#anyway one cut of the dead is such a good film

[art--harridan]

[Image description: A digital drawing based on the film One Cut of the Dead. It's a close-up of the arms of Ko and Chinatsu as the former approaches her, arms in a raised zombie pose. She clenches an axe which she pushes towards him. Both of them have blood splattered on them. Director Higurashi stands behind the two, hands clutching a camera which is recording, its red tally light standing out. His face is blurred into pixels but it's still clear he's smiling wide. The sketches are not coloured, the background peaking through. They have a dark brown lineart while the background is a sickly yellow that reddens around the edges. In the same red as the tally light, the words "one cut of the dead" are written down the right side of the piece, stacked on one another. The font is irregular and bleeds down. On the other side, there's an larger tally light which also bleeds.]

Inktober - Day 30 (Rush)

Film - One Cut of the Dead (Shinichiro Ueda, 2017)

[ghouljams]

I just saw a tiktok where the caption was “pov: your situationship just kissed you in the forehead, said ‘I left you a backstrap in the fridge’, and left for work” and the videos is of the woman checking her fridge, seeing a piece of meat, and then looking like she’s reconsidering her whole life. My city slicker suburbs ass didn’t know this but apparently backstrap is the equivalent of beef tenderloin for hunters, each deer/elk has like 1-2 pieces so giving someone a backstrap is downright a marriage proposal.

I have no idea where this would fit into Ghost and Goose's relationship (definitely before they get together officially), or even if it would be (would Ghost hunt?) but all I can think about is Goose staring at the meat on the countertop when Duck walks in and is like "what's wrong?" and Goose just points to the backstrap and goes "Ghost gave me this." And now both of them are staring wordlessly at it when Price comes in and goes "what are you two gawking at?" and they both point at it and say in unison "Ghost left this." and now the whole family is staring at this declaration of undying love on the kitchen counter.

God the backstrap, I've seen that tiktok and that's the most beautiful cut of meat I've ever seen in someone's fridge.

I know I just made a post about Ghost being an animal guy and not hunting like a normal person, but I also think hunting is something he would take a lot of pride in. He likes the survivalist element, but he also likes the feeling of being a provider in a very primitive way. He went out and got food, killed it and butchered it himself, just for his little family. Anyway *throws fic at you*

"Left you somethin' in the fridge," Ghost tells you on his way out for the day. You give him a look of quiet confusion and he tips his hat a little lower over his eyes, not looking at you.

"It's not another frog is it?" You grimace, thinking of the last time you went gigging.

"One frog, one time," He grumbles, not bothering to answer you as he walks towards the stables. You sigh and go to clean up whatever mess he'd left. You wish he'd stop leaving things in the main house's fridge, if he wants to put live animals somewhere he should put them in his own damn house. You shiver remembering the frog you thought was dead leaping at you as soon as you'd opened the fridge door. You're not squeamish with cold blooded critters but that would scare the pants off anyone.

You brace yourself as you tug the communal fridge open. Nothing jumps at you, which is a good sign. You crouch down to sort through the contents for whatever Simon left and freeze. Sitting right in front on the top shelf, neatly covered with cling wrap, and a post it with a hastily scribbled out heart, is the most beautiful cut of meat you've ever seen. Brilliantly red and marbled. You tug it out to inspect, push your finger against the plastic film to check that it's actually meat. There's no fat, and the cut is a lovely sort of tenderloin. Where did Simon...

He went hunting recently. You remember the deer in the back of the truck, the marrow filled bone he'd tossed the dog. Jesus fucking Christ, you know exactly what this is. You quickly stuff it back in the fridge and slam the door to go get your mom.

You both stand in front of the open fridge as she inspects the meat. She stiffens, apparently coming to the same conclusion you did and forces the plate back into your hands.

"What is this boy doin' givin' you the best cuts off his venison?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Momma, I swear to you I don't know," You carefully settle the backstrap back in the fridge. If your brain wasn't so stuck on the fact that Simon is the one who gave it to you, you might be cooking up recipes already.

"Where's your daddy, he needs to see this." She looks out the kitchen window, surveying the pasture for your father's horse. The last thing you need is her calling him in to see Simon's... declaration.

"No momma," You pull her back, "Momma please, you're gonna scare him off."

"I'm not scarin' anyone off, he's-" She gives you a look, her smile scrunched to one side and her brows drawn in confusion, "Baby, you think I'm gonna scare off the man giving you prime cuts from his hunt? Please-" She waves your concern off and you groan. It's not like he's proposing, you doubt Simon even- He probably doesn't even know he's giving you something the butcher won't even sell.

Actually how did he wrestle this away from the butcher? Usually the guy in town will pay through the nose for good venison. You've never seen a cut this clean from the usual guy though.

At least Simon has the good sense not to look startled that you're in his house at the end of the day. There is a sort of silent confusion around your cooking in his tiny kitchen, but he's nice enough to stay quiet as he goes to shower off the day's dirt. When he comes back he's smart enough to take a seat at the little round table, but just stupid enough to ask, "What's this?" When you set a plate in front of him.

"Backstrap," You glare at him, "with some veggies and potatoes. Why? What is it to you?"

Simon glances up at you, waiting for you to elaborate on this line of questioning. You know he doesn't like these games. You sigh and drop down into the seat across from him, he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

"Why're you giving me the best cut?" You ask, trying not to sound like you're expecting anything.

"What'm I suppose to do with it?" He responds.

"Didn't the butcher offer to buy it off of ya?"

"Didn't go to the butcher," He tells you evenly. You stare at him. This fucking- God you could wring his neck. He killed a deer, went through the trouble of butchering it himself, and he still gave you the best cut. All the work just to- to-

You press your hands against your face with a groan.

"Ghost."

"Princess." His low rumble makes you shiver, how pleased he sounds to have caught you off guard...

"You know my momma thinks we're gonna get married now," You tell him through your fingers. He hums, and you hear the click of his silverware as he starts eating. Done with the conversation apparently. You truly hate how much you love this man. He's going to be the death of you.

God but what a way to go.

[daenysthedreamersblog]

STRANGERS

Don't talk to strangers or you might fall in love

Freezer bride, your sweet divine

You devour like smoked bovine hide

How funny, I never considered myself tough

summary: you've won the hunger games, and ready to return home in peace, but president snow has other plans for you, and he won't take no for an answer.

pairings: president!coriolanus snow x district6!reader

warnings: MDNI!, blood, violence, murder, manipulation, power imbalance, coercion, heavy drinking, non-con male masturbation, non-con oral sex (m receiving), roses ( pls let me know if i forgot any!)

notes: im new at publishing on tumblr so pls be patient with me! also new at writing in second person POV so sorry for any mistakes! hope u enjoy! there will be more parts coming soon!

Blood splatters onto your face.

"Please," He mouthed underneath you, but the knife was plunging down anyways. You couldn’t hear it.

The crunch of a sternum bone.

Silence. Cold silence rang in your ears and you blinked climbing off of the body a distant boom rupturing around the arena, but you only felt to shake of it, the sudden vibrational change in the air. You looked around the sun blaring down onto you as you turned away from the dead boy, you stumble forward, knee giving out from under you before you collapsed to the ground rolling onto your back staring upward. The blood oozed from the wound on your leg, it stung, it stung harshly, but it was welcomed.

It was over. Everything. It was over and all you were met with was blood stained hands and silence. You could smell the rot forming in your soul.

Boots were pounding into the ground, surrounding you, guns pointing at your body. Hands wrapped around your biceps pulling you, dragging you out of purgatory and into the looming light ahead.

~

"Congratulations." He whispered placing the small crown on your head, a dainty gold thing, his hands lingering too long on a wisp of your hair. The games had cut off your tongue it seems words never rising to the surface. His hand was under you chin, "Smile. You've won." It felt like a command so the corners of your mouth tugged up as the camera flashed upon you, shaking hands with your esteemed president.

"Thank you." His jaw ticked at your slip, the lack of his title, but he shook your hand anyways as Lucky Flickerman’s crew zoomed in for their close up. The motions were clear, set into place as you read the prepared words off the telecom. If you could get through this then you could return home where it was simple and safe. You would be okay once the Capitol train dropped you off in District 6 where you can happily watch it all disappear forever.

A hand slid to the small of your back, your spine locking up as another photo flashed of the two of you. Your smile stumbled as his shoulder pressed into yours heat pouring off of him where your bodies collided.

You met his eyes, face half turned towards each other, and your cheeks burned with a flush.

The only good thing about winning was finally eating and drinking real food again.

You downed cups and flutes of any alcohol you could find shoved into your hands drowning out the sound of people talking, congratulating you. It was cruel really how when the film of a camera was replaced it sounded like small bones cracking, so your drank more. Why were they so thankful? They arranged for you to be there...they sent you to either die or kill for them. Because some great-great grand-whatever rebelled, so now you had to live with the consequences of someone else actions.

Your brain was beyond heavy, mouth no doubt stained red from the wine. One more day, one more day and you would be going home to die of hopefully natural causes some other time. One more day and you would be out of this hateful city, away from theses entitled, hateful people. You felt it then, the dryness in your throat, the angry water welling in your eyes. You set the empty cup down, stumbling away from the party silent tears beginning to unwarrantedly roll down your cheeks. You gripped the railing as you climbed the stairs towards the mansion doors needing to hide away from the world, and when you reached the top you pushed it open harshly. The heels of your shoes clicked on marble floor in an empty hallway, a door slamming shut behind you as you kept moving. The hallway was spinning like you were stuck in a concrete mixer turning and turning and turning.

You tripped over your foot catching yourself by throwing a hand out to the wall, collapsing onto a small cushioned bench. The groan left your mouth as you slid out of your shoes feet aching, you felt the long gash of the scar the District 2 tribute had given you. It was taking a while to fully close, the wound on you soul would never heal either it seemed.

More tears. More anger.

"You should be celebrating." The cold, calculating voice cut through the air.

You could only roll your head upward, too drunk, too ashamed to be afraid at the surprise. Fresh tears rolled down your cheek. "I did."

Footsteps were coming towards you, slow, like the wolf hunting a doe, and that was when your body alerted, when he had stepped into your space, head snapping towards him. He looked as calm and collected as his tone, a rich black suit fitted to his lean body, a hand lazily in his pocket as his legs bracketed in your knee. "Then why are you in here? I have a whole party out there for you and you hide away in my home.”

"Too noisy." You stared up at him with red rimmed eyes as he towered over, your vision fuzzy at the corners.

His knuckle came up to your cheek collecting the tear freshly traveling down makeup covered skin. "You should be celebrating." He repeated the moisture glistening on his bone. "Not crying."

You sniffed, your voice cracking from crying, "Sorry sir."

"Mr. President." He corrected.

"Sorry, Mr. President sir." You cleared your throat offering him a fake smile.

His hand came under your chin, a pinky resting on your jaw his thumb tracing puffy, wine stained lips, "That's a good girl. Too much wine I suspect hmm?" You only nodded as he held you face, held your life with it too. You might have won his games, but he could still ruin everything, ruin the little family left back home. He had always made that clear to everyone; it wasn’t a shock people started dying soon after they crossed him.

"Yes. Mr. President, sir.” For some reason another tear slipped out with a wide eyed blink.

"You look so pretty when you cry." He traced over your lip one more time gently pushing in until the pad of his thumb pressed against your tongue. You heard the wet noise of his lips parting, as he took a quiet deep breath your teeth grazing his skin. Then he popped it out, bought it to his mouth, sucking gently on your leftover wine. "Come." He wrapped his arm around your bicep pulling you to your feet in front of him. "Let's get you some food, introduce you to some more friends of mine, and then bed." Two hands stroked down your hair holding your head between his palms. "How does that sounds my little victor?"

A dark gaze lingered in his eyes that there was no way around what he wanted, no telling him no. So you let him bend down and slip your shoes back on keeping your face towards the opposite wall. ”Yes Mr. President, sir.” His hand lingered too long on your bare ankle before he rose.

He smiled, a snake like gleam in it, like he had finished wrapping his body around his victim to suffocate it. One more day, and then you were done. He could introduce you to whoever he liked, feed you whatever he wanted, but come tomorrow on that beautiful train ride home the Capitol, the games would be a distant traumatizing memory, and he would just be a face on a screen come next year.

He plucked the white rose off the front of his suit jacket, took the pin out, and tucked it behind your ear to sit prettily in your hair.

