at first i thought max irons but then i was like no

I love you not. (Jimin x Reader Series)

Prologue: Lilacs

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 3,457

Summary: “…you knew that you could never deny, despite how much you’d tried, that you’d always thought of Park Jimin as more than both he and you had labeled it all those years… Friends.”

Notes: This story was inspired by a prompt from a master prompt list and can be seen as the very first line here. Credit to that list, one of which I cannot re-find for God’s sake. This took me a while and was left in drafts for a while, but I’ve decided to finally post this. I haven’t been writing much and I’ve gone to shit due to the lack of practice :( Hope this one isn’t that shitty… So enjoy!

“Can I tell my parents that I’m at your house, just in case they get suspicious?”

“Isn’t that what you always do?”

Jimin’s laugh echoed loudly from the other end of the line. 

“True, true,” he admitted. “They trust you more than they trust me, Y/N-ah.”

“I can see why they would do that,” you sat leaned up against the window and watch as the sun cast its last golden rays before sinking into the skyline. 

“Are you saying I’m not trustworthy?”

“I’m not saying that you’re not not-trustworthy.”

“Well as the person that has kept all your secrets for as long as both of us can remember,” he breathed. “I am extremely offended.”

“Whatever, Jimin,” you sang into the receiver. “Just go have fun tonight.”

“Fine, fine,” he spoke with an exhale. “I will have fun, Miss ‘it’s-Friday-night-and-I’m-going-to-stay-in.” 

You let out a small chuckle, “That’s me.”

Jimin laughed as well, you could just imagine the grin he had plastered on his face that moment. Long seconds passed, comfortable silence filled the line, only the low static buzzing through the earpiece.

“Well,” Jimin began after a while. “I guess I’ll get going now. I’ll see you later.”


Love you, Y/N.”

Same here.”



You removed your phone from the side of your face, knowing well that Jimin had already hung up by then. You sat still in your spot for a while, staring off into the fading sky. Even if the call had ended a long time ago, you still very much felt your heart race as if you have just run a mile. 

Having felt the same damned feeling for seventeen years straight, you would think that you have come used to it by then. But as you had always proved yourself wrong, you knew that you could never deny, despite how much you’d tried, that you’d always thought of Park Jimin as more than both he and you had labeled it all those years.


Keep reading

anonymous asked:

describe how each high school year by semester went for you

9th grade: We don’t call it a play date anymore, it is hanging out, hanging by our toes like wet lipped fruit bats, like jungle gym monkey kids. Young and swollen. Blood, immature blood, pink blood, fresh meat blood pepto bismol up the wazoo, and spit under my bed. Code names aren’t for spies, they’re for 14 year old girls with googley eyes, not that we needed them. Kevin and Grace, Ellie and Joshua, Paloma and Matt which is weird because I’m hot for him, and they kinda look like siblings. Pink shorts, black tights, Jimmy Eat World, pizza bagels and lucky charms under a fresh white linen morning like detergent sealed crust between my eyelids, you tore them open. I mean, not yet. But soon. I discover neon sex scenes, Sky Ferreira, and Skins and this is where the final hopscotch box stops; at the end of the subway platform. This is where I’m supposed to jump. Monkey balls fall on our heads as we walk home, and autumn leaves crunch like drum line snare beats. All godless girls with snakes and cherry lollipops and 9 millimeters pointed at our clits, Bend it Like Beckham under your itchy wool blankets, Alice’s mom thinks I’m cool, and I stay for dinner and crack some risky jokes like a fox among wolves. (I think he looks at me when I look away). Me and Hana FaceTime I take screenshots of her dancing with her cat. The girls who play soft ball in short shorts, the girls who call them sluts, the boys who watch. We dance through rainbows in the sprinklers on the way to the Homecoming dance and pretend we don’t care we don’t have dates. We’re floating in the cytoplasm, floating on the cotton candy overdose cause our parents drop us off at the bowling alley but we are too loyal to sneak out the back. We pool our money every Friday after school for the spring break road trip we’re going on when Hana gets a car, and one of us has lost our virginity, and none of us are scared of the dark.

Miss Budd yelled at me for not standing for the pledge of allegiance, and I was 4 years old again. My English teacher held me back, and held my hand, and gave me a safety pin for my missing button, and told me it would be. Okay.

10th grade: We were on the news that year. Cristo’s curls on KTLA, solemn, and not the boy cross eyed and high with his pants around his ankles. Suddenly we’re all standing up straight, suddenly we’re being told we can’t wear leggings because somebody posted a video of Penelope having sex with Max on Facebook. Suddenly we’re underground in the girls locker room (red varsity knee socks, Dina drowning the spider nests with Victoria’s Secret rose perfume, humid with shame and lesbian suspicion) holding our arms in front of our naked breasts, single file like ants for the syphilis test. The boys who drew penises in fire and salt on the soccer field grass, like druid frat boys, but not the boys who put gorilla glue in the classroom locks, and not the boys who wrote their hit list in the red pen on the back of Mr. Chan’s syllabus and ended up in court, who called in a bomb threat, just to get the test pushed back. We all took turns getting our ghosts exorcized in the principals office. It was pompeii and pandemonium, and nobody was safe, not even us girls sleeping wrapped in the dust of library encyclopedias. You moved away from me like I was illiciting the restless black dreams on your grandmas shitty air mattress. The sheets are clean enough, but this attic is haunted, you keep waking up in the middle of the night to your body sinking like a pirate ship caught by the Kraken, the floor gnawing at your bones again so you just. Got up. And slept somewhere else. My English teacher held me back, and told me I was a good writer but don’t be so angry, and I cried right there, and she gave me a kleenex from her Shakespeare tissue holder and I blew this stupid pain head first out of my nose. I never told you about that. Maybe if I had you would’ve felt bad for me and stayed a little longer. But you hung out with those buckwild kids under the spot by the willow tree, and it was easy. it was just snuffing out an annoyance. A mosquito licking the ruby of your earrings that you shooed away. Our birthstones were both rubies, you know, we were twin cancers with balmy skin and busted appendixes, the aliens took you once and the only explanation was a scar on your spine, and I reckon I should’ve known they’d come back for you.

