#or go the bright pink i originally wanted for valentines but had to switch the date a little further

[kaidabakugou]

random question, have any of you guys painted your hair bright pink? and if so how does it fade? like does it fade into a lighter pink or does it turn more peachy?

[miyalove]

⋆｡˚⁀➷ PILLOW TALK.

cr. originally posted by houseofkarasuno

⤷ pairing. suna rintaro x fem!reader

⤷ genre. fluff, suggestive, timeskip au, established relationship au

⤷ warnings. swearing, crude language, crude humor, implied sex, mentions of bondage, mentions of hickeys,  *unedited’

1.5k | after one of the greatest fucks in your life, suna pops the big question. your response has him not as surprised as he would have thought.

your breath evens out slowly while you trace the outlines of your dull ceiling. besides you, suna plops down on your sheets. he faces you, golden eyes hooded while exhaustion dances behind them.

“how was that?” it’s a question that has you giggling around your jagged breaths. the noise makes him quirk a brow. 

“you always ask that after we fuck.”

“it’s cause i wanna know if ya liked it,” you can practically imagine his cute little shrug after he speaks. it’s become a habit of his to nonchalantly shrug things off, but you know him better than that. it’s not just a simple question. he doesn’t just want to know if you liked it. he wants to know if you liked it. if the position he had you in hurt or if the knots bounding your wrist to the bedpost were too tight. he wanted to know if you were okay. they’re two vastly different concepts, according to him.

you let out a sigh, shifting your position to face your boyfriend. a thin layer of sweat is still present on his skin. under the lighting he looks like he’s glowing making him impossibly more attractive. unbeknownst to you, he’s thinking the same thing. your delicate body fits perfectly next to his like you were simply made to be with him. 

“yes, i liked it, rintaro.” you punctuate your claim with a soft grin, “more than that actually.” you shift closer to him. “that might of just been our best one yet.”

as you wiggle, the mattress moans with your heavy movement. the familiar groan cracks a small smile on your boyfriends face, probably thinking of a stupid innuendo. you shot him a glare, daring him to say it. he let’s out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes instead. 

“good boy,” you lean down pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. it taste salty from the lingering sweat and it’s quick not wanting to get his gross bodily fluids all up on your face either. no matter how quick you are though, you could never be as fast as professional athlete suna rintaro (it’s something he always reminds you about).

in one quick motion, suna wraps his macular arms around your middle. he drags your body over his own. the shock has you struggling to find a grip. your hands fail around to find some kind of support. your legs twist and tangle themselves in your blankets. suna’s arms stay wrapped around your core, steadying you while you struggle. 

it’s an awkward sight. your legs try to mount his hips, but the room is too dark and you’re bones rattle with exertion. to suna, it’s a sight to behold. your hair is messy from your previous action but it frames your pretty face in just the right way. he admires the way you struggle to hop over him. you’re a lot smaller than he is (just the way he likes it, if he’s being honest) so you’re determination to fit is admirable. he can’t help the feeling that washes over him while he eyes you cutely struggling. 

it’s laughable. it’s clumsy. it’s you-- that’s all he could ever want.

“you looked like a fish nearin’ it’s last days,” you huff at the dig. only he would throw such a specific insult. when you finally find purchase on top of him, you feel his knees bend behind you. gladly, you lean back thankful for the support. a comfortable silence takes over the room. he watches as your eyes flutter shut. it seems like fatigue as finally caught up with you. 

he allows you to lean into him. all your weight shifts onto his legs and even if they ache from practice, he doesn’t dare move or mention it. he doesn’t want to wake you. you do so much for him. the least he could do was let you have a few minutes of rest. in the silence, his eyes get to work on you. 

you’re tits are on full display as well as your tummy and if he were to pull at the sheets, your pretty pink panties would be uncovered. it was the only thing you managed to throw own before flopping yourself into bed. pink looks good on you. it was a something he noticed a while ago. he racks his brain to the first time he saw you in the soft color.

3rd year, lantern festival. 

you looked stunning in that outfit. the dress curved and accented all the best part of your body. the bright pink contrasted perfectly with the dark sky surrounding you. you shined bright that day, heads turned and necks were broken. at the time, it worried him having not been yours. he stuck beside you for an uncharacteristic amount of time. every corner you went, he seemed to randomly be there and ready to help you win prizes or to tease you about the little things. 

he was worried then but now, he he’s able to hold you in his arms without a worry. he’s able to fuck you senseless until you’re begging for more. he can be little patchy with replying back to your messages and sometimes he isn’t in the mood for PDA but you understand that. 

you understand him. 

you understand his silences. his thoughtless grunts. his wordless stares.

at this realization, something switches within him. he needs to say something. his words are caught in his throat. choked between waking you up or letting you rest. his heart pounds, his fingers are suddenly jittery. he loves you so fucking much. from the day you stepped into his classroom to introduce yourself to the moment you made fun of atsumu over a shared interest. he finally saw you that day. he knew then he wanted to have your melodious giggle as the sound track to his life. 

he was so stupidly in love with you then.

he takes one last glance your way. his throat dries with that same nervousness he had when he asked you out for the first time (he was a broke 3rd year, so he took you out the the fanciest ramen vending machine spot he knew then the two of you stayed up all night walking and venturing the city. it was absolutely perfect). 

and now five years later, nothing has changed. 

“till death do us apart.” it comes out in a mumble of anxiousness, but it’s loud enough to stir you awake.

your eyes gently open and he’s staring straight into you. your brows crinkle, slightly worried. you’ve only seen him this tense a few times in your time together. they were all about volleyball. weather his time was going to win or not weather he was training hard enough-- all worries that were be quickly squashed once you were there to call him down. 

never have you seen this look as you laid down with him. in the middle of your thoughts, it remember that you had to reply. rubbing the sleep out of your eye, you shake your head, “what was that, love?”

he repeats himself again, just a little bit louder this time. it still makes your head tilt in question. ‘till death do us apart? what the hell is he on about? what about death? and why are we apart of it?

you sit on on his lap staring into his widened eyes. they’re glossed over, hazed with a fear that brings you back to the honeymoon phases of your relationship. you’re so tied up in the thought, you have to force yourself to focus again. till death do us apart... ‘till death do us apart? wait--

“proposing on valentines day?” you lean over him. your chest presses up against his bare torso. you smirk, “how... original.” sarcasm laces your tone. the way you’re able to tease him in such a delicate situation has him huffing out a breath he hadn’t know he was holding. 

“that doesn’t sound like a yes to me.”

“that’s because it wasn’t, silly.”

that heavy feeling presses at his chest again. “oh.” 

one word yet you could already tell he was overthinking it. 

“hey, hey. slow down there.” you pet at his dark locks, gently lacing your fingers through them. your hot breath fans at his face with how close you. mindlessly, he rests his hands on your hips pulling you impossibly closer. 

“i’m not saying no either, rin.” he tilts his head, obviously confused. you read him like an open book as you continue. you can’t help the disappointed sigh, “i’m not saying yes because a proposal on valentines day, rin? come on! you’re 1000 times better than that!” 

so many emotions show through him. there’s confusion because why would you play with him like that. there’s a side of him that want to roll his eyes at your childish antics. then there’s a side of him that gets it. it’s too cliché. it’s too lovey-dovey honeymoon phase. you were never one for romcoms anyways so he gets it. 

“so it’s not a no either?”

“it’s a- uh... to be decided,” you purr.

silence.

“you’re so fucking lucky i love you.” he angles himself forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. it’s starts off soft. your mouths slotting together perfectly. then his grip on your hips gets tighter. your hands start to roam his body. and the way his hands coax you to move has you already knowing where this is going. 

“yeah, yeah. i love you too.”

[brideofedoras]

Cupid’s Arrow

Cupid’s Arrow

A Modern AU Cupid/OFC

Disclaimer: I do not own Cupid or Aphrodite or the images in the aesthetic I created...  I only own my OCs...

Warnings: NONE!  (yet...)

Word Count: 2100+

Rating: 18+ (to be on the safe side)...

