Hackett's legendary brutality, the former cheating his workers out of their livelihoods while the latter simply shackled his children to boozing and bootlegging, how both were always smart enough to keep a son, nephew, cousin, kin planted firmly among the law to ensure nothing ever came of it.

But Jed and his had never done anything wrong, so far as anyone in town could tell, so...whatever was wrong in their line, whatever sickness they passed down from one to another, well...it probably skipped a generation or two.

six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

#love-fireflysong #six sentence weekend #queenie writes supermassive #the quarry #the hacketts #heheheuheUHEUHEUHehehe you KNOW there's nothing i like more than a hackett prompt..... #except maybe a hackett prompt that comes with a music rec!!!! hehehe

[bobcatmoran]

Back from a trip to Palm Springs, California, staying at the house my parents were renting for the winter, which, totally unplanned, overlapped with Modernism Week there. For those who've never been to Palm Springs, it's a town that's very, VERY of that era from post-WWII - 1970s, and there's a significant population of the town that is, shall we say, enamoured of that era of architecture. If you've seen "Don't Worry Darling," it was mostly filmed on site in Palm Springs, and large swaths of the town are to a not-insignificant degree just as unnerving as the environment in that film.

I went to a couple of free lectures on various bits of that era, thanks to the event. And don't get me wrong, there's some seriously amazing buildings that came out of it, and the modernism movement's embracing of merging outdoor and indoor spaces while, especially in those bulidings built in the pre-A/C era, trying to work with both the local climate and the stunning views from the valley and the nearby hillsides.

But despite my dad's reassurances that, "This town is built over an aquifer, so we don't need to worry about water," I was very aware that this was a town built in a desert environment that cannot possibly sustainably hold the expanding population that lives there, especially if people insist on keeping grass lawns and pools — a great many houses I saw had xeriscaped yards with gravel and local flora, but the many, many local golf courses certainly didn't.

I also tired quickly of tours of, "This is where [celebrity] lived!" where you could see little more than a 7-foot high hedge or fence and maybe a sliver of rooftop, since Palm Springs' bulding codes don't allow for buildings more than 1 story tall unless you know somebody or find a loophole like one celebrity house that has a 2nd story that only has 3 walls. The area was a refuge for Hollywood stars during the studio system era, and there still are a couple who live there today in gated communities, but most of those formerly celebrity-occupied-houses now are mostly hidden except for a mailbox and like, the top foot of the roofs. My celebrity-obsessed stepmom nevertheless decided to take us on a tour of them.

It all made me uneasy, especially with the glorification of an era where my very existence, as a biracial Japanese-American, would've held me suspect by my birth alone. Heck, even when my parents married in the mid-70s, my grandparents on both sides got a lot of not-so-subtle commentary from "well-meaning" family friends and neighbors about, "Do you know your son/daughter is marrying someone of a different race?"

However! those bits of the local environment that have been preserved are amazing. I went to Joshua Tree National Park, and marveled at the uncanny rock formations (geologic uplifts of granite and other igneous rocks eroded away by the wind until they look like backgrounds from The Flintstones) and the Dr. Seuss-esque Joshua Trees, which don't even grow an inch per year. I wandered through a "forest" of chola cacti, elbow-high, bristling with easily detachable orbs that could cling painfully to you if you only brushed against them, saw traces of cattle ranchers that had attempted to make a living there during a relatively wet period in the 1920s and then fled as the climate dried out. I took guided tours up the Tahquitz and Andreas Canyons, which are both managed by the Aqua Caliente band of Cahuilla Indians and are each amazing in their own way. I learned about the first recorded human explorations of the area and how the Cahuilla used the local plants for food and medicine and shelter. If you're ever in the area, If you're able to handle the hikes (Tahquitz in particular has a LOT of steep steps up and down), I highly, highly recommend the ranger hikes, which absolutely change your perspective of the area.

