#i’ve seen so many versions of OF with women but this is HANDS DOWN THE BEST ONE

[berristreasuredlibrary]

I’ve been seeing so many fine ass men and women on my dashboard it’s craaaaazy

From Demon Slayer, to AOT, to MHA, to JJK it’s all over the place and so is my sanity.

So, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to write a few blurbs (?) about a few of the men/women I’ve seen on my dash (it's just three people but I will write more)🤭

A warning, most of this is in my opinion, so there’s that. It’s just what goes on in my teeny tiny brain.

NSFW under the cut, featuring: K. Bakugou, K, Nanami, and M. Ackerman x Fem!reader (all separate)

@chrollohearttags Maybe you’ll enjoy the last two, angel? 🤭

Katsuki Bakugou

He’s big and loud, he takes up so much space, his big, beefy body makes bodybuilders look like dwarves. He’s proud, gains attention anywhere he goes, who wouldn’t want a look at the handsome hero? He takes on the meanest, toughest villains, he models here and there, he’s on tv and billboards. His face is everywhere, everyone knows him. He bears the weight of so many responsibilities upon his big, beefy shoulders…and it takes its toll every so often. Until he met you, then that weight didn’t seem so heavy anymore. Suddenly, he doesn’t have to be Dynamite, he doesn’t have to be the big strong hero who saves people everyday. He can be Katsuki, or Suki, or baby, or honey, or darling. He’s yours, and you take care of him so wonderfully. He’s whatever cheesy nickname you decide to call him, even if he grimaces. You heal his heart, you melt his brain, turn it into mush.

Especially in bed. In the safety of your home, and the privacy it gives you, he’s just just Suki. He’s your good boy, following your every command to the t. You never would’ve guessed this big, dominant man would love to be dominated, but you’re not one to complain, especially with how pretty he looks beneath you. Beautiful red eyes watching your every moment, wrists bound together by a silk rope and tied to the headboard of your bed. His chest heaves with each ragged breath he takes, your fingers stuffed in his mouth, his pretty lips wrapped around your digits. Drool runs from the corners of his mouth, it coats your fingers so beautifully. Broken moans echo through the empty room along with the sound of skin slapping together, tears stream down his pretty face. His tongue swirls around your fingers, soaking them the same way your pussy soaks his dick. Praise falls from your lips, how much of a good boy he is, how well he’s doing, how pretty he is, how much you love him. Each word that falls from your pretty lips sends blood straight to his dick, making it throb inside your warm pussy. His cum suddenly spurts inside you, a drawn out whiny moan escapes his lips before he can stop himself, he whole body spasming as his orgasm hits him like a truck. Ropes of thick, sticky cum fill your pussy, so much that his dick does little to plug you up. It drips from your pussy, coating his pelvis and your inner thighs, yet you don’t stop bouncing. Pulling your fingers from his mouth, you speak in your sweet, sweet voice, “Oh, you did such a good job, baby. Can I have another?”

Kento Nanami

Nanami was a sweetheart, he loved to dote on you, even if you aren’t really together. You both worked with each other, doing whatever necessary, be it on missions or simply business, you always got the job done beautifully. It seemed like you both shared the same mind, always coming to a conclusion nicely. Nanami thought you were beautiful, a radiant little thing who didn’t have a single bad bone in her body. You hardly gave him any problems, even if you did he could never hold that against you. You were too precious for him, too lovely, too much of an angel. And to you, he was a wonderful man, who respected you and your ideas. He always heard you out, gave you amazing feedback, and he always strived to help you become a better version of yourself FOR yourself.

Nanami’s hands slowly glide up your thighs, softly gripping the supple skin, his mouth kissing and licking along your neck, sending your mind spiraling. His dick rubs against that sweet spot inside you and a loud moan echoes in the office room. Nanami deep voice grounds you momentarily, one of his big hands coming up to cover your mouth, “Shh sweetheart, you don’t want anyone hearing you, do you? I know angel, you feel so good. Fuck—you’re such a good girl.” His head comes down to rest on your shoulder, his pace faltering when your gummy walks squeeze his cock, his breath hitching in his throat. “You’re close, sweetheart.” A statement, never a question. “Go on angel, cum on your cock. You can make a mess, baby. Don’t worry, I’ve got you sweet girl. Go on, give it to me.” And you do, you cum all over him when his dick brushes that sweet spot again, your legs trembling around his waist, your eyes rolling back. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your pussy walls fluttering around his cock, squeezing and squeezing him, sucking him in repeatedly. “Good girl. My good girl. You got it, pretty.” His hand that was once covering your mouth, moves down, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in slow circles. Soft whimpers of his name fall oh so prettily from your lips, gracing his ears. “K-Kento, ‘s too much!” High pitched moans and squeals fill the office but he makes no move to quiet you down, why would he silence a pretty little thing like you?

Mikasa Ackerman

Mikasa was a quiet girl, she was always kind towards you. Always giving you any notes you missed, saving you seat next to her in class all the time, offering to tutor you whenever you didn't understand a lesson. A sweet girl with round glasses framing her pretty face, always dressing so modestly, she never got in trouble, all the teachers loved the straight A student who never caused problems. Who, rumor had it, was the prettiest virgin any guy had laid their eyes upon. So imagine your surprise when you see the so called virgin at a party one of the frat boys throw, dressed in tight leather pants and a baggy black sweater that barely hits the waistband of said pants. She's got a drink in her hand, her back against the wall, and her eyes are roaming about the cramped room. You spot Eren and Armin nearby and assume they had brought her along since the three were inseparable. Seeing a bottle being set down in the middle of a group, you smile to yourself, raising your head and catching her eye. Since she came to the party you wonder if she'd mind playing a little game with you.

Soft bodies press against each other, softer moans filling the small, dimly lit closet. Mikasa’s round glasses fog up as puffs of air leave both your mouths, lips barely leaving the other’s as your kisses get sloppier. Saliva coats Mikasa’s lips, sticky gloss smudged along her chin as she struggles to keep up with the pace you’ve set. Hums of delight leave your lips, your fingers tangled in her hair, your tits pressed against hers. She’s overwhelmed by you, yet she finds the courage to push against you, tilting her head to the side to grant her better access to your mouth, her tongue slipping past your lips and entering your mouth before you realize it. Her hands come up to grab your tits, squeezing the soft mounds gently, swallowing your sweet moans as she pushes her tongue deeper into your mouth. Your hands slide down from her hair, running down her back to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to you in the small closet. Mikasa pulls back from the kiss slightly, catching her breath as your hand slide lower to grab at her ass through her pants, your nails digging softly into the supple skin there. As each second passes, Mikasa grows bolder, her hands cupping your tits and squeezing harder before her right hand drops down to your thighs and nudges them apart. Her fingers glide up along your thighs before stopping at your panties, her wide eyes looking into yours for a moment before she presses her thumb to your clit, feeling the damp patch that seems to grow with each swipe she makes. She continues to watch you, taking note of each sigh, moan, and twitch as she continues rubbing your clit through the thin material of your panties. Her lips trail kisses along your jaw then down to your neck, leaving reddish marks scattered about before she flattens her tongue along the column of your throat and slowly licks up, her thumb still swiping along your clit. Her left hand dips into the low neckline of your little dress to play with your tit better, her fingers softly pinching and pulling at your perky nipple. Your mind grows hazy as her lips descend from your neck towards your collarbone, licking and sucking marks there too. The coil in your tummy begins to grow tighter and tighter as Mikasa’s thumb rubs at your sensitive pearl faster, her teeth leaving their mark along the tops of your tits where they threaten to spill out from your low neckline. Mikasa’s fingers dip into your panties, her fingers collecting your slick before she shoves her coated digits into your mouth, much to your surprise. “You look so pretty with your mouth stuffed, princess.” She purrs, her voice dripping with confidence, almost as much as your pussy drips with slick. “Why don’t I take you home and I can properly stuff you, pretty girl? Can I?” And as she shoves her fingers further into ryour mouth, her eyes staring into yours, dark and hazy like your own, an alarm goes off. Seven minutes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[olderthannetfic]

I’m this anon who asked about radical feminist/trans debates. I appreciate your response and those of your commenters, particularly @elfwreck who described a long evolution of discourse that I’ve missed. I’ve not been intentionally dense…just a woman and working mother who’s been busy as hell for about the last 15 years and focused on getting through the day. I’ve always supported gay rights, never gave it a second thought. With my kids older and more time on my hands, I started exploring fanfic and have been drawn in. One thing led to another and I find myself down tumblr rabbit holes with women raising questions about girls sports and the dangers of HRT for teens and whether lesbians are allowed to not like dicks, with responses that generally amount to “die terf”. I start researching online and find academic papers and news articles, but find essentially a similar message to you and your commenters: “radical feminists are obviously wrong and not to be taken seriously”. No addressing the questions I’ve seen raised. I get the point—one side is indefensible and I missed the boat on seeing the discussion play out many years ago. I suppose I was looking for a short cut through social media which feels silly in retrospect. Regardless, the radical feminists are out there making intellectual arguments across social media on a range of topics, including men in general, misogyny, porn, prostitution. In all likelihood the post that first pulled me in to their viewpoints related to the imbalance between women and their husbands with respect to child raising, housework, and expressing anger over daily aggravations, which rang completely true to my personal experience and that of other women I know. Likely why I now find myself caught up in fanfic escapism. Anyhow, I’ll dig in deeper to academic literature on the intersection of women’s rights, gay rights, and trans rights because I finding myself caring to know this history now.

