#i guess i just scrutinize how people write cops a lot

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

the reason i dont talk as much about jjba cecio is bc he is very strongly a piss take of the 'one good pig' because he is the 'one good cop' but hes actually so much worse. hes using a mask of humor and kindness and relate-ability to help aid in murder blackmail wrongful imprisonment and all manner of massive power abuses, but because he does the bare minimum of pretending to be a 'good' person [in the right way] he gets free license to do all that and is seen as sympathetic. so actually hes not worse, hes just an average fucking pig with slight different motivations it doesn't matter if he answers to the police or criminal organizations, because the fucking pigs are their own gang just under the guise of 'upholding the law' and hes betraying his community and ruining peoples lives over and over for power either way

[lesbrarian]

(Personal post about work unpleasantness under the cut) (cw harassment mention, but no description)

So I work at a public library, and there's a pretty big problem with patrons harassing staff. When staff speak up to managers, we have gotten responses like "that's a security concern, talk to our Security Manager" (who is a former cop and also not our superviso); "you have to tell them to stop or else it's not harassment" (which directly contradicts our local government policy about harassment); or "you are responsible for not tolerating harassment" (which is basically just blaming us for being yelled at and creeped on).

PLUS they recently made it a lot worse by saying we can't stay/work behind the Literal Library Service Desks that were built for that purpose, and instead we have to be "out on the floor" (aka more exposed). This shift happened shortly after we really started to speak up about being harassed, btw.

So it's just been a steadily increasing tension at work where staff feel unsafe with patrons and unsupported (and actively scrutinized) by management. Enough people have gone to talk to our local Labor Relations office that management has set up appointments for all of us to meet with one of the LR people. The problem is, the person we are set to meet with has a history of meeting with a staff member about a concern and then immediately (like, same-day) helping management write that staff member up. So you can imagine how helpful that will be.

Anyway, today is my meeting with the LR person. I'm going to say what I have to say (because if we all refuse to talk to her like we want to, they'll just go "I guess there were no concerns!!!"), but I'm gonna have to walk that real fine line.

Wish me luck.

[90stvshowgoth]

—BREAKING & ENTERING

—ch.1 —ch.2

summary: after dabi was seen leaving your apartment complex last week, the commission has sent a lesser known hero to help guard the building until new cameras are installed. however, no security measures in the world could keep dabi out.

w/c: 5064

tags: dubcon, cuckolding, creampie, voyeurism, humiliation, exhibitionism, arson

a/n: this is the final chapter to this little duology, and the reason why its so much shorter is because the first one was really supposed to stand on its own, but i got so many requests for a sequel i couldn’t help it. so i just took the kinks i didn’t get to use last time and pay off some setup and voila. however, just ‘cause this is the last chapter of this story doesn’t mean i’m not gonna write a fuck ton of other stuff for him. ily burn man. plus i’m working on a huge, multi-chapter fic for him while i post smaller one-shots >:) that being said, enjoy.

The impact Dabi left on your life was far bigger than you thought it would’ve been on the night you snuck him away from the law. As he was running from the cops someone saw him climb through your window, and a different person also saw him climb down the fire escape. With witnesses like that, the other tenants were downright furious.

You almost felt bad for the landlord, it wasn’t his fault you were insane enough to willingly let a villain come inside both you and your apartment.

Your landlord and the police department came up with a solution. The apartment complex would be installing new state-of-the-art locks on all fire-escape adjacent windows free of charge. This wasn’t exactly an issue with seeing Dabi again, since all you had to do was purposefully leave yours unlocked.

It would take two weeks to install all the cameras, but until then, a community-assigned hero would be stationed to guard the complex.

His name was Kao, a middle-ranked hero with bright orange hair and a winning smile framed with dimples. At first you thought he might’ve been one of the better heroes, waving you off to work and walking you there the other day, but recently he’d begun to creep you out. The friendly conversations about a tv show you both enjoyed began to turn into invasive questions about your love life.

A week of lingering glances and uncomfortable prying culminated that Friday as he had flat out asked you to dinner moments prior.

“C’mon, I just— I said that wrong, lemme try again,” He stuttered, keeping pace with you as you marched towards the building.

“No, Kao, look, you’re cool and all, but I’m really not looking to date anyone right now.” You huffed, striding into the doorway and towards the elevator. That might not’ve been the whole truth but you obviously couldn’t tell him that you had the hots for a terrorist.

He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, “Well you just got off work, right? I remember which room you stay in, maybe I can swing by tonight?”

You whirled on him, your jaw slack in shock at the insensitivity of his words. The reminder that he knew where you lived sending a shiver down your spine, “Kao, this conversation is done. I don’t want you following me around anymore, hero,”

Deep down, your words sounded familiar. If they were raspier and said behind a thin veil of indifference, you might’ve realized that you were talking like Dabi.

“What is that supposed to mean? We’re the good guys!” You slammed your fist down on the close-door button, your mouth a thin line, daring Kao to make a move and stop the doors. He didn’t, and soon the reassuring pull of the elevator set your shaking body at ease.

‘Who does he think he is?’ You were bitter, rightfully so, you think.

You were so frustrated that you had difficulty inserting your keys into the lock, twisting it with a growl and throwing open the door, ready to collapse onto your pillow and vent to whoever was online about your heroic stalker.

When you noticed the scent of cigarettes in the air.

“Hey, doll,” Warmth surged through your chest at the sight of him, the villain’s feet kicked up onto the coffee table.

You were hanging your coat on the hook before moving beside him to the couch, “What took you so long?”

“Not happy to see me? You seem a lot bitchier than I remember,” The crude edge of his humor was a breath of fresh air compared to the stifling niceties of work, and you smiled for what felt like the first time that day.

Shaking your head, you toed out of your boots and made your way to the frayed couch, “I’ll tell you all about him,”

That got his attention, “Him?”

“A hero,” Dabi’s frown worsened, an accusatory look in his eyes, “before you ask, no, you idiot, I hate this guy, there’s not a chance I’d sleep with him.”

The tensity in his shoulders relaxed, bring the half-finished Newport to his lips as you continued, “Since you broke in last week all my neighbors lost their shit. They threatened to sue if my landlord didn’t assign a hero to watch the building for a bit. I thought he was cool, but I’ve just decided that he’s a total prick.”

He hummed, nodding understandingly, “Want me to kill him?”

You gaped, hitting him on the chest, “Wha—No, Dabi, what the hell?”

He just shrugged, the intensity of his words almost funny to you, and as you recounted the last twenty minutes the ashes of Dabi’s cigarette fell to the floor. The dying lights of the sun streamed through your window, the smoke oddly beautiful in the glow as he handed you the last hit of his cheap cigar.

“You know why heroes are like that?” You shook your head, enjoying the numbing calm of tobacco, “It’s cause they’re spoiled. They go their entire lives being praised for everything they do so they don’t know how to take no for a fuckin’ answer,”

Apparently your smoking buddy was feeling talkative, much to your delight. His words made you pause, remembering the relieved faces of your neighbors whenever they’d see the gaudy costume Kao wore as he strode by.

“Shit... guess you’re right,” You mumbled into his side, not minding the ever-present aroma of burnt skin and smoke that clung to Dabi’s coat.

He scoffed, “I’m always right, baby,” His words earning him a pinch on the arm.

“No, you ass, just about the hero stuff,” He grinned, the staples on his dimples taut against his skin as he pulled you closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“Careful, doll, you’re starting to sound like a villain,” The drop in your stomach sent heat down your skin, yet somehow you were still shivering under his predatory gaze.

You shook your head, trying to will away the red that dusted your cheeks, “No way, my quirk isn’t strong enough to be a villain,”

He raised his eyebrow expectantly, broadly gesturing for you to go on.

“Well...” God, why is this embarrassing? “I can give people headaches.”

You didn’t know if he would laugh at you or belittle you for your meaningless quirk, but he did neither.

“Think you could practice it more? Get better at it?” He was serious, staring at you and expecting an answer.

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze, “I mean, maybe? It’s not hard to do, I guess,”

Dabi smirked, pulling you onto his lap. It felt as if the week hadn’t happened at all and you were right back where you started, your face flushing at the memories of that night. He dragged you close, eyes dark as he whispered something into your ear...

“Think you could split someone’s head open with a migraine?”

Your gut wrenched, flinching at the gory idea and making you sit up in Dabi’s lap. The atmosphere in the room hadn’t changed, his stare as menacing as before.

That is, until he started to crack up. Louder than you’d ever heard before, his fit filled the apartment until he had to cup his stomach from laughing too hard; the wheeze in his rough throat echoing around the room as your blush spread all the way down your neck.

“Oh, you asshole!” If anything, your shove against his chest only made him more giddy. The panic-fueled adrenaline was still surging through your body, unwillingly making the wetness between your thighs spread, even as you tried to wrap your head around the fact that Dabi had been fucking with you.

Your legs shook as he held on to you for balance, his cackling dying down but the shit-eating grin never leaving his face, “You were so freaked out, huh?”

“Yeah, no shit!”

He hummed, running a hand through your hair and suddenly yanking you forward, basking in the sharp yelp it brought from you, “You’re cute when you’re scared,”

You’d missed the way his scabbed lips felt on yours more than you’d ever admit. There was something about him that left you breathless, eager and questioning your life choices. Groaning into his mouth before pulling back and laving your slick tongue along his disfigured lower lip, you rolled your aching heat against him to force a truly pornographic moan from his mouth.

“Oh, fuck—” One of his hands slid down your back, grabbing your ass through your jeans, “Fucking hell, you missed me that much?”

You nodded dumbly into his shoulder, pressing chaste kisses along the ragged skin as he slid his finger past the band of your jeans, cupping your dripping sex with wide eyes.

“Goddamn, s’no way you’re this wet for me already,” His eyes were scrutinizing, trying to figure out why you were hiding into his neck, “What’s got you so worked up, doll?”

