#daniel has probably died for this

[minami-mad-fish]

[goldengirlgalaxy]

Some alien royalty comes to Earth to claim Captain Marvel as their husband for his power. He manages to get out if it by proclaiming that he's already engaged to the Princess of the Infinite Realms, Princess Danielle "Ellie" Phantom.

Extra: Billy is still hiding the fact that he's actually still a child from the rest of the League. Ellie is roughly his civilian age, so when the League asks to meet her, hijinks ensue as Ellie has to keep up the appearance of being far older than she actually is, both physically and mentally.

[zisurru]

🌹

The blood spilled in an endless black fountain from his unresisting throat.

[yoshiintheweb]

Having OC Thoughs, I love them so much.

But why oh why right now when i have exams for two weeks

[aziraphale-is-a-cat]

Daniel J Nightingale is the absolute bane of John Constantine's existence, and yet here he sat, in the watchtower, talking to zattana, and eating John's fucking sandwich.

"I'm sorry, why is the fucking youtuber here, and why is he eating my food?" He asked, feeling pretty pissed.

Zattana sighed, "I know he has a less than credible internet presence, but he does have information about the Lazarus pits." She looked over her shoulder back at Nightingale, who was staring back at her with false innocence. "And I have no idea where he got that sandwich."

"Sorry man, I was pretty hungry."

"Oh mate, I'm sure you were!"

Zattana put her hand on his shoulder, giving what probably looked like a reassuring squeeze, but actually felt like a fucking vice on his trapezius. "We are trying to have a conversation about the pits, John."

"What in the everloving fuck is some trendy, backrooms influencer going to know about dimensional runoff??!"

"Hey," said Daniel, putting down the now half finished sandwich, "Do you actually think what people call 'the backrooms' are actually part of this dimension?"

"The fuck does that mean?"

"Okay," He said, putting his hands flat on the table and looking like he was getting ready to go on a rant. "So in the 90's to early 2000's a couple of scientists were able to discover a new energy source that existed in very faint portions all over the world, but mostly in graveyards and like, battlefields where people died. This energy would connect with the emotions of the recently dead and form extradimensional beings right here on earth-prime."

And the realization dawned on John, "No." He said, but Daniel nodded. "Not the Fentons, there's no way those nutcases were right?"

He nodded uncomfortably, "Well, they were psycho but they were right. Found a thinspot between dimensions over in Illinois and punched a hole right through, forming our fist stable portal to the Infinite Realms. AKA the dimension where both 'the backrooms' and your little Lazarus Pits originate."

Daniel picked the sandwich back up and let that new information sink in for a bit, picking up a stray piece of lettuce off the table.

Constantine felt like slamming his head into the nearest wall. The insane occult scientists had been right the whole time and now some fucking youtube hack was their best lead to taking down what was basically a magic crime ring.

Amazing.

[radiance1]

Vlad has wanted Danny to be his son for a while now, and he did, indeed, get what he wanted.

Not in the way he expected, however.

What was given was attached to the arms of tragedy, that fated day, in which the subject of his love and obsession, the man that was the focused point of his hatred, anger, and jealousy.

Died.

That day, marked in tragedy.

It was a rough time for Daniel as well, his friends, family, and teacher all died, and by his own hand yet not at the same time.

If Vlad wasn't feeling like he did, he would probably think it to be poetic in some way.

Yet, not even a full week later, when he was still processing his grief and whatever other feelings he felt, the boy in his care, who full of bite, snark, and ever increasingly growing hatred and helplessness.

Turned into a child.

This, was a chance.

A chance for him to mold and shape Daniel into his perfect, idealized version of himself.

A perfect boy.

A perfect halfa.

A perfect son.

He knew this, and yet... he couldn't bring himself to do so. He didn't know why, but as he stared at the child, not looking even a day over 8, staring back at him full of curiosity, and an oh so painful lack of recognition, he couldn't go through with it.

It just... didn't feel right.

As wishy washy as that reasoning would be.

So he kept the boy in his care, and left Amity Park behind.

Being a father was... far harder than he expected, if he were to be honest. Yet he couldn't find himself hating it, perhaps it was the guilt, in not being there to prevent the accident, perhaps some kind of feeling to repay a debt to Maddie, or doing what she wanted, or perhaps, even to succeed where Jack Fenton failed.

Maybe even all four.

He tried his best to treat the boy as his own flesh and blood, giving him as much care as he was able to while also balancing work and trying to plan out a solid plan for Danny's education when he's older.

Though, that plan would perhaps be a backup plan, if Danny finds himself liking something... different.

One of these days, Vlad had to leave Daniel behind with a babysitter to attend a Gala held by one Bruice Wayne, and as much as he wanted to show Daniel off to the world he... wasn't ready yet.

He would need at least a few more years before making his official debut.

It was a fine party, in Vlad's opinion, though Brucie Wayne did arrive late to his own event, but he digresses.

It was while talking to said man, that he heard gasps behind him, and he was curious about it, going to turn around until he felt a few tugs at his leg, that he looked down.

Only to see Daniel, hovering off the ground with a leg that shouldn't be bent the way it was, blood leaking from it and onto the floor, with tears streaming down his face.

It was only after grabbing the boy into his chest, making sure he didn't do anything more against the wound, and a butler- Alfred he thinks the name was - appearing at his side and quickly leading him out of the room towards where they kept one of their medical equipment, that he questioned what happened, why was his leg broken, and where was his babysitter?

Distantly, in the back of his mind he went "Oh, his powers came in."

[bangtanintotheroom]

Make Me Water (M)(Teaser)

Can you blow my mind?

Set off my whole body

If I give you my time

Can you snatch my soul from me?

🔊 water - tyla; make me - britney spears, g-eazy; the look - ali gatie, kehlani; meeting in my bedroom - silk; tonight - dxvn., daniel di angelo; slidin' - kai and more... 🔊

• Pairing: Seonghwa x (F)Reader

• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Friends to Lovers, Smut, Fluff

• Rating: 18+

• Words: (teaser) 433

• Summary: The most unexpected topic comes up during a drinking session with your friends, leading to one of them making a rather bold claim. You declare that they’re full of shit and unintentionally make them determined to prove you wrong.

• Warnings/themes: drinking, swearing, explicit sexual content, discussion about inappropriate topics, Seonghwa and his bedroom eyes 😶, Y/N is in for the ride of her life, bickering, making out, body worship, teasing, edging, praise, fingering, squirting (it’s gon be real wet up in here 🗣️💦), dirty talk, oral (f. and m. receiving), hints of come eating, multiple orgasms, creampie, multiple positions, unprotected sex (dooon’t do this), aftercare

• Notes: Well well well, looks like we've got another ATEEZ fic coming up 🤨 Seonghwa has been slowly inching his way into my second bias spot and I've been in the mood for something extra filthy, so here we go! The amount of research I've had to do for this topic is almost embarrassing jcbvosiovbs 💖

• Teaser Notes: Teasers are a WIP and will not fully reflect the final draft, warnings and themes are subject to change. If you want to be tagged when the final draft is released, either leave a reply or shoot me an ask! PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE PRESENT IN YOUR BIO OR YOU WILL NOT BE TAGGED.

• Taglist: @minttangerines @minisugakoobies @kiestrokes @hyunjinsjeans @firesighgirl @swga-ficrecs

“Why bother telling you when I could just show you?”

Your fingers seemed to lose their grip on the plate, clattering into the sink loudly.

What? He did not just say that.

You turned to gawk at Seonghwa before stuttering, “H-Huh?”

He was nonplussed as he met your eyes, repeating, “I could just prove you wrong. Actions speak louder than words, no?”

Was he fucking serious? Seonghwa offering to show you how he could make you squirt?

“Hwa, you…you’re joking, right?”

“I’m not.”

Judging by the look on his face, he really wasn’t.

Feeling a heat begin to creep up the back of your neck, you tore your gaze away to grab the plate, picking it up and checking to see if it suffered any damage from your slip-up.

“Come on, be for real right now. I can’t do that.”

“You can’t let me touch you or you can’t squirt?”

You almost threw the abused dish back down as your head whipped up to fix him a flustered glare.

“Both! One, we’re friends. Two, I’ve never squirted and I never will.”

Seonghwa gave you an equally stern look, firing back, “We’re both single and it would just be between the two of us. And have you ever even tried?”

“N-No, but—”

“So how would you know?”

You pursed your lips, feeling a wave of frustration mixed with defeat overcoming you. He had a point. He could probably tell by the look on your face that you knew this, yet he didn’t gloat or prod you further. Seonghwa just kept watching you and waiting for your next defense to come out. But it didn’t come for a while as your mind raced with thoughts, coming up with one that threw you off-guard.

Would it really be so bad to say yes?

“There’s still a chance for you to back out, Y/N. It’s your call.”

Seonghwa’s body language was pretty clear in what answer he really wanted to hear. The way he continuously brushed his thumb over your knuckles and looked deep into your eyes let you know how much he was looking forward to this experience.