(You are gonna tell your kids about these cherry cola years of golden suburbia, and midnight blue debauchery snapping teenage knees, and furrow your brow forgetting the name of the girl you spent the first two calling your best friend.) You cheered at football games. You got drunk with them at night, and you were bursting and missing teeth like a watermelon smile, you rubbed up against each other like cats they touched you in all the right places and you didn’t text me anymore. You went to sleepovers and posted photos on Instagram, I wasn’t invited, I thought this bullshit was supposed to stop happening in elementary school. All the things we thought would never happen, lockdown drills, fire drills, earthquake drills and we still weren’t prepared. It was. Pandemonium. It was. Chemical fires in Mr. Dow’s science class. And me and my plans were just. so fucking boring standing next to your cherry blossom hurricane. You didn’t wait for me after class anymore and I just. Looked so stupid trying to catch up. Blood, mature blood, cows blood in the manure for the roses to eat. Black blood, like storm sky, I dish out this milkshake I pick the scab and I lick the blood away. Thomas comes out and dubs himself the gay cliche, we walk home together on the yellow brick road, and we pray a tornado will land the school library on our corpses so we can die with those sparkly shoes on. Those ruby shoes on. The Fates gagged me with a pack of jolly ranchers. I got straight A’s while Rome was falling. Nobody has ever made me feel so small.

11th grade: New school. The kids talk different here. Depression in California is like getting a cold in mid-July. So ironic it’s almost insulting. I’m pretty sure it was raining all year, but don’t count on it, I lived sub-terrestrialy with my mothers tulip bulbs. Today’s Wednesday? I thought it was Friday? I thought yesterday was Sunday? Depression in California is like running after a rabbit in the woods. It doesn’t matter how sunny it is, you will suddenly look up and it’s night, and the trees are not your friends, even when they are as skinny and shaky as you. You will get stuck in the swamp, leave your shoes behind, and not even remember why you were out here in the first place.

Headache. Stomach ache. Lots of those, those are easy to fake. Menstrual cramps, vomiting, gut wrenching, kinda vomiting. A personal favorite. I got to get my hands dirty for that one, I got to reach for the gag reflex like a remote control and press fast forward and feel my arc capsizing, until the static buzzed and I was pale like southern gothic tragedy, I’m not bulimic I just don’t wanna go to school. Depression in California is like an abandoned zoo. Everything echoing animal shrieks. They set them free but the cages were empty long before that. I make some friends, nice ones who laugh at my jokes, and I feel like I should get a sticker for it, but I do more nervous shaking than laughing.

Depression in California is like a badly maintenanced carnival. We’ve gone around the ferris wheel 8 times now and nobody seems to notice. The cotton candy polluting my blood, running slow and globby while the kids below spin, the kids drop, the kids could die, but they just giggle hand in hand with smiling clowns who pump them full of teeth rotting sweets, the winking lights are blurry this far away, and it feels like eons before we’ll get back to the bottom. I’m out of tokens. I think I’m just gonna jump.  

12th grade: Trump won. I think I might like girls. My dad jokes about his own death so I know what it means to be angry now, like femurs forged from the goddamn ring of Isildur. Is this what’s normal now? Fucking boys who are oil slick and easy living, and lose my socks in their dorm rooms? Meet them for diner food and xans on the weekend, and everything just temporary? Is that just what everybody wants now? My brother got a green card marriage, but I guess he loves her for real now. We watch the Walking Dead until the streetlights glaze over our eyes, he asks me if I have a boyfriend, no. If I’ve had any since I last saw him, no. If no is my favorite word, yes. Thing is I’ve never been anyone’s girl cause I’ve got a volcano where I should have a stomach. I know what it is to live on the red planet. But I ignore all that and go to concerts that bleed beer and swoon for boys who drink the blood. I guess we’re used to falling off of things so we do it on purpose now. It’s not over but I know how it’s gonna end. Cracked skull, and police lights. And to the break of dawn on Brandon’s roof, boxers stained with mayonnaise, and Deadpool is probably his favorite movie or some dumb white boy shit like that. I’m not gonna cry when I leave for college, I’m gonna cry at the car rental watching the sun bleed out on the trees. I’m gonna cry in the knothole of an oak tree, hiding from the freshman mixer party in the woods I knew I shouldn’t have come to once the social anxiety starts clawing up soaked in the gallon of strawberry Crush I downed to calm myself down. You know, in some other parallel universe, my parents never divorced and we dispute where the sugar pantry should be at inopportune times, and I don’t straight jacket myself with the echoplex sound of my mother screaming over my dead body just to not inhale the chlorox under the sink. I was so bloody, I just wanted to be clean.

I thought it was like the 80’s, the rusty exhaust pipe of Matt’s car turning the snow black while he’s wasting time daydreaming of my piston pumping sloppy hips, and rumored things that happen in the backseat, and kicking cans in no particular direction, and first love sticky and first love stabbed into your kidney and you never really recover. I thought it was sixteen candles, and say anything, but it’s getting bloodshot squirrelly smoking hash in the disabled bathroom stall. It’s a personality disorder grown up from the ground like a mushroom that is poison to the touch, and thrown away birthday presents, and valentines day balloons stuck in the trees. It’s dropping the last slice of college acceptance celebration cake on the floor for your dogs breakfast, and cartoon rain puddles for eyes talking about how scary it is to drive on the freeway. Karina and Maddie rough housing like pit bulls in fifth period cause we don’t do shit in that class and pretending that we are not all gonna be strangers in 6 weeks before we. Before we. Please don’t make me say it out loud.

My English teacher held me back, and told me to make up the quiz I missed, and that was the only time I will ever be happy that some strangers just stay that way. And Daddy, I will miss you when you leave me, and Daddy I will meet you in the next life you just gotta wait for me ok?

I am not the kind of girl people have crushes on. I am the kind of girl who can survive 18 stealing food from parties, couch surfing, living like a lightning bolt. There one minute, and gone the next.

A Study in Hypocrisy #2.5

Or why the Avengers’ relationship to Tony was unhealthy at best, Steve isn’t fit to be a leader, and why I’m Team Iron Man to the end.


Tony’s relationship with the Avengers has always made me uncomfortable. For the longest time, I couldn’t put my finger on why exactly, but I’ll try to organize my thoughts in this series.  

This post was getting far too long, so I decided to cut it into parts, one per Avenger. 

This is strictly MCU. I know nothing about the comics. 


Tony doesn’t interact much with Clint in the movies, unfortunately, so there’s not a lot that can be said on that front.

Civil War gave us some interaction, however.

“The futurist, gentlemen! The futurist is here! He sees all! He knows what’s best for you, whether your like it or not.”

"Give me a break, Barton. I had no idea they’ll put you in here, come on.”

"Yeah, well, you knew they’ll put us somewhere, Tony.”

"Yeah. But, not some super max floating ocean pokey. You know, this place is for maniacs. This is a place for…”

"Criminals? Criminals, Tony. I think that’s the word you’re looking for. Right? It didn’t used to mean me, or Sam, or Wanda. But, here we are.”

