#and the angle at the start... preposterous

[chai-en-kaadhale]

single and a half

[kayentokk]

i just know when you/anyone get(s) in a argument with kento or he’s worked up that mf start using big words he’s pulled out the damn thesaurus, dictionary all that on yo ass

probably not a heavy argument or discussion I feel like those cases are strictly straight to the point so there’s no added frivolous vocabulary

anyways anyways maybe he’s all tight suited and trying to keep his composure-he’s flustered this is a flustered kento (clutching my pearls and gasping so is he btw) how couldn’t he be flustered a beautiful woman such as yourself is sitting right across from him…talking to him…giving him your undivided attention which he should be reciprocating to you btw

but he just can’t focus, you’re much too gorgeous honestly but he still has some sense of self control what do you take him for? But you catch the glint of unfocus in his eyes

and that’s all it takes just a small suggestion that the reason for his distraction is the cleavage shown from your low neckline all in good fun of course but he’s so taken aback-

“So-how preposterous..I assure you that implication is-”

and he’s off the rails

you erupt with squealish giggles at the obvious effect your teasing had on him ofc he’s become more embarrassed by the fact that you find the situation humorous

—-

Ororor-

he’s frustrated from a day of work gojo really grated his nerves today all it takes is one “hey honey! how was your day?” and he’s all-

“seriously that ingrate, with all of his fatuous comments…”

“the serious absurdity it takes..”

“I have never, in my entire life, witnessed such a display of childish petulance..”

but your soft hands rubbing up and down his shoulders are enough to work him out of his stupor, just a calm “oh, Ken,” in your angelic voice is enough for him

—-

somehow all this ties together

you know your husband by now any and every time he gets riled up, first dates, work drama, and even banter like rn, alllllll of his vocabulary flows out of him

all you said was that the contestant had some validity to their answer on jeopardy, sure it wasn’t the right answer but it was better than nothing and it was somewhat close

at least in your eyes 🙄

“honey, I’m not sure how you see that as a plausible answer really…I mean it made absolutely no sense…it was a-”

you already knew where this tangent was headed….

“I love that Ken”, your sultry reply had Nanami pausing his speech in both confusion and interest

“love what, sweetheart?”

“Oh you know..” you drag out your words while simultaneously turning to straddle your husband

his hands reaching to rest, respectfully, on your sides and invite you in just a little closer eager to hear what you have to say..

“when you’re all,” you make a roundabout frantic gesture with your hands, “smarty pants”

“smarty pants?”

and you can’t help but laugh at the way it falls off his tongue

“yeah silly, y’never noticed when you’re all serious or flushed about somethin’ you start using all your ‘big man smarty pants’ words?”

he lets out a chuckle at that grin appearing on his face sure he’s a little red-faced at the sudden admittance of his odd habit but your smile overruns that

“no honey, I never realized that…but I see you have..”

there’s a knowing glint in his eyes, it makes your breath hitch

his fingers begin rubbing small circles into your hips those hazel colored eyes gazing at a slightly upward angle at you

“why don’t you tell me what it is you love so much about this..habit of mine…hmm?”

——

good lord this man- anyways the words aren’t rlly that big lmao im too tired to think of high quality vocabulary rn but i wanted to expand this thought i had a lil so here it is

[lookingfts]

And lastly, here's a regency fic I started a while ago and would actually love to finish someday. It loosely follows canon, but with the twist that Anthony can see visions of the future, and tries to stay away from Kate because he thinks it will end badly.

Dark, glittering eyes. Like the full moon reflecting upon a calm ocean.

She is lovely – this woman. The woman. Anthony cannot explain the sensation that washes over him the first time he sees her, at seven and twenty, sleeping fitfully next to another woman – a mistress. A young widow who sends word whenever she is in town.

The haughty tilt of a sharp chin. A smug smile that graces plush lips.

She is on a horse, the sky misty and gray around them. The woman has bested him somehow, he thinks, as he watches her ride away. Breathless.

Anthony dreams of many women. Some of whom he has met, others who are simply figments of a lonely, fractured imagination.

None that feel so significant, though.

XX

It is three months before he sees her again. In a sheer white nightgown, hair falling in thick waves over her shoulders. She looks different like this, eyes wide and open. Vulnerable.

Lightning flashes through the windows of his father’s library, illuminating the sculpted angles of her face that have somehow gone soft. She is holding one of Edmund’s favorite books in graceful hands, and he takes it. Tells her about his father.

Tells her about the most devastating moment of his life.

Something draws them together, as strong as gravity binds them to the earth. The woman’s eyes fall to his lips, and Anthony-

Anthony wants. He is desperate to hold her, to feel her body pressed to his, filling the cracks and crevices that only seem to grow wider with time. He is desperate to kiss her, to feel the softness of her lips and draw little moans from her throat that will surely drive him senseless.

He wants every piece of her, so badly he cannot breathe for it.

But she does not want him. A crack of thunder shatters the spell between them and she runs.

Far away from him. As everyone always has.

XX

He sees so much more.

A ball, a dance, her eyes boring into his as he holds her as though it would kill him to let go.

A breath shared between them. Night and day, I dream of you.

Hot skin beneath his palms, flawless, glowing. The curve of her body fitting perfectly into his. Need, so much need, so much desire that Anthony fears he will break apart with the force of it.

It is not enough. These pitiful fragments. A taste of heaven before it is ripped from his grasp.

But he is certain, now, that he is not simply dreaming. She is real.

XX

The visions began when he was sixteen. Blurry, half-remembered dreams easily chalked up to déjà vu.

Benedict tossing a sputtering Colin into the lake.

Edmund bringing home a bouquet of yellow daisies for Violet.

Francesca playing the piano for Anthony when she was too shy to do it for anyone else.

And then-

The damn thing stung me.

His father pale, choking, collapsing in his arms.

His mother begging him not to leave.

His life changing, in the blink of an eye.

Anthony vomited when he awoke, face wet with tears. It was the worst dream he could have imagined.

Three weeks after, his nightmare came true.

XX

He had seen his father’s death in excruciating detail, and he could not save him. Did not even think he needed saving, because true visions of the future seemed…preposterous.

What was the purpose of such a gift, if he could do nothing to change the great tragedy that destroyed his family? Was that not a curse, a crushing burden of guilt that was impossible to carry on his weary shoulders?

Anthony became the Viscount. And he worked, pushing aside the part of him that never seem very far from a mental break. Worked to the point of exhaustion, worked until he was miserable.

That was the only recompense for his failure. He was not worthy of a life of happiness, of love, of passions.

He had been given a chance to save his father. To save his mother from her fathomless sadness, to save Hyacinth from the emptiness of never knowing such a great man.

The universe gave him an opportunity to protect the life of someone he loved dearly, and he squandered it. He would not receive another.

XX

She is real.

Awareness prickles at the edges of his memory as he chases the mysterious stranger. Has she lost control of her horse? Is someone chasing her? The world can be an unkind place to women traveling alone.

She jumps effortlessly over the brush and turns to face him. Drops her hood.

Dark, glittering eyes. Like the full moon reflecting upon a calm ocean.

The haughty tilt of a sharp chin. A smug smile that graces plush lips.

She has bested him, he realizes, as he watches her ride away. Breathless.

Anthony feels the cool morning air on his skin, the tension of the reins in his hands. This is not another vision.

He cannot believe she is here, this woman he has dreamed of for two long years. This beautiful, ethereal creature that has made his heart pound innumerable times, even as a mere ghost in his mind.

It pounds so desperately now that he half thinks he may collapse.

Anthony is helpless but to follow her. “Enjoying your victory lap?” he says, smirking at the way she startles and curses under her breath in another language. Hindi, perhaps. “You will not be afforded such an ample head start this time, I assure you.”

“Apologies, sir. I did not mean to cause anyone concern.” Her voice is lovely, crisp and melodic. Though he has heard it in his dreams, the reality far surpasses anything he could conjure.

It is strange. Unthinkably strange. The things he could say to her.

I know how you fit perfectly in my arms when we dance.

I know how you flinch during violent storms.

I know how it sounds when you gasp in pleasure.

For she knows nothing of him. He is a blank slate, a man no different than any other. She has not seen the life they could live. “Are you lost? I shall escort you back to town-.”

“I am not lost,” she says acidly. The bite in her voice is – thrilling, truly. They have spoken for mere minutes, and yet Anthony does not believe he has ever met a woman like her. “I am on my way back to Mayfair. It is just ahead.”

Anthony laughs. “Mayfair? Well, then.”

“I appreciate your attention, sir, but I assure you I am perfectly safe. So perhaps we can pretend this encounter never took place. You allow me to go my way, and you go yours.”

That cannot be, he wants to say. We are bound.

Anthony is no great believer in love. He knows it to be true, to be real. Only a fool could dismiss the connection between his parents, one that surpassed even death.

But he is unworthy of such a love. And even if he was, he does not know if it would be a blessing or a curse. Its capacity for pain is equal to that of its joy.

This woman, though – she is different. He has dreamed of many women, but none so often, none so desperately. Anthony does not even know her name, yet he feels as though he has stumbled upon something that will irrevocably transform the life he knows.

So he bickers lightly with her, enjoys the tinkling laugh he manages to extract from her stern countenance. He thinks perhaps she does not dislike him as much as she pretends to. All too soon, she rides off, leaving him confused and wanting in her wake. “We have not yet been introduced!”

“I am afraid that is not possible. Not when I have a victory lap to enjoy!” she shouts behind her, and Anthony cannot help but grin at her retreating form.

XX

His thoughts are filled with her. This woman who laughs like an angel and taunts him like the devil. This woman who stuns and challenges him, smoky bitterness and honey sweetness.

Anthony itches to learn more about her, considers asking around about the new family in Mayfair. But he will let their story play out how it must. If there is one thing he is certain of, it is that they will meet again.

There will be lust. He remembers the sensation of drowning in it. And a great deal more. His emotions are jumbled in visions, hazy and out of focus, but he remembers pieces. Remembers, most of all, the way his heart seemed to swell beyond the boundaries of his chest as she shuddered in his arms.

A single thought, emanating from somewhere deep in his mind. Finally.

How long does he wait for her?

XX

Cold rain plastering his skin.

A horse rearing in the air.

Kate.

He wakes.

Anthony climbs out of bed, paying no attention to the early hour. He will not be able to return to sleep.

Every blink forces the image of her on the ground, cold and lifeless, blood seeping from her head.

And he knows. Deep in his soul.

These images are not of a great love story. They are what he has always feared. Visions of another death, one that he will be helpless to stop.

He bangs his fist against the wall and bites back a shout for the sake of not disturbing his family. Anthony knows he has not always been a good man, but he cannot imagine what he has done to deserve this torment. Why must he be haunted with this knowledge? Has he not suffered enough already?

Anthony thinks of the woman. Kate.

The heat in her eyes as they lock with his, a thousand words passing between them silently.

The softness of her when her armor is gone, when she lets him see her true heart.