#life outside the internet #bobcat this isn't livejournal

[asukamood]

The Elysium’s Dream (Part 4)

Previous Part — Next part

Extra 00 - Extra 01

***

Warnings: Mentioned war, violence, bullying, implied rape (very light) and also light Errormare

Finally some progress in the Errormare department, it was about time Huh? If you’re a fan of that ship, I’m sure you’ll love the next parts ;)

Enough talking, enjoy your reading and reblog if you want!

(PS: Next I might write either some Drueswap or the next part of Unpleasant Finding, we’ll see what I’ll do)

***

Error had never really had anybody to call family in his life.

At first, it really hurt not to have anyone to truly rely on. He didn’t know much about his biological parents lest that they died in a car accident when he was a baby. He was found in his dead father’s arms by the paramedics and was taken in by the hospital for some time.

He knew that a grand quest for any family relative able to take him in had been conducted, only to hit a dead end. His grandparents from both sides were dead and only his mother had a sibling. His uncle died from cancer a few months before his parents’ death while his aunt abandoned the family for another. Their son, his cousin, was an unstable man that was already in the police’s radar for kidnapping people, which explained their reluctance in leaving him taking care of an infant.

With no relative and no relative’s friends to take him in, the decision of putting him in an orphanage seemed the wisest.

At the establishment, he was always alone. The adults were quite… cold, for caretakers. Error had never seen them smile once in the entire 18 years he spent with them and the toys they bought for the orphans were about as sinister as the ones we could see in a horror movie.

If anything, that orphanage felt more like a prison. The children themselves weren’t… mean, per se, but they were easily scared. They had the habit of ignoring him because of the tear streaks that stained his cheeks that they found weird. Because of that, he never truly got any chance to make friends.

It bothered him to some extent but at least they were kind enough not to insult him behind his back or to try and pick a fight with him, unlike the kids at school. His tear streaks stained cheeks had earned him the title of ‘Crybaby’ and he was pushed around more often than no. He absolutely hated it but he had nowhere else to go so he stayed.

Then came his 6th grade teacher. He didn’t quite like to think about him, as it usually ended in a panic attack, so he was only going to say that he was the reason why his fear of touch was a thing.

Watching the other children run up to their parents for a hug after school was always painful for Error as he usually wondered if he too, could have had that sort of interaction if his parents survived the accident. But after that accident, the pain multiplied to unbelievable proportions.

Not only did those kids get to have a role model to look up to and love, but they also get the comfort and advice that come with it. The fact that he wasn’t allowed to have that made him sick at some point. What did he do to be deemed unworthy of this kind of affection? Why did others get it but not him?

That pettiness followed him up until early adulthood and it’s only when he got his own apartment that he realized that he didn’t need anyone to survive, that he could just do everything on his own.

While he did wish that he could have somebody to go to when he needed comfort, he was fine on his own. He did have to admit that loneliness sometimes ate at him from the inside on the bad days but overall, he was fine.

He had a home and while his part-time job paid well enough for him to pay his rent, he still thought that getting a proper job would be better for him. At the end of his senior year, he still had no clue on what he was going to do.

If asked why he turned toward the job that he had today, he might just burst out laughing twice before finally being able to explain. It was so stupid and simple, it always made him laugh when he thought about it.

It was the day following prom night that finished up his senior year. He was sitting in his favorite café, sipping on a cup of steaming hot coffee. Newspapers as old as the building were always displayed in the back of the room, free for anyone to come free the institution of these fossils of history.

Now that he had no more homework to do, he was pretty bored and decided to snatch one of them and read it until he was done. What you found inside of it were the most common things you could ever think of and those you typically found inside those sheets of paper.

One article did get his attention though. The head title was something like: ‘The soldiers of darkness, misunderstood creatures?’. An image had been printed under it, representing a humanoid creature with tentacles hugging what looked like a crying angel.

Curious, he had called the owner of the café and asked him what was this all about. Thankfully for him, it looked like he was well versed into the story of these creatures and began telling him about a very interesting story.