“Because you broke the law—”


"I didn’t make you—”

"The law. The law. The law. The law. The law.”

“You read it, you broke it. Alright, you’re all grown up. You got a wife and kids. I don’t understand. Why didn’t you think about them before you choose the wrong side?”

"You better watch your back on this guy. There’s a chance he’s gonna break it.”

Captain America: Civil War (2016)

Remember this part? How Clint refuses to admit that his situation is his own fault? He puts all of the blame squarely on Tony’s shoulders, as if the man was all-powerful and controlled the UN, Ross, and so on. I know Tony’s influential, filthy rich and powerful, but he’s still a private citizen. The Accords weren’t his doing, nor was the UN or Ross’ actions. At this point, he’s just desperately scrambling to keep them all alive if not free. 

Clint coddles Wanda like she didn’t give everyone—including Natasha, who he’s supposed to be super close to—horrible visions and triggered Tony so he would create Ultron. She was the source of the entire mess, and a mind-controller. Shouldn’t he hate her on principle after what Loki did to him, instead of considering her like a daughter of sorts? Also… what? I mean, she’s 26. She’s not a kid. She’s a grown woman, thank you. Maybe he feels guilty for what he perceives as getting her brother killed, but it’s still not an excuse. 

Going as far as to use Rhodey’s near-death as a weapon against Tony was also particularly low, especially when Tony wasn’t even the one to involve him in this mess at all—and had nothing to do with Rhodey’s fall either.

Tony didn’t call him for a reason—or three: it’s spelled Laura, the kids and retirement. Clint should never have been involved. He chose to come of his own volition. He probably didn’t even read the Accords. When Vision urged him to consider his actions, he replied “considered” in half a second, in a derisive tone that implies there won’t be any consequences. Because he’s an Avenger, and he’s on Captain America’s team, right? He can’t be wrong here.

Here’s how I interpret it. Clint’s not a leader. He’s a follower. He’s a foot soldier, a field agent. He doesn’t consider the consequences of his actions, because other people usually do it for him. SHIELD, at first. Then Tony and maybe even Steve after the fall of SHIELD. But he’s never actually had to deal with his choices before. There was always someone else there to take responsibility, divert attention or just deal with the aftermath.

Yet here he is, in prison. Considered a dangerous criminal. He doesn’t know when he’ll get back to his wife and kids. If he’ll get back to his wife and kids. And he can’t accept that it’s all his fault. So he blames Tony, even though he’s probably been living on his resources since the fall of SHIELD. I think this also might have something to do with the fact that Steve has a much better public image going for him. His legend has him as a paragon of American virtue and honesty, right? He does the right thing, that’s what he does, as if he were some sort of mystical creature with an infallible moral compass. No one would call Tony a moral compass, that’s for sure. 

Clint, like Natasha, like Coulson, like so many others, just got pulled in by the legend, I think. And then he turns on Tony when things go wrong, because he followed Captain America. He can’t have chosen the wrong leader, can he?  

DWTS S25 Premiere Week 1 Recap / Review

DWTS S25 Week 1…Here we go..Here we go again

Recaps [Here]

  • Three Musketeers: Carrie Ann, Len & Bruno are back. You know as much as I love Julianne as a judge & I really do, as well as some guest judges, it’s nothing like the seeing the 3 original still kicking after 25 seasons. 
  • Only one judge speaking per couple, ehhh right. lol
  • Next Week: 2 Eliminations & 2 Dances. Monday: Ballroom Night & Tuesday: Latin Night

1.Terrell Owens & Cheryl Burke - Cha Cha (5+5+5=15)

Cheryl was the secret 13th pro, no real surprise, she’s been away for a bit, but they almost always come back (looking at you too Mark Ballas). I’m just gonna put it out there, I’m not the biggest Terrell Owens fan but I won’t let it cloud my judgement of his dancing. I actually think he could do well, DWTS loooves a tall, dark, football player with twinkly toes.. Cheryl is a good pick for him. This was a nice, standard cha-cha for a premiere nothing too exciting, he’s got rhythm & musicality. His footwork was a lot cleaner than expected, obviously could be sharper among other things. He’s kind of flat-footed, but he has the work-hard mentality that could see him trend up mid-season.

2. Debbie Gibson & Alan Bersten - Foxtrot (6+5+6=17) I’m familiar with Debbie’s long career but knowing she struggles with Lyme disease & his pushing herself to the max for this show gives me a whole a new respect for her. Alan has been busting his butt in the troupe & as a stand-in for some seasons so it’s nice to see him get a chance to show his stuff as a pro. Beautiful foxtrot to debut with, her & Alan are cute together. Debbie is very striking on the floor, there are times when she was right on it & then a little stiff and weal posture at times. I can sense a breakthrough coming.

3.Sasha Pieterse & Gleb Savchenko - Cha Cha (6+6+6=18) I have never watched Pretty Little Liars so she’s a virtual stranger to me but I predict she’ll be around for some weeks with the PLL fan-base. She seems to have fun personality. Gleb is not my favorite, he has yet to truly impress me. I think Sasha was holding back her Fierce (prepare for season long Sasha Fierce puns, it’s happening…).She seems to be comfortable out there but hopefully she’ll really let loose sooner than later. There’s a lot more there. Best footwork so far, I just wished they used more of the floor…

4. Drew Scott & Emma Slater - Foxtrot (6+5+5=16) I’m one of the 10 people that don’t watch HGTV, but I do know who the Property Brothers but I don’t have an opinion on them, except Drew is the more attractive one, don’t @ me.  What I do know is Drew got lucky getting paired with reigning champ & DWTS sweetheart Emma. Their popularity should take them far. Easily my favorite choreography of the night so far, it was charming,, on the nose, but pretty jam packed, she made him work more than any other celeb so far. Len is right, that he’s pretty clunky with his feet & hands, hopefully that can be sorted over time. I can’t be too hard on him he had more to do than a lot of celebs. 

5. Barbra Corcoran & Keo Motespe - Cha Cha (5+4+5=14) I’m probably the biggest Shark Tank fan that exist, don’t ask why I just am. So I’m super jacked to see Barabra she’s one of the best and most entertaining sharks. I hope she doesn’t get cut too soon. What can I say about this dance, except I loved every minute of it. I love seeing people live their best life, especially people of a certain age. You got money, power, respect & fame, why not live as much as you can , what’t there to lose? Barbara totally embodies that. This dance definitely had Patti Labelle “In Da Club” vibes. Of course she can greatly improve& I hope she does, but most importantly I hope she continues to have as much fun as possible. 

