#thus hoping my sister takes the aforementioned desk

[wildestheart4ever]

So I switched rooms with my youngest sister, yes? Yes. Because my cousin is coming back and I might as well give him the room he used to stay in [Never mind that there’s the unused study downstairs - I just really wanted a window again].

So any plans I had for room decoration now have to be changed with the smaller space

Mostly I’m just hoping that my sister takes the desk and the computers that are sitting outside of the media room so I can put my sewing stuff there….

At least I have a window again.

Anyways! Renewed list of stuff I need to get:

Vanity

Small|Tall dresser [More storage/surface space to put stuff]

Corner shelves

Side table because the thing I currently have is a sad rickety lump of plywood

[eternadyne]

Lindow walks into Soma's room (totally as if it was his room, waltzing like that) "Hey~ guess who's the birthday boy? Yeah, you" his mischievous smile curling lips. The man places three boxes on Soma's desk. "Your gifts, birthday boy--doctor haha" each box has a note. The green box with black ribbons was Sakuya's and the note says (Happy birthday Soma! Please take care of yourself, dear. Hope you like this~) and the box is full of snacks and treats he can munch on while working because God only knows when he actually had time to eat.

The second one was from Ren with how the note is written (Uncle Soma happy birthday! I love you! Come visit us soon!) Ren's gift was a summary and drawing of the book soma gave him and of course sweets. The last box was Lindow's gift with note (Haha you are old but no white hair for you 'cuz it is already is) his gift was a new book (an old book he found in some ruins) for Soma to read. "Seriously... I am glad you are alive and kicking, buddy" | @sentofight​

…Perhaps now was not the best time to sift through arguably ancient memories, distant as they now were ——— but in that moment, he felt something come over him; wash over him, like ocean waves. It was not the first (nor the last) time that he made him remember something from long ago as a result of his childish antics. 

Childish antics that, in a way, never changed even as they grew older. Even when they first met, slumped against the walls of some military base amidst groups of soldiers who clearly feared them and his elder sister———he never passed up the opportunity to tease. 

“Hey, boy - this is your first mission, right? Better relax.” 

“...I’m not a boy.  I’m Soma.”

“Oh?”

Soma remembered hearing Tsubaki tell him to knock it off, and as he scratched his head and looked the other way (perhaps to avoid her wrath if he didn’t listen), there was still a tiny shred of a smile etched onto his face. Evidently, the bastard hadn’t even been phased by the overtly cold nature of his reply. From that moment forward, he was an absolute thorn in his side; always wearing that stupid grin, always teasing him, always persevering through his every attempt to push him and the others away. None of them would ever leave him alone.

And yet... now that the aforementioned ‘birthday boy’ looked back on it, he wondered what his life would’ve been like if he did succeed in pushing him away; or, if Lindow was never found after the Welkin mission; or, if he was never saved from his corruption and thus slaughtered by his own team, forever lost in the body of a mindless beast. A loss that, even when it was merely temporary, affected Soma more than he let on. In a way, he treated him more like family than his father ever did; the first to see him as a person, as opposed to a lab experiment———a weapon———that should never have been born. His first...friend, who never gave up on him. He pretends not to feel the warmth creeping up his cheeks as he came to the realization, popping one of Sakuya’s treats in his mouth as a way to deflect from the real reason he was reacting like that. (As a sidenote though, it was still very delicious).

"I ought to be saying the same thing to you, seeing as you’re still reckless as ever.” Try as he might, he can’t make himself sound all that snarky today ——— smiling softly at Ren’s picture and messily penned summary of the book he gave to him. After a few moments of pouring over everything, he stood up and crossed his arms... a strange silence falling over him. 

“...I’m...only doing what I’m about to do as a thank you. So don’t———don’t———say anything. Just take it.” 

Here, Soma drew in a breath, shaking off his nerves. And then, slowly but surely, he started walking forward, eventually uncrossing his arms so that they could wrap around the other man in an awkward (but well meaning) hug; it wasn’t something he did often, and even now he could feel himself shrivel in place out of embarrassment. 

“...T-Thank you, for...reminding me that my life is still worth something. But stop calling me doctor, dammit.”