His hand wrapped around your waist causing you to grip his forearm to stumble out into the party once more. Your eyes scanned the party, catching on a young girl, the winner from District 4. Her name started with an M, but you couldn’t find the rest of it in you hazy brain. The only thing you could focus on was the sad frown etched upon her pretty face as President Snow dragged you through his party.

6 months later

You wiped dirt off on your pants standing up to admire the blooming garden spread out in front of you. A smile flittered onto your face for only a moment before it fell staring at the wilting leaves on top of wet soil. They had fallen no doubt during a weeding or pruning or plain decay, but they were there ready for the earth to absorb them for nutrients.

Did the arena absorb their decaying bodies too or were they flown away somewhere else? Did they go back to their families so they could rest in peace?

You shook the thought grabbing gardening tools and the water can heading back to the house. Time was helping, the white noise of the district was helping, the trains going by were helping. The only reminder you had ever been carted away...well that and the large sum you had been gifted upon winning. You decided to ration it, save it but comfortably. It was the only thing truly stopping you from drowning yourself in alcohol or morphling, and the disappointed look your father had given you when they had carried you off the train, too wasted to walk. You took up gardening soon after the initial withdrawing, rotting period needing to keep you hands, your mind busy.

The scent of vanilla hit you as soon as you entered the house your body freezing on the threshold. It was a warm vanilla scent, which meant your mother had made tea, which meant there was company. You set your tools down, peeling off you mud stained boots. Your mother laughed as you slowly continued down the hall, the sound muffled by the kitchen wall you had yet to curve around to enter the kitchen. Alarms shot off in your head, the hair on your neck standing up knowing it wasn't anyone from District 6.

"Mother." You called seeing the outline of her at the table.

"Darling." Your mother smiled as you turned the corner, eyes flitting over to the man across the table from her sipping on his tea. A fresh bouquet of white roses sat in a new vase at the center of the table. "We have a guest."

"Mr. President." Your mouth dried out, feet heavy, gluing you to the middle of the kitchen. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Your mother only stood up rushing towards you, taking your hands to sweetly drag you to the table. "Come sit, my darling bluebell." She forced you into an empty chair around the modest circular table, a plaid green table cloth covering it. You kept eyes on him as she poured tea into the only empty cup. Once the kettle was down she discreetly tried to wipe dirt off your face, "Always covered in something from your little garden."

President Snow mouth quirked up. "Garden?"

You only managed a nod. ”It was a small little thing, something to help…” Her eyes dropped, “Something to keep her busy, and well before you knew it it had taken up most of the lawn." Another discreet pat on the cheek. "I have never been more proud than when I see her out there working on it." She chuckled, "Well besides when you put the tiara on her head." You inwardly cringed at the word tiara, at the reminded of what had been done to earn it.

"My grandmother grew roses." He motioned to the red one he worse pinned to his blue suit. His eyes met yours, "Do you?" A small nod as steam swirled up from the tea that would never be drank, "May I see them?"

Your mother stood up answering, "Of course." Her hands came upon you shoulders, "Go change and show our lovely President." You pushed the chair back using it as an escape for the moment, "Wash your face, and put on that pretty blue sun dress." You didn't answer, only walked back down the hall to your room finally able to breath normally away from his suffocating presence. What was he doing all the way out here? You had figured, had clung, to the fact you would never have to see him, or the Capitol again, and now he was here invading your home.

After washing your shaking hands and face, digging the dirt out of your nails, and braiding your hair back did you put that stupid sundress on and walk back out. Your mother was standing by the door a forced smile on her lips, "Yes sir, no sir." She reminded you, pulling small tendrils of hair loose around your face. "Don't speak unless spoken to."

"I know." You told her, forcing her hands away from your face reciting what your father and mother had both instilled in you. "I am grateful for what you've done for us President Snow."

"Mr. President Snow, sir." She pinched your cheeks to give them color then let you step around her and out of the house.

He was standing near the edge of the garden just before the walkway split separating each sections. "It truly does take up most of the lawn." He smiled holding out his arm for you. You slowly allowed him to hook it under his elbow to lead down the walkway. "It smells divine."

"Thank you." You swallowed, "Mr. President, sir."

He only smirked, "Your mother raised a well mannered woman."

You offered him a shy smile, ”My father and mother always instilled proper etiquette as best as they could. They emphasized respect and dutifulness."

"Important traits to have." He agreed. He was Capitol, he was the president, no doubt relishing in the fact district folks weren't born with those traits, they had to have it beat into them.

His hand clamped around yours, trapping it in his arm. Your breaths shook, don’t stutter. "My roses are just this way." You motioned up the path for him to lead in that direction.

The rose bush could have looked better, but it had always been a work in progress, a difficult flower to manage, and your heart had never truly been fond of roses. Red and yellow seeds were the only color you could acquire so the colors sometimes missed their mark or died all together. “Troublesome for you?” There was no hiding the disappointment in his tone.

“Yes.” An embarrassed response. "I'm tempted to rid myself of them."

"Hmm," He stepped forward fingers running along the soft petals. "I have a garden full of white roses, I brought some for you today."

You gave him a small smile. "Thank you. I'm sure my mother adores them."

"They're for you, not her." He flatly told you a sneer on his face. "A gift of sorts to my favorite little victor." He smirked down at the bush plucking a perky red rose from its stem. "Or what did she call you?" He turned back towards you, "Her darling bluebell?"

The blush bit at your cheeks, "Thank you. Mr. President sir." He smiled deeply tucking the stem of the rose behind your ear rooting it into the braid. "They are lovely." I lied. The scent of roses overtook the air to the point you felt dizzy with it, felt them swallowing you whole like he did.

"I do hope your mother won’t mind looking after it all.” He sighed his hand running down your arm as blood drained out of you, the question sitting leaden in your mouth. "We're trying something new, something Dr. Gaul believed would bring good publicity to the games." You chewed on your cheek, biting the refusal back. You remembered hearing about her death a year or two ago. "A victory tour of sorts." Both hands were on your arms holding you in front of him, "You'll go district to district letting them celebrate you and then finish at the Capitol. I'm going to throw you another party."

Oh

His hand came under your chin tilting your face up to him, "How does that sound my little bluebell?"

"Okay." You whispered because it was what was supposed to be said to him.

He beamed, "Such a good girl." His smile fell, "Since this is the first time we're doing it I'll be going with you of course to make sure everything goes smoothly."

Ice coated you. How long would this be? Would he ever let you remain in peace? Would the garden wither and die in the time you would be gone? Why did he stare like that?

You only nodded the obedience in your spine locking into place.

It wasn't horrible. The train was comfy and reminded you of home, the rumbling sound it made, the smell of the smoke and gasoline, the horn blaring through the night. They had written words, of course, to say at every district, reciting from a script how sorry you were for their losses and how thankful you are for the Capitol and their generosity. President Snow talked the most which was ironically a godsend since you didn't want to speak at all.

Mostly, there was food, tons of food...and wine.

You more self-indulgent habit to make the time go by smoother. Even more so now because you could, because it was free, because your parents weren't here to shame you. You would stop once you got home; you had done it before. When the tour was over, you would stop, you would go back home, relish in the normalcy, the garden, where it was safe. Where no one could find you.

Snow wouldn't be on the train ride home.

It unnerved you that he was here simply a few train cars down, eating, sleeping, plotting murder no doubt, planning more games. It only made you swig from the bottle more to shove the anxiety down.

You had crawled in the train car window, a comfy seat under it, curling you feet under you to watch the night blur past. Each bump comforted you, like you were in the older train cars carting people around the district. The moon wasn't out making any outline impossible to see, so you closed your eyes, pretending to hear the bustling square at home. You took another drink of wine savoring the lazy feeling coating your body.

The door slid open no doubt an Avox coming to do some chore, so you didn’t even bother to look. "You didn't come to dinner." Your head snapped up seeing Snow standing in the door a tray of food in his hands, "They said you only grabbed a bottle of wine and left."

"I wasn't hungry." Not a lie, you had felt ill since leaving District 9 the tributes faces beginning to gnaw at you once more. You had survived, and they hadn’t, and it felt wrong. "Mr. President, sir."

He wasn't wearing his normal suit instead a pair of dress pants, and a starched white button up, the top two buttons undone. His immaculate blonde hair was slightly mused a stray curling piece falling onto his forehead. "Come eat with me." You weighed the options before unfolding your legs out and turning to slid off the sill. You tugged at the nightgown they had shoved in the closet for sleep, a soft thin robe covering your shoulders over it. They hadn’t allowed you to bring any clothes from home. His eyes glanced up your body as you pulled it tighter around you.

"Excuse my appearance Mr. President, sir." You sat down across from him.

"No need." He only smiled as he pushed the tray. "Do you like the train?"

You nodded picking at the food, "It reminds me of home. We used to live by the test track before it moved, and it used to rumble the house. I used to hate it growing up, but now it seems to have grown on me."

"I bet it has." You should enjoy the food more, shovel it down until it was nothing. Your family had never suffered too much within the district not like the others, like 10,11,12... but it wasn't exactly always easy. The Capitol was always cramming food down your throat before and after the games, before you had reveled in it, the after...it tasted like dust in my mouth sometimes. You set the fork down pushing the half eaten tray away, but he only pushed it back. "Eat, please." You began to open your mouth in protest, but his jaw ticked. "Eat." A command, "All of it."

You watched his face, bottom lip trembling at the new tone he was using. It was bound to come out, but you had been so kind, always listened. You slowly began eating again forcing each bite until nothing remained, until your chest was tight with a full stomach. You took a sip of water. Always thank him, your mother had whispered on your way out of the door, Even if you are not thankful.’ “Thank you, Mr. President sir."

"You are so good to me, my little bluebell." He leaned forward the darkness engulfing the blue in his eyes. "Can you do something for me?" You made yourself nod even-though fear was trickling down your skin. He motioned with his head, "Go lie down on the bed."

The color drained from your face, "Wh-What?"

Don't stutter.

You cursed inwardly for the slip. ”Be my good girl and go lie down on the bed." His grin widened, “I won’t say it again.”

By the time your knee hit the bed tears had slipped over, you tried to stop them, but they welled anyways as you turned to look at him. He stalked towards you unbuttoning his pants, unzipping them, so you forced your gaze upward taking in the sounds of rustling. His hands pushed the robe down your shoulders letting it pool onto the bed. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to stop him as his fingers trailed along your bare shoulders, along your collarbones, up your neck. "Spit." He held out his hand. You swallowed, pulling the liquid back up and spit into his palm watching him bring it between his legs. You forced yourself to not look down, not look at what his hand was doing with a large length, to not look as he slid his hand along it. His other hand came up to your face, once again dragging across your bottom lip, pushing his finger further in, hooking it onto your bottom teeth. "Suck on it." He growled. You blinked fresh tears out before letting your tongue poke and lick up his finger, swirling around his knuckle listening to his pants. A cry of protest sat in your lungs, but would it matter? Were you always bound to be at his mercy, cursed to obey his whims to exert his power. “You listen so good." His head fell back a little the small groan hiding the sounds of him stroking himself. “Will you take my cock good too?”

"Please." You whimpered against his hand finding the smallest resistance in yourself at his words. "Please sir...I'm a virgin. I-I don't-!"

He shoved you back onto the bed with a growl his knees straddling your thigh as he pumped his hand faster and faster groaning into the air as two fingers invaded your mouth thrusting along your tongue. You felt violated, but all you could do was lie there and take it, let him do whatever he was doing because you were good, because he was the president and you had to obey. You closed your eyes tears burning your skin on the way his movements shook your body, until finally he stilled warmth shooting over your skin.

You finally breathed as he removed his fingers and stepped away. You lied there, listening to him straighten his clothes back on. "Don't change. Sleep in that." You glanced down at the white clumps running down your nightgown, some even drying to your exposed chest.

He stared at you expectantly. Thank him, even when you're not thankful. "Thank you Mr. President, sir.”

His grin was haunting as he left.

The rest of the tour went unbothered. He only occasionally came back to repeat those events, but each time it got a little easier as you began to know what to expect, each time you dared to look a little bit more. Sometimes even getting lost in the way his hand glided across his glistening cock covered in your spit. On the rare nights, you even gazed upward at him, at his hooded eyes, sweat dripping down his forehead, tongue between his teeth. You even began to listen to the noises he made, the heavy grunts, the soft groans and grit of his jaw, his vulgar words at you when his eyes suddenly met yours making you look away with heat in your cheeks.

