#I think she kills it and brings like... emotion but also enthusiasm to the lyrics

[reinemichele]

Once and for all, And all for once: Nemo, my name forevermore Nemo sailing home... Nemo letting go! Oh, how I wish for soothing rain All I wish is to dream again My loving heart, lost in the dark For hope I'd give my everything Oh, how I wish for soothing rain All I wish is to dream again Once and for all, And all for once: Nemo, my name forevermore... Name for evermore...!

[borathae]

"Hot water, thick steam and your boyfriend on his knees begging for your forgiveness. What a pleasant turn of events indeed....”

Pairing: Seokjin x f.Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Smut, Fluff at the end

Warnings: sub!Seokjin, Dom!Reader, apology sex, shower sex, wall sex, grinding, oral (f. receiving), degradation kink (she calls him slut & a pathetic boy once), pain kink, hair pulling, strength kink, dirty talk, mentions of sextoys, slight subdrop but nothing major, the softest aftercare

Wordcount: 4k

a/n: I watched Seokjin’s intro trailer and then took a shower and I was like.. damn I be getting ideas right now, let's write them down because I’ve honestly have been thinking about Seokjin’s lips far too much lately. Enjoy besties 🖤

Your eyes are closed tightly as the hot water runs down your face, washing away the stressful day you had. Oh what a day indeed, everything, literally everything, had gone wrong today. Your customers had been nothing but rude today, you made less revenue than on the day you first opened the café and to top it all off, your car broke down in the middle of the road with no one in a seemingly hundred miles radius. Even calling up your boyfriend and asking for his help turned out to be fruitless as he told you that he is “busy right now baby and this is really important baby”. What on earth can be more important than your girlfriend having a flat tire at night in the middle of nowhere? 

You are furious! Stupid Seokjin and his stupid video games. You know exactly why he didn't have time, the same goddamn reason he never has time when you randomly want to hang out with him. His stupid online games with his stupid friends (his friends were in fact not stupid, you really like Jungkook and Taehyung, they are nice people, but tonight they are stupid). 

You turn up the heat of the water. It burns your skin, but you couldn't care less. At least it makes you feel like you are washing away today's stress. 

You don't hear the front door open and close, you also don't hear Seokjin calling out your name on top of his lungs. The music you are blasting through your bluetooth speakers drowns it out. You had decided to put on your good-old "I'm a bad bitch you can't kill me"-playlist because as a matter of fact you were a bitch that nobody could kill. Or bring down for that matter. You didn't need some other person to cheer you up, just you, the hot shower and a big glass of red wine later on. 

The knock on the door stays unnoticed by you as you sing on the top of your lungs. Hyuna, one of your favourites. The door closes again, Seokjin lets out a loud sound of approval. He is staring at your naked body, the way your hips swing from side to side and your ass glistens wet under the bright lights. 

“Damn baby”, he coos, expecting you turn around. 

 Still no reaction. The water is running over your ears, drowning out everything.  

You grab the shampoo bottle, holding it like a microphone and screaming at it in enthusiasm. It is freeing really, to yell motivating lyrics at an inanimate object. TÍt helps you get all these constricting emotions off your chest. The song changes, CL, another one of your faves. You turn the water even hotter, steam is rising, fogging up everything in your small bathroom. 

"Yes queen show them how it's do- what the fuck!" you suddenly scream up in total panic, dropping the shampoo bottle and whipping around. 

Two arms had snaked their way around your waist and had pulled you into a warm chest, scaring you to your bones.

You scream, Seokjin screams, the neighbors probably hate you and your cat outside meows loudly at the closed bathroom door.

"It's me! It's me, Seokjin, your boyfriend!" Seokjin yells as you continue hitting his chest in defense and scream on top of your lungs. 

Your screams stop at the familiar voice. You peel your eyes open, meeting a completely naked and very much distressed looking Seokjin. 

"What the actual fuck Seokjin? You nearly gave me a heart attack", you half yell, half growl.

Seokjin chuckles, giving your sides a teasing squeeze.  

"I just wanted to surprise you. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that. I thought you heard me come in. I even complimented your ass", he defends himself, swinging you from side to side. 

His fingers travel up and down your skin, the feeling definitely pleasant, but not right now. Not when you are angry at how oblivious he is to your very obvious bad mood. 

"I did in fact not hear you. Besides, you can leave, I don't want to see you tonight", you push him off. 

He whines, stumbling back. 

"Babe come on, don't be like that. I drove all the way here to spend the night with you", he says and wiggles his eyebrows at you, making kissy noises. 

"You left me. In the middle of the road. Because you were busy with gaming. I needed your help", you growl, hitting his chest. 

The slapping noise echoes through the now silent room. Your playlist finished, all there was left was the running of the shower and your cat meowing outside.  

Seokjin touches the spot you had slapped, whining in pain.  

"I wasn't busy gaming. I was busy, with actual adult stuff, you know." 

"Oh, real adult stuff? You? Good joke", you scoff. 

He pouts, crossing his arms in front of his chest. It makes his muscles flex, his shoulder look even broader in this position. 