And yet he still gave you full control over it.

A grateful smile couldn’t help but stretch over your lips as you completely made up your mind. Your palm turned over to still his wandering thumb, scooting closer until your knee touched his own.

Leaning in, you whispered into his ear, “Show me what you can do.”

©bangtanintotheroom, 2024. Do not repost to other sites or copy without permission.

[skylersprompts]

DC x DP Prompt *7*

Robin was staring at the screen of the Bat-Computer, while his mind was trapped in the past.

Damian could still clearly remember growing up in the League. And he remembers that he never questioned Grandfather or Mother, except once.

He had been seven, almost eight, when he was training his stealth. And what would be better practice then to follow his mother around till she spots him.

But this day his mother seemed distracted, something that never happened. He followed her to Grandfathers study and listened.

"The boy is nothing but a hindrance to Damian. He fails to kill and has sympathy that's unbecoming for an al Ghul. If Danyal won't complete his next mission, you will dispose of him", Grandfather sounded annoyed, as if he didn't just spoke about killing his twin, about how their mother would have to kill her own flesh and blood.

He didn't wait for his mothers response, knowing that she wouldn't oppose the demon head. As fast as he could he searched for his other half, they needed an plan.

On their next mission Danyal died. It was tragic, but he had sacrificed himself to save the heir of the al Ghuls. At least that is what Damian reported to the League.

Danyal was on the run and for the next 19 month he was forbidden to leave any clues about his whereabouts for Damian.

At some point he would be able to find him again.

He had searched for Danyal, ever since he stared to life with father. But the little voice in the back of his head kept whispering about how Danyal probably died because of his injuries years ago and that father would see it as his fault that he lost another son.

But know he found one of his clues. An online post from someone with the username 'ghostboi', about a constellation and the story that he himself spun around it. A story only the two of them knew. Well... and a few hundred strangers now, but he would have to talk later with Danyal about that.

Now it was time to tell father about yet another son that mother kept secret from him, oh joy.

.

.

.

The talk had been going as good as anyone could expect, which meant that he and father now sat in a private jet, only two hours after they found out about Danyals whereabouts and three hours since Bruce Wayne knows about his second blood son.

They where going as Civilians, since it would probably go smoother. And because the Brucie Wayne persona seemed to gift his father the ability to talk a little bit easier about emotions. Except for right now, because he was angry at Damian for keeping his twin a secret. Still, Damian couldn't see how he could have handled this better and also stayed silent.

Quietly he goes over the things he found out about his brother.

He now goes by the name Daniel James Fenton

He lives in Amity Park, Illinois

He was adopted at the age of nine by the Fentons

He goes to the local high school

He has an older sister, Jasmine Fenton, who is in college for psychology

His parents are ecto-scientist

He has two friend with the names of Tucker Foley and Samantha Manson

It wasn't a lot, but he didn't have much time and also not the patience to wait any longer. It had been almost nine years since he last seen his other half and even if he was nervous, he just couldn't bear to wait any longer.

After they landed in an airport in the city nearest to Amity Park, the two immediately got into the back of a car and their journey continues.

For a long time it was silent in the car, till Damian couldn't bear his father's brooding anymore.

"I didn't know if he had survived and I deemed it better for everyone involved if I'm the only one with this particular uncertainty and possible grief", even if his own voice was levelled and his father just responded with a grunt, the air in the car seemed now easier to breathe.

~

Yes, Bruce had been livid and heartbroken when Damian had told him about his youngest, but he could understand to some degree where the boy was coming from. And if the situation wouldn't be so heartbreaking, then he could be able to call it sweet of his son. He just didn't want him to hurt, but even so... now it was to late to think about the what if's, in a few minutes he would have Daniel in his sight.

They stopped in front of a house that was a clear violation of every OSHA law he could think of. But the big "FENTON WORK' sign, told him that they were right.

Bruce put on a light smile, before he knocked on the door, Damian on his left side. From inside he heard a little bit of shuffling and a carbon copy of Damian opened the door. Everything except for the eyes were the same.

But before Bruce could say anything, the twins were already in each other's arms. He could hear quiet sniffling.

"You found me, your safe", the words came like a mantra out of Daniels mouth.

"Ahbak, Danyal", was the whispered answer from Damian.

And Bruce felt like an intruder in this moment. He had never seen his son so openly affectionate and it was like a weight had lifted of Damians shoulders.

It took a few minutes till the two brothers let go of each other. Except for their hands, that stayed clasps with each other.

"Hello Daniel, I'm Bruce Wayne. I'm yours and Damians father", he introduced himself with a smile, even though the boy seemed to shrink a little bit into himself.

"Please call me Danny Mr. Wayne. Just Fruitloops call me Daniel", his son gave him a crooked smile and Bruce nodded.

"Of course, but call me Bruce", he answered easygoing.

"Is there a place where we can talk Danyal?", Damian got the attention of his twin with a little tuck on his hand.

"You can come inside. Mom and Dad are out of town to get a few supplies for a new project", his answer was sheepish, as he lead them inside.

It seemed like he had adjusted well to a civilian life. How he wished he could have seen his growth.

They sit down in the living room and start to talk a bit about Danny's life with the Fentons. It's apparent for both him and Damian, that Danny is hiding something from them, but they don't press. Maybe he'll tells Damian, when they have a moment alone.

"Should I help you to pack your possessions now? I'm sure the Fentons won't need to long to come back, so that you can say goodbye", as Damian was speaking, he stood up and looked at a bewildered Danny. But Bruce wasn't really better. As much as he would love to bring Danny home with them, they couldn't just rip him out of his life. And Danny seems to see it just like him.

"Dami... I'm not leaving. I love my parents and my friends, I can't just go and leave them", Danny also stood up and clasped his hands on Damians shoulders.

"Tt... so you choose them over me?", his voice was barely over a whisper.

"No! I-... it's just... give me time? I'm almost done with high school and I want to go Gotham U, so... just wait a bit? Please?", his tone was pleading, as he searched his brothers eyes, whom just answered with a defeated sight.

"Danny is right Damian. We can't just uproot him like that. As much as I want us all together, we found him now, the rest can wait", Damian deflated a little more at his words. And so Bruce couldn't just let the opportunity pass to comfort his children for once.

He closed the small distance between them and hugged both of the boys lightly to himself.

"You know that I always wanted to raise you myself and now that I see you both like that, I wish for it even more", he sighted with a woeful smile, while Damian grumbled about the proximity. But Danny's little smile shifted to a horrified look.

"Your wish is my command~", the feminine voice came out of thin air, but Bruce had no time to think about it. Because just a second later, there were two little Babies in his arms. Two little, screaming Babies.

Bruce never regretted it so much in his life, that he hadn't brought Alfred along.

[kanrix]

After getting back into Moral Orel recently, I stumbled onto your blog while going through the Clay tag and I have to say I love your art of him and the other characters so, so much! Imo I think you managed to capture the tone of the show (especially the vibes of the darker episodes) greatly through your shading and colouring, and it's always nice to see another Clay fan (regardless of how much of a dumpster fire he is, he's still my favorite and is cute so I'm at a crossroads)!

That said, after specifically coming across your househusband and single father drawings of his, I wanted to share an idea I've thought about for the past few days - the idea of Clay just being a single father to Orel alone without Shapey in the picture either bc Bloberta divorced him and left prior to the show started OR bc she died shortly after Orel was born and therefore didn't have Shapey with Stopframe to begin with - and how this would have affected the series overall.

I know this is kinda dark but after rewatching the series and seeing Clay's relationship with his own dad - I can't help but wonder if this would have screwed up Clay's own relationship with Orel even more so than it already is in canon - especially if Clay being the father of the year he is he blamed Orel for Bloberta's divorcing him/Bloberta's death. Additionally, I can't help but think about how Bloberta's not being there would have affected Clay's relationship with Stopframe early on too, you know?

Sorry for the long ask, I just wanted to see your thoughts on this after seeing how well you were able to capture Clay's character through your art; also, I hope you have a great day!

Oh anon, that's a bit hard to imagine. I don't exactly like the thought of killing bloberta off so she probably just got a divorce.

I don't think he's capable of going to "the next level" with Danielle, not yet at least.... But I think this allows for clay and Dan to see each other more often, even though he has to live with the dread that comes after he's more willing to "let go" around dan. The divorce hit him hard, obviously. He feels like it's shameful to also be "the woman" of the house, now that bloberta isn't there.

[fahye]

book recs: august '23

(I want to try and do these posts more frequently because I DEARLY miss yelling about books, txitter is [poop emoji]-ing, and bluesky is promising but I don't have much of an audience there yet)

ok! stuff freya has read recently and enjoyed:

A FIRE BORN OF EXILE by aliette de bodard -- did you enjoy nirvana in fire? this is for YOU. it's a revenge story set in aliette's xuya space opera universe, with a pile of complicated characters with mixed or obscured motives, a sapphic romance, and just really incredible use of worldbuilding and politics.