It all began with the first appearance of the radiants, who, back in the day, used to be called the weeping angels. They were said to be the heralds of God, celestial creatures that not only had an appealing appearance but also a beautiful voice that could heal anything and anyone.

They were seen making dead land fertile again, cure the most hazardous of diseases and son. Because of this, hearing a weeping angel’s voice was considered to be an omen of good luck, a call to tell you that you’ll succeed in life.

Seeing a corrupt, however, was the equivalent of coming across a black cat in the dead of night. They were once called the soldiers of darkness and were simultaneously feared and hated.

They appeared occasionally to get rid of some creatures and every time they were caught, the witnesses testified a feeling of dread creeping up their back whenever they saw them. Absurdly, they even assumed that their final goal was to kill radiants because of their tendency to show up somewhere a radiant has been a few days prior.

The owner then pointed to the article, explaining that the picture was taken in the middle of the Second World War. Soldiers were attacked by the opposite side as well as some hideous screaming creatures that seemed to… suck the life force out of the soldiers.

Everyone was in panic as none of their weapons did anything to hurt them and that’s when the ‘soldiers of darkness’ appeared out of thin air. They were letting out an animalistic roar as they sliced through the monsters’ bodies with their tentacles like paper, barely breaking a sweat.

The wounded soldiers took the opportunity to crawl in a safe area as the others, fighting just a few seconds ago, stared in both horror and awe at the unbelievable display in front of them. After the slaughter was over, the corrupts slowly turned around to look at the soldiers, who visibly tensed at that.

They knew that it was hopeless to try and fight them with their weapons, many have tried before and they kept reminding them over and over again that they had no effect on them whatsoever.

Most closed their eyes, focusing on accepting their approaching doom before they suddenly felt themselves calm down. Surprised, they opened their eyes to discover the negative beings holding what looked like a purple orb that was connected to all of them.

They saw them take a bite out of it and that feeling of calmness returned. It was… a strange experience to say the least.

The ‘weeping angels’ took that opportunity to appear, calming down even further the soldiers. They raised their hands to the air, as if conjuring some unknown entity or force, before their mouths opened to let out a rhythmic sound. Their voices carried in a wide radius, their healing magic following closely.

Cuts gradually disappeared as the skin stitched itself back together, bullet holes covered themselves with flesh as any feeling of discomfort caused by dehydration, malnutrition were pulverized.

To say that the humans were relieved to see the radiants would be an understatement. They had no idea why the corrupts were acting like this but they had the awful intuition that they were soon going to join those weird creatures they just got rid of.

Though, against any expectations, the radiants suddenly threw themselves at their corrupt counterparts and kissed them on the cheek, almost teasingly.

The corrupts, who no one saw even smile before, were blushing red, groaning in a foreign language to the radiants.

The next thing the soldiers knew, they both turned to face the humans, hand in hand before the radiants waved them goodbye with their free hands.

People had started to be a little less afraid of them since then but they were still wary of them.

Error had decided at that moment to work with corrupts.

Why?

Because he saw himself in those misunderstood creatures and in his eyes, they did not deserve the way they were treated, especially now that they were hunted down.

Error —- joined the Celestial Conservation Department on the 21st of June 2013 after suffering a while with his studies.

It was only in 2018 that he ever got the chance to interact with a corrupt. An alert has been given, signaling the presence of hunters in a nest of corrupts and radiants in the South-East of the country.

By the time they had arrived, most of the people had been taken or decimated. Only a pair of creatures remained, creatures currently known as Nightmare and Dream. Back when they didn’t know their actual names, they held the code names 00 and 01.

Due to his aggressive and wary behavior, most didn’t fancy having to interact with him every day. Most, apart of course from Error.

The first time he had interacted with Nightmare, the latter looked both cautious and… curious. He had tilted his head to the side in confusion, his lavender eyes staring holes into his own mismatched eyes. Error was never able to tell whether he was staring at him that way because of his eyes (to his knowledge, radiants and corrupts’s eyes cannot be affected by heterochromia), his tear stains, or just the fact somebody was willing to approach him without an arsenal of bodyguards.