"It's true. I was busy buying some stuff", he takes a step closer to you. 

You take a step back, your back hits the wall, the tiles feel cold on your heated skin, making you gasp in shock. 

"Stuff you'll probably enjoy a lot", he rasps and smirks, placing his hands on your hips. 

You swallow. You can't stop staring at his plumb lips, the way the water runs down his face and over his well sculpted shoulders. God his hands feel so hot on your skin, it makes you tingle all over. 

"Stuff I'll like? If it's not a bottle of vodka you can keep it", you won't forgive him that easily however. No matter how seductive he is trying to be right now.

He needs to be more creative with his apologies. A promise of presents and teasing touches won't grant him your forgiveness. 

Seokjin steps even closer, resting one of his arms on the wall right beside your head and keeping the other on your waist. 

He leans closer to your ear. 

"Something better than any booze in the world", his voice is deep, raspy as he whispers into your ear. 

Your lips part as a quiet sigh leaves them. This is so hot right now. His touches, the hot water running down your bodies, the perfect view of his broad chest, all of this makes your mind go dizzy.

"Oh really? What can be better than alcohol?" you grumble. You won’t show him though how hot you think he is. He lost that privilege when he chose games over you.

Seokjin chuckles darkly, giving your waist a gentle squeeze. 

"I'll let you guess. Here are some clues. It's two things actually", he whispers leaning even closer, "one is made out of glass", his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, "it's turquoise, really pretty", you can hear the smirk in his voice.

His fingers paint a path over your stomach, his touch light enough to be considered borderline rude. You want more of it. 

"The other is even prettier. It's pink", he presses an opened mouth kiss to your ear, moaning quietly. 

He knows exactly how you are crazy for hearing him whine and moan for you. And tonight is no different, your legs part, you can practically feel your arousal drip out of you. 

"It vibrates", he moans, kissing down your neck. 

Your head rolls to the side, your eyes flutter closed. 

"Fuck baby", you hiss, grabbing both sides of his hips. 

You squeeze them tightly, almost bruisingly. The feeling makes Seokjin breathe in heavily, his abdominal muscles flexing with every heave of his chest. 

"This is really unfair of you. You do know that?" you pull him close, keeping his hips in a tight grip. 

Seokjin’s lips fall from your neck as he gazes at your face instead, eyes heavy in arousal. The way his cock rubs against your stomach steals his sanity from him.  

"It's not or am I not allowed to treat my queen?" he forces out, trying his hardest not to move his hips. 

You do it for him, pulling him into you and grinding against his swollen cock. He moans, fingers twitching on the wall. His eyes fall closed, his nails dig into the tiles to keep himself from losing his composure. 

“Fuck baby”, he presses out almost inaudibly.

You guide his hips, watching his cock rub itself hard between your two bodies. His tip looks so red, so swollen and needy for more. It’s so pretty. 

"So you think you buying me some sextoys will make me forgive you for what you have done?" you challenge him, punishing him with a hard grind of your hips.

Seokjin whines, his hand slips from the wall to grab your hip instead. He looks so fucked out already, so close to blowing his load and you haven't even properly fucked him yet.

"Please have mercy on me. Fuck", he begs.

“Ha! No”, you say coldly.

“Fuck baby”, he presses out and leans in to kiss your neck again, sucking on your sensitive skin hungrily and with needy moans vibrating in his chest. 

A moan slips past your lips, fingers tightening on his hips. Seokjin just knows how to give good neck kisses. You roll your head to the side and close your eyes. They are so good, you almost want to forgive him.

You reach between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his length. Seokjin stumbles, hugging you for a second in order to find his support again. You are fast in your movements. Fast and punishing. You want him to shake and fight against his own urges to orgasm. It is what he deserves.

"Holy shit baby”, he chokes out and moans desperately, “I so want to fuck you against this wall", he growls, cupping your left breast and squeezing it harshly. His hips are fleeing from your touch, but you chase him, forcing him to take every second of torturous bliss.

“Please baby”, he begs.

“Uhm…no”, you say and smirk.

He sobs softly, “please, please, please.”

More arousal seeps out of you. His begging turns you on so much. You start grinding down on his thigh in search for some sort of well needed friction. His thigh feels hot on your swollen clit, his skin wet and slippery from the water still running down your bodies.

Seokjin lifts his leg, the added pressure making your stomach tighten and your pussy throb. His hand works wonders on your breast, rolling your hardened nipples between his fingers just like you love it.

“Please let me fuck you, please.”

"You think you deserve this?" you ask, grabbing a bundle of his hair and yanking his head back hard. 

Seokjin’s mouth falls open, a high pitched moan leaves him, his dick twitching. His Adam's apple bops with every swallow he takes, water runs down his thick neck, collecting on his collarbone before running down his sculpted chest. His orange hair sticks messily to his face, making him appear just all the more mouthwatering.

"I do, ah fuck, I do", he whines, "please ___ take it easy on me." 

A dark hunger burns in his eyes as he says these words, his dick grows even harder. Begging for your mercy turns him on so much. And in return, it turns you on to hear him beg for your mercy. Truly, it is a win-win situation.