THE SLEEPING SOLDIER by aster glenn gray -- I am an enormous sucker for aster's historical m/m romances, and this one was incredible. a union soldier goes to sleep in 1865 and wakes up in 1965, and his new college roommate has a series of gay crises about it. sweet, exuberant, well researched. both a wonderful romance and an absolutely fascinating examination of male friendships and homosexuality in two different historical time periods.

A DEADLY EDUCATION by naomi novik -- doing a reread of the first two scholomance books before I dive into the third. these books are so disgustingly tailored to ME, a huge fan of magical academia stories with a truly deliciously unnecessary level of worldbuilding detail about how the magic works (and how the school is trying to kill you).

BATH HAUS by p.j. vernon -- a man goes to a gay bathhouse, cheating on his partner, and narrowly escapes being murdered. things get worse from there. I can only recommend this to you if you enjoy thrillers that STRESS YOU THE FUCK OUT, which I normally don't; I nearly put it down a couple of times, but I HAD to know what was going on. it's a masterclass in propulsive tension and does some really cool things with unreliable narration.

HAVEMERCY by jaida jones and danielle bennett -- seven hundred years late to this party, but OH MY GOD. this is the completely gay political/military fantasy of my dreams (the YEARNING), plus there are magical-mechanical dragons. I will be devouring the other books in this series in short order.

EVERY VERSION OF YOU by grace chan -- a beautiful and fascinating literary scifi book about humanity and family and love, and being given the choice to upload your consciousness to a digital paradise as the planet dies around you. unsurprisingly it deals with some heavy stuff, but it's fantastic. and australian!

A THIEF AND A GENTLEMAN by arden powell -- another m/m romance in arden's flos magicae series. the title alone is probably enough to tell you why I enjoyed it, but I especially liked the way it kept subverting my expectations in favour of more chewy emotional honesty and complexity.

STRONG FEMALE CHARACTER by fern brady -- a memoir by a scottish comedian about being diagnosed with autism in her thirties, and her life up to that point. funny and chaotic and an all-around amazing read. I loved fern on taskmaster and I love her even more now.

[granddaughterogg]

You Let Me Complicate You - Part 2

This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.

PART 1 HERE

PART 3 HERE

~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~

SUMMARY: Ghost and you engage in some more flirting at the goth club. When he decides to get you acquainted with his favourite brand of bourbon, things get increasingly Physical - and unhinged, but you like it.

Chapter 2 - The Taste That Burns

He watched you like a hawk while you smacked your lips together, focusing on the metallic taste and tuning out everything else – the blue light, the music and the noises from the crowd. 

Focusing on the liquor, mixed with the taste of his skin.

"So. It's different from Jack Daniels..." you concluded after a while.

"For fuck's sake", he snorted. "I'm not seventeen anymore, y'know. This is the good stuff."

You licked your lips, trying to come up with a more sophisticated review, but to no avail. Perhaps that slug you'd downed earlier was stronger than you thought. Or perhaps it was this stranger's fault. He made your thoughts disorganised and blurry. He made your breath rush.

"You'll have to do it again so that I can form an opinion about this venerable beverage", you announced, boldly looking him in the eye. It takes two to do this dance.

The man sighed slowly, shaking his head.

"Do I have to feed you like a baby bird? 'Cause I will do just that if you make me."

"Knock yourself out," you offered, feeling a pleasant rise of adrenaline in your veins.

Suddenly one of his large hands found its way under your chin, capturing it in a gentle but steady grip. His thumb rested on your jaw. A few centimetres lower and he'd hold you by your throat.

You didn't have time to contemplate this stunning prospect, for he pressed the glass to your lips and tilted it – again, with caution, but you weren't ready for him to actually do it. Golden liquid filled your mouth and flooded your throat, burning it with its smoky sweetness. A bouquet of amber and balsamic scents exploded in your nose. You choked and the booze dribbled down your chin.

"Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy", said this madman, still not letting go. „Look at all the mess you've made.” 

His tone was as even as ever if laced with faint amusement. He leaned over your ear, and added in a husky whisper:

"You should've swallowed. We will have to work on that."

Hair all over your body stood on end – the ones that weren't already standing, that is.

"You dick!" you growled, pulling yourself out of his grip and shaking your head like a dog. "You could have drowned me!"

"Don't ask for somethin' you don't want, gorgeous...”

That was a tender word, yet he fixed you with a stare as distant and indifferent as a celestial body. There was no way to bridge that kind of distance. Neither on foot or in a spaceship. Many women probably died from lack of oxygen while trying.

"...because you might as well just get it."

"All right, all right." You started looking around for tissues. "Fetch me a napkin, will you?"

"What for?" He reached out, quick as an attacking snake and slipped his hand around your waist, pulling you so close that you almost slid off your stool, and placing his other hand at your nape. You felt his fingers weave into your hair, still damp from the rain. His grip was as skilled as it was assertive. Impossible to argue with. 

You inhaled the air suffused with that citrusy-woody perfume of his, the smell of fireworks and his own masculine musky scent. You liked it. You wanted to dip your nose into it.

"You're gonna kiss me now?" you whispered.

He shook his head. The pale rictus of the Grim Reaper has denied you.

"Not yet."

"Fucking tease," you spat into the black, unfeeling mask.

His eyes widened. You didn't know whether it was anger or excitement at your insolence. Either way, you quickly regretted your outburst, for he brought his face so close that you felt the rough cotton of his balaclava on your cheek. 

"You have quite a temper, love. Not gonna lie...this sort of feisty disposition is my favourite."

He whispered that right into your ear, enveloping you in the aroma of exquisite whisky. And there was that deadpan again. It drove you mad as much as the word "love" with its implied tenderness. You knew quite well that Brits call all women that - including those who they don't find fuckable in the slightest. When uttered by this Mancunian, „love” could mean anything or nothing.

His grip around your waist didn't loosen. He drew a circle around the small of your back, shooting electricity up your spine. Then he let go and pulled his mask upwards in a quick motion. You thought he'd get rid of it completely, but all he exposed was his pale chin and the very tip of his nose.

"I was about to ask how you plan on drinking in this thing..." you murmured.

"Just like that." 

He noticed you gawking and said in a firm tone: 

"Eyes averted, sweetheart." 

And since all you did was raise both eyebrows, he added gruffly: 

"No peekin'."

"Say, what do you even wear this thing for?" You asked, turning your head away, but very much intending to peek.

He shrugged as if asked the most inane question ever.

"To hide me face."

You glanced intently as he took a generous swig of his bourbon and threw his head back with a satisfied exhale. You've been expecting your typical Brit lip, as narrow as the slit in a mailbox. But his mouth was wide and quite shapely, with a sharp, pronounced Cupid's bow. It looked sensual yet ruthless. You could imagine a man with a mouth like that uttering a truly murderous putdown, unlike those playful jabs which he'd directed at you so far. If he wanted to, he could deal real damage. He could make people crumble, their self-esteem terminated on the spot. Or maybe it was just your inebriated imagination talking.

"What did I tell you about peekin'?", he grunted. Did he really expect you to obey this weird order...request...whatever it was?

"You knew that I will anyway", you said defiantly.

When he smirked, the corners of his mouth didn't go up like they were supposed to. They just stretched in both directions, creating a flat line. Interesting, you thought.

It was not a kind smile.

Before you could react, dodge out of his way, say anything – that bastard held at your face and licked the remnants of liquor right off your chin.

His tongue was searing hot and a little coarse, but not unpleasant.

This unexpected intimacy took your breath away and threw you off balance.

You stilled as if turned into stone, but with a hurricane howling inside your head, thoughts going circular at 200 miles per hour. That wetness on your chin burned like an executioner's mark, teasing and tickling at the same time. Deep within you blossomed a dark flame of excitement, licking your insides. Your starved body has been a stack of dynamite, and he just threw a lighted match.

He let you go and sat straight, looking awfully pleased with himself now that he'd put you in your place. Now that he has messed with you.

He's an animal all right, you thought. A beast that enjoys toying with its prey. An apex predator.

"As I was saying", he drawled, his mouth still curled up in dry amusement, his eyes boring into yours, keen and provocative, „This is the good stuff. I'd hate to see it go to waste.”

You remained silent, trying to reach within yourself, to quench that eager softness, blooming deep within your body. To find the familiar blade of cold, focused anger. You could've pushed his hand away, raise your voice and destroy this fucker. Tranquil fury has been your side weapon for so long. You could wield this power in your sleep.

Except that now it wasn't there.

How much of your inner confusion this kinky showoff even understood? Very much or very little - you would never know. His eyes glimmered in the dark, betraying nothing. He raised his glass.

You didn't have any better ideas, so you raised yours as well.

„Hey. Here's to fateful encounters”, he said.

"You say this to every poor gullible girl you've ever met in this shithole.”

His eyes flashed with amusement. 