*Note: This was originally supposed to be a short one but it got away with me.  I’m nowhere near finished with it, I’m currently stuck but I wanted to post it for Valentine’s Day.  So...  Here’s part one!

Valentine’s Day is T-minus 7 days, 14 hours, 38 minutes…

Cupid snorted awake when the damned alarm sounded on his phone.  He rolled over and grabbed the device to silence the alert.  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered, dropping the iPhone onto the blanket before scrubbing his hands over his face.  Dammit, he wanted to go back to sleep.

Unfortunately he had a job to do.  And if he didn’t do it, his mother would never let him hear the end of it.  

Aphrodite had been on a tear ever since she’d heard about some cute little brunette running a quaint little bookstore in the middle of Nowhere, Missouri.  Rumor had it the girl was very beautiful and every red-blooded man in a hundred mile radius were flocking around her.

He screwed his eyes shut.  His mother could be a very jealous woman at times, but this was ridiculous.  She wanted him to go undercover, get a job somewhere in that town (preferably at the bookstore, if Aphrodite had her way), and nail some fat, ugly old man with one of his arrows and make him fall in love with the girl.

He sighed heavily as he sat up, the bedding pooling at his bare waist.  One thing he hated was his own mother using him to ease her jealousy at some innocent woman’s expense.  

“That’s not how I work, Mom,” he muttered to himself.  He threw the covers off and stood up, shuddering at the slight chill in the room.  

He preferred to bring couples together naturally without wasting his precious arrows.  Occasionally someone would drag their heels and deny they were head over heels in love with the person they were meant to be with.  Then he would bust out the crossbow and take aim.

But to use an arrow to force love on someone?  It was immoral.  He would not do something that went against his beliefs.

He would go, he would try to get hired on somewhere in Valentine Creek, Missouri, and see if there was anyone she was interested in.  And if the feelings were reciprocated he would work his matchmaking skills, bring them together and hope for the best.

Cupid grabbed a pair of boxer briefs and pulled them on, formulating the plan in his head.  Research the town, see if there are any job openings, apply and charm his way into a job, meet the girl, befriend the girl, and hopefully fix her up with her one true love.  

He finished getting dressed and fixed himself a pot of coffee before he grabbed his laptop and settled down on his bed once more to do a Google search on the girl his mother had taken a dislike to sight unseen.  

Valentine Creek, Missouri.  Population 8,347.  Located on the Missouri River in the middle of the state, cute little tourist town with a rich history.  His hazel eyes skimmed along the list of businesses until the name of the bookstore Aphrodite had practically spat out last night caught his attention.  

Adventure Awaits.  Established in 1996 by Nic and Calliope Wilder on the square in historic downtown Valentine’s Creek, Adventure Awaits is a bookstore, bakery and coffee shop rolled into one.  Current owner and operator is their daughter, Penelope Wilder, a 2018 graduate of Olympus University where she studied business management and creative writing.  The Wilders have collaborated with area businesses during festivals to host wine walks to raise funds for restoring historic sites of interest; children’s workshops such as creative writing, art, dance, theater, and baking; pet adoption specials; back-to-school supply drives, and Christmas book drives.

He reached for his coffee and took a sip before searching to see if Adventure Awaits had a website.  “Bingo,” he murmured when it pulled up.  He frowned thoughtfully as he took in the simple page with a Victorian-esque background.  Links to view the dessert and beverage menu, books, gifts, upcoming events lined the top of the page.

He scrolled down the main page, finding it to be a blog of sorts touting specials, sales, employment opportunities and photos from recent events.  

One photo caught his attention.  A blue-eyed brunette curled up on an overstuffed armchair with a book and a three-legged cat.  

Meet the not-so-new owner and operator of Adventure Awaits: Penny (and Church).

Cupid double-tapped the photo to get a better look.  

Long dark hair flowing in waves, bright baby blue eyes framed with long dark lashes, high cheekbones, full pink lips, flawless skin.  An aura of shy innocence in that smile.

Warmth flooded through him as he studied, as he memorized Penelope Wilder’s photograph.  He wondered if her hair felt as silky as it looked, if it would curl around his fingers.  Would her lips feel plush and velvety soft under his?  What would her kisses taste like?  Would her eyes sparkle with love and adoration as she looked deep into his own hazels?

The increasing tightness in his chest snapped him out of his reverie.  Cupid scrubbed his hands over his face and drew in a deep breath.  “You are the God of Love, you have no time for a romance of your own, you idiot,” he berated himself.  “Mom would kill you, too, for this.”

He spread his fingers to peek at the computer screen once more, to the chocolate brown tresses and the baby blue eyes and the shy smile.  “I can’t do this.”

Cupid startled when his phone vibrated on the night stand.  With a groan he dropped his hands and snatched it up.  “Crap.”  He swiped his thumb to answer.  “Mom.”

“Cupid, don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”  The sickly sweet tone in Aphrodite’s voice belied the irritation he picked up on.

“No, I’m not doing it,” he leaned back against the headboard.  

“Yes, you are,” she growled at him.  “You are going to fly your cute little ass to Missouri and make her fall in love with some fat old geezer.”

“Mother, what you are demanding of me goes against what I stand for,” he warned.  “I will not force that kind of fate on an undeserving innocent.”

“I don’t care,” he rolled his eyes at her flippant tone.  “You’re doing this or I’m disowning you.”

“You say that every time you want me to do your dirty work, Mom,” he reached up and raked his fingers through his golden blond hair.  “You haven’t disowned me yet.”

“Just do it, Cupid,” she snapped and disconnected the call.

“No, Mom,” he dropped the phone onto the bed.  “I’m not gonna ruin her life to appease your jealousy.”  He leaned forward to look at the photo of the blue-eyed beauty once more.  

“No, Church, you can’t have a brownie,” Penelope smiled at the three-legged cat at her feet.  “You shouldn’t be back here anyway.”

Big amber eyes blinked at her from the sweet ebony face before the rescue hobbled off with his fluffy tail flicking sassily at her.

She shook her head as she finished stocking the dessert display.  “Chocolate isn’t good for furbabies,” she picked up the cream cheese chocolate chip brownie she’d saved for herself and followed the cat to the window display overlooking the park across the street.  It was cloudy out, snow was in the forecast for the afternoon.  “Think we’ll get the four inches of snow the weatherman promised?”  She scritched behind Church’s left ear.

The cat purred in response, a deep and loud rumble as he turned his head to urge her to scratch him under his jaw.  

She smiled as she complied.  “Not that we have to get out in it, since we live upstairs and I did the shopping last night.”  Her baby blue eyes wandered to the window again.  “Well, we have thirty minutes before it’s time to open, Mom will be here later to help me with today’s delivery…  Is it wrong to want a shot of tequila to get me through the day?”

“Mrrrrp,” Church gave her a half meow, half purr for a response before turning and hopping up onto the vintage wingback chair in the display.  He promptly curled up on the soft ivory afghan.

“It was just a hypothetical question,” she sighed as she straightened the books on the side table.  “Maybe.”

She turned away from the window and walked through the small store.  She switched around a few Valentine’s Day displays, rotating the books on the stands and tried not to groan as she wondered how many men she was going to have to fend off today.

Not a single one of them were interested in a relationship.  They wanted to hook up, do the one night stand thing and go on their merry little way, or the friends with benefits, no-strings-attached thing.  

She was shy, introverted, and hooking up for sex was something she could not do.  If she was going to invest her time in someone, step out of her comfort zone and make herself vulnerable then that person better be in it for the long haul, and not just for sex.  Some of her friends had a revolving door of lovers, and she understood that this day and age that was the new normal.  It just was not for her.  She wanted the old cliche, a whirlwind romance evolving into happily ever after.

Penny groaned.  “I should just go on vacation every year around this time, Church,” she picked up a copy of one of her favorite books and carried it to the counter.  “What do you think?  A little bungalow on the beach somewhere?  Maybe run away to New Zealand?”  She chuckled when she received no response from the stray-turned-spoiled house cat.  “I’m terrified of flying, that would never work anyway,” she shook her head as she propped Pride and Prejudice up next to the register.  One quick glance at the clock on the wall told her she had five minutes to go before it was time to open.  With another sigh she rounded the counter to start the coffee maker for the regular coffee, checked the other machines, and grabbed the keys to unlock the door.