"I don't know if you deserve to be treated nicely tonight", you spit and tug on his hair again, earning a whiney groan from him. 

"I'll work for it, please ___ I'll be a good toy for you", he keens, knees buckling at the pain.

"On your knees then", you force him down by his head. 

His knees hit the floor rather harshly, they will surely bruise tomorrow. You hear him curse under his breath.

“Fuck”, he chuckles, “you’re so hot”, he says, mesmerised by the sight of your pussy right in front of his face. How he would love to bury his tongue in it, to taste you, to devour you. But he shouldn’t rush it. He needs to wait for permission first. His hands are on your hips, massaging the flesh. Even from up there you have a clear view of his swollen cock, standing proudly whilst water drips off of it.

“So pretty…”he whispers, licking his lips.

"Well then don't just stare at it", you force his head closer to your core, “geez you’re being so slow.”

"Please forgive me", he murmurs, feigning innocence in his deep voice. 

"Less talking. More working", you press his face right onto your core. 

Seokjin groans, wasting no time, instantly starting to lap up your juices as fast is the compromised position allows him to. His knees pulsate in pain, his cock aches to be touched, and breathing is hard with his nose squished against your core. But he wouldn't like it any other way. He knows he could simply tap on your leg and you would instantly stop, but he doesn't want that. He strives for the pain, for the humiliation that comes with being reduced to nothing more than a mouth made to please you. 

He slurps loudly, sucking hungrily on your core, stimulating everything he can. Your swollen clit, your slickened lips, your wet hole, nothing gets left out by his plumb lips and eager tongue.

You have a good grip on him, guiding his every movement with your fingers in his hair. You have one leg draped over his shoulder, forcing him even closer. 

Seokjin groans, his nails dig into your hips. He tries his hardest to open his eyes, to look up at you but fails miserably, the feeling of your hot core too distracting. 

"You are such a dirty slut aren't you? Look at how greedy you are for my pussy", you lull and roll your hips into his mouth, "you like my pussy, dirty boy?" 

Seokjin groans, fucking your wet hole with his tongue as an answer. He nods his head, making the tip of his nose brush over your clit. Hot pleasure shoots through you, your head falls against the tiles, your fingers in his hair tighten. 

"I know you do”, you pause to moan loudly, “you dirty, dirty little boy. Eating pussy is all you are good for." 

Seokjin opens his eyes, gazing up at you. His eyes are blown out and glassy, sending you an innocent look. He groans, squirming desperately. Fuck, his cock is so hard that it hurts.

"What is it? I can't understand you. You need to speak up Jinnie", you taunt, rolling your hips and forcing his tongue even deeper inside of you in the process. 

He groans again, flutters his eyelashes at you and grunts. If only he was allowed to touch himself, fuck it would make the ache so much easier to bear.

“I told you I can’t understand you”, you spit, tugging at his hair.

His head tilts back, his swollen lips slipping from your pussy. He whines, giving you the perfect view of his agape mouth. His cock throbs. Each second of pain his scalp experiences goes straight to his dick. You watch it throb and tug harder, watching it throb again. You know that he wants to touch himself, but that he won’t ask you such a thing because he was being punished and playing with his cock is only reserved for good boy toys.

Seokjin gurgles out a moan and looks at you with his eyes slightly out of focus.

“Speak”, you bark and yank his head back.

“I love your pussy! Thank you my queen!” he exclaims, eyes squeezed shut in blissful pain.

“That’s better. Now back”, you order him and force him back between your legs.

Seokjin moans, welcoming your pussy with eager licks and fast swirls of his tongue. His eyes are still closed, fluttering in pleasure.

“That’s it, fuck”, you press out and moan, letting your head fall against the tiles. You finally close your eyes and loosen your fingers around his hair just slightly.

His fingers tighten on your hips, the movements of his tongue get more desperate. He can feel how close you are, taste it on his tongue, hear it in your voice. He wants to show you, prove it to you, that he is more than just a tongue fucking your pussy, that he is capable of so much more. 

"God look at you", you tighten your grip on his hair, sending a new wave of pleasurable pain through his scalp. 

Seokjin’s eyes roll back, his eyelids flutter closed, his dick twitches. A strip of precum leaks from the tip, pooling on his lap.

"You are such a slut for my pussy, it's pathetic. You are pathetic Jinnie." 

He whines, speeding up his tongue. His drool runs down his chin, tripping on his chest. 

“Such a fucking slut”, you press out and growl, “fuck, that’s so good.”

He is practically french kissing your pussy by now, moaning needily whilst sucking on your pulsating clit. The feeling is amazing, makes you want to scream and throw your head back. Your legs are shaking, the knot in your stomach is ready to burst any second now. 

"Yes keep doing that, I'm so close", you tell him, guiding his movements. 

Seokjin sucks on your clit again, his teeth craze over your skin. 

"Fuck, Jinnie", you yelp as your orgasm washes over you. Waves of hot pleasure come rolling down on you, making your whole body shake and your pussy throb around his tongue. Your fingers have a deathly grip on his hair, making him moan and whine just as loudly as you are. 