[supergirlimaginesfic-blog]

Kara Danvers x reader (Let our kiss count the moments, and hearts set the pace)

Request: Hii❤️ can you write a little smutty fic based on these sentences; "can I kiss you" and "is this okay?" With Kara and fem reader, and could you make Kara the shy and inexperienced one?❤️ thank you😘    

a/n: make it SOFTTTTT, I apparently said to myself without any prompting or inclination whatsoever. Make it so SOFT that everybody including myself ugly cries and slams all types of desks, tables, walls in protest - the sheer inability of handling sweet, vulnerable, beautiful Kara overwhelming us all

So anyway sometimes I use lyrics as my alternate titles and I guess apparently I was inspired by this one (which I only realized after I wrote the entire thing) but it’s rather fitting now and it works out, so we’re using this as the main soundtrack ;) Have fun my fellow trash monsters!!

- - - - -

It can’t be helped, but you’re beginning to learn that dating a superhero provides a whole different series of surprising emergencies and headaches than anyone could begin to imagine.

Certain hypotheticals, such as, ‘what if we’re having dinner with my parents and you have to leave suddenly?’, and, ‘how much longer am I supposed to be covering for you at work? I’m pretty sure most of the floor knows anyway’, are the most pressing what-ifs to be answered, and yet have remained to have the most open-ended solutions.

Even so, with Kara Danvers, however, you think even disregarding her extracurricular lifesaving activities she is simply an entirely new rollercoaster of a girl on her own.

Sometimes you question your relationship with Kara only so far as to wonder why it is you have a key to her apartment and how it is you’ve been dating something short of only two months but you feel like you’ve already moved in, and, even more alarmingly, how on earth her overprotective sister, Alex, is okay with all of the aforementioned facts.

You’ve learned thus that thinking too critically of something that truly leaves room for endless wonder is not something to dwell on, and instead you opt to marvel at worthier things such as the tone of Kara’s muscles, or maybe how equal parts powerful, radiant, and soft she is around you when no one else is watching - those are much worthier things of this universe to contemplate.

You’re only beginning to ruminate the magic that is your girlfriend when she flies through her apartment window that she’s left open.

Sometimes you wonder if she ever forgets and hits a clear glass window like a bird, and the thought makes you chuckle.

Kara hardly spares a glance at you as she lands as gracefully as she could and tumbles into her couch face first, one long, drawn out groan muffled by the cushions.

Your eyes scan over what you can see of her form quickly and you don’t see any blood streaks or anything else of immediate alarm. Content that your girlfriend is neither maimed nor Red K-induced, you let yourself feel relieved and you soften at the sight of her.

“Hey,” you call from your spot in the kitchen, “did you need anything, babe?”

You somehow manage to decipher Kara’s muffled voice when, “no thanks,” comes from her dejected form on the couch.

“Food? Drinks? Of the human or alien variety? Or the pizza place that recognizes me now?”

“No thank you,” she says again.

You wait another moment and consider the rest of your options.

“Did you want me to leave?”

Kara sits up on her knees quickly and her eyes, wide and imploring, immediately find yours. She shakes her head aggressively and her lips form a great pout, still shaking her head defiantly and you laugh lightly at her expression.

“Sit still, you big nerd,” you order affectionately as you approach the couch to stand behind her.

Kara follows obediently and lets her head fall against the back to look up at you. A small, tired smile forms on her lips and she breathes deeply.

You smile back at her and bring your hands to her shoulders, rubbing and pressing into her neck and her shoulders.

“Do Kryptonians even need massages?” you ask offhandedly. It’s a perfectly valid question, you realize.

Kara hums in relief as she allows herself to relax into your touch - no matter her answer, you think, it’s helping.

“No, not really,” she sighs deeply in contentment, “but I like feeling you.”

“I know,” you tease fondly.

You hear her short huff of breath and you don’t need to see her face to know that she’s blushing. You smirk at the fact that you know her so well.

You bring your fingers to her forehead and rub soothing circles over her skin, pressing into her temples and massaging her skull.

“Did you want to talk about it?” you ask after a moment of silence.

Kara considers the question before she responds, “no, not really.”

“Okay.”

You slide your hands over her shoulders and down either side of her arms, bending over the couch as your face comes closer to hers.

Kara breathes deeply and turns her head slightly to look at you, though you keep the steady work of your hands.

“Can you come over here?” she asks softly. “I wanna look at you,” she adds hesitantly, and you nearly swoon at her meekness.

You smile at the request and let your fingers trail over her body before you make your way around the couch to sit beside her.

She regards you attentively and you begin to feel only a little bit uneasy at the level of her look. Kara has the uncanny ability to make you feel seen, and you can never help the feelings and thoughts that run through your head when she looks at you like she’s unravelling you.