“Church, it’s already starting to snow,” she commented as she unlocked the door leading to the enclosed foyer.  Once the main door was unlocked she dipped into her bucket of rock salt and stepped out onto the sidewalk to spread it out.  

“Penny, where’s your coat?”

Her head snapped up toward the shoe store to the left.  “Upstairs in my apartment,” she answered with a smile.  “I’ll grab it when I have a chance, Ed.”

“You be sure to do that, wouldn’t want for you to come down sick,” Ed Chambers smiled back.  “If you want, I can have Josh shovel the walk for you later.”

“Thank you,” she shook her head.  “I’ll take care of it.”

“The offer stands if you get busy, Penny,” he waved before ducking back into his shop.

Her smile dropped the moment she was alone.  Ugh.  I do not want Josh shoveling my part of the walk.  He will just come into the store and flirt and get mad the moment I turn him down.  She ducked back into the foyer for more rock salt.  “I’m quite capable of shoveling my sidewalk, clearing off my car, and carrying my groceries,” she muttered out loud.  “Don’t need some jerk coming along flexing to show off and entice me into something I want no part of.”  A few more scoops of salt later she grabbed the sign her dad had made years ago and set it where it was out of the way but easily seen.  Caution: Sidewalk might be slick!  Please walk with care!

She stepped back into her business and flipped the sign from “Closed” to “Come on in, we’re open!”.  Once she wiped her feet on the rough mat she sighed heavily.  “I swear to God, Cupid better keep his damned arrows away from me.”

Penny ducked around the wall separating the counter from the kitchen to wash her hands.  It would likely be a slow day for business with the snow arriving earlier than expected (never a good sign), and the main drag would be clogged later with rerouted traffic from accidents on the freeway bridge ten minutes away (happens every time it rains or snows, people think they can fly down the highway at 90 miles per hour regardless of the weather).  But she had her regulars to think about.  Employees from the businesses, city hall, the police and sheriff’s department and the courthouse often popped in for a cup of coffee and a fresh brownie or cookie during their breaks.  The auxiliary from the local hospital enjoyed coming in to request books and novelty items to be ordered for their gift shop.  She doubted they would come in.  

Slow days could be both a blessing and a curse, she thought.  With nothing else to do until the delivery, she settled in behind the counter for a long wait.

[niksixx]

Red Dress

Requested: Yes, by an Anon!

Pairing: The Dirt!Tommy Lee x Reader

Description: You gain a bit of weight and Tommy comforts you and helps you feel less self conscious

Warning: Curse words

*Picture is NOT mine. Found on Google. Credit to the owner.*

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

“Fuck this, fuck that, oh and especially, fuck that.”

Summer clothes you had originally planned on wearing littered the cream colored carpet of your bedroom floor. The scowl on your face that appeared early on in the morning seemed to deepen every time you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, and you debated shattering the glass with your phone.

Overwhelming feelings of insecurity and annoyance had drowned you for the last three days. Every outfit you covered your body with never seemed to fit like they had a month ago, and the more you gazed at your naked body in the wall length mirror, the more frustrated you became.

So you had gained a little bit of weight, so what? It’s not the end of the world, said the voice in your head. No, the world wasn’t ending, but you were pretty sure your relationship would once your boyfriend saw the amount of weight you’d gained out of nowhere.

By the time you were finished throwing all of your brand new clothes in a black trash bag to be donated, pathetic tears slipped from your eyes like a rainstorm. Tommy would be home any minute from rehearsal, and you were supposed to meet Vince and his wife for dinner reservations.

“Yeah, no way in hell.” Grumbling, you dragged the trash bag to the front door, leaving it off to the side for later. Your ‘spring cleaning’ episode had left you tired and sweaty and a shower, you figured, would be the perfect solution to help you relax.

Unfortunately, the first thing Tommy suggested when he returned home was that you two shower together. On a normal day when your emotions were balanced and you loved your body, you wouldn’t hesitate to jump in the shower with him. But today wasn’t a normal day, and the last thing you wanted was Tommy seeing you in such a vulnerable state.

“Hey pretty girl,” Dropping his keys on the table, Tommy walked over to you and kissed your cheek, pulling back with a cheeky grin. “What do ya say we take a shower, hm? Save water, fool around a bit.”

“No thanks,” you mumbled, slightly pushing him away. What you truly wanted to do was bury your face in his chest, but more tears would gather in your eyes and Tommy wouldn’t leave you alone until he figured out the problem.

Confusion settled on Tommy’s face as he reached for your hand. “What’s wrong? You usually never say no to a shower.”