You pull him back once overstimulation sets in and his tongue feels painful on your pulsating clit. Arousal is smeared all over his chin and nose, his cheeks are reddened, his eyes blown out. 

"Did I do good?" he asks cutely, looking up at you like you are his goddess. 

You simply nod, cupping his cheek. 

"You did, I’m impressed", you tell him, still trying to catch your breath. 

"Can I fuck you now?" he asks, massaging your hips. 

You take your leg down from his shoulder. He is holding his breath, blinking hard every time water hits his eyes. He looks so hopeful, so desperate you feel new arousal spill out of you already. 

"Do you think you deserve it?" 

He nods. 

"Yes, I do. Please ___ I was so good for you. Please", he begs. 

You smirk, trailing your nails over his pretty face. He sighs, leaning into the touch as a shiver runs through him. 

"I see that my boy is confident", you chuckle. 

"I know what I can do", he retorts sheepishly. 

It makes you laugh, Seokjin’s face lights up. 

"Fine", you tell him. 

In one swift movement he is standing, pressing you against the wall with fire burning in his hungry eyes. 

"You are so fucking beautiful ___", he whispers before sweeping you off your feet. 

"Seokjin", you squeal, laughing. 

Your quickly wrap your legs around his torso, supporting yourself on his shoulders. The muscles in his well defined arms are flexed, it’s mouthwatering to look at honestly.

“I wanted this so badly”, he growls, “fuck ___ my dick hurts so bad already”, he whines, making you smirk all the more. 

“You brought this on yourself boy”, you tease, tightening your legs around his torso. 

He inhales shakily, his dick brushes through you wet folds. 

“I know god”, he groans, biting down on his lower lip, “p-please my queen, can I fuck you now?” 

“Yes.”

He doesn't waste much time after getting your permission, he bucks his hips into yours, entering you in one swift movement. You are so wet that he is bottoming out in a mere second, both of you sighing in complete bliss. 

"F-fuck you feel so good", Seokjin moans and starts bouncing you on his dick. 

“That’s it, fucking hell, Seokjin you perfect slut”, you moan, feeling like bursting.

He is fucking you so deep in this position, hitting even the deepest spots inside of you. You are almost yelling at this point, clawing at his shoulders with your head thrown back. There is no point in denying how good he fucks you anyways, not when you know that your moans spur him on all the more.

Seokjin grunts, his fingers dig into your skin, you are sure his nails leave crescent moon shaped spots all over it. So hot.

“Faster, show me what you can do, dirty boy”, you spur him on. 

“Fuck ___ I can’t, god I can’t”, he whines. 

“I think you can, you are just too lazy to try. Aren’t you? You pathetic boy.” 

Seokjin moans loudly, you feel his dick twitch inside of you, his fingers tighten on your thighs. 

“No, fuck no. I’m not. I’m not, please”, he pants as he speeds up his movements. 

Your head hits the wall from the force of his thrust. You are seeing stars, the pleasure is too great. 

The sounds of wet skin slapping against wet skin echoes through the room, the water is cold on your bodies, cooling you down or otherwise you both would have probably died of a heatstroke. His eyes are closed, his lips parted. They are still red and swollen from eating you out, glistening deliciously. 

"Baby look at me", you tell him, wanting to look into his eyes. 

You are honestly obsessed with his lust filled eyes, how they gaze at you as if you were his queen, his reason to breathe, his life's elixir. 

He groans, still bouncing you on his cock. His arms hurt, the spots on his shoulders where your nails dig in burn, his dick aches for release. Opening his eyes is difficult, fuck, he wants to cum so bad. He peels them open, meeting yours for a mere second before he closes them again. 

This was too much. You are so beautiful. It was just too much for his sensitive cock. He cums hard and deep.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god. Fuck", he starts shaking, whining, "god, fuck", his body tenses, he hides his face in the crook of your neck. 

He is panting heavily, cursing under his breath. You can feel his cum drip out of you, running down his twitching dick. 

"Fuck, I'm sorry, god I'm so sorry", he almost sobs, pulling out of you and putting you down. 

He is hugging you tightly, needing your body to lean on. His face is hidden in the crook of your neck, he is still shaking. 

"I j-just came, I'm sorry, I came. I didn't mean to."

His skin feels hot on yours, the water runs down your bodies, freezing you now that your heads aren’t filled with insatiable lust. You both shiver slightly, needing the other for warmth. 

“I’m such a bad boy, I’m sorry ___. Please forgive me, please”, he croaks weakly. 

“No you’re not, you were such a good boy for me. It's okay Jinnie, everything's okay”, you assure him, caressing the skin of his back gently, drawing mindless figures all over it. His arms tighten, he takes a deep breath, relaxing into your body.

“I m-messed up, sorry”, he hiccups and sobs.

“Hey Jinnie”, you cup his face.

He looks at you with trembling lips, sniffling like crazy.

“You are the best boy in the whole entire world”, you say and smile.

He blinks cutely.

“I…am?” he asks in a shy whispers.

“Mh-hm”, you hum, wiping his tears away before kissing the tip of his nose, “you are. The best boy ever.” 