You couldn’t come up with a good excuse in time, Dabi thinking back to how your thighs had tightened up when he asked if you could kill someone, your eyes were frightened back then, yes, but there was something else. Something you wouldn’t tell him.

When the realization hit him, it hit hard.

“Holy shit, you get off on being scared?” He couldn’t believe his luck, the embarrassed groan you buried into his shoulder confirming his suspicions.

Dabi ran a hand through his hair, a childish wonder over his features, “Aren’t I fuckin’ lucky?” He sneered, pulling you back til you were at eye-level again.

“I’m gonna try something, baby,” there was an edge to his voice as he settled one hand on the small of your back, pressing your tits against his chest as he held your bra strap back with the other.

“What are you… Dabi, what are you doing?” The scent of fire and burning fabric filled the air, the ends of your bralette smoking between his fingertips, embers turning to ash and sprinkling down the couch until it was flimsy enough for Dabi to rip free, teeth sinking into your neck as he held you still to keep your skin safe.

It was jarring and a bit terrifying to be restrained against someone like Dabi without knowing his intentions. But nothing in you could deny the blinding rush of pleasure it ripped down your spine.

“It’s all starting to make sense, doll-face, I guess I was right the first time,” His hands tossed the smoking bra into hallway, reaching between you and torturously pinching and pulling on the rosy blush of your tits, “you do have a thing for villains,”

“Can’t wait to fuck that tight pussy again, doll,” Without warning he shoved your torso forward, your body bouncing against the couch, his hands flying to the button of your jeans.

“—Didn’t have time to take you right last time, didn’t get to taste you,” his words made you whimper in his grasp, keeping your legs somewhat raised as tugged down the tight denim.

You fully expected him to take you rough like before, make you choke on his cock before having his fill, but as he tugged off your black panties he crawled down the trembling body beneath him, slowly moving over your ribs, your stomach, and finally your drooling cunt.

He never broke eye contact with you as he pulled your thighs closer, keeping them spread wide as the hot fan of his breath on your pussy sent a thrill through your neglected nerves.

“I want you to scream my name,” It was an order, not a request. The unhinged tremor in his hands was unsettling, an unspoken threat hanging in the air.

Dabi’s tongue immediately found your clit, mouth wrapping around the glistening bead and sucking all at once, the moan it drew from your lips unholy. He moaned at the taste, hiking up your hips onto his shoulders.

“Christ, you’re sweet, doll, like fuckin’ candy...” He muttered in disbelief, more to himself that to you, licking a wide stripe along your drenched lips, diving into you deep enough to have your limbs spasming around him.

On instinct your hand flew to your mouth to muffle the sharp cry that the villain drew. He didn’t warn you before bringing his hand up high and slapping it into the bare skin of your thigh, a scream echoing through the living room. Distantly, you wondered if your neighbors could hear...

“Don’t you dare hide a single sound from me, slut, or this ends now,” his ultimatum was scary but the insult felt heavy in a way you’d never felt before, and you nodded without a second thought, breathlessly bunching one hand into the arm of the couch above you and the other into the ashy black of his hair.

You nodded down to him, silently saying to continue; the villain fixed on watching as your chest swelled in time with your breathing, a rush of blood going to the heat of his cock.

His pace was hungry, nipping at your thighs whenever he thought you were too comfortable, spinning circles into your clit with his tongue and chuckling at the noises it brought, “You gonna cum, princess?” You could only respond with a scream of his name, the plea music to his ears, but he needed you to be louder if he was to get what he wanted.

“Louder,” Dabi called your name like a prayer, moaning into your cunt as you practically suffocated him between your thighs, “Fuck—Louder, baby, scream it,”

“Dabi!!” Your orgasm was hot against his tongue and he drank in every last drop of your climax until you were wrenching away his greedy mouth, your pussy swollen and red from his care.

Just as you started to compose yourself, a frantic banging sounded on the door. Someone from the hallway was slamming down their fist, screaming your name.

“Hey! Did you just say Dabi?! Are you okay in there?” It was Kao.

Horror clawed away any kind of afterglow as you cupped your hand to your mouth, leaning up on your elbow and whispering, “What do I say?”

Dabi’s voice was just low enough to hide behind the pounding of Kao’s fists, “Do you trust me?”

Before you could answer the hero behind the wall called your name again.

“If you don’t answer me in five seconds I’m breaking this door down!”

Your gaze flickered from the front door to the villain that was wiping your slick from his chin.

“Yes,”

Dabi grinned, grabbing your wrists and holding you against his shirt, one hand wrapped painfully around your tits and the other erupting with blue fire in his palm.

“Come and get her, hero!” You made a confused squeal, thrashing around in his grasp, eyes wide and afraid as Dabi shushed into your ear, trying to calm you down.

‘Like hell if you’d calm down, he’d practically just signed your death sentence!’ you heaved against the fugitive, trying to shake yourself free to no avail.

All you could do was squeeze your eyes shut and imagine you were somewhere else as door was jolted in its hinges, the doorknob falling with a distant clang, and before you could beg Dabi to stop whatever stupid game he was playing, Kao ran into the room, eyes furrowed and fists raised as the door squeaked on the loose hinges behind him, blissfully unaware.

“Where are y—“ Kao’s voice paused mid-sentence, you flinched in Dabi’s hold, the heat of the redhead’s stare washing over you, naked and wet, making you tilt your head down, trying to hide yourself from the world.

“Isn’t she cute, hero?” Dabi rasped against you, the heat of his fire illuminated against the sweaty sheen of your trembling body. Kao didn’t know what to do, flustered and struggling to hide the tent in his latex costume.

You knew fighting back against the villain was pointless, falling limp in the strength of his arms as he chuckled into your neck, looking over at the bump in his pants, “You were right, babe, I think he likes you,”

“Get your filthy hands off of her!” Kao screamed, diving towards the couch with his fist raised back.

Dabi simply grinned, carefully hovering his flame ever closer to your now bare tits, you couldn’t help but scream at the proximity, and whatever plan Kao had in his mind died before his fist could make impact.

His novocaine laced voice spoke calmly beside your ear, “Any closer and she’s dead,” The hot rush down your legs wasn’t due to his flames, as one hand took to rubbing your sensitive sex, the sounds it elicited from you unintentional and mortifying under the presence of Kao in the room.

“What... what do you want, you bastard?” Dabi laughed at that one, tweaking your clit between his fingers and conducting the most beautiful notes from your pillowy lips.

“I think It’s pretty obvious what I want, don’t you think?” Your name on his lips sent you keening against him despite the inferno roaring inches away from your skin. He couldn’t move without Dabi’s flames hovering ever closer to your heaving chest, and to Kao, you were very clearly about to die. Although you didn’t believe Dabi would hurt you, he had asked you to trust him before he got Kao’s attention, after all, the line between foreplay and conflagration was becoming blurry.

Kao backed up into the half wall that separated the living room from the kitchen, barely making an effort to try and hide his erection anymore, “I’ll send you to fucking Tartarus for this, Dabi.”

“Oooo, scary,” His unlit hand trailed down your jawline, tilting you to his side until he could slide his tongue into your open lips, humming into your mouth, “What do you think, doll?

“Dabi, please... wait,“ The strength in your voice wasn’t as heated as before, and even you had to admit it sounded half-assed.

Kao’s quirk must be no good for long range because all he could do was stand there, trying to avert his eyes from your drooling cunt in favor of glaring daggers at the coy villain pulling soft mewls from your lips, “I swear... I’ll see you rot in prison for this. You’ll be fucking executed, you rapist—“

“—woah, woah, that stings, hero. Doll, is that really what I’m doin’?” You groaned, not exactly answering because you couldn’t hear the question, your eyes still shut tight in embarrassment.

The growl in his voice sent another soaking rush towards your pussy, as his hand grabbed you jaw, pulling you up, “Look at me,” Your eyes widened at the sight of Dabi so close to you, his chest warm against your back, the aches of your last orgasm fading into something new.

“Tell me to stop, princess, your call,” Time stood still as Dabi kissed a soft pathway along your neck, weirdly gentle as he listened for your response, his clothed hard-on pressed firmly against your ass.

Too flustered to speak, you merely wrenched your arm free from his grasp, carding you hand through his hair and pulling him to your desperate lips. You could feel him tug into a smirk against you as your hips eagerly ground themselves on him despite the audience.

Kao choked on his own spit, stepping backwards, but stopped when Dabi aimed his ignited hand towards the hero who was having difficulty piecing together your actions in his head. “What,” His voice cracked when he called out your name, “are you...?”

Dabi pulled away, a feral glint in the blue hidden beneath his hair as he licked a disgustingly wet stripe along your cheek, chest rumbling behind you as you squirmed at the gross feeling, “I’m still gonna need you to beg, sweetheart.”

Your dignity was hanging by a thread, hinging on whether or not you followed his lead, but the insane buzz your anxiety had stirred up under Kao’s confused stare and Dabi’s aching cock was impossible to ignore. He rut himself into the dripping curve of your ass, his jeans soaked with your slick as you found the courage to speak.

“Fuh...” Carefully, Dabi pressed a loving kiss to your temple, his stare fixated on Kao’s as you strung the syllables together, “Fuck me, Dabi,”

The hero couldn’t believe his ears. She’d turned him down countless times despite his pursuits, yet she was somehow fine with this? Kao briefly thought that perhaps his crush was a villain this whole time, but that couldn’t make sense with her weak quirk.

You felt Dabi twitch beneath you, the shameless way you showed yourself off was as humiliating as it was hot, and he laughed in lightheaded disbelief against the back of your neck, taking your ass in one hand and slipping the other down his pants, tugging off the painful metal zipper until his boxers were pulled down just enough for his cock to finally be met with the soft warmth of your cunt.