Truth was, those eyes fascinated the dark being a lot. A few years forward and he would even admit finding them pretty as he has never seen any eyes like his before. His right eye was crystal blue, a radiant one that was similar to the ocean’s surface. The other however was the opposite. It was a mysterious amber where light seemed to drown and disappear in it.

Nightmare was curious as to how this was possible and before he could think of attacking him, Error had stepped closer, still with a certain distance between them, and smiled.

“Hello, my name is Error.” His aura was calm like he was genuinely not afraid of getting attacked by the negative being. “I will be the one in charge of you from now on and if you could stab Ink with your tendrils, I would be very thankful.”

Nightmare let out a noise that was halfway between a groan and a sigh.

He was going to get along well with this guy.

#angst #ship #nightmare sans #error #error sans #errormare #error x nightmare #nighterror #The Elysium’s Dream #the meeting of the future boyfriends #someone help #work is slow #homework is hell

[artemissunn]

TopGun ff/1

Well, I still don’t have a title, anyways the first chapter is here, enjoy! The chapters will get longer I swear!

I.

Fightertown, US.

We arrived to dad’s house. It was a few streets away from the beach. It was how I remembered, even my room looked like how I left it. He didn’t change a thing. Probably because he was working most of the time. It was the reason mom left him, he wasn’t a family man. And I knew that now, I was the last thing he needed. Now that he became an instructor at Top Gun.

Maverick was a legend, and after his last mission they signed him for full time. The only condition he gave in was him still being able to fly. They let him, because they needed him and they knew that that was the only thing that nobody could take away from this man. He was living for the sky. When he was on his feet his eyes were turned upwards.

He was a good man, not a good dad but I could never blame him. Sometimes I kind of wished that he’d take me flying too. But never really asked, not wanting to be turned down.

I wish we spent more time and this wouldn’t be this awkward. Neither of us is talking in the car. He’s trying but doesn’t really know what to say, so he opens his mouth then closes. Glancing over to me.

I don’t know how many time he did it but I speak up.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” My voice is raspy and quiet. Throat is dry and achy a little.

“I’m here for you.” He finally says something.

“I know.” I nod.

It took a few days for me to have energy to get out of my room. Dad was patient. He gave me space and time, we both were quiet. And we were trying to get to know each other’s routines and presence. As more days passed we talked a little more everyday. He went back to work today leaving me alone. I knew it was hard for him to get used to this all.

He talked to Iceman every night. I’ve heard them a few times. He always went to his little study when they talked.

After another week of only being around and in the house I decided that I needed some air. The other reason was that all the ice cream was gone. I checked myself in the mirror.

A white v neck cut T-shirt and black sweatpants. It was around 8pm. Started to get dark. I got my sneakers on and house keys were thrown into my pocket.

Walking in the windy weather felt nice. I got shivers as the cool breeze touched my skin. The small market was big enough to have a decent selection of ice cream. Dad’s favorite was the rocky road one. If I remember correctly. I didn’t know what I wanted. Something with caramel probably.

I reached for the rocky road one but somebody wanted to grab the same one. We both pulled back our hands.

I looked up at the man and wasn’t really ready to see who it was.

“Bradley?” He grew a mustache and definitely grew up. He was tall and the lose white shirt he wore suited his body amazingly. He had jean shorts on and just some flip flops.

“Lace? Are you back? I haven’t seem you in ages.”

“Yeah.. we can say that.” I forced a smile.

“How come?”

“Mom died.” I plainly said. What was the good way to explain what happened.

“What? What happened to Charlie?” He froze.

“About a month ago. We were coming home from my grandparents and a truck driver pushed the car into the river. My door got ripped off, that’s why I survived.” I looked away. It was so hard to control my voice and tears at the same time.

“Gosh Lace..” he hugged me to his chest. My hands were shaking again.

“It’s okay.. that’s how I’m here.”

“I wish it was because of something better… I’m so sorry. And how are you and Mav?”