6. Jordan Fisher & Lindsay Arnold - Tango (8+7+7=22) I’m not a jet setting millionaire so I never saw Hamilton, so I’m not familiar but he’s with Lindsay & that’s enough for me pay attention to him. They seem poised to go really far. He’s charming, cute & has a lot of promise. This tango was fast as we’ve come to like on this show, and pretty sharp. Best footwork, choreography & partnering so far.

7. Nick Lachey & Peta Murgatoryd - Cha Cha (6+6+6=18) Obviously, Nick’s brother Drew won Season 2 with Cheryl but who cares anymore, that was back when the show was less flashy & looked like it was shot on VHS. I’m not really in the mood to hear about this “rivalry” all season. Because, we unfortunately have to focus on Nick vs his wife Vanessa with Maks this season. I was over the competing couples when Alexa Vega & Carlos Pena were on & I’m over it now. It is cute they’re respectively paired with married couple Peta & Maks. Nick is not the most rhythmic celeb, with ironic because Peta is one of the more rhythmic pro’s. He’s stiff but what he lacks in technique, he makes up for in enthusiasm. I’m sensing Vanessa might be the better dancer of the two, at least I’m hoping.

8. Vanessa Lachey & Maksim Chmerkovskiy - Cha Cha (7+7+7=21) I gotta say marriage & fatherhood looks great on Maks. I’m glad my prediction was right, Vanessa is better than Nick. She’s actually really good, one of the best of the night. Maks’ sharp footwork suited her well. Her placement is clean, swift & sharp. One of the most synced partnerships tonight, I want to see her go far.

9. Frankie Muniz & Witney Carson - Foxtrot (7+6+6=19) I haven’t heard much about Frankie since early 2000′s except his car crash some years back but he looks healthy, happy & wealthy (those Malcom in the Middle checks had to be nice). They really benefited from a great, emotional song (Sign of The Times). For someone who once broke his back you couldn’t tell, his extension was really good. To be so shy, Frankie dances very broad, he’s got a great early connection with Witney. Definitely a highlight of the night. 

10. Nikki Bella & Artem Chigventsev - Tango (7+7+6=20) Nikki is about the only name I recognize from the WWE Diva’s. It’ll be interesting to see if she can reign in her dominance to let Artem lead her. Len is absolutely right, her looking down almost ruined the dance, I thought she was uncomfortable at first then I realized she was just watching her feet. When she was in hold it was great, her legs are super long which make for great lines. She’s got great confidence & attack, can Artem contain it? 

11. Derek Fisher & Sharna Burgess - Salsa (6+6+6=18) Derek is Laker legend, I’m excited he’s paired with Sharna who plays no games. NBA players need redemption on this show, Derek might be the guy to do it. His hips & footwork will need work, I think he needs to loosen up more, but he’s super enthusiastic about the whole experience. That ending was super close, Sharna almost ate it..

12. Victoria Arlen & Val Chmerkovksiy - Cha Cha (7+6+6=19) Victoria’s story is remarkable being paralyzed for 10 years, competing in the Paralympics, winning Gold & Silver & learning to walk a year ago & now DWTS & she can’t even feel her legs. Like what are you doing with your life right now? Victoria has a winner’s spirit, she’s incredibly resilient and partner with Val that can take her a super long way. Plus she can actualy dance, there’s no sympathy card in this pairing, Val gave her some challenging choreograph, not just for her situation. The routine was fun, uplifting & matched her spirit and personality. The fact that she can’t feel her legs just blows my mind when watching her dance and sync with Val. The placement was great & clean. These two are ones to watch, she’s got a great story, she’s got Val & she’s got moves. 

13. Lindsey Sterling & Mark Ballas - (7+8+8=22) Lindsey is an incredible violinist who is no stranger to the DWTS stage, having guest performed & she’s also close friends with the Hough / Ballas family already, so this seemed like a natural pairing all around. Obviously great to have Mark and his hair back on the show, he’s a personal favorite with Val. This was by far the single best performance of the night. Quick, sharp & technically sound. Mark took a risk with that hip-hop breakdown but Lindsey murdered it. It was complete flip on what you expected from her as Len noted, something Mark is good for. She’s such a natural and exuberant performer & Mark is such a seasoned pro, it’s a match made in heaven. Honestly, I believe Mark has been robbed many times (Chelsea Kane, Katherine Jenkins, Paige Vanzant) it would be nice to see him win his so long overdue 3rd mirrorball trophy & Lindsey might just be the partner to get it done. Tied for the top with Jordan & Lindsay

Honestly it’s so many celebs that I enjoyed Week 1, I can’t honestly imagine what 2 I would want go home next week.

Next Week: 2 Eliminations & 2 Dances. Monday: Ballroom Night & Tuesday: Latin Night

Recaps [Here]

Who were your favorites? Who do you think will or should go first?

pet names | m

◇ Jiyong takes care of his princess.

◇ G-Dragon x reader

◇ sugardaddy!au

If :) u :) do not :) like :) dd/lg :) or :) sugar daddies :) do not :) read :) also im much sorry for the lack of updatery, but this is one of the longest things ive written so!!! Enjoy my sweets ♡♡♡


Kwon Jiyong is a well known man; be it for his eccentric tastes, his handsome looks, his loyal friends, or rather the empire he built from the dirt - he was well known. He could show up to Buckingham Palace and be invited in.

He was a household name for most. He was the creme de la creme, the best of the best, and everyone knew it. He built a legacy from nothing, and that earned him quite the reputation.

The world knew him as tall, dark and handsome, with a devilish smirk and an iron fist that he ruled his empire - BB Enterprises - with, his sombre exterior earning him the title The Dragon. And while that was true, on the inside, there were many people who earned the rare chance to see passed that.


“Kitten.” The pet name is murmured fondly in the early hours of the morning, his eyes soft and smile sweet as he buttons up his dress shirt. His gaze focuses on you through the mirror, your arms winding around his waist tiredly, your head resting on his shoulder with a sleepy sigh. “Daddy has to go to work.”

“No,” you groan softly, tightening your hold. The golden light of the sunrise shines through the large windows of his bedroom, the city of Seoul already awake and thriving, the rising sun casting a heavenly glow on your bodies. “I don’t want you to go…”

Jiyong tsks disapprovingly, reaching forward to pick from one of the many ties in his dresser. He expertly ties it in seconds, raising an eyebrow as you whimper in irritation again. “Ah, ah, ah - we had a talk about this, didn’t we, kitten?”