He giggles, hugging you tightly before pressing a loving kiss to your neck. 

"You just felt so good and then I looked into your eyes and I knew I was a goner”, he explains cutely, ending it with a shy giggle.

You chuckle, massaging his scalp soothingly.

“I realised. It was really hot.”

He raises his head, to gaze into your eyes. He smiles. 

"Do you want to get out of the shower and cuddle up in bed instead? I'm so cold", he suggests. 

"Sure sounds like a nice plan", you tell him, turning off the cold water before tugging on his arm, “but first I need to dry your hair so hop, hop get on the washing machine.”

Seokjin obeys happily, giggling the entire time as you dry his hair.

[johnnymundano]

Prom Night (2008)

Directed by Nelson McCormick Screenplay by J.S. Cardone Music by Paul Haslinger Country: Canada, United States Running time: 88 minutes CAST Brittany Snow as Donna Keppel Scott Porter as Bobby Jessica Stroup as Claire Davis Dana Davis as Lisa Hines Collins Pennie as Ronnie Heflin Kelly Blatz as Michael Allen James Ransone as Detective Nash Brianne Davis as Crissy Lynn Kellan Lutz as Rick Leland Mary Mara as Mrs. Waters Ming-Na Wen as Dr. Elisha Crowe Johnathon Schaech as Richard Fenton Idris Elba as Detective Winn Jessalyn Gilsig as Aunt Karen Linden Ashby as Uncle Jack

Theft Alert: All images from IMDB

Donna Keppel (Brittany Snow; working hard here, bless) is the only survivor of a family massacre perpetrated by Richard Fenton (Johnathon Schaech; looking very Sean William Scott), a creepy teacher with a boner for her. Tonight Donna’s Prom Night is being held at a swanky hotel,  but tonight is also the night Richard escapes from The Home For Creepy Teachers With Wayward Boners. Everything you expect to happen happens, just a lot less interestingly than you would expect for a slasher movie, certainly for one that cost $20 million. Prom Night (2008) is like an experiment see if it possible to make a slasher flick so inoffensive and dumb it could be screened at tea time on The Disney®©™ Channel. It turns out it is in fact possible to make such a thing, but unfortunately no one would want to watch it. It actually makes you hanker for Prom Night (1980), as low-budget and timeworn as that disco slasher may well be.  

For starters, Prom Night (2008) is not a remake of Prom Night (1980) despite what anyone says. Fuck that noise, someone obviously just wanted to use the title. End. Of. They are both slasher movies which take place on Prom Night, but that’s it. I know this because I watched Prom Night (1980) recently for the first time, and last night I watched Prom Night (2008) for the last time. Prom Night (1980) has a mystery surrounding the identity of the killer, which keeps you awake and which also has a surprisingly strong emotional pay off, whereas in Prom Night (2008) we know who the killer is from the off, which is boring and has no pay off at all. Essentially then, this is the difference between the two, one is a bit amateurish but very entertaining, while the other is slick as snot on a door handle and as dull as ditch water. 

Ultimately only one Prom Night successfully evokes the youthful exuberance of the night in question, which is important as I am 50 and English, so I have no personal experience whatsoever of a Prom Night. Also: get off my lawn! Prom Night (1980) makes it look like a fantastically enjoyable event at which hormonally crazed kids dance enthusiastically to fantastically simplistic disco. Apparently the movie was shot with the cast dancing to real, popular disco hits until the makers realised you have to actually pay to use other people’s music (?!who knew!?). Being a bit strapped for cash they had the soundtrack composer Carl Zittrer cook up some home-made disco beats at roughly the same tempo so the visuals and sound would still gel. Carl Zitterer did an excellent job.  A bit too excellent in fact, since the similarity was still so pronounced a $10 million lawsuit was brought against the movie (and settled for $50,000 – phew!). A small price to pay for one of the most cheerful and fun dance sequences I’ve ever seen, particularly as I didn’t pay it. Prom Night (1980) is a decent slasher flick but the dance floor sequence is just pure joy.  Prom Night (2008) makes Prom Night look like a shit night club where nobody knows anyone else there; seriously, the interaction of the core group with everyone else, who they apparently have known for years, is ridiculously minimal. And the songs are the kind of heatedly sexual nursery rhymes I am generationally disposed to dislike. I just don’t get it, basically. You crazy kids! “Who’s your daddy? And is he rich like me?” isn’t so much a song lyric to me as a reason to call the sex police. And while technically the dancing in Prom Night (2008) is smoother, the dancing in Prom Night (1980) is more realistically ramshackle and energetic. 