“We’re fine. He’s not really used to somebody being around. So it’s new for him too.”

“I’m sure things will settle. He loves you.”

“And what’s up with you?”

“As I said back then, I joined the Navy and I’m stationed here. Months ago got engaged and that’s mostly it.”

When I heard him say that, it was like another knife in my chest. Seeing him made me feel things. Made old feelings come back but him being engaged hurt so bad.

I could have expected it, he was 28, looking like the sun. He was absolutely handsome. It should surprise me that only now engaged. Not married or having kids.

It was still pain on pain. He was smiling down at me and I was just not ready to face life. It was just coming down too fast.

#rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x oc #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #rooster x oc #rooster x you #jake hangman seresin #hangman x oc #talk to me goose #iceman

[wordsdarkerthantheirwiings]

I read through my journal today and was struck by quite a few things, especially how insightful I’ve been for the last few years despite not always feeling that way - or rather, not realising at the time that I’m making genuine insights that have changed my perspective.

There were two particular insights that really struck me, the first being this:

[11/10/19] Growing up in an environment where doing things wrong scaled from actually misbehaving/being disrespectful to not doing the housework to a “standard” or being screamed at for judgments, perceptions and projections, coupled with constantly second-guessing somebody’s behaviour and the lashing out over small, irrational or genuinely insignificant things - as well as being embarrassed by somebody either infront of others or personally, about deeply personal things - was intensely traumatising and damaged me in ways I am still unable to fully comprehend. It is absolutely the reason I don’t want children of my own and holds me back from entering a relationship with anyone.

It is why I prefer solitude and isolate myself to cope. Such isolation quite probably also stems from the fact that I was completely isolated while dealing with it.

It is this latter part which really got me, because it relates to something I only realised quite recently:

which is that, as a child, adults in my life knew what I was going through but did not protect or stick up for me, and I really was on my own when dealing with what my parent put me through. The only exception is my paternal grandparents, who both knew exactly what my mum was like and tried on several occasions to step in and tell her to back off while she was berating me infront of them (embarrassing me infront of others, for anything from not finishing a book to the way I looked, my weight, etc, was one of her favourite pastimes), but it never got any further than the initial sticking up because she’d just yell at them to stop interfering. Then I’d inevitably get into more trouble because of how ~humiliated~ she was that other people tried to stop her.

But nobody else stuck up for or helped me. I know damn well that her family know what she’s like because her own mum has spoken to me about it, about knowing she has a massive drinking problem and an attitude and a temper. But they want nothing to do with it, even though they’re the ones who created her. Then on the few occasions as a teenager when I ended up snapping because she was aggressive and in my face, I was the one who had to quit shouting. I was the one who had to back down and leave it. Dad would come to see what in the absolute hell was going on and I was the one who had to stop. Any time I ever tried to defend myself against her always made it worse - and if she did back down, I always knew it would come out the next time, or the time after that. It was always me who had to stay quiet, leave it alone, don’t say anything god forbid she kicks off more.

And so, I had to deal with it myself. At the time that was by throwing myself into whatever fictional world I was into and pretending I was a powerful hero loved by everyone and in total control of my life, relationships and everything else. I listened to music as angry as I was, music that made me feel powerful, and didn’t reach out to anyone. Because I had been taught, for so long, that nobody could be trusted. Because I didn’t realise this parental experience wasn’t the norm. Because in the end, I knew they wouldn’t really stick up for me - it would somehow be my fault, something I had to apologise for even though I never started it. And I was that way for so, so long.

Now, things are different. I recognise when I need to talk about something with another person and am actually planning to ask for a therapist when I see the psych later this month, so they can help me work through a couple things. I do still step back to figure myself out sometimes and I think there’s merit in that - I don’t want nor expect other people to handle me when I can’t handle myself. I’m also pretty self-reflective now and if something makes me frustrated or angry or upset and I’m surprised that it elicited such a reaction, I’ll take it away to figure out why and then move forward the way I need to. A lot of the time it’s often saying “huh, makes sense I’d feel this way because it relates to [x], which I’ve worked out or am working on” and moving on.