“As the lady commands,” Dabi grinned, reaching around your waist to take his pierced dick in his hand, rubbing and tapping his swollen head deliberately against your clit, pre-cum drenching your pussy as you felt boneless in his arms.

“Ah-! St..S-top tea-sing, Dabi!” You babbled, squirming to try and find an escape from his grasp or maybe trying to force him inside you, but all your struggling did was make him harder. But before you could beg, you froze at the sight of Kao a few feet away, his legs bending into a sprinter’s pose. He was going to run?

Dabi was having none of it, a controlled jet of flame grazing Kao’s knee, scalding the skin beneath the latex. The hero cried out into the bite of his fist, collapsing into the wall a few feet away.

“Nah, hero. You’re not leaving just yet,” The villain rearranged you on his lap, “See, the thought of you jerking off to my girl? It kinda pisses me off, actually,”

The color in Kao’s face drained as he had no choice but to sit and watch as Dabi slowly sunk you down on top of him, one hand drawing soft circles into your stomach as you reveled in the feeling of his piercings hot against every part of you.

“Though, I’m wondering, what did you think about, huh?” Kao sputtered, unable to form words just like you, formless noises falling from your lips.

His scarred hands grasped at the flesh of your thighs, raising you up only to shove you back onto his cock, the flames that still extended to threaten Kao suddenly flared up in time with his thrusts, the weight of him felt so much deeper at this angle and it was hard to breathe, let alone speak.

“I... nothing! I didn’t—“ Another whip of fire cut through the room from Dabi’s fingertips, a cast of blue leaving bubbling skin in its wake, pain flashing across Kao’s face.

“Fuckin’ liar,” You yelped as Dabi shoved you down, moaning into your ear as you squeezed against him, sobbing his name into his chest as he picked up a steady pace in your guts.

Kao cried out, stuttering and gripping along the inflamed line of skin, “I-I thought— thought about her... fuck— I just wanted her to suck me off, alright? There, I said it! Are you happy now?”

He must’ve realized the mistake in his words as soon as he said them, squeezing your eyes shut but having no choice but to smell the stench of burning flesh and hear the sound of muffled screaming as it filled your apartment, “Can’t blame you though, her mouth is God,”

Your hands scrambled for balance against Dabi as the screaming of his victim made him downright feral, filling your tight heat so well it had you crying.

“Damn, you’re soaked for me, doll, I just knew you were a kinky fuck deep down. You’re a slutty little girl for me, aren’t ya?”

As much as it hurt to admit it, he was right. He was painfully right, and you told him so. The unhinged, unstoppable force that was Dabi ignited a passion in you that’d never been fed before. He was torturing the hero you hated all while taking your cunt in deep, harsh thrusts, the metal imbedded into his cock and his chest behind you were blisteringly hot against your skin.

“Tell him, baby,” His question fell on deaf ears, your tongue lolling from your mouth a bit at the pleasure.

It caught you off guard when he drew his hand back and slapped you across the cheek, a blistering red handprint in its wake, saying your name so softly, turning off his quirk to run his hands through your hair, he whispered, “Tell that fucking hero who you belong to,”

The world tipped over as Dabi gripped your shoulders, pushing you onto the wooden coffee table so your ass stuck in the air. In an instant he was on you again, pounding into your cunt with a glazed fervor, your words downright biblical in his ears.

“On-ly... Dabi ca—Ngh, Only Dabi can fuck me this good,” You forced the words from your throat, thankful for the table serving as an impartial shoulder to cry on as Dabi lined himself up with your cunt.

“More, princess,” The snap of his hips had you drooling onto the table, catching sight of Kao’s slumped body in the corner as Dabi’s breath sounded much louder than before.

“Fuck, baby—” You cried, craning your neck back to look at him. Sweat glistened at the crown of his dark hair, steam shading his breath as he took you hard, “Your cock is— shit its so deep in me,”

Your nerves were spent from exhaustion as he railed you, being more vocal than before as he choked at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, his fingernails digging future bruises into your hip dips, “Wanna feel you cum in me, want you to fill me up— Dabi, wanna make you feel good,”

“Fuck, doll, I can’t...” He ground his teeth together, making you squeal as he mounted you from behind, spreading your legs out wide so you had no way to hide yourself, “Gonna fuck’n cum-gonna cum in you- fuck, fuck, fuck—!“

You both hit your highs at the same time, Dabi accidentally digging your face into the wood as he held you as tightly to him as possible, his cum running hot due to his quirk as he pumped you full, that broken cry of yours like music to his ears, humping you a few times to ride out his climax.

You felt warm and safe, Dabi’s weight a comfortable blanket even with your shivering skin pressed naked into the coffee table. However, the quietly groaning hero in the corner made you quickly come back down to earth.

“Dabi... did you kill him?” Your voice was small beneath him, but he just shrugged.

“Nah, not yet, don’t worry,” He kissed your neck one more time, his thumb rubbing circles into your indented stomach, pulling you off the table and back into his arms.

He pulled out of you and grinned at the sight of his release spilling down your thighs, “Damn...” he whispered, taking in the sight with a satisfied whistle, “C’mon Doll, forget about him.”

You were grateful he carried you bridal style to your bedroom, your legs gelatin at this point, and as he laid you down to rest he grabbed one of your discarded shirts that hadn’t made it to the hamper and wiped down the remains of sex from your twitching cunt before leaving the cum-stained top ignored on the ground.

“You doing good, baby? Didn’t go too hard, did I?” His concern was diminished somewhat by the grin on his face, satisfied with the mumbling, love-drunk form he’d reduced you to.

Shaking your head, you burrowed into the warm blankets, peeking your eyes out from beyond the covers in a way that even Dabi couldn’t deny was pretty cute, “No, just... what are you gonna do with Kao?”

His face was unreadable as he leaned closer, “Do you really want to know?”

Truth be told, no, you didn’t, you were just a civilian, far removed from the complex fight between heroes and villains. You were only in this situation because you’d grown to care about Dabi. In some small, sarcastic way, he’d wormed his way into your life, and he hadn’t hurt you so far, only going as close as possible to bring you over the edge again and again.

“No...”

“Good answer,” he stood up, tucking himself back into his jeans as he went back into the living room. You heard a muffled thud and what sounded like Dabi cursing before he reappeared in your bedroom, Kao’s unconscious body slung over his shoulder. For such a wiry guy, Dabi was pretty strong. Moving to the open window he basically threw Kao’s body onto the outside metal grating, his lungs uneven after carrying him.

Just as he swung his leg onto the windowsill you shot up in your bed, hand outstretched, “Wait!”

He turned back to look at you, genuinely confused as to what you could want.

“Kiss me before you go?”

He froze, then grinned, scoffing at the innocent gesture you gave so openly to a murderer like him. There had to be something wrong with his little villain-in-training to make her okay with it, just like him. Dabi ignored that thought for another day, striding forward and finally giving you the goodbye kiss you’d been denied last time, his tongue trying to map out every detail in case he could ever forget before pulling away with a warm softness to his ocean eyes.

“I think I might be starting to like you, Doll,” A feint rush of color fell on his unmarred skin and you’re sure your heart stopped beating for a good three seconds.

His words were a worn record being played over and over in your head long after he crawled down your fire escape, the teasing, sated haze in his voice hidden beneath a rasp of smoke. You weren’t sure how much he meant what he said, but you’re sure that the first thing you said in return was exactly what he wanted to hear; at least judging from the boyish smile that lit up his face when you said it.

“Come back soon, okay?”

“Okay,”

@effmigentlywithachainsaw @touyasfatcock @thicchaikyuuboys @awritersometimes @chey-the-simp

[imagineredwood]

I feel like after sons the writers were so happy they didn’t have to keep writing diversity in lmaoo, like sons covered bunch of different gangs so there was lots of racial diversity but Mayans is mostly brown people(which is how it should be if not all) and all the white people they could find. Like I’m sorry but the whole cast of side characters looks like a snow bank. Sons did a good job of showing you how diverse the people in proximity with them were. In Mayans the only people within reaching distance are white. Like there’s no one else around to interact with(other than that cop and Juan Denver I guess).

So, I have thoughts about this because I've seen it said a couple of times and I feel like people aren't really seeing the bigger picture, so buckle up because it's long.

The main one being that Elgin James had nothing to do with SOA. Mayans is in the same universe as SOA, but it's not the same story. It's a different culture telling a different story, with a different focus, due to different experiences in this country. A difference is also that Kurt was the one responsible for the creative process regarding SOA. So all of the racism, sexism, rape culture, transphobia, homophobia was from Sutter's vision, not Elgins.

Now. The 'diversity in SOA was never really there for diversity. It was there for plot. The Grim Bastards were there to make it seem like the club wasn't as racist as it actually was because "Hey look, we have black friends" talking about their long-established history while simultaneously talking down on them. The 9'ers, same shit. Prentinging to be cordial, only to try and pin them for something they didn't do because they played into the angry black man stereotype, Clay's exact words. Weston was a white supremacist. We know that. Anyone who watched for 10 minutes knew that. That was well established for his storyline. It really wasn't necessary for Sutter to make Weston's chest tattoo a part of the costume design, but he did.

Then they had "relationships" with the Mayans back and forth all the while calling them Spics. So is that added diversity, or is one more avenue for Sutter to include white men looking down on those around them who aren't white?

Then there was the Triad, same thing, Chibs' character references them by calling them "r*ce m*nkeys" so again, was it diversity because they wanted to show diversity and create that atmosphere? Or diversity because...you get the idea.

So that's one thing from a writing standpoint. Sutter was going for a shock value based show that was going to give white Americans a hard on and it did. What better way to bring shock value than to be racist at every turn presented and play on bigotry? Elgin is trying to tell the stories of what Latino MC culture is like along with what the Latino experience is like in this country period. He's not trying to shock the viewers or be named the most controversial show; he's storytelling.

