#[ with a face from a movie scene || visage ]

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 | 𝐛𝐨𝐛 𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬

Pairing Robert “Bob” Reynolds x Female Reader Summary On a slow morning, away from the pressures of the city, Bob helps quell your fears about the future [contains fluff, mild angst, the nickname ‘Robby’, cute superpower usage, wc 2.6k]  A/N I fell in love with Bob during Thunderbolts, and the events of this fic take place two years after the movie. A bit of maturing and healing have taken place—mentally and in terms of his powers. It’s my first time writing for him, so let me know what you think! 

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Sunlight, bedsheets, and skin. Reality itself dawned with the visage of a dream. With a lone fingertip, you trace the line of his spine from the space between his shoulder blades to where the soft linen pools at his hips. Tiny hairs rise on his bare skin as he shivers. Bob envisions your soft smile and slow-blinking eyes before he tips fully into wakefulness. When he does, your touch stills midway along his back as you venture upwards. 

Instead of car engines, birds sing outside. Rather than the sweeping windows of the Avengers tower, floral wallpaper and simple curtained panes allow the sun’s rays to paint the room. There’s no agenda, no meetings, no need to rush. This is the Catskills, and Manhattan is miles away. 

You were grateful the team granted you two the weekend away at one of Bucky’s old safe houses. It’s a secluded rural farmhouse surrounded by oak trees—a scene fit for the silver screen. 

“There you are,” you lilt. 

Bob huffs a shy chuckle. “Hi.”  He swallows when you comb your fingers through his hair. “Have you been up long?” 

“Ages.” He frowns at that. “I’m kidding.” 

A small smile breaks across his face. If you had been waiting long, he’d consider telling you that he’d had one of the best sleeps of his life. Then it’d make sense why he wanted to cling to it just a little longer. 

He’d almost lost track of all his luck since he met you. A part of him feared it was bound to fade away, but even then, he’d be alright with life having given him time with you at all. It’d been a year since you met, and he couldn’t remember goodness ever prevailing this long. As far as he knew, there was a crash after every high. 

But not all people were like vices he was once used to seeking: there one minute and gone the next. You’d stumbled into Bob’s life one chilly night on West 43rd and bonded over cheap slices. Sometime between then and him walking you home, you realized you liked having him around. Without so much as trying, he made you lean in closer, laugh too loud, lose track of time. 

When your fingers pass through his hair yet another gentle time, a small sound rises in his throat as your nails scratch against his scalp. 

“That feels good,” he sighs. 

For someone who’d never quite be able to break, you treated him as though the opposite were true. Every touch was so thoughtful and careful that even he began to believe it might be possible after all. Maybe you saw that he was a bunch of tiny pieces held together by a renewed will to live. Maybe you were the glue. 

“It’s getting so long.” You playfully rake some soft strands of hair into his face, and the feathery sensation makes him scrunch his nose. “You’re gonna disappear on me pretty soon.” 

Bob combs his hair back to see you again, chest filled with a warmth that refuses to stay in one place. 

“I promise I won’t.” The dual meaning of his words translates through his deep, blue eyes. “Gonna come find me if I do?” 

You pretend to think, as if you hadn’t already done your share of saving each other. 

“Maybe,” you say. 

When his lips twitch with the threat of a smile, you poke his ribcage a couple of times to coax it out. It works like a charm. Before you know it, he rolls onto his back and pulls you to lie on top of him. Your legs fall on either side of his body. 

“Robby, careful,” you chuckle in surprise.  

He likes the pressure, the proximity. After a few seconds, you finally relax on top of him, scooting down his body enough to rest your head against his chest. His skin is warm beneath your cheek, and you can feel the rise and fall of each steady breath. One of his hands slips beneath your shirt to draw shapes across the small of your back.  

Your eyes slip closed, and like a light switch, you’re transported back to the night you first met. Fluorescent lights shine above as the two of you sit across from each other near the front window of a pizza place. The steady buzz of chatter fills the air along with the rich scent of tomato sauce and oregano. Outside, pedestrians flutter by. 

It’s a memory. 

You can see your present selves too, standing over the shoulders of the yous forever bound to the past. You meet Bob’s gaze, taking in his boxers and muscled torso as his own eyes rove over you. 

That night, the team had let him leave without Bucky or John tagging along. The independence wouldn’t have been a big deal in another life, but it felt like a rite of passage. They were finally beginning to trust in his ability to control the multitudes he contained. He could’ve gone anywhere in Manhattan, somewhere more bustling and lively, but he’d decided to take a walk and grab a greasy bite.  

As Bob looks between your past selves, he can see the nerves in his gaze and the intrigue in yours. It was possible you had seen him on TV back when the city turned void. If you did happen to know who he was, you were sensitive enough not to mention that fateful day. 

The real reason you’d struck up a conversation with him was because he’d held the door for you when you first walked into the pizza place, two strangers crossing paths in the city that never sleeps. There was a certain allure you couldn’t quite pin down, a palpable energy. Something behind his eyes.

It was no secret that those who wandered at night were often looking to feel a little more alive. Perhaps you’d met for a reason written somewhere amid the invisible stars. 

Upon opening your eyes, you’re back in bed with him. You prop yourself up on his chest to study him.  

“You took us back,” you say. 

“Sorry,” Bob murmurs. “Wasn’t trying to.”  

Sometimes, when he feels safe and thinks about you, his mind will pull you two into a lifelike memory. It wasn’t a matter of control; he simply allowed it to happen without fighting against it.  

You run a light fingertip down his nose. “I don’t know if I believe you.” 

Bob takes your wrist and kisses the heel of your palm. “But you liked it.” 

“Says who?” 

“The smile on your face.” As soon as he says that, you purposely flatten your expression. A chuckle rumbles through him. “Guess I’ll stop if it’s so unbearable.” 

You could easily call his bluff, but the thought still stirs a small flicker of worry within you. Bob sees it in your eyes and squeezes you to quell it. There wasn’t a single part of him you hated. Not even the scarier, messier parts that often scared people away. It was their loss. It’d be hard to come across someone quite like him again.  

••• 

As the record player plays a jazzy instrumental, the sound of the spatula scraping against the bottom of the pan is a gentle accompaniment. Bob’s back muscles shift as he continues scrambling the eggs. It feels like you’re a koala bear with the way you’ve secured your arms around him, but he doesn’t mind. Not when it feels like this moment was handcrafted by tranquility itself. 

You didn’t get many moments like this in Manhattan. Now that you’re seeing what it’s like to have him all to yourself with no check-ins, you realize you wouldn’t mind having this forever. Except, forever seemed to stretch like an empty void waiting to be filled. And it was up to you to do the shaping. 

“Do you ever think about…” you trail off.  

Bob waits for you to continue, but you don’t. “About what?” he encourages. It almost hurts how patient he is with you. 

You tuck your nose into the space between his shoulder blades to inhale the scent of his shirt. “Thought you were a mind reader,” you accuse in a gentle attempt to deflect. “I want a refund.” 

Laughing, Bob turns off the stove and faces you. “It’s your mind we’re talking about.” There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he speaks. “Not even I can get a read on that thing.” What he means is that he’d never invade your thoughts. He never had. 

He tilts his head in that disarming, attentive way of his. “What were you gonna say?” His eyes remind you of the dark stare of a fawn, ever curious and searching. 

You redirect your attention to the floor. “Stop looking at me like that.” 

Bob lifts your chin back up with his index finger. “Like what?” It’s a painfully genuine question. “Like I value what you have to say?” 

When you remain quiet, his eyes darken, and bright ribbons of molten gold swirl through his irises. It’s beautiful in an intimidating way that makes your stomach flutter; an attempt at levity. A small smile plays on his lips as his gaze returns to normal. You bite back a reaction because you know he’d done it on purpose, knows you like it.  

“Tough crowd,” he playfully mumbles. “Talk to me, sweetheart, c’mon.” 

“After breakfast,” you say. “The food’s gonna get cold.” 

•••

Bob hums under his breath as he flips through a box of Bucky’s old vinyl. The house itself is even older, and the way the wooden floors creak tells the tale. He studies the cover art of the albums as you sit and watch from your place on the couch. You break your silence when you’ve had enough of the distance. 

“Hey, Robby?” He redirects his attention to you. “Maybe we can pause the music browsing for a sec.”

With how quickly he steps away from the box, you’re convinced he’d been waiting for you to say that. The cushions dip as he joins you on the plush sage couch. 

The entire living room is cozy. It reminds Bob of visits to his grandparents’ house as a boy. He remembers weekends and summers being dropped off when his parents claimed to need a break. It became a safe space that he never wanted to leave. 

With his grandparents, there was no constant clamoring, shouting matches, or phone calls from the electric company threatening to cut the lights off. He played outside in the sun with the older kids and came back inside to homemade lemonade and playful comments about him having worked up a good sweat. 

When he got older, and his grandparents passed away, his escape became the dingy basements of questionable acquaintances and back alleyways that never turned a lost soul away. 

Bob reaches over to squeeze your thigh. “I’m all ears whenever you're ready.”

“It feels kinda stupid now,” you admit. 

“Stupid and I go way back.” He’s sincere even as he jests. “Try me.” 

You play with your fingers and bite the inside of your cheek. It feels like you’re a scared kid standing on a diving board at the deep end of the pool. All attention is on you. It’s time to jump. 

“Do you ever think about the future? What it looks like?” you ask, pausing for a few seconds. “If people like us get a happily ever after?” 

You meet each other’s gaze. 

“People like us,” he repeats slowly. You can see the gears moving in his mind. 

“I’m me, and you’re… you,” you say. “There’s no such thing as normal.” 

Bob hums, not agreeing or disagreeing.

You exhale. “Everything’s starting to feel so perfect.” Bob waits for you to continue. “But it feels like I’m waiting for the rug to get ripped out from under me.” 

“I hear you,” he says, reaching out to interlock his fingers with yours. He's quiet for a few thoughtful beats. “I don’t know what’s down the road, but I know what’s in front of me right now,” he says. 

A silence stretches between you until he breaks it again. “Back when I tried the whole therapy thing, there was this idea called dress rehearsing tragedy,” he says. “It’s when you think of the worst so much that it gets hard for the good to shine through.” 

You nod as you soak in every measured word. 

“That was me every time things started to look up,” Bob admits reflectively. “I’m not saying that’s you right now—hell, you practically are the sun to me.” Your lips twitch upwards when he squeezes your hand. 

“What I’m saying is we get this whole weekend together.” Bob leans in closer. “So let’s just be here.” 

“And when the weekend ends?” you murmur, just to see what he says. 

“I promise I’m in this for the long haul,” he assures. “Whatever it takes.” 

Those last words linger in the air. Bob gives you his full attention when you shift as if you’re about to speak up. Instead, you brush your thumb over the back of his hand. His eyes never leave you. It’s a glimpse into what it must’ve felt like for him to be under your watchful gaze the night you met.  

“Whatever it takes,” you echo. 

So much in life seemed far away for you. Falling in love was for other people, marriage was for other people, buying a house and building a life was for other people. Not for you. 

Bob offers a solemn smile. “I used to be scared all the time.” He thinks for a moment. “Now I refuse to be. Out of spite mainly.” 

You huff a laugh, partly amused, partly in admiration. “I swear you’re not real sometimes. Like this is all just a dream.” 

Bob chuckles. “I swear I am.” He kisses your cheek to prove he’s real. “Need me to pinch you? ‘Cause I can do that too.” 

A small squeal escapes you as he reaches for your side, but he lets you push his hand away. You blink up at him in surprise when he stands and extends that hand to you. 

“Let’s go,” he says. 

You let him pull you to your feet, a spark of excitement stirring. “Go where?”

“The lake.”

•••

There’s a breeze that complements the warmth in the air. Grass crunches beneath your shoes as you follow Bob down to the shoreline. The still water shimmers in the light of the sun. Across the way, you can see somebody paddling in a canoe. There’s a bench beneath a cluster of birch trees, but Bob walks up to the water, and you stop by his side. Leaves rustle, birds chirp. 

He snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. You rest your head on your shoulder. It’s so still and quiet that your thoughts begin to settle. Bob was right. Neither of you knew the future. But in this moment, you at least know the feeling of standing beside someone you love. You know you’d be willing to fight for it. And maybe that was enough. 

Bob looks at you after a while, cataloguing your features like it’s the first time. He closes the distance between you just as you’re about to jokingly ask if he’s looking for something. A pleasant warmth spreads through your body as his lips find yours. He kisses you tenderly, hands settling on your waist as you reposition yourself in front of him. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, where you gently tug his hair. 

Bob smiles into the kiss. Not for any particular reason, more like a culmination of things. 

You pull away. “What?” you whisper against his lips, beginning to smile. 

Bob’s cheeks warm as he shakes his head. “I’m just happy.” 

“Me too.” 

“We’re gonna be okay,” he promises. 

Your lips find each other’s again.

-

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

BOB MASTERLIST

ALL MASTERLISTS

[changbunnies]

Hopelessly Devoted To You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Greaser!Bang Chan x fem!Reader

♡ Genre: grease inspired 50s au, some angst and fluff, this was supposed to be a long full length fic but it somehow became just porn with plot lol

♡ Word Count: 11.2k

♡ Summary: You were so excited to see him again– the guy you'd spent your entire summer with, entagled in a fleeting but explosively sweet romance. But the Chris you meet again isn't the one you remember, and now if he wants to win you back he's going to have to prove just how devoted to you he really is.

♡ Warnings: chan is referred to as chris, smoking (cigarettes), some misogyny + toxic masculinity + fuck boy behavior, some 50s references and lingo, 1 instance of reader shoving chan in a fit of anger / sadness, jealous and mildly possessive chan, minor appearances from felix, changbin, minho, and hyunjin (who goes by sam)

♡ Smut Warnings: 1 reference to reader losing their virginity to chan, references / flashbacks to other smut scenes before the main scene, light dom/sub dynamics, switch!chan, pet names (doll, sugar, baby), public sex, car sex, exhibitionism, oral (f rec, referenced m rec), fingering (f rec), nipple play, daddy kink, panty stealing (kind of), squirting, 1 mention of reader having pubic hair, maybe a lil breeding kink??, protected piv

♡ Notes: i've had this sitting in my drafts since december and finally got around to finishing it gfdhgfh this is incredibly self indulgent as grease is one of my fave movies ever and chan as danny zuko is constantly rattling around in my brain. the build up is pretty short (by my usual standards) as i moved the plot along a lot quicker than i normally would so idk if it's my best work but hopefully you enjoy it!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

You remember well the first time you met Chris. Lounging aimlessly at the beach with the sunset on the horizon, his feet in the sand with a silver dog tag necklace hanging low over his bare chest, a cigarette from his previously discarded jeans held between his lips. Fresh from the ocean with beads of water still dripping off his toned body, slicking back his damp hair before fumbling through a different pocket for his lighter.

You watched him bring it up to his face after successfully digging it out, cupping his other hand around it to protect the flame as he lit the cigarette in his mouth. You watched him take a long drag, watched him blow the smoke out from the corners of his mouth, watched him sigh before deciding to towel dry his legs enough to wrangle his jeans back on. 

The beach had been quickly growing sparse by the time you spotted him. Groups of friends clearing out to make it to the local diner before all the tables were filled, parents wanting to get their kids to bed before the moon fully rose in the sky, couples on double dates bunching up in one car as they decide to hit the drive-in together.

You yourself were in no rush to leave– you came alone, tired of your parents bickering during what was supposed to be a fun family vacation. You’d stay as long as you could, you’d decided– really soak in the peace the sea brings before returning to your aunt’s beach house, where you were all staying for the summer.

But safe to say, the sight of him enraptured you. He was handsome, devastatingly so– you never expected to see a man with a visage to rival even that of James Dean himself with your own eyes, but there he was before you; and your heart stuttered when he glanced over in your direction.

He had just finished pulling his jeans up and over his haunches when he noticed you, cocking a brow when your eyes met– and you could tell in an instant that he knew you’d been staring at him. His smile made your breath hitch, pretty dimples peeking out on his cheeks as he acknowledged you with a playful wave.

Hesitantly, you lifted your hand and waved back, and he grinned, eyes still locked on yours as he pulled up the zipper of his jeans. He turned back to his belongings on the ground, shook the sand out of his white tee before pulling it on. He grabbed his leather jacket, slung it over his shoulder before turning to look at you once more.

You swallowed, face running hot from his gaze alone– you hoped, as he began walking towards you, that you could play it off as having not put on enough sunscreen before coming here. You were sitting on a towel, legs to your chest with your arms wrapped around them, but you lowered them as he approached you.

He tossed his cigarette to the the side once he was close, letting its flame fizzle out in the sand. He looked you up and down when you stood up, introducing himself with a charismatic smile that made your heart race faster. You stuttered when speaking, and his smile widened, one of his hands going to rest in the pocket of his jeans while the other kept his leather jacket in place over his shoulder. 

Chris was the most, to say the least– and when he asked if he’d see you again tomorrow, you promised him he would. You watched him walk over to a beat up, old top down cadillac, throwing his jacket into the car before jumping in– literally jumping in, hand on top of the closed car door as he hopped over it into the driver's seat. 

He gave you another glance after starting the ignition, and you smiled meekly as you offered him another wave. Chris grinned, raising his hand to say goodbye before putting it back on the wheel and burning rubber out of the parking lot.

You spent nearly every summer day with him after that. Days at the beach spent splashing each other in the water while you giggled, hopping in his cadillac to go catch whatever new flick was showing, or sharing a milkshake at his favorite diner. He’d hold your hand as you walked through the sand, giggled with you over silly inside jokes while eating burgers and fries, hugged you tight after you gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek at the end of the night.