But I definitely don’t self-isolate like I used to, especially since the psychosis has really backed off. I’m so much better at self-soothing and getting my feelings out when they need that space. And I’m grateful for the insight I’ve gained that’s helped me to grow in this way. It’s really nice to feel like you’ve overcome something written into the fabric of yourself, something you thought you’d never get over. And it’s nice to look back and see how far I’ve come.

#journal post #parental abuse #childhood abuse #self-isolation #recovery #healing #long post #this ends on a positive note despite how it might look(!)

[megashadowdragon]

The Real History of Slavery "The Proud Family" Doesn't Want You to Know youtube comments

My mom and I were actually excited for the Proud Family reboot. Some of our favorite memories are of watching this show together when I was younger. Heck, they tackled racism and the previous views of segregation in the original but they did it in a very interesting and non-woke way. This, this is just butchering everything I loved as a kid by making them throw a temper tantrum and it being received positively. Also, I'd like to point out that, through that whole rap, Zoe (the only full white character in the group) is quiet the whole time, only holding up the flash cards. If I were Zoe, I wouldn't have enjoyed being there. In the episode I mentioned before, Zoe had a very interesting role in it. Here, she's just reduced down to someone holding up cue cards for the audience to see. This isn't the only way that they've ruined the Proud Family, but it's up there.Show less

My favorite line is: “ we earned reparations by their suffering.” So, someone you never met suffered and got nothing for it. And you get free money because you have the same skin color. That doesn’t fit any definition of “earned” that I can find.

if the police came to your door one morning and said they discovered that your great great grandfather commuted a murder and got away with it, would you be willing to go to jail for the rest of your life for it? No. You would hire the best lawyer you could get and sue for a false arrest. You would argue that even if it was true you are not responsible for what somebody did before you were born. You wouldn’t be willing to pay for what he did. But you want a reward for what he went through. And you want someone else to pay for what their great great great ancestor may or may not have done. Your inherited wealth theory is built on assumption too. My great grandparents came here poor, fleeing the oppression of their country. The only thing I inherited is their work ethic.

You’re not asking them to put them self in black peoples shoes. You’re asking them to picture themselves as slaves. Slaves came in every color. Slave traders came in every color. No black person in this country today has ever been a slave, nor has anyone owned slaves. My great grandfathers worked in dangerous copper mines for literal pennies and still managed to scratch out a life and a home. Then forty years later, the government came and took everything one of them built via Eminent Domain to put a runway in for a rural airport. They were of course paid nowhere near what it was worth. That actually happened to US. Where are my family’s reparations for the generational wealth we lost??Show less  that would be really bad for me and the next generation. By the fifth generation, this would no longer be happening. And if I found out the fifth generation was trying to claim a reward for themselves for what I went through, I’d be angry. And now my question for you. Would you be willing to go to jail and serve time for a crime you didn’t commit, but was commuted by someone else before you were born? Yes or no.

the reason is the same. You would not go to jail for someone else, because you are not responsible for what someone did before you were born. Whether it is jail or anything else, you are responsible for YOUR words and actions. And anyone who tries to make you responsible for anything that happened before you were born is being unreasonable. You intentionally changed what I wrote. I admitted that being forced to work is bad for the generations that were forced to work. That does not apply to anyone in America today. Everyone is born with different opportunities, talents and privileges. For example: Obama’s children were born with all kinds of wealth and opportunities that my kids weren’t. To suggest that I should write them a check because of my race is absurd.Show less Translation: we want to use slavery as an excuse to get free money and benefits. It’s getting real old now…and all cultures and colours were slaves at some point in history.

#candace owens #reparations #crt

[whereareroo]

RULES OF LIFE

WF THOUGHTS (4/18/24).

“How do you find topics for your blog?” I’m frequently asked that question.

Sometimes, I don’t find topics. Sometimes, the topics find me. Let me give you an example.