And then he would cum over your body.

You threw up after the first night only forcing it to stay on your body because he had said so. After that it became easier to withstand the feeling, the warmth, the smell. You realized after a few times it gave off a scent you had only attributed to him, you only knew that because he often stood so close to you. It was so mild and hidden that you could only tell when you brought some close to your nose, and since it was already there you tasted it and you figured his skin might taste like that too.

It was fine, until you finished the tour of District 2. The boy's face stared down at you, and you remembered how it looked covered in blood.

Please!

The crunch of bone.

You could barely get through the reading, crying halfway through before someone had to usher you to the side. Snow was angry; you could see it in his dark eyes but maybe he could find pity. You had been so kind, so good.

It didn't matter by the time he found you curled into the corner of my room you were covered in smeared make up and tears. You couldn't even take off the stupid pink dress they had given you. He stood there for a moment taking you in then he grabbed you by the hair yanking you up onto the bed. Then he reeled back and slapped you across the face so hard your head snapped to the side. "You were very bad today bluebell."

"I-I..."

Another slap the other way. "Don't stutter."

Your cheek was stinging, "I'm sorry." A pause, and then another hard slap stars split your vision. "I'm sorry Mr. President, sir." You closed your eyes waiting for more but then you heard the familiar noise of his pants unbuttoning and your body began to lay itself back like it had registered before you did. He only darkly chuckled as he pulled you back up and shoved you to your knees in front of him, "I know you didn't mean to break the rules. Right?” You nodded, “And why do I know that?”

"Because I'm your good girl, Mr. President, sir." You stared up at him with red cheeks and pouting lips.

He groaned, his hard length pressing against your mouth. You glanced up at him with furrowed brows not knowing how to do what he was asking. “Open your mouth,” You did. “Don’t bite. I'll do the rest." He pushed past your lips, taking ahold off your face and began rocking his hips into you, his cock sliding along your tongue. "Oh fuck," He shivered shoving himself deeper the tip of him touching the back of your throat. You swallowed the gag as he pulled out to slam back into you bring your throat more tears spilling out, spit running down your chin. You squeezed your eyes as he used your mouth for whatever he wanted as he thrusted his cock into your mouth viciously. "Swirl your tongue around it." He hissed and you obeyed running it along the shaft, around the head feeling him stutter his movements, but pick up speed. His hand was rooted in your scalp yanking your face up, pain bubbling up with each abusing stroke, but something else was there too, and you realized his skin didn't taste bad. "You like that? You like when I fuck your mouth?"

You mumbled out incoherently not even sure what your answer was.

He shoved your head back, neck craned against the mattress his hips pinning you as he blatantly fucked into your mouth. ”I wonder what pretty sounds you would make if I fucked you hmm?” His hand bobbed your head against him as you gripped his thighs to hold yourself up as saliva dripped across your chest. "I can't though...too many others want it."

Your eyes shot open just as his thrust turned sporadic and warm liquid shot down your throat. Your face was covered in fluids, covered in drool and cum, dribbling down your chin as he slowly removed himself. ”What?" Your throat was raw and torn.

"I was going to wait to tell you." He sighed tucking himself back in. "But you are very desirable as a Victor, and once you told me you were a virgin...well it made you a lot more desirable." He patted your tears and cum stained cheek, "But you have been so good to me despite this slip up, so I will try to pick someone you will like. Hmm?” You were too stunned to respond. He was selling you to people, selling you to the highest bidder because you had killed a boy. You weren’t even supposed to win everyone had let you know how the tribute from 10 was slated to win, but he got taken out while you were hiding, and they had lost money. Because your life was a bet for them.

"I want to go home." You cried softly his hand cradling your face.

He cocked his head to the side, "Oh bluebell. You can't leave me yet." He stood up and began to walk to the door, "I might just have to keep you."

He left you there on your knees. No he didn't quite taste bad, in fact, you thought maybe you enjoyed the pool of him on your tongue. You cried even harder.

PART TWO here!

(if you care)

[kathaynesart]

TIP JAR (every little bit is appreciated!)

R E P L I C A

LATEST UPDATE

COMIC: ARC 1 - Boot(y)ing Up - 1 - 2 -  ARC 2 - The Spark - 1 - 2 - ARC 3 - Forgiveness - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - ARC 4 - Probing - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - ARC 5 - Distractions and Dilemmas - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - INTERMISSION - Checkmate - 1 -  HOLIDAY SPECIAL - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 -

ANIMATICS: The Funny One Not Dead High Five

EXTRAS: Future Donnie Design Omega Design (SPOILER) No Love for You Processing Stupidity Peepaw Paradox Peepaw Paradise Peepaw Showdown 1 Peepaw Showdown 2 Peepaw Showdown 3 Peepaw Showdown 4 TMNT AU Competition 1 TMNT AU Competition 2 TMNT AU Competition 3 TMNT AU Competition 4 TMNT AU Competition 5 Feral Leo 1 Feral Leo 2 Cass and Replica Reunion 1 Cass and Replica Reunion 2 (not my art) Cass and Replica Reunion 3 (not my art) Cass and Replica Reunion 4 (not my art) Cass and Replica Reunion 5 Bootyyyshaker GIF Leo PUNCH Donnie’s Eyebrows Handsome Future Donnie

INFO: Donnie’s Scars

MERCH: Processing/Displaying Stupidity ROTTMNT General Upcoming

Finally have an official cover and title!  There were some REALLY good guesses as to what the title could have been, but I can at least explain my reasons why I went with Replica.  TLDR you can still call it Future Booty Shaker if you want. Usual info dump below: 

 There are several reasons why I chose Replica as the final name.  The most obvious being that Omega is Donnie’s blatant attempt at replicating himself in digital form.

The second being that this comic is in itself is an attempt at replicating the vibe and setup of the film’s opening as closely as possible.  Those first 4:05 have literally become the bible for this story and I have already had to make vast changes based off of tiny details that weren’t noticed until later on.  

Ironically the cut full opening just dropped today and I do have some feelings I’d like to address.  It’s obvious how substantially different the two openings are from each other.  As cool as it was to see everyone kicking butt, I will admit I still like the final version a lot better.  Sure it’s shorter, but it felt far more personal and intimate than the action packed cut version, and THAT’S the sort of vibe I want to replicate in this comic.

At its core, this isn’t a story about fighting a bunch of Krang, it’s a story about a family fighting their own personal battles before an apocalyptic backdrop and Replica is a vain attempt at retaining that feeling while building a story around it. Will I be successful?  Who knows.  I will definitely be drawing reference from the cut boards especially the appearance of their colony.  I’m happy my hunch was right that they were stationed beneath the Statue of Liberty, that was already a part of my story haha.

My runner up title would have been “Fall of the TMNT” however I felt it was a little too on the nose.  Though it did make for a fun dichotomy with “Rise of the TMNT”s title.   Anyways that’s my info dump.  Feel free to still hashtag Future Bootyyy Shaker, I know I will.

[aclockmaker]

Part 2 now here

Okay to expand on this I just think: Steve who’s been in a couple of tv shows and is having a moment, famous offscreen for his hair and his charm and onscreen for his ability to find chemistry with anyone (and also, again, his hair).

And Eddie who is a complete unknown; he’s been in some stage productions and had the tiniest bit parts on TV but nobody’s ever, like, recognized him on the street.

Eddie auditions for a new HBO show. When his agent tells him that Steve Harrington is already attached Eddie is like cool, I’ll never get this part but the audition will be good practice so why not. They’re never gonna cast him. He’s sure he’s playing it too weird, and he hasn’t cut his hair (but he will when a part needs him to) but then he gets a callback. Twice.

And then he’s getting called in to do a chemistry test with some of the other actors. The show is like a modern Freaks and Geeks but with a slow burn murder mystery, and Eddie’s actually dead in the main timeline but about half the show is told in flashbacks so it’s a big part. When he meets Steve he doesn’t know what he’s expecting from the paparazzi darling but the guy is super genuine, makes Eddie feel way more comfortable than he has so far. They do their read together and Eddie is just thinking to himself like… damn, this guy really is good, because that felt crazy. He’s acted opposite some insanely talented people but it’s never been that easy. That must just be what it’s like working with Steve.

And now it’s dangerous because he really wants the part. He wants to stop bartending to make rent. He wants to be on this show, because the pages he’s seen are good, and he thinks he could really bring something to it. And because he wants to work with Steve. And even the rest of the cast, too, but—

The day Eddie gets the part he gets a text from a number he doesn't know. Hey man, really looking forward to working with you. And then, a few minutes later, It's Steve btw. He's smiling down at his phone so much that his agent, whose office he's in, is like "What, did you just score another life-changing opportunity I don't know about?" And Eddie is like "Nope, just the one, uh—it's just my uncle saying congrats. Anyway—"

They don't make him cut his hair. They don't tell him to stop playing it so weird. Everything goes so well that it feels fucking hard to believe, in fact, like he's just waiting for the other shoe to drop. There's one group of them playing seniors in high school, the main foursome of which is Eddie, Steve, and their two girl costars, Nancy and Robin. And then there's a younger group playing freshmen whose story intersects with theirs.

His and Steve's characters are set up as opposites, almost rivals, and at least at first, you're presumably supposed to wonder if it's Steve's rich, popular guy who's killed Eddie's character. Nobody in the cast knows the truth yet; the scripts get revealed to them as they're shooting them and they've been told the murderer won't even be revealed in the first season (so here's hoping they get renewed, because Eddie would really like to know who killed him—and he'd also like to keep making HBO money).

Their scenes are some of Eddie's favorites to film (although he also has a soft spot for the kids—especially Dustin who plays a hilarious and awesome nerd who does D&D with Eddie's DM). Eddie hopes his and Steve's stuff is working on whatever level they ultimately need it to work on—sometimes they do get notes that tell them to pull back or dig into something, to emphasize something else, so he has to trust that they're doing the right things.

They often film out of order so when they eventually film the scene where Eddie and Steve's characters have their first run-in at school, it's far from the first time they've shot together. They get all up in each other's faces in the scene, and they've run the lines, done a table read, but acting it out at full intensity is. A lot. Steve's character is mad because he thinks Eddie's character is trying to steal his girlfriend (really she was just buying drugs from him). The way Steve plays it is all simmering intensity, the threat of violence just under the surface, and this is where Eddie doesn't know if he's reading something into it that isn't there. Because for him, there's also another kind of tension between them. And he doesn't know if it's his real life bleeding into the character; if it's just how Steve can't help being with everyone; or if it's a legitimate part of the scripts that they're supposed to be picking up on and exploring. He doesn't even know if anybody else sees what he does. But they do their takes; nobody tells him he's doing something wrong. And after the director calls cut the first time, Steve winks at him. Just to cut the tension, Eddie thinks, maybe to make him smile, which it does. It's fun watching Steve work, watching him slip into and out of character. He's really easy to work with.

Sometimes they get together to run lines or talk motivation or whatever. “It's crazy, you know," Eddie tells Steve in his trailer one night. Steve's is bigger so all of them usually hang out here. They've been making each other laugh, shooting the shit about increasingly funny backstories for their characters, and Eddie feels high with it. "I mean, you know this is my first real show. It's like—" he gestures between them, trying to encompass everything that happens on-camera and all the fun of working on that off-camera. "I didn't know it would be like this."

"Oh—yeah, man," Steve says and laughs a little self-deprecatingly, running a hand through his hair. "But, I mean, for me, I've done a couple and, with our stuff—it’s never been like this with anyone else, either.”

It's going to be so hard, Eddie thinks, looking back at him, to not read into that more than he should.

[madddays]

camera shy

pairing: yoongi x reader (f) summary: after his last Oakland show, you carve out a little alone time with your husband, away from the stage lights and the cameras and the million people who always seem to be around rating/genre: explicit // fluff + smut + slice of life-ish (it’s a tour fic!) + an attempt at humour warnings: smut -- oral + fingering (f receiving), missionary, unprotected sex (they’re married it’s fine), terribly thought-out plot note: hello!!! i haven’t written anything in this format in a long time (poetry is my medium of choice) so pls be gentle!! also this is set in what is the “current timeline” but is of course fictional and i took every creative liberty i could :) also there was supposed to be a little bit at the end that i cut out bc reader was getting a little too cuckoo but that’s where the title came from and i couldn’t think of another. okay. anyway. 