The gentle caress of her fingers against his face, making him feel worthy. Valuable.

It cannot be allowed. Any of it. He has seen himself at her final moments, the unshakeable conviction that all of it is his fault. The only course is to cut off their path before it begins, to keep himself away from her at all costs.

Anthony laughs at his own selfishness. He does not want to give her up, knowing all they will experience together.

But he will do it, in the meager hope that it can change the tide and spare her life. And if it changes nothing-

Well, then, at least he will be spared witnessing the death of someone he loves for a second time.

[st4rbwrry]

𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒: 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟

masterlist. next chapter.

SEMBLANCE WAS THE WORD TO DESCRIBE GETOU. his provision of love came in a various of ways—some of his feelings true, others a grey area. but the relationship he had with vice had been somewhat twisted, and it wasn't considered love.

at least that's what he thought towards the end of everything.

usually, starting off new came with perfect qualities. but ending up in the interestingly  haunting city of new orleans, that came with a surge of consequences. it all started off with a simple smoke, an inhale of toxins evaporating within the lungs of his body, only half of the gas being exhaled into thin air from the pen he holds. the tall man leaned against the wall of the school’s hallway, phone pressed against his ear as his long fingers toyed with the object in his hand. many people gazed at him—notes of curiosity or attraction, some hadn’t recognized him on this campus, nor had they ever seen a man with such a stringent face structure.

his eyes were scarily dark, lids drooping over the pupils he dangerously lowered. his face sent off a variety of emotions. whether it be the fact that he was mad, or he was just completely inattentive to his surroundings. he appeared unfazed by movement of people around him. they glanced as his lips moved, a fairly light pink, almost mimicking his olive skin tone. his mouth moved with a quickness; a seduction. 

once he ended the call, there had been no indication of what the conversation had been about. whether he had been talking to a lover, or ending someone's life just by muttering a few passive words. he had been standing in the same spot for almost ten minutes now. he wanted to bring himself to move,  but a sudden flurry of two bodies flown in front of him—almost right on time. as if it were all supposed to happen.

“you know i still want your fine ass brother on my roster.”

a feminine, somewhat deep voice whispered in the distance from what he could hear, making the man watch as two beautiful women emerge from the entrance of the girls bathroom. both bodies halted as one leans against the wall with books held to their chest, the other shifting in their spot to adjust their tight jeans.

"the hell, i thought you were texting that boy on the football team?" 

the voice of this woman nearly makes his blood warm. it's soft and sultry, and now he's engaging himself into their conversation. 

"i'm texting several on the football team. yet the quarterback is the finest." 

"and he's probably the worst one," the other girl replies. 

from where he stood, he could spot alluring long dark hair that grazed the middle of her back. as desperate as it sounded, he craved to see her face—for her to make eye contact with him and feel the attraction he does. 

"jealous, vice?" the girl teases with a smile. 

vice. 

"girl, you wish," vice laughs softly, the two now  strutting away opposite from him towards their class. 

from this angle, getou catches a glimpse of her side profile. a face so beautifully pure but could be so shamelessly damaged. milky brown skin, his lips tremble from the urge to sink his teeth into it. it was almost preposterous. his eyes went wide when he observed the way she walked, the salacious switch of this woman's hips in her vintage dereon jeans making him twitch in more ways than one. curvy body adorned with a gold belly chain around her waist and a cropped black baby tee. colorful bangles decorated her wrists along with rings and two rows of necklaces, complimenting the infinite amount of colorful ink along her body—from the top of her neck, all the way to where his eyes wished he could see more. he wanted to see all of her. 

his head begins to spin with erotic possibilities, illicit and passionate thoughts running through his mind about what he could do to her. it was ridiculous. he didn't even know the girls name, and yet here he was, fantasizing about fucking her like the demon he knew he was. he takes this moment to follow behind the two women after standing in his position for too long, surprised his feet didn't drag behind like a lost puppy. 

the classroom where they sat happened to be the same one he's enrolled in, coughing briefly to focus his conscious on what's important, and that was finding his seat. 

"i still think this tattoo would look better on the side of my ass," alani pouts, sliding her phone for vice to look at a sketch of a cherry blossom thorn as she suggests, "or maybe the back of my thigh?" 

"either way you're gonna scream like last time. and that was only angel numbers, on your wrist. no shading.” vice replies, wanting to focus on this idea she had for her own thousandth tattoo, pencil moving swiftly. 

alani sighs, knowing she was right. clicking off her phone, she grabs her pink cup filled with ice water to sip as she scans the class, watching it slowly clutter with students for the upcoming lecture. her eyes abruptly lock onto the man who made his presence known from afar. 

"ooh, girl. what the fuck," alani suddenly begins to choke, her hand covering her mouth as she coughs aggressively. vice shoots up in a panic, confused and patting her back with worry.

"bitch, are you okay?" vice's eyes widen, alani nodding her head and breathing heavily. 

"do you see that man?" she emphasized, finally catching her breath after she drinks her water, discreetly motioning towards a man sitting on the other side of the class near the front. vice wants to smack her for being so dramatic, eyeing her like she's a hardheaded child before adverting her eyes in the same direction. 

this man she spoke of finally caught her eye. an immediate attraction rushed through her as quickly as it left, and her stomach did a little flip. compulsive eyes that dwindled a fragile obsidian tone. flawless long black hair that nearly past his elbows, drifting along his brawny jaw and rested on the back of his black crewneck tee that accentuated his muscles. his mane was partially tied up in a manbun on the back of his head, nearly covering the gauges within his ears. lips distinctive, yet captivating, duplicity hiding within them. and now, they were arrogantly raised in an amused smirk, towards her, feeling her glance. 

"i wanna do bad things to that man," alani speaks in an almost feral manner, both women staring with somewhat opposite emotions. vice is disinterested, immediately going back to doodling artwork in her notebook. 

“yea, he’s cool. i'd sit on his face." 

"i second this quote! adding that to my roster!"

as vice laughs at her response, class begins. she wasn't necessarily looking forward to the debate they were going to have today. the previous day before was pretty heated on the topic of genocide and ethnic cleansing. she catches a mere glance at what the professor writes with chalk on the viridescent board. her pencil sat absentmindedly between her plump lips, eyes drawling back to the man once again, shoulders broad as he relaxed himself against the seat. when the teacher ended up calling her name, she hadn’t even realized. he really was . . . nice to look at. 

"miss persephome," the teacher repeated encouragingly, eyes now posted upon her skin as her slumped position peaked up, "yes?"

"the discussion, need i remind you since you seem so interested. is love a realism or is it underlined with sexual desires?" she began, causing the noiseless class to gently snicker as she continues, “i'd like for you to elucidate your debate on it."

she raised her eyebrows. allowing her pen to fall from her lips and in between her fingers, she replied, "elucidate? uh . . . sure.”

she begins, “it's simple, love. we fall in love by personality, physicality. the flutter of their eyelashes, to the smile upon their cheeks. i would say that it's possible to love someone without physical contact, because if you really love someone, sex is only a desire, rather than a necessity. you fall in love by their soul, not by the forefront distraction of their body.” 

a low and sarcastic chuckle was what caught vice's attention. her eyes turn directly towards where the sound echoed from, and oh, it was that fine ass of a stranger. the teacher was now captivated by the circumlocutory silence sitting on the right hand side of the room, seeing as he now teetered a ring in his slender fingers so casually. 

"getou, you seem amused. is there anything you'd like to add?" the professor asked. 

getou. that’s his name, she thinks. why does she care? 

vice softly frowns at him, watching as he says nothing. he looked at the teacher, lightly shook his head, and made no effort to verbally disagree. this bothered her.

"you laughed for a reason. this is a seminar. say what you gotta say," vice stares at him with impatience. his eyes lock into her's, intently boring into her cranium. the little flip in her stomach returned without her permission.

"i just think it's bullshit," he shrugs. 

"uh, alright. i understand y'all are adults. but let's exclude the profanity—"

"bullshit how?" vice interrupts, raising her brow in a threatening manner. 

"do you really think that love overshadows sexual desires? are you a child?" getou charges back. 

"um, no. i never said that. do you think that love is not a realistic thing? are you in high school?" 

"i don't have to fuck you to be in love with you. granted, any person could overshadow being in love with me by the way i fuck them." 

"oh, for real?” alani instigated, shifting her eyes back and forth. she's intrigued by their banter. 

"just based on that observation, i wouldn't fuck you,” vice snarls. 

"i doubt that." 

the professor cuts them off. "okay! that's enough, and wildly inappropriate. we'll pick this up another time. everyone may write their opinions on paper,” she concludes. 

"oooh, i love him already," alani bites the tip of her nail, a wide grin as she twinkles her fingers in his direction. 

"i can’t stand his ass already,” vice disagrees.

she stands from her seat along with everyone else in the classroom preparing to exit out the door, feeling slightly embarrassed for causing class to dismiss early, but not embarrassed enough to apologize. 

“girl, you’ll be alright. let’s go before i miss my opportunity to get them digits!” alani schemes, pulling vice by her backpack who still glares at him. the way he now politely stands to the professor and begins talking to her, it’s as if they didn’t just have that back and forth. it pissed her off even more. 

“ugh, he a scholar or something?” alani speaks impatiently, seeing as he continues to talk to the professor, both her and vice now standing outside of the classroom. 

vice pulls her phone from her pocket as it buzzes, glancing back up to her friend as she speaks, “the promo team for homecoming is looking for me. do i have to stay with you while you shoot your shot?” 

“you don’t wanna see me win? maybe you really are jealous,” alani never knows when to stop playing as she teases, vice becoming visibly more irritated. 

she starts, “girl—"

her voice goes into a stifled shout as she feels a bump within her shoulder. her eyes meet with those same dark eyes that glance back at her, that same shit-eating-fucker smirk appearing along his face as he continues walking. that sets her off. she flies forward, winding up her fist as she then feels alani quickly pull her back, sighing dreamily as she speaks, “yeah, that’s my baby daddy. cheer up, would you?”

yeah, okay. 

୨♡୧

vice stands back as she tilts her head, staring over the various amount of colors that spread along the brick wall, trying to figure out which of them compliment each other more. brent faiyaz soothes into her mind from her earbuds, the lazy pony tail she created swinging as she turns her head from the end of the wall to the beginning. 

the art department had requested for her to help decorate their seasonal wall, her artistic skills one fortunate fact about her that surpassed around the campus. it made her feel confident, but that confidence immensely disheveled if that relevancy pertained to her as a person. 

this was her safe haven, a place for her to crawl into her fantasies and never have to come out. the tips of her fingers were similar to a rainbow, sprouting in different splotches of paint. but she didn’t care. this made her happy. 

as she raised herself on her toes and added another swirl to the burgundy brick, her fantasies poofed into thin air as she felt her earbud be snatched from her head, eyes shooting daggers as her best friend now stood in front of her as she grinned, “busy?”

“expeditiously.”

“spell it, dummy.”

“A-L-A-N-I, dummy?” she refers to her as.