--

It happens.

A lot of the roots of current feminist debate are in the Feminist Sex Wars of the 80s. Those were about differing ideas around protecting women and the implications of pornography.

(TBH, part of how very old arguments are able to rear their ugly heads again is that this shit is old enough that the youth weren't born yet during those debates.)

While not about trans stuff per se, some of the ideas about embattled women whose territory is being encroached on link back to there. The "argument", to the extent that the anti-trans side has one, tends to be about defending women's spaces. Many of these arguments are coming from a place of genuine fear. (Maybe not realistic fear, but I believe them that they're traumatized and reacting accordingly.) Some, however, are malicious indoctrination.

There have been efforts (sometimes admitted to publicly, often not) to literally infiltrate young lefty spaces with this kind of rhetoric. It's the queer and female youth version of gamer boys getting indoctrinated by the alt right. So people on my blog have very limited patience for anything that gives this shit the time of day.

I don't think there's a particularly good shortcut since it's the culmination of decades of fighting.

But where I'd start would be by saying that a lot of the arguments sound good on the surface but boil down to "Have you stopped beating your wife yet?" traps.

If someone on social media is still hung up on "But BDSM is abuse! A woman cannot meaningfully consent because [bullshit we fought about in the 80s]", we have nothing to say to each other.

The anti-kink and anti-trusting people when they say they consent attitudes tend to go hand-in-hand with suspicion of trans people and refusal to let people define their own identities.

Misogyny and unfair work distributions are absolutely real, but there's a certain "war on women" rhetoric that's about as legit as the "war on Christmas".

The "other" side agrees about a lot of the basics, like the fact that a lot of dudes really need to hold up their end of relationships better when both partners work and nobody should be solely in charge of the house.

But some feminist classic like the comic You should've asked is not on "The Feminist Side" as opposed to "The Trans Side". Regular feminism doesn't take issue with trans people. Lots of regular feminism accepts that women are kinky and horny and like impure things.

These feminist basics are often used as a strawman ("Our opponents disagree with this basic idea they clearly do not actually disagree with!") and as camouflage for much stupider ideas, like the notion that trans women would choose to be a demographic that gets murdered in bathrooms a lot. It's not cis women who are in danger from trans women! That's complete horseshit.

A lot of the talk of embattled lesbian space actually means "Oh no, some butches came out as trans men eventually, and we have to acknowledge bisexual women now".

--

Re the HRT thing... Yes, there are dangers to prescribing kids and teens hormones. A family should go into the process with a clear understanding of the effects on bone density and such. These risks can be managed the same as menopausal women manage bone density risks. These are not horrific and unknown problems: they're commonplace medical issues we've dealt with before in other contexts. They don't have to be a big deal unless a kid has some pre-existing bone disorder or something.

The part the transphobes don't tell you is that the biggest danger to trans teens is suicide.

Depending on which study you look at, something like 80% of trans youth have serious suicidal thoughts and maybe half make an actual attempt. Lots of teens have issues, but these rates are staggeringly higher than for cis peers, even cis gay peers who also tend to have higher rates than cis het teens.

Forcing someone to go through the body horror of the wrong puberty is... well... not great for their mental health. So a lot of medical professionals are understandably eager to treat kids and teens early because of the huge lasting mental toll. Taking hormones early can also result in an adult body that passes better. And perhaps people shouldn't have to pass as cis to be treated how they want to be treated, but we live in the real world.

Some people do start treatment and then regret it. That's reality. But it's a small percentage, and the issue is often that they're nonbinary and weren't presented with any options other than cis of their assigned sex at birth or transsexual in the 90s sense where you want the full top and bottom surgeries and you're still very binary. I know people who've detransitioned to a degree, but they're not like "Ah yes, I was 100% cis and a fool!" There was generally something going on, just something harder to pin down.

(In fact, most of the "evidence" of people regretting transition are from contexts where the only way to socially transition and get your government ID changed and so on was to do the full medical transition. The regretters would most likely have preferred something in the middle but were not allowed access to what they needed by punitive laws.)

A bunch of alarmist dickheads want to tell you that trans youth don't know their own minds and that everything will be safer and healthier if they just wait to get treatment. In most cases, this is completely untrue.

There used to be far more psychiatric roadblocks to getting physical medical treatment. What the haters want is for these to return. But they didn't deter trans people back then, and they're not going to now.

--

Re the dicks thing... People roll their eyes because it's such an old canard. Nobody thinks lesbians should be required to like dicks. Nobody thinks lesbians should be required to date trans women either.

But lots of trans women get bottom surgery and don't even have a penis. In any case, whether they get surgery or not, reducing them to a body part is the kind of bio-essentialist nonsense feminism normally strives to debunk.

These arguments boil down to "Have penis, will rape".

--

Re sports... Trans women don't end up being the issue. In practice, when there's a lot of scrutiny, what happens is that black cis women are seen as literally not female enough and racist shitheads demand that their hormone levels be tested and they be branded Not Female for testosterone levels or something.

Whatever this kind of regulation is intended to do, in practice, it establishes a correct way to be female, and that way is to have a body that conforms to a particular "feminine", white beauty standard.

The athletes who end up being attacked are sometimes intersex, which they may not even have known. Sometimes, they're just taller and stronger than other women. Often, they don't look normative enough to a bunch of creeps because they're too black.

The assholes cover it up with a good line of patter, but that's where this ends: treating black women like freaks.

--

The bottom line is that anti-trans supposed feminists try to pretend they speak for feminists in general and that there are two major sides locked in conflict.

In fact, they're fringe weirdos who've gained new prominence, particularly in the UK with the backing of JKR, and the rest of the feminists are over here going "This shit again? Jesus!"

I don't waste time debating their "intellectual" arguments on social media for the same reason I don't debate eugenics-preaching racists or fundie religious nuts.

Hence the lack of good resources on "both sides".

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Running from the Flames {25}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Warnings: 18+ only, fluff - this is a work of fiction and the events are not based on reality. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

I was going crazy. I had to be.

Pierre had disappeared first, then Granny had excused herself with Matthew before Grandad skipped along after with a feeble excuse of wanting to get to know her new husband and make sure he was treating her well. Then Otmar said he needed to find Esteban but he had walked off in the opposite direction to where you could see his dark head of hair two tables over.

As I sat alone at the table, wondering what had happened to everyone, I looked around for a familiar face but instead I heard a giggle that I knew well. I spun around at the sound and froze as I found everyone that had gone missing and then some.

Pierre stood in front of all of our family that had flown in for the final race, Addie grinning from his arms.

Everyone was dressed in to the nines and they looked like they belonged on the red carpet they would have walked to enter the event. I had never seen my mum in a ball gown but she looked absolutely gorgeous, just like Pierre’s mother, the two women linking their arms together as they smiled at me.

My eyes were drawn back to Pierre as he stepped forward and carried Addie with him, her excitement making her clap her hands. My heart started beating erratically with each step and I rose to my feet to meet him face to face.

“Pierre…” I whispered as he kissed Addie’s temple and placed her feet on the ground.

“I have spent hours planning what to say, but when I look at you, I can barely remember how to breathe. I thought my life had purpose until the day you and Addie walked into my garage. You turned my world upside down and I will forever be grateful for finding the parts of me that were missing.” Pierre gracefully dropped to one knee and took Addie’s hand. “You make me want to be the best version of myself, to be a father that makes his little girl proud…and a husband that spends every day showing his wife she is loved. I can’t do that without you, Bri. Will you marry me?”

I knew then why Granny had insisted on waterproof makeup as I tried to blink away the tears so nothing would blur the image of Addie handing Pierre a small white box. Pierre thanked her sweetly before peering up at me, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears while his fingers trembled as they opened the box.

I wasn’t the only one that gasped as the three gemstones caught the lights. It was a beautiful ring; a large sapphire set between two diamonds that sparkled like the many shorelines we had walked hand in hand.

I had no words but I didn’t need them. He knew me better than I knew myself and his smile widened as my bottom lip trembled and I nodded as more tears fell. My hand shook more than his as he slipped the ring onto my finger and kissed it before standing up, scooping Addie up with him. His arm curled around my waist and my feet were swept off the floor as he spun around to the cheers of our families and friends.

Our kiss held the hint of salt from our tears that united on our cheeks until Addie pushed her hand between us and we pulled away with a laugh.

“I can’t believe you hid this from me.”

Pierre rested his forehead against mine and sighed. “I never want to do anything like this again, I felt ill trying to keep this a surprise.”

“Well, that’s a good start,” I teased, “it would raise a red flag if you wanted to propose again.”

He chuckled and dipped his lips to my ears. “That’s not what I meant.”

I pulled away with a smile and waved my mum over. “I’ve actually got my own surprise. I was going to wait until tomorrow but since everyone is here…Mum?”

“Right here, honey,” she said as she pulled the folded papers out of her clutch. “Been carrying these around all day just in case.”

Pierre wet his dry lips with his tongue as he wondered what she was handing me. I let him take Addie’s weight as I used both hands to unfold the documents that had been six months in the making.

The crowd around us had grown substantially and most of the drivers were amongst our families with their principals as well. Everyone here knew my story, they knew my history, and they had been there to support Pierre and I with the aftermath of it becoming public news.

“To everyone here you are already Addie’s dad,” I said as I straightened out the kinks in the pages, “and there is no one I know that is a more patient, caring man deserving of the title than you.”

Addie smooshed Pierre’s cheeks together and grinned at him, his own smile widening in response as she cooed, “My daddy.”