Being on tour is exhausting.

You’re not sure you have the right to complain – you’re not the one performing high-energy shows in sold out arenas every night. But you are lifting your share of your husband’s emotional weight as he does his solo tour. His first solo tour, as is stressed to you. 

And you’re dodging cameras left and right. While it was impossible for you to stay out of the picture completely — the team at HYBE had convinced you that there was no need to hide your presence — being an idol’s wife didn’t really make you the most… sympathetic character. 

So you try to keep the complaining to a minimum. 

“If I have to duck out of one more cameraman’s way today…” you grumble under your breath. Sejin laughs. 

“There’s only so long they can spend in your room,” he placates. “And tomorrow you’ll have use of the business centre again.”

You harrumph. Fucking businesspeople using the business centre for their business shit. Hunkering down over your laptop again, you attempt once more to read over the article you needed to finish editing tonight. You’re finally making a little headway, getting into the groove, and then —

“That’s it!” you snap in English, frantically trying to catch the open water bottle that almost spilled all over your computer. The culprit, a man looking through the lens of his giant stupid camera on his giant stupid tripod, glances at you with a bored expression. 

“Whoops,” he says lightly, wheeling the contraption slightly to the left of where he’d bumped the desk. “Should probably keep that closed.”

You see red. Just as you’re about to toss this man and his equipment out the 50th story window, your husband appears. 

“Jagiya,” Yoongi murmurs to you, placing a grounding hand at the side of your face. You instantly relax about fifty percent. “I’m sorry, just the rest of the afternoon.”

You look up at him, at his soft pleading face. He’s turned away from the filming crew, hiding both his expression and yours. You relax the rest of the way, resting in his palm, a little guilt creeping in. 

It’s not his fault. Obviously, everything was going to be filmed — a BTS member’s first solo tour. There was going to be a documentary, and like it or not, you were going to be in it. As marginally as possible, everyone had insisted, but you couldn’t afford to look bad. Unfortunate that the filming crew was full of a bunch of dicks who didn’t give a shit about anyone who wasn’t the star. “No,” you shake your head, “I’m sorry. I know you hate this as much as I do, probably more. I’ll try to be good.”

At this, Yoongi smiles, shoulders jerking with a laugh. “I’m not asking for a miracle,” he teases. “Just a little patience.” You roll your eyes. You can behave. 

Just then, the same nimrod shoots a look at you, almost goading, as Sejin picks up your laptop and its accessories so the Christopher Nolan wannabe can put some more douchebag equipment where it just was. You look Yoongi straight in the eyes, dead serious. “If that man crosses me one more time, I’m going to kill him. And I’m going to film it with his stupid fucking camera.”

--------------- xxx ---------------

Most people expect you to be ecstatic about the proximity to free tickets that being married to Yoongi brings. And you love watching him perform. Up on the stage, in his element. He’s never more radiant than when he’s singing and rapping, leaning in close to the edge of the stage so he can look into the fans’ eyes — gloss, a fitting name for the shining star you see giving his all. 

And the confidence is incredibly sexy. So you have a competency kink, sue you. 

But god is it tiring being there. Even in the nosebleeds, or in the VIP box. You can’t exactly abandon Yoongi afterwards, so you have to make your way discreetly backstage with the security team, and then you wait through the undressing and the debriefing and the security checks and the filming. Sometimes the media circus. Only then can you sneak into a car with him and head back to the hotel. 

So you stay behind tonight. It’s the last day of the American leg, and you’ve already seen a few spectacular shows. You have your own life, your own responsibilities. Which includes deadlines. 

You were able to come with Yoongi for this leg of the tour because you’d promised your boss an exclusive — first dibs on Agust D’s experience touring in the U.S. While you wouldn’t be allowed to take part in the spread (a very clear conflict of interest, no bueno) you’re excited for it. The potential of the photoshoot alone is making your head spin. 

But part of the deal was also to keep working. The list of articles your Senior Editor ass has to go over is slowly dwindling, this feature on Korea’s impact on global fashion getting to the finish line. 

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the now blessedly empty hotel room. Email with the finished article sent, you roll your chair to look straight into the little camera that’s trained on the desk Yoongi’s claimed and flip it the bird. 

Job done and borderline invasive filming (it’s only on when Yoongi decides to get some working shots for them, but still) disrespected, there’s not much left to do but wait. 

When the third time cycling through all your social media apps doesn’t provide any groundbreaking entertainment, you decide to call down to reception for some reading material. It’s not technically work if you’re just reading a dozen trashy ‘Who Wore It Best?’ segments. “Anne Hathaway, hwaiting!” you mutter to yourself.

--------------- xxx ---------------

A couple hours later, you’re still thoroughly immersed in your magazines and your music, completely missing the cacophony in the hallway. The knock on your door startles you so thoroughly you hit your head against the headboard. 

“Unnie, are you okay?” asks Ari, one of the stylists. “I was coming to call you to eat!”

“Oh, you’re all back! One sec!” You scramble off the bed, excited to see the aftermath of the show. You barely remember to put on a pair of pants before rushing out the door, Ari’s surprised face greeting you. “Thanks, Ari-yah,” you grin, locking arms with her. “How was the show?”

“It was great! Oppa is always good, but tonight he was especially energetic.” Her face screws up a little. “He ripped another one of the jackets, though.”

An inconvenience to her, but you don’t share the irritation. Yoongi’s broad shoulders busting his clothes, yum. “Oh,” you say anyway, your sympathy unconvincing, “that’s annoying.” Ari snorts.

“Sure. At least it’s new costumes for the next leg. We’ll refit them.”

You practically vibrate with excitement at that. “I haven’t seen them yet! I’m sure you all did an awesome job!” 

She blushes. “I think it’ll be good! They’re not totally finalized yet, but I’ll send you a ton of pictures.” Her eye drops in a wink, making you giggle delightedly. 

Dinner is a buffet in one of the conference rooms of your beloved business centre. One of the security team members escorts you down with a group of the staff, but most people had gone down earlier, apparently very hungry. Yoongi among them. As you approach the doors, you hear someone complaining to him that they should’ve done this at a restaurant and where is his sense of celebration.

“Come on,” you hear him grumble. “It’s not like the entire tour is over. We can all go out tomorrow.”

You snort. “And then tomorrow you’ll say ‘tomorrow never comes’.” If it were happening to someone else, you’d never let them live down how quickly their husband’s head snapped towards them, but you make an exception because yours is so cute. 

Despite his enthusiastic surprise, he doesn’t miss a beat. “Great, now I have to come up with a new excuse. Thanks for that,” he rolls his eyes, but immediately swaps the empty plate you grab with the one he was filling up for himself, no room to argue. Your giddy mood sours a little when you catch sight of the filming crew again. 

Yoongi holds your hand over his bouncing knee and the two of you sneak food off and onto each other’s plates. The mood is bright and light, despite everyone’s obvious exhaustion (at least three people by your count are in danger of falling asleep into their food). You expect to see an extended shot of the staff and crew laughing and eating, a flushed Yoongi being plied with praise and encouragement, under some sort of pensive voiceover. 

And you’re right, because right after he’s done eating they whisk Yoongi away to do what is sure to be a thorough recount of his adventure in the States. You’re a little jealous that they get to hear all about it before you do. Fuckers. 

As the room starts to clear out, you bid everyone a good night and trudge back up to your room, planning to crawl into bed and wait for your husband. 

But when you open the door, he’s already there. Your immediate thought is that the air conditioning is up too high for him to leave his hair damp like that. Your second thought is how pretty he looks — sharp eyes focused on his legal pad, sinful hand flying across the page trying to get down whatever lyrics are thundering through his brain, cheeks flushed and pouty mouth puckered. He must’ve gone straight from the shower to his desk.

After a few moments he must sense your eyes on him, because his writing falters and he turns to you, a soft smile breaking out across his face. Your heart flutters. 

“Hey!” he says happily, pulling out his earbuds. “I was waiting for you.”

“Clearly,” you laugh, moving to perch on the table in front of him. He pulls your feet into his lap, putting his papers aside. You resist the urge to sneak a peek, instead asking “did I interrupt something?”

“No,” he assures you. “I got everything important down. You were right on time.” His fingers are drumming on your thigh like there’s still something on his mind, but you’re feeling greedy tonight, so you let it slide.

“Apparently, I was late.” His hair is cold when you ruffle it. “Let me dry your hair. You still have schedules to make it to, can’t get sick.”

Under the gentle whirr of the expensive hair dryer and your hands in his soft locks, you coax out some of the details of the night from him. Stuff those production company jerks would never get to hear, wouldn’t think to ask about. How he was so glad to never have to wear one of his costumes ever again. The way he didn’t even feel the heat of the stage lights, the thing that drenched him in sweat (aside from the jumping and running around) was nerves. You laugh when he tells you about the girl in the pit who danced so hard the veil of her wedding dress outfit ended up on one of the lights. Your heart swells, swells, swells.

There’s still a restlessness about him when you’re done. You suggest he goes back to his desk but he shakes his head. “Let’s go to bed.” The first time in ages you can do so without the weight of anticipation and stress over him – hopefully it will settle whatever is making him twitchy.

There’s a spark of arousal in your belly when you feel his eyes on your backside as you change into your pyjamas. A breath stutters out of your mouth when you meet his sleepy gaze, getting a soft smirk in response. “Come here,” he says softly. “I missed you.”

In your eagerness to get to him, you collide with the bed a little too fast. “Oof,” you huff, making him laugh. He sits up to haul you into his side, another surprised noise leaving your mouth.

“Dummy,” he teases. “Not even safe in a cushy hotel room.” You kick at his shin.

“Quit giving me bedroom eyes then.” You see his eyes sparkle and mouth start to open and smack a hand over it. “Yes, we are in a bedroom, ha ha, you are very funny.”

He moves your hand away, unimpressed. “It is a funny joke,” he grumbles. Truly funny thing is, if he’d said it, you would’ve laughed. You’re down horrendously and he knows it, although you do your best to keep his ego in check at least some of the time.

Giggling anyway, you let him press you closer to his chest. You especially love him like this, warm and soft and silly and all to yourself. 

Yoongi turns over onto his good shoulder to face you, tipping your chin up. His gaze flits across your face, tender and deep, like he can see everything you’re thinking. You hope he can. You think he does. “I love you,” he murmurs, and he kisses you.

Your eyes flutter closed, relishing in this closeness. The way his mouth moves over yours, slow and deliberate. 

This isn’t a kiss just because, or goodnight or I’ll be right back, this is a kiss because I want to be touching you. I want to breathe you in. I want to forget everything but you.

You let out a sigh. Yoongi hums against you, a rumble you feel in his chest, and slides his tongue to meet yours. He shifts some more so he’s over you, braced on his forearm. It’s urgent now, but the way he licks into your mouth is languid, a creeping heat. 

He knows just how you like it, just how to drive you wild. Where you push and pull and grasp at him, he slows you, pins you down, makes you feel every second like it’s an hour.

When he pulls away, panting slightly, you realize – it’s been a long time. The last time the two of you had had a chance to get horizontal (or otherwise) had been the week you left Korea. More than a month ago. No wonder you’re so desperate for him, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him back in, feeling his smug little grin against your mouth. 

He grabs at your hip with his other hand, and just that contact, his hand deliberate against the bare skin between your shirt and pyjama shorts, is enough to have you gasping.

He pulls away again with a low chuckle. “I’ve been neglecting you, my love,” he noses against your jaw. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver.

“You’ve been such a good wife,” he continues, sitting back on his heels, raking his gaze over you. His tone is soft but his eyes are so, so hungry. You reach for him, desperate to be back under his body, but he just smiles, closed mouth and innocent. “Shh, let your husband take care of you.”

He climbs back over you, settles his weight on you like he knows you like and hovers an inch from your face. His hair, longer again, hangs in his eyes, but you can see the mischievous shine in them. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Yoongi,” you whine. His smile grows even bigger, but before you can crush your lips to his he leans down and kisses you, slow and searing again. 