Kara looks at you still and you can only look back, your mouth slightly agape as you feel the tension between you get the slightest bit heavier.

“Kara,” you say, “can I kiss you?”

Her eyes widen imperceptibly and you think there’s a fleeting darkening of her gaze at your question.

“Yeah,” is all she supplies as she waits for you to move.

“You just make it really hard to not want to kiss you when you look at me like that,” you mutter lowly.

You bring your lips close to hers and wait, and when her eyes flutter shut in anticipation, you take that as your answer. You give her a long, chaste kiss, your hand coming up to her cheek as the other balances you.

After a moment, Kara readjusts her position and shucks her boots off. She lets you move on top of her and lies on the couch much more comfortably, chasing your lips for another kiss.

“Is this okay?” you ask between kisses.

She moans lowly in affirmation and you let both of your hands rest on her cheeks, still not letting the entirety of your weight rest on her.

You sigh into the kiss and trace your fingers over her collarbone, Kara huffing lightly at the ticklish sensation.

“You need to stop doing that,” you remark.

“What?” she asks confusedly, still taken by the haze of your kisses.

“You’re so irresistible and I don’t think you even realize it half the time.”

A slight blush colours Kara’s cheeks and she closes her eyes briefly as if to brace herself for something.

“I’ve been thinking about you... often. You’re on my mind so much lately, and I don’t know how...”

“You don’t know what, Kara?” you ask, not entirely knowing where this conversation is going.

She inhales deeply and very quietly utters her admission, “I’ve been thinking about you, and I don’t know how to... I don’t know how to ask. I want you. I don’t know how to tell you that, or to show you. I always want you- but lately... I want more.”

You’re still straddling over her legs and you study her face as she looks down at her hands. You bring a finger to her chin and tilt it upward to beckon her to meet your gaze, and you really hope your smile says in so little words how much you adore her right now.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna tell me what you think about?” you ask.

“Uhm, well- uh, where do you want me to begin?” she stutters as you bring a hand to her chest and gently push her down.

“Wherever you want, babe,” you husk in her ear.

“Uh... well sometimes, oh Rao,” she says as you begin to place kisses on her neck. “I think about you like this, actually.”

“You’ve thought about me like this?” you reiterate, and you kiss her just below her ear.

“Yeah- yes, just like this, right now, yep-” she mutters hastily.

You feel the distinct lack of her hands on you and you think you feel mildly touch starved.

You feel blindly for Kara’s hand and bring it to your waist, hoping she gets the idea.

“You can put your hands on me if you want, Kara,” you tell her in a low voice.

“Right,” she all but squeaks in a hoarse voice, placing both of her hands on you.

“Does this feel as good as when you’ve thought about it?”

You move to reposition yourself and you accidentally grind into Kara, a low moan escaping her lips. Her eyes snap open and stare at you in alarm. You smirk softly in reassurance.

“Baby, are you really okay with this?” you say in an even voice as you sit to look at her properly.

She nods her head definitively.

“Yes, (Y/N),” she says in a voice with more confidence than you’ve heard from her throughout this exchange.

You regard her affectionately and brush some errant hair from her eyes.

“You deserve so much more than a couch for our first time, Kara,” you murmur.

She shakes her head again, her voice hushed in a whisper.

“No, I- I want you... it doesn’t matter how. I’ve been thinking about you for too long and- this is me asking now.”

Suddenly, she looks at you and the intensity there nearly overwhelms you, the blueness of her eyes is absolutely striking and you think you lose yourself momentarily in their vastness.

She brings you back from your reverie when you feel her playing with the hem of your shirt, and in that quick moment of deliberation, you’ve made a choice.

You pull lightly on her sheer tights, “can we take this off?”

You hear a huff of breath from Kara and her eyes darken just a little bit more, nodding her head and lifting herself slightly to assist you.

You pull her tights slowly down on her legs until they’re completely off and you toss them away from you, Kara sighing as she watches you crawl back on top of her.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Kara? I know how you feel. I don’t need you to do anything apart from just being here and being you- I know you worry-”

Kara brings her hands to your cheeks and brings you just a little bit closer.

“I- I want you, I always have- I’m ready to really show you now.”

“Okay,” you finally amend. “I’m going to touch you a little bit, and just tell me if you want me to stop, okay? I mean that, anything at all, just tell me,” you add sternly.