"That I do, yeah", he admitted without an ounce of shame, taking a sip of the golden liquid and giving out a small, satisfied sigh.

"Does it work?" you asked.

"Without fail. They burst into a fit of happy giggles."

"Tough luck, handsome. I don't do stupid noises", you declared, measuring him with a disapproving glance. You might've as well tried to melt the glacier with a lighter.

"Looking forward to the noises that you make."

To that, you couldn't help but laugh. You rested your head on your palm. That absolute nerve of his was disarming. 

The giant guy took another sip from his glass, not breaking eye contact. You realised you don't even know if he's blond or dark-haired or something else entirely. His hair was hidden under that damn mask, and his eyebrows invisible in the murky light.

"Do you like your drink?" he inquired, leaning his long, muscular forearm against the concrete counter. You couldn't resist the temptation to watch the muscles ripple under the black cotton. The guy was covered up to his very neck. I wonder if he has any scars? 

You took another slow sip, tasting thoughtfully. Your palate was on fire from the artfully blended notes of caramel, orange, cinnamon and a few more flavours you hadn't previously associated with alcohol. More like with a patisserie.

"It's good!" you exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. "What's it called?"

"Blanton's. It's my favourite. Tastes like Christmas, innit?"

"It does..." you admitted, relishing another sip.

"Not like the real Christmas though. Like the one they show on the telly", he mused.

"So generous of you to share your favourite flavours with a stranger.”

"Yeah, I'm Mr. Selfless, me." The corners of his eyes squinted in a smile. It was kinder than that rictus he had on his face while disregarding your bodily integrity earlier.

You were both quiet for a while, sipping the golden liquid in agreeable silence. Liquor coursed merrily through your veins, whispering that everything would be all right. Music swelled. Deafening bassline and metallic notes enveloped you like tentacles of smoke. You began to jerk your leg to the rhythm.

"Say", said the big guy, staring straight ahead. "Why don't blind guys skydive?"

You seriously pondered over the answer.

"Because their dogs would totally freak out?”

And then he laughed - it was a genuine guffaw, deep and rumbly. It made your skin prickle but in a good way. He threw his head backwards, showing you the curve of his wide neck. It was covered with soft black cotton of the mask, but you still noticed the outline of his Adam's apple.

"Well, fuck me sideways!” he chuckled.

"This could be arranged", you heard coming from your own lips. Was this the expensive (and you could tell that it was stupid expensive) whisky talking? Or just your own shameless yearning for this man? For his steady voice, his knowing touch, his admirable lack of fucks given and his large body, intriguingly shrouded by those drab clothes? A body which you'd love to know in great detail? 

Your own upper body was already leaning flirtatiously against the counter, drawing meaningless circles on the concrete with your free hand.

 "A woman after my own heart," he murmured, setting down his empty glass.

The bastard knew exactly what was going on with you, That stare of his mellowed, lids lowered in satisfaction. He was clearly a master at this game for two. Hell, he might've invented it.

Your whole being vibrated from desire and anticipation.

He pulled that cursed mask right over his face. Before you had time to realise it - you were looking at the wide, empty grin of the skeleton again. But now the man underneath it was also smiling.

His body language softened, too. It was as if he had shed an invisible armour. He turned towards you, one big hand resting on his thigh, clad in blue denim - the least gothic choice ever. He placed the other one right next to yours on the grey concrete counter. 

You watched as he captured your thumb between his own thumb and forefinger, stroking your skin. His digits were rough to the touch. Then again, you've never seen a man with such pale hands. Did this guy ever come out during daylight?

"I'm down for that”, he murmured, sidling up close. So close that he obscured the light, once again enveloping you in his unique blend of scents. You liked how he smelled, even if the most lucid areas of your brain were screaming that you should really pay attention to that firework note. It was important...for some reason.

„I'm down...But there's no need to rush, don't ya think? The night's still young and so are we."

He gave you the usual sweet talk, but those tired lines sounded compelling when uttered in his deep, guttural voice. You found it more and more difficult to keep your head on.

"Sure thing, stud," you said, smiling alluringly. You were giving him the eyes now, the low lidded come-hither look and it wasn't at all calculated. The wave has risen. He knew and you knew how this night would end. You both drifted in that knowledge, as sweet and intoxicating as the whiskey.

"Speaking of young. How old are you exactly?" you asked.

"Half past thirty, give or take."

"Ah." There was a small silence, and then you added, inebriated by his masculine scent and proximity: 

"Aren't you gonna ask me anything? My age? My name?"

He reached out and held at your chin. Amazing how gentle such a big guy with paws like shovels could be - if he wanted to.

"Do I need to know?"

"Well," you replied, a bit annoyed by this lack of interest, "I would like to know your name, at least. Or I'll just call you Skullface.”

You heard a muffled snort happening under the mask. His broad shoulders trembled with laughter.

"Skullface works fine for me. Look, love, how 'bout we go sit someplace cosier? Like away from those bloody lights?"

Said lights barely did their job, shrouding you both in a dim yellowish tint - but you got the idea. It would have been hard for you to get handsy on those damn stools. Not to mention the keen eye of the bartender, who passed you every now and then, dispensing various drinks to his customers.

"Yeah, let's", you agreed.

"Geoff, we'll take the bottle”, announced your companion. Once again you noticed this intriguing feat of his. He raised his gravelly voice just a notch, yet it cut through all the noise without effort. This man is used to speaking and to being obeyed, you thought.

And the frowning bartender must've been under his spell, too - for he materialized right before you, putting the requested bottle on the counter. There was a dainty brass figurine of a racehorse mounted on its cork.

"And water, please", you added.

"And water", the masked man repeated with a sigh. "For the lady."

He took both the booze and the flask of precious H20, assigned you the task of carrying both glasses, and the two of you wandered deeper into the dark bowels of the club.

He took point and you had nothing against it. First, you had the immense pleasure of watching him rise from the stool, and now your field of vision was mostly filled with his broad back. 

Holy fuck, he was a big one.

Not only tall - although the moment he stood up, you felt like a hobbit - but also broad in every sense of the word. Strapping, Herculean, thicc. His shoulder blades lived so far away from each other, they probably had to send letters. As he moved, his beefy arms swung away from the large torso. His waist was also wide, his ass pronounced and shapely, and his long legs as juicy as they come. It got increasingly more packed as you went, but Skullface would just plough through the crowd, parting it like Moses. Whoever didn't want to be stomped flat - scuttled the hell out of his way. Heads turned, and many mouths opened in awe.

You stepped comfortably in his wake, feeling like a tiny boat towed by an icebreaker. You knew that sooner or later you'd get him out of those jeans, and that thought was an impatient flame, licking at your synapses.

Finally, he reached a secluded corner just against the wall, but with a good view of the whole club and the dancefloor. There was a sofa upholstered in worn plush and a low table (lame - as you immediately find out by placing the glasses on it.) The music blared much louder than at the bar; you could feel the pulsating rhythm under your feet.

The masked one threw himself on the sofa with a grunt, head falling backwards and legs splayed in a perfect manspread. He poured himself another glass of bourbon and patted the space on his right.

"Come 'ere, love."

You complied, yet it somehow wasn't close enough, for he grabbed at your hip, pulling you closer. Not your thighs were pressing into each other, his fingers dug painfully into your flesh and you could hardly breathe.

„Hey. Are you dru- 

You weren't given the chance to finish this question, as the masked guy did four things almost at once. He pulled up the mask, emptied his glass, leaned over and kissed you, hard and messy.

You had to admit that he acted fast as lightning. You wouldn't have expected that from someone of such bulk. This thought - like all other thoughts – got banished to the back burner of your mind because your mouth suddenly lit up. Your throat was full of alcohol, burning you like fire. Somehow you swallowed this fiery wave (it sank into your stomach with the grace of a broken lift) and tried to free yourself, seized by understandable panic. You pressed both hands into his impressive pectoral muscles. Your fingers didn't even make a dent. You might've as well push a boulder.

You finally broke contact only because he allowed it.

"Are you drunk?!..." you gasped indignantly, pulling yourself away. Those damn eyes of his. So dark, so wide, unblinking.

"Yeah", he admitted, still not letting you go. "Get in my lap."

You straddled him, trying to prevent your stupidly short dress from riding all the way up and disclosing the colour of your panties. Results were mixed.

Now your bodies had way more contact than before; you put both hands on his wide shoulders, feeling the muscles of his thighs ripple under your own. His body burned you through the fabric. It felt like sitting atop a working oven.

"How many glasses did you have before we started talking?" You whispered, moving closer nonetheless. He was doing the same, tilting his masked head up so he could meet your gaze. Your bodies slowly converged, drawn together by one of the greatest force known in physics, namely: stupid drunk desire.

Skullface shrugged, and it was as if a mountain decided to rearrange itself.

"Don't know. Three? Four, maybe?.."