“I’ll make you feel good,” he promises, mouthing down your neck. You know he’s going to leave marks, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s been so long since you���ve felt properly like his. “Smell so sweet,” he sighs, opening the top button of your sleep shirt and burying his face between your tits. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

You moan, sensitive from his touch. “You’re –” he nips at you, drawing more breathy noises from your mouth. “You’re unusually talkative tonight.”

He smiles up at you. “You like it,” he says simply. And you do. You want him to keep telling you how you look and feel to him, what he’s going to do to you.

You start to fall apart under his mouth, his hands, his words. Soon your shirt is gone, tits shiny with his saliva. “Your fucking tongue,” you grab his hair, hold him in place, and his groan against your skin makes your sensitive nipples shoot fireworks into your brain. He presses your tits together tighter, sucking them noisily in turn as you grind up against his hardening cock.

“Taste fucking perfect,” his voice is so deep. Your pussy is already clenching, desperate for him. 

Yoongi helps you out of your pyjama shorts, wanting you completely bare to him. “Need to see you, jagi.” He settles between your legs, settled over his shoulders. His warm mouth over your cunt has you spreading them wider, eager.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles approvingly, expecting the ensuing flood from your pussy. He uses two of his long, callused fingers to spread it all over, sliding almost coincidentally over your clit. Your hips cant towards his hand, wanting more than anything to have them inside you – fuck. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Yoongi, please,” you choke. It’s getting nearly unbearable, this desperation. You’re so wet, so sensitive, your entrance clenching around nothing.

“Pretty, pretty,” he says in a soft rasp, talking to himself. He gets comfortable between your legs and you can see his sharp, dark eyes zero in on your cunt, tongue wetting his lips like someone’s set a meal in front of him. You suppose you have.

“Ahhh-hhhh,” you moan, the first broad sweep of his tongue over your folds like electricity. Like he’d just set a firecracker off inside of you – buzzing and sparking from the tips of your toes to your scalp. Eyes squeezed shut, a broken noise comes out of your mouth. 

He keeps going, lapping at your pussy in an even rhythm and making low sounds of appreciation. It’s so, so wet you’re sure he must be drooling, and the thought is enough to have you clenching your legs together. “Careful, baby,” he says against your skin, but the vibrations of his voice are just fuel to the fire. “Watch me.”

You lean up shakily on your elbows, and the sight of him is nearly enough to knock you back down again. The mop of dark hair between your legs, working away as though you’re barely there, like he’s just using this to get himself off – except his eyes, watching you under the harsh slant of his eyebrows – shit shit it’s almost too much already.

“Fuck, baby, please,” you plead breathily, not even sure what you’re asking for. He’s already giving you everything you want. The close of his pouted lips around your clit has you jerking, the fiery crackle in your nerves making everything hazy except the places he’s touching you – big hands clamped around your thighs, face buried in your cunt, fingers pressed into the meat of your ass. He’d taken off the rest of his rings, but you can feel his wedding band pinching your skin slightly. Your matching one catches the light as you twist your hand into the sheets. “I need – I nee –” you break off, keening when he rubs a finger over your hole.

“Don’t worry, love,” he slides a digit in, feeling the way you clench around it desperately. “I know what my girl needs.” On the next stroke, he slides in a second finger, groaning when you clamp down on him. You collapse back onto the pillows, hips kicking up despite the way he’s pressing you into the mattress

You’d teased him mercilessly, way back when the two of you had started dating. “Tongue technology, huh? Do you have any songs where you’re not bragging about how good you eat pussy?” He’d only smiled, smug and amused, like he knew something you didn’t. 

Boy, did you find out. Again, and again, and again. The way he flicks his tongue over your clit, a fast, even tempo that has you curling your toes. Combined with how fast he’s pumping those long fingers in you, the squelching sounds absolutely obscene. 

“Another?” he asks, voice almost disinterested, betrayed only by how hoarse and low it’s become. You nod frantically, knowing you’re close. 

When he adds his ring finger, you know you’re done for. There’s a searing heat all down your body — your belly’s tight, your feet digging into Yoongi’s back with how tightly you have them tensed. Your face is flushed and sweaty and you can barely hear your own breathy whining through the rushing in your ears. It’s building, the wet slick of his tongue joining his fingers as your legs start to tremble around him, threatening to squeeze his neck, your hands finding their way into his hair to bring him with you when your back arches off the bed, and when he sucks your clit back between his lips —

“That’s it, fuck, baby,” he growls against you. He pumps you through your orgasm, almost struggling to get deep because of the way you’re gripped tight around them. Lets the gush of come slick his tongue further, shaking his head side to side as you ride out your aftershocks. You grind against his face, stuttering as the oversensitivity kicks in, whining when it becomes too much.

“N’more,” you slur, gasping when Yoongi eases out of you. He sits back on his heels again, his mouth, nose, and chin shiny from the way you’ve drenched him. 

He seems content to let it sit as he meets your eyes, popping his used fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back and groaning at the taste. “Pussy monster,” you sigh deliriously.

He laughs, having sucked his fingers clean. Pushing yourself up to lean back against the headboard, you try to get your bearings. Your legs are shaking a little and between them is still sensitive, but away from Yoongi the cold air of the hotel room makes your nipples tighten and you want more. 

Your husband focuses his attention back on you. Your legs, open just enough so he can see the mess he’s made of you, and the way your skin is flushed, from your face all the way down to your chest. You shiver. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks in a low growl. He pulls his shirt off and wipes his face with it, giving you an uninterrupted moment to ogle him. His broad shoulders, defined chest and arms, and toned stomach. The tattoo on his pec. The dusting of hair leading from his belly button down, down, down…

“Warm me up,” you say coquettishly, spreading your legs further. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, reverent. Even after all these years, you have the exact same effect on him as the first time. It’s evident in the bulge in his pyjama pants that you eye hungrily. He wraps a hand around each of your ankles, pushing them up to bend your knees, crawling up so he can settle against you and lock your legs around his waist. 

You let out a pathetic little sound at the feeling of him against your cunt. You’re still leaking, juices sticking to the insides of your thighs and probably leaving a patch on his pants. “Baby,” you whine. He leans down to kiss you and the grind of his cock against you has you gasping. “Need it,” you whisper into his mouth. “How do you want me?”

Yoongi kisses you one more time, chaste, and shakes his head. “How does my sweet girl want it?”

You flush even warmer. “Like this,” you say shyly. Yoongi smiles at you, fucked out and endeared.

Your hands find their way to his sweaty skin like magnets. Shaky fingertips tracing from his hips up over the flat of his stomach, hard muscles twitching as he sighs under your touch. When you reach his chest, you look up at him from under your lashes – he’s already looking back at you, pretty mouth agape. “The abs are new. I like them.” Then you scratch your blunt nails down them, feeling the muscles jump under your hands. 

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning into you. You gasp at the twitch of his cock, the head rubbing your clit. “You’re in for it now.”

“Then fucking give it to me.”

He kisses you again, and he’s just so predictable. Despite his big talk and the way he’s pinning your hips down hard, he takes his time, opening you up to him. Your husband kisses like he drinks – slow and savoury, loves the taste of you, the way you make him feel dazed and light. Letting out little satisfied noises in response to the way you kiss him back, the way you let him have his way with you. If it were up to him, he’d work you up like this for hours. Drinking you in. 

Unfortunately for him, you’re worked up enough. He’s grinding into you in tiny movements but the sensitivity from your prior orgasm, the insistent press of his cock between your lips, and the knowledge that you haven’t had him inside you in probably the longest stretch of time since you’d met is driving you insane.

“Take off your fucking pants, Yoongi,” you snap against his mouth, pulling at his waistband. He just laughs. “If you don’t fuck me right now –”

He keeps laughing, breathless and fond, but tips away from you enough to get his pyjama bottoms off and kicked away and hell yeah.

He runs his fingers through your folds and you gasp. Your hips cant up towards his hand but it’s gone immediately, and the sight of him jacking his cock with your wetness makes you whimper.

“So wet,” he murmurs, guiding the head to your pussy. The previous teasing mirth has vanished and there’s only the dark, focused look as he presses forward and – “Fuck.”

“Yoongi!” you cry out. His fingers hadn’t done nearly a good enough job of stretching you. The burn of him as he pushes into you makes your eyes roll back as you feel him pepper kisses over your cheek, down your neck to your collarbone. “Oh –”

“I must be out of my fucking mind,” he grunts, bottoming out. You choke on a sob. His big hand kneads your tit and it feels so fucking good you think you’re going to lose your mind. “How did I go without this for so long?”

He pulls out almost all the way then thrusts back in hard. “Y-Yoon – “ you whine breathily, barely able to make a sound at this point. 

“My gorgeous wife, in this bed every night, so needy. This perfect pussy — shit.” He sucks the other nipple into his mouth, buried in you so deep you can’t think of anything but the way he’s filling you so good. The way you hadn’t realized you’d needed. 

You’re blubbering at this point, beyond words, as Yoongi chases his orgasm inside you. Kissing every part of you he can reach as the sound of his skin against yours fills the room, playing with your tits the way that drives you wild. You come again with a shout, tears streaming down your face. 

“So pretty,” he murmurs, kissing the tears away. He’s still going, deeper now instead of fast. “Can you give me one more, love?”

You’re dizzy with pleasure and overstimulation, but he loves to come with your pussy squeezing him. “Yeah,” you pant. A kiss, slow and deep, as he pushes back in. 

Your legs are wrapped so tightly around his waist he can barely pull all the way back out. All you can do is hold on as he takes what he wants from you. 

“Shit, shit,” Yoongi groans, hips stuttering. He’s close. “Love you, pretty girl, so fucking good to me,” his voice low and raspy and warm right next to your ear. “Do I make you feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you manage to get out and you can feel his cock throb inside you, rubbing your g-spot and it’s enough. Your vision goes white and you see stars as your entire body tenses up and you tremble all over when it suddenly releases. “Yoongi!”

“Fuuuck,” he grunts. “Squeeze me just like that,” and he’s coming too. 

You lay there, panting under Yoongi as he softens inside you. The sweat makes you stick together where you’re touching, and anywhere outside your bed it would make you push him away. But you’re content to lie under him, soft, laboured breaths puffing next to your ear. 

“Should’ve used a condom,” you say hoarsely. There’s going to be a mess when he pulls out, you can already feel it. 

“Fucking raw used to be so hot,” he sighs, kissing your cheek. “Now it’s a chore.”

Your snort turns into a gasp as he pulls out. Reaching for his discarded shirt, he cleans up as much of his come as he can. You watch him, eyes zeroed in on the mess, licking his lips. 

“Reel it in.” You boop his nose and he scrunches it. “I really cannot go another round. You’re gonna have to drag me to the bathroom.” 

--------------- xxx ---------------

And he kind of does. On a good day, he could definitely carry you. But after three weeks of touring and a semi-vigorous round of sex, he hitches you onto his back in some semblance of a piggyback. You actually could probably walk, but you know the mood Yoongi’s in. 

He lets you pee, then comes to clean you up the rest of the way. Both of you wrapped in fluffy robes, he washes the sweat and tears off your face gently, brushes through your hair with his fingers. Puts up with your halfhearted whining about expensive skincare as he pats it carefully back onto your face. 

By the time you’ve dragged yourselves back to bed, the California King large enough that you don’t worry about the mess you’ve made on the other side, all the tension has drained from his body. The frantic energy of performing in a foreign country alone for the first time, melted away. 

He’s soft and sleepy when he hitches your leg over his hip, pulls your head onto his chest. “Thank you,” he mumbles. You don’t have to ask him what he means. 

You laugh softly. “Silly,” you say, drifting off.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Isabel Jeans (Gigi)—gigi is not a good film but I think she’s absolutely stunning as the courtesan aunt! i want her entire wardrobe and then i want her to tell me how to sniff cigars and determine which diamonds are the good ones :3

Sophia Loren (Marriage Italian Style, Houseboat)—Major Italian star, first actress to win an Oscar for a performance not in English (for Two Women (1960)) and later when Roberto Benigni won an Oscar in 1999 he jumped over the chairs towards the stage going "Sophia Sophia!!" because he was running towards Sophia Loren and said he cared more about her than the Oscar, that's the effect she had on people. She was big in the 60s already even though she gained a lot more notoriety after that. And I mean. Can we take a moment and just.