Chris gave you dimes to pick tunes on the jukebox, and would sing along to your selections with the prettiest voice you’d ever heard. He took you to the county fair, would shoot you goofy grins after kissing you with lips sticky from cotton candy, got on the ferris wheel with you and squeezed your hand when the height made you dizzy, kissing away your nerves when you reached the very top.

He won you a teddy bear from the soda toss, put his leather jacket over your shoulders when the sun set and the air began to chill, wrapped his arm around your shoulder while you were waiting in line to buy some popcorn. He’d lean down to whisper a joke in your ear, and you’d slap his arm with a giggle while he squeezed you closer.

You watched him soup up the engine of his car, and he’d take your hand after a long day of working on it, pull you in to dance with him while the radio blared the hippest tunes. When he was satisfied with the restoration of his cadillac, he started taking you out on long drives, wind whipping through your hair as he drove fast through the back streets of the city.

He’d drive you to secluded hills overlooking the city, where you’d make out until he had to drive you home in time for curfew. He’d park his car far down the street, away from where your family could see him dropping you off– because Lord knows your mother's heart would give out if she saw you spending your vacation with a guy that looked like him.

And through it all, days spent back at the beach where you first met him were always your favorite. You would let Chris lay you down on a towel in the sand and kiss you over and over, until you were both heaving and hot. You lost your virginity to him like that– alone on the beach, towels laid down and moon high in the sky after having snuck out of the window of your guest bedroom to meet him.

He’d whisper sweet words in your ear, make you fall apart with deft fingers and an equally deft tongue. Sometimes, instead of sneaking out to see him, he’d be the one showing up at your guest room's window, grinning at you as you opened it to let him in. He’d fuck you there, in the bed with his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your moans of pleasure, lest your family discover what it is you’re really up to while "alone" in your room. 

Chris would crawl over to you in the passenger seat at the drive-in, sink to his knees and dip his head underneath your long poodle skirt, the flick on screen long forgotten as he pulled your panties to the side to kiss and lick your dripping pussy. Sometimes he’d fuck you there too, parked all the way in back with the windows and hood of the car up to hide what you were doing (as if the rocking didn’t give it away to anyone who happened to look.)

Sometimes, when he parked up the street to drop you off after sharing ice cream at the drive thru malt shop, you’d lean over the gear shift, taking his cock out of his jeans and sucking him off right there, with not nearly enough care for who could possibly see you. He’d give you the sweetest kiss before helping you out of the car, promising he’d see you tomorrow too, and the day after, and the day after that, until eventually your family’s summer vacation had to come to an end.

Chris was a dreamboat that day, as he always was– hair greased back with a few curly strands left over his forehead, loose black tee tucked into his jeans, leather jacket on with its collar ever so slightly popped, his dog tag necklace sparkling when the sun hit it just right. He was leaning against the door of his newly souped up cadillac with a lit cigarette resting between his lips, though he promptly threw it to the ground when he saw you walking over.

“There’s my girl! And ain’t she a doll,” he grinned as he pulled you to his body, kissing you sweetly as you blushed. You weren’t wearing anything he hadn’t seen you in before– just one of your usual white blouses and pretty pink skirts, but he always made sure to tell you that he thought you were the absolute most.

He walked around to the other side of the car, opened the door for you and closed it shut behind you when you got in. He hopped into the driver’s seat after, starting the ignition and turning to you with that beaming smile that made your stomach flip. “What’s the plan today, sugar?” he asked, throwing his arm around you while leaving one hand on the steering wheel.

In the end, you spent the day as you had many times before– driving through the city, hitting up the diner to split a strawberry milkshake, and watching the sunset at the beach; the same beach where you met him, and where the house you were staying in lied just a couple hundred yards away. You were sitting on the rocks, his leather jacket off and resting behind you, his arm curled around your waist. 

His jeans were filthy with sand, as was your skirt, but neither of you cared– you just stayed there together, watching the sun sink lower and the waves crash against the shore. Chris kissed you when you looked up at him with watery eyes, agonized over the idea of never seeing him again. He’d given you the best summer of your entire life, and all you wanted was to stay– but you couldn’t. And though he comforted you the best he could, you both knew it was the end.

Chris held your hand to help you off the rocks, gave you a kiss before you turned away to make the walk to your aunt’s beach house. And you both knew it was the end– but not just yet. He came to your window later that night, and you let him in, bringing your hands to his face and eagerly pressing your lips to his.

He walked you back to the bed as you kissed him, laid you back gently and crawled between your legs. He made you cum on his fingers before reaching into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a condom and tearing it open with his teeth. He rolled it easily down his cock, his jeans having fallen down his legs just enough to let him fuck you.

You reached your hands underneath his shirt, hungrily tracing your hands over every inch of his skin. Your nightgown was bunched above your thighs, legs spread wide to accommodate him. He eventually pulled the top of it down too, exposing your chest to him and leaving your stomach as the only covered part of your body.

Sweat dripped from his brow, his normally perfectly slicked hair tousled from your fingers sliding through it– and you didn't care that the pomade in his hair dirtied your fingers; in fact, it made it feel nicer when you brought your hand to one of your breasts, and rolled your nipples between them. Your stomach flipped when he grinned and called you a dirty girl, running a hand through his hair to grease up his fingers too and tweak the other nipple not being played with by your own.

He kissed you to muffle your moans and desperate whines, and it was nowhere near as effective as when it was his hand clamped over your mouth, but it was better. He had to slow down when fucking you fast unintentionally made your bedframe slam against the wall, and you gasped, praying no one woke up from the sound.

Thankfully, no one came knocking on your door– and though you were both desperate, clinging to one another hard and sliding your tongues around each other’s with fervor, he fucked you slow and deep after that. "Chris, daddy, please– 'm gonna cum," you moaned when he brought his slicked up fingers to your clit. 

Chris groaned before kissing you again, and you came with a muffled cry, your nails digging desperately into his biceps. He kept rolling his hips into you through it, your body trembling with sensitivity until he eventually came too, all his cum spilling into the condom. 

He stayed for a while after that, holding you close and wiping tears from your eyes with his thumbs. He snuck out in the middle of the night, promised you despite it all that it wasn’t the end– you’d see each other again someday, he just knew it; he wanted you to believe it too.

You got a couple of hours of sleep before morning, and gave your family the best smile you could manage as you tossed your luggage in the trunk of your dad's chevy bel air. You slouched in the back seat, trying not to cry and wishing more than anything you were in Chris’ old cadillac instead.

The Chris you reunited with wasn’t yours, and if it was, then fate was cruel for bringing you back to him.

The Chris you knew wouldn’t have looked at you like that– like you’re a desperate and fast girl, or an overly smitten near stranger hoping to get her kicks from him one last time while his friends snickered behind him. The Chris you knew wouldn’t join in on their snickering, tilting his head with an amused expression, tongue poking his cheek as he combs his fingers through his slicked back hair.

The Chris you reunited with wasn't yours, and the realization that you didn't really know him the way you thought you did utterly broke your heart.

You were back in the city– your parents, after having settled whatever marital disputes they were having, decided to settle down here. They loved their time together in the city when all their little tiffs were said and done, and they could tell you loved it here too.

They thought it’d benefit everyone to set up shop somewhere new, where everyone could reset. Plus, your mom wanted to be close to her sister again– and you certainly wouldn’t complain about spending more time at your aunt’s beach house.

You desperately wanted to see Chris again, and you knew it’d only be a matter of time before you did– unlike you, he grew up in the city, lived here his entire life. And while it’d been months since you parted at the end of summer considering your parents had to do a lot of work to shift the family business to a new location while also looking for a decent house up for sale, it would happen eventually– you were certain of it.

And soon enough you did see him, knew in an instant it was him even at a distance– because you’d recognize his restored cadillac anywhere. He was leaning against the car door like usual, cigarette in his mouth and leather jacket on his back, with a circle of friends around him. You never met his friends– he told you they were pigs, said that you wouldn’t like them much.

Besides, you were only going to be in town a few short months– why waste your precious few days hanging around with other people when you could be alone? That’s what he always told you– and as you tentatively began to walk up the street closer to them, you could tell they certainly did talk more vulgarly than you were used to hearing.

“C’mon man, you gotta let me borrow her,” one of his friends begged in reference to his car, “she’s a real pussy wagon. My chick’ll cream if I pick her up in it.” “Get your own wheels, bozo,” Chris shoved him with a laugh, “I ain’t lettin’ you take my girl on any joyrides.”

“What if you come too? Make it a double date, you know– and nobody’s got bigger tits than Annette. I got dibs, but she’ll be real nice eye candy for you,” his friend persuaded and Chris hummed, as if seriously considering it. Would he really go?

“Mm, maybe,” he grinned, tossing his cigarette to the ground and digging it into the gravel with his foot, “You do got a point. Tell her to bring a pretty friend, and I’ll think about it.” You blinked, stopped walking and simply stared at him. Had he moved on already? It’d only been a few months, but maybe you fell for him harder than he fell for you; the thought of it made your heart sink to your stomach.

His friend cheered and hugged him tight, and Chris pushed him away with another laugh, running a hand through his hair to fix it up as he characteristically did whenever it got even the slightest bit out of shape. In that same moment is when he glanced over in your direction, catching sight of you by pure coincidence.

His eyes widened when he saw you, mouth gaping open for a split second before he called your name in a mix of utter shock and joy. That was more like the Chris you knew– and it gave you hope. You ran up to him, and he to you, bringing his hands to your shoulders and touching you up and down your arms– truly, he couldn’t believe you were here, and he had to touch you to be certain it was real. 

“What– what are you doing here? I-I thought you went back home with your folks, I thought–” he was smiling, entirely giddy as he looked you up and down. “We moved! I’m here to stay,” you told him excitedly, bouncing on your heels as you stared up at him.

It made you so, so happy; to the point that the contents of his prior conversation entirely lifted from your mind. It pains you thinking back to how naive and lovesick for him you were– you wish you'd have known better. 

“I can’t believe it! I–” he started to exclaim, but then realized his friends followed him, crowding around his back while shooting him inquisitive looks, and he quickly took his hands off you.

He cleared his throat, tucked his hands in his pockets in a gesture meant to bring him back to his aloof state of being, and he grinned– not that pretty grin that made your heart flutter, but a wicked one. “I mean– that’s cool, baby.”

You didn’t like it, your brows furrowing at the change in his demeanor. “Christopher–” you started, but one of his friends spoke up before you could talk much more. “Who’s the chick?” he asked as he looked you up and down, and Chris hesitated. “Oh, uh–”

“Oh, I know!” the friend suddenly exclaimed, hit by an epiphany, “the one from the beach you wouldn’t let us meet– the one who puts out. This her? It is, isn’t it?”

Your face burned red, unpleasant heat crawling over your body as the rest of his friends snickered. He told them you put out? Why would he do that? Your expression crumbled, body trembling with embarrassment and grief, but Chris kept his own cool.

“Don’t worry, doll, I didn’t tell them all the horny details,” he smirked, and his friends' snickers erupted into full on laughs as they slapped his back in amusement. Your body burned hot with indignation, eyes welling with tears as your frustration and anguish boiled over. You shoved him as hard as you could, though it hardly even caused him to take a step back.

“I wish I’d never laid eyes on you, you– you creep!” you cried before turning away, ready to run back home to throw the teddy bear he won you in the trash and sob into your pillows. “That’s not all she laid on him,” one of his friends commented under his breath, the rest laughing and hooting as you sprinted away from them, back down the street.

Chris just watched, body tense and face sullen, heart twisting in his chest. He watched you turn the corner, wiping tears from your eyes before you disappeared entirely out of view, his friends still laughing and giving him pats on the back.

But when he turned to them, he put the smirk back on, and they all hopped into his car to hit the drive-in as if he didn't care about what just happened with you, as if the guilt wasn't going to eat away at him every night.

The next time Chris sees you is weeks later, at a new mom-and-pop shop freshly opened on the edge of the city. He’s there with his friends, all of them jumping out his cadillac before he’s even fully parked, rushing inside to grab a good table.

And when he walks in, it’s not his friends that he sees first but you– sitting at a booth with another guy across from you. There's an empty plate with tiny remnants of ketchup still left behind that he just knows you used for your french fries, and a milkshake between you with two straws stuck in it.

Part of him is relieved you aren’t sharing a single straw with the man like you would’ve done with him, but his gut still twists from the sight regardless. And when you giggle at something indiscernible the guy says, Chris feels liquid hot envy boil in his blood, jaw tightening and fists clenching as he cracks his neck. 

“Chris, over here!” his best pal, Felix, calls from across the shop, and that’s when you see him too. You can’t help but look when you hear his name called, eyes widening when they land on him. He tenses, eyes lingering on you for a few seconds longer before he inevitably joins his friends at the table they scouted out in the middle of the room.

He can't focus on anything his friends are saying– the only thing he vaguely hears through the fog in his brain is Changbin begging the others for spare nickels so he can afford the dog-sled delight. It all becomes tuned out noise, because all he can think about is how much he missed you, and how much it pisses him off that you're here with someone else.

It's Chris' own fault, he knows that, and that makes the feeling even worse– like bile in his throat that he can't swallow down. It doesn’t take Minho, the most perceptive of his friend group, to notice that he’s staring at you and to comment on it.

“What, you still hung up on that chick?” he questions, and Chris scoffs as he snaps out of his fog, leaning back in his chair and acting as aloof as he can bring himself to. “What? No, of course not,” he says, but his eyes still linger on you, fingers twitching with irritation when he hears you laugh again, and watches you playfully slap the man’s arm like you would do to his.

Eventually, you hold out your palm to your date, and he watches the guy dig through his pockets to give you something. Chris knows immediately what's happening– you’re waiting to be given a dime or two, and you’ll saunter off to the jukebox to pick a new tune once they’re in hand.

He watches you rise from the booth, waits until you’ve made the walk over to rise from his table, muttering to his friends that he needs to hit the can real quick. He takes a few steps in the direction of the bathroom, and then immediately turns, going straight to you instead.

He props an arm on the jukebox after he approaches, leans against it and looks down at you as you cycle through the record choices. “Hey baby,” he tries, but you ignore him, don’t even spare him a glance as you continue to give the jukebox your full attention.

“Listen– I’m sorry,” he tries again, and you just hum in acknowledgement, still not turning your gaze to look at him. He swallows, glances back at his friends who are perfectly oblivious to what he’s doing, and then back to you. “I just– you know how it is, right? The guys, they expect me to act a certain way, and–”

“That’s why I’m so glad I met Sam,” you interrupt, turning around to look at your date and offer him a sweet wave. Chris hates it, but at least you’re talking to him now– he’ll take what he can get. He still ends up scowling however when your date waves back, and you turn back to the jukebox, still without glancing up at Chris himself.

“What, you like that square?” he scoffs as he looks your date up and down. He’s smartly dressed; pristine khaki slacks and a brown sweater vest pulled over his white button up, his hair in a neatly styled, respectable crew cut– but that’s not your type.

At least, he hopes it's not; because that would make Chris the outlier, and that’s not what he wants to be. He’ll also be damned if he ends up losing you to a goody two shoes like that.

“He’s sweet to me. And I don’t have to question what his intentions are, unlike with you,” you reply, and the emphasis put on 'you' makes his heart sink. While he certainly deserves to hear it, it doesn’t make him any less upset– not with you, but with himself. He really let his pride and reputation get in the way, and he knows he fucked up. But he wants you, and surely you know that, right?

You finally settle on a tune; Those Magic Changes– the one he knows is your absolute favorite. The one he even used to serenade you with once whilst dancing, you giggling away with a cute blush on your cheeks whilst he twirled you around. He sang it more exaggeratedly towards the end, purposely putting on a goofy voice to make you laugh harder as he dipped you down.

He kissed you before lifting you back up, and then again when you were completely upright, your hand on his shoulder and his arm around your waist, your other free hands intertwined. The way you looked at him when he pulled back from the kiss made his heart pound, but he played it cool– shot you that grin that always made your legs feel like jelly, kissing your cheeks when it made your blush deepen.

Chris liked feeling the heat of your blush against his lips, liked having your hands on him even when it was in the purest of ways, liked the way you giggled and smiled at him when he playfully winked at you. The memory strikes him hard when you press the play button to start the song, and he takes a step back from the jukebox, fists clenched at his side.

You look at him then– really look at him. Instantly he feels small, your gaze that once held so much love for him now meeting him with the utmost scrutiny. He fucked up, he knows he did– but what does he do now? He can’t even trust himself to say something without fucking it up even worse. 

And the pain of it all hits you too– he can see it in your eyes just before you steel your expression, and do your best to act unaffected. "See you around, Christopher," you mutter as you turn away from him and the jukebox.

You walk back to the booth where Sam awaits your return with a smile, while Chris just stands there, your favorite song blaring painfully loud in his ears as he stares at your back. "..begs you please, come back to me, please return to me, don't go away again," the lyrics mock him harshly.

He doesn't know what to do, but he knows he has to do something, anything, to show you he’s sincerely sorry. He needs to show you he still wants you, needs you to give him another chance– more than he’s ever needed anything.

The next time Chris sees you is once again by coincidence, while he’s sitting alone in the parking lot of the sock hop his little sister just begged him to take her to. He was trying to decide what to do with his time– if he left, he’d have to come back in a couple hours to pick her up, but surely it was better than sitting around outside, bored out of his mind while he waited for her.

He could go in, but sock hops aren’t really his thing– the only time he ever danced was with you, and he didn’t plan on changing that. All he’d do inside is stand on the edge of the room and watch his sister dance, and he didn’t much feel like doing that either. Besides, his little sister was a good girl, and she didn’t need, nor want, his constant supervision.

And he’s just about to turn the key in his ignition and burn rubber when he sees you, arm linked with stupid fucking Sam as he opens the door for you with his free hand. And fuck, he doesn't even care that he's about to crash your date– he just needs to talk you. He jumps out of his car in a rush, pulling open the door to the building and heading straight to the line leading to the dance floor.