"You are off your tits", you stated with a resigned giggle. He lowered his head, meeting you halfway, his exposed, parted mouth tracing along your temple. His lips were still wet with liquor. You trembled.

"Gotta give it to you, big boy", you whispered into the soft fabric covering his neck. "It didn't even show."

"Never does." His voice was thicker than before. "Petal?"

Your head darted up at this old-fashioned term of endearment.

"Yeah?..."

"Kiss me."

You stilled, undecided whether you should remain in the arms of this inebriated madman or not.

Suddenly there was such yearning in his eyes. All the posturing, all those fuckboy strategies, practised to perfection - gone. All that remained was hunger, aching and hollow.

This desperation couldn't be about you, some woman he's just met at the bar. You felt as if tipping at some greater, darker mystery. One which you probably shouldn't drag into the limelight.

"Kiss me", he whispered hoarsely, looking at you from under heavy eyelids. "Please."

And kiss him you did. 

That was the last time when you had any illusions of control. 

His lips felt scorching hot. They were dry and chapped and tasted like alcohol, like tobacco smoke and like something essentially - him. It was a new flavour, as unique as human bodies are, and as heady as that whiskey that he's poured down your throat. Now you were both drunk and crazy.

His musky scent riding on the woodsy-citrusy notes filled your nostrils, while you could feel one of his large hands creep up the small of your back. The fingers of the other one were snaking their way through the hair at your nape. It was an ironclad hold. He locked you in so that you couldn't possibly slip away.

Not like you'd want to. 

He licked his way inside your mouth, claiming it with frantic abandon that made something feral twinge deep within you. It felt as if this hulking stranger's taste matched a blueprint buried deep within your DNA. As if every fibre of your being has lightened up in recognition, calling out: 

That's right. He's the one we want to fuck.

There was no finesse to what you two were doing; just clashing mouths and tongues entwining, as sloppy as they come. Sharing a moment of blind, uninhibited lust. You could hardly breathe under such onslaught of stimuli, yet you didn't let go, because it set your blood aflame. He didn't either.

At some point you rolled your hips and bit his lip, unable to contain yourself, and felt him buck under you. His hips met yours and you realized with a start how hard he had become inside those jeans. 

"Fuck, love. Too much", he chuckled breathlessly, pulling away – not very far, just so that you could both still breathe the same air, panting softly into each other's mouths. Your French twist has come partially undone, sleek tendrils of hair framing your face. He threaded his fingers through one of them. His eyelids were fluttering, those fathomless eyes now big and vulnerable and seeking yours.

"Don't do that. I can't..."

"Can't what, exactly?" You smirked impishly, pressed your whole ass to his swelling length and nipped at his lower lip once more. 

He slammed his eyes shut, exhaling furiously. Then he opened them again and shot you what you'd call a deathglare – if his chest wasn't heaving like a ship amidst a storm.

"Keep at it and I'm gonna raw you. Right. On this fuckin'. Couch", he hissed, his voice low, every word clearly enunciated, encased in grit and oh, so delicious. "In the middle of this fuckin' joint."

"They'll throw us both away", you giggled, hiding your hot face in the nook of his throat. "And the weather is shitty."

"Then stop biting me", he said, but didn't push you off his lap.

You stilled for a while after that. Distorted, metallic rhythms boomed all around you. The music felt like crusted blood on your tongue. 

You let him hold you in this unbreakable embrace, pressing your ear to his clavicles, still hidden from you by a layer of black cotton. His breathing slowed down and then went back to normal.

"You're pretty excitable for a guy in his mid-thirties", you quipped under your breath, splaying your fingers over the well-worn fabric of his hoodie. The pecs under it were delightfully wide and firm. You traced over a small, perky nipple. He sighed.

"I haven't touched a woman in two months", he said matter-of-factly.

"Huh?" You sat up, looking him straight in the face. "Where have you been, in the fucking desert?"

"Yeah." His eyes regained that closed-off expression from before. Once again you felt as if looking into a boundless cosmic void, and it was chilling.

"I'm sorry", you said, regretting that thoughtless jab. "It's really none of my business."

"It's not", he agreed. His stare didn't soften much, but he still wouldn't push you away.

A moment of silence passed between you. He reached to the rickety table and helped himself to another long swig of whiskey, while his other hand stayed entwined in the – increasingly loose – hair at your nape. His fingers moved absentmindedly, loosening it further. You didn't protest. It felt soothing. 

Suddenly the throbbing metallic rhytms which have surrounded you came to a halt. The dancing crowd has stopped as well; there were groans and even cries of protest. The DJ – a smallish, ratty-looking dude – didn't seem to care. He grabbed the mike and announced flatly:

"Ladies and gents, it's 10 P.M. Which means that it's time for some beloved classics. Enjoy the set."

"That sounded more like a fuck you than an invite", you giggled. But then the rhythmic crackle of automatic drums gushed from the speakers, followed by guitars, tuned in the most morose key possible. Your ears twitched at the familiar words of the song. The vocalist sounded like he was grappling with laryngitis.

In the heat of the night

In the heat of the day

When I close my eyes

When I look your way

When I meet the fear that lies inside

When I hear you say 

"Oh hell yeah. I love me some good old Sisters of Mercy! Come on, handsome," You asked, getting off his lap and leaning over him, grinning widely. "Dance with me!"

The patrons behind you adjusted to this change in music style. Some have already begun to sway like trees in the cemetery wind. Others were shifting from one leg to another, a little lost but determined not to miss out on the fun.

The masked one, however, did not share their commitment. The skull shook slowly from left to right.

"I don't dance, sweetheart."

"Oh, come oooon," you pleaded, placing both palms on his wide chest, trying to negotiate with those dark, implacable peepers. Were they actually black? Or something else entirely? The dim blue neon light didn't give you any answers.

"What's the worst thing that can happen? That you'll enjoy it?"

Andrew Eldritch was proclaiming melodic, mournful nonsense to the world, guitars were chiming and that damn man sat unmoving like an anchor. You knew there was no point in pulling him off the couch by force. Firstly, it wouldn't do any good. Secondly, your shoulders would pop out of their joints.

"I know what I don't enjoy." That was not a rebuff, more like an excuse.

He stroked your exposed forearm, then squeezed your hand in his strong grip. Those rough fingers of his were warm and pleasant to the touch.

"But you go dance."

"What?.." You weren't sure where this was going. And you sure as hell didn't like it.

"Have fun, love. I'll watch over you."

You stood up, smoothed up your dress (which has ridden obscenely high during your little makeout sesh) and sent him a salacious smile.

"You'll watch me dance?"

He stretched out on the sofa like a lord, spreading his arms on the backrest and balancing a glass of whisky in his fingers. He looked like the embodiment of dark debauchery. You really wanted to climb into his lap again, but you weren't a woman who easily went back on her word.

"I won't even blink," he assured you with this absolute certainty in his low voice. Chills ran down your spine.

"All right." You straightened your back, checked if that hairpin was still holding up (it was) and turned your back on him to say over your shoulder:

"Then watch me."

You sashayed to the dancefloor, swaying your hips extra hard. The goths were awfully accommodating - they let you into the fold.

You found yourself surrounded by a writhing mass of people, moving along with the hard-hitting rhythm. There were elated faces all around and arms flailing in the dark, punctured by rays of dim blue light. It took away all semblance of reality, making all those faces disembodied. You felt as if immersed in a neon aquarium. Encased in your very own vision, a music video for one.

For he kept his word. He was truly watching.

You undulated under the blue reflectors, making sure that your dance moves were giving more "ethereal seductress" than "a teenager on crack" which was your default. But after some time you lost yourself in the music and stopped caring so much about how you look. Your body was doing its thing, gracefully coiling into figures you'd never be able to recreate on purpose, and your mind focused entirely on him.

Even when you closed your eyes, you could feel his stare, as inscrutable as it was unwavering. There was some gravitational pull to this man , as if he'd been highlighted by a black aura. The opposite of a limelight.

After "Dominion" they played a Marilyn Manson song (apparently the term "classics" was being applied very broadly), then "Dragula" by Rob Zombie - and suddenly it got way, way more crowded. A breathless, happy crowd began to push against you from all sides.

You swayed your arms, shook your hips and stomped your feet like nobody's business, trying your best not to thwack anyone in the kisser. Some nondescript dude sauntered close to you and started dancing obnoxiously near. Probably thought that he was being seductive. You ignored his ass, but he stuck to you like dandruff.

The fray got so thick that you lost sight of Skullface. Dancers blocked your view.

The stranger leaned in closer still. His hair was so long that it hit you in the face, and his eyes had this glassy expression which gave you chills. Drunk? Drugged and off his rocker? You didn't want any of it and tried to manoeuvre as close to the edge of the fray as possible. Then this fucker put his hand on your ass. You jumped, trying to shake it off - to no avail.