“whatever, you done being mad? i got tea to spill.”

“i was never mad at you,” vice clarifies, “what’s up?” 

“i got the tea on my new little project,” alani smiles, shaking the pom-pom’s in her hand, vice taking full notice of the cheer uniform she wears, figuring she’ll be going to practice soon.

“your dumbass lil’ project? yeah, not interested. can i go back to listening to brent now?” she reaches for her her earbuds, alani shaking her finger as she pulls back farther, “you’re gonna listen to me!”

vice replies, “yes, alani. i’m listening?” chuckling slightly.

“word on the street, he’s a hoe,” she starts.

vice raises her eyebrows, “a hoe ass hoe?”

“a dog ass hoe,” she clarifies, “scratching and barking, girl. been going to school here but did his classes online before coming on campus. the bitches knew him before he even stepped foot on the grass! well, not the grass, disrespectful to the ancestors. but you get my point,” she speaks. 

“i'm becoming bored,” vice sarcastically smiles.

alani’s smile drops, “you’re so fucking annoying sometimes. anyways, he’s an only child, doesn’t do relationships—commitment issues, perhaps?— probably has mommy issues, too.”

“hmm, great. so every other man on this damn campus. this is the only information you gathered in less than four hours? i thought better of you,” vice shakes her head. 

“since when are you so interested in him?” alani raises her eyebrow.

“you wish i actually was. i’m just saying, you’ was acting like you had piping hot tea. that was sugar water. and he seems pretty…on-paper to me,” she shrugs.

alani sighs, twirling her hair in her finger as she says, “you can at least admit . . .the bitch is bad!” 

vice laughs, “he in fact is. but i don’t care.”

“oh god. get over yourself, persephome. we get it. you got your heartbroken and you haven’t been the same since, you like older men, you wanna find true love and all that. is that why you got so mad in class?” alani prods. 

vice’s amusement drops. alani knows her best friend all too well, even if that meant pushing her buttons to get the truth out. vice rubs her hand over her face as she sits it under her chin, holding her arm by the other as she mutters, “alani, get the fuck away from me unless you want two broken legs before practice.”

“ooh! i hit a nerve,” she points out, “whatever. you so damn pissy! you need to do some prayer or something, have a dick shoved so far in you that it wipes away all that attitude,” she raises her middle finger, swinging her body around as she makes her way back down the hallway as she calls, “deuces! i’m heading to practice.”

vice watches as her best friend playfully sways her hips, shaking her pom-pom’s as she sings down the hall in a cheer-chant, “vice needs some dick! vice needs some dick!” 

she shakes her head, unable to help but chuckle at alani’s chaos, knowing that she loved her deeply anyways. 

it was now near six in the afternoon and vice’s fingers were stained with paint as she carried her supplies towards her car, stomach growling from the lack of food she’d eaten today. she forgot her grandmother had expected her company by now, also preparing to cook up a good meal. she always kept vice fed no matter how big she’d get. the thought of stuffing her mouth with curry goat and white rice nearly made her trip. removing her keys from her black telfar, she unlocks the passenger door to her all white 370z nismo to settle her supplies in. it was the love of her life after her art—customized to her preference with silver hearts carved into the rims, matching exhaust pipes and a black carbon fiber wing spoiler. 

vice took advantage of her family’s inheritance and splurged on her dream vehicle before she entered college, a gift to herself. maintaining a 4.0 gpa on top of balancing her title as class president for three years straight should be honored with a present, wanting her first couple of years in college to be more lax than anything. exhausted from the long day she’s had, she buckled herself into the drivers seat and inserts the key into the ignition, hand gripping the cherry blossom stick shift before hearing the one thing she dreaded to hear right now out of all times. her car wouldn’t start, that god awful scratching with dying wind sound ruining her day further. 

“fucking hell. why?” vice whines, wanting to bang her fists on the steering wheel in anger. knocking her head back, she blows a raspberry before aggressively swinging the door open, reaching underneath the wheel to pop the hood of the car.  

irritatedly climbing out, she circled to the front of her current tragedy, lifting the hood and hooking open the lever to inspect the issue. she’s not exactly sure why it’s acting up right now. she just had it looked at a few weeks ago. 

“damn, that’s all yours?” 

a voice had spoken nearby, vice wanting to crawl into a fetal position and scream once she recognized it. barely having a full conversation with this man, yet she memorized his voice. she slumps her head before darting her eyes towards getou. she has no chance to reply as he then says, “lemme see.” 

then, he’s standing next to her, tall and brooding as he leans over the engine to catch a quick glance. vice feels the way her heart raced at the close proximity. relax. 

“holy fuck, you have a z06 engine! that shits like fifteen grand.” 

“you’re a little too close,” vice deadpans, almost hurting her back from how hard she tried to lean away from him while still, in a dumb way, protecting her car with her hand holding it. as if he could steal it. 

“relax, i’m trying to help,” getou scoffs, ignoring her burning stare. irregardless, the combination of smaller frame, soft eyes and full lips are hard to ignore. 

“your battery died from running it too long,” he states. 

“i knew that. i have a brother that knows about cars,” she tries to brush him off, rolling her eyes as she wants to shove him out the way. 

“you gotta lot of attitude stored in that pretty face of yours, huh?” 

"do you not remember what happened in the seminar earlier?" 

getou thinks back, kind of forgetting. oh, yeah. that.

 “do you really think it was deep enough to have this underlying hatred towards me? you don't even know me." 

again, he’s bothering her further. 

“oh, i do know you. all i have to do is open my ear to the girls bathroom and i'll hear everything i need to know about you." 

"you shouldn't believe everything you hear,” he finalizes sternly, licking his lips before he’s motioning his hand to shoo her away. if he was actually willing to help, she’d accept it if that meant he’d get out of her face. 

“do me a favor, rev the engine while i tweak this shit,” he keeps his focus downward. 

“it's wrong?" she steps aside to allow him full access, doing as he says and sitting halfway inside so she could still hear him over the noise. her foot applying on and off pressure to the brake as she turns the key. 

getou’s jaw clenches as he chews on his gum, lowering his head to inspect deeper. he then slightly tilts around the hood as he replies, “no. you just shouldn't believe everything you hear."  

“your reputation sums up your opinion in class earlier a lot better now. you know, how you think sex overshadows love. that’s all you’re used to.” 

after moments of him solely focusing on her car rather than her, he then raised an eyebrow, almost amused at the girl's probing. 

“so that’s how you feel, huh? that you can confide in a person without the conceptualization of sex?” 

“call me a romantic, poetic even. if you think that's lame, i don't care,” she shrugs. 

“nah, it's cute. i just disagree with you,” getou inquired, trying to keep the conversation unceremonious as possible.

now vice is getting fed up, releasing the break altogether. “so what’s your fucking take then?”

“you chose love because you believe in fairy tales and happy endings. you said that sex is more of a desire than a necessity. but, how can love be established without the need for sex? sex is raw, pure . . .a bond that creates when people in love interlace, its a string that’s hard to ignore. the infatuation for that person you love ignites your soul. you can love a person for their personality, for the way that they laugh or make a funny noise when upset. that’s whatever. but you can’t fall in love with someone without fucking them. no matter what you say, sex is a staple necessity in a relationship. in my case, i’m too fucking hypersexual to be with someone who isn’t as sexual as i am. who doesn’t crave for that burn of desire. that need to feel you drag your nails down my back, my lips against your skin, your voice in my ear . . .small, broken and begging. you know how much a person loves their significant other based off of that continuous desire.” 

and like the introvert he was, he simply went back to his calm yet vexed expression, awaiting for her response. in the midst of it all, getou had managed to start her car, vice unaware of what magic stunt he used to activate the battery. apparently, rubbing his palms together to create heat and electrifying her battery did the trick. still stunned by his answer, as he can tell, she swallows, watching as he wipes his dirty palms on the denim of his jeans. 

“thank you,” she clears her throat, managing to be gracious of his help. the least she can do. getou nods, unhooking the latch for the hood before slamming it shut. 

“i’m just confused,” getou starts up again, jaw still shifting from the now old gum lodged between his pretty teeth. 

vice stares at him with curiosity, wondering what monstrosity is going to come out of his mouth now. “about?” 

he bites his cheek to kill the smile wanting to breach against his face. “so sitting on my face, does that go with your little bullshit morality?” 

like clockwork, vice finds herself in that same puddle of irritation she felt from the first interaction with him. frowning, she fully sits inside of her car, slamming the door shut, ignoring the sudden smirk arising on his face. her car is running without a problem, catching a look at him through the window to see him pull his pen from his front pocket to take a few puffs, the eye contact from the two of them intense. hidden with a smidge of unexpected attraction, even. vice rolls her eyes, shifting her stick and purposely swerving her vehicle around him in a swift donut, nearly hitting his ass, getou still so enamored by the girl named vice. 

© 𝑠𝑡4𝑟𝑏𝑤𝑟𝑟𝑦 + @thecoochiefairy all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify our work simply because it is ours. stealing isn't cute. we'll ruin your life <3

[ms-m-astrologer]

2025 Aquarius Cross-Quarter Day

Monday, February 3, 14:10 UTC

Chart erected for Washington, DC

It’s a Crescent-phase Aquarius cross-quarter, which is appropriate for the Northern Hemisphere - time to gather and mobilize resources for the upcoming season. Both Aquarius (Sun) and Aries (Moon) are independent, individualistic signs. We can focus successfully on getting our acts together, on determining what we want to do and how we want to do it.

I am a little taken aback by the 29° angles at Washington, DC. Changes in approach.

Most of the thingies are concentrated between Pluto and the Moon. A pretty intense 80° of Zodiac, with Uranus/Taurus, Jupiter Rx/Gemini (but about to station direct!), and Mars Rx/Cancer giving some support or challenge to that concentration.

The Lady Asteroids Juno and Vesta in Scorpio, as well as Pallas/Capricorn, also give us some perspective away from such intense self-focus - in fact, they’re involved in the only oppositions in the chart - except the difficulty here could well be the thought, “Why isn’t anyone else as focused on me, as fascinated by me, as I am?” It’s difficult to understand other people when you can barely maintain a grasp on understanding yourself.

Uranus/Taurus is square both the Sun and Ceres in Aquarius. Pulling away from familial/tribal identities, the struggle to stay autonomous, letting that freak flag fly and damn the consequences. Can we stand up for ourselves without getting in people’s faces about it? Catching more flies with honey and all that.

Mars and Chiron are exactly square. We have concerns about wounds and boundaries. Where we’ve been hurt before, we dread hurting again.

=+*+=+*+=+*+=

Aquarius is considered a barren sign, horticulturally speaking. And there’s nothing growing in these parts, at this time. Sometimes it does get very warm, and trees start to bud and crocuses to bloom - and then we get two feet of snow. Whoops.