Today, a topic found me. It found me twice. If something finds me twice, I take that as a message that I should discuss the topic with you. Don’t blame me if you don’t like the topic. Blame the “Blog Gods.”

During a bike ride, we stopped for lunch at a sandwich shop. Next to our table, there was a poster on the wall. It listed eleven “Rules For Life” that a business leader had shared in a presentation to high school students. Seven of the Rules were so-so. Here are the four important ones:

Rule #1: LIFE IS NOT FAIR- -GET USED TO IT!

Rule #2: THE WORLD WON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR SELF ESTEEM. THE WORLD WILL EXPECT YOU TO ACCOMPLISH SOMETHING BEFORE YOU FEEL GOOD ABOUT YOURSELF.

Rule #4: IF YOU THINK YOUR TEACHER IS TOUGH, WAIT TILL YOU GET A BOSS.

Rule #8: YOUR SCHOOL MAY HAVE DONE AWAY WITH WINNERS AND LOSERS, BUT LIFE HAS NOT. IN SOME SCHOOLS THEY HAVE ABOLISHED FAILING GRADES AND THEY’LL GIVE YOU AS MANY TIMES AS YOU WANT TO GET THE RIGHT ANSWER. THIS DOESN’T BEAR THE SLIGHTEST RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING IN REAL LIFE.

After the bike ride, I was doing some reading. I came across a recent survey of 80,000 business owners. That’s a large group.

The universal consensus amongst the business owners is that younger people- -folks in their 20s and 30s- -are terrible employees. According to the business owners, the biggest problem with the young folks is their overwhelming sense of entitlement. Just for showing up, and even if they’re underperforming, the young folks constantly want promotions, pay increases, more benefits, and extra days off. Almost 70% of the business owners said that their younger employees were the “least reliable” members of their workforce. Slightly more than 60% of the employers said that the young employees are incapable of teamwork and that they cause “division and toxicity” in the workplace.

What conclusion should we draw from the business survey and the poster in the sandwich shop? A sizable portion of the young workforce is failing because they don’t know the “Rules of Life.” They apparently haven’t seen the poster in the sandwich shop. They are receiving a grade of “F” from their employers.

I don’t blame the young workers. I blame the parents and grandparents. Somebody taught these young folks that it’s OK to be entitled. Somebody gave them the idea that they could succeed even if they only focused on their own personal happiness. Sadly, it’s clear that parents and grandparents have raised these young folks to believe that the world is like Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. They believe that everybody in the neighborhood will automatically succeed and win a prize. That’s dangerous hogwash!

If you have anything to do with the formation of young people, please focus on the “Rules of Life” that I’ve highlighted from the sandwich shop. Life is competitive, and life is tough. You damage young folks if you shield them from reality. Your goal should be to produce young people who are superstars in the workforce. They need to be able to handle criticism, struggles, and unfairness. They need to prove themselves by working hard and keeping their mouths shut.

This is extremely important stuff. Folks who start their careers as “F” employees tend to finish their careers as unhappy, unsucccessful, “F” people. The data from the business survey should be a wake-up call to all parents, grandparents, or anyone else who provides guidance to young people. If we want young people to succeed, we need to expose them to reality and teach them the skills that are needed to cope with real life.

I’m going for a walk on the beach. Let’s hope that I’m hit with a more uplifting message. I’ll let you know.

[matias-2003]

A parody of the interview scene from Joker set after the 8th episode of the 3rd season of Flash

Cisco is in his talk show

Cisco: I have a special guest today. He saved the world thrice. Let's welcome Flash

Barry in his Flash suit gets out of the curtains, dances to "Flash" by Queen and sits next to Cisco's grandparents

Cisco: Is everything ok?

Barry: that's exactly how I imagined it

Cisco: well that's one of us!

The audience laughs

Cisco: do you want to tell us a joke?

The audience cheers

Barry: yeah of course. Knock knock

Cisco: who's there?