Also, in Prom Night (1980) the killer, whoever they are, is refreshingly human (they slip on the slippery floor at one point, etc) but in Prom Night (2008) the killer is a tediously efficient killer; which is odd because he’s just a school teacher with a creepy boner for one of his female students, which explains none of his killing efficacy. By rights he should just be crying while wanking over the school yearbook, as I imagine most creepy schoolteachers with boners for their female students do. Maybe creepy schoolteachers with boners for their female students find that reductive and a little offensive of me, and that’s a real crying shame there, because the last thing I want to do is offend creepy teachers with boners for their female students. Every school has that one teacher who dates his female students “secretly”, and as the female student ages out of school he replaces her with a new female student. Maybe you are that guy. In which case you need to hear this: Dude, you are creepy. No one is impressed; they are creeped out. Preying on children is not cool. And if they are in school they are children, I don’t care how developed their chest is. A light prison sentence or some intensive therapy are what you need, creepy teacher dude, not high fives and Budweiser with the bros. (I do apologise for the fact I went to school in the 1970s leading to my not acknowledging that creepy schoolteachers can also be female, and the students being creeped on can be both female and male; with any combination of gender being creeper and creeped upon. I guess everyone sex creeping on everyone else, well, that’s progress? Well done, everyone. Personally I would have tried to phase out the whole creepy-schoolteacher-with-a-boner-for-their-student thing but I guess expanding it across the gender spectrum is certainly one way to go.)

In terms of cast Prom Night (1980) only really has Jamie Lee Curtis and Leslie Nielsen as “names” but everyone is okay, and the characters are all quite quirky and sympathetic. Prom Night (2008) might not have many “names” but it has a far more professional level of acting, which is a win for it. But, alas, while there are real actors in Prom Night (2008) and they all try hard with what they are given, what they are given is so lacklustre and generic it is dismaying how much effort they probably had to put in just to make the characters seem as bland as they do. There’s the black couple; he’s good at sports, she’s a bit sassy. There’s the co-dependant bickering couple; he’s controlling and drinks too much, she’s whiny and, well, she’s just whiny. The gym teacher is sparky and enthusiastic like absolutely no gym teacher I’ve ever met in my half a decade existence, but very like every gym teacher in American high school set shows on Nickleodeon. The most interesting character is Detective Nash, and that’s only because James Ransone appears amusingly miscast; unless a cop who resembles Christian Bale if he was a candleblogger is your idea of a movie cop.  Obviously that’s nobody’s idea of a movie cop, luckily though Idris Elba knows what everyone expects from a Movie Cop and delivers it with lightly self-parodic gusto. Of course   Idris Elba is unarguably a charismatic screen presence; I know that because most of the things I’ve seen him in are godawful but he is always a pleasure. Maybe it’s just unfortunate choices on my part and I’m actually missing a string of entertainment pearls starring Idris Elba, even so Prom Night (2008) would come in on the poopy side of the mark sheet. But, again, even in something as poopy as Prom Night (2008) Idris Elba is fun. Here he’s The Big City Cop so he walks like he’s prolapsed and rasps his dialogue like he regularly gargles lava-hot cawfee. The enthusiasm Elba invests in playing this poorly written part makes up a bit for the utter idiocy of the character. Ultimately though nothing could distract from Detective Winn’s stupidity, so colossally boneheaded are his actions in the movie.

Prom Night (2008) seems to take place in an alternate universe where every authority figure is a moron. In a better slasher flick this might be a genuine attempt at a point, but here it’s just bad writing. Sure, you might think that everyone in authority in the universe we actually inhabit is a moron, and at this point in history you would have a strong case, counsellor. Exhibit one being our current lying coward of a Prime Minister (I write this in the year 2020). But the authority figures in Prom Night (2008) are actually more excessive in their cretinous obliviousness than even that lying shyster. Having (eventually) realised that the killer is loose Idris Elba visits Donna’s guardians, who decide not to bring her home immediately or have her placed in police custody for her own protection, because it might “embarrass her” in front of her friends and put a big downer on this magical night of awful dresses, terrible music and light fingerbanging. Idris Elba, a policeman remember, goes along with this, which is kind of epically dumb, but then he raises the dumbness stakes by going to the Hotel Swank to keep an eye on Donna. Literally. He actually stands by a bit of silver scaffold in the dance hall for hours, and stares at the back of her head, occasionally rubbing the top of his own head and pursing his lips. Incredibly this does nothing to locate and apprehend the killer, who is merrily killing staff and guest alike at his own convenience. Idris Elba even asks at the desk if they have seen the killer, even showing them a picture (which is some amazing police work for Prom Night (2008)). But when asked by the desk clerk if he should be concerned Idris Elba says ”no”. Later when the fact that the killer is in the hotel killing people can’t even be avoided by Idris Elba he pulls the fire alarm and the entire hotel decants chaotically onto the street. Because there’s absolutely no way the killer could get out unnoticed during that, right? Absolutely no way at all. Nu-uh! Essentially most of the people in Prom Night (2008) who die do so because Idris Elba’s character has all the brains of a shoe.