Shrugging, you padded toward the bathroom, ready to shut the door in his face. “I think I want to shower alone. I’ll be quick, I promise.” And with that you closed the door.

~~~

Your bed was now soaked from the spot in which you sat wrapped in a towel, staring down at your feet. Tommy would be out of the shower soon and you hadn’t even chosen an outfit to hide yourself in. Sighing, you let the towel fall from your body, positioning yourself in front of the mirror.

You noticed the weight gain immediately, predominantly in your thighs and stomach. Turning to the side, you ran your hand up your bare skin, noticing that even your ass had grown slightly bigger and not in the good way, either. Stretch marks were visible along your hipbones, and you aimlessly poked at the skin on your stomach, tears welling it when you felt a slight jiggle.

“What are you doing?”

Shrieking, you turned and noticed Tommy looking at you quizzically. He had already dressed in the bathroom, looking well put together in black slacks and a light blue, long sleeve button up shirt. With his hair still damp, you assumed he’d only finished his shower minutes prior.

“Oh my God, Tommy, shit.” Frantically, you scanned the room until you found your towel on the floor, scooping it up and quickly wrapping it around your midsection. “I’ll be ready soon, I just—.”

“What were you doing in the mirror?” Cutting you off, Tommy took a step forward, tugging at the top of your towel. You instantly jumped back at his touch, disgusted with yourself and the foreign body beneath the towel.

“Nothing Tommy,” Your voice was sharp and your eyes were dark, averting your gaze from the man in front of you. “I think you should just go with Vince and Diana. I’m not feeling well, I’ll just stay home and make a salad or something.”

“You’ve never touched a salad,” Tommy reminded, hands on his hips. “Why would you want one now?”

“Because I’m fucking fat, alright?!” The quick snap of your voice startled both Tommy and yourself, and you found yourself sobbing into your hands. Having Tommy see you broken and vulnerable was something you were horribly ashamed of. Tommy always encouraged you to be who you are and love yourself because sometimes that’s all you have. You didn’t want to know what kind of thoughts were forming in his head, watching you sob in front of the mirror in nothing but a black towel.

When you felt a pair of arms wrap around your neck, you let out a strangled cry, clutching onto Tommy’s clean shirt. The soft touch of his fingers gently gliding down your back should have put your mind at ease, but it only caused another cry to escape.

“Sweetheart, where did this come from?” His voice was sincere, but you knew he was slightly baffled by your sudden outburst. “You are nowhere near fat, Y/N.”

You dropped the towel angrily, the cool air hitting your body, sending chills up your spine. Lust pooled in Tommy’s eyes, looking from your face to your bare body. “My stomach, my thighs, and my ass are all fatter than they were a month ago, Tommy. Look at me!” You poked at the various parts you were unhappy with, grimacing as each part shook. “None of my summer clothes fit so I had to get rid of them all. And that’s also why I didn’t want to shower with you. I’m embarrassed, Tommy. I don’t know how this happened.”

Running a hand through your hair, you turned to the mirror again. This time Tommy came up behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist, head on top of your shoulder. “Tell me what you don’t like,” His voice was soft, sweet. “Look in the mirror and tell me exactly what you don’t like.”

Shrugging, you pointed at your thighs, now a teeny bit wider than you wanted. “My thighs are gross. I couldn’t even slid my jean shorts up past my knees.”

Nodding, Tommy’s hand slid down your body, rubbing small shapes into the skin. “Do you know how easy I fall asleep on your legs, baby? They’re warm and they make the best pillows.”

The compliment brought a faint smile to your face. It was true, Tommy would sleep best when his head rested in your lap. Sometimes he’d curl up on your thighs in the middle of a movie, and you’d hear him softly snoring minutes later. Smiling, you glanced down at your thighs, and they didn’t seem as big as you had thought. Maybe they weren’t so bad after all.

“Well, fine, but my ass is all big and lumpy. And not in a good way.” Pouting, you crossed your arms over your chest, slightly turning to the side.

“Baby,” Tommy said, giving your butt a firm squeeze. “Do you know how hot your ass looks when you get dressed up? Especially in that red dress I love so much.”

A pink tint warmed your cheeks, and you had to admit, you too loved the way your ass curved in that dress Tommy had bought you for Valentine’s Day last year. It was tight in all the right places, and Tommy never failed to mention how stunning you looked when you wore it.

“Anything else?” Tommy asked, kissing your cheek and smirking at you in the mirror. His words had given you a newfound sense of confidence.

“My stomach,” you whispered, poking the center. “It’s gotten too chubby.”

Smiling, Tommy bent down eye level with your stomach and sprinkled kisses all around. “Do you want to know why your stomach is the most beautiful part of your body?” You shook your head, waiting for him to go on with his speech. “Because this tummy right here will be the home to our little babies someday. And I don’t know about you, but I hope that day is sometime soon.”

Pulling Tommy to his feet, you grabbed his cheeks and feverishly kissed his lips, ignoring the wetness that coated your face. How was it possible that Tommy could completely switch your mood around with a few gentle sentences? You’d gotten so lucky with him.

“I never want you to forget that you are the most perfect girl, Y/N, and I will always find something to love about the parts that you hate. Now come on,” said Tommy, giving your ass a gently smack. “Dinner’s waiting.”

And when you emerged from the bathroom in that tiny red dress Tommy loved, and his eyes shone as bright as the stars, you had to question why you ever felt insecure in the first place.

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

OT3FIC: Galentine’s Day

Watching from the bar over the top of her glass as she watched the pair banter back and forth - a hand tossing hair back here, another hand rubbing over the top of the other’s there -  Abigail felt a true sense of achievement and happiness at switching out the original plan.

---

When Shada had suggested a Girl’s weekend for the three of them - all single and well and truly wanting to avoid how sickeningly sweet Abigail’s new family could be - she’d jumped at the idea to get out of the house, give them some private time and also bond with her quasi-aunts who felt more like potential best friends she would never have to hide her past from.

Ombre had been so giddy, spinning about the hotel lobby crazily when Abigail’s taxi had pulled up and she’d entered. The blonde had been running about from place to place, speaking rapidly in French over and over exclaiming over this shiny object or that vase of flowers and taking photo after photo of everything and herself like she did every day. Abigail had laughed when she’d first been asked to see the blonde shadow’s Instagram account and had since spent forever laughing at both the goofy images of the other woman and the endless number of comments asking how a young woman like her could live the life she could that never got answered.

Abigail had been swept up in a hug immediately, and a pair of sunglasses slid over her eyes before the blonde took a snap kissing her cheeks, the color rising to a bright pink to match the bright pink lipstick left on the apple as the blonde span away with a squeal at an older woman walking past with a tiny toy poodle.

“I see Ombre caught you first.” The older shadow said with a laugh, the warm honey sound that Abigail could pick out of a crowd these days the same as any of her adoptive family. She rubbed at her cheek nervously, wiping the lipstick off as she slid her sunglasses onto the top of her head as she turned to greet the mastermind of the original weekend plans. “Hey Abby, how did you go getting here?”

“Not bad. Easy enough to get a taxi from the cinema.” “Oh good! I would have taken you with me-” “But you know I’m not a fan of your mode of travel.”

“Exactly. Can’t have you getting motion sickness in the first hour of the night!” Shada exclaimed in agreement, nodding as she pulled back from the tight hug she’d pulled the other into, and Abigail smiled back at the other. The shadow really was very accommodating, and she always seemed to focus on what was best and important for others. The same as Abigail knew the plan for the weekend was to get herself more comfortable in crowds with the comfort and support of the two shadows, as well as to give the trio back home to privacy for their fun. It was a shame, as she always thought, that the dark-haired beauty had no luck in finding someone who could appreciate how lovely she was. “Besides, we’ve got an amazing suite for tonight, and massages and a makeup artist and hairstylist and just an overall pamper session planned for tonight. I wouldn’t want you feeling unwell and miss it.”

“So, that’s the plan for this evening. What’s the rest of the weekend?” Abigail asked as she was guided along towards the gilded elevator as Ombre span about and twirled in her skirt with her phone recording in front of them and behind the two brunettes were two porters pushing a trolley loaded with bags that included Abigail’s one suitcase for the few days. “Are we staying put or-”

“Oh Abs, we’ve got plans to go to the beach for a few hours of sunbathing, and then Ombre wanted to go to some restaurant-” “Let me guess, its French?” “How did you guess? Anyhow, dinner for three and then perhaps some flirting at a cocktail party that we weren’t invited to.”