“Okay.”

You brace your weight on one hand that’s placed beside her head as you lean down and kiss her slowly, taking your time as you let her melt into your touch. You trail your fingers lazily over Kara’s side and she moans louder, pulling you in with a bit more force, and you smile into the kiss.

You bring your weight down and rest on top of her body, the feeling of being chest to chest with her pushing you further away from coherency.

You move your leg and readjust to place a knee at between her legs, pushing gently against her core and she sighs aloud.

“You still haven’t told me when you think about,” you mutter into her chest, placing kisses on her collarbone.

“You- on top, like this,” she says in between shallow breaths.

“You like that I take control, don’t you?”

You suck lightly on the skin of her chest and you feel Kara pushing down on your leg, chasing the pressure you’re teasing her with.

You bring a hand to her hip and guide her movements, coaxing her into rolling her hips against your leg.

Kara hums in pleasure and she leans her head back, giving you access to her neck. You nip at the skin there and rub your leg just a little bit more forcefully against her.

“I like that you’ve thought about me. You’re a little naughtier than I thought, aren’t you?” you mutter against her skin.

You switch your leg out with your hand and let it rest on her thighs, her skirt having ridden up with constant movement - a deep swirl of arousal overtaking a little bit more of your rational mind.

You look at her and you know there question is there in your eyes, the look of recognition in Kara’s expression telling you she understands your wordless inquiry.

“Uh, I- I’ve never... not like that, with fingers,” she mumbles hastily under her breath. She looks bashful and you think you see a little bit of embarrassment or even shame there, and you click your tongue in disapproval.

“Baby, I don’t care, it’s okay. Everyone has different experiences. I just want to take care of you, and you just tell me when you don’t like something so I can keep making you feel good, no matter what it is you need.”

“I know, I just... so you don’t expect too much.”

You breathe deeply and exhale slowly, your look getting softer as you gaze at your girlfriend.

“You are so good, Kara. You are adorable, and beautiful, and you have the most remarkable heart of anyone I have ever known. But from this moment and until I’m done with you, I’m going to make sure you forget how to even speak.”

You wait only a moment for Kara to process your words, and when her eyes widen and her mouth goes slightly slack, you’ve gotten your approval.

“Take this off?” you mutter as you reach under her skirt, your fingers tracing over her underwear and she lifts herself quickly, gets rid of the material with almost non-human speed.

You let your fingers wander along the skin of her thighs and you think even with that, Kara’s senses are heightened. You wander closer and closer to her centre and you hear as her breaths become quicker and shallower.

You bring your fingers a little higher, letting them hover just above where she needs you, and you hear her whine at your teasing.

She brings a hand behind your neck and pulls you in for a kiss - you’re sufficiently distracted enough to bring your hand against her, and you revel in the sound she makes when she finally feels you.

You swallow her moan in a kiss as you rub slow circles against her, becoming more spurred on by how much more vocal Kara is becoming.

“You’re so good for me, Kara.”

She moans louder and you rub faster, grinding against the firmness of her stomach and you’re reminded of the sheer strength she possesses. You almost moan at the realization that she’s becoming undone at your hands.

You change the pace of your fingers and begin stroking upwards, pressing against her folds more intently with a quicker rhythm and you can feel how much more eager she’s getting as your fingers get slicker.

You slip a finger slowly into her, groaning at the wetness and the feeling of her around you, and the sound that escapes her lips arouses you tenfold as she moans in your ear.

You test her reaction, your finger moving slowly and purposely and you can feel as she widens her legs for you.

“Good girl,” you whisper with a little hint of a snarl. “Look at you spreading your legs for me without having to ask.”

“(Y/N),” she says in a long, drawn out moan.

“Show me how much you want me, baby.”

You let another finger slide into her and you thrust steadily, Kara rocking against your palm with ever-increasing desperation.

You rub your thumb against her clit and Kara mewls at the contact, her head falling back in pleasure as her voice fills the room. You moan at the sound and fuck her harder.

You feel her blunt fingernails digging into your back and you sigh with pleasure, swallowing the sounds of Kara’s ecstasy in a heated kiss.

You test the rhythm of your ministrations with one well-placed curl of your fingers and Kara’s scream rings through the apartment. She’s a babbling mess of sweet nothings and your name when you continue fucking her steadily.

“You’re so beautiful when I’m fucking you like this, baby.”