Chris’ jaw tenses when he sees you– Sam is leaning down to whisper something in your ear while you wait in the line, and you cover your mouth as you giggle. He hates how similar it is to the days he spent with you at the fair, waiting in line for rides and popcorn. The envy bubbling in his gut makes him feel sick, and he has to take a breath to calm himself down before he approaches you.

He steps to where you are in the line when he feels mellowed out enough, you and your date turning around curiously when they hear his voice call your name. Your eyes widen when you see it's him, but you’re quick to correct your expression before your date notices anything off about you. “Can I talk to you?” Chris asks, not at all acknowledging Sam’s presence beside you.

Even when you divert your gaze to glance at your date’s reaction, Chris’ eyes stay firmly on you, awaiting your answer. “Please?” he follows up, and it makes you swallow. It’s the first time he’s ever taken a pleading, desperate tone with you, and he can tell rejecting him isn’t going to come easily to you– it gives him hope that you'll finally hear him out, maybe even take him back.

“I–” you hesitate a moment, and just as Chris’ new, shiny hope begins to dim, you unlink your arm from your date. “I’ll be right back, just stay in the line,” you tell Sam before shooting Chris a look and walking past him. He follows you back outside, and you cross your arms as you stand against the cold brick of the exterior.

“What do you want?” you cut straight to the point. There’s a million things he wants to say, but his built up jealousy causes him to ask the stupid, burning question first and foremost. “Since when do you go to sock hops?” he questions, and it almost makes you laugh– he’s unbelievable, breaking your heart like that and then pulling stunts like this. 

“Since nice boys ask me to go with them. Why, you jealous?” you accuse him and he scoffs, trying once again to play off what he feels. “Me? Jealous? Don’t make me laugh,” he says, unable to help the instinctive reaction to being called out. And he instantly regrets it, but it’s too late to take it back.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I go back inside then?” you ask as you step away from the wall, starting to walk past Chris and back to the doors. He grabs your arm to stop you, and you look up at him expectantly. “Don’t, I–” he grits his teeth, hesitates for a moment, but ultimately decides to be honest, “I am, okay? So don’t.”

He lets your arm go, and his admission thankfully proves enough to make you stay. You settle back against the brick wall, but you don’t look at him after– instead you look down at the ground, staring at your sleek, black and white saddle shoes instead of meeting his gaze.

It’s silent for a moment, with Chris wracking his brain as he tries to figure out the right thing to say to you. “What you did was terrible, you know,” you end up breaking the silence first, your voice soft.

“I know, I– I meant it when I said I was sorry,” Chris says while moving a step closer to you, and still you hesitate to look at him. “I didn’t believe you. Still don’t,” you reply, and honestly, he can’t blame you– he should’ve been more sincere when he approached you.

But he was being a fucking idiot, still trying to play it cool even though it was just the two of you standing there by the jukebox. And who gave a fuck if his friends happened to look over and saw him talking to you? Why should he care? Is it really so wrong for him to be whipped for you?

Even the first time he saw you again, he should've done all the things he really wanted to do. He should've kissed you and hugged you tight, should've told you how happy he was to know you’re here to stay, should’ve flipped his friends the bird and told them to fuck off if they questioned him. But he didn’t– he cracked under the expectations, and you suffered for it.

There’s a lot he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it– he’s never been vulnerable about his feelings before you, but he wants to try. Even if he screws up over and over again, he’ll keep trying– because you deserve it. And he should apologize again, sincerely, but there’s another question burning in his blood that he has to ask.

“Do you really like that guy? You’re not, like– going steady, are you?” Chris questions and you shrug, finally looking up from the ground to meet his eyes. “That depends,” you tell him, peeling your back away from the wall to stand directly in front of him, holding your hands behind your back.

“On what?” he follows up, and you smile– a small one, but it’s enough for him. “On you,” you answer, and the hope flares back up, drowning out the envy and shame in veins and replacing it with pure, unfiltered glee.

“Yeah?” he grins as he tilts his head, and your smile grows the tiniest bit more as you nod. You may still have your doubts about his sincerity, but the fact that you’re willing to give him a chance is all he needs– he’ll use the time you give him to prove it to you, to make sure you’re left with no doubts that you’re the one that he wants, to promise that he'll never break your heart again.

“Come with me then, back inside– you’re gonna be my date,” he says as he holds out his hand to you. Sock hops may not have been his style before, but they can be for you. “What about Sam?” you question, but still take his hand regardless.

“He can stag it the rest of the night for all I care. You’re mine, sugar,” Chris replies, and it sends butterflies sweeping through your stomach as you giggle in delight. “And your friends?” you ask next, knowing it’s very well possible he’ll crack under the expectations of his rep with them again if they see you together.

“Fuck ‘em,” he replies easily; and you’re both sure it’ll be easier said than done for him to not give a shit what they think, but he’ll do his best. He doesn’t want to do anything to make you regret giving him another chance. “Let’s dance, baby,” he grins at you, pulling you along with him as he steps back inside the building with you in tow.

There’s a thought in Chris’ head that he never before thought he’d ever have– the sock hop was perfect. And well, maybe it’s not the sock hop itself necessarily that he enjoyed, but you– yes, it was most certainly you. The time spent with you was everything he’d been missing, everything he could’ve ever hoped for following your departure from the city and his subsequent abysmal fuck up. 

He knew he didn’t deserve any of it– and he was certain you were going to share a more serious talk about it all later, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt walking back into the building and seeing Sam utterly bewildered that his date was now clinging to his own arm instead.

And he won’t shirk his responsibility to do better by you– he’ll own up to his mistakes, he’ll change, be someone deserving of you. It may take a lot of time and effort to unlearn all the dumb shit he’s taken in over the years, but he swears he’ll try– tonight is just the start of a lifetime of proving to you that he’ll do anything to keep you.

All night, you’ve been positively radiant– and truly, Chris has never felt luckier in all his life. He delighted in the way you smiled at him while dancing, enjoyed the way you squealed in excitement and bounced on your heels when the live band decided to play a cover of your favorite tune, couldn’t help the way a goofy grin spread over his face when you pecked him on the cheek following a slow dance.

You’re the only one in the world who’s ever seen it, you know– the only one who gets to see his dimples, or to hear him giggle. The only one he’s ever sung to and danced with, the only one he’s ever wanted to stay up all night talking on the phone with, the only one he’s ever taken out for more than a quick and simple joyride in his car.

He could feel the inquisitive, disbelieving stares too– Chris has lived here his entire life, and everyone knows the kind of guy he is. And maybe he’s simply lucky– he knows he’s nothing but a delinquent, knows his reputation precedes him, knows he doesn’t deserve the affection of a good girl like you. 

Regardless of it all, you love him– enough to give him another chance even when he hasn’t yet done enough to earn it. And effortlessly, you unlock the soft part of him– the part of him that desires and yearns and wants. He burns for you, the only girl in the world his heart has ever raced for, the only who knew who he was beyond the rough surface he projected to the rest of the world.

Now you’re outside tentatively standing next to Chris’ car, waiting for him to come back from confirming with his sister that she’ll hitch a ride home from her friends instead of him. It embarrasses him how she grills him with questions about you– and he answers in the vaguest of terms, having to promise that he’ll fill her in on it all in more detail later, but to please just let him go be alone with his girl.

He’s certain that no one else would believe it if he told them, but his intentions to be alone with you are entirely pure. Now that he’s close to having you as his again, he wants to do right by you– take it slow, kiss you soft and tender, touch you light and chaste, respectfully, sweetly. He wants to take you on dates again, wants to save up all his quarters to buy you something special, wants to devote his every moment to showing you how sincerely he loves you.

He wants you to meet his friends properly (after he gives them a stern warning to be gentlemen in front of you), wants you to meet his parents, and he wants to meet yours in turn. He wants to stop playing it cool and aloof and confident when he feels something– doesn’t want to keep pretending that the way you look at him doesn’t drive him wild, not just with lust but with adoration.

And certainly, you know that Chris is softer than he outwardly appears– you’re not blind to the way his cheeks and ears burn when you kiss him sweet and call him that name that makes his heart skip a beat. And unlike you, Chris knew what he was doing– so it was natural for him to always be the one leading your little song and dance, even when on the inside he felt like he was going to positively combust from the way your eyes sparkled at him.

There’s something you’ve been wanting to try– something that you couldn’t before, because your summer together passed by in a blink, and there was so much you didn’t know when your relationship first began. And Chris has taught you a lot in your time together– maybe more than he even realizes.

He may not know it, but he’s made you into a real insatiable minx. And now that you know he’s willing to beg and plead and grovel for you to take him back, oh how it makes your heart race with the possibilities. How far can you take it? How far is he willing to go for you, to prove that he’s devoted to you entirely? Would he really do anything to keep you?

Chris told you, just a few moments ago as the sock hop was coming to an end, that he’ll do anything and everything to make sure you don’t regret giving him another chance with him. He looked you straight in the eyes, vulnerable and entirely sincere, squeezed your hands in his as countless promises left his lips. 

Could he be manipulating you? Is he nothing but a dirty liar? It’s certainly possible– but you’d like to believe the Chris you knew last summer is the truest version of himself. You’d like to believe that the Chris you saw tonight isn’t an act to keep stringing you along. So you want to try something– something bold, something the you of last summer would’ve never thought to do.

You don’t think your shyness will ever entirely evaporate given that Chris is such an utter dreamboat, but he does well enough at playing it cool, so who's to say you can’t do it too? You can be playful and enticing, can play it coy and innocent while you flutter your lashes at him, can smile and pout at him in a way that makes desire spread through his veins like explosive, hot fireworks.

When Chris walks back out of the building you have to make a conscious effort to ignore the butterflies in your stomach– you’ve decided you’re a woman on a mission tonight, after all. The parking lot is sparse now, and the last stragglers from the sock hop all shuffle to their cars, his sister and her group of friends being among them.

Though you only met her briefly, you offer her a pleasant wave goodbye, and she smiles at you as she returns it– though you don’t miss the way she shoots her older brother a look after. A look that says “don’t fuck this up for yourself.” It almost makes you giggle– you like having his sister on your side; you get the impression she’ll chew him out if he doesn’t shape up the way he’s promised to. 

Chris doesn’t turn to you until after his sister and her friends have peeled out of the parking lot– you’re not sure if it’s because he wanted to make sure she was going to be safe, or if it’s because he felt like she’d gotten enough of an eyeful of him being affection with you, and he’d be embarrassed if she saw anymore. You like either answer.

“Hi baby,” he says, soft and sweet as he smiles, and it makes your heart once again skip a beat. Even after hours of dancing, he still looks utterly perfect– not a single piece of his greased up hair out of place. You hope you’re faring the same– you didn’t really get a chance to look at yourself in the mirror at the end of the night to know for certain, but you want Chris to think you look divine.

“Am I taking you straight home?” he asks; it’s dark out now, but you still have a fair amount of time before you’re expected back home. And while he’d love to spend more time with you, he isn’t going to assume– this is a trial period, after all; he still has to earn that, he’s sure.

Calling you his earlier was more hope on his end than confidence– he wants you to be his, but he knows he has to earn your trust back first. And he’s going to be a gentleman– any boundary you have, he’ll adhere to, no matter what. He refuses to fuck up with you again.

“No,” you answer short and simple, smiling up at him as you do. But before he can ask you what you want to do until curfew, you’re speaking again. “My shoe's untied,” you pout, leaning back against his car while gently lifting your foot from the ground to show him, “can you fix it for me, please?”

“You want me to tie it for you, baby?” he laughs a little as he tilts his head to the side, thinking you’re just oh so cute when you keep up the pout as you nod. He gets down on one knee easily, and you put your foot right on his knee, watching as he ties your laces back together. When he’s finished, you don’t put your foot back on the ground– you press it right to the middle of his chest.

“Baby?” Chris looks up at you curiously– and there’s a twinkle in your eye he’s never seen before. He almost thinks you’re going to kick him back on his behind, but you don’t– you take your skirt into your hands, and start to pull it up. Slowly, it rises above your calf, your knee, your thigh, until he can see your pretty white panties, with its precious little pink bow in the center.

“S-Sugar, what– what are you–” he stammers, struggling to form words in a way he never has before. You’ve never exposed yourself to him like this– just out in the open, with no barrier between you and the rest of the world. You aren’t in your bedroom, you aren’t inside the car with the windows and hood up– you’re out, in the middle of the fucking parking lot where anyone could see. 

Fuck, even the times at the beach, when he made love to you in the sand, were much, much more secluded than this– because those excursions were isolated, close to your aunt’s beach house and happening in the dead of night. And this is very much not– it’s barely even 9 o’clock, and you’re at a public venue; anyone could come by, and for any reason.

“I need your help with something else too, daddy,” you say as you pout some more, clearly acting coy, and he swallows as he stares up at you. “Can you do it, daddy? Can you help me?” You take as much of your skirt's fabric into one hand as you can, keeping it lifted above your thigh while you move your other hand between your legs, pulling your panties to the side to show him your pussy.

The action sends all of Chris’ blood careening to his cock– he can’t believe you’re really doing this right now. “Right– right here? N-Now?” he gulps, taking a quick glance around the parking lot. You’re alone now, but still– he never thought you’d do something so bold. Even just fooling around in the back seat of the cadillac with as much privacy as he could give you made you impossibly shy.

“Yes, here, now,” you tell him, keeping your panties hooked to the side with two fingers, while using the other two to spread your folds apart for him the best you can. You’re trying to entice him, and fuck, is it working. He never thought he’d see you this way, and it’s making him feel so utterly electric– he’s a fucking live wire, and he’ll pour his current straight into you.

Anything you want from him, it’s yours– he doesn’t need any convincing, he’s already impossibly ensnared by the rope that is your desire for him. And fuck, he said he wouldn't do this, said he'd be a gentleman, take things slow and build back up to intimacy with you– but if you're practically begging him for it, how can he resist?

Chris takes your foot into his hand, carefully lifts it from his chest and throws your leg over his shoulder before he crawls closer to you. The concrete of the parking lot ground is brutal against his knees, but he doesn’t give a shit– you need him, and that’s all that matters.

He replaces your hand, keeps your panties shoved aside with his own. Now that your hand is free you use it to hold onto the car door and give yourself some extra support as he starts placing kisses to your clit. His lips always feel so perfect– especially when he licks them first, gets them nice and wet for you; the sensation draws out a pleasant sigh, but you both know it isn’t really enough.

Chris likes to tease you, make you wait until you’re squirming and trembling from all his repeated kisses, gets you so worked up you could beg and cry before he finally gives you his tongue. But tonight is about getting what you want, when you want it– so as much as you enjoy his soft little kisses, you’re not going to let him work you up.

He’ll be the one fraying at the edges, the one desperate and pleading, the one who feels like his brain is filled with cotton, looking up at you from down on his knees with glassy eyes full of need. You let go of the car door, bring your hand to his head and thread your fingers through his hair. You pull back just enough to have his head tilting away from your pussy, making his eyes land straight up at you.

“Baby–” he gasps, and again you meet his gaze with that sinfully deceitful pout. “You said you’d do anything for me, daddy,” you say as you shoot him your best doe eyed look, “Did you mean it? Will you do anything for me?” Fuck, you’ve got him throbbing– you can see his erection straining against his jeans, and it nearly makes you grin in delight.

Still, you don’t crack– Chris always does well at only showing you the version of himself he wants you to see, and you will too. You won’t give him your meek looks or timid declarations of desire for more of his touch– he’ll only see a new you; a confident you who knows exactly what she wants. You’ve learned from the best, after all.

“Well?” you demand when he doesn’t immediately answer, and you watch him swallow, swearing you can see the shiver that spreads down his spine and throughout the rest of his body. “Y-Yeah baby, I meant it. I’d do anything for you,” he tells you, hoping you can’t see how red his face and ears are getting in the low light.

“Prove it– prove you want me, prove you’re good for something,” you say, and again he shivers, breath catching in his throat. “Eat it, make me cum.” Fuck, Chris is reeling– he still can’t even believe it’s really you talking to him this way. His brain feels like a faulty circuit board, all his synapses sparking dangerously as they fire off, ready to ignite his blood and engulf him in an uncontrollable flame of desire.

When you let go of his hair, he wastes no time diving right into your pussy, eating you out like a man starved. He brings his free hand to your ass, squeezes and holds you in place while he shakes his head to get more of you on his tongue, his nose bumping your clit and making your legs quiver.

You bite your lip, doing your best to suppress the loud moan he brings out of you by sucking on your clit. His plush lips wrapped around it, the flicks of his tongue, how expertly he sucks– it’s already so overwhelming, in the best way possible. Chris does his best to sink lower, tries to lick at your hole and get his tongue inside, but it’s hard like this– he’s not sure if he can.

“B-Baby, doll, let me lay you down, in the car, let me–” he pulls away from your dripping center to look up at you, and fuck, he looks ruined in the prettiest way imaginable. His eyes are hazy and pleading, glistening with your arousal from the tip of his nose all the way down to his chin, sweat dripping down his brow. “Need to spread you out, I– please? Gotta taste more of you.” 

Shit, you can’t deny you want it– especially not when he’s begging like this. You nod, and he smiles at you in appreciation, a smile that makes your knees even weaker than they already are. You take your leg off his shoulder, and he quickly rises to his feet, giving you a messy kiss before he ushers you away from the car door to open it for you.

You crawl into the back seat, and he follows, slamming the door shut behind him. He waits until you get comfortable, not acting until you're lying propped against the opposite door of the car. Chris hooks your panties in his fingers, pulls them down your legs and tosses them aside into the footwell; it'll be a sweet treat for him when he finds them again later.