Then there's the fact that communities usually tend to have people within them that look alike, and the smaller the town, the truer that is. People will naturally congregate together with those they have the most in common with. The bigger a city, the more diverse. The smaller a city, usually the more uniform their demographics are. So then speaking on demographics, let's get into demos for the areas that the shows are based around. For the record "Charming" doesn't exist, it's a fictitious place for SOA, however, its general real-life area where it was shot at is San Joaquin County, California. So let's look at the demographics for that location.

It's got a fair bit of diversity in the sense that it's spread out. Disproportionate sure, but the demos are relatively spread out. So the diversity that we see in SOA having been filmed in San Joa county is relatively accurate. The Mayans in that 42.0%, 9'ers and Grim Bastards in the 8.3%, The Triad in the 17.4%, etc.

Now let's look at Calexico, which is the bordering town between the Mexican and Californian wall where Mayans is based.

Not much diversity. Why? Many of the people who live in the Calexico area are Mexican and other Latinx people who have immigrated from Mexico and are just trying to get by and live better lives. Many stay in that area so that it's easy for them to go back and see their families, sometimes at the wall itself if either side is unable to cross. Calexico isn't really a place where people just...go. People that are there are usually there because again, either their family has been there and they never moved, or they're staying there to be closer to their loved ones across the border. There are always exceptions, but that's the basis. So you've got the Latinos that live there...and then you have border patrol and the police force that get their rocks off by going after Brown people for a living. Those are the main two groups present. So Mayans, like SOA, has stuck to being realistic in regards to showcasing the demographics and population in which their shows were filmed. Charming was realistic to San Joa Valley and Mayans to Calexico.

So all of that being said, I don't really understand why Mayans keeps being put under a microscope. I mean xenophobia is why, but I don't get why it can't just be enjoyed and had to be directed when SOA checked every morally void box there was and just got a pass. Mayans MC is scrutinized more than SOA ever was and it just gets a little frustrating after a while. I think it's amazing that Elgin and the cast were given the ability to tell these stories that so many of us in the Latinx community understand and resonate with, and they do it beautifully, but it always seems like there's a reason people want to drag it. I'm not saying that's what you're doing, but that's what keeps happening and it's bothersome. Mayans is supposed to be a spin-off of SOA showcasing life for a Mexican American MC and that's exactly what it's doing. It's doing what it set out to do, and some people are still tearing it apart for things that are realistic.

The diversity on SOA was performative so it could get people talking about it, just like Venus' inclusion was performative. Mayans isn't trying to do that. It's taking Latinx men and women and showing their lives within the Latinx community and the struggles that we face within that community. It's giving Latinx viewers something of our own, but it gets dragged like never before. We're just trying to enjoy this piece of representation that we were given and it's being clouded and tainted by the constant criticism that I never saw SOA get and frankly still doesn't get outside of this community it seems. I don't really know what else to say.

[ssidesblog]

frame the halves and call them brothers

remus centric, 2,935 wc, ao3

remus meets janus, who proceeds to psychoanalyze him (and virgil is exhausted)

Remus did not wake up early. Or rather, he didn’t like waking up early, not usually. But that morning, Remus woke up with an excited buzz despite the fact he was awake before 8am on a Saturday. He rushed to get dressed, slipping on a flannel that was two sizes too big and had rips in the wrong places, a pair of black pants (the ones Patton loved to describe as his church pants since they were so ‘holey’), and his pair of blue ladder laced Doc Martens. Looking at himself in the mirror he couldn’t help but grin. Contrary to popular belief, Remus took a great deal of pride in his appearance, and to him, looking like the definition of the word ‘punk’ made him very content and happy. 

His mom sat at the kitchen table, already in her uniform for one of her jobs. Remus walked over to her and bent down to plant a kiss on her cheek. 

“Good morning, sweetheart.” She greeted him. 

“Morning.” He replied with a smile that showed off his chipped tooth. 

“You’re extra excitable this morning.” She commented and stood from her seat. 

“What can I say, I love facing the consequences of my actions.” Remus said, opening a granola bar and following his mom to the front door. She rolled her eyes with a chuckle and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door.  The ride to the school was quiet. Remus knew she was still pissed at him, even more so at Virgil and was not excited for him to be around the kid who beat him up. They pulled up to the school and just as Remus opened the door to leave she spoke. 

“Please behave yourself, mijo.”  She sounded exhausted and looked the part as well. Remus’s stomach knotted when he realized just how tired her whole existence was. He nodded, not trusting himself to talk, and left the car. He watched her pull away with a sort of sadness. He quickly shook away whatever he was feeling and entered the high school. He walked into the gym where Mr. Young was waiting along with a few other students. Remus noted he didn’t see Virgil, meaning he was early to something for once. He sat down on the bleachers and shortly after Virgil walked in with someone Remus vaguely recognized from a few of his classes. The two walked over to Remus. 

“I just don’t understand how you can be stupid enough to also get detention.” Virgil said to the kid next to him. 

“I don’t think it’s fair,” The other person spoke, “Writing on the bathroom stalls shouldn’t result in this kind of punishment.” 

“You wrote ‘fuck 12’, Janus, what the hell did you think would happen?” Virgil asked incredulously. 

“Well I didn’t think I would get caught.” The kid, Janus, replied in a grumble. 

“You making fun of me for being a wannabe punk when your boyfriend acts like that is kinda fucked up, Hot Topic.” Remus said, inserting himself into the conversation. Virgil gagged while the other kid made a face of pure disgust.

“Never say that ever again, we’re brothers.” Virgil said. 

“Oh, fuck, sorry I couldn’t really tell,” Remus said looking from one to the other, “I’m guessing you’re step brothers or something?” 

“Actually, we’re twins, I just happened to get all the melanin,” Janus stated and then gestured to the left side of his face where splotches of pale skin stood in a contrast to the rest of his dark complexion, “Virge did have some kind of influence though.” 

 Remus nodded in understanding and Virgil looked at him with a scrutinizing gaze. 

“Please tell me you don’t actually believe that.” Virgil spoke in a desperate tone. Remus laughed a little too hard. 

“I know I’m dumb but I’m not stupid.” Remus said. Virgil put his head in his hands and mumbled something Remus interpreted as ‘I want to go home’. He lifted his head and looked from Janus to Remus. He leaned closer to Remus and lowered his voice. 

“My brother kinda hates you for punching me.” 

“It’s ok,” Remus spoke in a similar hushed tone, “My brother hates me for punching you, too.” Virgil raised his eyebrow but didn’t question any further, to which Remus was thankful. Roman wasn’t a fun topic to talk about unless Remus was making fun of him and right now, even thinking about him was making him upset. 

“Ok, kids,” Mr. Young addressed the less than 10 people in the room, “Each of you will be cleaning up the campus. We have proctors all around campus so don’t do anything that will get you into even more trouble. Come grab a trash bag and gloves and hop to it.” He gestured to the pile of garbage bags and boxes of gloves. Each of the kids shuffled over and grabbed their supplies. 

Once they were outside, Remus, Virgil, and Janus stuck together and picked up the same area in relative silence. Remus bent down to pick up a half eaten sandwich when he noticed Janus’s shoes; blue ladder laced Doc Martens. He grinned and fully stood up. 

“You killed a cop, too?” Remus practically shouted the question and gained the attention of the two boys, along with a few bewildered looks from surrounding students. 

“Excuse me?!” Virgil asked, his voice going up an octave or two. Janus looked down at Remus’s boots and then his own, a knowing look on his face. 

“Seeing as how this little shit,” Janus nodded in the direction of Virgil, “Beat the fuck out of you, I seriously doubt you killed a cop.” Remus barked out a laugh. 

“Half-pint has some moves you wouldn’t believe.” Remus pointed to his tooth and Janus moved closer to get a better look. 

“The little raccoon did that?” He asked with amusement in his voice. Remus nodded. 

“He pulled my head back and smashed my face into the ground,” Remus recounted the moment with a sense of nostalgia in his voice, “My mouth just so happened to be open.” 

“You don’t sound angry about it.” 

“Because I’m not,” The grin in his voice was evident, “I’ve always wanted to get into a fight and now I have a way of remembering it.” Janus gave a small smile and Remus counted that as a win. 

“Is your nose ok?” Virgil asked. 

“It’s fine, kid, no need to feel guilty.” Remus reassured him. It was feeling a whole lot better than the day before, the bruising made it look a lot worse than it felt. 

“I still can’t believe you did that, bub.” Janus spoke with pride as he ruffled Virgil’s hair, “I raised you well.” 

“You’re barley even a year older than me shut the fuck up.” Virgil’s voice didn’t actually hold any malice. 

“Oh, you’re older than us?” Remus asked, adding, “I could have sworn I’ve seen you in some of my classes.” 

“Oh, no me and you are the same age,” Janus said with a shit eating grin on his face, “V here skipped a grade so he’s a little baby.” Janus had turned on his baby voice and squished Virgil’s face. 

“Get the fuck away from me.” Virgil said and swatted his hands away. 

“Awww, little piss baby.” Remus cooed. 

“I hate both of you so much.” Virgil said, giving each of them a pointed look. 

“You know you love me.” Janus said and wrapped his arms around his younger brother, swaying a little from side to side. Virgil mumbled something into his shirt that made Janus chuckle. Remus watched them and felt a little part of his chest ache. 

“You’re not so bad, Remus.” Janus said, letting go of Virgil. 

“I’m all sorts of bad, but I appreciate it.” Remus said. 

They finished cleaning with a lot more talking and joking around. Remus felt happy having people to interact with who were brand new to his life. It was like a breath of fresh air. Once they were dismissed, Remus walked to the front of the school with the two brothers. 

“Do you wanna go over to the gas station?” Janus asked him. 

“I don’t have any money on me.” Remus said, shifting on his feet. 

“Don’t worry about it, V can buy you a slushie.” Janus said, already walking in the direction of the nearby 7/11. 