The brunette girl let out a laugh at the last one, shaking her head as the elevator closed behind them and the bellhop pressed the button for the penthouse suite. Abigail didn’t want to think how much this weekend was costing. Not the shadows and not her, but every place they were likely to go. It was something she would have once found unsettling and distasteful - her father’s frugality would cause him to shake his head at the excesses around her as the trio and the bag-man moved off of the elevator on the top floor; Hannibal would find the literal theft to be rude, and the few times the shadows had shown up laden with bags for themselves, Jo and Abigail the looks on Will’s face echoed those of her father - but after the way that the world had turned on her over her father’s factions and her fear? She no longer cared that the lavish surroundings and luxurious fabrics were essentially grasped without permission for the three of them this weekend.

“Your room is this way, miss.” The hotel worker spoke quietly, turning down one of the long halls from the elevator entry, and Abigail followed after him quietly while the other two girls made their way around the main living space of the suite and unpacking bags upon bags of something around the place.

Abigail settled in quickly, and the man left without even waiting for a tip with the same slightly glossy look that Abigail once remembered had covered her own eyes from a completely different form of manipulation. Her bags unpacked, the warm flannel sleep pants and t-shirt that Jo brought her for Christmas last year with a hunter's scope emblazoned across the front switched into, and her hair pulled into a messy bun before she looked out the windows of her suite with a sigh. Life had certainly changed.

---

The makeup artist had been phenomenal and there for hours, working in conjunction with the hairdresser to do look after look based off of anything any of the girls thought of. Their every whim was suddenly transformed, and Abigail had found herself sighing repeatedly at the sheer number of photos being taken around them as a waiter continued to refill the snack bowls with fresh fruit and dipping sauces, waffle slices to be slathered in fruit and syrup, and the cheese platter that Abigail knew was all types of French only cheeses specifically chosen for the youngest of them. There was music playing and Shada even initiated a brief dance competition with the stylists and the sisters for Abigail and the very pretty redheaded waiter to pick out of.

As the hour closed towards midnight, the makeup artist and hairstylist were finally sent on their way - eyes glassy but at Abigail’s request their purses filled with cash - and the waitress finally produced bowls of popcorn and refilled the snacks section one last time before leaving in much the same way. Abigail had watched sadly, trying not to stare obviously, as the young woman left without even a glance behind her with the same dull look as the rest.

“Oh Abby, don’t worry - I’ll make sure not to make her forget about seeing us at breakfast in the morning.” Shada piped up from her spot on the chaise section of the lounge, laid out and gorgeous in a way that would have made the brunette girl flush to see in the short lacy black and purple nightie if she was still nursing that awkward crush on her like a few months ago. “Perhaps we can even see about if she gets the night off tomorrow-”

“Shada!” “Oh oh, does mon petit ami have an interest in the jolie serveuse?” “Yes, Ombre, she does have a little crush on our waitress!” “Shada!”

The two shadows giggled conspiratorially as Abigail felt her cheeks heating up more and more, and watching the two’s gigglings soon had her joining in even as she found herself shaking her head ruefully before deciding to flip the tables on both.

“At least I’m woman enough to acknowledge it. What about you two!” Abigail cried back, pointing a French manicured finger at each of the now surprised shadows. “I get Ombre’s still very young and not quite looking yet-”

“Hey!” “You better not be, little sister, you’re far too young for boys and girls and all that nonsense.” “But-”

“But what about you, Shada?” Abigail interrupted and continued, staring back at the startled and then shifting to uncertain look on the other woman’s face. It was something Abigail found most interesting about the shadow, just how expressive her face was when she’d heard from Jo over a late-night drink that it was a learned behavior rather than one born of growing into it, but blinking unphased at the slightly sad shift to the woman’s face she didn’t want to back down right now. “You’re beautiful, you’re loving, and you’re far more caring and good-natured than a lot of people I know. There’s no reason you should be isolating yourself like you do, and avoiding the opportunities that come your way.”

“I don’t-” Shada began responding, rising in a sharp jerk from the previously relaxed and languid position she had draped herself across the couch in, eyes darting from the fiercely loving one’s of Abigail’s into the curious concern from Ombre. “I don’t avoid opportunities.”

“It’s fucking Valentine’s weekend, Shada,” the brunette girl responded, leaning forward across the small gap between their chairs to rest a pale hand atop the tanned and slightly shaking one of the other. “You deserve to have something special this weekend.”

There was a sharp inhalation of breath, before the sad look that flashed across the dark-haired beauty’s face suddenly swirled and twisted into one of happiness looking back and forth between the other two women. Abigail thought she might have pressed too hard, or said something too rough for a second before a tan arm was wrapped around her neck and she was jerked forward from her chair in a fierce hug, smooshed against the blonde’s side as the eldest of the three dragged them into a bear hug.

“Don’t you see, Abby?” Shada said softly, rocking the trio back and forth a little as she let out a small hiccup of a giggle. “I already have something special this weekend. I’m getting to spend it with my best friends.”

---

That hadn’t been explanation enough for Abigail though, and after Ombre had cried some and waxed poetically as she sipped on what the brunette was beginning to suspect had been spiked cherry juice rather than just the tart-sweet juice the girl liked so much, and after Shada had scurried off with the blonde in tow to get some giant bubble bath or hot tub or something along those lines from the high pitched giggling that Abigail had struggled to understand though, she found herself sneaking off back to her own bedroom for a moments peace.

A moment's peace to call the one person she knew would be able to come up with a solution and answer to the ideas that were bubbling up in her mind.

The first call went unanswered, and glancing at the clock, Abigail bit her lip uncertain if she should try again. They were probably back from dinner, or maybe just driving home, so perhaps it would be the worst time to call them given just how active she’d found they could be left to their own devices the few times she’d made it home earlier than expected or that week her noise-canceling headphones have broken and she didn’t want to bother anyone about getting her some more when she’d only been home for a few weeks. But if she left it any later, it would have to wait until morning - and that was far too late to be able to do anything about it.

Calling again, Abigail sighed quietly to herself hearing the tinny voice through the other end of the phone.

“Sugar, what’s wrong?!” “Nothing’s wrong, Jo, I’m okay.” “You’re fine? You’re sure?” “Yes, I’m good. I promise. You don’t need to sound so worried.” “Yes, you scared me-”

Abigail let out an audible sigh at that, smiling ruefully to herself as she moved to sit down on the end of her bed, looking out the window at the black night's sky and the twinkling lights of the city around her. Trust Jo to have jumped to the worst possible conclusion. All three of them were so protective of her, ever since she’d been driven up the driveway the first time and felt Will’s arms wrap around her. It had been a learning curve for all four of them to work out how to live together and just breathe when the others were away from home after her escape from Hannibal’s capture, but the inability to truly pin the doctor’s crimes on him made all three older adults jumpy if Abigail was away from home for too long without checking in. Or in this case, checking in earlier than expected.

“I’m fine, I just had something I wanted to ask you about. If it’s a good time-” “No, it’s okay now. Why are you calling?”

She wasn’t sure how to start but found herself quickly blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “I’m trying to get Shada a date for the weekend, or a treat that actually isn’t all fake. And I just don’t know where to start.”

There was a long pause, before the tone through the phone turned slightly wicked and amused, the humor running through the woman’s voice that Abigail somehow knew she was smirking slightly to herself in glee. “Oh, yeah, sure. I can help with that.”

---

And help Jo did.

It wasn’t a jump at all for the blonde to suggest the man Abigail was now watching flirt a little too obnoxiously with the dark-haired woman. In fact, it was the first and only person that Jo had said that they should try to get the shadow access to over the weekend. If she had been trying to organize it herself, she never would have thought of the hunter - him being a hunter and all, and the way he would sometimes scowl a little too harshly towards Grey the few times the brothers had visited the farm since Abigail arrived, and the way he seemed just a little too gruff and rough around the edges from Shada’s own polished and sophisticated ways - but Jo was adamant he was the perfect person to spice up the weekend for the shadow without the secrecy that other men in random clubs would entail. Without the falsehood of making up a fake job, or talking about fake family members, or even just not talking about herself at all.

Watching the two, Dean’s hand laid firmly atop the back of the barstool Shada was perched in, and the way the shadow’s legs were crossed at the knee and pointed and pressing firmly against the man’s torso, she knew immediately that this had been the right call. The way if Abigail lent a little further back to the side she could see the thumb of his hand stroking against the open patch of skin at the back of the dark-haired woman’s backless dress. And hilariously enough, the way that the much taller brother came walking over with a tray of drinks for the remaining three in their little sequestered booth - a rum and coke for her, a Shirley Temple for Ombre who was still busy taking photos of herself and the thin gold chains that made up the privacy breaks between them and the next booth, and a gin and tonic for himself - to say quietly, “You know, whoever thought of this was a genius.”