He'll keep them, he thinks– stuff ‘em in his pocket and take them back to his room, where they'll lie safe and protected under his pillow. It's a dirty thought, one that'd otherwise fill his gut with shame, but right now all he feels is need– need for you to cum on his tongue, need to give you everything you want and more.

He settles on his stomach between your legs, and it’s certainly not easy, but he manages well enough. One of your legs ends up over his shoulder again while the other stays spread out with the help of his hand holding you under the knee. And finally, his tongue dips into your hole, and it’s pure bliss– maybe even more so for him than you. He’s hungry, utterly ravenous; all he can think, breath, and taste is you, you, you.

“Chris– your fingers, need your fingers,” you whine more shamelessly than you would've otherwise liked, but you know he enjoys it. He separates from you long enough to run his fingers between your folds, making sure they’re nice and slick for you before he presses them to your hole. 

He slides one finger in first, bringing his mouth back to your clit while you adjust to the feeling. Your legs are already trembling by the time he adds another finger, and when he starts curling his fingers to hit your most sensitive spot while flicking his tongue against your clit you can hardly even breathe– it’s just so, so good.

Your stomach is clenching, thighs and legs shaking hard, your release building up with an intensity you’ve never felt before. “Oh, fuck, Chris–” you cry when he presses the tips of his fingers into your spot harder. You’re certain that if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re still wearing your shoes, your toes would be curling from the pleasure.

Your pussy sounds so sloppy and messy, and Chris himself isn’t making it any better– he’s drooling so much, his saliva drenching you just as much as your own dripping arousal. You’re breathing hard, and even your hands are shaking as they continue to hold up your skirt to watch him devour you.

“Oh my god, ‘m gonna cum, I’m gonna– fuck, gonna cum for you daddy, please don’t stop,” you’re crying loud– and you know you should at least try to be quieter considering how out in the open you are, but you’re too far gone to care. With your head thrown back, you whimper and moan, high pitched and loud, eyes rolling back as your orgasm takes you.

It feels like it’s endless, the waves of pleasure ceaselessly jolting your body as your vision blurs white; and you feel wet; so, so wet. It’s only when you finally come down from the high and lift your head back up from where it thunked against the car door to look at Chris that you realize why you feel so drenched.

It’s not just your thighs that are dampened– it’s your skirt, Chris’ face and shirt, the leather of his seats; all of it is soaked with your cum. Your face starts to burn hot, and you swallow as Chris stares at you, almost bewildered. “Baby– did you just..?” You squirted for him, because of him– he doesn’t even fucking care how much of a nightmare it’s going to be to clean his car, all he can think about is how fucking sexy it is.

You simply nod, because it’s all you can think to do– you really weren’t expecting this to happen. “Oh my god, baby, you have to do it again, please, you have to,” he practically whines, and his enthusiasm over it makes you giggle. You honestly feel more than a little shy about it, but Chris’s apparent elation makes it worth the tinge of embarrassment.

You reach out for him, take the necklace dangling from his neck into your hands and pull, urging him to come closer to you. He crawls up your body, and you kiss him, sliping your tongue into his mouth and tasting yourself all over him. “Fuck, you’re so dirty baby,” he groans when you pull away, “what are we going to do, huh?”

It makes you giggle again, a soft thing full of mischievous delight. He basks in it, giggles with you before he kisses you again. “Need your cock now,” you tell him when he pulls away, and shit, he’d nearly forgotten how fucking hard he is whilst wrapped up in pleasuring you. He can feel it straining against his jeans, desperate for stimulation of its own.

“Yeah? Want my cock baby?” he asks, grinning at you the way he always had before; you tug on his silver chain again in response. “Don’t forget, you’re giving me everything I want. Everything, okay?” you say once his face is mere inches from yours again, making him look you closely in the eyes. Chris swallows as he nods, the smile you offer him once again making his brain feel fuzzy and floaty.

He looks you over once more, really takes it all in before he scrambles over the front seat, reaching for the glove box where he still has some spares from your time together over the summer. Condom in hand, he settles back over you, and you help him with his jeans while he tears the package open. He spreads it quickly down his length, and you take your legs in hand, holding them under your knees to keep yourself open for him. 

The sight of you like that is dizzying– legs open, skirt bunched up all the way to your stomach, pussy wet and glistening, with the hair there matting from how wet you are; you’re perfect. So fucking perfect. He moans as he pushes into you, so slick that you take him with ease. You take his face in one of your hands and pull him down to kiss you, a desperate one that makes pleasure lick over every inch of his skin.

Chris rolls his hips into you slowly to start, while you let go of the leg you're still holding to wrap your limbs around him, keeping him pressed close. He grabs onto the car door, uses it to keep himself steady when he starts to pick up the pace of his hips, harsh breaths and low moans leaving him freely. Neither of you are trying to be quiet, the street lights are burning bright, the hood of his car and the windows are down, anyone could hear you or see you– and the excitement of it all makes the pleasure he feels all the more intense.

“Baby, your tits– let me see ‘em, please, can I see ‘em?” he asks between labored breaths– he needs to see them, has missed them more than is probably allowed. You quickly do as he asks, fumbling with the top few buttons of your blouse to expose yourself to him. You tug down your bra so he can see your breasts bare, and again he groans, bringing his free hand to one of them to brush his thumb over your hardened nipple.

“Oh, you’re so pretty– so, so pretty baby,” he says, groaning when the words make you clench harder around him. It doesn’t take long for the car to start rocking with the motion of his thrusts, his rhythm quickly growing sloppier. He’s been so worked up, and believe it or not, he hasn’t actually fucked anyone since you– he feels so high strung and on edge, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

He just hopes he can make you cum again before he does, or at least make you cum with him– he needs you to be happy with him. You can feel his cock twitching and throbbing, you can tell that he’s already impossibly close– so, like the little minx you are, you talk dirty to him, wanting to see him utterly unravel at the seams. “You gonna fill me up, daddy? Make this pussy all yours?”

Chris gasps and shudders, goosebumps erupting all over his impossibly hot skin. He knows he can’t actually– all he’s going to really fill up with his cum is the condom, but fuck, the thought of it is making his head swim. “Y-Yeah, gonna fill you up baby, daddy’s gonna make you so full,” he breathes, and God, that really does it for you.

You bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick, practiced circles. Even through the condom he can feel you gushing and soaking his cock, and it sends him over the edge– as do the sounds of your incredibly pretty whimpers and moans of pleasure. His hips still when he cums, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as his eyes roll back, head thrown back in utmost bliss.

It takes Chris a few moments to recollect himself and catch his breath, and he slowly slips out of you when does. He tucks his softening length back in his jeans before he helps you fix your bra, and smoothes your skirt out over your legs while you button your blouse back up. “You feeling okay, baby?” he asks, wiping messy strands of hair out of your face.

You’re both covered in a sheen of sweat, faces flushed and hot, hair utterly a mess– it’s obvious, even with your clothes fixed up, what you’ve been doing. “Mhm, are you?” you ask, and he smiles, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “I’m peachy keen, jelly bean,” he replies and you giggle, kissing him once more.

He looks at himself in his rearview mirror when he pulls away, does his best to fix his messy hair while you lift yourself up from your propped position and stretch out your aching limbs. He then takes another glance around the parking lot, and notes that you’re still the only ones here– thank God. He was too enraptured by you to check earlier, and he’s grateful that no one else has showed up.

“Should probably get you home now, yeah?” Chris asks, looking at the clock on his dashboard and noticing it’s now getting dangerously close to your 10 o’clock curfew. He helps you get into the passenger seat when you nod, and you smile at him when he settles in beside you. He turns the key in the ignition, one hand resting on your thigh while the other stays on the wheel, and he drives you home.

Chris parks up the street, like he did all those times at your aunt’s beach house. He watches you walk over to your house, and he smiles when you turn around to blow him a kiss. At 11 he leaves his car, walks up the street to your home, and approaches the only window with a light still on– the window to your new bedroom. And you smile as you open it for him, letting him crawl his way inside.

He sees the teddy bear he won you at the fair sitting right in the middle of your bed, nestled against your pillows, and he smiles, delighted that you still kept it even after he broke your heart. “I love you, baby,” he tells you in a whisper after a sweet kiss, “never gonna hurt you again, I promise.”

“You better keep that promise, mister. Or I might just have to make you jealous again,” you warn and tease him with a cheeky little smile. He strips out of his jeans and tee shirt as you turn off your lamp, lies down beside you after you settle into your bed, runs his hand up and down your back as you press yourself against him. Head on his chest, with your arm and leg tossed over him, he kisses your head and smiles once more– because as he promised, this is just the start of a lifetime.

network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet

[gay-dorito-dust]

I come bearing a brainrot of a relatively normal s/o for the Lin Quei bois except s/o can see dead spirits and always keep a straight face. Sometimes they act weird bc they're avoiding a really nasty looking ghost and have grown numb to it. But when the bois finally catch a glimpse at the 'ghosts' their beloved mentioned all they see is some kind of eldritch horror. (This came from my recent fascination with the manga/anime series Mieruko-Chan)

Rate my really shitty attempt at creating eldritch creatures. (Actually don’t cuz I’m mega sensitive) 🦦

Tomas Vrbada

Ever since being forced by Johnny to watch horror movies, Tomas had been scared shitless when it comes to paranormal activity.

Ghosts, poltergeists, you name it, Tomas is scared of them all.

So when you -his seemingly normal but beloved partner- have been intentionally avoiding a certain spot in the Lin Kuei, shifting your gaze over in it’s direction now and then before ignoring it completely with a straight face, he didn’t think much do it at frisky but the more and more it has became the more Tomas started to feel an indescribable feeling within his chest.

It was the same feeling that he would often get when having been forced to watch a horror movie with Johny, that feeling where he knew something scary was about about to happen, which only worsened the longer the scene continued to build and ramp up the tension and to have him too scared to even look over his own shoulder; only to near enough be scared shitless a second later and loose hold of his popcorn.

Needless to say Tomas had been forced to watch one too many movie where the protagonist was somewhat clairvoyant to known that when you were giving a very specific area, out of the entire Lin Kuei no less, an cautious look. He knew better then to ever indulge in any amount of curiosity that he may have, even if it was a smidge, he would pretended that he saw nothing and would go about his day like normal. He wasn’t about to become one of those stupid characters who’d willingly go into a house that was very clearly haunted by visage alone!

He’s following your example right down to a T! He honestly doesn’t want to know what was lurking in that corner and he wasn’t particularly all that eager to find out either. Tomas would rather life the rest of his life in ignorant bliss if he could, but unfortunately for him that wasn’t going to be the case, for he had found himself having to go to that very room to get something for his brothers. However as soon as he opened the door, Tomas caught a glimpse of the thing in the corner that you’ve ominously warned him about.

It was hideous, so hideous in fact the sight of it made Tomas want to gag but he knew he couldn’t, so he slapped a hand over his mouth. The creature had bore the appearance of a pure bred Russian bear dog, but unfortunately for Tomas, that’s pretty much where the similarities started and stopped; For it had clusters of small, almost peddle sized eyes that were black as night taking up it’s entire face.

That wasn’t all, when the creature opened it’s mouth -if Tomas could even call it that- it’s stomach would rip open just as a thousand pair of what could only be described as human hands emerged out from said stomach, palms laying flat on the floor, as they began to shuffle across the floor in search of something. One particular pair of hands almost came into contact with Tomas’ foot, almost making him scream, but upon realising that their search efforts bore no fruit, the hands then retracted back into the creatures stomach, where it would then close itself up as though someone had just zipped it shut from the inside, before moving towards a different part of the room.

Scared out of his wits, Tomas bolted out of the room, completely forgetting what he had originally went there for, and just ran as fast as he could. He ran even when his legs began to hurt, he ran even when his lungs were begging for breath and he ran even when he had all but forgotten why he was even running in the first place. Tomas didn’t stop running until he saw you heading towards him, his brothers probably sent you to see what was taking him so long, and without a second thought; Tomas held you in his arms tightly, burying his head deep into your neck as he whispered.

‘How can you bare to seeing these things on a daily basis.’ The image of that thing was forcefully seared into Tomas’ mind, haunting him forever.

You didn’t have to ask further details as to what it was that he saw and instead reciprocated his hug, stroking the hairs at the back of his neck reassuringly, whilst pressing kisses into the side of his head where your would then rest your cheek against. ‘I don’t.’ You replied, looking straight ahead at the creature just as it poked it’s head out of the door, staring at you with all of their small beady black eyes before slinking off into the room across through the wall.

Kuai Liang

Concerned was a word that was often used to describe what Kuai Liang felt whenever you would shuffle closer towards his back, you might as well have been hiding, when passing down a particular hallway as your eyes were focused forward. Almost as though you were avoiding looking at something you didn’t like by pretending it didn’t exist.

Kuai Liang was aware of your uncanny ability to see the dead as you did the living, it was one of the things you disclosed to him upon first meeting, and even recalled the stories you’d tell him regarding the kinds of ghosts you’ve come across. Upon further questioning as to what they looked like you told Kuai Liang that most were human or humanoid in figure, but others went beyond the realm of human comprehension.

The latter of the two kinds were the ones you tended to avoid having direct contact with the most and this most recent one was no different.

‘Is it them, my love?’ Kuai Liang asked, looking over his shoulder at you worriedly.

You hummed. ‘They’re always with us, following but they most like to stay here and watch everyone who passes by.’

Kuai Liang pursed his lips at this new tidbit of information, whilst concerning learning this was, he was concerned about was getting you out of this hallway a lot more. Just as he was reaching back to grab your hand, Kuai Liang caught slight movement from out of the corner of his eye but before you could say anything, his eyes were already locked onto the other side of the hallway; more specifically the area you purposefully avoid looking towards every time you have to come down this hallway.

Kuai Liang remembered you telling him that It shouldn’t be possible for him see what you see, but it wasn’t uncommon for ghost to become temporarily visible. So with that in mind Kuai Liang could only deduct that what he was seeing before him what you regarded as a type two ghost; In all honesty the word ghost didn’t quite seem to match what he was currently seeing.

The creature in question was about his height, maybe a little shorter, then again he wasn’t quite sure considering it was sort of slouched. It appeared human enough in its physique, but something deep inside Kuai Liang told him that what was standing before him was far from human. He just couldn’t escape this deeply unsettling feeling that continued to grown within his chest the longer he continued to look. A sharp snapping sort of sound caught his ear, and in an instant his senses sharpened as Kuai Liang watched to see the creature viciously attempting in tearing it’s own face off with it’s hands that were infused with needles, as though desperate to get it off, to reveal…a smooth porcelain like mask beneath shredded and stringy bits of it’s former face.

As if watching that wasn’t enough the lower half of the smooth porcelain mask began to crack, a jagged fissure spread from one end to another like it was forming itself a mouth but once it had finished, the crack like mouth then began to open to reveal an endlessly dark void beneath and just before it could even think to speak; you quickly grabbed Kuai Liang’s hand and pulled him down the hallway until you were a safe distance from the creature. You could tell that seeing something like that had gotten to Kuai Liang, even if it was by a little margin.

‘Are you okay?’ You asked, squeezing his hand.

‘I fear for you little flame.’ Kuai Liang admitted. ‘Your gift for seeing these things, I worry that it will plunge you into the darkest depth that not even my fire would be nearly enough to guide you out safely.’ You smiled sympathetically at his concern. ‘As long as I don’t acknowledge them or give them a line of communication, then there’s nothing to worry about.’ You reassured him but you could tell that it wasn’t enough with the way his brows furrowed deeper with worry. ‘Doesn’t mean that I wont still worry about you.’ He utters, tightening his grip on your hand, afraid to let go.

‘I’m not expecting you to because no matter what I know you’ll always worry about me but I promise when I tell you that no harm can come to me if I don’t incite it. I’ve lived with this my entire life, all I ask of you is to trust me.’ You practically begged as you stared Kuai Liang deep into his eyes and watched as he sighed before pressing his head against your own. ‘I trust you with my life, little flame.’ He says in a hushed whisper. ‘However it’s within my duty to protect you from all harm, living or not.’ You smiled at his warm words, closing your eyes as you learnt in towards his natural warmth.

‘Then at least let me protect you from time to time.’ You cheeked, causing Kuai Liang to let out a deep chuckle as he pressed a little kiss to your lips. ‘I won’t make any promises.’ He cheeked.

Bi-Han

Now Bi-Han wouldn’t say he whether he did or didn’t believe in ghosts, but even if he did he wouldn’t be one to actively try to prove their existence. He was the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, he had no time for such childish ridiculousness, not when there were more pressing matters that were more worthy of his time and effort anyway.

However when you first told him that you could see ghosts, Bi-Han didn’t know what to make of it, he’s not one to discredit your abilities in anyway shape or form. He’s not like Tomas who watches one too many horror movies and starts flinching at every subtle creak or groan of the floorboards. Yet that doesn’t mean he didn’t find your power intriguing because after all Bi-Han is a man who strives to know more, he strives for knowledge and so he would take this opportunity to fully understand how exactly your power works.

He even takes note how you purposefully ignore an area with everything you had, keeping your head down or eyes facing forward whenever you had to go anywhere near it, coming out of the room with a straight face as though you weren’t fazed but Bi-Han was well trained in knowing when his intended target was lying and or on edge. Upon asking why you were avoiding that specific part of the Lin Kuei, he took in everything you told him about the ghost that you encountered, engraving every last detail it into his head as to paint himself a picture, but even then Bi-Han doesn’t think it remotely resembles the creature that you saw.

Never did he think that he would ever see it for himself but one day he did indeed find himself staring into the unsettlingly large, bulging eyes of the creature as it breathed heavily, as though it was severely out of breath and was just now recovering. It was about half his size and had hair covering everywhere…well except its midsection, which was all just leathery skin that rose and fell with its breathing pattern. It’s hands were human but everything else about it wasn’t, it had lost it’s lower mouth, leaving only it’s top row of sharp teeth; making the question of how it could possibly eat or consume anything to Bi-Han’s morbid curiosity.