There is the wacky Aquarian tradition of “Groundhog Day” - just the most preposterous thing. (Although the beast itself is a cutie! Photo via Wikipedia:)

The tradition is, the critter sticks its head out of its burrow, and if it sees its shadow it gets scared and retreats back inside and we have six more weeks of winter - but if it doesn’t see its shadow, it emerges, and spring officially hath sprung. (Does that seem backwards to anybody else?)

Locally we have a stuffed marmot, “Flatirons Freddy,” which gets exhumed and displayed every February 2. Ick. (Photo, City of Boulder:)

There isn’t even any particular food I associate with this time of year - although the upcoming holidays remind me of the sugar cookies my mom used to bake for Valentine’s Day - and we always ate pancakes for dinner every Shrove Tuesday.

The primary thing I notice, year after year, is the beginning of the gradual return of sunlight. Always sneaks up on me, too. I suddenly realize, “Whoa - it’s after 5 pm and it’s still light outside!”

[sloshed-cinema]

Emilia Pérez (2024)

Because this movie has enjoyed a bafflingly successful awards season from Cannes onward, it’s no surprise that this film is a complete disaster. This moves beyond simple Oscar bait to become truly audacious in just how comprehensively it fails to do anything that it sets out to achieve. There should be consequences for subjecting audiences to this. The lowest hanging fruit and greatest crime is that Emilia Pérez is a musical. There are songs. And a lot of them. So many. So many bad ones. Why this decision was made confuses me. The music and lyrics aren’t even worthy of a regional tour of a failed Off-Off-Off Broadway play. Lines repeat endlessly, pointlessly. Words stress and strain to rhyme with one another. Most songs follow a similar call and response type structure, a declarative comparison and contrast of ideas which emphasize the characters’ challenges with this corrupt world of criminal cartels and corrupt politicians. But the songs don’t accomplish anything. No action moves forward during any songs, and the audience do not understand the emotions of any characters any better from start to end. Each song, whether describing a manipulated court case’s outcome or the malaise of a drug kingpin’s wife, becomes a simple “I want” type of song. It’s difficult to describe bad lyrics, but the best I can say is that I felt embarrassed for anyone who had to sing or rap in this film. Extras rush in to add a half-hearted attempt at color and pizzazz to big numbers, but the rigid choreography and baffling production design choices hamper any clarity. Selena Gomez runs from her bedroom to a strange black void where Stomp dancers are gyrating or sings karaoke in front of a screen copying images into infinity. Zoe Saldaña slinks among the tables of elite donors at a benefit, clambering on tables and rubbing fake wig hair on her crotch. There are too many terrible songs in the first act, and then practically none in the end, which is almost a blessing in disguise but for the fact that everything that follows is so preposterous that all of the kidnappings and mutilations and in-fighting would almost make more sense if done in song. 2021’s Annette looks like a Sondheim-tier masterpiece by comparison. I guess Leos Carax is less of a degenerate than Jacques Audiard. Now there's an "achievement."

But everything else in this film is so troubling, too. Drug kingpin Manitas desires to transition and restart her life as she feels most fitting. Living now as Emilia Pérez, she begins to find a new calling in an NGO which helps bring closure to the families of victims of cartel-related violence while also trying to stay close to her former spouse and children. It’s a have your cake and eat it too situation with the family, as Emilia wants to keep her past a secret from her family, all while exerting control over her children as this newfound “aunt” and lying to her wife Jessi about her identity all while taking a new lover in Epifanía. Privacy and identity are complicated matters, but presented as such Emilia becomes something of a hypocrite. Is the transition an affirmation, or an alibi? Why the fuck should I be asking these questions in an empowerment movie, and what does that say about how disgusting is the subtext of this film? The NGO angle leaves a bad taste in the mouth, too. Emilia feels guilt over her criminal actions and uses her dirty money and dodgy connections to found this organization. It’s performative caring, all expensive fundraisers and glossy advertisements which reek of throwing money at an issue to bandage the problem for one’s own ego. Neither of these ideas are treated with any real nuance or respect, trans identity and the effects of cartel crime on communities used as window dressing for some shitty musical. Watching scores of Mexican civilians in a spotlight of constellations singing that they are here, whether to heal their families or to make right for their past, is so exquisitely embarrassing for the filmmakers that I hope they feel some shame for such shoddy filmmaking, but I doubt that is possible. Just throw it on the dumpster. Or give it every fucking award possible.

THE RULES

SIP

A song begins.

Location establishing text.

A song repeats the same lyric two or more times in a row.

Auntie is really honing in on things.

BIG DRINK

Endless crossfading of images.

That weird fucking vocoder sting happens as the camera sweeps over a landscape.

Any time you need it.

DRINK WATER

Any time you need it. Please. Take care of yourself. You're better than this movie.

[cdroloisms]

not super polished meta or anything but something i do think is really interesting and kind of a trend with how c!dream sees factions is how...quite consistently, c!dream doesn't judge a faction as umm holistically as one might guess, especially because a common thought in this fandom is that c!dream just hates factions in general by default (and i mean, id say he's not fond of factions and obviously has a distaste for faction conflict, but he's not nearly as immediately going after factions guns blazing the way that i think people can think of him sometimes)--rather, quite consistently, c!dream's perception of a faction at any point in time is a reflection of his perception of its leader.

lmanburg, at the very beginning, he clearly saw as unreasonable, kind of stupid and delusional, but still something to be treated with a degree of caution...which is how he saw c!wilbur, this guy who was making really fucking preposterous claims (what the fuck do you mean new server. like for this guy he might as well have been declaring that this place was a whole new planet while making pretty overt moves towards war if you disagreed with him) but also had gathered quite a following and wasn't going to take no for an answer. l'manchildburg and all that

later on, c!dream sees lmanburg more neutrally and even positively when his relationship with c!wilbur improves. this is most telling when he talks abt lmanburg to c!wilbur at the beginning of pogtopia and during vassal--of course it's up to debate what c!dream's concrete plans were, but i'm pretty solidly of the belief that he wasn't planning to get rid of lmanburg at this point as i outline here. c!wilbur was willing to be reasonable and even peaceable, and so the same applied to the faction he ruled over

c!dream repeatedly expresses that his disagreement with c!schlatt is what causes him to align himself against manberg, and downright says that with c!schlatt at the helm he doesn't believe that peace between their two nations can be maintained. this is a constant, honestly, down to when c!schlatt dies--c!dream never truly thinks well of manberg, and it seems quite obviously to be a direct result of who was in charge

after c!wilbur dies, despite expressing positive sentiments to c!wilbur later on in statements such as "the smartest person on the server" and quoting him during doomsday and the like, c!dream's assessments of him as a leader as he expresses to c!quackity are quite negative. which is interesting, when you consider that part of the angle c!wilbur takes up during vassal is specifically that he'll be ambitious like schlatt the way c!dream explicitly says he felt threatened by in his sales pitch to convince c!dream to blow up lmanburg with him. c!dream wanting lmanburg to be blown up at the same time as its "ruler" (as c!dream clearly did see c!wilbur as the authority over lmanburg) wanted it to be blown up...hm.

c!dream expresses sentiments along the lines of willing to cooperate and coexist with c!tubbo especially after c!tubbo "puts the good of the nation" first instead of choosing to pursue a conflict against c!dream. to c!quackity, c!dream talks about c!tubbo to be fair and reasonable, qualities he evidently values in a ruler

in stark opposition, c!dream's disagreement with mexican lmanburg has everything to do with his perception of c!quackity as a reckless, conflict-seeking (and that's the common thread, really. c!wilbur sought conflict in the revolution and then with his painting himself as chaotic and ambitious and seeking destruction, and c!schlatt was ambitious and murderous in a way that had very clear consequences in terms of starting conflict on the server) ruler with little regard for the consequences of his actions, as he says repeatedly over the course of the mexican lmanburg debates

finally, c!dream explicitly outlines c!tubbo's "failings" as ruler as being the breaking point in terms of green festival + doomsday and specifically says that c!tubbo is willing to let people in the cabinet walk all over him, as well as the fact that c!quackity is more of a president than he is. when we consider c!dream's already very negative assessment of c!quackity as a leader and how c!quackity had pushed a lot of the decisions that really made nlm a threat that was impossible for c!dream to reconcile with (especially with moves such as the butcher army), some of the underlying sentiments behind well the overt villain-isms of c!dream's speech here do seem to come to light.

and for some other moments that aren't quite as Big but still reflect this same idea--c!dream explicitly rejects nlm if it was under c!tommy's rulership but is willing to coexist with c!tubbo as president, both dethronements have a lot to do with c!eret and c!george's actions having negative consequences for the whole faction by compromising a neutral stand (and therefore compromising the quote unquote neutrality of the entire faction and possibly embroiling everyone into conflict), c!dream's willingness to work with the badlands, the difference between the factions that c!dream ignores post-prison versus the one that he attacks (las nevadas, obviously). it's interesting to me how often c!dream seems to view factions as almost being extensions of the will of the person leading them and how his opinion of a faction an his opinion of its leader bounce off of each other, yknow?

(this post is mostly a series of observations and absolutely oversimplified to a certain degree, but yeah 👍)

[nicolewoo]

King Roman: Part 6: Prominade

Pairing: King Roman Reigns X Reader

Warnings: None

I was reading a letter from my lady Elizabeth, who had stayed home to manage the house. “It seems that during a celebration, Theo Sumpter and Charles Roddleton got in a scrap. Broke Theo’s nose and Charles’ finger.”

Katherine huffed disapprovingly. “Those two need to learn to hold their drink. I assume they are regretting it today.”

George laughed and moved a chess piece on the board between he and Katherine. “Aha! I believe that is Check Mate lady Katherine.”

“Ahhhh, I believe you are correct.” She laid her King down. “Well played George. Well played.”

“Thank you for the game.” George answered. “Would you enjoy a game, Lady Buckland?”

George was truly the most skilled player. “I think you and the King would be well paired. He is said to be quite skilled at chess.”

George laughed, “I’ve heard tell of his skills, My Lady. It would be a dream to play against him.”

It was a preposterous idea…. A driver playing chess against a king, and yet, this king was different. This king didn’t mind eating with my ladies and my driver. Would he enjoy a game of chess with George?

“My lady,” Agnus said, “The rains have ceased. Shall we explore the gardens?” Agnus loved them and asked me to go walking through them every day.

I smiled at her, “Of course, Agnus. Fetch my cloak.”

The skies had cleared, and the ground was still damp, but the garden was occupied by quite a few nobles, each hoping to see and be seen. I, on the other hand, simply wanted to appease Agnus, but now that we were here, the mixture of wet forest and sweet floral aromas mixed decadently.

These gardens really were impressive, and I stopped our progress to smell some white roses.

“My Lady!” Katherine chided me. “Proper ladies do not bend over to smell the flowers!”

I stood again. “I’m sorry Katherine. It just seems odd to me to plant a garden and not enjoy the aromas.”

“You may enjoy the aromas when the flowers have been put in a vase and properly displayed.” She reminded me. “Then you would not have to bend.”