“That’s right, ma fille.”

I handed him the papers and he took them with one hand.

“You’ve already promised her that she can take the Gasly name when she turns eighteen but what if I said she didn’t have to wait?”

“How?” he asked with astonishment as he shifted Addie to his hip so he could flip through the papers, pausing at the page where four signatures were already inked, penned beside yesterday's date.

“I know a good lawyer,” I said with a grateful smile to my mum.

I had feared the day Erik was released from prison and tried to get back into my life through Addie. After quite a bit of digging, mum had found out Erik and Trent were only working together for the money they knew would come by blackmailing my family. Erik never wanted a relationship with Addie, and I had never been more relieved. He had happily signed away his parental rights with his lawyer and a witness and I had accepted it with mine.

“What is that?” Jean-Jacques asked when a tear slipped over Pierre’s lashes.

Pierre smiled at his dad. “The best gift ever. Does anyone have a pen?”

Lewis was ready with one that he carried around to sign autographs with and he grinned as he saw the letterhead of the document when he handed it over. “Congratulations, man.”

Without Erik being able to interfere it was going to be a relatively simple process for Pierre to adopt Addie like he had once wished when we were out one night and saw a shooting star. It had seemed like a far-fetched idea at the time but I couldn’t shake the image of hope on his face as he talked about being a family in every sense of the word, a family that would one day grow.

Charles pushed forward and peeked over Pierre’s shoulder as he signed the forms that would begin the process and he gasped. “Adoption Order? No way! That’s like the best news of the night, ah, well, equally best news, of course, since I’m going to finally be your best man. So when is the wedding?”

“Bro, we just got engaged,” Pierre laughed as he handed the signed papers over to my mum to take care of and pulled me back into his arms.

“Yeah, but you made a ten year plan the second you met her.” Charles looked around the drivers and pointed to Daniel. “We even held a little funeral for you at the Monaco afterparty, didn’t we?”

Daniel tipped his head back with a roaring laugh that was contagious. “Another bachelor gone but not forgotten.”

“Haha, really funny,” Pierre said with a roll of his eyes but he couldn’t contain his own laughter. “I’ll remember this when you assholes finally settle down.”

“Daddy, that’s a naughty word,” Addie tutted, encouraging another round of laughs from his colleagues.

“I’m sorry, but they deserve it.” Pierre looked around the gathering and saw even the investors had joined the crowd. “Now, I think I have rubbed enough elbows for the evening that no one will protest if I go and celebrate with my family.”

Pierre laced his fingers with mine, lifting my hand to admire the ring that fit perfectly upon it with a beaming smile. His nose grazed along my jawline, his lips softly trailing until he reached my ear and whispered, “You have made me the happiest man, my beautiful fiancée.”

“I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to keep you that way.” I tugged on the bowtie he hated to wear and unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt so he could relax a little bit in the formal attire. “It’s a shame we aren’t in Vegas anymore.”

“My mum would probably kill me if we eloped.”

I giggled and nodded, knowing my own wouldn’t be happy with the idea either. “And my mum would probably get her off the charges. So a big wedding?”

“Go big or go home.”

“Alright, alright, enough whispering sweet nothings among lovers,” Charles teased as he approached. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

“Oh, sorry, Leclerc, Alpine family only,” Otmar chimed in as he swiped his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Unless you’re looking for a new team next season?”

I rolled my eyes and nudged the crestfallen Ferrari driver. “Tonight’s an exception, right Uncle?”

Otmar narrowed his eyes at the term I hardly used once I grew older. “She’s playing dirty. Fine, you can come but I know it’s only because you hate these events as much as Pierre.”

“I’m not going to deny that,” Charles said with a grin to his friend.

“Don’t stay out too late,” Frederic reminded his driver before making his way back to Ferrari’s table, a final piece of advice cast over his shoulder with a wave. “You can drink as much as you want tomorrow night.”

I turned to Pierre. “Why didn’t you wait until tomorrow?”

“Do you want me to hold onto it another day?” he asked with a cheeky grin as he reached for my ring and I pulled it back.

“No, I was just curious.”

His smile faded as he turned thoughtful. “Because we never know what will happen out there and I knew I would regret missing this moment if I didn’t.”

He saw how his words affected me and passed Addie over to Charles so he could pull me fully into his arms. “I wish I could promise you everything will be okay.”

“I prefer your honesty,” I replied softly as my lips hovered over his. “No regrets.”

Click here for chapter twenty six.

Tagging: @my-only-way-tocooperatewithlife @prrttysposts @alwaysclassyeagle @dr3lover

[xreaderbooks]

Always

Pair: ACOTAR Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 682

Warnings: Angst

Summary: Based on the scene in little women when Laurie tells Amy not to marry Fred. Maybe a part 2, if anyone wants it.

Also available on Wattpad and AO3

Masterlist - Part 2

Starfall, the spirits were traveling for their yearly migration, giving everyone in Velaris a reason to celebrate. Azriel was beside you as he always was, every year since this started. The same spot at the balcony the rest of the inner circle somewhere nearby.

Your arms were crossed in front of you, supporting your lean on the railings. One particular star's descent floated slower than all the others. You squinted, brows creasing in confusion. You tapped Azriel’s arm several times to catch his attention, calling his name with each tap, though tapping his arm once would have sufficed.

“Az, Look,” You pointed to the star that was once slowing down, now increased its pace.

“I’m looking love,” He chuckled. You glanced his way and did a double-take, he wasn’t looking at the star. He was looking at you. Not just looking, openly staring down at you.

“No, you aren’t.” You frowned up at him.

His mouth twitched upwards, “You’re right, I’m not.”

His amused smile disappeared and a look you couldn’t decipher appeared, you scanned his features and for the life of you, you wanted- needed to know what the look on his face was for. It was an unmasked version of Azriel that seeped into vulnerability but ultimately gave off strength.

“Y/n,” He spoke softly. You waited with little patience for his next words, he was scaring you. “Y/n, Don’t marry him.”

You searched his eyes for a sign of a joke, you weren’t going to find one. “What?”

He repeated himself, “Don’t marry Eris.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Why?” He took half a step closer, “You know why”

His bright hazel eyes pierced through yours and you were lost, so very lost the feeling overwhelmed you. You didn’t know why this was happening right now. You shook your head in denial, stepping away from him, he tried to step closer. You pressed your hand against his chest to stop him from getting too close, however, there was no point now- you caught a whiff of his scent.

“No, Az-” Tears welled in your eyes, so close to spilling that if you blinked they’d run down your cheeks.

“Yes.”

“No Azriel, this isn’t funny.” You plead with your eyes for him to stop whatever he playing at, you wouldn’t believe him. You trusted Azriel with everything you had in you, in life and death he would honor you but this? This you could not believe. “You were in love with Mor, you were in love with her for centuries, then Elain comes along and you do not- have not left her alone. Matter of fact, I should be grateful you’re even here with me at all.”

He lifted a hand to caress your cheek and you denied him. For the first time in your 535 years of living you had denied him and it killed you to know his meaning and yet it was not fair. You met his gaze once again, suddenly everything clicked in place and you were sure your heart was cracking. Too many emotions bubbled within you, “I can't.” You whispered.

He clutched onto the hand you had on his chest, “Y/n please-”

“No Azriel,” Your voice cracked. The bond pulsed, on stand-by for your next sentence as if asking if you were going to reject it, reject him. “I have been here, while you pined for my sister and Elain, you never wanted me. I will not be the one you settle for because you cannot have her, because a bond tells you to. Not when I’ve spent my entire life loving you.”

The tears flowed freely, ruining the makeup Nuala and Cerridwen worked onto your features earlier this evening. You left the balcony in a rush, ignoring the aching that came from the bond.

You didn’t care to turn back and see if Azriel was following you or if anyone had seen what had gone on in yours and Azriel’s usually peaceful area. You simply rushed to your room packing up only what you needed, fleeing the townhouse.