“You mean bars or for that?” The dark-haired girl replied, jerking her head towards the bar where she could see Shada tossing her hair back with a laugh she couldn’t hear over the crowd to be immediately set back in place behind her ear by the hunter’s other hand. Abigail smirked a small smirk to herself as she could see the color darkening in the shadow’s cheeks before she seemed to giggle over something else. “Because I can’t take credit for either entirely.”

“You mean you’re not centuries-old and created the concept of drinking ale in a tavern?” “Unfortunately not!” “Ah, too bad. I’d have had so many questions about how to draw a pint from one of those old casks.”

Abigail laughed to herself at the joke, shaking her head as Sam relaxed into the other side of the booth all by himself. She was surprised as usual how much space one man could take up and glanced back across at the pair they were spying on as surreptitiously as possible as she took a sip of her drink. “Too bad indeed. I can’t even take credit for the idea to get you and Dean here tonight-”

“Yeah, I figured the frantic late-night call last night was not your own thought process,” Sam replied, leaning forward to see past some of the gold draping chains to watch his brother and the shadow flirting up a storm, a small smirk in place. “Jo?”

“Definitely all her idea. Or at least, the idea that, uh, Dean might be a good, um-” Abigail trailed off, not sure exactly how comfortable she was suggesting she’d been trying to use the man across from her’s brother as a stud for her friend until she caught the wicked grin on the other’s face. “Well, she thought they would match well together. Or something.”

“Or something.” Sam parroted back, sinking back in his seat with a shake of his head and an uncomfortable look on his face.  Abigail spotted the cause of it immediately, as she noticed Dean crowded a little closer to the other’s stool, if that was even possible, and his hand had moved fully off of the chair’s back and onto the exposed skin of the lithe woman’s lower back while Shada had a hand stroking behind his ear as they continued to talk about whatever it was they were clearly faking an interest in. “You know why she’s done it, right?”

The question threw her off, looking in confusion across at the other as the booth seat next to her dipped and rose a little as Ombre chirped quietly that she wanted to check the lighting in the bathroom and disappeared into the swell of bodies in a way that seemed entirely unnatural for a girl as tall as her. If she wasn’t back after half an hour, Abigail would need to go look for her, but the shadow was good at keeping out of trouble and taking out any trouble that did come her way. Instead, it left her mind whirling around what on earth the hunter across from her, sipping at his drink pensively, could mean.

“Why?” “Yes, why. Why Jo thought those two would flirt up a storm, potentially even disappear up to one of those hotel rooms you girls have-” “We got a suite actually.” “Well then, disappear up to there, and have themselves a good time. Why she thought that.”

Abigail frowned to herself at that, tilting her head slightly to look back at the pair who very much looked like a loved up couple from the outside or if not that, then an exceptionally good looking pair that had just met and were radiating out from them that nobody else should dare to approach either party despite the many other men giving Shada the once over and the few women nearby that ran an eye across Dean’s back as well. They looked like something out of a movie, where a man orders a drink and looks to his left to see the woman of his dreams sat right there - or perhaps more aptly the woman of his dreams for that night. And from the sultry eyes she could see the shadow directing towards the hunter, Abigail figured that was exactly where they were headed as she watched the dark-haired girl slide off of the barstool, Dean’s hand now firmly held in hers as they weaved towards the cocktail bar’s exit.

“Okay, I can’t think of it.” “It’s because of what Shada is, and what Dean is.” “Huh?”

Sam took another long sip of his drink, his eyes moving from the doorway that his brother had just disappeared out of towards her own wide-eyed blues, a look on his face that Abigail had never seen before. Something between anger, appreciation, and longing that she knew had nothing to do with her.

“Shada, as you know, isn’t human. And Dean has always had objections to the mixing of humans and those who aren’t. Like Grey and-” Sam spoke softly, swirling his drink in his hand, the lime and ice cube spinning gently around the crystal, as he bit the corner of his lip thoughtfully. “Jo and Will. Like Bobby and this woman he was once with. Like... Like me and Ruby.”

She found herself frowning at that, not recognizing the name at all, and reconciling that perhaps this explained how harsh Dean was sometimes to the man who was so sweet and kind and forgiving. To the man that was nothing but polite to the hunter every time that he was around, despite the almost hostile reactions that would sometimes follow him before Jo would chime up with ‘Bad hunt? Let’s talk’ and draw him away. It wasn’t always, and it was barely even often anymore, but it had still been there enough that Abigail had always wondered if he was an exception compared to Jo and his brother Sam, or if he was more the rule and Jo and Sam were the odd ducks out.

“So.. she suggested Dean to...” Abigail started, a small frown of her own forming as she realized she might have just been included and played in a game of Jo’s own matchmaking or scheming. “To make him more okay with Grey’s relationships?”

“Sort of. Though I think it was also possibly in order to make Dean more comfortable with the idea of that sort of relationship for himself.” “What?” “It’s a long story, but if he keeps up his prejudices then he’s going to miss out on the love of his life.” “I hardly think-” “Not Shada, Abby, but someone else. He’s got enough issues working through the fact it’s a guy, I think Jo might be trying to pull the non-human bandaid off with Shada’s help.”

“Well, that’s just using Shada!” Abigail jerked upright in her seat, affronted to have been played and manipulated all over again by someone she thought she trusted, blinking her eyes a few times as she tried not to let the prick of teas she could feel starting up fall. “That’s just-”

“Shada is a big girl, and I expect it’s going to take Dean a long while to work out his feelings. She’s also a lot better and more willing to read people, Abs, than Grey is.” Sam said soothingly, reaching across a large hand to rest against hers on the tabletop. “Shada will be absolutely aware that there will one day be an expiration date on this, but she gets to have some fun, she gets to be with someone kind and respectful in the meantime, and she gets to help her brother out as well.”

Abigail found herself shaking her head a few times, trying to see past the tears and think as calmly as she could. Sam was right, she knew that. And she knew that Jo loved Shada very very much and wouldn’t have said anything that might have hurt her. But it just stung a little that perhaps she, herself, hadn’t been let in on the larger planning but even then, she knew she didn’t know everything there was about the hunter and his history - so it made sense. She just wished there was a way to know that Jo wasn’t trying to hurt Shada, or herself, with her idea.

That was right up until her phone buzzed, and pulling it out of her pocket, Abigail felt her cheeks flaring up as she read the message flashing up on the screen -  Jo ‘Hey, hope everything is going to plan! You’re so sweet to want to help Shada like this, I’m so glad we’ve got each other to help her now.   PS - the name is Felicity and she finishes at 10pm, so get out to the lobby!’

Frowning at the last bit, Abigail looked up as she looked up at the blonde shadow’s return, Ombre looking far too innocent and sweet and a little out of breath that could not have been all from going to the bathroom and taking a million selfies. There was a second before she felt the other girl’s hand wrap around her forearm and tug her up.

“Abby, mon petit ami, I have a surprise for you in the lobby!” Ombre’s voice was the same sing-song tone she would get whenever she was being crafty or up to something that was sprinkled with mischief, and looking at her phone again, Abigail found herself smiling as she realized that Shada wasn’t the only one getting a set up that evening. Though she expected that the other brunette was well and truly having a much more scandalous ending than her own.

[slashertalks]

So I really just want to bang this out— you’re gonna have to forgive any sloppy organization with what I’m about to throw at y’all.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it a thousand times over: I firmly believe that the Rob Zombie remake of Halloween is the superior Halloween film. Out of all of them. It’s a darker, grittier, edgier version, yes; it’s a Rob Zombie film. It’s also a film with much more emotional depth than any of the others, and I feel that the second one in particular treats Laurie with more fairness with regards to her mental state and the expectations of others around her. I’ll expand on this in a bit.

Right, so, clearly that’s an example of a remake surpassing (in my opinion) the original. I respect any differing opinions and will happily acknowledge that the original John Carpenter version is a classic, but I stand firm by my own opinion that it’s a classic film that happens to suck shit compared to its remake. What, then, about the other main focus on this bit of writing? My Bloody Valentine 3D. So, I said in the little preview thing that I thought My Bloody Valentine 3D sucked shit too; it’s a remake that fell completely flat compared to its original, a reverse of the Halloween situation. But then, there are other remakes than Rob Zombie’s Halloween that have outshined the original; John Carpenter’s The Thing is a clear example. Why have I specifically chosen Rob Zombie’s remake? Three things: gritty tones, vulgarity, and mental health.