We walked in silence for a few seconds. My eyes drank in the intricate details of the garden when a commotion started. Each noble looking in the same direction, whispering excitedly. Young ladies adjusted their dresses, their hair, the perfect angle of their lacy fans as mothers and fathers whispered instructions to their daughters.

I knew before I even turned. I could feel his presence. A long line of people walked behind him, each waiting to be of service to the King on command. The king looked over a scroll, stopping in his tracks at the entrance to the garden to read it; as if he wanted to finish reading before being seen by the nobles.

Finally, he rolled up the scroll and handed it to a priest beside him. The two exchanged some words, and the priest bowed and left the group, heading back into the castle. The King scanned the garden, taking note of who was there. He smiled wide when he saw me and whispered to a page who turned my direction and started our way.

“My lady!” Agnus began excitedly, but Katherine took her hand.

“All is well child. Steady your nerves.” Kathrine said, but I could see a slight tremble in Katherine’s hands too.

The page couldn’t have been older than 10 years old. “My Lady,” he said. “The King requests your company.”

I nodded at the page, “Thank you young man.” He seemed shocked that I answered him. “Would you guide me?” I asked.

He stammered a bit “Ye… uh… Yes My Lady.” He quickly turned to his task.

“Lady Buckland, Your Highness.” The page didn’t stammer this time, which meant he was comfortable talking to The King. A good sign that the King treated the young man well.

The King dismissed the page with a nod. “Lady Buckland” After I curtsied, he smiled warmly at me. “I’d heard there was pure beauty in the garden today. I see I was properly informed.”

Can one feel as if they are melting? Or falling? Or…… Being in the favor of The King …. Knowing that smile was for me……. There weren’t words that could describe the feeling. “Thank you Your Highness.” I said.

“Good afternoon Katherine, George and” He stopped, prompting me to answer.

“This is my lady Agnus.” I offered.

“Good day.” He bowed and smiled at Agnus who blushed and curtsied again nervously.

“Walk with me Lady Buckland.” He gestured to the path and we started walking.

“Sire?” I started. “Is it wise to show me favor over the other available ladies?” I half whispered.

His laugh bellowed out loud. “You sound like the Queen Mother.” He teased.

“What a barb!” I answered, and we both laughed.

“What brings you to the gardens today Sire?” I prompted.

He inhaled deeply, bending over to smell a pink tulip. “I came to enjoy the flowers. Smell this one.” He held the flower’s stem gently between two fingers for me to sniff. I couldn’t help looking at Katherine before bending deep and enjoying the aroma.

“Lovely, Your Highness.” I answered as I stood.

“I needed a change of view.” He responded to my question. Then, bending close to my ear, he whispered, “My troubles seem to follow me though.” He looked to the crowd following behind him.

I couldn’t help but laugh, “I can see that, Your Highness.”

“I wonder if I could ask your advice on some issues as we promenade.”  He turned to one of the men following him and held his hand out. The man handed him a scroll. Opening the scroll, he realized he wanted to set it down to show me, but there was no table. He turned slightly, finding a well-trimmed hedge and placing the scroll on it like a table. “I’ve had news from the East that our pigs are getting sick.”

“Sick with what ailment?” I asked, and looked at the scroll, which had the symptoms listed on it. The lesions first appear as dark spots on the skin, which spread and become flaky, with a greasy feel.

“It is said they have lesions.” He replied.

“We know this illness quite well, Your Majesty. We call it Greasy Pig.” I answered. “Tis a simple enough treatment. They must isolate the infected swine and nurse it back to health.”

“That sounds innocuous.” He answered. “I shall get the information to our traveling troupe and send them to help.” He smiled down at me as he rolled the scroll back up and handed it back to the men behind him. He handed the scroll to the wrong man, which wasn’t surprising since he was looking at me. I resisted the urge to laugh as the men behind him handed the scroll to the right man.

“And now, I haven’t shown you favor, my lady. You’ve assisted the crown with an issue.” He smirked.

Indeed, it was true. I had indeed helped, but that was just a play for the others around us. Now that it was finished, the King indicated the path in front of us, and we began walking again. He signaled to the group behind them to go back to the castle. Henry shooed the group away and stayed behind the King.

The King was surprisingly well schooled in florals; easily pointing out this flower and that. Sometimes telling me where it originated. We talked of the flowers, of crops, of animals, of what the traveling troupe was doing around the lands.

“But what do you like to do when you’re not helping your people?” The King asked. “I know you to be fond of archery. What else do you enjoy?”

I smiled shyly, looking at the flowers by my side. “Reading, Sire. My father cultivated a love of reading in me.”

“And what do you read?” He arched an eyebrow down at me.

“Books of theology. Books of art. Books of history, and stories of heroics and love. I looked up at him again, “My interests are varied, Sire.”

He smiled, “I envy you, Lady Buckland. I no longer have time to read for pleasure, since I have become King.”

“Do you enjoy reading too, Sire?” I smiled.

The King was tall and broad and intimidating to many, but as he bowed his head slightly, speaking softly to me, I couldn’t find any intimidation in me. He seemed so soft and kind to me. “I used to enjoy it. What else do you enjoy?”

I thought for a second, “Dancing, Sire. I enjoy dancing.”

“And yet, you’ve yet to make an appearance in the great hall. We have dancing nearly every evening, Lady Buckland, and I do believe you promised me a dance that I’ve yet to receive.” He teased.

“Your Majesty, I will happily grant you a dance, but must it be in the Great Hall, in front of your subjects?”

He paused, turning to me, “I would like it to be.”

“Sire? Does that matter?” I questioned.

“It does. It matters greatly to me.” I didn’t ask the question why, but it hung in the air.

“It matters to me because I’ve chosen my new queen, and I’d like to announce it soon.”

The news was like an arrow hitting my heart and rending it in pieces. He’d chosen someone. I knew he would, but not this soon. It wasn’t until just then I realized how much I’d come to value my time with the King. “I’m happy to hear that Sire. What lovely lady has won your heart?”

He tilted his head and smiled. “Do you not know, My Lady?”

My jaw dropped. “Sire?”

“It has always been you, Lady Buckland. Since I first laid eyes on you, you’ve captured my heart. You’ve impressed me with your piety, your knowledge, your kindness. You’ve helped me make my subjects’ lives better.” He took my hand, holding it up to his lips. “You’ve made me a better man and a better King already. Please do me the honor of being my Queen.”

I heard my ladies gasp.

“Sire,” I stopped, trying to think clearly, but as he kissed my knuckles, I felt myself melt.

“I have loved you since you first chided my group on the King’s Road, My Lady.” He stepped closer and I smelled him. Leather and spice and wet wood. It was a heady combination.

“But I….” I tried to clear my head. I wanted this man. I wanted to love him, to marry him, but I didn’t want to be Queen. “Must I? Queen I mean….” I stuttered again, “I never had ambitions to be Queen.”

“Shhh.” He kissed my hand again. “We can worry about all of that later.” His stare was hypnotic. “Please, marry me. Let us spend our lives together. I will devote myself to you, My Lady. I will make you happy every day for the rest of your life.” My head was spinning.  When I didn’t answer, he urged me, “Y/N, Please! Marry me. Let it be that simple. We can handle everything that may come in the future, as long as we are together. Please!”

It was crazy, but I wanted him. I needed him, and he was correct. I could handle anything if he stood by my side. “Together?” I asked.

He smiled back, hopefully. “Together.”

I laughed as I pushed away all my concerns and focused on him. “Yes, Your Majesty. Yes.” He leaned in to kiss me, but Henry and Katherine both called out to stop us.

He inhaled sharply. “My apologies.” He smiled. “I almost got carried away.” He looked around now, and I followed suit, and was pleased to find almost nobody in the garden anymore. The courtiers must have tired of waiting for his attention. Or possibly, they were all getting dressed for tonight’s dinner. Either way, we were nearly alone. There was a young couple playing with their children. They were paying us no heed. An older couple smiled kindly at us. I was quite certain they knew what was happening. 

Seeing we were basically alone the king leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Thank you, My Lady.” He stood back up, his smile somehow more beautiful than the flowers around us. “Tonight we shall dance together finally, and I will announce my choice.”

I was quite certain the people attending tonight’s dinner would not be happy. Most of them would be quite angry indeed. Many angry with me, but I also understood that if I was going to rule them, I’d have to appear strong.

“Lord Ackerman.” The King nodded as the older couple neared. “Lady Ackerman.”

“Your Majesty” He said as they both bowed. “Tis a lovely day, is it not?” The knowing smile on the Lord’s face confirmed that he knew the King had chosen me.

“The loveliest day indeed.” The king answered. “Have you met Lady Buckland?”

“Not personally Sire, but it is a pleasure.” Lord Ackerman nodded slightly toward me.

“My pleasure.” I said.  

Lady Ackerman said, “We were great admirers of your parents, Lady Buckland. It’s an honor to meet their daughter.”

“The honor is mine.” I nodded at her. “My parents spoke fondly of you both” I admitted.

“Why have we not seen you in the Great Hall, Lady Buckland?” Lord Ackerman asked. “We thought you had not come to the castle.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Admitting my disdain for the nobles would be rude; especially to a couple my parents respected. Fortunately, The King answered. “She will be attending tonight’s festivities. I hope I can count on your presence also?”

“Of course, Sire.” They both answered at the same time. “Wouldn’t miss it.” Lord Ackerman added.

“Then we shall see you soon.”

“Indeed. We should prepare ourselves for dinner then.” Lord Ackerman said.

The King nodded at the couple, and I followed suit. They bowed and murmured “Your Majesty, My Lady.” As they left.

We resumed walking in silence, both of us smiling like giddy schoolchildren. After a minute, he leaned in to smell a red rose, and held the stem still so I could also smell it. Just as I did, a bee flew out of the flower, and I jumped. We both started laughing. I wanted to touch him, to hold his hand, to lean against him.

Charles cleared his throat before saying, “Your Majesty.” We turned to look at him. “I’m sorry for the interruption, but The King is due to meet with Cardinal Lewis in a few minutes time.”

The King inhaled deep. “My dear,” He turned to me taking my hands again, and Charles guided my attendants slightly away from us. “You have made me the happiest man alive today. I know we have much to talk about, but I must…..” I motioned toward the castle.

“Be King?” I teased.

“Indeed.” He laughed. “But I will see you very soon?” He asked and prodded “In the Great Hall?”

“Yes, Sire.” I answered.

He took a step closer to me, towering over me. “Soon.” He was gone in an instant, Charles scampering after him.

Katherine, Agnus, George and I stood there staring at each other until we were fairly certain he couldn’t hear us. “My Lady!” Agnus started and Katherine shushed her wanting another minute to be certain.

“My Lady?” Katherine finally said.

“My Lady?” George asked. “Are you really going to be….” The last word fell away as if it wasn’t believable enough to exist.

“Queen?” I asked and they all nodded.

“I….. I don’t’ know…. I…. What did I just do?” I felt as if I’d awakened from a dream; as if the last 20 minutes hadn’t happened.