You sniffle, your eyes fluttering open to meet his dark ones through the mirror. The puppy-like pout that settles on your face has him shaking his head fondly, turning to face you and readjusting your arms to rest around his neck. A peck, two pecks, and then another, and then he’s placing a long kiss on your forehead, rocking you back and forth.

“Come on,” he scolds lightly, pulling back slightly. His arms are still wrapped tightly around you, but now he can take a peek at your beautiful face. “You can sleep in today, can’t you? And your favorite show is going to be doing re-runs, right?”

You frown, crossing your arms and stompin your foot down with as much strength as you can muster at this hour. You’re not acting very good right now, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Your tired mind and the fact that the one person you want to spend the day with will be gone makes your ‘good-girl meter’ malfunction. “And? You’re going to be gone for the whole day, daddy…”

“Hey,” Jiyong warns, carefully watching you with his signature disciplinary look painted over his face - it quickly calms to a frown as your bottom lip trembles, and he sighs, pulling you closer again and smoothing your hair down comfortingly. “I know it’s hard, but I have to work, okay? It’s important today.”

“It’s important every day,” he hears you grumble quietly to yourself, and he wills himself to place himself in your shoes before he decides to punish you for bad behaviour.

He inhales deeply, rolling his neck and stretching the fatigue from his system.

“Maybe, just maybe… if I hear you’ve been good, daddy will come back home early - with a present, too,” he murmurs, holding your face between his hands gently, thumbs rubbing circles into your cheeks softly. Your expression of sadness eases up just the tiniest bit.

“Chaeyoung will be coming today as well, so you won’t be lonely,” he tries to cheer you up just a little. He knows it must be hard to watch him leave almost every single day at the crack of dawn, returning only when your eyes were droopy with sleep. Jiyong’s suddenly very aware that you haven’t been able to spend much time with him lately.

You sniffle again, and the sound almost breaks his heart - but he knows he can’t miss today, and so with a lingering kiss to your forehead, he unwinds his arms from around you, a gentle tap on your bottom signalling you to totter off to bed again.

And your ‘good-girl meter’ must be working perfectly again, because you only furrow your eyebrows as he gives you one last kiss, turning on your heel and burrowing under the expensive sheets.


You spend the first few hours of the day pouting to yourself, arms wrapped around your knees as the TV plays whatever it was playing. It provides good background noise, and yes, re-runs of your favourite shows were about to start, but the penthouse felt extremely empty and cold, even with Chaeyoung bustling around, and the heating turned up to the max.

“Come on,” Chaeyoung sighs, collapsing onto the couch beside you. She’s your age, and has a particular fondness for chocolate chip cookies - and coincidentally, Jiyong has every appliance under the sun. Whenever she comes over, you’re always careful to not eat much in order to have some room for her cookies.

You know Jiyong is happy that you have at least one friend that lives near him - not many of your friends live in the heart of the richest parts of the city, and it leaves you by yourself more often than not.

“I know you miss him, but…” She trails off uncertainly.

“But?” You raise an eyebrow, turning your head to face her. At the silence that ensues, you can only huff in irritation, fiddling with the TV remote to control the warmth that’s surely going to start biting at the back of your eyes.

“I know it’s hard without him,” she frowns in sympathy, pushing your shoulder slightly, “but I’m sure he’s thinking of you, right now - does that not comfort you in some way? You’re not that far apart, once you think about it…”

I hope he’s thinking of me.


Work was hell, honestly. After spending at least 2 hours doing paperwork, 3 hours enduring a meeting that quite frankly, Jiyong had no idea what it was for, and an additional hour to discuss other matters with various business men, all with the thought of you on his mind, Jiyong was completely done for the day.

Or, actually, he wasn’t, because he had piles of paperwork on his desk and he was pretty sure his secretary was about to bring in some more-

“Sweetheart!” This pet name is cooed lovingly into his phone, work-induced stress evaporating from his body easily as he hears you giggle on the other end.

-but something about hearing you relay your day to him, your voice bright and happy, makes him extremely energetic and joyful. The paperwork doesn’t seem so bad, he guesses, as he holds the phone to his ear, laughing gently at your excitement that was a stark contrast to the pouty girl he left earlier this morning.

“Perks of being in love, I’m guessing,” Seungri scoffs. The youngest of Jiyong’s group of friends is lounging with extreme comfort on the loveseat in Jiyong’s office. Jiyong narrows his eyes - that’s your favorite seat, and he doesn’t appreciate Seungri rolling all over it like a dog, but he bites his tongue, flipping over another piece of paper with disinterest as Seungri continues talking. He had only just hung up his call with you, and he could already feel annoyance worming it’s way back into his body.

“I need a sugar baby,” Seungri pouts dramatically, his head loling as he turns to Jiyong. “I can’t keep getting new girls every time I need a quick fix… better to have one girl who’ll help me out so long as I buy her some designer handbags-”

“That’s not what ____ is,” Jiyong huffs, his eyes drifting from the monotonous piles of paper to the bratty man chatting his head off. “Our relationship is built off mutual respect and love, not money - and I’m sure any other woman who’s a sugar baby can agree with the respect, at least.”

Seungri rolls his eyes, a small ‘whatever’ exiting his lips. The man straightens up, rolling his shoulders back. Jiyong barely sees him glancing at the expensive gold watch hanging off of his wrist, before he stands, brushing the imaginary dust off of himself.

“Well,” he announces cheekily, “if ____ has any cute friends that are willing to help me out, you know where to find me, hyung.”

And as easily as he walked in hours ago, he walks out, humming a cheery tune and leaving Jiyong with a scowl on his handsome face, allowing his mind to drift off to his sweetheart who was halfway across the city, without him.

The paperwork seems even worse, now.


He returns way earlier than you expected - this time, the word 'baby’ is filling the silent air as he drops the multiple bags hanging off of his wrists onto the marble floors, his arms wrapping tightly around your form and his laughs combined with your excited squeals making happiness bubble in your chests.

The night sky can perfectly be seen from the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, the darkness illuminated by millions of tiny yellow lights. The city is still bustling, thriving with life and culture, but the beautiful view is the last thing on your mind.

“Daddy,” you grin, burying your head in the crook of his neck, “You’re back so early! I thought you’d come back when I was asleep…”

“Ah,” Jiyong tsks lightly, one hand wound around your waist, holding you close, the other hand reaching down to pick the bags up from the floor. “I said I’d come back early, didn’t I, baby? With presents, too.”

Your eyes widen, zeroing in on the pastel bags in his hands, filled with rainbow coloured tulle and hiding the surprise that was waiting for you. “Oo… what are they, daddy?”