“Why do I have to buy it?” 

“You’re the one who beat the shit out of him, it’s the least you can do.” Janus said and winked to Remus. He snorted. Janus looked over at him and squinted, searching for something in his face. 

“I’m flattered, really, but it’s awfully rude to stare.” Remus said. 

“You look familiar.” Janus mumbled. Then his face lit up, “You do theatre, right?” Remus groaned. 

“No, that’s my brother.” He couldn’t help the disgust evident in his voice. 

“Oh, are you two twins?” He asked. 

“Sadly, yes.” Remus responded. 

“You don’t seem very fond of him.” Remus bit the inside of his cheek. 

“We just have a complicated history.” He said. Virgil and Janus both raised an eyebrow and maybe Janus’s joke about them being twins wasn’t too far off. 

“Aren’t twins supposed to be, like, super close and shit?” Virgil asked. 

“Virgil.” Janus said his name like a warning. 

“No, it’s fine, Roman and I are just,” Remus paused to think of a way to describe their dichotomy, “different. He’s the golden boy and I’m clearly not.” Remus said and gestured to himself. 

“Comparison creates a divide and causes nothing but harm.” Janus told him. 

“That’s the thing,” Remus was starting to get angry, “I was never the one to start comparing. It was our dad who always favored Roman. Roman who does nothing for himself; he people pleases and has no sense of an actual identity. But because he can follow the rules he’s the good twin.” Remus hit the crosswalk button harder than necessary. 

“You seem a lot more interesting.” Virgil said 

“Agreed.” Remus gritted through his teeth. 

“So then, why are you jealous of him?” Janus asked. Remus turned to him. 

“I’m not jealous of him.” 

“Yes you are.” He stated

“Janus likes to psychoanalyze everyone.” Virgil informed Remus. The crosswalk flashed the little picture of the man walking and the three boys imitated the motion.

 Remus thought about what Janus said as the two boys started a conversation of their own. Was he jealous of Roman? There was no way. Roman was self absorbed and egotistical, but only on surface level. He and Roman may not get along too well but they knew each other like the back of their hand. Remus knew how insecure Roman was, always scared of losing his good image, letting himself hide away parts of himself to look less weird. Remus was happier, Remus was unabashedly himself. So, why was he jealous of Roman?

“You ok, Rem?” Virgil asked, successfully gaining his attention. 

“Oh, uh, yeah I’m fine.” Remus responded. Virgil nodded and followed Janus inside the 7/11. Remus walked in after him. 

“What flavor do you want?” Virgil asked, grabbing a cup and a lid. 

“Mix the blue and the Coke.” Virgil made an audible noise of disgust but complied. He wandered over to the chip aisle and Remus went to the back where Janus looked at the cold drinks. 

“You never answered my question.” Janus spoke, not taking his eyes away from the energy drinks in front of him. 

“I don’t really have an answer for you, I don’t know why I am. If you asked my therapist it probably has something to do with my dad.” 

“That’s what all therapists say.” Janus opened the case and crouched down, picking up two cans of Monster. 

“I mean, they aren’t wrong, dads are just like that.” Remus accepted one of the cans. 

“I wouldn’t know, I grew up with two moms.” 

“That’s why you’re so put together, no trauma of having a father.” Remus said. Janus laughed and Remus decided it was one of the prettiest sounds he’d ever heard. 

“Why do you need a Monster if you also have a slushie?” Virgil asked, exasperated. 

“Extra energy.” He replied, handing him the drink. Virgil rolled his eyes and went up to the counter. 

“I don’t think Roman is as boring as you think.” Janus said. 

“You know him?” Remus asked. 

“I’ve spoken with him a few times, he’s very active in theatre and so am I.”

“So you knew I wasn’t him?” Remus asked. 

“He’s interesting in his own way,” Janus avoided Remus’s question, “I think you need to give him a chance.” 

“Easy for you to say, you and Virgil seem like perfect siblings.” Remus knew he sounded bratty but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“When I first met him, I absolutely hated him,” Janus started, “I was 11 and suddenly I had a younger brother. I was in a new home and the only familiar part of my life was my mom and even then she had split her time between me and Virgil. I didn’t want anything to do with him. I thought he was weird and too quiet. Poor kid just had anxiety and me and my mom moving in did nothing to help. I had to give him a chance and once I did, we found we were similar in our own ways, but more importantly, we were different. Now, I can’t imagine a life where he isn’t my brother.” Remus looked at Janus in awe. 

“Give Roman a chance, he may be completely different than you but what’s so bad about that?” Janus gave him a smile that on anyone else would look disingenuous but with him it was the most open expression Remus had ever seen on anyone. Remus could only nod. 

“Is J getting all philosophical on you?” Virgil joined Remus’s side as Janus went to pay, “I keep telling him not to do that to people. He’s so weird.” There was a smile on his face as he spoke, as if just the mention of his brother made him happy. 

“You’re one to talk.” Remus knocked Virgil’s shoulder with his own. 

“I know the kid who brought a worm into class, claiming it to be his pet is not lecturing me about being weird right now.” Virgil said and Remus laughed. 

“I forgot about that, I miss that little guy.”  Virgil rolled his eyes with a certain fondness in his expression. He handed Remus his drinks as Janus joined the two. They walked back to the front of the school to wait for Virgil and Janus’s mom. 

“It was nice meeting you, Remus, we should hang out again.” Janus said as a way of goodbye. Virgil waved and off the two boys were. Remus stood up and started his walk to his house. He didn’t live too far away and was at his house in less than 20 minutes. He entered the house and found Roman sitting in the living room, watching something on TV. 

“Didn’t detention get out like, an hour and a half ago?” Roman asked and eyed the slushie and can of Monster in his hand, a sort of sadness in his eyes. 

“I went to 7/11 with Emo and Janus.” He said and walked over to him. 

“You know Janus?” Roman asked in surprise. 

“I met him today, those two are actually brothers.” Remus laughed at Roman’s disbelieving expression. “I know, it’s a small world.” He handed Roman the Monster. He took it hesitantly. 

“I’m glad you had fun.” He said and opened the drink. They were quiet for a few minutes, Remus joining him on the couch and half paying attention to what Roman had put on the TV (it was Hannah Montana; he only watched that when he needed a distraction). 

“Why were you so mad when I got into that fight?” Remus finally asked. Roman chewed on his lip in thought before finally responding, voice soft. 

“Because I didn’t want you to get hurt. And I didn’t want you doing something you would regret and beat yourself up about later.” Remus felt a pang in his heart. 

“You saying you actually care about me?” Remus meant for it to come out as a joke, but the way his voice cracked and went quieter just made it sound pathetic. 

“Of course I care about you, you’re my brother.” 

Remus took in a deep breath and sipped from his drink. 

“I’m sorry.” He said after a pause. 

“Dude, are you ok?” Roman’s voice was filled with worry. Remus managed a breathy laugh. 

“Yeah, I am. Thank you for the concern, Ro,” Remus smiled at him, “It means a lot.” Remus kept his voice low so it wouldn’t crack, so it wouldn’t push pressure on his throat, so he wouldn’t cry. Roman nodded and turned back towards the TV. 

Remus knew it was going to be hard. Roman had always been this ideal his dad set for him, more of an idea than a person. And Remus thought, maybe, he’d always hold some kind of resentment towards him. But Janus was right. Roman was different in almost every way, but he was still himself. In the same way Remus was himself. Eventually, he would come to accept that, but for now, Remus was content watching Hannah Montana on their couch, on the verge of tears, Roman’s head somewhere else entirely. They were a collective mess of trauma but at the end of the day they were still brothers and Remus couldn’t imagine it any other way. 

[kagehinataboke]

Im so fucking guilty of staying up late just to binge on your works because your writing is so great ! I just cant help but need to request a tdbk college au where katsuki is a punk with a loud bike and Shouto is just this perfect good boy who got roped into bad boy Katsuki’s lifestyle, basically a good boy/bad boy dynamics, pretty please ?? 🥺🥺 (gonna use emojis to be more convincing)

awww omg thank you, you sweet angel ❤️😭 ily uwu

and yassss ✨❤️ here’s pre-med student Todoroki ft. bad boy Bakugou 👏🏻

accidentally made this super long ooops

***

Todoroki thought he knew what tired was, but his pre-med course has completely reinvented the word. Exhausted, debilitated, and lifeless are better words to describe the kind of fatigue he feels. It’s class to class to class, with endless homework in between. Sleep? It’s basically a foreign concept at this point.

Heck, Todoroki is barely awake now, which isn’t such a good thing when one is walking down the street alone at night. He keeps almost drifting into lamp posts and street signs. The last lecture was just so long…

“Fuck.”

For a second, Todoroki thinks the expletive is directed at him. Then he lifts his head. There’s a bloodied figure hunched over in the nearest alley, both hands pressed against a large wound in his lower abdomen. He’s swearing at the sky, which is probably the only place he can look without passing out. Todoroki, despite not being the one in peril, feels a jolt of adrenaline spike through him. He knows he shouldn’t be approaching someone who has what is clearly a stab wound, but his medical training is already kicking in.

“Move your hands.”

The stranger squints at him with crimson eyes. “…What? Who the fuck are—“

Todoroki forcibly pushes his arms back. “You’re pressing on the wrong spot. You’ll bleed out.” He puts his own hands on the wound, altering pressure until the blood stops gushing between his fingers. When he has a solid position, he meets the stranger’s gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Bakugou Katsuki…” He closes his eyes to take a shuddering breath. “Shit. Don’t call the fucking cops, okay?”

“Well, that leaves me with very limited options…” Todoroki struggles to think of an alternative. His apartment is close, but he can’t take his hands off the stab wound. “Bakugou, If I tell you where to hold your hands, can you keep even pressure while I carry you to my place?”

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” Bakugou weakly rolls his head to look at his stomach. “Just tell me what to do before I fucking bleed out.”