Kara mewls loudly and her breaths come out in fragmented shorts and stops, no doubt anyone nearby can hear her.

“You’re so good for me. Do you like it when I fuck you like this?” you ask.

“Yes, yes- (Y/N), please!”

You begin thrusting your fingers faster and rubbing her clit quicker, Kara’s voice increasing in pitch until she’s breathing erratically.

“Come all over my fingers, Kara. I want to taste you when I’m done with you.”

You don’t think you’ve heard a more attractive sound than Kara screaming with pleasure, but then she’s moaning and coming, her chest rising and falling as she grips harshly at your shoulders, her back arching with the release of her orgasm.

“(Y/N)- yes, yes! Rao- yes, please-”

You kiss her and keep the relentless pace of your fingers until you feel Kara’s body become limp under yours, her shaky breaths filling her chest once more as she rides the afterwaves of her pleasure.

You slip your fingers out of her and don’t bother to wipe them on anything as you bring them to your lips and suck the taste of her from them. Kara stares at you hungrily as she watches you make work of your fingers.

You lean down and let your lips hover just above hers when you’re done, slowly moving in to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

“You taste good,” you mutter, and you see even past her post-orgasm haze the blush that rushes to her cheeks, but Kara’s bringing a hand to your hair and tugging lightly to pull you in for another kiss.

You relent and let your hands come up to either side of her face, letting your weight rest against her body and you soften with the feel of her pressed flush against you.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

“I love you,” she says.

Kara’s voice is gravelly and hoarse, and her eyes widen at her own admission.

“I love you too,” you reply easily.

“Oh. Okay.”

Your eyebrow arches in question when you look to her, and Kara looks moderately alarmed.

“No, I mean- that was- I always thought it’d be more difficult... to like... why do you make everything so easy?” she says mildly indignant.

You smirk at her rambling and let your head rest against her chest, forcing her to cuddle you in the small space of the couch.

“I could give you a harder time?” you offer teasingly.

“No thanks,” she mumbles, and you laugh at her quick resignation.

You listen for the beat of her heart, and for the most part, you hear that her breaths are returning to their steady up and down.

“I could help you clean up?” you say after a while.

“No, it’ll be fine. I just want to stay like this for a bit... if that’s okay?” she says softly.

You move to look up at your girlfriend and you smile at the admiration you see there in her eyes. You kiss her wordlessly and let yourself feel the contentment of being enveloped in her arms.

Kara, you’ve realized, makes you feel both parts so very human and like you’re at new, unworldly heights.

She makes you experience things with greater intensity. Somehow, she’s simultaneously made life feel like it’s moving forward with an unprecedented velocity and still, that time has been left untouched and at a standstill, and you wonder just how that’s so.

You’re beginning to really learn that Kara Danvers truly is everything; she is everything, and even still with your greatest shock, she is one thing that you still cannot believe - yours.

[duanecbrooks]