The creature then proceeded to close the distance between the two of them and all Bi-Han could smell was death, blood and rotting flesh but he wasn’t fazed. He was aware of what the creature was doing and wasn’t about to give it the reaction it so desperately wanted, he was above these childish attempts of intimidation; So in retaliation Bi-Han only narrowed his eyes, presenting himself in a way that told the creature that he could see what it was doing and that he was above such tactics. He could see why you’d avoid looking upon these things, they could send a weaker minded person to the brink of insanity upon first glance, but Bi-Han was made of much tougher material to succumb to such.

The creature backed of, finding no enjoyment in this at all, and left the room through the wall on all fours for much weaker prey, looking like some dog with a sever case of mange.

Later that day where you and Bi-Han were settling down for the night, Bi-Han then decided to admit to what he saw prior, not liking to keep such things from you especially when it’s in regards to your powers. ‘I saw it.’ He said point blank as he stroked your back and it took you a moment to realise what he had meant by that before a look of realisation spread across your face. ‘You did? I thought that wasn’t possible.’ You replied.

‘It was only a glimpse but what I saw, I saw it as clear as I see anything else.’ Bi-Han told you, wondering how it was that you could keep your psyche intact when seeing such vile creatures on a daily basis. He even wondered if you’ve seen some that were even more grotesque then the one he had encountered earlier.

‘Not exactly a pleasant sight are they?’ You joked, looking at him with a small smile, knowing firsthand how unnerving it was to know that such things could possibly exist, even though you did finally mange to find a routine you had followed religiously in the events where you did happen to encounter them. Unfortunately It never truly gets rid of your first experience with seeing them for the first time, firmly believing that you were going to die due to how horrific and fear inducing they were.

‘No, I’m guessing that I’m right in assuming that this one pales in comparison to others you’ve had the misfortune of seeing?’ Bi-Han asked, watching your every expression like a that of a hawk. ‘Way worse.’ You responded as you snuggle yourself deeper into his chest, closing your eyes to avoid looking at the glowing pair of eyes that peered into yours and Bi-Han’s room.

[pendragonsclotpole]

i just read that james gunn’s dcu will be completely separate from matt reeves’ the batman series, and the more i think about that decision, the more i hope he sticks with it. i also wish he would NOT start with damian as robin (not because i don’t love damian’s character) but because i wish he would go back and start with an earlier robin. ideally dick grayson but i’d take jason or tim tbh. i feel like starting with jason and having a robin, a nightwing, a batman all together on the big screen would be so cool and jason’s storyline and relationship with dick and bruce could go very well on the big screen. alternatively, tim’s rise to the robin mantle after jason’s death and meeting a more jaded, grieving batman would be another cool introduction to all of the characters, especially if they adapt jason’s resurrection and damian’s eventual arrival. but honestly, here’s why i want a richard grayson storyline:

gunn’s been pretty clear that he doesn’t want to rehash scenes that we’ve already seen before countless times, particularly the strand of pearls falling to the ground as martha and thomas are killed in front of bruce. and i agree! those scenes already exist and they are so iconic in the iterations that have been done, that i don’t think we’d ever get the same effect if they were done again.

however, i think gunn has the opportunity to flip the entire narrative on his head. i’m imagining a movie that starts with a 32 year old bruce wayne, playing the part of a ditzy billionaire playboy by day and a secretly established vigilante by night. he’s already well known, he’s got connections with gotham PD, maybe jim gordon is not yet commissioner and batman is not quite the imposing figure that he is in the later lore. he’s down in the cave under the manor, close to the anniversary of his parents’ deaths, analyzing some old footage, and hoping desperately that he’ll be able to find new leads on their murderer. alfred comes down, he tip toes around the elephant in the room, asks him to come up for dinner, and then suggests that bruce go out again, not as a persona but to really have fun. alfred shows bruce a flyer of the circus arriving to town. maybe bruce already had a plan to check it out. maybe he was going to go as batman based on some rumors! but now he wants to stop alfred from worrying or getting too sad so close to this anniversary, so he agrees to go and asks alfred to buy the tickets, suggests that maybe they go together.

alfred is happy. he wants bruce to be happy too, and he is intrigued by the family of acrobats on one of the flyers he found. so they go to the circus, and they sit in the front row, and they think this will be another normal evening, maybe a little melancholy so close to the anniversary and with the visage of a happy family of three, maybe full of investigative leads but nothing remarkable.

and then in the first ten to fifteen minutes of the movie, bruce and alfred and the audience watch a family of three take the air, and only one survives.

the graysons go up flying, high into the air, first the father and then the mother, and the little boy is left high up on the platform awaiting his turn eagerly. yet as his mother and father swing from opposite sides to each other, uniting in the center, and letting their momentum carry them together towards their son, they fall.

they snap like a strand of pearls, and we don’t see the scene, but we see a single flash, hear the scream of a child, and we see bruce wayne’s face fall. he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, he is in front of a child. the boy looks just like him. the boy could be him, scared and alone. he’s just watched his parents die.

bruce has no experience with children, but he understands. So he leans down and hugs the boy, and when the police officers and social workers arrive, he lets the boy go. He watches as they take the boy and place him in a car and he waves, and he thinks that will be the end of that, but two days later, on the police scanner he hears reports that a boy has run away from a group home. a boy wearing green shorts and a red t-shirt with black hair and blue eyes. a boy named richard grayson. bruce sets off into the night in search of him, and the title card flashes on the screen as the movie actually begins, Batman and Robin.

I’m not sure where i’d want gunn to go with his batman in a movie, but it would be so cool to get an entire movie focused on the early days of batman and the first robin i could see this movie spanning bruce and dick getting to know each other, then the reveal of batman, working to capture tony zucco across maybe six months to a year, and then launching officially as batman and robin.

i’m also torn between wanting an entire movie with dick grayson learning how to be robin, and then a sequel setting up the teen titans or having those early years be a quick montage of scenes and then focusing on a slightly older dick grayson as he joins the teen titans

like 1-2 movies of dick and bruce, first one introducing them, second one sowing the seeds of their eventual fight

dick grayson on the teen titans with a teen titans movie, starting with him as robin and then taking up the nightwing name only to then hear reports of a new robin by the end

1-2 movies of bruce and jason, first one jason taking up the mantle, dealing with a hurt richard grayson, second one with jason dying

1-2 movies of tim drake and the emergence of red hood, maybe damian introduction

like i know these movies could span at least a decade, and i know that we’ve already seen these storylines play out in animation, but marvel’s done so many more movies across like 17 YEARS and this could totally open the door for a full live action dcu that has a different vibe. and like even if they don’t adapt every robin, say we start with jason or tim given that supergirl is out next year, i think that would be so cool because a major part of batman is how many sidekicks/partnerships he’s had through the years!!

also i know all of this will never happen, but i can dream!!!

[cautiouslyyyoptimistic]

So sad that wandering cultivator plantzun era was too short. His visage and stench were too powerful.

I'm just imagining a scene where he busts into an establishment, looking for some refreshments and he's just COVERED in dirt, grime, some other mysterious substances, and are those mushrooms growing on his clothes? His face is so dirty and his whiskers are so scraggly that you can't clearly see what he looks like. Obviously wearing no shoes by the way, dried mud are his new socks, maybe some thorns still stuck in his soles as well. His hair a completely greasy undone rats nest. He LITERALLY smells like a corpse that was unearthed from a swamp. SQQ does this sort of appearance several times at so many inns, taverns, and teahouses while wandering the realms that he is basically a cryptid. Some people believing that he is actually a corpse. Places of hospitality go into a tizzy when word reaches the area that he might drop by, kind of like when that one gross spirit that arrives at the bathhouse in the spirited away movie.

Even though he is unsettling and hard to be around cuz of the stench and grime, people still have this weird kind of respect for this wandering cultivator? Cuz he still gets the job done when there is trouble nearby?? He's also strangely polite??? So it's like *slowly pushes a plate of food as thanks for saving the town before quickly backing away before the smell reaches them* type vibes.

(Cut to SQQ, who is still addled from his resurrection, not realizing its that bad or after his body switch the grossness of braving the elements does not bother him anymore whatsoever. He is still very smug for having the perfect disguise though...)

[ogradyfilm]

Recently Viewed: The Return

[The following review contains MINOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

As might reasonably be expected of an epic poem based on oral traditions, the storytelling language of Homer’s Odyssey is inherently literary. How remarkable, then, that The Return manages to so elegantly adapt the original text for the screen! Director Uberto Pasolini skillfully translates the intangible beauty and rhythm of verse into concrete imagery: the cool spray of ocean waves crashing into towering cliffs, the graceful dance of splintered debris drifting in the ebbing tide, the faint flicker of torchlight gently illuminating discarded threads on an otherwise bare stone floor.

The film’s greatest spectacle, however, is the weathered landscape of Ralph Fiennes’ face. This version of Odysseus is a wounded soldier haunted by guilt and grief; his gaunt, scarred visage and distant eyes clearly convey his repressed trauma: the horrors that he witnessed at Troy, the hardships that he endured during his subsequent voyages, and his utter despair upon discovering that violence has followed him home. “We burned the city to the ground and doused the flames with blood,” he laments in a particularly memorable scene—the quintessential veteran suffering from PTSD (no anachronism here; certain kinds of pain are universal).

It’s a magnificently minimalistic and emotionally honest interpretation of the ancient source material, recontextualizing the Hero’s Journey as a purely internal conflict—one of self-discovery, redemption, and reconciliation. And while the movie unfortunately omits the fantastical monsters and manipulative deities that arguably define the myths and legends that inspired it, I find its intimacy, humanity, and subtlety equally appealing.

[fanged-fatale]

Marko is the most likely of The Lost Boys to take inspiration from and recreate the real face masks in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

The man looks like a gremlin, always wears a devil smirk, and has that mischievous, evil glint in his eye. In the movie, he seems to be the most enthusiastic for a potential fight and takes the most pleasure in taunting Michael. We know from the beach scene that he's pretty sadistic as well (I mean, they all are, but still).

He seems to be the most artistic and creative of the four boys, is clearly good with his hands, and can sew (e.g., his jacket). These skills would certainly be helpful in creating face masks.

Halloween would be the perfect time for him to pull off this stunt. He’d probably get praise from clueless passersby for his top-notch Leatherface costume. He’d no doubt be smiling like a maniac under that (all too real) face mask.

I wouldn’t put it past the man to target the friend group of one of his victims. Just to see how long it would take them to realize a stranger was wearing the face of their dead friend. He’d probably drift right by them on his motorcycle, stalking them like the predator he is. That, or walk right up to them while waggling his fingers.

Of course, the boy would take pleasure in subjecting them to even more terror once they noticed the mask was actually their friend’s face. Revealing his vampiric visage before devouring them.

[puppygirlirl]

"i need to figure out why i have such bad insomnia recently it's becoming a real issu-" (the sleep deprivation finally reaches the core of my brain and consumes the last crumbs of my sanity) "...there's clearly only one answer, im becoming a vampire and i hunge-" (imagines a homoerotic scene of me biting a girls neck while we embrace each other tighter than either of us have ever felt before) "ii might need to go to a ddoctor actually i dont feel very go-" (an image of me dying in bed as the love of my love cups my face forces its way into my mind, she leans in for one last kiss and-

before the thought ends i collapse to the ground dead, rats swarm my body and instantly turn my corpse into a perfectly cleaned skeleton. the audience claps, the children scream in terror, and my wife watches on with tears in her eyes, knowing i didn't want it to be this way in the end.

she mourns for a couple of months, cry's when she smells pumpkin spice for the first time since i died. "it was always her favorite" she thinks, looking down at the overpriced latte she got to feel like i might still be there, even if it's just for a second. the feeling is fleeting, and just leaves her hollow again. nothing could replace the woman she loved, especially not some shitty coffee.

after a beat of staring into the cup she was holding a bit too tight, a tear dripped into the foam, then another, then so many she couldn't really see the coffee anymore. a rage washed over her, why her, why her wife. "those fucking rats, she didn't deserve this" she thinks as her hand finally tightens just too much, crushing the foam container in her hand. it burns a little, but she doesn't really notice. it all just hurt too much. it wasn't fair. none of this was fair.

the papers keep hailing the whole situation as "the best performance art ever done", praising the brave girl for sacrificing herself for her art, losing everything just to put across such a striking message. the truth though was that none of it was planned. she knew her wife's death wasn't on purpose, the stress must have gotten to her. those long sleepless nights where that driven, stupid girl would stay up to get her routine just right, being begged to come to bed and get some rest just to ignore her for the sake of her art.

the anger shifted to her late wife. "it was so preventable, if she only took care of herself, you fucking idiot, why'd you have to leave like this." her thoughts kept racing, none of this made sense. they both should have been happy together, they should be cuddling on their couch together watching 60's horror movies and laughing at the bad acting. they should be safe in each others arms. they should be together. but they weren't. they never would be again.

there's a part of her that wonders if it was on purpose. if she died just to put on such a big show. immortalizing herself as a martyr for the people, a grim showing of what the world has come to, and what it takes for people to be entertained even if it kills the artist in the process, literally consumed by the rats begging for whatever scraps of life they can get. it doesn't really matter, the outcome doesn't change. she's alone now, and she had to deal with that.

suddenly, i burst out from behind the counter of the cafe and scream "GOTCHA!!". fireworks go off around me, everyone in the cafe begins losing their minds, i was alive the whole fuckin time.

initially, my wife screams in confusion and fear at the visage of her wife she's presumed was rotting in the ground for months at this point, but slowly, her expression softens. the room goes silent for a moment, and a shaky smile washes over her face. she walks up to me with tears still staining her cheeks, and cups my face, just like in the last vision i had. her hands move down slowly to my throat, and before i can react, she starts squeezing.

she was always stronger then me, but even with the pure adrenaline running through my veins, i couldn't get her hands to budge. the acrylic nails she got the day before were digging into my skin, drawing blood and making the sensation even more terrifying. the smile never left her face, it just got stronger. a giggle escaped from her pained smirk, then a full on chuckle. my vision started to go blurry as my hands weakly push her away, and her laugh grows louder and stronger. i looked her in the eyes one more time as the light left my own, and all i saw was rage. "what did i do so wrong" was the last thought that crossed my mind as the lack of oxygen finally shut me off for good, and i dropped to the ground. the rats come back, and clean my corpse once more.

the restaurant erupts in cheers and laughter, "she did it again!" they holler, already posting videos of the event to social media. my wife drops to the ground, holds my bones close and sobs, praying that the rats take her this time too.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Idk if you still do Ichi the Killer requests but 😭 if you do movie Kakihara x injured reader? Ichi gets to reader and injures them if that makes sense? I like angst and I love your writing ! Keep up the amazing work!

I've gotchu sis <3

The city streets were dimly lit, the neon signs casting a sickly glow over the alleys. It was a night like any other in the depraved city where the law was Yakuza, where shadows hid unspeakable deeds. Kakihara Masao, the S&M freak of the Anjo gang, had been out dealing with a rival gang, as per usual. Few things could get a kick out of him, and finding new ways to torture traitors to death was one of them.

As he returned to his new home - The traditional villa which belonged to his wife, the daughter of their ally gang's boss, he felt a nagging unease. Something was off, but he couldn't tell why.

Ever since he left the house that day, with a departing kiss as was the daily routine, he had a gnawing feeling eating away at his brain, sinking his heart with worry.

He cared little what happened to him, or to anyone else - The only thing that mattered in his life anymore was to keep his beloved angel happy - And very much alive. She was a fantastic businesswoman, and the gang's designated medic, owning a whole chains of successful private hospitals - Which only put a huge target on her head. How could she sleep at night so peacefully Kakihara could never understand.

Was it her unshakeable trust in him, the husband her father wanted so desperately to tie to her? Her childhood crush, her teenage craze, her adult soulmate? Or was it the numerous bodyguards patrolling the house perimeter in a 200m radius in all directions at any given moment?

This girl was more guarded than the Emperor or the president, and yet...

Pushing the door open, he was greeted by an eerie silence, not by his wife's dolcetto voice, her warm embrace and sweet kiss. His heart pounded in his chest as he called out for his angel, but there was no response. The house was dark, and a sense of dread washed over him. He flicked on the lights and froze. The scene before him was a nightmare he's had many times before. The result of his failure.

Y/N lay on the floor, blood pooling around her. Her body was covered in slashes, the unmistakable work of that psychopath bastard, Ichi. Tears of pain stained her porcelain cheeks and her face was twisted in a petrified expression. Even unconscious, she was terrified and in pain.

Y/N hated pain. She was as vanilla as could be; Masao could never understand her; How she'd cry from the littlest amount of pain, when his euphoria came from a place of excruciating agony. A princess, she was an angel, of course she'd be delicate like a fragile little snowdrop, whilst he's a demon, a vulgar devil, corrupting and tainting the Heavens around her.

Kakihara's mind raced as he rushed to her side, dropping to his knees. She was still alive, but barely. Her breathing was shallow, and her eyes fluttered open when she felt his presence.

"Masa..." she whispered, her voice weak and trembling. "Ichi is looking for you."

He gently cradled her in his arms, his usually apathetic scarred visage contorted with guilt and rage. "Stay with me, angel. I’ve gotchu. Just hold on."

Kakihara wasted no time, carefully lifting her in his arms, bridal style just like he loved - Just like on their wedding - Yet now, she looked like a broken doll; His heart was breaking at the sight of her injuries. Once outside of the house, he yelled at the useless bodyguards who allowed this mess to happen - None of them saw or even heard anything. That bastard was too good.