And a lot of people do die in Prom Night (2008), but don’t get too excited slasher flick fans, because it doesn’t really feel like it because the kills are largely inoffensive stuff; which in a slasher movie is kind of offensive in itself. Prom Night (2008)  tries to distract from the lack of splatter with sudden bursts of convulsive editing which just makes it look like the killer is over amorously cuddling people to the floor, or re-enacting his favourite Super Bowl tackles. The only clue that his victims are dead comes later when we get to see the body with some dainty little red marks on their clothes. So averse is Prom Night (2008) to actually getting bloody that one character has their throat slashed and so little claret splashes it’s preposterous. If you were asleep next to somebody with their throat cut you’d wake up sodden in the red stuff, you wouldn’t have to turn them over to discover they were dead. Maybe Prom Night (2008) should have invested some of that $20 million in a medical professional acting as a consultant to tell them that throat wounds tend to, you know, bleed profusely since it’s all the blood inside you coming out of that new hole that kills you. Okay, sometimes it’s the shock of blood loss that offs you but, whatever, there’s a lot of blood involved. There is, I admit, one artfully shot kill where an arc of blood spatters a sheet of plastic but mostly the effects in Prom Night (2008) are less Tom Savini and more Tom and Jerry.

Sadly then, when it comes to this particular Prom Night (2008) you’re better off staying at home and washing your hair.

[esthermeronobaro]

Rebel Grrrls: Ovarian Psycos

Beautiful Godzilla is a column about my feminist bicycle adventures for SLUG Magazine. Published monthly in print from 2011-2014. Read the original online and in print on page 24.

Ovarian Psycos’ Maryann Aguirre, aka La Fingers, answers a phone somewhere in East LA with unrestrained enthusiasm as I state my name on the other end at the SLUG Headquarters in Salt Lake. 

My own excitement is muted by slight intimidation and the natural awkwardness that accompanies my introduction to any stranger, but something about her voice is familiar, and it greases the stiffness I’m feeling. She’s just arrived at her home after biking from work in the heat, and, having ridden to the office during pit-staining temperatures earlier that day myself, it’s easy to lament her discomfort. As we discuss her bicycle, a Raleigh hybrid she’s pretty fond of, Aguirre speaks rapidly in Spanish-speckled English, her pitch inflecting upwards at the end of each sentence, giving my inquiries a boomerang effect. 

As she explains her nickname, La Fingers, a result of being caught wagging her middle-finger on more than one occasion, I know I’m talking to the right person.

Bikini Kill’s “Rebel Girl” lyrics pop into my head as I listen––”That girl thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood. She’s got the hottest trike in town. That girl holds her up so high. I think I wanna be her best friend, yeah!”––and I quietly make the (creepy) decision to friend request her later. Feeling conversational, I stray from the long list of chronological questions I’ve typed up, but Aguirre wants to stick to the plan––she’s been chosen to represent the Ovas in this particular interview, and she’s gonna do it right.

Though Aguirre tells me she has only been a part of the “womyn and womyn identified” Los Angeles bike crew for about a year, the Ovarian Psycos celebrated two years of female-empowered radicalness over the summer. The group was founded by Xela de la X, aka Cihuatl Ce, for similar reasons as many other female organizers, including myself: to provide a safe space for women (particularly women of color) within a very male-dominated community. Of course, their mission statement, goals and organization are much more ambitious and resourceful than my attempts have ever been, but I’ll get to the deep stuff in a moment. What initially attracted me to the Ovas, after the lovely Elizabeth Lopez Medina linked me to their merch page, was their deliciously deviant slogan: 

“Ovaries so big, we don’t need no fucking balls.”

Yeah, yeah, feminism is about equality, yadda yadda––but the Ovarian Psycos are far from being the he-man haterz hypocritically correct ding-dongs are gonna make them out to be. Aguirre tells me the slogan came about organically and conscientiously, and was met with mostly positive feedback. “We’re not gonna have a fuckin’ ‘ride my bike and I feel so free!’ kind of slogan,” she says. “No––ovaries so big, we don’t need no fuckin’ balls!” Aguirre’s voice gets louder and she loses the questioning inflection as she explains the group’s target demographic.

“We try to be particular with the words that we choose to use because we’re trying to hit certain kinds of women,” she says. “Not just women who are just like ‘oh yeah, cool, I like to ride my bike,’ [but] women who need the sisterhood and the bonding … ‘at-risk’ society.” 

Aguirre drops down an octave as she opens up about her own background, laying it out for me in a matter-of-fact kind of list. She’s 22-years-old, Chicana, and a mother of a 4-and-a-half-year-old, working full time. She’s had a rough life, growing up in the hood with an abusive parent, pregnant at 16. “It’s not just to go and ride our bikes,” she continues. “It’s much deeper than that. We’re trying to outreach to women [whom] society has decided are not the fucking top girl––they’re the fuck-ups.”

Ovarian Psycos’ mission statement shakes any doubts that this group of ladies doesn’t mean business. They claim to organize and cycle “for the purpose of healing our communities physically, emotionally and spiritually, by addressing pertinent issues through cycling,” and they have every aspect of this statement covered in just one of their many events––the Luna Ride. Surprisingly their only monthly “womyn and womyn-identified only” ride, the Luna Ride happens every full moon at sundown and promotes what Aguirre calls “wrap-around therapy.” “We bring in the physical, which is writing down miles and bike-riding and stuff, but at the end, we bring in a different level, which is why we’re different from other groups,” she says. This includes anything from talks on domestic violence and breast cancer, to special, indigenous ceremonies celebrating the Mayan Moon Goddess, Ix Chel. Aguirre senses my surprise and hesitation at her admittance to worshipping anything other than the two-wheeled whip between her legs, and explains that the ceremony is completely secular and rooted in culture, not theology. 