Hot, sticky words fell from his mouth, but to you, those were just sounds without a meaning. "Dragula" sleekly transitioned into "This Corrosion” and the patrons screeched in uniformed delight. The dancefloor had been packed before, but now you felt as if trying to do dance moves on your morning commute. A mass of sweaty bodies pressed onto you from every angle, and that long-haired creep kept pawing at your rear, face contorted into an empty, maniacal grin. Where the fuck was Skullface when you needed him? You've had just enough of this nonsense.

You stopped dead in the middle of the song, turned around with such momentum that the surprised assailant let go of your ass - and delivered a sweeping kick to his shin.

OK, maybe it was supposed to be sweeping. Truth be told, you didn't have much space for fancy martial arts. But thanks to your trusted combat boots it probably hurt.

The creepo staggered backwards and seized you with a furious look.

"You dirty slut!" he squealed.

You didn't wait to hear what the scorned suitor had to say next. You pushed past the crowd and ran off the dancefloor, staggering and panting heavily.

The sofa against the wall was empty.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Where did loverboy go?

Seriously. Where did he go?

--to be continued--

[jenscx]

[01] tumblr girls — first and last

it was cliché; being in love with danielle marsh, the straightest girl on earth. you thought your feelings were hopeless, until you discover her tumblr blog.

you squint your eyes at the excel sheet being flashed on screen. mo jihye? did your class even have someone called jihye? you sigh. the student was probably one of the kids at the back and would leave you to do all the work.

just your luck, that the project worth almost 30 percent of your final grade relied on some random person.

“i got jiwoo…” minji says.

hanni rolls her eyes, “that’s not bad. i got yeonjun. bro is gonna be so annoying.”

you turn to your two friends, confusion apparent on your face, “who the hell is mo jihye?”

minji and hanni both look at you with widened eyes, mouths agape.

“you don’t know jihye?” hanni asks, “she’s one of the most popular girls in school!”

“you saying that doesn’t help at all,” you murmur, heart racing at the thought of your high school’s most popular friend group. minji stares at you incredulously and you have the urge to slap your best friends.

“she’s australian and has a really nice voice,” hanni supplies unhelpfully. you furrow your brows, who else was australian other than danielle? maybe a new student.

sighing, you turn around to look at the screen again. the teacher now explaining the rubrics after the commotion about partners had died down. you frown, still thinking about jihye. somehow, you hadn’t heard of her and she was one of the most popular girls in school?

your eyes brighten when you realise that, one, jihye and danielle are probably in the same friend group, and two, becoming friends with jihye would basically mean becoming friends with danielle. you thought smugly to yourself.

(minji and hanni glance at you, concerned, when they hear you laugh quietly.)

“i encourage everyone to be in contact with their partners by the end of today. final assessment is due the last week of next month, please do take this project seriously as it is thirty percent of your grade,” mr lee says. your eyes dart around the class, danielle catching your onlooking gaze immediately. you feel your face flush and evert your eyes instantly.

you hear danielle’s god-gifted giggle and would have melted if not for the judging look from hanni. you try to sneak another glance at the girl, who crinkles her eyes when she smiles at you and you know it’s game over.

you were madly in love with a girl that probably didn’t even know your name. her brown gleaming eyes, angel-like smile, perfect wavy hair… you’re so screwed—

“y/n,” you snap out of your haze. “the bell just rung, class is over.” after blinking a few times, you realise that, one, minji and hanni had just ditched you, and two, danielle knows your name.

“ah… sorry,” you mumble a reply, embarrassed. danielle shakes her head and reaches out a hand to help you pack up. stunned, you glance at her and feel your cheeks heat up. wow… she has really long lashes…

“i saw you staring just now,” you freeze, “wanted to ask if you needed anything.”

she gazed at you expectantly.

“uhm…” you struggle to find a response, and was it always this hot in the classroom?

“sorry… i was just zoning out…”

danielle clicks her tongue and you feel guilty for making her impatient. she turns away, eyebrows furrowed.

“okay. i’ll see you later?”

“mhm.”

fuck, you were so lame.

“yeonjun keeps sending me hedgehog videos,” hanni complains, “who the hell keeps a hedgehog as a pet?” you pause momentarily, thinking, oh my god, i forgot about the project.

minji notices your stunned silence and nudges you with her elbow. “you good?”

“yup,” your voice cracks, “i don’t have jihye’s number.”

“oh, but didn’t you stay back in class—”

hanni gets interrupted when someone places a hand on your shoulder from behind. you slightly tense up and turn around slowly, eyes widening.

“hey…”

“hi y/n! i wanted to ask if you’re coming to the game later?” danielle smiles. you don’t have the heart to tell her that there’s a sea of homework piling up on your desk.

“uh, sure.”

“great! i’ll text you?”

“yes…”

with that, danielle bounces off. when you turn back to your friends, minji looks constipated and hanni’s brows are forming a judgemental look.

“what…?”

your two friends turn to look at each other and both release a coordinated sigh.

“for someone that gets straight As, you’re surprisingly stupid.”

“hey— what!”

“how could you not have her number if she just said that she’ll text you?” minji asks, exasperated. you gape at her, momentarily paused in time while hanni rolls her eyes at your stupidity.

“wait, what?”

“you didn’t know danielle and jihye were the same person— oh my god, are you even breathing? holy shit, hanni, do something bro!”

“what the hell?”

you blink, hands pulling at the varsity jacket minji had lent you. danielle got your number from haerin, who got it from jiwon, who got it from hanni. she texted you after school, making sure that you were attending the game and asking you to wait for her after so that you could work on your project. this was not how you wanted to spend the rest of the day. the stands were filled with students who cheered the cheerleaders on. they were performing some sort of routine before the game started.

despite the impressive flips and stunts they did, you could only focus on the brunette who was beaming brightly while performing. you stare in awe as they lift her up to do an aerial move. right as she is lifted, danielle (or jihye?) raises her head, making eye contact with you. hesitantly, you wave.

“—holy shit, did danielle just fall?” gasps erupt from the crowd as the cheerleader basically crashes down, arms flailing as she falls. the whole team rushes to her aid, and your eyes widen at the stink look one of them gives you.

the stands are filled with murmurs, mostly of worry and confusion. you feel guilt wreck you, did you distract danielle from performing? if she was injured, you would never forgive yourself. resisting the urge to get up from your seat to go see her, you sit back down, leg bouncing nervously. minji and hanni are seated beside you, muttering and whispering.

“it’s our first time attending a game and something goes wrong. this is why we don’t hang out with the popular kids,” hanni groans. minji nods in agreement while all you can do is shift in your seat in anxiety.

after danielle is escorted from the field to a bench, the game begins. you’re not focused on the game at all, more worried about danielle and whether she was okay. at the halfway point, minji and hanni leave to go get snacks, and you’re alone at the bench once more. feeling an urge to check in danielle, you groan, following your heart instead of your mind, and rushing down to the field. no one really notices you, more focused on the players and the game itself.

despite her injury, the girl still looks bright. her eyes gleaming and a cheerful smile on her face. she occasionally shouts out words of encouragement to the players and her fellow cheerleaders.

she doesn’t even notice you lingering around until one of your steps causes the grass to crinkle.

“oh, y/n!” danielle smiles awkwardly. you return the same. “wanna sit down here?”

“uh, i thought only cheerleaders were allowed to sit here?” you ask nervously, shifting your weight from one foot to another. danielle shrugs, “i don’t actually know. it’s okay if you sit though, i can just say you came to check up on me.”

you nod, hovering over the seat, unsure if you could actually take a seat. either fate, or danielle, decides you were taking too long, since she reaches out to your wrist, pulling you abruptly down.

with a yelp, you fall onto the bench ungracefully, cheeks heating up at the grip on your wrist and the shriek you let out. danielle, unable to resist, lets out the loudest laugh you’ve ever heard. your face flushing even more, you feel somewhat accomplished at the fact you managed to make her laugh.

now that you are sitting side by side with danielle, your throat constricts. wanting to start a conversation, you open your mouth, only to be interrupted by danielle who chirps happily, “let’s discuss our project!”

your posture deflates, an awkward smile put back onto your face. “sure.” you had wanted to avoid this topic the most; between your blunder of oh my god, jihye and danielle are the same person, and oh my god, my partner is danielle, it wasn’t a favourable position to be in.

“which topic do you want to do? i think we could do either cultural and prejudice or psychological affairs,” danielle says, “discrimination, inferiority of women— oh! maybe human attraction?”

you stiffen noticeably at the topic. human. attraction. of course danielle wanted to do a topic about human attraction. who wouldn’t be attracted to her? the brown, naturally-curled hair, hazelnut eyes, full lips—

“yeah, sure,” you croak out.

“great!” danielle smiles, “i think the game is ending soon, so i’ll text you about the project later? i gotta go hang out with my team.”

another nod. with her expectant gaze, you stand up, almost robotically, arms swinging by the side.

“uhm, that jacket…” danielle trails off. you tilt your head, what about your jacket?

“it’s minji’s?” she asks.