Ironically, they drove to her own hospital which was nearby, though the road felt eternal and every second that ticked by was filled with the fear that he might lose her.

The doctors quickly took her in for emergency surgery, and Kakihara was staring after her as she was swiftly rolled on the bed, to the sterilised room; His mind was a storm of fury and worry. He couldn't stay there, not while Ichi was still out there. His blood boiled with wrath, a primal need for vengeance driving him.

"Princess L/N is in critical condition, but she will make a full recovery." the head doctor informed Kakihara. "She will need to take it easy and rest at home - No effort whatsoever - And for a while, some assistance." the old man continued; He looked left and right, then spoke in a hushed tone. "Was it that son of a bitch, Ichi?" Masao grunted affirmatively.

"Not for long." he sneered under his breath. "I'll be back." his voice was cold and steely.

With that, he left on his hunt to rip that fuckass apart, his mind singularly focused on one thing: finding Ichi and making him pay for every little scratch on her skin, for every second of agony, and for every nightmare she'll have from then on.

He reached out to his contacts, scoured the streets, and left no stone unturned. The hunt was relentless, driven by his love and desire to protect the only sun ray in his bleak, dark world, the burning hatred for the man who had hurt her. No living being was allowed to approach her with any mal intent, let alone actually commit such a vicious act against an angel. That fucker will rot.

He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't drunk until he found him, but finally after so long, in the dead of night, Kakihara cornered Ichi in a dilapidated warehouse. The killer stood there, his face twisted in a sickening grin, clearly enjoying the chaos he had caused - Yet at the same time, his visage was twisted in a troubled look; This bitch was fucked in the head, he was out of his mind. His brain wasn't wired properly, even by Masao's standards.

Kakihara wasted no time. "You little fuckass!" he roared, his voice echoing through the empty space. "You dared to touch her! My angel! You took the one reason I had to stay alive!"

Ichi barely had time to react before Kakihara launched himself at him. The fight was brutal, both men driven by their own wicked desires and madness. Masao's rage gave him an edge. He didn't hold back, inflicting as much pain as he could, relishing in every scream that tore from Ichi's throat. That bastard couldn't even raise that sickle leg of his to slice him off - What a pussy ass cunt. He dared mess with his angel, without thinking of the hell he will receive back.

Ichi was easily subdued, bloodied and broken. Kakihara stood over him, his eyes wild with fury. "Look into my eyes and despair, you fucking freak." he snarled, before delivering the final blow. The life drained from Ichi's eyes, and Kakihara felt a grim satisfaction wash over him. "I love overkill."

He stood there, watching all the blood drain from his pathetic body, kicking it every once in a whole, hoping to vent out his remaining rage before he appeared before his sweet girl. There was only one place he needed to be, and that was by his angel's side.

Covered in blood, he returned to the hospital - Thankfully, one of her bodyguards had a spare shit for him to change in; He couldn't possibly embrace an angel while he was painted red with her assailant's filthy blood.

The doctors informed him that Y/N was awake and stable, but still exhausted. He entered her room quietly, his heart aching at the sight of her frail, broken form, leaning down on that white bed, wrapped in white sheets. White looked good at her, but colours were her favourite. The hospital room was too lame for her.

"Y/N." he whispered, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, taking her hands in his and kissing her fingers. "Fucker's dead, and my arms are all yours to sleep in, angel." he said, laying down and gathering her carefully in his embrace. "No one's ever gonna dare mess around with my girl." he kissed the top of her head.

She opened her eyes, tears welling up as she looked at him. "Masa..." her eyes were gleaming with pure love and admiration. "You're my guardian hero."

He gently cradled her in his arms, nestling her like a little kitten in his clothes, holding her close and whispering soothing words. "I'm here, angel. I'm always here. I won't let anything happen to you ever again. I promise."

Kakihara felt a sense of peace; He had avenged his wife, rid the world of a useless scum, and now, all that mattered was Y/N's recovery. He would stay by her side, protect her, and ensure that no harm ever came to her again. In that moment, as he held her, he knew that no matter the darkness of their world, he will remain alive, to protect her from the evil surrounding her eden.

[dontdaionme]

𝟎𝟎𝟏, FLEXIBLE

synopsis! central city's hero needs to be more flexible, and there's no one better than you to teach him.

warnings! just flirting!

word count! 1.9k

note! clearly, i was inspired by the scene from the disney movie the incredibles jiji.

my mother tongue is spanish, so i ask for your patience and a lot of kindness in case you want to make an observation about my narration, grammar or spelling. thank you! ♡

© dontdaionme - all rights reserved. do not repost, translate or modify without permission and credits!

"You have an easy one, Barr!" Cisco's voice crackled through the wireless microphone nestled snugly in Barry's ear. Chip crumbs littered his lips as he peered intently at the map displayed on the computer screen before him. A frown etched across his face as his eyes narrowed in analysis. "Purse robbery, Everett Street, tallest building. He's on the rooftop."

The superhero sighed, his frustration evident in his voice as he prepared to spring into action.

"Who steals purses nowadays?" Barry grumbled, his feet already propelling him forward towards the designated location.

"This man right here."

A contemptuous snort escaped Barry's lips, fueling his determination as he hastened his stride. With a seasoned familiarity of the city's intricate layout, he deftly charted a shortcut, climbing to the first building he found, jumping between the remaining labyrinthine paths until he reached his destination. The thief was so busy emptying the poor victim's bag that he didn't even notice the speedster presence and the wind he brought with his arrival.

"You know, you can tell a lot about a woman by the contents of her purse," a smug smirk played at the corners of Barry's mouth, almost dancing with laughter as he observed the palpable panic etching itself across the face of the teenager standing before him. "But maybe that's not what you had in mind."

Reacting in a desperate flurry, the robber hastily retreated, his trembling hand retrieving a loaded gun from the recesses of his pants, the barrel of the weapon now pointed ominously at the stalwart hero of Central City. Allen, in response, simply rolled his eyes, folding his arms resolutely across his chest. It was evident to him that this wasn't an old criminal; it was just a kid. He was sure.

"Hey, look—"

In an instant, as if summoned by some hidden force, a concealed arm emerged from within the very confines of the wall, extending with a serpentine charm. With a swift and precise motion, it struck the teen's cheek with a resounding impact, the force of the blow sending him sprawling backward, his consciousness teetering on the precipice of darkness. Barry gasped, his lips parting in surprise as he watched the guy fall to the ground, probably unconscious.

Confused, he saw the shape of a woman stepping out of the shadows slowly, majestically. Clad in a comfy and vibrant red latex garment, accentuated by a glimmering silver suit and a mask, delicately concealing part of her visage, revealed only a glimpse of her alluring features, leaving her eyes to shimmer like twin stars in the night sky.

It was you. Again.

"Elastigirl," Barry whispered, his voice breathless, as the weight of recognition settled upon him. A resplendent smile graced your countenance, illuminating your features at the sound of the scarlet speedster uttering your name. Well, your superhero name.

He had lost count of all the times you two had met, accidentally. You were new in town, however, you were taking his place without noticing, getting in the crime scene before he does. He didn't know how, or why. Although, if that was the price of seeing you, it didn't bother him at all.

"Flash," the sweetness woven into your words made his heart skip a beat, momentarily mesmerized by the enchantment you effortlessly emanated. With an elegant gesture, you brushed a wayward strand of hair behind your ear before you seized the collar of the thief's shirt, your grip displaying an authoritative firmness. "For someone who has super speed, you're always late."

"No, it's all right," he took a cautious step closer, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I've got him."

"Sure, you've got him," you retorted, a hint of derision lacing your words as you released the man's body with casual disregard. "I just took him out for you."

"Sure you took him out. His attention was on me."

"A fact I exploited to do my job."

"My job, you mean," he clarified, his right hand instinctively resting against his chest. A burst of laughter escaped you, filling the air as your playful eyes locked with his.

"A simple 'thank you' will suffice."

"Thanks, but I don't need any help," in an instant, your charming expression shifted to one of indignant mock, your hands finding their place firmly planted on your hips.

"Whatever happened to 'ladies first'?"

"Well, whatever happened to equal treatment?"

"Hey, wait, look. The lady got me first—"

Before another word could escape his lips, you extended your arm again, deftly rendering him to sleep for interrupting your conversation. Barry chuckled, his eyebrows arching in at your decisive move.

And then again, this was your opportunity.

There was an inexplicable power that accompanied the act of donning a mask, infusing you with a newfound sense of confidence. It was a transformative phenomenon, a shield that emboldened your spirit. Flirting didn't come naturally to you, but in the presence of this superhero, it felt as effortless as breathing. His very being exuded an irresistible combination of passion, charisma, and unwavering kindness. It was a magnetic pull that transcended logic, drawing you closer with an invisible force.

He was still a stranger in the traditional sense, a face veiled in mystery, and yet, beneath that enigmatic façade, you had come to recognize the inherent goodness that resided within him.

Never in a million years would you have imagined yourself crushing for a hero who hides his face from the world.

Without hesitation, you closed the physical distance between you and the tall figure, heedless of the potential risks that loomed. The fragrance of your being enveloped him, permeating the air with a captivating essence that seemed to leave an indelible mark upon his senses. In that intimate moment, a quiet exhalation escaped his lips, an involuntary reaction, as if to etch your scent into the recesses of his memory.

"Well, we could share, you know."

"I work—" his voice faltered, his breath hitching as your hands found their place on his chest, right next to the sides of the logo adorning the suit, exerting a gentle pull that drew him closer. "A-Alone."

"Well, I think you need to be more..." you trailed off, your movements fluid and graceful as you circled around him. Your lithe form weaved above his shoulders, between the crook of his legs, and around his waist. As you positioned yourself before him once again, a seductive smile boasted your lips. "Flexible."

"U-Uh— I—" he stammered, his face flushed with a rosy hue. The fluttering of butterflies took residence in his stomach, their presence a testament to the exhilaration he felt. He blinked several times, as if trying to convince himself that what he was witnessing was real. "A-Are you doing anything la-later?"

Your laughter rang out, a joyful sound that resonated through the air, breaking the intense eye contact momentarily as your head tilted in amusement at his nervousness. Barry, still entranced by your flirtatious charm, quietly corresponded to your giggles, a dazed expression etching itself on his face.

"Where do you like? I'll be there in a flash," a wrinkle formed on your nose in response to his joke, adding to the charm that emanated from your countenance. Balancing on one leg, you subtly accentuated the curves of your hips.

"Already asking me out?"

"Too fast?"

"Really fast."

"What can I say? Is my nature. Is that a bad thing?"

"It's cute. But naive. Too naive," you chided, shaking your head in feigned disapproval.

"I'm actually just being flexible."

Before you could offer a response, the urgent voice of your team pierced through the earpiece, abruptly interrupting the enchanting exchange. Reality seeped back in, reminding you of your responsibilities. A slight grimace tugged at the corners of your mouth as you delicately snorted in acknowledgment.

"I have to go," you declared, a tinge of regret lacing your words. "He's all yours now." A warm smile graced your lips as you motioned towards the young thief.

"How generous," he quipped. Your gaze lingered on him for a fleeting moment, capturing his features one last time before you turned towards the edge of the building, preparing to depart. "Wait!"

Barry's voice called out, his tone infused with a sense of longing. Intrigued, you paused, turning your body to face him once more, curiosity etched across your expression.

"Mhm?" you asked, the sound escaping your lips as a gentle hum.

"Tell me something about you," he implored, his voice barely audible yet filled with a profound longing. His desire to know you was screaming. The glimmer of determination in his eyes, as if he believed that a single revelation from you could aid him in his secret mission, the mission of unraveling the enigma that was you, warmed your soul. "Just one thing. Please."

A innocent blush adorned your face, painting your cheeks with soft red, as your cheekbones became more pronounced in an endearing display. With a composed calmness, you closed the distance between you and him, until only a breath's width separated your bodies. The intoxicating scent of clean spice carried on your breath caressed his cheek, stirring a mixture of anticipation and desire within him. Slowly, you traced your lips along the velvety canvas of his skin, leaving behind a perfectly placed kiss mark at the corner of his mouth, enticing him with the promise of more. A thrilling shiver coursed over him, the thief with a possible concussion being the last of his worries. The tension in his muscles heightened, locking him in a state of rapt attention, as a surge of tantalizing heat coursed through his entire being, igniting a wildfire of sensations.

"I always wear red lipstick."

With those words hanging in the air, you swiftly retreated to the edge, utilizing your powers to manipulate your body's form, effortlessly traversing between rooftops as if the very air obeyed your whims. Still shaken by the intensity of the encounter, his hand instinctively rose to the spot where you had bestowed your kiss, his fingertips grazing his cheek with delicate care, as if fearing that the slightest touch would erase the vivid mark you had left behind.

"Dude? Are you there?" the voice of his best friend reverberated within Barry's mind, yet it failed to rouse him from his entranced state. "Barry?"

"Red lipstick..." his entire being succumbing to a state of blissful surrender, his gaze fixed on the path you had vanished into.

"Red? What are you talking about?" Cisco asked puzzled, unable to comprehend Barry's disconnected mutterings.

"Barry, why aren't you breathing?" Caitlin's voice, laced with concern and confusion, interjected for the first time.

"Huh? Red?" Barry managed to whisper once more, his head spinning with dizziness and bewilderment. "W-What?"

"Your vitals, dumbass! Breathe again!" the urgency in the doctor's tone snapped Barry back to reality, jolting him awake. He drew in a deep, gasping breath, his chest rising and falling with a desperate need for oxygen.

He had completely forgotten about the communicator in his ear.

"Oh... Yeah. S-Sorry."

"It was Elastigirl again?"

"Am I that obvious?"

꒰°˖ ✧ any spelling mistakes will be corrected soon !ㅤׄ  ₊ ᵎᵎ

✃ graphics made by: me

ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗ ˢʰᵃʳᵉ ˢᵃᵛᵉ

━━M𝓐STERLIST !

[enigma-the-mysterious]

WIP Wednesday: 16/10/24

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Original post

All recent WIPs from RRR because that's what has consumed my brain.

1. Ram patches Bheem up after the flogging: This is my favourite (and longest!) of all my WIPs and I would love to publish it soon. What it says on the tin. Missing scene. Canon compliant. Hurt, angst and slight (????) comfort.

2. Rambheem first kiss: Tooth rotting fluff. Pining. Slight angst. Chapter 1 is Pre Naatu Naatu. Chapter 2 is post movie. Ram is an oblivious idiot

3. Bheem's thoughts after the betrayal: What it says on the tin. Angst, angst, angst and more angst. There isn't enough Bheem trauma fics in the fandom and I am here to fix that

4. Aftermath of Bheem's arrest: Fucktons of angst and Ram being emo and self destructive as usual

5. Ram's guilt about the flogging: What it says on the tin. Post movie. Angst with comfort

Snippet from WIP 4. Warnings: Suicidal ideation and the implied presence of colonialism

"Were you ever real?" Ram whispered to the apparition.

The man- the stranger- smiled. It was less of a smile and more the baring of bloodstained teeth, like a predator flashing its fangs before pouncing on its prey. "What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," he replied, his voice echoing like a hollow vessel to his ears.

The stranger hummed, tilting his head. "Akhtar was as real as Raju was," he finally said. "The sweet Muslim mechanic existed as much as the shy journalist from Hyderabad did."

"So just a figment of imagination?" Ram choked out, past the noose tightening around his neck. "Is that all we ever were?"

His eyes flashed. "And whose fault is that?"

"You… you should…" The noose dug into his skin. He was shaking, shaking, shaking. "Dammit! You should have surrendered when I asked you." Begged you.

"And you should have died in a gutter from the snake poison," he snarled, and oh there it was. That wildness in his eyes. The cold fury. The abject disdain. "You should have stopped fighting and let Yama snatch you from your miserable existence."

"And whose fault is that?" Ram accused. "Whose fucking fault is that I am not dead? I… I… I only wished… I only…"

I only wished to see you for one last time.

And in a way, maybe he did. Maybe he did see Akhtar for one last time before the mirror cracked and Akhtar's face distorted and the visage of the Gond Protector spilled through the fractures.

[diskaywrites]

I'm Hoping That You Feel The Same Way

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧' 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐭 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐅𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐭 (𝐨𝐜) 𝐱 𝐖𝐲𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐲 (𝐨𝐜) 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐟: 𝐑𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 (𝐨𝐜), 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝐨𝐜) 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏.𝟎𝟖𝟖

Wyatt Foley could feel the tremble in his hands as he descended the stairs in the seemingly abandoned brownstone that he had given the address of. It wasn't the fact that the building was abandoned that had him on edge. How many times had he and his partners Rory and Caleb found their own little abandoned buildings to drink a few beers in and enjoy some private time as they planned out how the team was going to take over GCW? Abandoned buildings didn't usually have this energy, a darkness that Wyatt couldn't shake. Maybe it was the lack of sound as his booted foot slowly walked down the long concrete hallway.

Or maybe it was the man who had invited him here that had Wyatt on edge.

No one on the GCW roster seemed to remember, or seemed to care, about when Patrick Foyet had joined their ranks. In fact, most of the GCW roster seemed to avoid the always well-dressed young man. Patrick was quiet, violent when he did get into the ring. Patrick seemed to enjoy the art of the death match a little more than those he worked with. Wyatt could relate to that and partially due to that love of extreme violence, and partially due to Wyatt's upbringing to always be kind by one of the kindest men in the business, he had reached out to make a friend of Patrick.

The concrete hallway led to a door that did not seem to match the rest of the rundown building. It was intricate, black with gold filigree around the edges. This didn't feel right. This 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒏'𝒕 right. His heart thumped wildly in his chest and he reached out to try the gold handle. Locked. Whatever was behind that door was something that Patrick didn't want the rest of the world to see. Wyatt let out a shaky breath, his knuckles rasping heavily against the wood.