“We have our ancestral background, so we feel the need to bring in these ceremonies because this is something that some of us have recently found,” she says. “For myself, I recently started being a little more spiritual.” 

My reflex to recoil at the mention of spirituality is a personal flaw stemming from experiences inside the polarizing atmosphere created by Utah’s dominant religion, but Aguirre’s somewhat vague descriptions of the ceremony sound inviting. She’s hesitant to give me details, as it seems to be a personal and sacred experience, but explains it as a talking circle of introspection and celebration of the feminine––emotional and beautiful.

In addition to the Luna Rides, the Ovas also organize a variety of fun, sometimes-themed, co-ed rides, coordinate ladies and trans shop nights similar to Salt Lake’s own ladies nights at the Bicycle Collective, and table at a variety of community events. The Ovas are also currently seeking out their own space, a “bicycle womb” of sorts, Aguirre says, collaborating with the Boyle Heights Collaborative, funded through the California Endowment. All of this requires a lot of structure and organizing, and as Aguirre explains their leadership hierarchy, I can’t believe these women aren’t running the country yet––seriously, if this nation has any hope of surviving the next 50 years, it’s in the Ovarian Psycos. 

The Ovas operate successfully as a decentralized form of government that changes seasonally. 

The group as a whole is called the Ovarian Psycos Cycle Brigade, and it includes every man and woman who shows up to the rides and events. Group decisions are monitored by a Core Collective, made up of seven central figures and six SLITS (Sister Leaders In Training), who attend meetings every other week. The leadership heads, dubbed the Left and Right Ovaries (LRO), serve as co-chairs for the group and change with the seasons. One is a self-appointed volunteer, the other is chosen randomly from a hat, and their main purpose is to host the bi-weekly meetings. At these meetings, the Ovas discuss events, create agendas, decide how they want to be portrayed (pick someone to respond to that annoying Utah girl who keeps hassling them about an interview), and do “clit checks”––making sure everyone’s doing their fair share and getting shit done. The Ovas also have committees responsible for different aspects of the group, and Aguirre is currently part of the Outreach Committee as well as the Core Collective, handling much of the tabling, social media and, thankfully, interviews. What truly brings success to the group is their dedication to a worthwhile cause. “I don’t get paid for this, this is from the heart. As much stress as it might be, at the end of the day, none of us would be doing this if we weren’t getting our energy and our strength through our hearts and what we believe in,” says Aguirre. “It’s much deeper than how many likes we can get on Facebook.”

Aguirre shows more and more enthusiasm as we talk about events, and when I finally bring up Clitoral Mass, she nearly reaches through the phone and excitedly shakes my shoulders, telling me how amazing the event’s gonna be. Though Clitoral Mass, the female empowered version of Critical Mass, is a long-established, international event, (at the time of this interview) the Ovarian Psycos are organizing LA’s first-ever to coincide with the blue moon on August 31. “We just thought it was perfect!” says Aguirre, as the blue moon only happens every two to three years, and is surrounded by much of the folklore the Ovas subscribe to. I nearly fall off my chair when she gives me the date, as it happens alongside a previously planned trip to LA. Aguirre immediately exclaims that I HAVE to come, and asks if I need somewhere to stay, or if I’ll need a bike, explaining that they’ve set up a registry on their website for those coming into town for the big event. By the time this issue hits stands, I’ll have been a part of LA’s first Clitoral Mass, riding alongside a group of women who share my love of cycling and sisterhood.

I’ve been on the phone with Aguirre for over an hour as the interview begins to wrap up, and she feels like an old friend. I’m completely charmed by her attitude and sincerity: 

“I just gotta go where I gotta go, and I gotta do what I gotta do, and no man’s gonna fuckin’ stop me,” she says at one point in our discussion, completely sealing the deal on that friend request, which I now get to make in person. 

I ask her one last, heavy hitting question: “What does it mean to be an Ovarian Psyco?” Aguirre goes quiet for a moment. “Being an Ovarian Psyco is not necessary just for women, anyone can be an Ova,” she begins slowly. “Someone who’s proud of themselves and proud of who they are. Being an Ovarian Psyco doesn’t mean that you ride a bike or that you’re a mad cyclist, that you can write down miles. Being an Ovarian Psyco is more of a state of mind—it’s an identity. It’s the way I identify myself, just like I choose to identify myself as a Chicana. It’s not hating men, it’s being proud of who you are, taking charge of yourself, your body, your surroundings and loving your community and giving back.”

At the end, as I describe my own bicycle group, Salty Spokes, and complain to Aguirre how difficult and frustrating it is to organize events sometimes, she gives me exactly what I need to hear. “One person didn’t make Ovarian Psycos what it is. It took time and it took the heart of different women to start structuring it to what you see and what we do.”

Bikini Kill said it best: 

“That girl thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood. I got news for you––she is!”

Check out the online gallery for some photos of Clitoral Mass, and find the Ovarian Psycos on the web at ovarianpsycos.com.