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Isabel Jeans:

Sophia Loren:

im submitting her in honor of my dad bc she was the first celebrity crush of his he ever admitted to me and my sister :) and he was right. shes so pretty

She has maxed out all her stats: beauty, elegance, sensuality, she's got it all. her mesmerizing eyes, her sensual mouth, her sharp face shape, her everything is so striking and unlike any other beauty in films. she was also voted the world most beautiful woman when she was freaking 65

OSCAR WINNER. Worked with some of the hottest leading men in Hollywood but remained faithful to her husband whom she had a loving marriage with till he died (even though Cary Grant almost tempted her once, it's complicated)

One of the most well-known sex symbols of the Golden Age of Hollywood, and unlike some unfortunate others, she seems to have been pretty well at peace with occupying that status. She made assertiveness and a tempestuous temper seem glamorous, and although she's famous for side-eying Jayne Manisfield's cleavage, honestly? She's one to talk.

Absolutely, drop-dead sexy, also a hard working, extraordinarily talented actress who didn't shy away from the less glamorous roles to gift us some gritty, memorable performances

JUST LOOK AT HER Y'ALL

Submitting this on behalf of my dad, who knows nothing of tumblr or this blog, but I remember being a kid watching Houseboat while my mom thirsted after Cary Grant, dad thirsted after Sophia Loren, and I was excited that they lived on a boat. Anyway, she's extremely beautiful and was an international star, doing a ton of movies in Italy before being recognized in the US.

Global superstar and my late grandfather's long time movie star crush and for a man as quiet as he was, and as hopelessly devoted to his wife as he was, the fact that I know that means she was EXCEPTIONAL.

Very smart and beautiful, the characters that she played (I mean those in the movies that I put in the previous question) are as strong and determined as her which I think adds to her hotness.

Big in the chest, snatched in the waist, pretty in the face 😳

Her performance in "Man of La Mancha" is just so very captivating. Dubbed as "the Italian Marilyn Monroe", she looks beautiful in any movie and at any age.

Sexy, beautiful, deep. A real star.

Forget the exotic sexpot of her Hollywood films and go back to her Italian career: sparking with Marcello Mastroianni as the woman who drives him mad and outwits all his fumbling attempts at macho posturing in their early films, and showing a tender side in their 1970s films. Sophia isn’t self-conscious about who she is or her beautiful body: she enjoys being herself and she wants us all to enjoy ourselves too.

She starred in films as a sexually emancipated persona and was one of the best known sex symbols of the time. She is a great cook and her filmography is immense.

On the misattributed quote that Sophia owed everything to spaghetti: 'Did you actually say the quote frequently attributed to you, "Everything you see I owe to spaghetti"?' "Non è vero! It's not true! It's such a silly thing. I owe it to spaghetti, no, no. Completely made up."

[gloomy-prince]

To celebrate RAINBOW!'s release today, I'm going to go over all the daydream references that have been made so far, since it's fun for me to sneak them in 💖 there's a lot of them though, so it's gonna be under the cut!

Episode 1-- Kiki's Delivery Service and E.T.! People focus on the Kiki reference so much that the other seemed to be missed.

Episode 2-- Princess Serenity and Prince Endymion, Sailor Moon. Another one obvious enough to be called out in some comments. It was referenced again in episode 54, where this panel was taken from.

Episode 5-- Marceline, Adventure time. One of the few reference that isn't an outfit specifically, but a character.

Episode 11-- Revolutionary Girl Utena. Not necessarily supposed to be the characters themselves, just the outfits.

Episode 11-- Minako Aino, Sailor Moon. In hindsight, I don't remember why I chose this specific dress to reference and not the maid outfits from Sailor Stars or the fruits maid outfits from the manga... especially since I think the fruits maid outfits are adorable.

Episode 11-- Catra, She-Ra reboot. I kind of regretted this one immediately just because like 80% of the comments on the episode were "CATRA SUIT!!!" as a result...

Episode 18-- Sailor Moon manga. I was always intrigued by the way characters would be dressed in dreamlike/ethereal sequences in the manga, so this reference was a must for me. I went with the version that is a full dress with straps rather than the dresses from other moments in the manga that have no discernible top half.

Episode 30 and 31-- Not a reference to any specific film or character, but just film noir in general. I do remember referencing a female character specifically for this but sadly I couldn't find it again.

Episode 40-- Pomeranian scene, IT Chapter Two. Surely you saw this coming (or maybe not?) I don't think I got the camera angle good enough to really sell this reference, but I couldn't resist it anyways.

Episode 43-- Adult Losers, IT Chapter Two. The only reference besides Marceline that references the characters themselves, since I normally use our other characters for background character purposes. Also one of the only references that isn't a daydream.

Episode 54-- Disney's Snow White and Cinderella. I couldn't decide which to reference, so I ended up leaning mostly into Cinderella, but referenced the Evil Queen's crown as well. Boo's dress is also somewhat referenced from the the live action Cinderella dress instead of the animated version, just because I liked it.

Episode 54-- Treasure Planet and Treasure Planet 2 concept art. Treasure planet is one of my favorite movies, so there was no way I was missing out on referencing it. A few people brought up some wlw pirate webcomic(s?) in the comments of this episode, but the actual reference seemed to be mostly missed. The sash around Boo's waist is also meant to be fabric from her princess dress in the previous panels.

Episode 54-- Revolutionary Girl Utena. Another one I was kind of surprised wasn't called out just because of how iconic the whole clothed shadow/silhouette thing is.

Episode 55-- Saint Tail. I couldn't reference this one as closely as I would have liked since it probably wouldn't have been very readable as a magician's costume to someone who didn't know it, so it mostly references the brooch from the anime and her hat.

Episode 61-- Jane Fonda in Spirits of the Dead. A super random and out there reference, especially to end on, but I liked the outfit so much that I couldn't help it. Maybe Boo used to fall asleep to old movie channels, lol.

That's it, at least for now! We'll have to see what shows up in future episodes~

[veryferaldistributions]

My Favorite Quotes from the “Bride of ReAnimator” Commentary (Not Included in the “Gay” Compilation):

Herbert: “Go. Home.”

Bruce: “Oh yeah, lot waiting for me there. How ‘bout that front room? Pet the dog! Find the finger eye puppet. Have some leftover spaghetti!”

Jeffrey: (about the Bride) “So she’s Meg. She’s Gloria-“

Bruce: “She’s the virgin-hooker with the twinkle toes.”

(Herbert and Francesca are barricading the lab door.)

Bruce: “Why is she helping you?”

Jeffrey: “Because she knows there are creatures out there (laughs) puking Cream of Wheat!”

Herbert: “You’re better off without her.”

Bruce: “Thanks for the advice, Dear Abby!”

(Herbert is talking about the feet of the ballet dancer.)

Bruce: “Y’know, Herbert’s parents made him take ballet for five years…”

(Over the course of the film commentary, they make several jokes about how Chapham is always seen with food.)

Herbert: (at Chapham) “What are you doing in here?”

Bruce: “Eating!”

(EDITED POST TO ADD MORE QUOTES/FIX ERRORS IN FIRST BATCH UPON REWATCH)

(Dan gets stabbed in Peru.)

Jeffrey: “Your kidney’s been lacerated, but you’ll be alright!”

Bruce: (sees his own name in the credits) “Who’s that?”

Bruce: “How did they get down there (Peru)?”

Jeffrey: (dryly) “By a plane, Bruce.”

Jeffrey: (singing to credits music) “Oh MEEEEG, my loooove, where did you goooo my deaaaar?”

(Movie cuts from Peru to Miskatonic.)

Bruce: “Oh yeah, like those two would be let back in the States!”

Bruce: “(Bride) is the ‘Frankenstein’ of the series. If the second is ‘Frankenstein,’ what’s the first?”

Jeffrey: “…Re-Animator.”

Bruce: “What is with my HAIR?”

Jeffrey: “Well, that was your choice!”

Dan: “Herbert, I have something to tell you.”

Bruce: “I’ve found a new hairdresser.”

Dr. Graves: “Who’d want to steal body parts?”

Jeffrey: “Ohhhhh, I think we knoooow.”

(Herbert is stealing Meg’s heart.)

Bruce: “Like Dan wouldn’t have enshrined that already.”

Herbert: (at Hill’s head in the morgue) “How did you get in here?”

Jeffrey: (mumbling) “…I hate this scene.”

(They both laugh at the puns anyway.)

Jeffrey: “Nice wheels, Dan.”

Bruce: “You bet. All in eight months. Got through customs. Now I’m driving a Dodge Swinger.”

Bruce: “I can’t get over my BeeGees haircut.”

Jeffrey: “Barry Gibb lives!”

(Later in the movie.)

Jeffrey: (singing) “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Stayin’ alive! Stayin’ alive!”

Bruce: “Of course this house has a basement.”

Jeffrey: “It was one of our requirements.”

Bruce: “One of your requirements.”

Jeffrey: “Well…”

Herbert: “Security.”

Dan: “From what?”

Herbert: …

Jeffrey: “From what?!”

Bruce: “Do I merit an answer?!”

(Herbert is showing Dan the reagent.)

Jeffrey: “DRINK IT! DRINK IT!”

Bruce: “Y’know, Herbert has this nasty habit of shoving things in Dan’s face. Iguanas, reagent, amniotic fluid-“

Jeffrey: “Dead cats.”

Dan: “I’m moving out!”

Jeffrey: “Why?”

Bruce: “Because, I like this heart patient in the hospital MUCH more than you!”

Jeffrey: (laughs) “What, you gonna move in with HER?”

Bruce: “No one will ever get rich overestimating Dan’s bad taste.”

(Herbert is trying to convince Dan to reanimate Chapham, next to the boiling pot.)

Bruce: “Sure…why not?”

Jeffrey: “Lemme have some tea first!”

(Cuts from the basement to Francesca, in Dan’s bed.)

Francesca: “Daniel?”

Bruce: “Why am I down there? WHY? What am I thinking about?”

Jeffrey: “You needed to get another prophylactic from the lab.”

Dan: “Herbert!”

Bruce: “I’d like to have a nickel for every time I’ve said ‘Herbert’ in these two movies.”

Dan: “It helps me to think of you as Meg.”

Bruce: “Betcha that makes her feel good. No wonder she dies!”

(Gloria flatlines.)

Jeffrey: “And that made her die.”

(Herbert and Dan are reanimating the Bride.)

Bruce: “Don’t try this at home.”

(Herbert puts on the gun holster.)

Bruce: “Wild, wild West. Herbie, get your gun.”

Herbert: “There is my creation!”

Jeffrey: “So put THAT in your pipe and smoke it!”

Bruce: (singing Rick Springfield) “I wish I was Herbie’s girl!”

(The Bride is trying to seduce Dan.)

Bruce: “Oh boy. I certainly wasn’t paid enough for this.”

Bride: (to Dan) “You made me?”

Herbert: “I made you!”

Jeffrey: “Yeah! Get that straight, babe!”

Dan: “You’re not Meg. Meg’s dead.”

Bruce: (flatly) “Wow. What a revelation. How edifying.”

Herbert: “Make a note of it, Dan! Tissue rejection!”

Bruce: “You write it down, ya little squirt! I’m tired of taking your notes!”

Dan: “You’re alive.”

(Falls to his knees.)

Jeffrey: “And I worship you!”

[xinyuehui]

I don't know if I want to write a massive essay about this, but they missed the whole point with all the characters, especially Ye Wenjie. I'm assuming everyone who said this portrayal is accurate and a raging angry Ye Wenjie is good is because they either never read the book, or non-Chinese, or both. (Or maybe projecting their own views on Maoism). Ye Wenjie received higher education during a time period where it wasn't common for women. She believed in science, she believed in people, but time and time again, the people in her life let her down and never showed any signs of remorse. What I've gathered from the text is that she isn't fuelled by rage, more so she is dead on the inside, she has lost all hope in people. Her decision to reply is not because she wants to destroy, she believes that a civilisation from a higher standpoint could save humans, and this roots in the fact that she is educated. She's not some crazy rage driving women who would ever say "time is a motherfucker", not even a Chinese equivalent.