He only laughs lightly, leading you with a hand on the small of your back to your bedroom. He’s quick to open the door to the en suite bathroom, placing the bags in your hands gently and raising an eyebrow at you. “Why don’t you take these, and try them on? Let me see how they look on you, baby.”

You’re filled with a strange mixture of confusion and excitement, but nonetheless, you nod in agreement, sending him one last tiny smile before you shut the door.

With bated breath, you rifle through the first bag, pushing away the pastel coloured tulle to reveal the main event. And, boy, are you shocked at what you come across.

It’s beautiful, of course, but the sight of the frilly, lacey lingerie that is revealed to you makes heat flood throughout your body. You suppress a whimper, rubbing your thighs together as you lift the corset out of the bag, warmth pulsing in between your legs.

It’s gleaming white, decorated with gold lace and tiny little beads littered on the bodice. On the back, there are multiple gold laces for you - or rather, Jiyong - to do up, the shape of the corset filling your hands as you examine it with wide eyes.

You can only guess how much this cost.

The silence of the bathroom is almost deafening as you shed your clothes, dropping them to the white marble floors of the bathroom in a heap. You’re suddenly glad that Chaeyoung had persuaded you to have a shower earlier to 'cleanse you of bad energy’ - whatever that meant - as you pull the matching underwear up your smooth legs.

“Daddy,” you call quietly, pushing the door open with one hand. The other holds the corset up against your chest, hiding the vast expanse of smooth, supple skin. “Can you do this up for me?”

You hear him take in a sharp breath, an over exaggerated sigh of breathlessness and a wow, look at you falling passed his lips, his lips parting in a mischevious smile. Jiyong’s quick to register your question, though, and in seconds he’s stood from the chair beside your bed and is behind you, moving your hair out of the way to give him access to your back.

“Beautiful,” Jiyong’s muttering to you, fingers nimbly doing the laces up in a matter of seconds. His hands linger on your back for a minute, your breath catching with anticipation, before they trail slowly and meaningfully to your sides, smoothing down non-existent wrinkles and his eyes drinking up your curves. “This might be my favourite one, baby…”

You turn to him, eyes narrowed in mock annoyance. “We have way more to go,” you remind him playfully, swinging your hips back and forth, turning in different positions for him to take a glimpse at you, “You can’t possibly know if this one is your favourite?”

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He raises an eyebrow, patting your bottom and directing you towards the bathroom - you say nothing about the obvious bulge in his pants, biting your lip with an excited giggle as you shut the bathroom door behind you.

The corset comes off easier than it was put on, a few tugs on the laces making it come undone and falling into your grasp. The underwear are second to go, and you almost feel regret at seeing them folded and back in their bags instead of on your body. They truly were a pleasure to wear - but on to the next bag, so!

You sit yourself on the toilet, spending a few seconds tapping your finger against your cheek, peering down at the multiple colourful bags surrounding your feet. Which one should you pick? Randomly, you grasp one of the bags by the handles, pulling it up onto your lap and anticipating what you would find:

Oh - wow. If you thought the last pair was beautiful, you were about to be completely blown away with this pair. In contrast to the light and pale colour scheme of the last pair, these were a deep, dark turquoise colour. The bra was decorated with gold chains and gold lace on the rim, and the underwear were the exact same. The vibrancy, the complimenting colours… the set was just beautiful - and easier to put on, too, you find, simply clasping the back of the bra together as you did with any other bra.

You actually can’t help but admire your appearance in the mirror; the way the fabric smooths over the curve of your ass, the way it pushed up your breasts, the colours suiting your skin tone perfectly - Jiyong clearly had good taste. Excitedly, you push the door open.

“Look at me!” You chirp happily, standing in front of him. He’s sitting on the chair again, and he can only watch you with dark eyes as you wiggle around, swaying your hips side to side to give him only the best angles. “I think this one will be my favourite…”

There’s still no answer from him, and you turn your head to look at him. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, his eyes trailing slowly from your head to your toes. He seems to realise that you were talking to him, and with a deep sigh, he meets your eyes. Then, to your surprise, a cheeky smile spreads over his handsome face as he pats his thigh warmly.

“Why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap, hm, princess?”

Princess. It was always princess when he was in this mood. You could only guess what this would lead to.

And you do, obediently, prim and proper as you daintily sit yourself on his lap. You can feel his bulge against your skin, and with all your self control, you refrain yourself from grinding against him. That was one of daddy’s rules, of course: no playing with daddy without his permission. The most irritating of all rules, but you learned not to question it.

“Look at you,” he coos, and you feel a hand hug you close around your waist, the other coming up to cup your cheek. You practically glow at the contact, nuzzling deeper into his touch with a joyful smile - this was what you craved. This touch, this emotion. This is what you needed. “My beautiful little princess.”

His expression dims for a second, his voice becoming quieter, more tender. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to take care of you lately. That’s one of my jobs, as your daddy, right? I know I’ve been doing a pretty horrible job lately-”

A noise of disagreement rises in your throat as you shake your head frantically, your eyes furrowing immensely. “N-no! Daddy, really, I don’t mind, I’m just being a bit over dramatic-”

He hushes you with a simple 'shh’, shaking his head lightly. “I know you want to see me more, and I’m planning to change that, okay? But for now,” he murmurs, the hand that had been holding you at your waist creeping up your back, “Let me take care of you, princess.

As if compelled, you’re nodding in seconds, excitement filling every nerve in your body as his lips are finally on yours. It feels as if you’ve finally drank water after being stranded in the desert for a year. It felt like forever since you and Jiyong had last played together… Eagerness takes hold lf your body, and before you know it, Jiyong is laughing against your lips, pulling away from you.

“Looks like you forgot all of our rules in my time away, huh?” He questions rhetorically, removing you from his lap easily and standing. He adjusts his pants awkwardly, before he’s turning to the dresser that’s beside the bed.

“But that’s my fault, isn’t it? So let’s try something,” he mutters, and he looks all too happy as he pulls out an equally all too familiar toy, bright purple and just waiting for the flip of the switch that would allow it to vibrate. You’re not ashamed to say that your mouth watered - a few weeks without getting to cum, and you get pretty desperate.

“I use your favourite toy on you, and if you manage to stay quiet, you get to have me. If you don’t manage to stay quiet, well then…” Jiyong trails off, a devilish smirk appearing on his face- “Punishments are always fun, too.”

“Lay down,” he continues softly, pressing a hand to your stomach, guiding you to lay down. Excitement runs through your veins like fire, and you have to stop yourself from curling your toes in anticipation as a low buzz fills the air.