Rob Zombie movies make heavy use of grit and dark color palettes, and his remake of Halloween is no exception, but he balances this all out with bright colors as well. The opening scene of Halloween (2007) makes use of a lot of nice blues, oranges, whites, and pink. It IS muted, but not gray— this is important: you can have a muted color palette without turning everything a dull grayish-[insert color]. He maintains his visual aesthetic while keeping the colors distinct, letting them pop just enough to signify that things are, to some extent, normal. Even when the film turns dark and Michael begins killing, there are a lot of blues and teals, not browns or flat grays, which keeps things visually interesting and prevents anything from looking overly washed-out. 

On the other hand, in My Bloody Valentine 3D, from a beginning scene in a bar to the end confrontation in the mine, it’s.... brown. Not that there’s anything wrong with brown, but as a muted color palette it becomes boring. Blue is a color that clearly conveys a mood, and the brown of the leaves and purple of Laurie’s shirt can still come through as a pop of color. Warm browns can also contain a lot fo really nice, welcoming shades, and really dark browns can be equally pleasing. The main issue with the use of a mainly brown color palette with My Bloody Valentine 3D is that it’s a muted brown, and it doesn’t allow for the combinations of colors that Rob Zombie uses. It’s a muddy, grayed-out mess that tries and fails to be a moody, muted palette. They do switch between a grey-blue and a grey-brown, but it doesn’t do much to help except make the ugly mud brown of Jensen Ackle’s “Bland Horror Protag” costume stand out even more.

The one pop of real color in that bar scene? A tiny little neon sign. The original My Bloody Valentine also uses a muted color palette (the weather is pretty grey and a lot of the scenery is dark, so it’s kind of a forced palette), but there are lots of bright(!!!) reds from Valentine’s Day decorations (versus that muted brown-pink of the hearts pictured above), and bright colors on the miner’s clothes— Sylvia has a pretty lavender top, Howard wears a lot of red consistently, John’s got ginger hair, so on and so forth.

As for grit, I find it seriously amusing that the original My Bloody Valentine had much grosser gore than its remake, which was clearly trying to up the “grit.” Where Rob Zombie makes use of blood and gore, of grit, as an aesthetic, it feels much more natural coming from his films; same with the gore in the original My Bloody Valentine. The remake tried to make everything grittier, with their obligatory naked woman kill and their hospital scene where the room is entirely drenched in blood, it all winds up losing its shock value. Its main point wasn’t to successfully scare, it was to outdo its predecessor. Rob Zombie wasn’t fighting back against the original Halloween, he was making his own movie. By using a system of aesthetics already established in his films, one that he works well with, the heavy gore, nudity, and vulgarity in the Halloween remake wind up coming across as natural.

On the topic of vulgarity, I found the swearing in My Bloody Valentine 3D laughable. It’s not as if people don’t swear, but it’s another thing that comes across as forced, as if the film is trying to be “My Bloody Valentine But Edgy” instead of a good movie. Casting is also important here. They may only try to pass Jensen Ackles off as a teenager for a few minutes, but there’s something hilarious to me about seeing a thirty year old man trying to be eighteen, and then seeing the same thirty year old man acting his own age, and the movie expecting me to go “yeah, that was absolutely a teenager and this is absolutely an adult, and they’re not at all exactly the same but in slightly different clothes.” Rob Zombie cast an eighteen year old to play Laurie Strode, and while she does swear more and make sexual jokes it doesn’t feel forced— teenagers do act like that, but it’s just totally laughable when an adult tries to act like a teenager. Casting an actual teenager, even if only for a short prequel scene, makes all the difference in the world when it comes to believability.

Then, there’s mental illness. Both of the originals, John Carpenter’s Halloween and the 1981 My Bloody Valentine, don’t really tackle mental illness. Yeah, Michael’s been in a mental hospital, and yeah, Axel clearly has some issues after watching Harry Warden murder his father, but it’s not the main issue of the film. Rob Zombie’s second Halloween movie (2009) and My Bloody Valentine 3D both explicitly tackle mental illness, and again... My Bloody Valentine 3D fails. Horribly.

I think the reason I don’t have a problem with Laurie’s mental issues being so explicitly discussed in RZ’s Halloween 2 is that he doesn’t expect her to hold herself together. She’s a kid who went through something traumatizing and has no idea how to cope. Her main support network, both of the Bracketts, are ALSO trying to cope in different ways. The Sheriff is trying to move on without really confronting that he almost lost Annie; Annie is also trying to move on, and maybe she’s succeeding a little more than her father since she isn’t as uptight about Halloween coming around again. It also isn’t that Laurie’s not trying to move on, but that she’s explicitly struggling and acts out the way someone who feels trapped in a corner often does. Her breakdown isn’t scary, it’s tragic. She’s sad, scared, angry and confused and her death isn’t meant to shock. Sheriff Brackett doesn’t call for Laurie to be shot when he sees her at the end, he shouts for his men to stop shooting but they don’t listen. Sheriff Brackett, even seeing his adopted daughter so unhinged, doesn’t condemn her; it’s the actions of other people that cost him both of his daughters in the same damn night.

My Bloody Valentine 3D also tackles trauma following a set of murders, but instead of presenting Tom’s trauma as something sad, it’s a cheap shock opportunity. “He’s not who you think he is.” “Get out of the car.” Tom is presented as dangerous because of his mental illness; someone to be avoided, to be killed. Why incapacitate the mentally ill man when you can just shoot him instead? It’s not surprising that mental illness is used as a cheap scare in horror movies, but it was particularly upsetting in light of this remake because the original My Bloody Valentine is SO charming. The original is such a deeply enjoyable, original slasher film that having such a cheap shit “plot twist” is angering. I noted that Axel obviously has issues in the original, and it’s worth noting that when he’s buried and one of the rescuers shouts that he’s alive Sarah rushes back to him and tries to help pull Axel out. Again, as with RZ’s Halloween 2, she doesn’t demonize Axel or call for him to be killed, she tries to hold his hand and help uncover him— he’s still redeemable in her eyes, still worth being saved. My Bloody Valentine 3D’s Tom, though? Who is explicitly mentally ill? Screw it, let’s kill him.

Good remakes can absolutely be made. Good edgy remakes are possible, if more difficult, but this? These pitfalls of overly-muted, cheap shock-filled movies whose big twists are “ooo look we made a character mentally ill and that makes them SCARY” with no other substance behind them? That ride on the coattails of superior films without ever attempting to stand on their own two feet? It’s hot bullshit, man, and horror as a genre deserves better. The original My Bloody Valentine deserves better. We, as viewers, and especially mentally ill viewers deserve so much better. My Bloody Valentine 3D epitomizes everything I find infuriating about modern horror remakes, and this piece doesn’t even touch on the absolutely bland, flat performances from all of the actors. I’ve never been so bored, disappointed, and angry about a remake like this. I generally either avoid them or hold some hope that they’ll be halfway decent, but this? Fuck this movie.

[noona-clock]

How Are You Feeling?

Hey!! Can I request ((for admin B)) a Monsta X Shownu fluff/romance AU scenario where he's a doctor and saves y/n at the emergency room then they fall for each other & starts dating? Thanks!!!

I was going to switch the roles, anon, but then I realized that might be too similar to Descendants of the Sun! So, I will keep your original request the way it is! I hope you like it!

Genre: AU/Fluff

Pairing: Shownu x You

By Admin B

You were walking through a beautiful, lush forest. Sunlight was pouring through the leaves on the trees. Cute, fuzzy rabbits snapped twigs as they hopped along the ground. Beautiful deer stood lazily chewing on flowers and moss.

And you felt more content than you ever had in your life.

But then you heard somebody calling your name. The voice was very distant and muffled, but you somehow knew it was your name he was saying.

You tried your best to follow the voice, not noticing when the trees started to fall away. You found you were being drawn toward the sun, and when it became too bright to see anything...

Your eyes fluttered open. You let out a soft groan, feeling a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Can you hear me?” you heard a male voice asking you.

It took a while for your surroundings to come into focus, and it seemed like hours passed before you recognized the person hovering over you, speaking to you.

I mean, you didn’t actually recognize him, but you recognized there was a person hovering over you, speaking to you.

“Who are you?” you asked as you looked into his kind eyes. You dearly hoped you didn’t know him, otherwise you must have amnesia. But, then, if you knew what amnesia was... that probably meant you didn’t have it.

Right?

“I’m Dr. Son,” the man told you. “You were in a very bad accident, but you’re going to be all right. We had to do emergency surgery, and there was quite a bit of internal bleeding.”

You honestly couldn’t believe what he was telling you because that you did not remember.

“When... when did this happen?” you muttered, your brow furrowed deeply in confusion.

“A few days ago. We had to put you under deep anesthesia for the surgery, so you were out for quite a while. How are you feeling?”

You blinked at him, trying to gauge how you did feel. Right now you were just so confused and foggy and... confused. 

But, like, also Dr. Son was really good-looking. Was it weird to think that?