The sound of the lock clicking, a sound that Wyatt could barely make out, caused him to tug nervously at the sleeve of the black-and-yellow plaid long-sleeved shirt he wore. Patrick's visage appeared in the doorway, his white button-up clinging to him with its sleeves rolled up to his forearms. For a moment, a smile crossed the other man's too thin lips. "You came. Good. I got you a present."

𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕? Wyatt couldn't help the thought crossed his mind as Patrick held the door open, allowing him to enter the room. It was not as pristine as the door, dark without proper lighting. Wyatt forced a smile. If anything, this would be a good story to tell Rory and Caleb about later. "You…uh…you did? Why you sitting in here alone in the dark?"

"It wasn't time yet," Patrick's voice echoed from behind Wyatt, which he had to turn his head slightly so that his good ear was in the proper direction. The other man quickly flipped the light switch, the hum of fluorescent lights coming to life. Wyatt turned his face to see what could only be described as a scene from a horror movie.

The room was very threadbare, holding almost nothing save for what looked like two hospital beds that had long been decommissioned. The walls were covered with what appeared to be clear tarps, as if to protect them. Wyatt could have forgiven that as a weird decorating decision. What he could not forgive was the chair sitting in the center of the room. Resting in the chair, with what appeared to be a burlap sack over its head, was a dummy. At least, Wyatt prayed to a god he didn't quite believe in that it was a dummy that had its hands and legs bound to the armrests and front legs. Wyatt begged whoever would listen that the figure that seemed to have scars across its bare chest was just a dummy.

But dummies didn't breath. Dummies didn't bleed from the fresh cuts along their body, seemingly made with the surgical tools that sat on the stainless teel medical cart next to it.

"Wh…what the hell is this?" Wyatt could hear the tremor in his voice as he stood staring dumbfounded at the person. That was a 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 and Patrick had…what…kidnapped him? Tortured him? "Patrick, what the fuck is this?!"

"Your present," the man stood next to Wyatt, clapping a hand to his shoulder, "The first moment I saw you with the skewers, I knew. I knew the pain you like to inflict. I knew you were just like me."

Wyatt watched as Patrick stepped forward, crossing to the medical cart with a fiendish glee. His hand flittered over each of the tools on the table, before he picked up a scapple. He held it up to the light, the gleaming of the tool matching the grin across Patrick's face. "L…like you?" Wyatt felt queasy, trying to urge himself to run. His feet wouldn't listen to reason, however, and he simply stood there watching with widened eyes.

"Violent," Patrick brought the blade of the scapple to the figures chest, the blade biting into pale skin and drawing a thin line into the skin, "Sadistic."

With the second statement, Patrick cut yet another straight line down the figures chest, mirroring the other that sat on its pectoral, "I'm…I'm not…"

"Willing to do what it takes to live life in the way that brings you the most pleasure," Patrick took the scapple, carving a crescent shape into the victims stomach just as it jerked forward, a muffled scream coming from underneath the bag. 𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑬?! The person was 𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑬?! Wyatt clamped a hand over his mouth, urging himself not to get sick as he realized what shape had been carved into the thrashing man's chest.

A smiley face.

Wyatt steeled his nerves as he stood there, deciding what needed to be done. This wasn't a time to play hero. This wasn't a time to jump into a fight against a man whose level of demented and level of dangerous he had severely underestimated. Instead of fighting, Wyatt turned as quickly as he could on his heels and bolted towards the door. His chest hurt from the force of his heartbeat as he fumbled with the lock before flinging the door open. His legs burned as he ran faster than he had ever ran in his life. There was only one thought as he tried to separate himself from the horrors he could never unsee.

He was 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 like Patrick Foyet.

[mandrakebrew]

Pairing: Sk.ull Fa.ce x Dr Palmer Words: 975 Rating: General Content Warning: oc x canon

Summary: Going to see a movie while in France brings up old memories, and a short discussion on morality.

It was close to the late night showing in a drive-in theater in France. Currently Skull Face and Dr Palmer sat in a rented car waiting for it to start.

Despite both of their limited knowledge of the language, they were interested in watching a movie Palmer spotted an advert for. Les Yeux Sans Visage, Eyes Without a Face in english. It was a horror movie, so the doctor was already interested. Their commander was hesitant, but morbidly curious. He shared their love of the horror genre. The fact that this was a psychological horror film piqued his curiosity even more.

He preferred watching movies at home, though drive-in theaters were a bit easier than the indoor ones. Especially if they could park away from the other cars, so it was even harder for other movie goers to see his face. Luckily, it seems this late night showing had a limited attendance.

However, he still had to endure the ticket booth workers. Even if every time the attendant started to stare at him, the doctor would loudly clear their throat to get attention on them.

They did that simple because they did not know how to say, “Stop staring, dickhead,” in French.

“You alright?” Palmer asked after getting the speaker on their side of the car situated inside.

“I’m fine.”

“People need to learn some fucking manners.”

The doctor’s irritation on his behalf was appreciated.

“I’m used to it by now,” He waved his hand nonchalantly.

Palmer frowned. He shouldn’t be. “Hopefully, the movie is worth it. I’ve heard interesting things.”

“Such as?”

“Apparently, there’s a surgery scene that’s really graphic.”

“Nothing you haven’t seen.”

“You’re right, but I’m interested to see what a movie can pull off.”

Fortunately, they didn’t wait much longer for the movie to start. When the woman of who the movie is named after, Christiane, shows up Palmer thinks to themselves that the mask she wears is far more unsettling than any deformity she may have under it.

Skull Face had actually been considering wearing a mask himself. Though perhaps not like that one.

When the woman’s face is shown for the first time, the other woman in the movie screams in horror. Something that’s only happened to Skull Face a handful of times. Most people’s responses were to stare wide eyed or whisper to each other while sharing hurried glances his way. A few audience members gasp at the woman’s appearance as well. The commander shifted in the brown leather seat a bit.

Palmer glanced over and saw him sinking into his seat a bit, maybe not even realizing he was doing it. Their first instinct was to ask if he was alright, if he wanted to leave. Instead, they reach over and grab his gloved hand and squeeze it.

By the time he looks at them, they’ve returned their gaze to the screen. They were searching for something to crack wise at. Just to keep his mind from spiraling too far.

“Holy shit, that looks fake.” They find something with the aforementioned surgery scene.

“And just what were you expecting?”

“Maybe it’s good for the movie industry that most people don’t know what that would actually look like.”

”Probably, “He laughs through his a nose a bit.

Palmer wasn’t very surprised when the face was rejected by the woman’s body. Donated parts were always tricky. Though they found the imagery of the face rotting away over time to be fascinating.

Such a thing wouldn’t be able to be even attempted with Skull Face. With no healthy skin left on him, not even skin grafts were an option. Not to mention, he has no idea what he’d look like now without his burns. So any donor would look like a stranger in the mirror. He wonders what would be worse. No face or a face that looked like a stranger?

Christiane was clearly miserable, despite the language barrier. Having to hide away from society, and Palmer had a feeling that her father kidnapping and killing women for her sake wasn’t helping matters. It scares them somewhat. The lengths some people will go for a loved one’s sake.

Once the film had ended, Palmer started to drive back to the hotel they were staying at.

“So what’d you think?” Palmer asked as they slowed to a stopped at an intersection.

He didn’t answer for a few moments, deep in his own thoughts. As the car began to move, he spoke, “It was… Interesting.”

“What about the ending?” They pressed.

“Which part?”

“The girl killing her father, mostly. I think it was good for her to take back control of her life.” Though seeing a man killed by dogs may have reinforced Palmer’s fear of them.

“Agreed. Not sure what kind of future she would have, though.”

“At least she’s not someone’s science project now.”

Skull Face glances at himself in the side mirror, before looking away again.

“Sorry,” Palmer said.

“What did you make of the doctor?” He asks, moving the conversation along.

“What do you mean?”

“Killing those women to help his daughter.”

“Ah. While I wouldn’t say it’s justified, it’s understandable.”

“To me, it seems he had little choice.”

“Yeah?”

“Is he to let his daughter go mad from isolation?”

Watching someone you love suffer and being unable to help is torture. They can’t argue with that.

“I suppose not. Still, those women died for a mistake he made.” Then again, what are strangers compared to loved ones?

“It’s unfortunate, yes. But sometimes we do regrettable things to get what we want done.”

“That’s a little cold, isn’t it?”

“It’s just how things are.”

Palmer doesn’t respond. Partly due to being unsure how to challenge that worldview, and partly to seeing the truth to his words. They ride in silence the rest of the way to the hotel.

[theroachsankles]

in ur opinion, what makes a robot truly sexy? or just who are ur top 5 hot robots

WOOF well my friend, I like to be very detailed when it comes to explaining robot design! So strap in!

We'll start with a face!

A slightly or even heavily inhuman face is what really packs a punch! The fun work around with expression due to a lack of the normal human face is something fun and challenging! And I'm really into that!

I also think using real life helmets and masks are really great for figuring out a robot's visage. There are so many out there! It'd be cool to use those as inspo!

Lights for eyes are a favorite of mine! Especially if the glow changes based on intensity of mood!

Which is great if you combine that with an inhuman face!

Next is body!

Really shape language is the way to go! Pick a shape and go nuts! I do love verity in robot bodies just like with human ones, but in robot cases you can go HAM on the augmented body which is super fun, especially if you over exagerate! They don't have to have organs so again you can go HAM on design!

Referencing real life armor, just like masks, is a fun one as well! I even enjoy when a robot character pulls from human musculature systems! Especially with the idea that you can SEE each muscle at work when they move! I eat that shit up!

EXTRA LIMBS!!! This is fun in design because of the idea of how that would work with movement and also gestures when at rest! It's like a puzzle especially if you plan on drawing robots!

This isn't a requirement but a specific things I've noticed. If the robot can wear clothes, it makes them instantly more interesting. Why do they wear them? How do they feel about them? Do they even need clothes? Who cares!? It's hot XD

Lastly are just a few things that I find hot and fun!

Steam. Nothing hotter than literally showing signs of high body temp! Especially if this robot is in a fight! Talk about HOT XDD

LIGHTS LIGHTS LIGHTS! I adore the different colors and placement of things like biolights and the glowing eyes and even glowing teeth if you're feeling spicy! (Almost all my robot Ocs have glowing teeth and steam up alot)

Also I don't have to draw actual feet. I hate drawing feet XD

If they get to have a developed personality outside of just "I am a machine I do not feel" cause that lacks alot of the fun to be had with the kinds of questions you can ask with robot characters!

Augmented voices are a MUST! I wanna hear that bass! The weird electricity to the voice! It's so much fun!

As far as top five hottest robots? WOOF that's a toughy but l'd say probably in no specific order

Megatron from tfp- his design is PEAK transformers design! Just the right amount of inhuman and human so that he's readable! I love how expressive his face and really all of the tfp robots faces are! I think his shape language comes across perfectly alien, especially versus the rest of the cast! He also has scaring from his times as a gladiator and I think that's AWESOME! Also HE GOT A WALK AND WAIST WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?

The Giant from Iron Giant- while I wouldn't say he's hot and sexy, he's adorable and was my first robot crush uu. He's a true sweetie and his story is a tear jerker for so many reasons. His design is also CLASSIC and I love that about him! (It helps that he went crazy with grief and had all those weapons. Was really into that XDD)

X-49 from Samurai Jack- look him and his episode up! He's got everything I love about a robot design! He wears a cool 30's hat and coat and only wanted to find his pug Lulu! Very much loved him and his episode and thought his design was sleek as hell!

Zima from Zima Blue- while he is more human looking than the rest, I was so enamored with his powerful story and seeing him evolve from a little pool cleaner to a tall stoic artist looking for purpose! His last scene was also a favorite because of the way you could SEE how he was put together!

Ultron from Avengers Age of Ultron- To be blunt, I'm NOT a big fan of marvel movies and Ultron was the last movie I saw. It wasn't a great movie but ULTRON DUDE!? GAWD you wanna talk about HOT? He follows all my attractive robot bullet points and then some! I don't remember anything from that movie outside of his scenes and I think a character death who I didn't care about since he was under developed. BUT I TELL YA WHAT I'll watch that movie just for him.

I could go on for hours about this and honestly would've listed alot more robots but I wanted to add a bit of verity to the list!

I appreciate your time! I hope that answers some things for you! (Also if you wanna see some of my robot designs, check out my Instagram @theroachankles1997 I post alot of robots there uwu)

[chronologicalhomestuck]

karkat pov liveblog: hivebent, part 3

much of the actual exciting events of hivebent--on this side, at least--are revealed through exposition. its like if you watched a heist movie where they explain the heist while its carried out but if you just heard the explanation and didnt watch any of the actual scenes.

You and your like-blooded accomplice soon put OPERATION REGISURP into motion, a contingency plan which the archagent conveniently had on file and named himself. If it were drafted by a legitimate contingency firm, it would ostensibly have been given a better title. Your whole team executes the plan along the course of its journey, employing espionage, mind control tactics, political sabotage, vicious interrogations and cold blooded assassinations. Everyone does their part and you begin to learn the true meaning of teamwork, as well as this troll disease called friendship.

oh my god. they just straight up. learn the true meaning of friendship. phrased a bit silly but its just right there lmao.

But before a single step is taken, Jack briefs you on the intelligence uncovered by one of his agents. It is an advantage over the queen you will seize upon while she has let her guard down. With each prototyping by each player, the royalty of both sides would evolve. The queen with her RING OF ORBS TWELVEFOLD would first take on the claws and ridged carapace of your lusus. And then the wings and scales of Terezi's young dragon. And then the horns and gills and cloven hooves of Gamzee's fallen custodian. And so it would continue. Though a queen is a vain creature, she is also sworn to her duty. She would be braced for the heavy load of augmentation ahead. She could certainly withstand the eight eyes of an arachnid. The fairy wings might at worst be frivolous, and the great bull horns could even be regarded as striking additions. For that matter, the sultry lips of a mother grub might very plausibly suit her. She perhaps would wear a brave face even behind a dignified mustache, and the centauring of her lower torso could transpire without much complaint. She would dutifully indulge a lactating udder. And when all was said and done, doubling her head count would surely be insult to elevenfold injury, but nothing she hadn't essentially endured already, all in the name of her kingdom. But she would spare herself all of these additional debasements. Because before the rest came, there would be one corruption to her figure she could not abide. Her vanity wouldn't allow it.

im gonna post all this exposition in here--after all, if this is to be a resource for keeping up with the chronological events here, i might as well include this whole thing. perhaps i will return to it later if it fits nicely?

She could not stand bearing the visage of the most loathsome creature known to existence. So vile is its appearance, so contemptible its purpose, all depictions of the creature let alone members of its population are permanently banned from any jurisdiction in the reach of her agents. Those of its kind go by many names, and so does the reviled patron god they herald - THE GREAT DETESTATION, KING PONDSQUATTER, SPEAKER OF THE VAST JOKE, or most commonly, BILIOUS SLICK. His true name is of course forbidden. And wearing his face is where she drew the line.

She removed the ring and concealed it in the ROYAL VAULT while she was quite sure no one was looking. She then retired to her private chamber from which she would dispatch orders, no one the wiser of her disadvantage. Or so she thought.

the queen is seen removing her ring...

The operation in time would be a total success. The BANISHED QUASIROYAL would make the future Alternian wasteland her home. Until she was given a new purpose.

...and that seems to result in success. although at this point, we shouldnt know this. this part is genuinely a bit hard to keep chronological in the strict scheme of this blog but i think it at least makes sense.

But at the onset, you would know nothing of the queen's aversion to an amphibious likeness, or about her orbs twelvefold, or any such details. You were informed of her disadvantage, and would act accordingly. You and your red teammates would work to dethrone the queen in your session, while the blue team members would take on the entirely separate set of royal adversaries in their own session. This was to be a competition, after all. Or so you thought.

yeah, we dont know any of that yet. lets get back to terezi and karkat.

on the land of thought and flow, we can see them fighting some underlings with traits of prototypings from both teams. one has terezi's dragon's wings and aurthour's (i know im not spelling that correctly. there is no way.) mustache, one has the frog statue's head and goatdad's tail, another has gamzee's lusus's horns, crabdad's claws, and aurthour's (i checked. its accurate) udders, and the last has pounce de leon's mouths/ears and gamzee's lusus's fins. interesting.

and now a jump ahead 200 pages to karkats first memo.

interesting look at the timelines! do we ever know exactly what those gray/black segments mean?

anyways, im currently being "past" karkat here. welcome to the land of memos, karkat. you will have many of these in your future.

PCG: IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY TO ME IN RESPONSE TO A MEMO, MESSAGE ME IN PRIVATE AT THE APPROPRIATE POINT ON THE TIMELINE. PCG: FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS IS ABOUT THE TEAMS. PCG: AS OF NOW, YOU SHOULD ALL BE AWARE THAT THERE IS REALLY ONLY ONE TEAM, AND WE ARE ALL WORKING TOGETHER.

yep, as of a few pages ago (from my pov, though the extension doesnt follow through to the end of the puzzle here being solved) they figured this out from those prototypings.

You would begin to notice a strange pattern. The blue team's prototypings would affect the mutations of your session's underlings. And your prototypings would affect theirs. Though the signs pointed to two distinct sessions - two sets of mystic ruins, two opposing teams, two separate chains of connected players - this was all misleading. The truth was it had always been the same session all along. That your teams were not competing, but cooperating toward a common goal. In the more drawn out form of this adventure's narrative, figuring this out would have been a huge deal. We would have been completely blown away by this stunning revelation. Wow. Same session all along. Really? Huh.

if i ever were to write a longform hivebent rewrite fic, i sure would make that reveal be exciting! back to karkat.