As much as Todoroki doesn’t want this obvious delinquent in his house, he can’t exactly let someone die in an alley, either. “Put your hands here. Yeah. Keep pressure. Good.” As soon as his hands are free, Todoroki moves to slip an arm around Bakugou’s shoulders. He flinches and delivers an intimidating glare, but Todoroki can’t be swayed when he’s in Doctor Mode. “Don’t move your hands.”

“Fine… Don’t fucking touch me anywhere weird, asshole.”

“That isn’t how you should be talking to someone who’s saving your life,” Todoroki mutters, pushing himself to a standing position. Bakugou isn’t as heavy as he expected. “Try not to pass out before we get there.”

“Fuck you.”

***

After Todoroki treats him and sends him on his way, he never expects to see Bakugou Katsuki again. Fate, however, has different expectations. While he’s walking home from his morning class, Todoroki hears the rev of a motorcycle through his headphones. When it stops suspiciously close by, he turns to find a familiar blond delinquent smirking at him.

“Bakugou?” Todoroki takes out one earbud. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in town when I spotted you walking.” Bakugou leans his arms on the motorcycle, grin widening. “Want a ride?”

“On that?” Todoroki raises an eyebrow at the rumbling Harley. “No thanks. You’re nine times more likely to become injured while riding a motorcycle than while driving a car, you know. It’s not safe.”

“Oh yeah?” Bakugou lifts his own brow in retaliation. “But it still looks fucking cool, at least.”

Todoroki sighs and starts walking again, but Bakugou doesn’t give up easily. He follows at a snail’s pace, calling out childishly every few steps. “C’mon, pretty boy, live a little!”

The phrase ‘live a little’ gets to him. As a med student, Todoroki feels like he definitely lives on the safer side. He lost many friends in high school because he was “too boring.” Hearing Bakugou say it presses on an old bruise. He shouldn’t get so worked up over it, but…

Even though he knows he’s being an idiot, Todoroki stalks over to Bakugou’s motorcycle and slides on. The seat is humming gently, and Bakugou’s back is warm. His smile is still, however, incredibly annoying. “That’s more like it.” He passes Todoroki a spare helmet. “Where to, angel?”

“Fourth and Main.” Todoroki pauses. “Don’t call me that.”

“Hey, I call it like I see it.” Bakugou flips down the visor on his helmet, revving the engine obnoxiously. “Hold on tight.”

They take off, and Todoroki quickly lurches forward to grab Bakugou’s waist. He’s never felt this kind of adrenaline before, not even in the alley when they first met. The wind whips against his face and tugs at his clothes, and the street whizzes by underneath his feet in a blur of gray asphalt. Todoroki doesn’t even realize they’re not heading in the right direction until they stop.

“This isn’t Fourth and Main.” Todoroki’s hands shift away as Bakugou puts the Harley in park. “Where are we?”

“Just gotta grab something real quick. Don’t look so scared.” Bakugou pulls off his helmet, his hair somehow pristine underneath. He brushes it out of his face before shooting Todoroki a grin. “Coming?”

He isn’t about to sit out here alone, so he nods hesitantly. “I guess.”

“You’ll have to let go of me, then.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

They dismount, Bakugou taking the lead. He uses a key to get into the decrepit brick building they’ve parked in front of—probably his apartment complex, if Todoroki were to wager a guess. It’s covered in graffiti outside, but the interior is normal enough. Todoroki trails Bakugou down the hall to a door on the far end, pausing while he fiddles with the lock. “This damn thing always jams. Fuck. There.”

Todoroki isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but it isn’t this. Bakugou’s apartment is flawless. In fact, it’s cleaner than Todoroki’s dorm. The floors are dark hardwood, the walls are painted a nice shade of orange, and in the windowsill, there’s a neat line of potted succulents. It looks more like a high-rise magazine ad than a lived-in space.

“Fuck, where did I put it?” Bakugou digs noisily through a stack of papers on the coffee table, disrupting the peace. He certainly contrasts sharply to his apartment with his spiked hair, scowl, and ear piercings. And his attitude, of course. “Ah, fuck. Here it is.” He pulls something out of the pile with finality, sliding dislodged papers under the table with his foot.

It’s a textbook. Todoroki recognizes it from a class his sister took. “Advanced Biochemistry? You take that course?”

“Don’t look so surprised, asshole.” Bakugou ushers him out the door, locking it behind them. “Just because I swear and look intimidating doesn’t mean I’m a fucking moron.”

“I never thought you were.” Todoroki waits to be passed a motorcycle helmet before saying anything else. “How’s your stomach doing?”

“Huh? It’s fine. I’ve been hurt way worse than this. More importantly…” Bakugou smirks in a worrying and heart-stopping way. “What time does your class get out? I’ll pick you up.”

Todoroki shouldn’t tell him. He’s been thinking he shouldn’t do a lot of things recently. Unfortunately, he never takes his own advice. “Ten thirty. Don’t be late.”

***

Seeing him becomes a habit. Every time Todoroki gets out of class, Bakugou is there, leaning against his motorcycle with a smirk and a wave. When exactly they started spending so much time together is a mystery, but Todoroki can no longer remember the time when he walked home alone. When he was alone, period.

He asks Bakugou about it while he’s sitting on his spotless white sofa, eating take-out soba. “When did we become friends?”

“Huh?” Bakugou looks up from his chemistry textbook with a scoff. “Why the fuck are you asking that? I dunno.”

“Well, it was after you started harassing me all the time,” Todoroki continues with a frown. “Following me around on your motorcycle, calling me to patch you up after a fight—”

“That was one fucking time!” Bakugou interrupts, throwing a packet of soy sauce at Todoroki’s head. “Are you trying to piss me off, bastard? I swear I’ll make you walk home.”

“I’m only kidding. I like being friends with you.” Todoroki finishes his noodles and smacks the back of Bakugou’s head on his way to the kitchen. “I’d patch you up again if you asked me. It’s good practice for med school.”

“Asshole.” Bakugou rubs his head irritably. “Fuck, did you know that you give off mixed signals? God damn.”

Todoroki doesn’t answer. ‘Mixed signals’? Ha. If anything, Bakugou is the one who gives them off. He follows Todoroki everywhere, and he’s constantly flirting with him, but that’s as far as it goes. He still swears an ungodly amount, is the exact opposite of considerate, and has the crudest sense of humor in the world. It’s impossible to believe that he fell in love with a person like that.

Yes, unfortunately: he did fall in love. With Bakugou Katsuki, of all people. It’s a rather unfortunate turn of events, mainly because Todoroki finds himself worrying about Bakugou more than he worries about himself. He’s more conscious of him, too: he can’t help it. Even now, he’s studying the blond out of the corner of his eye. He’s been holding his arm awkwardly all day.

“Did you get in another fight?” Todoroki finishes washing his noodle bowl and turns a scrutinizing gaze on Bakugou, who flinches.

“…What gives you that idea?”

“You just confirmed it.” Todoroki narrows his eyes, and Bakugou’s widen. He leaps to his feet like a startled cat, putting the couch between them as a protective barrier.

“You stay the fuck away from—“ Todoroki jumps at him before he can finish the sentence, vaulting the couch in a single movement. Bakugou screeches and barely dodges him, sprinting around the coffee table. “You fucking psycho! Don’t do this again!”

“Let me see your arm, then!” Todoroki picks up a magazine and nails him in the back with it. Bakugou stumbles, his socked feet slipping on the hardwood floor. Todoroki takes the opportunity to grab his shirt collar, yanking him onto the couch in a headlock. He pulls up Bakugou’s left sleeve, revealing a long bloodied bandage covering his arm. “I knew it… When did you get this?”

Bakugou, sulking over the lost struggle, lets out a heavy breath. “Last night, after I dropped you off.” He glares out the window. “There was a guy outside. He said some shit, and we got into it. I’m fine.”

“Let me see it.” Todoroki relaxes his grip and Bakugou slides onto the floor, but he doesn’t run away. He surrenders his arm to Todoroki, grumbling irritably the whole time he unwraps it. It’s bad, to say the least, but at least it doesn’t look infected. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Todoroki already knows the answer: Bakugou thinks they belong to different worlds. He keeps Todoroki out of trouble, even if it means being a reckless idiot. It makes him so angry that he wants to scream. But he settles on leaving, instead. He lets Bakugou go and grabs his bag. “I have to go.”

“Wait. It’s late. I’ll drive you—“

Todoroki slams the door, cutting him off. So what if it’s late? He’d rather walk alone in the pitch black than risk saying things he’ll regret later.

He really needs to get a handle on these feelings, before they get out of hand.

***

He really should’ve let Bakugou drive him home. If he had, the idiot would’ve stayed out of trouble. When Todoroki gets a text with three words and a location ping before dawn, he already knows it’s bad news.

from: blond moron at 4:32 AM.

>> i need you

>> blond moron sent his location

Todoroki stumbles around pulling on clothes in the dark. His heart is hammering so loudly in his ears that he can’t even hear himself breathing. The location is an alleyway a few blocks away. That can’t be good. What the hell has Bakugou gotten himself into this time?

By the time he arrives, Todoroki has been through every worst-case scenario. But nothing could have prepared him for this. Bakugou, unconscious in a pool of blood. Three guys surrounding him, one of them with Bakugou’s cellphone in his hand. They’re gang members: he recognizes them from around town. Oh god. And as if things couldn’t get any worse, Todoroki was in such a hurry that he didn’t bring his phone or a weapon. Basically, he’s screwed.

“What’s going on here?” At least he can keep the tremor out of his voice.

One of the gang members scoffs. “Fuck. This is who this asshole saved as ‘angel’? I thought it’d be a chick.”

Todoroki shifts nervously, realizing what their intentions must be. Panic rises in his chest, but he shoves it down. Fight or flight is a natural response. He can ignore it if he tries. “You… You should get out of here before I call the police.” Hopefully, the bluff is believable.