Katherine and Agnus were by my side in a second, Gorge following behind, each steadying me with a hand.

Katherine answered, “You just agreed to marry the man you love. That is all.”

“That is all? That is all? But it tis not all? I just agreed to marry The King!” I felt faint, leaning into their hands as the weight of it hit me.

“Let’s to the bench.” George said as he guided me to the nearby wooden resting spot.

Katherine and Agnus squatted in front of me, soothing me with promises that it would be alright. It would be ok. I shall have a happy life with my husband.

@mindofasagitarius @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist @marlananicole @wickedsunfire @starwithaheart @spookys-girl @pitlissa22 @snowpanda18 @thesamoanqueen @sassginaswanmills

[blackjackkent]

"It is absolutely preposterous that any of us are alive!" Hope cries out as Raphael's body collapses against the marble floor. A pause, and then her eyes widen. "Maybe we're not. PINCH YOURSELF AND CHECK WE'RE NOT DREAMING THE LAST OF OUR LIVES AS WE DIE SCREAMING!"

Hector looks at her blearily; leaning against the wall, he slides slowly down into a sitting position, feeling the slow creep of pain through him as the adrenaline fades and the burns all over his body start to make themselves known. "We're fine, Hope..." he mutters hoarsely. "We did it."

"Then we're not just fine - we're spectacular!" she says brightly. "What a wonderful, jubilant, glorious day!" Her head snaps sideways, looking to one corpse amidst the pile of bodies in the chamber. "OH BUT MY POOR SISTER KORRILLA!" she bellows, a sudden wail of grief. "It is not right that she died, and it makes me want to weep an ocean..."

Hector lets out a heavy breath, following her gaze. Korrilla is stretched on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling; her head sits at an odd angle where Yurgir broke her neck. "I don't think there was any way to save her," he says quietly.

Her eyes narrow thoughtfully. "When we were children, she always kept the last piece of pastry for me. And bloodied the nose of the bullies who pulled my hair... She was my sister..." A pause. She squares her shoulders and looks up at Hector with a sudden earnestness. "But as a wise woman once said, there's no point in crying over spilt blood. We must go on. And despite all the years I've lost, I have enough love in my heart to guide you home."

Narrator: For the first time since you heard her voice, Hope seems calm. And the peace flows from her into you, soothing your very soul.

Hector half-closes his eyes, focusing on the welcome moment of serenity. It does nothing to dull the pain of his injuries... but it means, at the very least, that this is over. And he can't help admiring the tormented dwarf's bravery in this moment - to still look forward after everything that has happened to her.

"What will you do?" he asks.

She smiles just a little. "I'll hope," she says simply. "What else? I hope I'll see Korrilla again one day, and that she'll say sorry, and I'll tell her she's forgiven. I hope I'll find all the pieces of my mind that fell out of my head over all those years, and that I'll be able to put myself back together again. I hope the echoes of pain will fade, and memories of sorrow will die, and that you'll visit me here some day."

She steps forward, rests a hand against his cheek. Her palm feels feverishly warm, and yet the touch is gentle and soothing. "And I hope you have a happy ending of your own."

He looks up into her eyes, and though he smiles back, it is a sad expression. Little chance of that, I think, little one, he thinks to himself. But the words are a blessing, kindly meant, and he folds them into his soul where they will live alongside all the other little bits of hope he carries with them, in the hope that they will bolster him when the dark times come...

-----

Minsc is looking around wildly, in search of another enemy to strike; the wild frenzy of the rage is in his eyes and he narrowly avoids slamming his trident into Karlach as he turns.

"Easy, buddy," she mutters, putting out a hand on his arm. She can feel that every sinew of his body is stretched tight, his heart pounding.

It takes a few moments for him to calm, for the mad rage to clear out of his eyes, for him to realize that Raphael is dead. "He has killed her!" he snarls at Karlach, who flinches back under the ferocity of his expression. "He has killed Jaheira! Another witch dead before Minsc's eyes!"

Were the moment less tense, Karlach might point out that Jaheira had insisted she was not Minsc's witch, but it's not the point, not really. Witch or not, Minsc has watched his best friend crumble in the fire, just as Karlach once watched Hector die in a similar sea of flame. And there is some greater weight in Minsc's words too - a history of other deaths that could not be prevented.

"I know-- I know," Karlach says hastily. "But it's all right. We can revive her. I've got a scroll in my pack--" She pulls one of the curled sheets of paper out, offers it towards him.

He snatches it from her wordlessly, crouches at Jaheira's side, beginning to mumble the words of the spell as Boo scurries back and forth in agitation on his shoulders. Karlach stands next to him, shifting uncertainly, not sure whether to stay with him or go to Hector...

The pale gold light of the Revivify spell begins to swirl around Jaheira's body; she twitches, coughs painfully, her eyes flickering open.

"Ah," she says vaguely, looking up at Minsc. "Is it over, then?"

Minsc's eyebrows lift and he smiles widely in relief and joy. Heedless of her injuries, he lifts her in a full body hug; she gives a soft grunt of pain and pushes weakly at his shoulder.

"Careful, you great ox of a man," she mumbles. "I am only so many inches from death's door; take care you do not knock me back over the threshold..."

"Should I do so, Minsc would travel into death to find you," Minsc says gravely. He loosens his embrace but does not quite let go of her. "I failed you," he adds soberly. "I did not protect you, my--" A slight pause. "My friend."

"Did you not?" she asks with a slight smile. "I am here, and our enemy is not. What more could be asked?"

Minsc narrows his eyes thoughtfully. "I think this is wisdom which Minsc does not form so easily in his brain," he says slowly. "But if Jaheira says it is so, then he must believe it."

With the situation in something resembling calm, Karlach draws back away from them, moves to kneel at Hector's side. "All right, soldier?" she asks quietly.

He looks up at her with a weary smile, presses his palm to the chest of her armor as if reassuring himself of her presence. "I never grow tired of this," he says dryly. "The pain in every limb, the feeling of having been run over by rampaging rothe."

"Glorious, isn't it?" she answers in similar tone, and ruffles her fingers gently through his hair. It's sticky with blood, like the rest of him, and her fingers come away covered in it. "But hey... not so bad, the feeling of going to rest afterwards, right? We should get to that part."

"I couldn't agree with you more..."

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 4 Himatsubushi pt. 9

Back to the far flung future of 1985. Akasaka and his daughter Miyuki meet up with Ooishi, where the two reminisce about the hostage situation. The pair also talk about whether Rika was a true prophet, since she did nothing to warn the villagers about the volcanic gas that killed everyone back in June 1983.

While Keiichi had the idea that he'd been granted the power to kill people using his mind and the power of wishes Ooishi puts forward the idea that everyone died in the volcanic gas eruption as a divine retribution from Oyashiro for killing his chosen vessel. Which makes me wonder, who did kill Rika? Barring an outsider that hasn't been introduced to the narrative I faintly believe in the idea that Mion or Shion had her killed. The reason I think Mion may have been behind it is my theory that she was making a power play to just have unilateral control over the Hinamizawa region. So Rika Furude has to go, and she's going to fundamentally just put a tight grip on the Kimiyoshi family to kep them under her control. Which might explain away why Rika was killed in a similar fashion to the victim at the start of Tatarigoroshi, only without the facial mutilation. Then the divine vengeance happened, because hey how was she supposed to know that Oyashiro was real and would kill literally everyone in Hinamizawa except for the twenty odd who disappeared and Ooishi who apparently got out of the village just in the nick of time.

It makes sense to me to go with the theory that Mion killed Rika. They talk about this being a sacrilegious thing to do, a demonic act. And we know because of a TIP in Tatarigoroshi that Mion does allegedly have a demon tattoo on her back. So she embraced her demonic side to kill the envoy of the god holding her back to seize control over the town.

I love how up until the mention of the dismemberment murder and all the rest of the Watanagashi deaths and disappearances Ooishi didn't seem to put much truck into the supernatural angle of events. But as soon as Akasaka mentions she prophecized it he instantly starts taking it seriously. Which is just pretty funny to me. I can't help but wonder though, why did the Hinamizawa Disaster Report list Ooishi as dead despite being clearly alive? I assume this is to do with timeline shenanigans. Also, do you think when Rika was giving Akasaka the hairy eyeball when the two were on their way to save Toshiki it was because she realized she had failed to send Akasaka away and save his wife from her unfortunate death? Also, how is Akasaka's daughter even alive when Yukie fell down the stairs and died? Did they perform an emergency c-section in an attempt to save the baby? Given all the other stuff that's occurred in the series I suppose a hospital filled with staff saving an unborn child after the mother died is the least preposterous idea out there.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Scream VI (2023)

If there’s a horror franchise no one should’ve expected to continue for over 20 years, it's Scream. Every entry has found something new to say about the horror films it both pays tribute to and makes fun of while delivering visceral thrills and compelling mysteries. Scream VI, starts promisingly but winds up delivering mostly more of what we’ve seen before rather than innovating, which is a disappointment. It’s still worth seeing but isn’t essential, and when you’re this deep into a franchise, you need to be.

It’s been one year since the events of Scream V. In New York City, Sam and Tara Carpenter (Melissa Barrera and Jenna Ortega), along with Chad and Mindy Meeks-Martin (Mason Gooding and Jasmin Savoy Brown) are brought in for interrogation after a string of murders committed by someone dressed in a Ghostface costume. In no time, Gale Weathers (Courteney Cox) is there reporting and everyone receives threatening phone calls from someone who wants to continue the “movie” Richie Kirsch and Amber Freeman started. With everyone and their roommates (which include Tara’s roommate, played by Liana Liberato, Chad’s roommate, played by Jack Champion and Mindy’s girlfriend, played by Devyn Nekoda) threatened, are they supposed to stay close together and keep an eye on each other, or stay apart and risk being alone when the killer shows up?

The meta angle of this film is that it is not really a continuation of the Scream franchise; it’s a sequel to 2022’s Scream a.k.a. Scream 5 and a post-revival, post requel sequel. This means - in theory - that Ghostface is “the main character” in the same way Jason Voorhees or Freddy Krueger were in the later chapters of their series. Ghostface is now the face of the franchise. Everyone else is expendable, to be replaced with new victims in the future so we can have a steady flow of blood and gore. It also means that we’re now following Tara, Sam, Chad and Mindy - rather than legacy characters like Sidney (Neve Campbell doesn’t appear in the film) - but we still have a link to the past for old fans thanks to Gale. That’s neat, but the downside is that ultimately, it’s doing a lot of what Scream 2 was doing, because Scream 5 was “a do-over” of Scream. Aside from a scene that breaks down the rules of this movie (and one after the credits that's pretty rad), there isn’t much here that feels novel. Aside from a few scenes where characters start becoming slightly indestructible, however, it’s still a well-made whodunnit that will keep you guessing.