Jiyong holds the toy in his hand, looking every bit like an artist, the toy his paintbrush, and you his canvas. He hovers over your bottom half, fingering at the brand new underwear that he had gotten just that day, and in a startling flash - he rips them.

You let out a squeal that you can’t contain, staring down at him in shock as he begins to place kisses over your hips, not phased one bit. “Daddy!” You gasp, “Those - those were my favourite!”

“Daddy will buy you another pair, princess,” Jiyong mutters, his lips sucking red and purple marks into your delicate skin. “But for now, you know the rules. No noises, you understand?”

Chest still heaving in shock, your eyebrows knitted together, you nod slowly, dropping back down from your elbows and onto the smooth, cool sheets. Now that you’ve gotten over the initial shock of Jiyong tearing your current favourite underwear in half, you can focus on the sensations being ministrated onto your body.

His lips are always so soft when they’re on you, his tongue wetting skin and confusing you amongst the flurry of kisses and teeth you feel. You know you’re going to wake up with a ring of hickeys on your stomach, but as he sucks hard on the skin of your hipbone, you really don’t care - you’re too busy shivering as he begins to trek over an extremely sensitive part.

You’d barely noticed when he spreaded your legs, if not for the fact that he rises into his knees. You notice that he’s managed to already have coated the toy in a fair amount of lube, and he’s ready to push it into you. Your stomach tenses, your joints locked and your breath halted as you feel the cool rubber against your overheated lower lips. And then - oh.

The stretch is delicious. After a few weeks of absolutely no sexual contact, you’ve become a lot stiffer, a lot tighter, and a whole lot more sensitive. It definitely shows, you think, as your back arches from the bed, your mouth open in a silent gasp. It feels as if you’ve been winded, and you can barely catch your breath before he’s pulling the toy out of you, and then slamming back in with such force that you almost want to cry.

No noises. No noises. No noises. You’re chanting to yourself, in rhythm with the heavy breaths that are escaping your lips. Lewd, wet sounds reverberate through the room, and the sound alone is enough to make you screw your eyes shut, feeling the pleasure attack you fiercely. It felt as if liquid fire was burning through your veins.

You can only take the pleasure, throwing your head back. Your fingers and toes are curling, your eyebrows furrowing as you try your absolute best not to make any sounds because you can feel the knot in your stomach about to come loose-

“You’re doing so well, princess,” you hear Jiyong murmur, and you know he’s grinning to himself as he watches you struggle to not make any noise, writhing in pleasure beneath him. He likes testing you - and you’re absolutely sure of this, especially when he suddenly reaches his other hand down and begins to rub fervently at your clit.

The stimulation on your bundle of nerves immediately sends you hurtling into an extremely powerful orgasm, and you’re pretty sure white clouds your vision, your legs shaking and your chest tight, your stomach clenching and unclenching as you take in what seems like gallons of air.

The toy stops inside of you when your orgasm fades into nothingness, and the only sounds you can hear are your heavy breaths and small whines. Your eyes are fluttering shut as you see Jiyong rise from his position, beginning to shed his own clothes, and despite the fatigue you feel in your bones, you’re almost strengthened by the excitement of what’s to come.

“You took it fantastically,” you hear him comment, a hand smoothing over your stomach. “All fours?”

Nodding in agreement, you flip over onto your hands and knees. All traces of tiredness seem to have dissipated into the air, and you find yourself pushing your ass back eagerly. You couldn’t wait anymore… It had been so long since you had felt him.

Luckily, it seems as if Jiyong couldn’t either, because suddenly he’s grasping your hips, his cock filling you in such a smooth movement that it takes your breath away. The toy doesn’t compare at all to this - not at all. Jiyong’s hands grabbing your hips, his grunts filling the air as he pushes himself back into you - even the feeling of him inside you is much more satisfying in comparison to the cold rubber of the dildo.

He begins a fast pace from the start, hips grinding against the skin of your ass, and the wet sounds of slapping skin echoing throughout the room. You hold yourself up strongly, rolling your hips against his thrusts and letting mewls and whimpers escape your lips.

“Fuck,” he groans, and you can tell he’s throwing his head back, his hands wandering from your hips to your ass, and back again. “I’ve missed this, princess.”

Jiyong ends his sentence with a hard spank, and the yelp that you give makes him grin, biting his lip as he continues to pump himself into you. You can barely keep up with his pace; your last orgasm made you extremely sensitive, and you can already feel the mind-dizzying pleasure on the tip of your tongue.

“Daddy,” you whimper, your mouth gaping open as you feel the beginning of your orgasm trail up your legs, only short breaths escaping your mouth as it heads straight for the tightening knot in your stomach. “Daddy - I-I think I’m gonna-”

You can’t finish your sentence. Your body heaves forward as your orgasm wracks your body, tears burning behind your eyes and your voice completely lost. Your arms that had previously been so strong buckle underneath you, and suddenly your face is buried into the soft duvets underneath you, your ass up and your face down as you take the thrusts Jiyong was giving. Seconds later, Jiyong lets out a long groan, and his hips still as he empties his load inside you, painting your walls with white.

For a while, you just stay in that position, him still inside you as you catch your breaths. Fatigue is quickly creeping into your limbs, but you’d rather stay like this and bask in the afterglow while you can. You knew this wouldn’t be happening again any time soon.

Soon, though, Jiyong sighs, easing himself out of you with a small groan. The previously comforting feeling of him inside of you quickly changes as you feel his seed begin to trickle out of you, down on to your thighs - but luckily, he was always prepared. In seconds, he’s beginning to clean you up with a damp cloth that he had retrieved from the bathroom.

The silence is all too silent, but you can’t gather the strength to break it. After two orgasms, your body is completely spent, and you feel your eyes fluttering close as you rest your head on the fluffy bed sheets.


“Up you get, love,” you hear him murmur. Love. It’s always this one after he’s just made love to you, and you can’t say that you hate it.

With a small groan, you move so that you’re sitting normally, wiping your eyes tiredly and blinking up at him. Jiyong lets out a gentle laugh as he sees your eyes droop again, and in seconds he’s gathered you in his arms and has began to walk towards the bathroom.

The floor is still covered with shopping bags full of what you can only guess is more lingerie, but he isn’t preoccupied by that. He’s managed to run a bath in the small time that you had been resting, and he places you in so gently you feel as if you’re being placed on a bed of clouds.

Jiyong holds you close, you in between his legs and his chin resting on your shoulder. It’s so quiet, the water is warm and you’re in his arms. There really isn’t anything you’d like more than this.

“What are you thinking about, love?” He murmurs in your ear, and you inhale deeply, your head lolling back onto his shoulder.