A Sight For Sore Eyes     It's what could be called an old-time flick, having been released in--steady yourself--1969.       It features two leads who have long, long, long since gone off the radar, namely Jacqueline Bisset and Jim Brown (Actually, Brown has only sunk from sight as an actor. He has for some time had a third-act career--he began as a pro-football heavyweight, remember?--as an entrepreneur).         Having been released in, as was mentioned, 1969, its filmic style and the motivations of its characters would, in this overflowing-with-political-correctness age, likely be dismissed as greatly dated, even rather philistine.               However...     As the theatrical film The Grasshopper, which first unspooled in said year and which stars said folks--and which, in a leonine change-of-pace, I saw not on DVD but (and this is not a typo) on YouTube--proves, it is very much worth re-visiting, being--say what you will about it being Old Hat--an incisively-written, maturely-directed and, its strongest suit, sensitively-performed drama about following dreams, dealing with what life throws at you while you pursue those dreams, and, at last finally, is a cautionary tale concerning the fate of those who thoroughly, totally surrender their positivism, who allow themselves to be entirely swept up in all the crap that comes their way. The long-popular assertion goes: "Be careful what you wish for, for you might well get it." What The Grasshopper, with considerable style and genuinely impressive intelligence, says is: "Be sure to have a realistic perspective about what you wish for, otherwise there'll be hell to pay."             Let's get to the picture itself.                 We open with its heroine, 19-year-old Christine Adams (Bisset), sneaking down the steps of her house and outside--the latter after leaving a good-bye note for, as we'll come to discover, her parents--carrying luggage and, eventually, getting into a convertible and driving off. After she goes a distance, we see her car conk out and Christine having to hitch a ride. As she and her driver are riding along, she fills him, and us, in on her story: She's going to L.A. to hook up with her boyfriend, who works in that city. Also: Her past home life was far from tranquil, as is demonstrated via a flashback, wherein Christine thinks back to her incessantly warring parents. It all culminates in Christine giving her driver, and us, a verbal sketch of what she wants her life to be ("It's very simple. What I want is to be totally happy, totally different, and totally in love"). In time she's taken up by one Danny Raymond (Corbett Monica, a stand-up performer who was quite popular at the time), a Las Vegas-based comic whose humor fails to impact our girl (He freely acknowledges: "I'm not too funny, but you can't expect brilliance in the middle of the desert").           We press on. While transporting Christine, Raymond stops off at his employment base, namely Vegas, where he attends to some business and Christine takes in the sights and, in time, is summoned back to Raymond's side (He has the hotel announcer intone: "Will Christine The Hitchhiker please report to the front desk?"). Eventually she, and we, meet Tommy Marcott (Brown), a former pro-football star who is employed by the hotel as, well, a lure, as a celebrity whose fame is used to bring in customers. We also see Raymond trying to get close to Christine and she firmly resisting ("No, Danny. I like you. You're a lot of fun") but Raymond not being in the least dissuaded ("Stick around a few more minutes. I hate to be alone"). At last finally Christine gets to L.A. and Eddie, with whom she entreats to have a baby with her. Yet life with Eddie turns out to be far from the Paradise Lost she imagined and hoped it would be, as her job as Eddie's sister bank teller, she finds out to her dismay, is routine and boring (In an attempt to put some life into her life, she hands a customer the following note: "This is a hold-up. Give me your money and don't touch the alarm"). At one point she goes for a walk and, gazing into the windows of the other apartments, she sees the inhabitants fighting between themselves and otherwise engaged in the kind of dullish, mind-numbing activities she hates with a passion. Thus our gal leaves Eddie and returns to Vegas and Raymond.             To go forward: At first Christine's hooking back with Raymond turns out to be very pleasant for both of them (We see Christine happily lying in bed next to Raymond and his saying into the phone: "I gotta go now, 'cause there's this gorgeous girl just dyin' for my body"). Yet it all ends when Christine is informed by Raymond that his ex and their offspring are coming to visit. Next we see our heroine audition for a position as a showgirl. At first her auditioner is quite skeptical (Christine: "I did Little Women in school." Auditioner: "Did you do it nude?"), telling her: "Showgirls gotta have gigantic tickets [breasts]." Christine doesn't shirk at the least upon hearing this, firing back: "In my hometown I was considered one of the over-developed girls." At last finally Christine unbuttons her blouse and proudly shows her auditioner her "tickets," which causes the auditioner to happily hire her (The auditioner asks Arnold, his barber at the time: "Would you pay $12.50 to look at that [Christine's fully-exposed bosom]?" When Arnold smiles affirmatively, that to the auditioner is the deciding factor, which causes Christine to say: "Thank you, Arnold"). From there we witness our girl as part of the hotel's regular showgirl line-up and getting the 411 from a sister showgirl ("There are only two kinds of dancers in this line: great dancers and girls with friends") and, later, catching a performance by the hotel's resident rock group, The Ice Pack, wherein she becomes fast friends with a devoutly homosexual member of the group. Their friendship develops to the point where Christine informs him of her hopes and dreams ("I was thinking of becoming a stewardess...I like people. Maybe I'll meet a nice guy") and, after debating whether God did indeed create the world or whether the human race evolved from monkeys, standing side-by-side one night and gazing at the stars (Christine: "When you look out there, there's got to be a God." Homosexual buddy: "Or one hell of a monkey").     