Fleeing from the townhouse with the one thought that ran through your mind, that Azriel was your mate. 

~~~

Part 2

[always-is-always]

bts enlistment...

This post grew from feeling compelled to comment, and offer support to one of my peeps, here.  I was typing away under the post, and it turned into a thing, as I let the words flow.  

So... like @irishhorse-blog , this is my opinion, and mine to bear.  It’s not up for any debate.  This is not coming from any place of judgement at all.  

When people are forced to enlist in a military, it is life-altering in ways that cannot be predicted, on every level.  Everything changes.  Freedom is taken away, and a person is forced to comply with a way of living, behaving, thinking, and Being that is completely different from life outside of that military.  Pick any country in the world, and it is the same in their military.  

When a person is forced to enlist, their basic Human Right to make choices for themself is taken away.  A way of life is imposed, that requires that person to alter their most innate Self and to become what they are taught they must become.  (I’ll stop here, with this particular part of this post, as it is a VERY deep subject that isn’t pleasant.)   My bestie is a Veteran of two recent wars.  She would agree with my words above, as well as with the post that I’ve referenced from @irishhorse-blog.  She went in by choice, and that is a whole different type of experience. She was a bad-ass paratrooper, and jumped out of more airplanes than one can imagine. She’s seen first hand what war is, and what it does to Human Beings. It left her with a host of physical challenges, ptsd, and other things that we can never understand as civilians, yet she doesn’t regret the choice.  

I have friends in Israel, where both men and women have to serve in their military for two years.  It is just a part of their lives in their country, just as it is in Korea.  Yet, it is very different when the people don’t have a choice to serve.

Two years is a long time.  Even at the shortest duration of 18 months, it is a long time to put one’s “regular” life on hold.... To be separated from family, friends, lovers...  And, it being forced, and not by choice. 

There’s an energy that comes with enlistment that is one of enforcing compliance upon a human being.  It’s like a huge thumb pressing down upon a person’s Crown chakra (if you get the visual).  That’s what I am seeing in Hobi and Jin’s energy fields now. You can see it on their faces.  It is subtle, yet there all the same.  

The other thing that just literally dropped into my mind as I type is this very profound thought:  These young men are going to enlist in the military where they will be taught to strictly follow orders, AND where they will be taught how to use firearms, and how to kill another human being.  Yeah.  Let that sink in...

Humans aren’t born with the ability or desire to kill one another.  It is learned behaviour for most, and in more rare situations it is learned (taken on) for pure survival.  It goes against the very Nature of a Human Being to have to take the life of another, on purpose.  That in itself creates deep trauma, within the person who pulls the trigger... 

Humans have been at war for thousands of years.  At this point on Earth’s Timeline, it has become a business, with a whole industry built around it.  There are people who have made more money than all of us put together, in one war.  It is the real reason why countries never really quite stop, and never quite establish peace.  It’s big business, unfortunately.

There are so many levels and aspects to this subject.  I dare not attempt to go much further with this as I’m not a wordsmith, and it would become a very very long post.  I’ll begin to bring this to a close. 

Again, as I’ve been writing this and thinking about these things, it has become much clearer that Seokjin, Hoseok, Yoongi, Namjoon, Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook will be changed at the core level, during their enlistment.  The version of them that we are familiar with and love will cease to be.  The men who return on the other side may seem to be the same, outwardly..... yet the truth is that they will be navigating from a new place, within their psyches, and in their understanding of the world.  I pray that their Souls remain intact. The most we can hope for is that they choose to rejoin and begin to make music together again.  They will probably need the healing that music can bring to them, as they re-adjust to life after the military.    

As ARMY, the best things that we can do for them is to hold Space for them, and to send them Love throughout their enlistment. It will be hard to wait for them, yet it is the Promise that we have made.  We will be there for them, on the other side.  With open Hearts and open arms.  💜

[imaginedreamwrite]

Fake it friday with any of your Steve's 😋

He has insisted they come out, all of them, to test out the newest version of the nano mask. Tony had given all the Avengers one before they set out to one of the most popular hotspots in the city, a place that wasn’t entirely up to Stark’s standards. They would have usually had a party at the compound or on Tony’s Manhattan sky-rise, but for the sake of the experiment they’d headed into the thick of the city.

Steve had felt minor discomfort from the nano mask as it obscured his face and altered his appearance, it was like an itch that he couldn’t scratch and there was no comfort from alcohol. Unless he had Thor’s Asguardian speciality, there was no affect for the upper soldier.

Still, Steve was meant to be enjoying himself and there was some kind of secondary joy from seeing Bucky helplessly flirt with one of the women in the club, the two of them stealing away for a private conversation in a quieter part of the bar. He had remained by himself, albeit momentarily as Tony took Pepper to dance, Bruce starkly denied coming, Wanda and Vision were off by themselves, and Nat had wandered to the bathroom.

Steve had reached for the drink that wouldn’t have any effect and started to lift it from the bar-top when movement from the left of him had given him pause. Steve had set his glass back down and furrowed his brows as a woman had scurried from the crowd toward him, and then half-heartedly crashed into him.

“Pretend to be my boyfriend.” She came off abrupt yet she was scared, fear clearly written on her face. “Please pretend to know me or be my boyfriend or something.”

The disguise had guaranteed you didn’t know him but that hadn’t stopped Steve, the hero that he was, to want to protect and shield you from wherever you were running from.

“There’s this guy my ‘friend’ wanted me to meet, only this guy is a total creep and spent the entire Tim staring at my chest and making stupid comments-“ he felt you shiver when a man had come bristling through the crowds with widening eyes and the kind of predatory look in his eyes that Steve had seen far too many times.

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.” Steve remembered what Natasha had once said to him and acted instinctively.

He had pulled you directly into his side and held your back against the bar, his hands on either side of you while the man you were running away from had stepped closer. Steve hadn’t looked at him, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you and with a knee-jerk reaction, he had slammed his lips upon yours to kiss you provocatively. His hands slid down to your hips, fingers grabbing the material of your dress as he pushed against you. He hadn’t anticipated sparks bolts of electricity to rush through him, he didn’t anticipate to feel a growl building in his throat as the man accosting you had stepped closer.

Steve hadn’t expected to react like a territorial beast who was protecting his mate or his captured prey, but he sure as hell didn’t stop it. He had pulled away when it was clear the two of you needed to breathe, and then he looked back at the man who’ followed you. His eyes narrowed and he had shifted positions, almost squaring off against him while keeping you tucked against his back.

“Never mind.” The prick shook and trembled, his voice wavering. “I’ve got..”

When he had scurried away, Steve heard your relieved sigh and felt the tension from your body dissipating. He had turned back toward you, studying your briefly as you leaned against the bar and huffed.

“I hate modern dating.” You made the comment and then turned to face Steve, tilting your head ever so slightly. “Thank you, you really saved me from…that.”

“You’re welcome,” he was kind of in a daze, sweeping his eyes across you while the lingering electricity had crackled beneath his skin, “do you…want a drink?”

You opened your mouth to speak, to answer him with either acceptance or denial, only to snap your mouth shut when Nat had arrived, her faux brown eyes flickering between Steve and yourself.

“I should go…I have to get up early tomorrow.” Steve knew you assumed Nat was his girlfriend judging by the way you has shifted away, and he had debated denying the claim himself. “Thank you again for helping me.”

Steve watched with bated breath, he waited in silence as you began walking away from him.

“Get her number, idiot.” Nat gave his shoulder a shave, stirring the soldier into action. “She’s cute.”

Steve tore after you, weaving in and out of the crowd until he finally escaped the club, the chilled air hitting him head on. “If i can’t buy you a drink, could i have your number?”

[sisterspooky1013]

The Wonder That’s Keeping the Stars Apart, Chapter 2/3

Rated Teen | Read it here on AO3

He doesn’t move in the twenty-plus minutes that Scully is in the bathroom. He stays rooted to the very spot she left him, one hand resting on the countertop for balance as he listens to her muffled sobs through the door.

His mind runs over and over through an endless loop, wondering if he should have told her in another way, should have told her sooner, shouldn’t have told her at all. He considers knocking, considers leaving, considers calling her mother, but he does none of these things. He just stands there, waiting for some indication as to what she needs from him.

Without warning, the door snaps open and she walks out, head bowed. He watches as she returns to the kitchen and picks up her abandoned glass, sucking down the remains in three gulps before she pours another. She isn’t looking at him, but he can see that her eyes are red and swollen, the skin on her cheeks mottled and damp. In solidarity, he picks up his own glass and swallows it down, and she wordlessly refills it.

“I want to know everything,” she says suddenly, her voice hoarse. “Every detail. All of it.”

“Of course,” he says reluctantly, aware of the fact that he won’t be able to answer many, much less all, of her questions. “Can we—do you want to sit down?”

They move to the couch, and over the course of an hour he tells her about the fertility clinic, the multiple Kurt Crawfords, the refrigerator full of vials of ova. He tells her about having them tested, and breaks her heart again when he shares the news that they weren’t viable. He watches her move through grief, anger, despondency and back again. And when he’s told her everything, when she has asked all her questions and he has answered as many of them as he can, she lays her head against the back of the couch and stares at the ceiling for a very long time.

He watches the side of her face, the proud bridge of her nose and the occasional quiver of her bottom lip as she tries not to start crying again. He thinks of her small and sunken in the hospital, and her final-hour attempts to ensure that he would be okay without her. He wonders how she can still believe in a God who would put her through this, who would save her from one atrocity only to hurl another at her.