The group of guys ignores him. “Even if he’s not a girl, he’s got a pretty face,” one says, giving Todoroki a creepy once-over. “Shame about that scar, but the rest of him could get me off.”

Todoroki is so offended that he almost scoffs. Why the hell didn’t he bring his phone? God, he’ll never yell at Bakugou for calling him stupid ever again… But what’s important right now is getting them both safely out of this situation. There won’t be people out on the street so late at night, so helpful bystander intervention is out. Todoroki is all alone on this one.

The gang members seem to have reached a consensus. They drop Bakugou’s phone and circle him, smirking and heckling. He figures he’s got two options: run or beat them up. Maybe fight or flight isn’t easy to ignore, after all.

“If you don’t put up a fight, this’ll all be much easier,” one of the men says, slowly inching closer, like a lion circling its prey.

Todoroki takes a page from Bakugou’s book. “Fuck you.” 

Making them angry will make them clumsy. 

Probably.

***

“Do you want to explain to me how you got these injuries?”

Todoroki shifts in his hospital bed, avoiding the officer’s gaze. “Not really?”

“What about the gentleman you came in with?” A pencil taps impatiently against a pad of paper. “Did you two get into some type of altercation?”

“No. I told you, he’s my friend.” Todoroki scratches the bandage on his head nervously. “The two of us were mugged by those three men. Unprovoked.”

“Uh-huh.” The pencil stops tapping, and the officer sighs. “Alright, then. I’ll go talk to those three and see what information I can get. If you’d like to change your statement at any time, I’ll be here.”

As soon as he’s gone, Todoroki sags against his pillows. He still can’t believe they actually escaped. He got lucky, that’s for sure. That wrench he found probably saved both of their lives. His, most definitely, even if it didn’t save all of him. He’s got a nasty gash on his head, dark bruises around his neck, and scratch-marks all over his chest and back.

Bakugou is pretty banged up, too, but not as badly. He’s only got a minor concussion and a nasty cut on his torso. Just when that stab wound was starting to scar over, too.

“Todoroki-san?” A nurse knocks and sticks her head in through the open door. “Are you up for a visitor?”

“A visitor?” Todoroki’s heart leaps. It must be him. “Sure.”

Bakugou appears in the gap the nurse vacates, holding onto an IV pole with one hand. He’s ditched his hospital gown for a loose cotton shirt and jeans, most definitely against medical orders. “…Hey.”

“Hey.” Todoroki waits for him to sit down before sitting up. “Are you allowed to be walking around?”

“Not really.” Bakugou looks at him, and Todoroki is shocked to see tears slip down his face. He’s never seen him cry. Never. “You’re a fucking idiot.” The swearing isn’t new, though.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Todoroki presses his fingertips together, then relaxes them again. “It’s not like the situation was avoidable,” he murmurs eventually. “They texted me pretending to be you. I couldn’t just ignore it. And if I hadn’t come—”

Bakugou slams a fist into the wall, startling Todoroki into silence. “If you hadn’t come, those motherfuckers wouldn’t have—” He takes a measured breath before continuing. “They told me what those bastards tried to do. I was so pissed, I wanted to punch myself. If I wasn’t an idiot who got into fights in the first place, you wouldn’t have had to go through that shit. It’s my fault.”

“I’m fine,” Todoroki tells him quietly. “They barely touched—” He trails off when Bakugou’s fingertips brush against the bruises at his throat. He expects to feel a jolt of suppressed trauma, but there’s nothing more than a lump building in his throat. “Bakugou, I’m really…”

“You’re not fine.” He runs a hand through his hair without meeting Todoroki’s eyes. “Fuck. I can’t…” He flinches when Todoroki takes his hand.

“I know you think I can’t handle myself. And don’t try to argue: I know it’s true, too. But I can. I took care of us both this time.” He squeezes Bakugou’s hand. “I’m strong, too. Even if I don’t look as intimidating as you do.” He tries to smile. “This didn’t scare me. Not in the least.”

For a while, they linger in silence. Then Bakugou sighs, pressing their joined hands to his forehead. “Yeah,” he relents, “I know you’re strong. It’s part of the reason I like you so damn much.”

If he didn’t know any better, Todoroki would think he‘s dreaming. But his head throbs too much for him to be asleep. “What did you say?”

“I like you.” Bakugou doesn’t let go of his hand. “But you knew that, right? I didn’t mean to take so long to tell you. I guess I didn’t want to make myself seem less cool in your eyes? Don’t laugh. I know it sounds fucking stupid now.”

“This is kind of… the worst timing for a confession,” Todoroki mutters, but he can feel himself smiling. “I have a concussion.”

“What? Why does that matter?”

“I just really don’t want to forget this.”

“Really?” Bakugou snorts. “Idiot… Don’t worry. I won’t let you forget it.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Todoroki raises an eyebrow, and Bakugou’s smile stretches against his fingers.

“Definitely a promise.”

[theticklefox-blog]

Snatch the Series: My Review

Note: this will contain spoilers, so read no further if you haven’t watched the series yet. It will also contain negative opinions on some issues, so if the show was everything you ever wished for... this isn’t for you and I don’t want to upset you. Just enjoy the GIFs (which betray my biases) and skip the rest.

I really, really wanted to like Snatch.   Honest I did. I keenly anticipated it from the moment it was announced, despite my not being a huge fan of Guy Richie or the film version. The previews made the show look energetic and fun and most of the actors are consistently good, and playing types of characters they’re not necessarily known for, which I always appreciate.  Also, fans of the other actors, Luke Pasqualino and Rupert Grint in particular, were very kind and helpful in providing news, BTS video and rare photos as the series filmed, and were-- mostly-- good about not posting spoilers without a warning.

So it saddens me to report  I found the show more annoying than involving. A large part of that is due to the slipshod writing, underwritten characterization and reliance on jarring edits and often “WTF?!” character motivations and action that made it difficult for me to care about the protagonists (or even perceive them as protagonists, really... let’s say The Young Pretty People The Writers Clearly Wanted Us To Like.) 

Mostly I’m upset Marc Warren’s considerable talents were wasted on such a grand scale. So much could have been made of Bob Fink in the hands of a more creative writing staff... every week on Fargo and Better Call Saul, to name just two current examples, corrupt cops and wannabe gangsters (who are often the same characters) have rich, unpredictable storylines which give talented actors a broad canvas on which to showcase their talents and play off one another. But the Fink charter is merely insulted by everyone in his orbit from the beginning (which, frankly, just made me sympathize with him), marginalized in most of the plot and never given enough to do. 

I suspect Ed Westwick fans are also somewhat frustrated that Westwick, who was front and center in most of the promotion,  was too easily dispensed with in episode four, and that most of his colorful momements were actually given away the commercials. 

I'm still baffled by Marc’s treatment in that promotion. His name was literally never mentioned once by other actors or by the show’s Twitter, Facebook and Instagram feeds, though he’s the closest thing to a main antagonist the show has. (Photos of his character appeared, but Marc was never named.)  Did Marc want to avoid being part of the publicity? Was it some sort of misguided decision by the marketing staff because Marc is relatively unknown here, or even because a handful of people keep whining about how much they disliked his character on The Good Wife? I just don’t get it. I’d like some answers about this.

But the promotional absurdities wouldn’t  matter if Marc had been given a decent role to play, and he was shorted in that department too... Fink could have been a great villain or a great tragic character, but, despite some great acting moments from Marc, he wasn’t allowed to be either. The character is bullied, deceived and marginalized by both his gangster friends and corrupt police associates, yet  the writing kept implying he deserved this without ever providing proof. 

Then there was the Vic Hill character, who the writers clearly intended to be charming, but I saw only a thuggish man-child who continuously jeopardizes his family and bullies his perceived underlings. I hated him from the beginning and he only got worse. Dougray Scott’s hammily overdone performance didn’t help matters. I was on Bob’s side pretty much from the start... if only the writers had a clue about nuance and a willingness to challenge their audience or divide it, but... no. There was no character depth to speak of anywhere.

As for the young leads... the old kiddie ganster musical Bugsy Malone kept popping into my head. i couldn’t take them seriously as adults despite the fact these actors are in their late 20s-early 30s and more than capable of playing bona fide adults if they’d been given a decent script. Instead they were given hoary paint-by-numbers plot cliches cribbed from every gangster movie since the 1920s, padded out by clumsily-executed heist sequences and flashbacks that played like music videos.  

In some ways it seemed like the series had two or three episodes worth of material, and the rest was filler, leading to a number of pointless tangents and inexplicable actions. The backstory about the gold was goofy at best, and nice coincidence about it resurfacing exactly when and where Albert, Charlie et al were planning to hijack Sonny’s cash (in an identical truck, no less). The show is full of such cartoonish improbabilities, though none delivered with the verve of an actual cartoon.  

There are repetitive flashback’s of Vic’s original heist (yeah, let’s show Bob getting heaped with more abuse... ), loony side-stories filling in for character development (ie Billy’s whole backstory... what a wasted opportunity that was. Though Lucien Laviscount did a great job with the few subtle dialogue moments he got between having to beat people up and listen to crazy yarns about his parents), repetitive scenes of Charlie getting impaired in various ways, an out-of-nowhere love triangle that seems to be there just to divide the main group, female characters who have too little to do in general except be feisty and supportive (or, in the case of Dwyer, feisty and cuntish)... I get the sense the scripts were all written in the weekend before filming began, and that no one really scrutinized them closely. 

Yes, I’m a Marc Warren fan and am biased. And I knew going in that he was probably playing an antagonist and that he’d get iced in the final episode... I’m used to all of that. Pretty much every actor I’ve ever admired from Lon Chaney Sr onward got typecast as villains or outsiders and got killed onscreen more times than Steve Buscemi does throughout the Coen Brothers’ oeuvre. I don’t have a problem with that. Conventional heroes and the squarejaws who play them bore me. I love complicated characters and character actors who seek out such roles.   