Once more, the film’s success comes from the characters. We’ve only met the “core four” one movie ago but already, the thought of them getting killed or grievously injured fills you with anxiety. There’s something about these young performers, their camaraderie and the way they fit in the film that makes you want to see them live. A part of us also wants to see people die, however, so we get plenty of carnage. The killings are particularly brutal and there are a good amount of laughs thrown in too. Basically, everything you want to see in a Scream movie is present. This chapter brings a couple of novel elements to the killing floor, with one attack in a grocery store being particularly effective. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a slasher movie do that trick. Then, there’s the mystery aspect, which is also satisfying. The script by James Vanderbilt and Guy Busick keeps you wondering. As you think you're ready to reveal your prediction, someone bites the dust, or narrowly survives an attack (to be fair the latter doesn’t even necessarily clear them, since several of the films have featured multiple killers). The conclusion is particularly well done, even as it sometimes approaches the realm of "preposterous" because it elegantly wipes the slate clean should we get more of these.

What sort of place Scream VI has in the series will be determined by what follows. If we get a weak Scream VII, or nothing at all, the best this film can hope for is to be watched as part of a Scream marathon that's determined to go on to the end. I have some reservations about Scream VI but can already feel this story growing on me, mostly for some clever meta aspects, the core characters, for Gale, and for Roger L. Jackson as the voice of Ghostface. (June 29, 2023)

[stankycowboy]

spat [ from the corinthian ]

He could tell, even from across the bar, that this was no mortal thing; far from it. That fact only piqued his interest further, having a taste for wilder appetites—obscurities that also flitted amongst humankind. Severen had the keen sense that he was beyond its typical fare as well; the way it avoided his fixated stare, the gluttonous creature’s intrigue more than obvious; that of a hyper focused predator ready to pounce.

This one toyed with lesser game, pulling the little rabbits that scurried to its bait with easy charm. But for what purpose? This did not smell like one who fed as he did—or others comparable in nature. What did it want with these precocious creatures?

Severen watches its every gesture; every touch of its mysterious shades, the empty smile with painted on charm. Intriguingly, it plays similar games as he does, making peace with the desperate prey; letting them ease themselves into their pursuers open jaws. Its words, like his, mean nothing, just a steady drip of saccharine placations into the ears of those it entreats. How blinded they could be to the monsters in their midst. But his patience wanes. It makes no move to seal the deal, does nothing but toy with its suitors; keeping its cards close. Perhaps the strange thing has caught onto Severen’s conspicuous observation and is returning the peripheral intrusion with obstinance. The cowboy decides to drop his own facade, he’s been ready to eat since he got here, and the woman who has been trying to ply him with free booze is starting to catch on that he’s not actually interested in returning the favor. If something isn’t going to happen naturally, well, he’ll have to kick up a little ruckus himself. Rising from his seat—blowing off the questions and complaints from his admirer as she pulls at the sleeve of his leather coat— he brushes her away; beginning a slow stride up the aisle. The sound of silver chimes echo with his every step; a death knell in merry tune. Severen stops just behind the being’s current interest. A cold hand lands on the shoulder of the man in front of the spectacled blonde; dirty fingers digging into his nice dress shirt. As expected, he turns to face the one accosting him, a mixture of confusion and false friendliness expressed. “Can I help you?” The stranger chuckles, Severen matching his duplicitous amusement. “Nah, but I can help you”, he nods toward the suspected monster over the human’s shoulder. The volume of his laughter increases to smother the man’s; right before he pulls the one he has captured tightly into himself. In one fluid motion he grips the back of the man’s head, snapping the human’s neck to a preposterous angle; a loud, grinding crunch resounding from his separating vertebrae. Not a moment is spared, Severen plunging his teeth into the soft flesh of his throat, opening up the vein with practiced ease. There is nothing subtle or elegant about the way he guzzles from the wound; Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows large mouthfuls; gushing squirts leak around the sides of his mouth, oddly attracting only a modicum of attention. As the flow begins to ebb, Severen pulls himself away, residual trickles coursing down his chin to spatter onto his coat and stained t-shirt. He shoves the corpse toward the counter, watching it collapse against the bar top and slump to the floor. Digging his tongue against the gap in his teeth, Severen spits a wad of flesh and gore at his audience’s feet. Smiling in bloody glory up at the mirrored lenses. “I think sum’n like you”, he drags the back of his hand across his wet mouth, “c’n do better’n that”. Rakishly, he flashes his fangs once more, already eager for his next meal—hoping as well for something better than the man he has dispatched. Perhaps this thing. It seems a tempting enough dessert.

[incrediblyaccuratethoughts]

Added another chapter, here we goooo ~~

-

Tim stepped out of the Batcave to grab himself a coffee. He was gone for 10 minutes.

So tell him why as soon as he closes the entrance, he's accosted with the sound of Jason and Damian bickering over the bat computer. The computer he’d been using for the past 5 hours to try and solve an ongoing trafficking ring.

“I told you my fucking number and I’m no liar,” Jason grumbles.

“Shut it Todd, I’m concentrating.”

Why does this always happen to Tim? What god did he piss off enough to regularly put him in the room when his brothers are arguing? What did he do to deserve such slander??

“You wouldn't have to concentrate if you just believed me-” Jason snaps, as Tim starts to make his way down the staircase, quietly stepping between shadows to avoid being seen.

“I refuse to believe that you’ve killed that many people since you were revived.”

“I’mma crime lord, brat. I’ve killed a lot of fucking people. Not to mention the Pit Rage.”

When Tim gets his first peak of the Bat Computer, he doesn't know why he bothered to be sneaky. At a first glance, Jason looks casually relaxed, his feet up on the desk, but his shoulders are tight and his attention is focused on whatever the hell Damian is doing.

Did Tim mention that he didn’t like where this is going? He would like it on record that he doesn't like this one bit.

“Pit Rage or not, that’s a preposterous number.”

“And that’s a good enough reason to hack into the Watchtower for all the information they have on the League of Assassins?”

Oh shit. Oh fuck .

“Father has encrypted folders stored in their databases holding detailed information pertaining to the League of Assassins." Damian sniffs, "If the information we seek is anywhere, it’ll be there.”

Nope, Tim is definitely not a fan of this development. He’d been meaning to see if he could get to that particular file and erase all mentions of Ra’s obsession with him. Tim just hadn’t gotten around to it.

“And you’re what? Going to hack past Oracle?”

“No,” Damian scoffs, “I know the password.”

Tim scrambles for his phone. It’s not his favorite device to hack from but dammit, needs must.

"How the hell did you manage that?"

"As if I'd tell you."

“Sneaky little shit.” Jason sounds begrudgingly impressed.

For a few moments, the cave is filled with the sound of aggressive typing, before Damian makes a small, pleased noise.

“I’m in.”

From this angle he can’t see what Damian typed, but Tim has been breaking into shit he shouldn’t for longer than he should have been able to. He’s just gotta get in before they can download something they shouldn’t.

“Great, where’s the LOA files? Do they even have the LOA files?”

“Of course they do, the watchtower is updated on every major server-”

Tim frantically pulls up backdoors and firewall scanners, hoping he can slip his way inside despite not being connected to a direct network.

“What’s that?”

“We have a task, Todd. Try to stay focused.”

“No, go back. I’ve never seen that before.”

Damian scoffs, but returns to a file labeled, 'The Detective - Project Failed’

See, this is why Tim can’t have nice things. Every time he lets his guard down for even a second, a meddling brother fucks it up for him. Truly a tragic life he leads.

“It’s nothing important. Clearly it wasn’t successful-”

“Open it.”

“This is not a leisurely perusement of information, Todd. We have a task to fulfill.”

“The file was created two years ago. That’s too recent to have been Bruce.”

Damian pauses, cursor hovering over the file. Tim hopes with everything he has that the kid will ignore Jason’s request.

But of course, because the universe hates him, Damian clicks it.

The Detective

Age: 17

Height: 5’6”

Weight: 131 lbs

"I fucking told you it wasn't Batman. That's Robin levels of scrawny."

"I applaud your clearly superior intellect, Todd." Damian drawls.

"Who the hell taught you sarcasm?"

“I didn’t need to be taught, unlike some.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don't see how this is relevant.”

ABILITIES:

Trained by Batman, Nightwing, Batgirl, Lady Shiva

Martial arts disciplines including but not limited to:

Kung Fu, Aikido, Jeet Kune Do, Escrima, Krav Maga, Tae Kwon Do, Judo, Wing Chun, Hapkido, Karate, Savate, Kendo, Ninjitsu, Tai Chi, Leopard Kung Fu and Biangan.

Prefered Weapon

Bow staff

Highly skilled combatant

Master Detective, Tactician, and Strategist

Gifted Intellect

Excels in computer science and inventions

Firm grasp of assorted scientific techniques including biology, engineering genetics, forensic, criminology, acrobatics, stealth, disguise, and escapology.

"So I know I made a joke about this being a Robin, but…" Jason trails off.

"These descriptions are too specific." Damien agrees.

AFFILIATIONS:

Batman and his associates

Leader of Young Justice

Leader of Teen Titans

Justice League associates

League of Assassins associates

"Which fucking Robin worked with Ra's of all people?"

"I am the heir of-"

"Tell me when exactly you lead Young Justice."

“Tch.” Damain scoffs.

PERSONAL CONNECTIONS:

Janet Drake (Mother): Dead

Jack Drake (Father): Dead

Eddie Drake (Uncle): Fake Identity

"Oh fuck ." Jason breathes.

ALIAS:

Timothy (Tim) Jackson Drake-Wayne

Robin - Boy Wonder

Red Robin

The Detective

Alvin Draper

"What kind of alias is Alvin ? What the fuck?"

History:

Defeated King Snake (assisted)

Defeated Clusmaster (alone)

Escaped Bane and Killer Croc (alone)

Defeated Firefly (alone)

'Zero Hour'

Defeated KGBeast (alone)

Kidnapped by Zeus - (escaped alone)

First contact with LOA - apocalypse virus

Defeated Cluemasrer (alone)

Lead Young Justice

'No Man's Land'

Defeated Mr. Freeze and Ratcatcher (alone)

Defeated Darkseid (assisted)

'Titans Tomorrow'

Defended Bludhaven from OMAC's (assisted)

Defeated Secret Society of Super Villains (assisted)

Reassembled Teen Titans

Defeated Obeah Man (alone)

LOA affiliation - Objective: [REDACTED]

“No fucking way.” Jason breathes, and judging by Damain’s silence, he shares Jason’s sentiment.

Tim’s frantic typing is yielding no results. Fuck .

“I didn’t think the kid had it in him.”

“I was not aware that Drake was so… versatile in his skills.”

“That’s a fancy fucking way of saying he’s got a rap sheet longer than Santa’s naughty list.”

“He didn’t strike me as the type to work with Grandfather.”

“Yeah, no shit. When did that even happen?”

“By the dates, it would have been during Father’s disappearance into the time stream.”

“ Oh my fucking god .”

Classification: Potential Heir

Mission Success Rate: 98%

Active Member: N/A

Time of Service: 1y 2m 15d

Kill Count: 8,528

“That number can’t possibly be right.”