To ease his own mind, he imagines her on a sandy beach, her toes peeking out from beneath the shade of a giant umbrella to feel the warmth of the sun. He imagines a life for her where her biggest worries are getting her children into the best schools and finding the right treatments for her patients. He wishes her away even as he shudders at the thought of never knowing her, and so he moves on to imagining a version of himself who would be worthy of being her mate.

“They took them all, didn’t they?” she says, snapping him out of his daydream.

“All of what?” he clarifies, shifting his body to face hers more fully.

“My ova. They didn’t leave any,” she says somberly.

Mulder shakes his head and sighs.

“I don’t know. I wish I did, I’m sorry.”

“It’s a logical assumption,” she continues, “given that the other abductees were being seen for fertility treatment. They would have needed them all to come to the same clinic, otherwise it would have been discovered that the women had no ova—”

Her voice catches and she closes her mouth, pulling in a deep breath through her nose.

“That does seem logical,” he says. After a brief pause he adds, “But I don’t think you should come to any conclusions just yet. You won’t know for sure until you see your doctor.”

Now Scully shakes her head, rolling it from side to side against the back of the couch.

“I’ve known something was wrong, Mulder. I’ve known since my abduction. Things have never been the same…”

Instinctively, her hand settles over her lower belly. Platitudes spring forward in his mind, one after another, and he stuffs them down. The urge to placate her is strong, but his desire to be what she needs is stronger, and she doesn’t need him to deny her her own reality.

Silence stretches on, the sounds of her kitchen clock and unattended car alarm marking the passing of time. Mulder leans forward and retrieves his glass, grimacing as he swallows the last of the amber liquid that has become room temperature. He can admit that he’s grateful to have the edge taken off this entire conversation.

Scully rolls her head to the side and considers him. Her eyes are just slightly glassy, though dry, and he has the thought that she’s actually taking this quite well.

“I’m sorry you had to hold onto that for so long,” she says tenderly, and he’s struck by her show of compassion for him during what is inarguably very much about her. “That must have been difficult.”

Mulder purses his lips and shakes his head.

“I should have told you sooner. I’m just glad I got the chance to tell you. I’m glad you’re still here to hear it,” he says genuinely, and is delighted when a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

He scoots closer to her and lifts his arm, and she burrows into his side with an exhausted sigh. Her head lands on the front of his shoulder, and he presses his nose into her hair and breathes her in deep, flowery shampoo and the musk of oil on her scalp. He rubs her upper arm with his free hand and feels her relax against him.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says, though there is just a hint of a question in his tone.

“Yeah,” she agrees unconfidently.

After a moment she tilts her face up, bringing her nose inches from his cheek. She reaches up and strokes the side of his face, scraping the pads of her fingers over the stubble of his incoming beard with an audible scritch.

“Thank you,” she says, the warmth of her whisky soaked breath tickling his nose, “for being such a good friend to me.”

She’s wrong, so wrong. He’s not a good friend. If not for him, she wouldn’t need a friend to usher her through all these horrible events. If not for him, she’d still have other friends to lean on.

Gently, she tilts his face toward hers, and his heart leaps as he realizes what she’s doing. She pauses briefly to meet his eyes and, apparently seeing no reason not to continue, she arches her neck up and kisses him again.

It’s so much different than the first time. Her lips are salted with tears and her tongue is smoky with liquor when it slides over his. There’s something desperate in her kiss, something needy, as she straightens up and faces him more fully for a better angle. She is sitting, and then kneeling on the cushion beside him, and then she climbs into his lap. He touches her hips, not daring to go any higher or lower, and gets lost in the wet heat of her mouth. He kisses her to soothe her, and to love her, and to apologize for all the ways he’s hurt her. He kisses her because he wants to, because he’s been wanting to for years. It’s only when her hands run down his torso, when her fingers dip under the waist of his jeans, that he realizes that maybe she is kissing him for reasons that she will later regret.

“Hey,” he says urgently, covering her hands with his. “Maybe we should slow down for a minute.”

“I don’t want to slow down,” she mumbles into his mouth, flexing her hips and pressing her hot center against his erection through both their pants.

He suppresses a groan and grabs her hands, pulling them away. Scully sits back and looks at him, perplexed.

“I don’t want to—” he starts, then changes course. “You’re upset, Scully.”

She stares at him for a beat.

“I’m not doing this because I’m upset,” she says, a little angrily.

“You’ve been drinking, and you just got some really heavy news…” he tries again, and she gapes at him before she abruptly stands and moves to sit on the couch beside him, leaving his lap cold and his dick hard. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret,” he elaborates, shifting to face her. Scully stares at the fireplace, her chest heaving. He sees fresh tears gathering along her lower lashline and he scrambles for the right thing to say. “I care about you, I don’t want you to feel like I took advantage—”

“Stop!” she snaps, lifting both hands and resting her fingertips on her temples, which partially obscures her face. “Just….stop telling me what I need.” He waits in stunned silence as she breathes heavily and stares straight ahead, her eyes hidden behind her hand. He’s startled when she stands and wheels around to look at him, a wounded and furious expression on her face. “If you don’t want this, just say that. I’m a big girl, Mulder, I can handle rejection,” she spits at him, and he opens his mouth to correct her but she cuts him off. “But don’t sit here and tell me it’s for my own good. Don’t convince yourself that you’re doing me some chivalrous favor by deciding what I should and shouldn’t do with my own damn body. I don’t need you to protect me from myself.”

He stares at her, stupidly, and after a beat she turns on her heel and walks into the bedroom, slamming the door loudly behind her.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[ofstoriesandstardust]

lost pieces pt. iiii

a/n: this piece is very near and dear to my heart which is why i will probably never publish the finished version (because, if we’re being honest, if this were to follow the trend of most of same mistakes-verse and get hate i simply don’t know if my heart or soul could handle that)

piece synopsis: from a fic titled “you’ll lose your faith for a bit and question if she’s you” (or the coming out fic no one but me needed)

lost pieces masterlist | same mistakes-verse masterlist

warnings: internalized biphobia, denial of sexuality, unedited

"She’s so pretty.”

Hangman shifts, turning to look at you. “I agree.”

“I mean, really, she’s gorgeous.”

“Who’s pretty?” Coyote leans over, looking at the phone.

“Hailee Steinfeld.” You respond.

“Second that. Why’re you looking at pictures of her?”

“I think she was in the movie we watched last night.” Hangman responds, nodding down to his phone, looking through her IMDb.

“Oh, what movie? I’ve probably seen it, I love her.” You ask.

“That Bumblebee movie. I don’t know, Hangman picked it.” Coyote responds, throwing his hands up in the air.

You made a face. “God, that’s one of her worst films. Didn’t Dylan O’Brien voice Bumblebee? I can’t remember. Anyways, why would you pick that? She’s in so many better movies. Like the Pitch Perfect franchise does exist. Movie full of pretty women if I’ve ever seen it.”

Hangman turned in his chair fully, face full of confusion. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“You keep-ow.” Hangman turned, glaring at his boyfriend. Your eyes flitted between the blonde and your best friend, who had just pinched his boyfriend and was shooting him a glance.

“Okay.” You say, laughing nervously. “Moving on. I’m hungry, so... food?”

-

“Javy, I think your best friend is gay.”

“No shit.” His eyebrow raised in question as his boyfriend shifted to sit up against the headboard.

“Really? Did I miss the memo?”

Javy sighs, reaching up to run a hand over his face. “No. I don’t think she knows and it’s not really my place to speculate on her sexuality.”

Jake watched the rise and fall of his boyfriends bare chest, admiring the glint of the dog tags in the moonlight. “But?”

“But there’s a really good chance she’s bi.”

“She ever say anything to you over the years?”

He shakes his head, shifting to look at Hangman in the eye. “No, but she’s said all this stuff, like she did this morning, over the years that has just... made me wonder. And she tries so hard to be an ally that sometimes I think she’s compensating for something.” Hangman reaches a hand out to his boyfriend intertwining their fingers. “I tried once, about a month after we came out to the team. She was super defensive, adamant she was straight, and got pretty panicked so I dropped it. Haven’t brought it up since.” Jake catches his bottom teeth in his lips as he let out a sigh.

“So basically she’s so far in the closet she can’t even see it?” Javy shrugs.

“Maybe. Like I said, not my place to speculate. She’ll figure out or she won’t. That’s up to her.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think she’d be happier? If she knew that about herself?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Why are you so interested in my best friend’s sexuality all of the sudden?”

He sighs, letting his boyfriends hand drop as he moves to place his back against the headboard, crossing his arms. “Because. I remember what it was like to be so far in the closet the mere suggestion of being anything but straight made me want to run for the hills. Made me want shove anyone who suggested it off my plane over an ocean.” He tilts his head, looking to his boyfriend. “I also know that when I stopped hiding from who I was, stopped being scared, I was a lot happier. Felt a lot freer.” He swallows, reaching out to pick off a piece of lint from his sweatpants. “I also know she carries a lot of weight.”

“I just don’t know what she’s running from. If she is, I mean. Maverick would love and support her, so would Rooster. We would obviously and she doesn’t have a thing to worry about with the rest of the team.”

“Maybe she thinks Rooster will break-up with her. Kind of a life-changing realization, you know?”

“Rooster’s down bad for her, he ain’t going anywhere.”

“Not if she’s not into men.” Javy moves, pushing himself off the headboard.

“You really think that?” The words are sharp, a little bit defensive, and Jake winces. “You, what, think she just stays with him because she loves him but that’s not enough?”

“No, Javy-”

“Then what, Jake? Think she’s got some internalized biphobia she’s projecting on to herself? This is my best friend you’re talking about.”

“Maybe she is Javy.” Jake whispers and Javy roll his eyes, reaching over to grab a pillow. “Hey, where are you going?” He asks as Coyote moves off the bed and towards the door.