Going on: Christine's former beau Eddie comes to town, accompanied by his wife and their baby, all of whom, after a visit with Christine, make her quite wistful. Afterward she has further association with Marcott, who makes it abundantly clear that he kowtows to nobody unless he absolutely has to ("I used to be eight years old...I don't say anything unless I mean it"), and rebels when, during a conversation with some financiers, his employer casually manhandles him ("Don't do that, man. You make me feel like a piece of meat"). We then see Christine and Marcott riding a merry-go-round and the former further contending what she wants and expect regarding her life ("Sure I know what I want out of life. No, I don't. Yes, I do") and the workings of her inner self ("No matter where I am or what I'm doing, somewhere in the back of my head I'm thinking somebody is having more fun than I am"). They talk more and they exchange dialogue on Christine's priorities concerning her romantic life (Christine: "I hurt that guy I grew up with [Eddie]. And he hurt me." Marcott: "Everybody gets hurt"). Christine fervently urges that she and Marcott live together rather than get married but he loses no time shooting down that notion ("I've been that route. I don't want a chick to shack up with. I don't want a pad, I want a home"). At long last they decide to elope, which, when the woman at the Vegas chapel they turn to sees them with another couple, makes her quite antsy (Woman, into the phone: "I'm serious, Ted. A white girl, a Negro, a Jap, and a sissy").             Grasshopper moves forward. Now Ms. Tommy Marcott, Christine sets herself to getting her new hubby a less degrading job with the hotel. While swimming, she pushes to one of the aforementioned hotel's bigwigs for Marcott to given higher standing and, when the bigwig balks, she flatly spits water in his face. Next we see her with another hotel higher-up making the same case and, again, being unsuccessful (Higher-up: "Only your husband is special at shaking hands." Christine, walking angrily away: "You're a bastard"). The ante is upped when Roosevelt Decker (Ramon Bieri), a particularly wealthy financier, enters Christine's life. She--unwisely, as she, and we, will come to discover--accompanies him to his hotel suite and, not surprisingly, Decker loses no time in making a play for her. Also not surprisingly, she fully rebuffs him ("Mr. Decker, I really enjoy talking to you. Can't we just be friends?"). Decker, alas for her, doesn't take this well, first openly disparaging Christine's hubby ("I'm as good as any nigger"), then going on from there to literally beat the crap out of her. When she arrives home afterward, she shuts herself up in the bathroom. When Marcott forcefully orders her to open the damned door ("If you don't open the door, I'm gonna break it down"), she does and he, along with us, get a full view of her battered and bruised face. Cut to Decker playing golf and Marcott coming after him right there on the greens. Decker runs away but Marcott soon catches up to him and gives him the same aggressive beating that he gave Marcott's wife. The very next scene has the Marcotts in a car, hubby at the wheel, driving away from Vegas and he making it fulsomely clear that from now on their lives are going to be very different ("I'm gonna find myself a job where I don't have to play the clown. And you're gonna be my wife").             We continue. We next see our young lady at a laundromat, washing clothes and unmistakably bored peeless. In an attempt to enliven things, she spreads laundry detergent upon the floor and does an impromptu dance for the others doing their laundry. Following is a scene where Christine's old buddies, The Ice Pack, sneak up on her and following that are scenes wherein she had the same blast with them as before. It all bleeds into her growing disenchantment with her life with Marcott and it culminates in her flat-out confronting him (Christine, standing defiantly over him as he's sitting in a chair: "You don't really like my friends [The Ice Pack], do you?" Marcott: "Look, Chris, are you trying to start a fight?" Christine, still defiantly: "Yeah, maybe I am. Anything to liven things up around here"). Yet Christine comes to shake off her antagonism toward her husband and open herself to him ("I thought if I loved you, everything would be all right"). Things, however, go badly when Marcott, in the midst of shooting hoops on outdoor basketball grounds, is fatally gunned down, no doubt by a fellow specifically hired by Decker. This of course devastates Christine, who deals with her mega-anguish by, during the ride back from the funeral, ordering the driver to stop and pick up these two hippie types whom she sees standing around ("I don't give a damn what you think! Pick them up or I'm gonna jump out!"). We proceed to see Christine pouring her heart out to her homosexual pal ("The worst part is, I can't even grieve for Tommy...If only I knew [my crying] was for Tommy and not for me") and said buddy coming clean regarding whether or not she'll get justice concerning Marcott's murder ("I don't think [the authorities are] even gonna touch Rosie Decker"). Having experienced the real deal in the aforementioned way, Christine returns to Vegas and her former employer, who offers her financial assistance--which she adamantly refuses ("Wait, let me get my tin cup"). Her ex-boss then suggests that she go back to hometown and try for "civilian" work--a suggestion she also rejects ("And be a secretary for $300.00 a week?...I don't want my life to be a cliche"). It's here where her former boss-man throws down the gauntlet: "You're not that talented. You got a pretty face and a nice body...You're an average girl. Why are you knocking yourself out [to Be Somebody]?" Our heroine's response cuts right to the heart of the matter: "Why not?"             