“uh, yeah.” you suddenly feel self-conscious, how’d she know it was minji’s? danielle seems to notice your confusion, since she points at the back, “says kim in big, bold lettering.”

you furrow your eyebrows. was there something wrong with your (minji’s) varsity jacket?

“you okay?”

danielle smiles, albeit dimmer than before, “yup. i gotta go.”

and with a wave, danielle leaves, limping towards her teammates, who welcome her with open arms. haerin sends you a stink eye and you gulp.

sighing, you head back up to the stands, minji and hanni celebrating the triumph of your school.

“where’d you go?” hanni asks.

you groan, “hell.”

masterlist | next

[certaincollectionlandblog]

F1 Drivers that I think would date some plus sized queens and how I think it would go

Carlos Sainz

- I can't explain why, but I feel like Carlos is already an ass man and with his personality he seems like the guy to love when his girl was squishy. Maybe like a fit plus size queen like they go to the gym together and stuff, but she's still thicker than a Snicker like Ashley Graham without the boobs (TBH that's specifically my body type and all the plus size queens with the boobs get love, but were is the love our itty bitty bitty plus size babes?) if you have the boobs sis he would love it too; just wanted to give some representation for my body type cause I know I can't be the only one out here like this! - Would constantly come up to you saying "I shall call her squishy and she shall be my squishy" before wrapping you in such a great hug and peppering you with kisses (come guys I can so see this like AAGHH) - If you're tall and a plus queen I think he would also be totally down for that too! We need some tall plus size love too man :) - He knows that you probably can't wear his clothes or that if you can that they don't fit oversized like he knows you would find cute so he orders some hoodies a size or two too large and keeps "accidentally" leaving them around you. - Krispy Kreme has nothing on this man, he is hot and ready for you all the time - Summer is his favorite time because seeing you prance around in those shorts that ride up your ass have this man so distracted that he is a danger to himself and humanity - Hand on the ass ALL the time (y'all can't argue with me on this one okay) - He loves to lay on you whenever possible - You are his human pillow now - Carlos Sainz is a cuddle bug and no one can tell me other wise!

Mick Schumacher

- If I were to picture our precious Mick with anyone else other than a beautiful tall plus size sweetheart it just wouldn't fit in my mind - He is such a boob guy like there's literally even no denying it (~starts crying in itty bitty titty committee~), but if you were less blessed in the chest I think Mick would still love it cause he is an angel - Mick is a sweetheart who has been through a lot, you provide him a sense of comfort and love when you pull him for one of your ever constant and always soft hugs (you never let go before he does because sometimes he just needs to hold you and that's okay) - You're like the Anna to his Kristoff (Frozen anyone?!) sweet, fun, adventurous, with a little side of chaos - He will kiss every single freckle, scar, and stretch mark on your entire body, in fact he makes it his life mission to do so - Sometimes he steals your sweatpants cause y'all are pretty much the same height and he loves having the extra room from the size difference - One time he stole a pair of your Juicy sweatpants to wear around the house and didn't realize the butt had JUICY bedazzled on it until his mom pointed out when she came over to visit for dinner - Mick loves to snuggle with you while you sleep, but he always falls asleep with his hand on your boob - You make him smile so much the boys started teasing him telling him he should try to get Crest toothpaste as a sponsor - Mick is major on cockwarming and if he had it your way he would never leave the warmth of your walls

Daniel Riccardo

- I feel it in my bones that Danny is an ass man - He is constantly sending up little prayers of thank you to whoever invented leggings and compression shorts - Daniel loves when you steal his button ups to wear around the house with nothing else because even though they aren't quite oversized it's the fact that seeing you wear his clothes and seeing your ass at the same time as poor Danny boy wound up tighter than a Jack in the box - You know they do say that cowboys tend to like their women like molasses, sweet and thick and well as bad as Danny wishes he was cowboy he makes sure to follow that rule -Save a horse ride a cowboy anyone? - He swears he's died and gone to heaven when he looks down into your innocent doe eyes every time you suck him off - You guys have matching sweatsuits for movie nights (secretly he loves it) - Danny just gives off the vibe of loving if you were tall too like it's giving off power couple vibes - He actually steals your hoodies because they're so soft and smell like your perfume - He loves when you rest your head on his shoulder like he actually smiles a kid getting to meet Santa for the first time - Is constantly giving you forehead kisses because he doesn't have to bend down and he loves seeing your eyes light up like a Christmas tree when he does

Jack Doohan

- first off there's not enough Jake Doohan love on this platform and I am determined to fix that sweethearts - Okay IDK if it's just my experience, but it's always the skinny, tall white boys getting with these plus size queens and Jack is no exception - I'm not really sure if Jack is a thigh or an ass man more, but I'm totally getting those vibes you know - He already loves surfing and spending anytime in water that he can and now he gets the added bonus of seeing your beautiful figure in his second favorite amount of clothes for you (the first is when you're butt ass naked) - I can't explain it, but I am very much going with the theory that these Australian boys love themselves some tall plus babes (if you're short I'm sure they would like you too baby it's just the vibe I'm getting okay) - He always holds the door for you because he's a gentleman duh, but he also gets to look at that world shattering ass and those beautiful thighs of yours - This man loves you more than a southern granny loves her biscuits and gravy - Jack loves not having to look too far down to see, if he even has to look down at all TBH because let's be real here couples with a height difference especially a big height difference one of the poor love bugs always ends up with back problems - No lie he reminds me of Johnny from Hotel Transylvania like he'll try to be smooth with you, but you keep this man so flustered that sometimes he doesn't know what to do with hisself - Jack 100% loves to snuggle with you on the beach; He's sitting between your legs leaned up against you while you read your book - He loves to take you doggy style (he has Pierre to thank for the idea after that interview) - Always is pulling you into his lap during movies, make-out sessions because he loves having you straddle him

I have no true evidence to back up these theories, but going strictly off of vibes. I am convinced our bros would be down to date some plus size queens, especially some tall ones ;) Please feel free to leave feedback below!

All photos are from Pinterest!

[sgiandubh]

Machiavelli took a day off

... when the Telegraph article was written in great haste, by someone blatantly given a last minute task, who had no fucking idea to whom she was talking and what exactly meant the PR vetted or even prompted questions.

Instead of a line-by-line analysis, we'll take things differently, on this page, using the '5 W rule of journalism' (or even non-fiction writing, in general, if you ask me):

Who? SRH, EP of the OL series and one of the two male leads of the TCND series, which will be shortly broadcast by Channel 4, in the UK and IE only (and Movistar in ES). The rest of the world is not concerned.

What? A promotional article, focused on the actor's personality, CV and projects.

When? At a particular moment in time, just after the SAG-AFTRA strike and before shooting OL's eighth and last season.

Where? Crucial to place it in LHR (to imply he is 'just visiting') and God forbid it would be in GLA, which (for some curious reasons) seems to be off-limits.

Why? An actor with solid credentials hopes to keep agents and employers interested, after above OL project is done, which is rather sooner than later. Also addressing (as per the actor's PR agent specific requirements) three particular issues: the Palestine letter, the Bond project and his 'private life'.

Onwards to the three issues at stake, which probably prompted the article. In chronological order, this time. And no, I am not going to address the Scottish independence mention, because this is a sincere, well-known position of his and this page never bitches about people's convictions - also because I educated myself on it and I agree with S.

Palestine:

It was important, for obvious reasons, to push damage control a tad further. Also, strictly from a hypothetical POV, I would be very curious to read your compare and discuss thoughts with regard to this particular post on this page:

A sort of answer came in the Telegraph paper, too. Not only to me (I am less than nobody), but to all the people (of which we were many) who thought he should not get involved in this type of debate:

This is not the first time he uses this specific talking point. Last time known to me was on the day the Queen died, on X (I looked for that post, but can't find it, because I am just a filthy lurker, like that: but it is there).

The really interesting question, therefore, is: does he/somebody monitor what is being said on Tumblr? The answer is, I think, yes, and it shows. Will it stop me talking in here? Nope, as I trust my discerning abilities, for the moment. Other than that, his damage control op does not bring anything new to the table.

Bond:

What can I say, Sir? While there's life, there's apparently hope. But that doesn't translate well, given the context of your interview. That spells desperate and it's not a great picture. Also, let us keep a pious moment of silence in fond memory of a 25 year old who had a dream and the dream went to Daniel Craig (who I detested as Bond, because every girl has her Bond and mine is Pierce Brosnan, amen).

I know people still speculate about it. I have very high reservations and I cannot, for the life of me, seriously consider even thinking about the possibility. He could do it with flying colors, no doubt. Does he stand a chance? I prefer to have zero expectations on it and be floored if it happens. If he naively still yearns/pushes for it, this interview could very well be as abysmal as C's VF tantrum.

'Private life':

Ugh. Slippery when wet. I have already touched the subject in a reactive re-blog of @samheughanswife's post about it and I will not get back to what I said even without reading the article.