“Sleeping on the couch. Don’t wanna hear this about her.”

“Javy, c’mon, come back. We don’t need to fight about this.” Javy spins on his heel.

“You drop it. Doesn’t matter whether she is or isn’t. Isn’t either of our places to discuss this or bring it up to her.”

Jake sighs. “I just think that maybe she’d be happier.”

“Regardless if she is or isn’t, she needs to figure that out on her own.” Coyote says firmly, but he’s already inching back towards the bed as Jake watches him carefully.

He throws his hands up into the air in surrender. “Fine, I’ll drop it. Please just come back to bed.” Javy nods, already climbing back onto the mattress, bouncing softly in Hangman’s awaiting arms.

-

You’re standing at the bar, talking to Penny amidst the loud chatter of the Hard Deck when Hangman slips an arm around you. He bends closer to your ear, words hushed.

“Hey, can I talk to you outside?” You nod, picking your beer up from the counter and waving to Penny as she moves farther down to serve other customers. You follow Hangman, weaving your way through the crowd, and once outside, you’re quick to slip off your shoes as you reach the sand. He nods his head to further down the beach. “Wanna go sit?”

“Sure.” You say, taking a sip of your beer. You follow him to a good distance away from the Hard Deck and follow his lead, settling into the sand. He sighs, setting his beer on the sand and bringing his arms to rest on his knees.

“Listen, um, we gotta talk about something.” You swallow, setting your drink down as well.

“Okay.”

He sighs, rubbing his hands together. “Before I came out, before I met Javy, I was... I was very in denial about who I was. Kept thinking something was wrong with me and kept screwing all these girls just to prove I was straight. I don’t know who I was trying to prove it to, myself maybe. And that shit... it was lonely. It was a heavy burden to carry. I’m glad I don’t have to anymore.”

You watch him carefully. Contrary to popular belief, you and Hangman were actually quite close. He’d never be Coyote but he knew when to keep it real with you and you appreciated the realness of your friendship more than anything. Weird how things changed.

“How’d you know?” You hear yourself asking. You aren’t sure why. You’re straight.

“I don’t know, I guess when I met Javy I had this oh moment. Everything about me sort of made sense. I was still a few years out from learning to deal with it but something clicked.”

You bit your bottom lip, turning his words over in his head. You still weren’t sure why the two of you were having this conversation. “Where you going with this Hangman?”

“Do you ever feel that way? Like you have to prove something to yourself or that you’re carrying a heavy burden? Waiting for an oh moment?” You give a half-shrug, mouth gaping open. He sighs again, sitting back to rest on his palms. His gaze moves from you to the full moon on the horizon. “Are you gay?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. You don’t respond, simply looking at him with wide eyes. He finally drags his gaze backs to you but holds firm, unwilling to back down. Finally, you force yourself to start breathing again, coughing nervously. You shake your head, looking down at the sand. “N-no, I’m not Seresin.”

“It’d be okay, if you were.”

“Yes, I’m very aware that it would be. But I’m not.” He tilts his head in acknowledgement and begins to stand up from the sand. All you can do is watch him.

“Okay, well, I mean, it just wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you were into girls.”

“I’m straight Seresin.”

You were... weren’t you?

“Yeah, I’m sure you are.” He picks his beer up from the sand, turning on his heel to head back towards the bar. You sit there bewildered, turning his words over in your head.

Still, there was some part of you that felt unsettled. Like Jake had prodded at something dormant just enough to wake it up.

-

You sat on your bed, trying to remember what you were doing. You groaned, running a hand over your face. A soft knock sounded at your door and you looked up to see Rooster leaning against the open door. His smile was soft but you’d known him long enough to see the concern in his eyes.

“Hey.” You whisper softly.

Ever since your conversation with Hangman, one that hadn’t really been a conversation at all, things in your world felt off-kilter. You felt like you were waiting for the band to snap, like for the realization to come, the thing that would change everything as you knew it. You’d been sick to your stomach most days, unable to sleep.

Admittedly, you had always wondered. Maybe a little bit more so after Javy had come out. But there was never enough to prove to yourself that you were that you had always brushed the thought off, burying it deep down. And now it was resurfacing in waves, questions and fears drowning you.

You weren’t... You were straight. You were sure of it.

...Right?

“-you listening?” You shake your head, eyes flickering back up to your boyfriend. His smile was still there but you could tell it was more forced than anything.

“Yeah, sorry, just zoned out for a minute.” You say, waving a hand. “What were you saying?”

He sighs, straightening up and crossing his arms. “Coyote told me you bailed. Third time this week. He’s worried.”

You shrug. “Just needed some time to myself.” He nods slowly, as if he doesn’t quite believe you.

You wouldn't believe you either.

“Hey, are you okay? You haven’t really been yourself lately.”

“Yeah, ‘m fine.” You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear as you hear your Dad’s footsteps in the hallway. He appears just a few moments later over Rooster’s shoulder and he shifts to allow him room to lean up against the other side of the doorway.

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to come out to the hangar tomorrow? For the long weekend?” You nod, even though it’s the last thing you want to do with how messy your brain has been lately.

“Sure.” You look to your boyfriend. “Want to come with us?” Your Dad sighs, straightening up, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Actually, I was thinking it could be just us kiddo.”

“Oh.” You say, frowning slightly. “Am I in trouble?” He shakes his head.

“No. Hey, you okay? You got anything you want to talk about?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m fine.”

Just like how you’re straight?

You brush the thought off, moving to stand up from the bed. “I beg to differ.” Rooster mutters and you shoot him a glare.

“I’m fine. Now I’m tired so if the two of you would kindly-” You motion for them to shoo and they both sigh, exchanging a glance.

“Its like... 7 PM.” Your Dad says, glancing at his watch.

“Well- I’m exhausted, so I’m going to bed early.”

Exhausted of running from who you are?

Rooster gives you a wary look before conceding, moving a few feet to give you a kiss. It’s short and feels forced and sends a wave of cold over you. He grimaces as he pulls away and doesn’t say anything as he steps back, slipping past your Dad. Your Dad sighs, stepping back and closing your bedroom door behind him. You sit back down on your bed, trying to swallow the tears.

[chickensoupleg]

lmao honestly not naming your wips is so understandable. i am v intrigued by Harringrove Dusted

They're like OCs to me: Not named until many moons later. Or never at all.

Anyways! Untitled Document (7)! Eddie is just existing when a child version of Steve and Billy just invade his trailer and refuse to leave.

Eddie recognises Steve immediately since he's known him for forever, but can't instantly clock the blond kid that is also in his living space. Obvious reasons. He finds out though once Billy tells him, and Robin comes over and clocks her best friend immediately because of course she does and Joyce is there too.

The Dusted part is because Robin's pretty sure Steve got blasted in the face with Upside Down dust like an idiot.

A snippet just for you~

The sound of a car approaching outside takes Eddie to the front door, swinging it open to see Robin practically falling out of the car. Will’s mom, Joyce, comes out of the driver’s seat.

“Hi Ms. Byers!” Eddie greets, Joyce smiling and waving at him. Robin was already up to him, Eddie gesturing for the women to come inside with a grin. Robin bulldozes past him yelling Steve’s name, Joyce coming in like a more normal person.

The two boys haven’t left the living room area at all, both turning their heads up at the two new women coming in. Steve was first to smile and wave, Robin bounding over and picking him up.

“Oh my goodness you’re alright oh you’re so small! Eddie, what is this? Why is my best friend so small?!”

“You- You recognise him?”

Robin glares at Eddie, squeezing Steve harder. The boy was happy as ever, just hugging Robin back and snuggling into her without a care in the world.

Eddie’s slightly impressed how fast Steve just imprints into people.

“Of course I do! I’ve seen his elementary yearbooks, and you said there was a problem and well I couldn’t reach Steve to pick me up so I went the next best route which was Joyce here, and thanks again for driving me Joyce really, and when I come here to see what happened there’s just a tiny little Steve in your trailer! Oh, and this other kid? Eddie, please tell me you didn’t kidnap a random boy.”

Eddie holds his hands up in surrender. “Woah, woah. Okay. One, did not kidnap a boy. That’s the- Well, the problems. I don’t know how but Steve’s…. as you can see.”

“Hi there sweetheart, I’m Joyce. Who are you?” Joyce kneels down to Billy’s level, who was just staring back at her.

“That’s…. Billy. As in… Hargrove.” Eddie decides to answer for him. Both Joyce and Robin stare at him, Joyce opening her mouth first.

“As in… Max’s brother? The one that passed away?”

“Yeah… That one.”

“But- But Billy’s dead- That- You sure that’s him?” Robin says.

“He told me himself. That’s Billy Hargrove.” Eddie gestures to the boy, who had shuffled to stand closer to Joyce. Joyce turns her gaze back to him, offering him a gentle, motherly smile.

“Is that true?”

Billy nods. Eddie can see the slight furrow of confusion on his brow. “Mmhmm. I’m Billy Hargrove. I’m not dead. Or napping.”

Joyce smiles and nods. “I believe you. Do you know where you are?”

Billy looks around, then shakes his head. “No?”

[janeaye]

2024 Golden Globes

Hello!! I watched the Golden Globes tonight and like many others was underwhelmed and off-put by the monologue at the top of the show. Bored and reading too many Buzzfeed "Best Dressed" and "Check Out These Awkward Moments" posts after, I decided to take a sorry stab at a shortened, substitute monologue. I'm no comedy writer, but consider it award-show alternate universe fan fic. Enjoy :)

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Welcome to the Golden Globes!!!

The Golden Globes of course are a unique time where television and film combine for a night of joint celebration. Which differs from our more categorial counterparts in the Oscars for film and the Emmys for TV. And so for those of you looking to claim a Globe tonight for either medium, please know this does not make you one step closer to the EGOT. Okay? That G is for Grammy. Leave that to Taylor Swift & Billie Eilish. (Hi Taylor *smooch*. Billie *wink*.)

Tonight the Golden Globes competes with the likes of the final games of the regular season of the American National Football League. Thank God we’re only competing for ratings and not actually competing. Although these folks may portray the occasional superhero or athlete on screen, these are a bunch of theatre and improv kids, okay? Wouldn’t be pretty.