I'm not sure why the writers decided to write Ye Wenjie and Yang Weining's relationships out of the story...Oh so she is rescued by a white man later on hmm??? (Coincidentally, all the characters driving the plot are also non-Chinese in this). Ye Wenjie marrying Yang Weining and giving birth to Yang Dong gave her a glimpse of light in the life from which she had lost hope. Spending time in Qijiatun also gave her a bit of warmth. When she pushed Yang Weining off the cliff, it marked another significant point, she was calm, cut the rope with no hesitation. She did not care to get herself entangled in romantic affairs. Making her have a child with Evans is laughable. They also dumb down Yang Weining, to the extent that Ye Wenjie had to explain 43+8=51 to him. Mind you, he was a real proper engineer. (Weirdly with all the diversifying, they did not keep a single male Chinese scientist in the main team huh)

Anyways, before I go on a tangent. The writers have fast tracked everything and left out the finer text about the characters in the book. I'm not sure if they missed the point or that nowadays the audience are ruined by fast media, something like the tencent version are simply too slow for the people in the west. Any of my moots and followers who watch cdramas will know that the real good stuff is all in the build-up. It's all the little text that adds up to a fleshed out character. If the culture difference is too much for Netflix, leading them to change all the characters and most of the plot, why not just buy a western ip. There's plenty of good western sci-fi ips.

I can't help but think they want to do this because they wanted to film the scene where Ye Zhetai is beaten to death. Have an excuse to turn Ye Wenjie an angry woman. We all know why. If they really cared about showing a true China during that time, they would have spend some care with the Red Coast details as mentioned above (we did not have screens in 1960s that display Chinese text!!! And definitely no simplified Chinese characters on computers!!!!). Instead of having her snog Bai Mulin off - unrealistic since people were a lot more conserved back then, they would not have done this and it's ooc for Ye Wenjie. Falling in love with Evans - a real blasphemy. I guess the 3 Body Problem here means 3 bodies pounding at each other. Jin-Raj-Will also seem to have their own 3 body problem going on too.

(One last tangent) Ye Wenjie and Yang Dong(Vera) as scientists not believing in god but having monks at her funeral ??????????? Not even a typical normal Chinese funeral will have monks. The stereotype enforcing is real.

[themultiuniversal]

I think it's a shame that The Boy and The Heron was released under that name rather than the original Japanese title "How do you live?" because that's literally the theme and the core message of the film.

Like, I spent a good few hours after I finished watching it puzzling over the film's themes because at first glance it looked like it had a million different themes and most of them either didn't resolve by the end, happened only briefly, or appeared out of thin air in the last half of the film.

(Heavy spoilers under cut)

So the first part of the film discussed the effects of war, loss, and acceptance in typical ghibli fashion as Mahito lost his mother and struggled to move on past it. There's also a dash of classism, self-harm, and masculinity when Mahito went to the new school looking obviously like a rich kid, gets beat up for it, then hit himself with a rock in, what i assume, is either an attempt to not go school to avoid the other kids or to look to his father like he actually put up a fight and didnt just got away with light bruises in a misguided attempt to look tough/masculine.

In the second part he went into the tower world and there's the topic of death/life (with the warawara and the noble pelican), taboos, leaving a legacy behind (as the great granduncle wants to leave the world behind to Mahito and let him decide how to build it forward), self-worth (Mahito denying the offer and choosing to go back to the world because the scar was a sign of his "malice" which he thought could affect this new world), and plot thread of loss/acceptance is tied together as Mahito accepts Natsuko as his new mother and choose to return to the world.

And for the life of me I couldn't figure out how the whole thing ties together. It felt like there's a divide in the middle, around when Mahito found Natsuko then blacked out and met his great granduncle, where the films kind of shifts from one set of themes to another.

*mini aside*

(I also felt like the worldbuilding/settings kind of changed around here. Initially the world was an afterlife of sorts with dead people and warawara as reincarnated souls. Human visitors gets attacked by the pelicans unless guarded by the blue heron, a stand in for the reaper/boatman/charon who guides and guards souls to the underworld. Then at the end it turned into a world created by the great granduncle using the power of the stone, with the whole afterlife dealio just being discarded. Like, when the parakeets were first introduced they were at the blacksmith and it was implied they weren't meant to be there - so who occupied the blacksmith in the first place? The dead people? Were there other people there? I assume not since you need to get to the tower and there's the whole bit about the blue heron bringing you in so why would there be other people there? So who was in that house???)

(Also the parakeets were going to use himi to bargain for more power and stuff but the king just brought her up to the great granduncle, told him "yo, mahito did a taboo", then kinda left without asking anything before immediately sneaking back and destroying all the stones??? What was up with that???)

*end of aside*

Anyway, so I couldn't figure out how it all tied together until I remembered the original japanese name for the film.

"How do you live?"

And it clicked.

Mahito was struggling with that very question in the first part. His mother died. There's war. Life sucks. School sucks. How do you live?

And through all his adventures he kind of accepted all that and made peace with it. He made friends. He appreciated the people around them for who they are. He rejected his great granduncle's offer of a perfect world he can control in favour of the real world with all the people he loved, despite the war, the suffering, the evil, and everything. Himi rejected Mahito's offer of going to his time with him despite knowing her fate because she know that, regardless, she will have lived a happy life.

They answered the question - "How do you live?"

And it's a bloody shame that core context, that crux of the story, got changed in the English release.

[sionisjaune]

For powerful em's powerful birthday month, a few vignettes from fucked up brocedes hg au. Thank you for bringing your wonderful, kind, generous self to everything you do in fandom! @powerful-owl

The chariots race by, spewing fireworks and glitter. The procession is headed by the blonde Career that was supposed to volunteer for Nico’s Games. All of the bookies are already saying he’s going to win. The Games are going to be boring with those odds. 

Nico wrinkles his nose and squeezes Lewis’s hand tightly. He flicks his hair behind his ear and straightens his posture. The video screens cut to a technicolor image of him and Lewis sitting side by side in the front row with the rest of the victors. Lewis looks beautiful and deadly in artfully bloodied scraps of lace and leather, and Nico looks embarrassingly like a dessert, decked out in cherubic feathers. Everyone cheers. For Nico and Lewis and for the new tributes—twenty-four teenagers that are slated to die on film. 

“Are you booked after this?” Nico says, turning his mouth towards Lewis’s ear. 

“Yeah,” Lewis murmurs, looking ahead. “I’m some old fuck’s date to the afterparty.” 

Nico knew that. He feigns surprise anyway. “Weird. So am I.” Lewis rolls his eyes, but Nico can feel the tendons in his arm jumping underneath Nico’s palm. It’s funny, Nico thinks, how Lewis has been at this a handful of years longer than Nico, and he still reacts to every little injustice like a knife to the gut. 

Nico laughs a little to himself, and Lewis shoots him a weird, sidelong glance, rubbing his thumb along the inside of Nico’s forearm. Nico wouldn’t know what that’s like—feeling. 

-

Nico collapses on top of Lewis’s sweaty chest, inhaling a lungful of body glitter. He chokes on it, coughs and hacks a few flecks out of his throat, and drags a shuddering breath of oxygen into his chest. He and Lewis have been fucking for so long he doesn’t even remember what it feels like to not have someone else inside of him. Lewis groans and whines underneath him, panting.

It’s approximately one billion degrees under the floodlights. It's so bright that Nico can’t see anything of the party surrounding them, just blobs and smudges behind the retina-scalding curtain of light. He knows they’re in the center of everything though, and that everyone is looking at them, and that people are cheering, because he can hear it faintly behind the beating of his own blood in his ears. He’s on the good shit too. He can’t usually stay hard for this long, even if it’s Lewis. 

Lewis whines again, and Nico pushes himself back up and starts moving again. Lewis groans, his head thudding against the arm of the sofa he and Nico are perched on and his eyes rolling back.

It’s almost worth it, Nico thinks. Everything is almost worth it. 

-

Nico can’t fall asleep alone anymore. When he shuts his eyes all he can see are glittering, multifaceted crystals, pools of blood as thick as velvet carpets and the inky blackness of endlessly dark caverns. Sometimes he gasps awake, and it feels like there are still shards in his throat, rending sensitive flesh on each juddering exhale. 

When Lewis is in his bed, it’s a little bit easier. They don’t fuck when they’re alone—Nico would be so lucky—but Lewis holds him and Nico bites back his usual complaints. 

-

Lewis has his lines memorized now. Nico doesn’t have lines, because all he has to do is moan on the floor with a gash in his stomach large enough that he can feel the heat seeping out of his shredded entrails. They’re reenacting everyone’s favourite part from Lewis’s Games where he saved a rival victor that had been left for dead behind a waterfall. This is the X-rated version, though, so Lewis is going to bandage Nico’s wounds and then fuck him back to health. 

Nico can hear himself gurgling, notices the shadows creeping into his periphery. Then Lewis’s hands are on him, and the shadows are receding and the knife-like pain of consciousness is making itself known, like a bright light irritating dilated eyes. 

Lewis rubs his thumb across the inside of Nico’s forearm. Nico twitches, prone. His insides are knitting themselves back together. His wounds are sealing themselves up. This is the best part. The worst part is the tenderness after. 

-

The theme is sharks. And sex. Sex and sharks. Sharks and sex. The theme is Nico and Lewis have sex in a giant fishtank while shark mutts swim from end to end, gnashing their teeth and snarling. They’ve given Nico a drug that eliminates his metabolism’s need for oxygen, but it feels like he’s drowning all the same. The capitolites think this sort of thing is funny. 

Nico clutches at Lewis’s tattooed bicep. His stylist has inked him up with images of angel fish that dart across his abdomen and octopuses that twine around his shoulder blades. Nico is wearing pearls. Lewis has a look on his face like he hates that he’s been made to do this and hates himself even more for being unable to dissent. 

That’s the Lewis he knows, Nico thinks. That’s the Lewis he fell in love with, when he was sixteen watching Lewis’s Games with his father. He turns his head to gaze through the thick wall of glass that warps his view of the venue outside. Slim figures wisp by, toting flutes of champagne and tiny canapes. They’re not even looking. 

Bile rises in Nico’s waterlogged throat. They need to look.

-

Lewis is watching the Games. When he turned it on the television in Nico’s room, Nico almost vomited, but Lewis was adamant that the broadcast stay on. He watches the Games even when the Capitol doesn’t parade him around at viewing parties to provide expert analysis. He tells Nico that it’s important to bear witness to what the Capitol is doing to the children of Panem, but Nico doesn’t buy it. He knows that Lewis just likes to torture himself. He’s always been a martyr. 

Nico curls up underneath Lewis’s arm and tunes out the sounds of slaughter. Of exploding canons and warbling mockingjays. 

When Lewis utters a disgusted sound at the TV, Nico looks up. The flatscreen is displaying the gory remains of at least three tributes splattered on the face of a snowy mountain. The Career that Nico replaced is standing in the middle of it all, an impish grin on his face and blood up to his elbows. He sticks his tongue out and wags his index finger at the camera. 

“Typical District 1 overindulgence,” says Lewis, repulsed. “You can tell he’s never thought about anyone other than himself in his life.”

Nico smiles smugly where Lewis can’t see it. 

[pinkiepiebones]

Guys I keep dredging up old Renfield articles by people who got to visit the set and I am MAKING A FORMAL DEMAND THAT UNIVERSAL RELEASE THE DIRECTOR'S CUT AND/ OR THE REST OF THE DELETED SCENES I AM B E G G I N G

Stuff I pulled from this article. My commentary in parenthesis.

"The role of Dracula has to be played like a movie star, with charisma that makes us understand why people like Renfield would want to follow him around for nearly a century." (Okay but they were also in love. For a bit.)

"Dracula and Renfield have been on the run from vampire hunters for the last 70 years." (SO WAIT DID THEY HAVE TWO DECADES OF CHILL TIMES BEFORE ANYONE CAUGHT WIND OF VAMPIRE HAPPENINGS AND SET OUT TO KILL THEM?)

"The mobster Lobo family has been involved in criminal enterprises in New Orleans since the 17th century, and for a mural that showcases the Lobo family history, Hammond originally planned on hiding hundreds of wolf heads within the image." (WHAAAAAAT)

"Ridley says that there weren’t any restrictions from Universal when taking on Dracula in this way." (Honestly big W for Universal there)

"When Dracula becomes angry and more primal, his teeth become longer and extend further." (Hot.)