“Holy fuck, that’s a higher kill count than me .”

“I refuse to believe this. We need more evidence.” Damian states, scrolling down to the detailed notes.

“He blew up a League base?”

“Not just one. He blew up 7.”

“I don’t understand how he would have had the information-”

Tim’s phone vibrates as finally gains access to the Watchtower. It’s too late to have kept his brothers from seeing what they did, but that doesn’t mean he can’t bury his file.

“It says he that he was favored by Ra’s and… that bastard wanted him to be the next Demon’s Head? What the hell did Timmy do ?”

“I don’t understand.”

The data starts disappearing, and Tim clears his throat. His brothers turn around, staring wide-eyed at Tim’s blank face.

His heart is in his throat and his hands are shaking, but he forces a smirk.

“No one will ever believe you.”

Tim turns and sprints for the door.

Without the copies stored away in the watchtower database, his brothers will be hard-pressed to come up with proof about his crimes and really, he’s heard far too many comments about him being one of the more morally sound people in the family, so it’s not likely that his brothers will be taken seriously, but he's not sticking around long enough to get caught.

Tim’s escape lasts about five minutes.

It’s an epic five minutes, there’s a lot of sick flips and narrow misses involved, but by the end of it, the entire family is on the chase.

Which, Tim thinks wryly, is just fucking perfect as he wheezes under the weight of 200 pounds of sheer muscle.

“You have some fucking explaining to do, Timbo.” The jerk that’s currently crushing all of the air out of Tim’s lungs says, but all Tim can do is wheeze.

The weight lifts and oh . Fuck . Yeah, no wonder Tim was on the verge of breaking a rib, Jason was the one who tackled him.

Rude. Tim weighs like. A third of him. The man could at least pretend to use some constraint.

“Tell me why,” Jason starts in a dangerously low tone, “You have the highest kill count in this family.”

Tim tilts his head, the picture of innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ Bull. Shit . Damian and I saw the fucking file. Deleting it doesn't change the facts.”

Tim's expression doesn't falter. He’s been rubbing elbows with high society since before he could walk. He’s well practiced in a poker face. “What file?”

Jason lunges for him.

A short scuffle later finds both Tim and Jason separated, Bruce with an arm across Jason’s chest and Dick bodily hauling Tim off the ground.

"What's going on?"

Ah shit, that's Bruce's Batman voice.

"Tim has a kill count higher than me." Jason immediately spits, the snitch.

"He worked with Grandfather."

"He blew up 7 league bases."

Every gaze in the room lands on Tim, and he sighs, admitting defeat and slumping in the hold Dick has him in. Damn the man and his octopus arms.

It was a good run. But the gig is up.

"I was in a… bad headspace." He shrugs ruefully, "Black Canary once told me that shared misery is halved misery.”

“Your ‘bad headspace’ lead to blowing up 7 League bases ?”

Tim shrugs. “In my defense, Ra’s is an asshole who has my spleen in a jar. I think he deserves it.”

The arms tighten around Tim, “He has what -”

”Your spleen ?”

“That does sound indicative of Grandfather’s behavior.”

“What the actual fuck, replacement.”

"You have some serious explaining to do." Bruce says, tone authoritative with no room for argument.

Tim sighs. He just wanted coffee.

An opinion. Jason was the only batkid who did not come with a pre-installed Kill option, that was downloaded, after death, while he was with the League. Dick, Tim and Damian, tho, they came with it, and Bruce had to learn to manually turn it off.

99% success rate with Dick and Damian.

76% success rate with Tim who has not killed anybody, but has contemplated it way too many times for Bruce to be comfortable with.

Edit: for all the people who keep saying "But Tim blew up the League bases with so many people," listen, if Bruce doesn't know, it didn't happen. Don't go snitching on my boy like that.

[expfcultragreen]

Somewhat arduous but nicely written motherjones piece on the epstein black book:

Every time I did manage to drill down into something concrete, some actual idea or thought of his, it was a mixture of psychotic Silicon Valley drivel and freshman-year bongwater philosophy, delivered to me with total reverence.

The truth is that the elite world that Epstein ascended into, the one I tapped into by way of the black book, is populated with hordes of loathsome, boring, untalented people living their bumbling, idiotic lives while just so happening to wield some share of the preposterous global bounty that he and the rest were after. For all the mystery surrounding Epstein’s fortune, its existence is hardly more inscrutable than the wealth of any of his other billionaire peers. He earned it the same way they all did, which is to say precisely not at all.

This wasn’t some masterful hack into the global aristocracy. It’s what everyone does. It’s what the whole thing is. There is no scam here. It’s grifters grifting grifters all the way down.

I can report that the current grand unified theory of Jeffrey Epstein goes like this: He was indeed operating a child sex ring; he was videotaping members of the global elite engaged in sex acts with underage girls on his private island; and he was using this footage to blackmail them, either for his own personal enrichment or on behalf of any number of intelligence agencies. The Epstein-as-intelligence angle posits either that he was conducting the sex trafficking at the governments’ request or that he was already doing the trafficking when governments took notice and started using him as an asset.

"The government" that doesnt include the podium puppets he got the dirt on. So, the "deep state". And whoever else internationally. Gonna guess they (the american deep state...probably just part of an international consortium of mobsters operating as inside guys, likely neonazis but its tricky, fuck, could be weird old wacko-lodge masons 🤷 maybe thats interchangeable at that level, dont they have like 100 year old marching orders? Isnt most of the orginization just windowdressing from the pov of the core powerbrokers drunk on eugenics in their towers, like, the social club with weird rituals part is just a bunch of waitingroom stuff, ideologically? Ive gotten that impression, maybe its more like the old weirdos are sort of off in space but still they have all this leverage right, that theyve been accruing for decades?) suicided him, aaaaand why not, im also again gonna guess they suicided some of the big name celebs that had all been like "im batman" or "im about to start dropping bombs" etc, directly before their deaths (tony bourdain, matthew perry, aaron carter....just a few that spring to mind as fitting that specific pattern)

Maybe its the mormons 🤷🤦 are they allowed to pay people to tempt-to-sin? Seems a little mental-gymnasticsy but i bet they could do it

Now things are sounding very kooky if youre not already into this stuff, but hey im just floating theories here, based off prompts and prior information from being really really old

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

Day the World Ended

With the rise of drive-in theaters and the discovery of teen audiences in the 1950s, low-budget science fiction and horror films flooded the market. A lot of them are only watchable for camp value, but Roger Corman’s stand out. Sure, the low budget is easy to spot in his use of foam-rubber monsters, furniture and other set elements that crop up from film to film and stunt men who look nothing like the actors they’re doubling. Yet there’s enough intelligence there to make the whackadoodle concepts create some kind of logic. Corman didn’t have the money to shoot from a lot of different angles, but the ones he chose were usually the right ones. And though he rarely took the time to direct his actors, there are always a few performers who stand out by sheer force of personality if nothing else. That’s all true with the first of his many horror films, DAY THE WORLD ENDED (1955, Prime, Tubi, Plex, YouTube).

As with many of his films, there’s a salable title and a monster that’s kept out of sight until almost the end, partly to build suspense and partly because, let’s face it, they often look rather silly. This time, the survivors of a nuclear war (described in voice-over by Chet Huntley) converge on an isolated home surrounded by lead-bearing mountains. The owner (Paul Birch) is a scientist who worked on early nuclear tests and has set the house up as a shelter for himself, his daughter (Lori Nelson) and her fiancé (Corman, who’s only seen in a photo). He’s not ready to house geologist Richard Denning, gangster Mike (billed as “Touch”) Connors, stripper Adele Jergens, prospector Raymond Hatton and first-stage mutant Paul Dubov. Tensions rise as Connors keeps trying to take over, and something large and radioactive lurks in the valley.

As preposterous as the film’s approach to radioactive mutation is Lou Rusoff’s screenplay develops the idea with something resembling dramatic logic. He plants information from the start that will come to fruition when the monster appears. And though the critter sometimes looks silly, it’s well mimed by its designer, Paul Blaisdell. Most of the cast is serviceable, though Nelson, just having left the more nurturing environment at Universal Pictures, seems a little lost playing the ingenue. Jergens, however, is pretty darned good. The script has her alternately attacking Connors and throwing herself at him, which she somehow manages to make work — a little touch of Strindberg at the world’s end. In her best scene, she reenacts her strip routine without taking anything off. She gets one particularly cogent line about the audience, “I love the sound of them breathing.” At the end she collapses in tears against a wall, sharing the frame with a mask of comedy. Sure, it’s cheesy, but that shot has more personality and more of a viewpoint than you’d get from most genre films of the era.

[sloshed-cinema]

The Canterbury Tales [I racconti di Canterbury] (1972)

Salò is going to be the hardcore version of this, isn’t it? As with the Decameron, this medieval world is horny and debauched, unparalleled in just how far someone will go for a fuck. Each subsequent tale grows evermore unhinged in the simple and yet completely bizarre extent to which they will go. These are moralistic tales, but they wink at the audience. The storytellers offer a little more than a slap on the wrist to the characters within the story as they give the listener exactly what they want to hear. Oh yeah, also there are a lot of fart jokes. Like a lot of them. So many. We get everything from a drunken brothel carouser pissing on the dinner tables of the crowd below from a balcony to a pair of students fucking the wife and daughter of a miller who fucked them over through a nocturnal game of bed-swapping to a lover getting a poker up the ass in revenge. And then there's the final scene. I don't even know where to begin with that one. That must've been one hell of a conversation with the production designer. "Wait you want what? And you want a bunch of extras to be able to jump out of it? And you want it from so many angles? Well OK I guess we'll see what we can do…”. Of all the visions of Hell out there, this one is somehow the most unhinged. And from the cheeky grin on Pasolini/Chaucer’s face that it cuts to in perhaps the funniest smash cut of all time, Pasolini knows exactly what he's doing.

It is interesting to compare the earthy, raunchy nature of this Trilogy of Life against the high art and intricate production design of other period or historical films by Pasolini such as Medea or Edipo re. In a way, though, this is true to form. The plays of Sophocles or Euripides represent high culture or perhaps what an artist at the time would desire to be preserved and remembered for generations to come. But something like The Decameron or The Canterbury Tales captures a populist arm of society at the time, so of course it’s going to be more ribald, entertaining, and fun all around. There's no space in these stories for intricate costuming, austere shot composition, or impressionistic and esoteric score choices. This film rejects the pan global musical stylings of Medea in favor of songs that might be sung by these very people in the local pub at the end of the day. I find myself preferring the more high art aspect of these films, but perhaps that's just because that's what I prefer in my life in general. I'm just that kind of asshole. At least friars don't come out of it.

THE RULES

SIP

Preposterous headgear in a scene.

People are bad at pretending to play music.

Peeping Tom moment.

Uncontrollable horniness.

BIG DRINK

A story begins.

Someone starts singing.

Fart joke.