We also have a couple new awards this year. We have one for stand-up comedy. You’ll notice no current late-night show hosts are nominated in that category. That’s because they perform 80% of their comedy sitting down. Doesn’t qualify. Not a high enough threshold.

Another new award is for cinematic and box office success. Because if there’s one thing those nominees need more than all of the money they made at the box office is the acknowledgement of all of the money they made at the box office. In the form of solid gold handed to them on a glittering stage.

Amongst that gold, true Hollywood Royalty is here. We have Emma Stone. Margot Robbie. Oprah Winfrey. All people that exude the confidence and message and grace of Barbie. But perhaps not quite that of Poor Thing's.

The content nominated tonight really is magnificent. Killers of the Flower Moon is nominated tonight. Or what women used to be called in the olden days before menstrual cycles were truly understood.

The cast of Oppenheimer is here tonight. Oppenheimer has one of the most star-studded ensemble casts I’ve ever seen...From Matt Damon to Cilian Murphy to RDJ..It’s the stuff Valentine’s Day and New Year’s Eve dreams are made of. (Sorry Bradley Cooper.. Robert De Niro..)

Saltburn made it in under the wire for a nomination for the outstanding Barry Keoghan. Barry, somehow I was more comfortable when you portrayed a deranged joker at the end of The Batman than I was when I saw you in a mere bathtub. 

Speaking Batman, William Dafoe is here tonight. He’s one of a select few nominees who have multiple projects up for awards tonight. William, of course, voiced the Noble Pelican in the English dubbed version of The Boy and the Heron. And yet Batman himself, Robert Pattison, was actually the voice of the eponymous heron and not William, which, if you’ve seen the film, I mean believe me you’d understand why I’m mentioning that tonight. Truly a shocking non-plot-related twist for us viewers.

And, finally, you know what, forgive me for the delay folks, Happy New Year! Welcome to 2024. It’s a big year. Big year for our industry following what our incredible writers and actors advocated for last year...Big year for world events too. Leap Year. The Olympics. The Election. Because at the end of the day, can’t we all agree that Paris & [insert US politician’s name here] don’t get enough attention as it is?…

:)

[denimbex1986]

'Cillian Murphy revealed that when he landed his breakthrough role in “28 Days Later,” the actor didn’t consider it a zombie movie. Murphy, a first-time Oscar nominee for his work in “Oppenheimer,” discussed the 2002 hit film at a taping of SAG-AFTRA Foundation’s Conversations program. In the nearly 90-minute conversation, recorded in December, Murphy talks about his lengthy career on stage and screen. That includes working with director Danny Boyle and writer Alex Garland on the film, in which he plays a man who wakes from a coma 28 days after a rage-inducing virus has caused society to break down.

“I wasn’t too aware we were making a zombie movie, to be honest with you,” Murphy noted, adding he hadn’t seen any of George A. Romero’s “Night of the Living Dead” series. “It was right around the time SARS happened and there was all this ‘air rage’ stuff going on. So I never felt it was a zombie film. And I’m glad I didn’t watch the Romero movies because I didn’t realize how hallowed those movies were.”

Murphy also noted that at the time, it wasn’t a popular film trope. “Before ’28 Days Later,’ there weren’t that many zombie movies — it was kind of a dead genre,” he said, causing the audience to laugh over the unintentional pun. “So Danny and Alex rebooted it.”

Riley mentioned the film is more about a pandemic, to which Murphy credited Garland. He added that during the COVID-19 pandemic, he saw the frequent references to the film. “The amount of memes — I do know what a meme is — that everybody sent me during the pandemic of ‘28 Days Later’ was crazy,” he said. “It just shows that good writing is prescient, it always remains prescient and relative.”

Murphy recalled his process of booking the role, noting that he was already a fan of Boyle from his films “Shallow Grave” and “Trainspotting.”

“They were formative films for me,” he said. “I remember going to see them in the cinema, they were huge for me. So I really desperately wanted [’28 Days Later.’]” He estimated he auditioned six times for the part.

Asked if the then-newcomer was nervous to headline a film with established actors like fellow Irishman Brendan Gleeson, Murphy noted that he was grateful they had already worked together. Gleeson played the title role in 1998’s “Sweety Barrett,” a small Irish film that marked Murphy’s film debut as “Pat the Barman.”

“I remember on that film I had to pour him a pint of Guinness. My hand was shaking,” Murphy recalled, demonstrating how shaky his hands were. “But he was so kind. I was just a kid, but he would spend the time and talk to you. I think that show the measure of the man. I’ve worked with him five or six times now and he’s one of my all-time heroes and the kindest, sweetest man – and an absolute legend.”

Murphy also discussed how they shot two endings to the film – one in which Jim survives, another in which he dies. Murphy was asked if he had a preference, with Riley noting she likes the “optimistic” one. “Yeah, I think when I was younger and bit more nihilist … I liked the image of two women surviving at the end and fuck the man,” he said. “But I think they wanted the version with the hope.”

With constant talk of a sequel to the movie, Riley pointed out that it was good Jim survived — they could bring him back for another movie. “I’m available,” Murphy offered.

Though the conversation was recorded in December, it’s proven timely, as it was announced in January that a sequel has been greenlit with both Boyle and Garland returning – and that it may launch a new trilogy of films. THR also reported that Murphy will be onboard as an executive producer.

In the wide-ranging conversation, Murphy speaks on a wide range of topics, including how he would write hand-written letters to directors he admired and how he learned to perfect an American accent by growing up on television shows like “The A-Team” and “MacGyver.” He also discusses how “28 Days Later” led him to his ongoing collaboration with his “Oppenheimer” director. “Chris Nolan saw that movie and all of a sudden, I had a meeting with Chris,” he revealed. “We met and chatted and that was the initial beginning of the relationship with Chris.”'

[abalonetea]

Happy STS! What is the draw/appeal of horror as a genre to you? What do you enjoy most about writing horror? What do you find the most difficult aspect of writing it?

Oooh, this is a fun one! Okay, well, one of the reasons I love horror is honestly because there’s so much you can do with it. The Saw franchise, Alien, Lake Mungo, Thirteen Ghosts, Scream – they’re all horror but they’re nothing alike. It’s such a vast playground to get your hands in, I just don’t understand how it can’t be a little tempting to everyone.

I’ve been watching horror movies since I was way too young to be watching horror movies (oops, not my fault that family night was also Syfy Saturday when I was a kid, that wasn’t my decision) so they’ve just always been there. Creature features, ghost stories, slashers, all these different concepts!

One of my favorite parts, one of the most appealing parts, is that there really isn’t a limit to it. Each story might have its own rules, but that’s the closest to ‘a limit’ as you’re going to find. Outside of that, there’s like, an endless array of possibilities. And it’s a genre that encourages you to shock, disgust, and frighten the reader! That means as a writer, we’re being encouraged to push boundaries that normally wouldn’t be touched in other genres.

And on top of that, you can choose to keep it very simple (the house is haunted because I said so, the monster is there because I said so) but you can also choose to make it so much more complex than that (i’m going to bring up Lake Mungo again here because that movie just makes me insane, but I’ll also bring up the fact that Ginger Snaps is about how girlhood is monstrous and literally everything going down in Barbarian).

For me, the most difficult aspect of writing horror is actually just knowing that people expect a very sanitized version of it at this point. As someone that’s been heavily involved in industry trends due to work, there’s been such an uprising lately about increasing ‘cozy horror’ as a genre of ‘horror for women’ and a real sharp decline in gore porn, splatter horror, and kill count horror due to a new push that it’s low brow or cheap; this pairs with the rise of ‘elevated’ horror that we’ve seen a lot lately.

It’s a bit disconcerting because as I said, the appeal to horror, for me, is that you can push limits and do so many varieties. To think that there’s a push to sort of narrow in what should be a very vast and broad reaching genre is not only frustrating but tends to make me second guess my ideas. All I’m saying is that my super complex ghost stories about grief can and should be right there beside the stories like the original Wrong Turn movies; they’re both good!

[ethereal-maia]

The Women I’ve Seen In New Mexico

I’ve visited New Mexico a handful of times in my life, and each time I’ve gone, there’s been an older woman who really stands out to me. She defines the whole trip for me. This could be called a tier list but they were all such interesting people that I don’t think that’s fair. They’re all 10/10 experiences. I’ll just give them emojis instead to try and show you the vibe I associate with each of them.

Sock Magic Woman: ♥️🐓☕️/⭐️. She worked at a sock store with hard-to-track hours. She was much older than me, maybe in her 60s, but she was lively and helpful and you could tell she loved her life so much. She said I reminded me of her, that I looked like how she used to when she was about my age. She had short, flat, grey hair, and it grounded me a moment to imagine her many years younger, with curling dark blonde hair down past her shoulders. I bought a blue pair of socks with chickens on them, and she admired them, and noted that her own were red with chickens. She went on to say she was the oldest of three siblings- like I was. I’m 200% convinced I met a kindred spirit that day, maybe a future version of myself. 10/10

Purple Woman: 💜👒👀/⭐️. She was sitting on the curb of the plaza as I walked by with my mom. I paid hardly any attention to her, she was a nobody for now, but I noticed she wore a purple-and-green flowered tank top and sat with a man who she seemed to know like a son. I walked past her and forgot her existence. On our way back from whatever store we had walked to, we passed the woman again. This time, she was ranting to the man, seemingly about another woman who had walked by recently, and had done something rude (?). Me and my mom stayed silent as we passed her, not wanting to get involved, but we almost broke down laughing as she yelled “CYANIDE IS YOUR BEST OPTION, YA LITTLE BITCH!”. I think about this a lot because it was such an unhinged response. Honestly one of the responses ever. 10/10