"The lining of Dracula’s red leather cape has a brilliant design of bats". (Honestly just give Lisa Lovaas and the costume team all the awards)

"One of Dracula’s canes opens up and there’s a sword inside. While it’s never shown in the film, it’s again, another remarkable showcase of the film’s level of detail." (1 I would like to see it 2 all y'all good Dracfield writers need to write them fencing or smth)

"Hoult discussed the opening scene of the film, which involves Hoult and Cage getting green-screened into the previous Dracula movies." (DUDE. THERE WAS MORE FLASHBACK FOOTAGE. I - FUCK!! GIVE IT TO ME!!!!!!! Like I know the director said that, like Lego Batman, this Dracula was going to be THE Dracula, from Bela Lugosi to Gerard Butler, but I wanna see it!)

"The opening has Dracula being attacked in his library room by Van Helsing and priests" (VAN HELSING?!?! No wonder he knew Renfield's name... Oh, wow...)

"We also were able to tour the hallway that Hoult was running down, full of fire, dead bodies, and blood. Again, the attention to detail was immaculate in the sets, and through the hallway and the library room, we can see centuries of Dracula’s life being told simply through the set design. Items that were once regal and impressive are now covered in dust and left in tatters. You can feel the centuries of age on Dracula’s possessions, and the wear that must’ve occurred on these items in the trek from Europe to New Orleans." (Just give the set designers and prop makers all the awards)

And I saw it mentioned in the article and elsewhere- Fangoria, I think- but Apache Joe had a backstory and his mask is made out of the tongues of his victims

Anyway, I want a production book for this fucking movie. I want a novelisation. I want a 4K UHD Halloween re-release director's cut. I want a line of shirts from Fright Rags. I want this to be a cult classic. I love Renfield so fucking much you guys ;-;

[abitofboth]

some more owen carvour hcs because I’m unwell about him

he's meticulous when it comes to cleaning his guns. almost every night on a mission he will sit within the twilight and carefully take them apart and clean every piece. the same goes for his knives, brass knuckles, and any other weapons he happens to use.

he’s pretty consistent with shaving and cutting his hair; keeps his usual length, and a clean shaven face. when he’s going through a rough patch his hair will grow a bit longer and he’ll turn up to work with stubble.

post fall, his hair is down to his shoulders and he has a permanent 5 o'clock shadow.

he doesn’t play games he knows he can’t win. he was so certain that he was going to be the one to kill curt, not the other way around.

he can do tricks with his switch blade and he DELIGHTS in showing off for curt.

big fat crush on brandon shaw from hitchcock’s film ‘rope’. fucked up spy obsessed with his very own fucked up blorbo.

takes the piss out of curt for having a thing for james bond (“the name’s carvour. owen carvour.” “shut UP.”)

connected to that, curt loves the bond novels but can’t concentrate long enough to actually get through them. owen reads them out to him and does voices for all the characters.

he tells curt that “that secret died the night you left me for dead”, but I don’t think that he stopped loving him as soon as he fell. he hated him, yes, but he still loved him. some small part of him was still desperately clinging onto the hope that curt would come back and 'rescue' him from chimera for at least a year or two.

somehow manages to be kinda toxic with his own masculinity but also (in the privacy of his and curt's relationship) fucks with gender a little. for example, he doesn't allow himself emotional relief because 'men don't cry', but on the other hand relishes in being called 'princess' and owns a few lipsticks. loves leaving lipstick kiss marks on curt.

curt is pretty big on cars. he likes tinkering with them, fixing them up, knows all you could need to know about them, and has strong opinions on which ones are good and which ones are shit. owen couldn't care less- as long as it moves and it's not an ugly colour, he's happy.

he has doubts about his job and the governments he serves. where some spies blindly follow, he reluctantly trails behind.

the black and red leather jacket used to be owen's, but curt borrowed it one day and conveniently 'forgot' to give it back. owen has no complaints- he likes curt wearing his clothes and he barely wore it himself anyway.

he stands by the notion that british words and phrases are gospel, and american words and phrases are stupid and wrong.

known for a bit of a resting bitch face. he always looks pissed off, but is probably only pissed off 50% of the time.

older than curt, but only by a year or two.

he is kind to those with less power, and directs his rage to those in charge instead.

has a tendency to pull at his hair when he's super freaked out.

he has panic attacks more often post-fall.

he knows he's hot shit. plays on the 'british charm' when he's flirting with marks and it works every single time.

he knows a decent amount of french. not quite fluent, but enough that he can easily navigate most conversations.

spicy, don't look too close

he likes to take charge most of the time because it's owen, he loves having power in all situations, but he has a submissive streak in him. he doesn't like to admit that it doesn't take much to get him whining and begging.

phone sex. it's risky, but he likes it. transatlantic jerk-offs are key when your partner is in another country.

tops more often than he bottoms, purely because he thinks curt prefers it that way.

pull his hair and watch him melt.

likes when curt manhandles him. he has muscles, and owen wants him to use them.

he'll whisper filthy things to curt on missions with the sole intention of riling him up at the worst possible time.

he enjoys bondage regardless of who is the one being tied up.

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

My memory is terrible so I wanted to do a breakdown of my stuff every once in a while. Might be monthly, might be whenever I feel like it. Also there are too many shows on and something is always finishing or starting so a month is a lot.

BL - Currently Watching

1000 Years Old [2/12] - It's silly, and entertaining and makes me laugh. The friend group is delightful and I'm having a good time watching them. Was excited for a minute when Yo suggested a haircut for Pun because I cannot handle that wig. 🤞

Anti Reset [5/10] - This is one of the most frustrating shows I've watched in a while. The show doesn't seem to settle on what is actually trying to say about the AI of it all, and when it says something I'm not crazy about it. Why is it so frustrating? Because they are so fucking endearing when they're together on screen. I wanna love this show so much.

Cherry Magic Th [11/12]– I love them so much. I'm fascinated by the choices that the show is making. As a big fan of the manga and the jbl I came into this with reservations and this show is just blowing my mind. This was the best episode 11 of all time and Tay/New are delivering. My heart is so full with this.

Cherry Magic Anime [7/12]– Another helicopter ride! Yay. The date song was hilarious. We're now getting to the point where they are dating and Adachi is feeling guilty for lying so I'm curious how the show will adapt the next phase of the relationship.

Dead Friend Forever [10/12]– Glad to see we are all on board with Tan's murderous impulses. It's been so much fun having more people join in on the fun. As for me, I NEED White to stay alive. That's really all I want. Getting curious about how Perth factors in to all of this.

My Strawberry Film[2/8] - I feel it coming. I see sadness in my future. But I'm bracing because I'm loving the look of this show. And pining boys are my favourite type of boys. I'm ready.

Ossan's Love Returns [8/9] - The videos messages destroyed me but then that ending made me annoyed. I don't know what to expect in terms of Kurosawa but I hope he's not actually dying and there's a really good reason for all this. Medical mal practice might be the thing. Although as @twig-tea pointed out to me, since it was said in show it might not actually happen. I want happy for the ending anyway.

Perfect Propose [5/6] . Why must I only have them for 6 episodes??? I need more. Kai is everything to me, and that back hug followed by that smile melted by cold heart. Hiro's boss needs something heavy to fall on him from a great height. And please Hiro,sweetie, I need you to eat better and sleep.

Although I Love You, and You? [7/10]- Sakae is letting me down. And by that I mean, the show is letting me down. Sakae needs to put his foot down with Mizuki and go back to being a fool in love with Soga.

To Be Continued [1/8] - It's not amazing. but I'm a sucker for second chance romance and there are two couples so there's a 50% chance I will like this. We'll see. Also, they need to start hiring younger actors for the high school flashbacks. This goes for A Secretly Love too. Having 27 year olds and up playing ten years younger just won't do. It's terrible.

Unknown [2/12] - I'm intrigued. Not completely sold yet but I'm liking it so far. Also nothing would keep me away from watching Sam Lin again.

Also watched the first episode of A Secretly Love and caught up with City of Stars but it's on the 'I need to shut of my brain' schedule so I'm not necessarily watching to weekly.

BL - Finished

Cooking Crush - I will miss all of them. I loved it so much. The whole cut/uncut version thing was annoying and the editing was weird at times but overall this was wonderful. Communication done right. Relationships and character growth was stellar and both couples won my heart. Aungpao really surprised me, considering he was surrounded my pros on all sides. Dynamite was a joy to watch. And OffGun delivering with all the kissing. Everyone should watch this.

The Sign - I mean, what they did to this show is absolutely insane. Not airing the finale like the rest of the show. Having to pay extra for happy ending is ridiculous (although I kinda predicted this and @lurkingshan is my witness. I said as a joke and it turns out reality is a joke.) Then waiting 2 whole weeks for whatever that was. Just the most unsatisfying experience. Go read this from Shan because I agree with everything said there. Also @bengiyo final thoughts here really echo how I felt about this show overall.

Happy Ending - 20 minutes split in 3. Why? No idea. Was it a happy ending? I think so. Was it cute? Sure. Was it great to watch Seong Hyuk again? You betcha. But I didn't love it. I need Choco Milk Shake S2, like, TODAY.

Playboyy - It ended.

Rose Watches OJBL - I feel bad about this. I didn't watch any of the ones I planned to. This might seem like whatever but I've been trying to catch up with awards season films, because since uni, me and a couple of friends always do it and finish it by watching the oscars together and so ojbl was were I dropped the ball. Gonna restart soon though.

Not BL - Watched this month

Night Has Come Death's Game Shop for Killers

That's it for right now. As usual my ask box is open for gif requests and any other questions. All my gifs are under #rosygifs.

Have a good week💜

[onegianthotmess]

MK1 Rants:

💚🐍Syzoth’s Hissing Habit🐍💚

MY SWEET BABIE BOY SYZOTH, I HAVE FINALLY WRITTEN A RANT FOR HIM!!!

OKAY! OKAY! SO-

You know how Syzoth hisses? Like in his intro dialogues when he’s irked or angered and all that?

Well, my little wormy brain did some thinking and thought about it. What if Syzoth’s hissing was purely out of instinct or habit? Like he hisses when irked or angered, emotions like that.

So, and hear me out on this, I think that Syzoth also hisses at things he finds threatening or dangerous at a first glance. Now big threats like people trying to kill those he cares about or destroy the realms are a no-brainer, but what about normal Earthrealm things?

Like, you brought Syzoth to Earthrealm because he had a day off and he wanted to see where you came from. And you just spent the day in your house just chilling and explaining what a T.V. was and how, no, a dead little girl wasn’t going to crawl out of it like in The Ring, why in the damn Jesus take the wheel fuck did Johnny show you that movie, sweetie-?

Babie boy isn’t a fan of horror films-

And when you start to get hungry for a snack, you ask Syzoth if he wants some fruit. He nods and politely waits for you on the couch while you go to the kitchen to grab some watermelon for you two to share. So you got a big bowl, put some watermelon you already cut up in it, and grabbed two forks before walking back out into the living room.

You set the bowl of watermelon down on the coffee table and held out one of the forks to Syzoth and-

*HISSSSSSSSS!*

The-

The fuck-?

You looked over at Syzoth to see him backed away a bit, glaring at the fork in your hand like it had committed fucking genocide. Was he okay?

You tried to hand him the fork again and-

*HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!*

He-

He hissed at the fork again and backed away even more, still glaring at the utensil.

It took a second, but you eventually put two and two together and started laughing your ass off. And this made Syzoth very confused.

Why were you laughing when there was something dangerous in your hand? Something that could very easily hurt you or him!

What in the name of Argus were you holding anyway? It didn’t matter because it looked like AN EXTREMELY DANGEROUS WEAPON!

After you stopped laughing, you explained to him what a fork was. Even after your explanation, Syzoth still didn’t trust the fork, so you just showed him how a fork was used by using it to pick up a piece of watermelon and eat it.

Syzoth didn’t really trust the fork until you tricked him into opening his mouth long enough and wide enough so that you could feed him some watermelon with the fork. Needless to say, it shut him up and got him to trust the fork. You did have to teach him how to use it a bit, but he was pretty good at using it, despite having hardly ever needing utensils to eat in his life.

My mans literally has a long ass tongue to snatch bugs up from the air, hands-free mode-

But seriously, imagine Syzoth hissing at every normal Earthrealm thing like it’s plotting against him.

It’d be so cute and funny-

Syzoth is seriously one of my favorite MK1 boys! He’s so traumatized, yet so adorable and wholesome; my favorite kind of boy! Also the gif I used, which is my favorite Syzoth gif I’ve ever seen, is perfect for this, fucking prove me wrong 😑