Going forth: Christine next hooks up with one Richard Sherman (Joseph Cotten), a highly rich older man who gives her a fur coat. Christine, naturally overjoyed at receiving such a present, hugs Sherman--which brings forth a lighthearted admonishment from him ("Christine, you'll break something!...There are certain rules you must follow when you're dating an older man"). Christine, for her part, solemnly assures him that he really and truly is The One ("I think what I've always wanted was a mature man, someone with whom I can have a real relationship"). Yet we next see the utter insincerity of her words, as we see her making out bare-ass-naked in the shower with Jay (Christopher Stone), a singer with The Ice Pack, who's also jaybird-naked. Christine, along with the rest of us, get the inside skinny on Jay's doings since Christine last saw him ("I didn't leave [The Ice Pack]. They fired me") and she gives him, and us picturegoers, the inside skinny about her actual needs ("I need someone. I'm lonely, Jay. I want to be in love"). Next: Christine is back with Sherman, who warmly extols her ("I'm not going to bore you with the old story of my wife not understanding me...You saved the day"). Afterward we see Chris back with Jay, who angrily lights into her ("Do you love me, Christine, or do you just think you do?...[W]hy don't you try the only thing you were ever any good at--balling?"). Jay winds up leaving Christine a "Dear John" note, and Christine, having reached the end of her rope emotionally/psychologically, gets this pilot to sky-write "Fuck it." (This being 1969, we natch don't see the full statement) As Christine is being taken in by the cops, she's asked how old she is. She replies rather listlessly: "22," which says volumes about all she's been through and the emotional/psychological toll it's all taken on her.             There's The Grasshopper, a skillfully-made cautionary tale about what happens to those who don't take care while pursuing their dreams. Ramon Bieri wholly chills the blood as Christine's eventual assaulter. The men in her life--Brown, Cotten, Monica, Stone--are all virile and appealing, each in their own ways, to make you see why Christine stayed with them as long as she did. The then-red-hot writing team of Garry Marshall and Jerry Belson (also Grasshopper's producers) come up with many engaging characters and many heart-tugging romantic entanglements. And as director, Jerry Paris--who would work with Garry in the future, helming many a Happy Days episode--deftly pushes the proceedings along, never, ever allowing even an iota of schmaltz or grandstanding to show. And one of the picture's key numbers, "Used To Be," is sung with impressive feeling by the intensely-beloved Carol Burnett sidekick Vicki Lawrence.               And at last finally there's Jacqueline Bisset. She is, quite simply, radiant. With her stylish beauty, her beauty-queen charm, and her lightning-rod energy, she absolutely walks off with the picture. Her smooth good looks and her volcanic sexiness positively dominate every scene she's in, easily heralding her breakthrough performance in her signature theatrical film The Deep (Fess up: Is there any one of us men who, when we look back on said picture, does not mightily drool at the memory of the opening when, while underwater, Bisset exposed her oh-so-succulent breasts?). Indeed, it's Bisset's Grasshopper portrayal that brings out this unarguable fact: Motion pictures were the most effective as a visual medium, when they entirely eschewed aesthetic considerations and presented luscious, well-bodied players who enchanted us with their vitality and their charm. It was the 1950s cinematic sexpot Ava Gardner who, in her classic personal/professional memoir, freely acknowledged, concerning her heyday: "I wasn't an actress--none of us kids at Metro [-Goldwyn-Mayer] were. We were just good to look at." In point of fact--and Bisset in Grasshopper abundantly proved this--pictures were at their best when they sidestepped artistic aspirations and simply gave us performers who "were...good to look at." (Television is, in the main, fantastically moronic. But the redemptive factor regarding it is that it's a visual medium. There's none of this crap about the director or about how some star "fell in love with the script." All that's necessary is to put Pamela Anderson or Carmen Electra or whoever on camera showing skin--or to put Kerry Washington on camera, period--and the battle is won)                     It was the fiercely-esteemed big-screen director Bruce Beresford who, in a forward to a compilation of picture reviews by a then-well-known critic, asserted: "I know it's not politically correct to say it...but...watching beautiful girls can do a lot to relieve tedium." It is "watching" Jacqueline Bisset, the "beautiful girl" of The Grasshopper, that "does a lot" to keep said picture from becoming "tedious." And how glad we are to have that specific "relief."