Rosary Woman: 🤍⛪️🧺/⭐️. This woman was at a church service I went to in Santa Fe with my family when I was about 9 years old. She sat in the pew right ahead of us, and she wore dark sunglasses, a gauzy kerchief on her head, and a white coat. Once the service was over, she turned to me specifically and held out her closed hand. She flipped it over and opened her palm to reveal a white-beaded rosary. I think I looked at her blankly, but she gestured for me to take it, and so I let her place it in my own palm as she told me “So you can pray to Jesus” with a smile. I thanked her and pocketed the rosary as I left the church with my family. I told my mom later that I didn’t like it, but it was nothing to do with the woman. It merely had to do with the metal of the chain (I don’t like metal on my skin; it’s too cold and… cold… so jewelry is a no and this rosary was not good for my senses). I think about how kind this woman was to give a young girl like me such a gift out of the blue. The only thing that doesn’t compute about this exchange is… why did she give the rosary? Was she looking to get rid of it? Did she just have a stash of them with her at all times so she could hand them out as she saw fit? Did she only give them to children? Did they all look the same? Mysterious and confusing. 10/10

All three of these encounters with these women have done wonders to my psyche, and I hope I remember them forever.

ps this^^ post was inspired by this post!! thank you @iidentifyasapotaato!!

[rejectofsociety]

🔥 abt anything ur heart desires

I’ve been thinking about this extensively so here we fucking go.

Music doesn’t have to be good to become popular. Music can be mediocre at best and still do incredibly well, gaining millions and millions of fans with very little effort from the artist. It’s like beige paint, in a sense. Beige is not the most interesting or expressive or intimate color out there, it’s pretty bland on its own. And yet so so many people paint their houses with beige paint because it looks just good enough to fit in just about anywhere. Music can be built on algorithms, have incoherent, insincere, overall just-not-that-good lyrics, and be bland— it can sound like fucking beige paint— but as long as it hits enough taste buds, that’s fine.

More and more, music gets watered down and bastardized just to reach as many people as possible and I really do feel like the internet and social media can be blamed here. Social media has gotten the youth very comfortable and come to accept a very sanitized version of the world. Whether it’s skinny white girls on instagram showing off their excellent vacations or otherwise, people are being fed insincerity— to the point of expecting it everywhere they go— and it touches every part of society (god forbid women have body fat or body hair, god forbid men aren’t tall or muscular), but it especially touches music.

You can sing about the same break up for ten years with lyrics that are meant to look like something but are actually fuck-all, playing the poor-little-me card, as long as you’re pretty enough (a certain blonde with red lipstick should come to mind). Nobody wants to sing about real shit anymore.

It hits me extra hard for punk and metal, especially seeing these people try to make metal music but even that is somehow sanitized. These kids are too afraid to make shit for themselves and be messy with it. Where’s the hand painted patches and greasy hair? No one does that shit because it’s not instagram-worthy. If you like pop punk and metalcore, that’s great, honestly, there’s very talented bands in both those genres and I’ve enjoyed both a fair amount. But they are much cleaner than crust punk, anarcho-punk, thrash metal, death metal, all that messy, nasty shit. And I miss the messy nasty shit, but it just doesn’t get popular anymore since people are too worried about presentability. I’ve even seen this sort of resurgence in nu-metal, but for fuck’s sake— it’s clean.

Fuck, even Metallica, with their resurgence hurts to watch. They’ve completely lost their ability to play real metal and, while they have a few gems, they’re mediocre. Especially compared to other thrash metal bands. But, they’re catchy (metal isn’t fucking made to be catchy) and because they’re catchy, they hit enough taste buds that they’ve become the most mainstream thrash metal band. Leaving other thrashers in the dust. (For example: Megadeth, who didn’t want to sing about the scary sandman or apocalypse but about real shit like corruption in the government).

So bottom line, everything has to be neat and polished— not good— and people are just okay with that.

Send a “ 🔥 “ and i rant

[dark-ambition]

Two headcanons about my version of Angel Dust that I’ve been mulling over recently.

(Under read more for length)

One being that he is very obsessive when it comes to his looks and how good his body looks, both to himself and others. He cannot handle it when others aren’t attracted to his body, not in the sense that “I need them to think I’m sexy”, but more of a deep, nasty rage where he just feels insulted and slighted if someone doesn’t show any interest, a very much sort of “you have fucking garbage taste” spiteful bitterness. That sort of egotism and bitter rage toward being seen as unattractive is a result of many factors. One factor simply because, that’s just who Angel is, he is naturally a very selfish person that loves to be the center of attention and hates it when people don’t see much to him/don’t think he isn’t worth the time of day, and another factor is because his looks are the sole reason he’s even in his career to begin with. To Angel, to stay in the game of the porn business, to continue to be the success that he is, he’s Gotta Be Sexy And Fuckable™️ to as many people as possible because if he’s not then. There goes his career, his worth as a person, his stardom, everything.

Obviously that is far from a healthy mindset, and part of it is born from Val working his ass constantly ragged in the porn scene, always constantly having to put on a sexy show for the masses every day of the week, but it’s also part of a more genuine fear response that maybe one day his own looks won’t be enough and a prettier looking face will up and take his place and then he’d be left out on the pavement.

The constant strain of his work has also affected him in another way. He’s developed a sort of latent nymphomania problem, where his body and mind have become so acclimated and attuned to sexual pleasure that it’s practically an addiction in and of itself to him. Sure, the thrill of most sex has long since worn itself out in his mind and his constant porn work has him seeing most sex as dull and drab, but also like…It feels good, it’s easy to do, and like drugs or booze, he can easily do it by himself or with someone else. It’s an addiction that he has a hard time shaking because his mind has both grown numb to the pleasure and also dependent on it just because of how much sex he does. To the point that he needs more and more of it to actually tire himself out make himself really get into it.

There are times when he can’t think of anything else to do so he just. Decides to jerk off. He’ll end up finishing, and then like 30 minutes later, he’s right back where he started so he’ll just start jerking off again, and so on and so forth, until he just spends the day in bed jacking off because he just can’t think of anything better to do. He often has a hand down his pants/has a habit of rubbing himself between his legs when he’s standing around or by himself just because again, it gives himself something minor to focus on. A little bit of sexual pleasure to take the edge off of his bored mind. Men/women, whatever a person has down their pants, doesn’t matter, he’s just willing to do it for the sake of just fucking and feeling good as a distraction, and it’s enough of a change for him to be into it, if not lazily so. He still has fun with sex, it still feels good, it’s not like he’s just sitting there staring at a wall, but he’s just so used to sex as a form of stimulus that it becomes just as openly natural as drinking or smoking, so most enthusiasm for it has gone out the window. It takes a lot for him to really get into anything anymore and if he finds someone that does give him that rush, he’ll be honestly pretty obsessed with them.

No one really notices because he always tries to at least put on a show or an effort for the person he’s fucking too. He won’t just lay there like a wet towel, he’ll do foreplay, participate, dirty talk, all that good stuff. He’s just doing it to make the sex more pleasurable for himself. Add a little kick to it to see if he can squeeze just a little more dopamine out of his system to give his orgasms more of a rush, like wringing water out of a wet towel.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Death Wish II (1982)

While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established...

I’m fairly sure everyone involved in the making of Death Wish II knew they were making trash, which begs the question: why was this movie made? This is exploitative, cynical filmmaking that does little more than re-iterate everything that was said and done in the first but worse.

After Paul Kersey (Charles Bronson) comes home to find his maid and daughter raped and murdered by the thugs who stole his wallet, he returns to his vigilante ways.

Woah, Woah! Slow down Death Wish 2! TWO of Kersey’s close ones get raped and murdered? Save some of them for Death Wish 3! I mean, otherwise what crime will the incompetent police force fail to solve, forcing Kersey to take the law into his own hands AGAIN? If you’ve seen Death Wish, you’ve seen Death Wish 2. There’s something particularly vile about this action film, and it isn’t only the excessive amount of female nudity as the hooting criminals gleefully lick their lips while ripping off the women’s clothes. Say what you will about the first but it was exactly that, THE FIRST. You needed to show those trauma-inducing moments to make you understand why Kersey would take the law into his own hands. This time, director Michael Winner's only objective is to exploit the audience. It's so manipulative you'll be tricked into wanting to see violent revenge fantasies brought to life by a man that’s way too old to play the role he’s playing. The criminals in this film do nothing BUT victimize women and torment innocent people. They're cartoons.

This picture has nothing to say, even if you haven’t seen Death Wish or its innumerable clones. We do not explore the toll this violence has upon Kersey beyond his lust for revenge. There are no moral dilemmas about the vengeance he rains down upon the thugs (which, if it interests you, includes a young Laurence Fishburne III). The topic of vigilante justice is never shown in a balanced manner. I can’t even say the action scenes are particularly exciting, or the deaths satisfying either.

Is there ANYTHING good in this film? Well, two I suppose. The first is that because the film is obviously lewd and lurid from the first few scenes, it’s never actually as impactful as it should be. It’s the most backwards compliment I’ve ever given but it’s true; by being crappy, the film manages avoid becoming offensive. This makes it “better”. Even so, it still contains gratuitous amounts of rape so maybe I’ve just become numb to it. Your mileage will probably vary on this issue. The second “good” aspect is a scene so bad it becomes comical AND checks off an item on my list of things I’ve always wanted to see in a movie. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s when a character jumps out of a window when they have no idea what’s outside. In Death Wish II, someone jumps and lands on something that kills them instantly. I’ve wanted to see that ever since I sat through 2005’s A Sound of Thunder.

Trashy, lazily written, unimaginative, tired, cheap... there are many unflattering adjectives which would comfortably fit Death Wish II. It’s wretched and I can’t imagine the next in the series will be any better. (Full-screen version on DVD, November 4, 2018)