But I don't appreciate youth-obsessed deck-stacking, treating bullies as heroes, and writing which both wants our protagonists to be “bad-ass” or at least risk-taking, yet continuously lets them off the hook, either through miraculous escapes or through having the older characters or one-note side characters take bullets for them or do the dirty work. Full disclosure: I haven’t bothered with the last two episodes because I was so disgusted with what went down in episode 8. I’m pretty sure the Young Pretty People prevailed and that Albert redeemed the sins of his father and finally said something nice to Charlie according to schedule. I can’t say I really care. 

As in The Musketeers, Marc played a bullied, mistreated character who I couldn’t help but care about, both because Marc is such an exquisite actor even in marginal roles, and because I tend to side with complicated or oppressed characters, not with self-described “heroes”.  In both shows, despite being the nominal villain, his character was shunted to the sidelines for too much of the duration, then suddenly given a lot of screentime just before being ganged up on and killed off.  So yeah, the worst kind of deja vu... in The Musketeers at least Rochefort had some fun or powerful moments, and I understood that the show’s episodic structure hindered a more nuanced character through-line. 

But Snatch has no such excuses. Also: couldn’t Bob and Charlie have had a sustained sequence or conversation without annoying cutaways to more trivial matters, like Vic torturing Charlie’s butler (which was played for laughs! God how I hated Vic...)? And why did Bob keep leaving the apartment? Apart from more plot-padding I mean? Why didn’t Bob shoot Vic when he had the chance? Because he really should have. Why was the whole tiresome side trip to America necessary, given how easily Billy got the diamonds back? Much of the plot strains on like that, making no sense. 

The Snatch showrunners keep comparing their efforts to Fargo, Noah Hawley’s brilliant offshoot of the Coens’ film (of all their films, really)... they need to stop doing this. It does them no favors and it makes me pine for Marc to get cast on Hawley’s show (or anything by Vince Gilligan) instead. Yes, I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, because the writers on those shows know something about ambiguity, character development, unpredictable plotting, creative musical cues, and, most essentially, how to hire great character actors and write roles worthy of them, then give them room to breathe onscreen.   Hawley or Gilligan would’ve known what to do with Bob Fink. They could’ve done for Marc what they’ve done for Giancarlo Esposito, Bryan Cranston, Jonathan Banks, Bokeem Woodbine, Alison Tolman... even established stars like Ewen McGregor  and Billy Bob Thornton have shown new capabilities on Fargo. I would donate my left kidney to see Marc on one of those shows, whereas if the Snatch crew had created Breaking Bad... I'm sure Walter White would’ve been killed off in season one while the balance of the show went on to document the hijinks of Badger and Skinny Pete.   

I know I’ve gone on long enough, but I'm still bitter. ;) Marc Warren has really scaled back his acting commitments in recent years. I have no idea why, whether his priorities now lie elsewhere (and it’s none of my business to guess where), or whether he’s just not getting the calibre of role he’d like... if Snatch and Audible “Audio dramas” are the best he’s being offered, it must be very frustrating, but I don't want to judge his choices when I have no idea why they were made. Marc rarely gives interviews these days.  He has said in the past that Mad Dogs arose from the poor quality of roles offered him at that time. If he and his actor friends wanted to crowdfund something along those lines I would do everything in my power to promote that or help. If Marc simply wants to focus his attentions elsewhere and not act so often, that’s perfectly within his rights as well. Of course he owes me nothing. I hope that when he appears at Birmingham’s Collectormania fancon to do signings next month (June 3) he’ll give us a hint of some kind. (Don’t worry, Marc, I won’t be there... I only do the fangirl thing from a distance.) 

Anyhow... with Marc doing so few projects lately, it’s incredibly frustrating to wait months for something like Snatch, that so consistently fails to deliver. Marc does the best he can and has some great moments in spite of the limits he’s working under. As I’ve said, there was the potential for a great, messy, complicated character there. He deserved so much better.

[beyondforks]

Shooting Star by Jeffe Kennedy has a New Cover!

Here's the original cover, which is pretty snazzy already....

First, here's a little about the book. Have you read it yet?

Shooting Star by Jeffe Kennedy Genre: Adult Fiction(Contemporary Romance) Date Published: March 6, 2018 Publisher: Brightlynx

Not all desires are shiny and sweet—and the dark ones might change you forever… 

It’s not the kind of obsession a tough Army guy can admit to—a jones for Ava, the pretty-princess pop star. Not just her body, the perfect product that sells all those magazines. Her music. 

The critics call her human lip gloss, all style and no substance. To Joe Ivanchan, Ava is the exact blend of reality and fantasy that he can tolerate, the closest he’s willing to get to giving his heart after the injury and breakdown that got him out of the service. 

But Ava is real. She’s a flesh and blood woman with a publicity machine and an album deadline, along with a whole team of handlers paid to shellac a pristine sheen over a damaged, desperate soul. A woman with fears, with secrets, with desires. 

When Joe finds himself in an interview to join her security team as her driver, his instinct is to get away. But the woman behind Ava’s carefully focus-grouped image is even harder to walk away from. The angry needs tormenting her speak to something within Joe. Something empathetic, protective—and primal… 

Besides, even a falling star can light up the darkest night.

Check out the EW cover!! 

I don’t have to tell you she’s beautiful. All the world knows that. I knew that much long before I met her, from those skyscraper-high videos flashing her face in Times Square to the cover of that men’s magazine published obscenely soon after her eighteenth birthday. The magazine hit the stands so fast that the shoot had to have happened when she was still a minor. I and all the other twisted perverts of the world had been counting down for that moment, for the little-girl princess to grow up just enough to be legal fodder for our prurient fantasies. As opposed to the ones I’d had before that. The clock clicked past midnight and she went from forbidden to fair game. I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t one of those guys. I was. I am. And I’ll cop to feeling like a dirty old man for being one of the ones waiting for her to be legal, even though I’m not a hell of a lot older than she is. War will do that to you, make you old before your time. I got my buddy to bring me a copy in the hospital. I even kept it in a plastic sleeve, to protect those precious images of her. Not that I was obsessed, exactly. Back then I didn’t even know much about her music. I’d heard my little sister talk about her, but that was it. Not something the guys listened to. The guys—we liked her for different reasons. I don’t claim to be some special snowflake, but I always thought something else drew me to her, besides the star-struck, lust-filled awe I shared with so many. I was stupid with the pain management back then, so that contributed. Still, on the glossy pages of that magazine she gazed out with her trademark tawny-gold eyes, as if she saw right through me. I won’t say I didn’t scrutinize the fine freckles on those high cheekbones that looked like they belonged on a sculpture of an Egyptian goddess, or where they scattered across the snowy skin of her breasts, a hint of her nipples behind the cloth she held in place. Or that I didn’t, like every other het guy out there, study that one pic—the one that showed her back—and the dark mole high on her adorable ass, which was barely covered by the gold-sequined drape of her gown. Yeah, I fantasized about kissing that little mole. And more. A hell of a lot more. But it was never only that. Her eyes grabbed me in that photo, too. Something riveting in that gaze. Calling to me. The way she looked over her shoulder, with her hair in gleaming waves like one of those forties Hollywood movie stars, lips painted with gold glitter, pouting in what was probably supposed to be sexy. I guess it was, for all that, though it didn’t work for me. With the expression in her eyes, she looked sad. I had plenty of my own problems, but it still bothered me. I went over and over that photo spread—and then every one I could find after that—studying her eyes, how they never matched the rest of her expression, the renowned color unfailingly brighter than all the glitter and jewelry they decorated her with. As if, if I looked long enough, I could decipher the thoughts behind them. Not what she was saying to me, some random guy among millions, but what she might say, given the opportunity. What can I say? I had a lot of time on my hands. I started downloading her music. People wanted to know what they could do for me, how to help? An iTunes gift card, man. All through the physical therapy, the hellish weaning from the morphine and all that other shit, I listened to her songs, her sweet voice a constant murmur in my ears. I even went back all the way to the kiddie albums and the inane and infectious bopping of those princess years, the goofy saccharine family movies and that kids’ show she started on. A bubblegum counterpoint to my grim reality. I wasn’t going to show anyone my playlist, but I wouldn’t give it up, either. Not long after that magazine spread, she came out with a new album—I told my home health aide to back off and stayed up to midnight to get it when it released. It had some of her own songs on it. With each album over the next few years, she had more of her own stuff. I made a game of it, when each dropped, listening and deciding which were hers before I checked the credits. Every once in a while I’d be wrong—and then those would be written by a particular few, the songwriters she must love. Her actual friends, maybe. Once I was able to work again, I made mixes of her own songs and the special ones, listening while I drove, as long as I had no clients. People seemed to find it funny that a guy like me listened to a pop star known for the rabid fandom of teen—and tween—girls and I didn’t have much bandwidth for smart remarks. Okay—zero bandwidth for static of any kind.

Check out my reviews of other books by this author!

Jeffe Kennedy is an award-winning author with a writing career that spans decades. Her fantasy BDSM romance, Petals and Thorns, originally published under the pen name Jennifer Paris, has won several reader awards. Sapphire, the first book in Facets of Passion has placed first in multiple romance contests and the follow-up, Platinum, is climbing the charts. Her most recent works include three fiction series: the fantasy romance novels of A Covenant of Thorns, the contemporary BDSM novellas of the Facets of Passion, and the post-apocalyptic vampire erotica of the Blood Currency.  

Jeffe lives in Santa Fe, with two Maine coon cats, a border collie, plentiful free-range lizards and a Doctor of Oriental Medicine. Jeffe can be found online at her website: JeffeKennedy.com or every Sunday at the popular SFF Seven.

To learn more about Jeffe Kennedy and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads & Facebook, and Twitter.