“I... don’t really know,” you admitted. “I’m alive, right?”

“Yes, you’re alive,” Dr. Son chuckled. “I made sure of that.”

“All right,” you murmured. “Good. Good.”

“You’re probably still a little fuzzy, don’t worry too much. Just try to relax and take things one at a time. Don’t try to think too much.”

You nodded, hoping you could actually take his advice. He was the doctor, so he obviously knew best.

“I’ll come check on you in a bit, okay?” he assured you, his eyebrows slightly raised. Good God, he really was handsome.

“Okay,” you whispered. You didn’t actually believe him because he was the doctor; he had more important things to do than check up on you, just one of his patients. No, those duties would be delegated to nurses. So you would probably never see him again.

You were never more glad to be proven wrong in your entire life.

Dr. Son popped in not even an hour later, and you found you had a lot more of your wits about you. You could just barely remember the accident, and he gently asked you questions about it. He didn’t write any of your answers down, so you weren’t sure if it was a routine thing or if he was just trying to make conversation.

Either way, he was talking to you and paying attention to you, so you weren’t going to complain.

Contrary to your prior opinion, Dr. Son (or Shownu as you came to know him after a few more visits), continued to visit you during the course of your stay in the hospital. Sometimes he popped in for a few minutes, other times he ended up staying for over an hour.

It had been about three days since you’d woken up (you were fairly sure), so that meant you’d been in the hospital for almost a whole week now. Shownu still wouldn’t tell you when you might be able to go home, but... to be quite honest.. you were okay with staying here a little longer.

Shownu was turning out to be excellent company, and every time you saw him, you felt your heart fluttering and warming at the same time.

It was about 1am at the moment, but you couldn’t sleep; your sleep schedule still hadn’t gone back to normal after being unconscious for a few days after the surgery. And you honestly thought you were about to go crazy.

There was nothing good on TV, and you’d already finished the book one of the nurses had lent you. There was no one sharing your room at the moment, so you really didn’t even have anyone to talk to. You were tempted to press the call button on your bed just to have some company, but you knew you would get in trouble for it.

Just before you were about to let out a sigh of frustration, there was a soft knock on your door. It opened almost immediately, so you knew it was a staff member. They only knocked out of courtesy before barging right in.

But it wasn’t just any staff member.

It was Shownu.

“Hey,” he smiled, stepping into your room and closing the door behind him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m bored, actually,” you admitted. “I can’t sleep, and there’s nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and talk to myself.”

“So, I came at the right time, I guess,” he chuckled. He pulled up a chair, sitting in it backwards and resting his forearms across the edge of the seat back. 

“Did you come to do another memory test?” you asked, trying not to sound too disappointed. You were stupidly hoping he’d just come to talk.

“Um... yes,” he replied, though his tone was a bit awkward. “Name five animals for me, please.”

You sighed softly before you answered. “Dog, horse, tiger, turtle, and bear.”

“Bears are my favorite animal. Name ten colors, if you will.”

“Purple, yellow, green, red, orange, pink, brown, turquoise, magenta, and... blue.”

“Blue is my favorite color. How about six holidays?”

“Christmas, Hanukkah, Halloween, New Year’s, Valentine’s day, and Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.”

“Why are you --”

“Name seven numbers.”

“Uh... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,” you chortled.

“Not in consecutive order.”

“2, 8, 5, 12, 643, 71, and 0.”

“Okay... what about your phone number? That’s seven numbers, too.”

“555-0216.”

Shownu reached into his jacket pocket and got out his pen, clicking to extend the nib. “Wait, say that again, and a little bit slower.”

You followed his instructions, watching curiously as he wrote down the numbers on his hand.

“Okay, what’s going on?” you asked after you’d finished reciting your phone number.

“Yeah, so, I didn’t come in to give you a memory test,” Shownu admitted. It was too dark in your room to tell if he was blushing, but his voice certainly sounded a bit guilty and embarrassed.

“You didn’t?”

“No. I came to, first of all, tell you you’re going to be discharged tomorrow.”

“What?!” you gasped.

“And, second of all, to get your phone number and ask if... maybe... I could give you a call sometime?”

Your eyes had widened at his first statement, and they’d stayed that way at his second.

“...I’m sorry, what?”

“I mean, it’s just -- I like talking to you. And you -- I mean, obviously, you’re extremely attractive -- oh, god, if I’m crossing a line, please tell me, and I’ll leave.’

“No!” you cried, wanting to interrupt before he said anything further. “It’s not -- I don’t care -- I’m just... surprised.”

“Yeah... I couldn’t exactly be obvious since you were my patient, but... now you’re getting discharged...”

You studied him, doing your best to gauge his expression in the dim light. “You... you’re serious?”

“...Yes? If that’s okay with you,” he said quietly.

“I -- I mean -- y--yeah, yeah, it’s okay,” you stammered. Was... was this really happening?

He smiled, and your heart skipped a couple beats.

And you decided, even if this weren’t really happening.. Even if this had all been an elaborate dream or if you actually hadn’t survived the accident and you were currently living in some sort of afterlife... Oh, well.

A handsome guy had just asked for your number and had admitted to being attracted to you.

You smiled back and proceeded to flirt wildly with him for as long as you possibly could.

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[lindyhunt]

“Kate Spade Has Been a Tool in my Rebellion Against Depression and Obsessive Thoughts”

The news of Kate Spade’s recent death hit me while I was having (and am still having, to be honest) a low episode. I’ve been able to function, but have been experiencing more intrusive thoughts lately. This is the unfortunate ebb and flow of obsessive-compulsive disorder, even when, like me, you’re medicated and ‘in recovery’. It’s an ongoing battle with its share of plateaus, a couple of uphill hikes and many downward tumbles. No external pressures are making me feel this way, it’s basically just your crappy brain chemistry lottery.

My loved ones immediately started to message me and ask if I was okay, because they know how enamored I am with the Kate Spade brand, both her original namesake company and more recently, Frances Valentine. “Of course, I’m alright” I informed them all. Although I’m saddened by the death of a brilliant icon who has left behind a young daughter, I am simply one of the many fangirls who admired the whimsy and lightness of her work. Not to mention that the price tags were much more in reach for those of us who still need to double-check their bank accounts before they pay rent.

These past few days, the news has made me think a lot about fashion and identity, especially for those who struggle with mental health issues. What strikes me as particularly poignant is that the Kate Spade brand has historically been a tool for me in my rebellion against depression and obsessive thoughts. I’ve worn her bright statement purses on the coldest winter days in Toronto as a testament to the vibrancy of the human spirit. I bought a pair of hot pink confetti-encrusted heels for my wedding, realized I couldn’t walk through the woods in them, and switched them out for her rose gold Keds x Kate Spade New York. When I look at either pair of shoes I get an instant mood boost, reminding me that while I had a breakdown at 23 and 27, I proudly walked down a twig-strewn aisle in my aspirational Kate Spade shoes at 31. It was the cheerful dressings of a milestone moment.

Her signature polka dots and bows have been my salvation in a way akin to support groups, SSRIs and exercise. They are the armour of a person who is kicking against the darkness, albeit with well-manicured accessories. I often fear that one day that darkness is going to swallow me whole and everything, including lemon prints and flamingo clutches, will look flat and colourless to me. Fashion might appear superfluous to some, but it’s so often an external reflection of whether we have a bit of spring in our step. At my lowest, I’ve worn giant sweatshirts that hid my wrists from me as I lay immobile on the couch. At my best, my wrists are adorned in Kate Spade bracelets as I swing her botanical purse while walking down the street. I wish that those carefree moments were enough to sustain us all, especially the creator of the brand herself.

I’m guessing it’s a side effect of modern technology that when news that a famous person has died suddenly hits the internet, we often comb through pictures of them looking for clues. In truth, I’m much more used to scrolling through pictures of her accessories than I am at identifying the actual face behind the brand. All I saw staring back at me was a refined woman with quirky glasses, bouffant hair and stylish prints. I wondered whether all her bright and bubbly armour start to look colourless to her?

While clicking the add-to “bag” widget on a website might not be the traditional way to mark the effect that someone’s work has had on your life, I find it fitting for a fashion legacy.  Last week, I went onto the Frances Valentine site and saw a note that they were experiencing some technical difficulties due to high traffic. Pretty much every item imaginable was sold out. My eyes zeroed in on a small honeypot bag with a pink metallic top that I hope they get back in stock. I vowed to wear it the next time I was indulging in a summer day free of my usual anxiety. Yes, I want to sport a symbol of sweetness to commemorate a life, but also as a reminder that I will continue to fight my demons for those who can fight no longer. I’ll do it the best way I know how: with family, friends, and fashion.