Barry: The time travel agency Mr Diggle. Your daughter was turned into a son. She was erased from existence

The audience booes

Cisco's grandmother: no no! You cannot joke about that!

Cisco: yeah that's not funny Barry. That's not the kind of humor we use on the show

Barry: ok I'm sorry. The thing is it's been rough days Cisco. Ever since I... killed Sara Lance, Ray Palmer and Mick Rory

The audience gasps

Cisco: ok I'm waiting for the punchline

Barry: there's no punchline. It's not a joke

The audience murmurs with disgust

Cisco: you're serious? You're telling me you killed 3 members of the Legends of Tomorrow?

Barry: mmm hmm

Cisco: and why should we believe you?

Barry: I've got nothing left to lose. Nothing can hurt me anymore. My life is nothing but a comedy

The audience booes again

Cisco: so let me get this straight. You think killing those guys was funny?

Barry: I do. And I'm tired of pretending it was not. Comedy is subjective Cisco. Isn't what they say? The system that knows so much decides what's right or wrong. The same way you decide what's funny or not

Cisco: ok so you're telling me you did all of this to start a movement so you could become a symbol?

Barry: come on Cisco. Do I look like a superhero who could start a movement? I killed those guys because they were too awful to understand I didn't ruin their work on purpose. Everybody is awful these days. Enough to make someone crazy

Cisco: ok so that's it. You're crazy. That's your defense for killing 3 people who saved the timeline?

Barry: No. They were more focused in being unfairly angry at me than in saving their lives

The audience booes again

Barry: ugh! Why is everybody so upset about those guys?! If it was me dying on the sidewalk you'd use my dead body as a museum exhibition! Those guys changed the timeline hundreds of times and they never get a punishment! And why not?! Because the president of the United States cried about them on TV?!

Cisco: You have a problem with the president of the United States?

Barry: yes I do! Have you seen what it's like out there Cisco? Do you ever leave the studio? Everybody just yells and screams at each other! Nobody's civil anymore! Nobody thinks what it's like to be the other guy! Do you think men like the president of the United States think what it's like to be someone like me? Someone who lost both of his parents and want to have them back? They don't. They think they have every right to be angry at us and that we'll take it like good little boys! That we won't lash out at them and snap back!

Cisco: You finished? It's so much self pity Barry. You're just making excuses for killing 3 heroes. And I'm sorry but people does have the right to be angry at you. Also not everybody and I'll tell you this. Not everybody is awful

Barry: You're awful Cisco

Cisco: Me? I'm awful? Oh yeah how am I awful?

Barry: calling me out for accidentally killing your brother. Forcing me to tell the Legends about my message from the future during the dominator war. You just wanted to make fun of me! You're just like the rest of them!

Cisco: You don't know the 1st thing about me pal. Look what happened because of what you did and what it led to. There are riots out there. Captain Lance from Star City had a heart attack because of Sara's death and is in the hospital fighting for his life...

Barry: Hahahahaha!

Cisco: ...and you're laughing you're laughing. Somebody was killed today because of what you did

Barry: I know! How about another joke Cisco?

Cisco: no I think we had enough of your jokes

Barry: what do you get...

Cisco: I don't think so

Barry: ...when you cross...

Cisco: I think we're done with your jokes that's it!

Barry: ...a mentally depressed speedster with a society that treats him like trash over a mistake any person in the world would've made?!

Cisco: call the police Caitlin! Call the police!

Barry: I'LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU GET!!!! YOU GET WHAT YOU RIGHTFULLY DESERVE!!!!

Barry shoots Cisco in the head with a gun, Cisco dies and the audience starts running and screaming with fear

Barry: Hahaha

Barry gets up of the couch, shoots Cisco's dead body in the chest, makes an evil dance and gets in front of the camera

Barry: good night. And always remember it: That's life

The camera shows the indian head test pattern, the Spanish Flea song starts to sound and news reporters report Cisco's death

#the flash #arrowverse #barry allen #cisco ramon #dc joker #arthur fleck #fanfic #parody