PCG: AND BY "NOW" I MEAN TIME LOCAL TO ME AS OF WRITING THIS. PCG: SO IF YOU'RE READING THIS IN THE PAST... PCG: UH OK FIRST OF ALL, HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW ABOUT THIS FEATURE ALREADY? SECOND WHY DIDN'T YOU FUCKING TELL ME.

well, since from this page hes "past" karkat, and im reading this in the "past" even though it is currently being written...i guess i still am reading it in the past? man idk.

anyways, he has now announced to everyone the true nature of their session (and he wants to be the leader of them all, much to equius's discomfort.)

FUTURE carcinoGeneticist [FCG] 612 HOURS FROM NOW responded to memo. FCG: GROAN. FCG: THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING. FCG: WHAT WAS I EVEN THINKING. PCG: STFU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i cant WAIT to read all of his little arguments with himself in order. it will be glorious.

jack and karkat solve a puzzle in a frog temple. meanwhile, karkat begins another memo.

CCG: PEOPLE, WE NEED TO GET ORGANIZED HERE. CCG: SHIT IS GETTING SERIOUS. CCG: WE ARE ABOUT TO EMBARK ON OPERATION REGISURP, A CUNNING PLAN DEVISED BY DOUBLE ARCHAGENT JACK NOIR TO EXILE THE BLACK QUEEN. CCG: WE WILL NEED ALL HANDS ON DECK FOR THIS, EVEN THE IDIOTS.

the plot is really ramping up!

karkat is quickly distracted by attempting to resolve eridan's romantic issues. poor kid just cant resist!

FCA: i got a problem FCA: wwith feferi FCA: and im really kinda sittin here in bad shape about it emotionally speakin CCG: OK, WELL CCG: I GET THAT, I HEAR YOU BRO CCG: BUT THIS IS STILL NOT THE RIGHT PLACE FOR THIS SO I'VE GOT TO BAN YOU. CURRENT carcinoGeneticist [CCG] banned FUTURE caligulasAquarium [FCA] from responding to memo. CCG: BUT SERIOUSLY JUST GET IN TOUCH WITH ME IN PRIVATE ABOUT IT, OK MAN? CCG: WE'LL GET YOUR SHIT STRAIGHTENED OUT. CCG: OK. CCG: IS EVERYBODY GOOD?

as terrible as things end up going re: eridan and feferi, karkat is being really sweet here. maybe a bit too nice given how eridan is but...this guy really cares. talk about learning the true meaning of friendship!

FAG: We kicked the queen out of there no sweat! It was easy. In fact, I did most of the work myself, right 8efore I found all the treasure and scaled all the rungs. CCG: OH, ALL OF THEM YOU SAY? CCG: FASCINATING.

future arachnidsgrip, aka "fag" (honestly one of my fave gags in the whole comic lmfao) shows up to tell karkat things go fine. as usual, he is very mad about the interference with his beloved memos.

CCG: IF I WERE FUTURE ME, WHICH I GUESS I AM, I WOULD READ THIS AND BE ALL OVER IT, LIKE DAMMIT KARKAT WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING. CCG: GET TO THE POINT. FUTURE carcinoGeneticist [FCG] 0:20 HOURS FROM NOW responded to memo. FCG: YEAH PRETTY MUCH. CCG banned FCG from responding to memo.

shakes my head while tutting in disappointment. he is NOT beating the selfcest blackrom allegations.

chaos is ensuing. past tavros shows up to ask for help with vriska, and then past vriska chimes in on those very events.

CCG: OK, MAYBE I'LL TAKE A MINUTE TO COLLECT MY THOUGHTS AND GET BACK ON TOPIC HERE. FUTURE carcinoGeneticist [FCG] 609 HOURS FROM NOW responded to memo. FCG: NO YOU WON'T. FCG: THIS ONE WAS PARTICULARLY NAUSEATING IN RETROSPECT, I'M SHUTTING THIS DOWN. FCG banned CCG from responding to memo. FCG closed memo.

yeah, i think thats a good place to pause.

[thefilmsnob]

Glen Coco's Top 10 Films of 2023

Hello, lovely reader. I had a really well-written intro about blockbusters and art house films, but the more I read it, the more I doubted its validity, and after spending hours writing the rest of this article, I couldn’t be bothered to do research to support it. And it’s already $&@%ing May 2024.

ANYWHO! 2023 was a great year for movies and you’ll also have a great time reading about my picks for the top 10 films of 2023...after the runners-up and the standard bonus track...there’s always a bonus track.

RUNNERS-UP

-Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret.

-Bottoms

-The Holdovers

-Nyad

-Past Lives

#10b. (Bonus Track) The Zone of Interest

Director: Jonathan Glazer

Starring: Christian Friedel, Sandra Hüller

A film that's not exactly easy to recommend, The Zone of Interest follows Rudolf Höss, commandant of the Auschwitz concentration camp during WWII, and wife Hedwig, living with their five children on a property adjacent to the camp. And like the fence that divides the family's idyllic home from the very horrors of the camp which they enable, I'm still divided about the ethics of this production. Yet, there's no denying Glazer's boldness and craft, using simple yet crisp framing, mundane dialogue, sparse music and an aura of indifference to juxtapose the family's living conditions with those within the camp, whose faint sounds of screams, gunfire and hellish machinery may as well be the the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves to their ears. It's a rare film that's undeniably disturbing yet bereft of explicit violence, nudity or even harsh language, omissions that accentuate the chilling nonchalance of evil on display. What remains, especially the quietly profound finale, will surely stay with you and, considering the implications, it should.

#10. Maestro

Director: Bradley Cooper

Starring: Carey Mulligan, Bradley Cooper

Maestro follows the familiar biopic template about brilliant artists who excel professionally but struggle personally, yet writer/director/producer/star(!) Bradley Cooper has crafted a richer, more stately product than so many other paint-by-number biographies. Having already showcased his film making prowess with 2018's A Star is Born, a film that also explored the complex relationship among love, artistry and stardom, Cooper continues this analysis with his examination of iconic composer Leonard Bernstein. In the process, he stages some breathtaking scenes, especially one involving a heated argument between Cooper's Bernstein and wife, Felicia (Carey Mulligan), that's devoid of cuts and full of passion, or another in a grand cathedral where Bernstein triumphantly conducts his orchestra like a force of nature, sweat dripping down his feverish visage. Primarily, though, this is a vehicle for two sensational performances from Cooper and Mulligan who capture an enticingly complicated and fraught relationship in the shadow of a legendary career.

#9. Beau Is Afraid

Director: Ari Aster

Starring: Joaquin Phoenix

Wikipedia describes Beau Is Afraid as a 'surrealist tragicomedy horror film', so, if nothing else, it's...different. Some may find Ari Aster's film insufferable, but if you view it as one big, absurd metaphor for crippling anxiety (GAD, specifically) and familial guilt, it becomes a mesmerizing fever dream of a journey that will resonate with anxious people in general but also with certain ethno-religious groups who are inclined to satirize themselves (think Seinfeld and Curb). Here, Joaquin Phoenix plays Beau, a meek, neurotic soul, living alone in a dingy apartment on an impossibly dangerous street overrun with miscreants he must avoid at every turn just to go to the corner store. Sadly, he must travel farther than 50 feet to bury his mother while facing utterly bizarre threats and situations along the way, even venturing into a fantasy world made of felt at one point, concluding with one of the most outlandish yet oddly perfect endings you'll ever see. It's not quite on the level of Aster's milestone achievements Hereditary and Midsommar, but it's unquestionably original and a further sign of the film maker's boundless potential.

#8. Asteroid City

Director: Wes Anderson

Starring: Jason Schwartzman, Scarlett Johansson, Tom Hanks, Jeffrey Wright, Edward Norton, Bryan Cranston, about a dozen other actors you'll recognize

My description of Wes Anderson changes with every film he releases, oscillating between 'insufferable' and 'genius'. With Asteroid City, I lean toward the latter. His latest film is more fun and inviting, less fussy and pretentious. That's surprising for a film whose plot involves a retro-futuristic 1950s in which we're shown a documentary about the production of a play called 'Asteroid City', which actually is presented like a film and forms the majority of the narrative. The black & white, box-screened documentary contrasts the widescreen, brightly coloured 'play', which features a youth astronomy convention held in the titular desert town and the stories of its equally colourful attendees. It's a tad convoluted, but the final product is a visual and structural wonder, every scene composed of delectable sets filled with objects meticulously arranged and photographed to appear at once realistic and fantastical. And, though ample attention is placed on aesthetics, there’s plenty of room for the surprisingly touching story. Anderson also concocts one of the zaniest scenes you'll see, involving a surprise guest that, inexplicably...works.

#7. The Killer

Director: David Fincher

Starring: Michael Fassbender

On its surface, The Killer might seem unoriginal, superficial or repetitive, with the stereotypical soulless assassin routinely taking out one target after another. But, this deliberately crafted film from David Fincher challenges these perceptions in two major ways, one obvious, the other delightfully subtle. The first occurs at the end of the opening act in which Michael Fassbender’s Killer stakes out a hotel room, awaiting his target while describing the life of an assassin and his routine like an art in chilly voice-over, enlivening an otherwise inert sequence. But, when the time comes to take the shot…he misses. This is where the Killer goes into survival mode, hunting down his associates before they can get to him and 'clean up his mess'. What once seemed like a straightforward survival story, however, slowly reveals itself as an assassin's quest to prove to his employers that he is, indeed, the elite killer they hired. Fassbender’s deft performance is invaluable to this development within a broader story about humans' insatiable need for purpose.

#6. Air

Director: Ben Affleck

Starring: Matt Damon, Viola Davis, Ben Affleck

There's a quirky trend lately of making films based on popular products like Barbie dolls, Cheetos, Tetris, Pop-Tarts and, in the case of Air, Air Jordan sneakers. And, although the origins of a shoe may not seem like prime material for a feature length film, the result is both fascinating and exhilarating. It may also feel strange cheering for a corporate giant like Nike and one of its executives (Matt Damon) as if they were underdogs, but the veteran Damon, alongside co-star and director Ben Affleck, sells us on his effort to sign Michael Jordan as Nike’s new spokesman and save their basketball shoe division. Affleck wisely keeps the tone light, but the characters’ endeavors are still gripping as is the dialogue from this superb cast; they make shoes sound riveting, in the same way The Big Short did for credit default swaps. This is exemplified in the climactic negotiation between Damon’s character and Jordan’s mother, played by Viola Davis, who’s fiercely protective of her son's interests. Sure, capitalism drives this story, but scenes like this, a battle of wits and emotions between two acting greats alongside their industrious counterparts, remind us there are still human beings amidst all the bar graphs and quarterly reports.

#5. Poor Things

Director: Yorgos Lanthimos

Starring: Emma Stone, Mark Ruffalo, Willem Dafoe, Ramy Youssef

Director Yorgos Lanthimos has become one of the most unique cinematic voices of a generation. With Poor Things, his latest curiosity, he recalls elements of Frankenstein, breathing new life into those ideas to tell a modernized story about Bella Baxter (Emma Stone), who's resurrected by the eccentric Dr. Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe), replacing her brain with that of her fetus, creating a woman with an infant's mind. Within Lanthimos's wondrous re-imagining of the Victorian Era, Bella embarks on a journey to discover both the world at large and herself. As she travels from London to Lisbon, Alexandria to Paris, she's confounded by this augmented world's beauty--its unique colours, textures and geometry-- but also its cruelty, all facets that help form her character. These elements are produced with vivid digital and practical effects to create a dream-like, absurdist environment like something out of a children's book, ensuring the audience shares in Bella's astonishment. Stone's performance is equally astonishing, depicting a metamorphosis from awkward, naive, dependent child to assertive, autonomous, curious young woman, combating the pettiness and insecurities of overbearing men in the process. It's an empowering story as effective as the striking costumes, sets, score and every other element that floods our senses.

#4. Anatomy of a Fall

Director: Justine Triet

Starring: Sandra Hüller, Milo Machado-Graner

Anatomy of a Fall might seem like a conventional legal drama and therefore easy to overlook. The premise is simple: a boy (Milo Machado-Graner) finds his father dead below the attic window of their family’s French chalet. Sandra, (Sandra Hüller), the boy’s mother, is the prime suspect considering her turbulent relationship with the husband and the fact she was the only other person home. We see the responses to the death, the investigation and the trial while questioning if it was a murder, suicide or accident. It’s a basic procedural, but the execution by director Justine Triet and her incredible cast elevates this story immensely. Through the enthralling dialogue and gradual revelations, we learn things when the characters do; the audience isn’t omniscient like with similar films, even after the verdict. It’s also decidedly non-sensational which paradoxically piques our interest even more in this story that mirrors reality and a solid but imperfect legal system. Hüller’s performance is crucially ambiguous; there're no winks or telling looks at the audience. Essentially a prestige version of Law & Order, this is one of the strongest legal dramas you’ll see, demanding and earning your complete attention.

#3. Killers of the Flower Moon

Director: Martin Scorsese

Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Lily Gladstone, Robert De Niro

At 81, the legendary Martin Scorsese is still churning out masterpieces like his historical epic Killers of the Flower Moon. With its grand scope, sweeping cinematography, heartbreaking but essential story and an eclectic score that infuses a variety of genres with Native American sounds, this is pure cinema. The criticized 206 minute runtime is necessary to do justice to the injustice suffered by the once prosperous Osage Nation at the hands of ingratiated white folks through a calculated, systematic and prolonged series of heinous acts. In 1920s Oklahoma, the despicable William Hale (Robert De Niro) instructs his nephew (Leonardo DiCaprio) to marry an Osage girl, Mollie, (Lily Gladstone) in order to inherit her wealth, and also kill her family members to maximize the payout. Scorsese's go-to leads give appropriately slimy performances, especially De Niro, but they don't overshadow the tragedy orchestrated by greedy, duplicitous, small men. The Osage people and their rich culture remain in the spotlight, especially Mollie who exudes a quiet dignity and stoicism, transcending the typical victim plot device. You may know how this story ends, but its presentation is completely unexpected with an inspired denouement that summarizes the unforgivably lenient consequences for those complicit in this very American nightmare.

#2. Oppenheimer

Director: Christopher Nolan

Starring: Cillian Murphy, Robert Downey Jr., Emily Blunt, Florence Pugh, Josh Hartnett, Matt Damon, and the rest of Hollywood

Following his rare misfire, the loud and grinding Tenet, Christopher Nolan’s back in top form with Oppenheimer, a perfectly balanced film that showcases his many strengths as he tempers his occasional indulgences and somehow turns a scientist’s biopic into a blockbuster that’s gained a Marvel-sized audience. That’s partly due to his propulsive style that pushes the story forward at a brisk pace despite the three-hour runtime, as well as his signature sharp cuts, short scenes, temporal shifts and layered narrative strands. But, it’s also due to a doomsday scenario not unlike those in comic book films, except grounded in reality and, thus, scarier. Specifically, it examines the man responsible for that potential scenario, J. Robert Oppenheimer: ‘Father of the Atomic Bomb’, played in a rare leading role by the underrated Cillian Murphy who crafts a complex portrait of a man whose ambition was often at odds with his conscience, a man who had to live with decisions that resulted in so much death in WWII and quite possibly beyond. Complicating the story and adding to its urgency are several tense hearings that underline the political ramifications of these actions and the motives behind some of the most important decisions in history. Yet, wisely, no one’s portrayed as simply good or evil, certainly not Oppenheimer; life’s too ambiguous for that. Essentially, the film is people talking in nondescript rooms, but with such a stellar cast realizing Nolan's singular vision, it's as exciting as any Avengers flick—hell, it even features Robert Downey Jr giving his career best!

#1. Barbie

Director: Greta Gerwig

Starring: Margot Robbie, Ryan Gosling, America Ferrera

This may surprise people since I don't include many comedies on these lists nor box office juggernauts; if you look back at my last two #1s, you'll understand. But, Barbie isn’t just a cultural phenomenon, it’s truly an extraordinary film. It says a lot about writer/director Greta Gerwig that my favourite movie of the year isn't even my favourite movie she's made. It also says a lot that she's turned a plastic doll into a coherent and wildly entertaining feature length story with sympathetic characters and profound themes, whose opening sequence alone defies expectations of what this film could be.

Possessing otherworldly beauty and exceptional acting skills, Margot Robbie is a no-brainer for the role of Stereotypical Barbie who lives in a hot pink utopian society where the Barbies, composed of various races, body types and gender identities, hold all positions of power while the Kens, including a priceless Ryan Gosling as Beach Ken, chill at the beach and try to woo the ladies. This occurs on a meticulously constructed set, built on a solid foundation of whimsy and completed mostly with stunning practical effects in place of tempting CGI, resembling a colourful diorama, at once fantastical and tactile just like the toys that inspired it. However, Barbie's sudden preoccupations with mortality lead her on a quest into the real world to find the girl who's controlling her and it’s around this point when the story shows it has more on its mind than just brand promotion, exploring a myriad of social issues with the same fervor used to entertain. Without tying up everything in a neat package, Gerwig's story has feminist underpinnings but a kind that is sympathetic to male struggles as well, even though the patriarchy and bro culture are rightly judged via the impressionable air head, Ken. There's even an admirable amount of criticism toward Mattel. We’re not only treated to hilarious, candy-coated entertainment but a smart film for adults that kids will also enjoy and whose insight will benefit both.

At the center is Robbie, whose role is deceptively complex, requiring an actor with more than just beauty to be at once effervescent and existentially preoccupied. Both her performance and the story are capped off with one final word that recalls—fittingly—the final word uttered by Nicole Kidman in Eyes Wide Shut, appropriate considering Barbie begins with an explicit reference to another Stanley Kubrick masterpiece. It’s a word that Robbie announces with aplomb when it would otherwise be whispered with embarrassment; a word she wields like a weapon, charging forward into a new life in the name of unapologetic femininity.