Some more extraordinary wording, in here: 'there might even be space for a personal life' - begs the question 'when?' In general? (in general, all men are created equal, too - it's practice that kills the theory) Now? (it is my staunch belief the answer is yes). After OL? (then and now and after Hiroshima, too). Can you program these things? (nope, stars simply aligned) Heh. Enough said. Also, 'might' spells cheap insinuation to me. But that's just me, a blonde voice in the audience.

Now, onwards to the daughter thing. I believe this specifically addresses the cheap, abundant clickbait content on You Tube, hence the vague 'online' reference (not Tumblr, not fans, not blogs - he is not C, he kept it clean). Such as this very recent one (last 'clip' on the topic was five days ago):

The two I chose to share here, which are very conspicuous FAKES, are originating from the same 'source', an account that seems obsessed with S&C and has no problem changing its narrative three times a week, if needed. My opinion? PR induced shite, to prod numbers/interest and see what sticks.

No newborn daughter? I hear no lies.

As for OL leaving 'no time for relationships', ahem. *urv will be thrilled to read that, I bet the farm. As will Flukenzie Floozy, at least her - damn, she was persistent! Also, hello, back to 2014-2016 playbook, aren't we?

No new relationships? Whatever for, when IYKYK? I hear no lies.

'I want a cat' ('because she's great', says my shipper brain on autopilot), 'but I am too scared even for that'. Humph. A very poor lie. But admitting you wanted and got a Ca(i)t scares the bejesus out of you, since 2016. I hear no lies. Yes, I am being tongue in cheek and damn the consequences.

Morality of it?

The easiest solution is never to take personal questions in interviews or panels. Why These Two still do it completely mystifies me.

[ef-1]

WHERE is the AD18 post you liar 🤕 jk ilysm pls take your time I'm just curious

sorRY I FORGOT OKAY

let me preface this by saying that there really wasn't anything notable about AD18 (Fernando was "retiring" but we knew that for months in advance, Charles was replacing Kimi at Ferrari but we knew that for months in advance, it was Daniel's last race at RB but we also knew that for months in advance etc) most of what I feel about that weekend is probably nostalgia but. It was the ✨️vibe✨️ the vibe was so immaculate. Drivers used to say that the last race of the season feels like the last day of school but 2018 really just captured that sentiment, no one wanted to be there but in the best way possible you know?

Formative event for me personally was Sebastian and Lewis trading helmets. I think what makes #sewis compelling now is how far they've come. But how far they've come also has the added disadvantage of neutering and sanitising what Seb and Lewis were back in the day. I mean 2018 literally started in Aus with Lewis telling Seb he wanted to wipe the smile off his face. At the beginning of 2018 Lewis was a 4 time champion, tied with Seb. Seb said again and again and again that he had a vested interest in Lewis not winning anymore championships, for his sake and for the sake of protecting Michael Schumacher's record. Anyway it was like. WILD and heart-warming and a very big deal

Re: Fernando retiring. So like. At that point, his last race of his career*, Fernando had already shat on McLaren in literally every fucking conceivable way, calling the engine an f2 engine (gp2), when asked about the very expensive updates on his car he replied "feels good. Much slower than before. Amazing". And ofc in AD18 he couldn't leave without one last jab, his race engineer was trying to gas him up to fight for p10 and he's like "you can fight for that 1 point ☝️ Fernando🔥🔥 1 point is on the table💯" to which he replied "👹I HAVE 1 THOUSAND AND 8 HUNDRED POINTS⁉️👹"

Re: re Alonso retiring, they painted him an ugly ass mural (support artists pls but it looked funny) in the driver's meeting room and during the important drivers debrief while Carlos was giving a lecture about safety or something Daniel lost it and Fernando filmed him losing it

nothing will ever go harder than this im afraid + obvi it was the champions sending Fernando off with 🍩 but fate is a fan of aesthetics so Kimi who was supposed to do donuts with them retired from the race (I think it would have thrown off the composition of the photo with 2 red cars so I'm glad)

Lewis offering Seb a Monster and Seb replying "I prefer Red Bull" (<-I Died that day)

During the last Team Principal conference of the year, of course they sat Christian and Cyril next to eachother. And of course they asked him about losing Daniel and the renault engine, to which Christian decided the best way to answer that question is to remind Cyril that while they're both basically the same age, when Christian was the youngest TP in F1, Cyril was working in the kitchen 😭

In conclusion it was chaos and I loved it so much and it will forever hold a v special place in my heart

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Looking back at the older Saw movies, I’m wondering now if the series would have a better reputation if it had been treated more like an anthology. Because the two best movies in the franchise (1 and X) are the ones that could stand on their own, while the lower-tier ones are the ones that deal with the convoluted timeline.

I’m thinking something along the lines of Scream in which it’s the “same” villain, Jigsaw, but with different people in the role. There was a different Ghostface in every Scream movie, which worked for that franchise. Maybe Saw could’ve done it like that.

In fact, just off the top of my head, here’s how Saw could’ve looked as a semi-anthology:

Saw 1

* It’s the same

Saw 2

* It’s mostly the same, but John Kramer has to die at the end of it (he probably dies from Eric Matthews’ beatings). Saw 2 ends conclusively, as if this was the end of the franchise.

Saw 3

* Takes place two years later.

* Jeff and Lynn Denlon are the subjects.

* The story is centered around a copycat Jigsaw, who is revealed to be Amanda Young. Amanda secretly became John’s apprentice and has now taken his place.

* Amanda escapes at the end.

Saw 4

* Takes place simultaneously as 3.

* Daniel Rigg is the subject.

* Here, it’s revealed that Amanda was working with someone, meaning there were 2 copycat Jigsaws the whole time. The ending reveals that the 2nd copycat is Mark Hoffman, one of the lead detectives.

* Mark gets away and picks up Amanda, who has just left the game from the previous movie.

(NOTE: I want to emphasize that even though this takes place at the same time as 3, this movie is meant to be seen as a standalone. You don’t have to watch 3 to understand 4 is what I mean)

Saw 5

* Takes place a few weeks later, brings together the events of 3 and 4.

* Amanda and Hoffman put together a new game (the five-become-one teamwork trap) while trying to avoid the police.

* The movie ends with Hoffman betraying Amanda and shooting her dead, only for him to fall for one of Amanda’s booby traps (the closing walls trap that killed Strahm). So, 5 ends with Hoffman getting smushed as Amanda bleeds to death.

Saw 6

* Takes place a few years after 4 and 5.

* Detective Zeke Banks is the subject.

* A new Jigsaw copycat - also known as the Spiral Killer, to distinguish them from the other Jigsaws - pops up. The ending reveals that the new Jigsaw/Spiral is William Schenk, one of the detectives working the case.

* Schenk gets away with his crimes, setting up the 7th movie.

Saw 7

* A direct continuation of the 6th movie.

* William Easton is the subject, but has more of an involvement with Jigsaw/Schenk.

* Schenk dies at the end of it, but not before taking Easton down with him.

Saw 8

* Takes place a year after 6 and 7.

* The subjects are Bobby Dagen, his wife Jill Tuck-Dagen, and their family and friends.

* First twist: Just like the original series, Jill is revealed to be John’s ex-wife.

* Second twist: This Jigsaw is revealed to be Melissa Sing and that the reason why she’s testing Bobby, Jill, their family and their friends is vengeance for her husband’s death (Detective Steven Sing).

* Bobby and Jill survive while Melissa is arrested at the end.

Saw 9

* At least takes place several years after the 1st movie. The timeline isn’t as important for this one.

* Revealed that Dr. Gordon from the first movie did survive since John saved his life. Instead of asking him to become his apprentice, John allows him to return to his life. However, his life since surviving the bathroom trap has been horrible, leading him down a downward spiral.

* Main story: When Gordon learns his colleagues have been involved in a scam targeting the terminally ill, disgusted by their actions, he decides to put them through a series of brutal tests.

* Basically, in this alternate timeline, Gordon became a Jigsaw copycat through his own volition rather than John recruiting him.

* Gordon escapes at the end and decides to retire from the Jigsaw role.

Saw 10

* Takes place a few weeks after the 9th movie.

* Focuses on a manhunt for a Jigsaw copycat (assumed to be Gordon). It’s only at the end that we learn Gordon was in an entirely different state during the events of this movie.

* The new Jigsaw is revealed to be Logan Nelson, the coroner who appeared earlier in the movie. Since Melissa and Gordon were one-off Jigsaws, Logan is set up to be the new main Jigsaw.

/

/

/

You can read the revised, semi-anthology timeline like this:

The John Kramer arc is 1 and 2

The Amanda and Hoffman arc is 3, 4, and 5

The Spiral Killer arc is 6 and 7

8 and 9 are standalone movies

10 is the beginning of the Logan Nelson arc

Even though the movies do lead into each other, the arcs are meant to stand on their own and the timeline is much less convoluted. Also, not everything ties back to John, which I feel would give the franchise more creative freedom.