“I just know that we won’t be able to do this much anymore, daddy,” you hum back. He says nothing in response but you know he’s sorry - you know he’s thinking deeply about how he can fix your situation, but you there really isn’t any solution. Jiyong is a business man. You knew this would happen when you first met him. “I’m trying to savour it.”

“If I could do anything to fix this, I would,” his grip on you tightens, and suddenly you’re both closer, holding each other tighter. “But, hey, look on the bright side - you still have more things to try on, hm?”

A giggle fills the air, and you’re both smiling once again.

Kalagang #07

1x08 We Will All Be Judged By The Courage Of Our Hearts

In this episode, we get to see more of Wolfgang’s back story – specifically his relationship with Felix, and with Wolfgang’s abusive father. It’s heartbreaking to see Wolfgang suffered so much in the past, but at the same time we see Kala’s feeling towards him gets deeper as he opens up about his pain.

Kala: I was always afraid as a child. I couldn’t sleep if the light was off or it was too quiet. I don’t like the quiet. I used to fall asleep in my father’s restaurant. I’ve always hated being alone. (1x07)

At the rooftop of Ganesha’s temple, Kala told Wolfgang she doesn’t like the quiet or being alone. But here, we see Kala who is at the movies with her family – she is not alone, and it’s obviously not quiet because of the laughter from the audience – being not fine at all. She is crying because of Wolfgang; she is crying for him. It just shows how much Wolfgang has consumed her; how much he means to her.

Original post [x] @stevenrogered

In Berlin, Wolfgang is at the hospital after Felix got shot from Steiner. He is in a very quiet place, and he’s all alone now – another cinematographic contrast between two characters. And it’s also great to see that Kala who doesn’t like the quiet and being alone visits the place that is quiet and ‘lonely’. Wolfgang doesn’t even cry because he can’t. He doesn’t know how. He has forgotten how to cry.

Again, with Kalagang you can turn any place into somewhere romantic…and bathroom is definitely becoming their thing.

Original post [x] @fyeahmaxriemelt

Wolfgang tries to suppress the pain and anger all to himself like he used to, thinking that he’s alone. Then Kala shows up. When he senses Kala and looks right at her, he’s really surprised – not just by Kala’s presence, but also by her tears. She is literally crying for him. Wolfgang didn’t ask anyone for anything, and yet she is sharing his pain and sorrow.

So he has all these mixed feelings going on in a split second – sad, angry, surprised, sort of relieved to see her, and then like he’s having another moment of falling in love with her. I mean, wouldn’t you fall for someone if that person shares your pain and even cries for you, when you thought you’re alone in this world? I would.

Wolfgang: [What happened to him?] It was my fault. I wanted to prove something. I wanted to change something that can’t be changed. [What?] The past.

Original post [x] @fyeahmaxriemelt

Just look at how hurt he is. It’s so heartbreaking. Wolfgang was about to give himself another chance to believe in miracles – start a new life. He was ready to fly over to India to see Kala. He was so desperate to put the past behind him. Then this happened; the world once again pulled Wolfgang back to where he was. When Wolfgang tells Kala that it’s his fault Felix was attacked, I think he secretly also wanted to tell her – he really wanted to meet her in person, and it hurts because now he can’t.

The way Max delivered this whole scene where he talks about Wolfgang’s childhood was so good. So on point. You can feel the depth of his pain even before we actually hear his story.

Kala: You’ve known him a long time. How did you meet? [Detention]

Original post [x] @stilesbanshee

Look! Kala’s hand is on Wolfgang’s back (or is it his arm? whatever)! Last episode Wolfie touched her, and now, she’s touching him. Our Kalagang is getting closer to one another! It’s hard to see from this GIF, but if you go watch full episode (video) you’ll see Kala’s fingers gently stroking Wolfgang’s back. AH FEELS.

Felix: Wolfgang? Nobody’s named Wolfgang. OK…Wolfie. What are you in for? [Fighting] Cool.

Original post [x] @fyeahmaxriemelt

From here, we get to see Wolfgang’s relationship with Felix.

Wolfgang: Where are you? [At the movies. With my family] Makes sense. [Why?] Felix loved the movies. We cut school to watch films all the time.

Original post [x] @fyeahwolfiekala

The only times when Wolfgang smile like that – not the usual kind of smirk he does to others, but real, genuine, happy one – are when he’s with Felix, Kala, probably his mother, and his cluster. Right now, it’s just Felix and Kala.

Conan: No one will remember if we were good men or bad. All that matters is that two stood against many. So grant me one request. Grant me revenge! And if you do not listen…then to hell with you!

This film is one of the things that made Wolfgang who he is today. It’s not just a film which he and his best friend enjoyed watching when they’re little, it sort of gave young Wolfgang a kind of guidance for his chaotic life. So it’s like Conan is Wolfgang’s Ganesha, I guess.

Wolfgang: I don’t know why he liked me. In those days, when we moved from East to West Berlin, I was the kid everyone hated.

Original post [x] @wolvesinwinter

Here, we get a glimpse of what would Wolfgang do when he is in serious trouble: he doesn’t ask for help. He tries to take care of the problem all by himself. He protects the ones he cares by not letting them into this mess. And he fights…he fights hard.

No wonder Wolfgang doesn’t ever ask his cluster for help.

Original post [x] @iseeuvillain

This is why Wolfgang thinks of Felix as his brother. Because Felix never leaves him – he is always there for Wolfgang, and he always comes back for him.

Wolfgang: [That was your childhood?] No.That was nothing…compared to my father.

When Kala is shocked by his rough childhood, Wolfgang lets out a sigh mixed with chuckle as if that whole story he’s just told her was nothing. As soon as he is about to talk about his father, Wolfgang’s face stiffens. You can see how much Wolfgang’s already disgusted just by thinking of his father.

Anton: Life is just five things – eating, drinking, shitting, fucking…and fighting for more. I didn’t say anything about crying. Crying is for bitches. Is that what you [Wolfgang] are? A little bitch?

What’s so heartbreaking about this scene is that – not to mention how abusive Anton was – as much as Wolfgang hates his father, ironically, everything about Anton including his ‘motto’ influenced Wolfgang. It was inevitable that his father made Wolfgang who he is.

Because of his father, Wolfgang couldn’t cry – which explains why he doesn’t cry up to this day…as well as why he’s been suppressing his emotions.

Kala: He would do anything for you.

Original post [x] @kalagang

The way Kala is looking at Wolfgang – I thought this might be the first time when Kala saw something good and beautiful hidden inside of him. At that moment, she felt this deep, unbreakable, and pure friendship between Wolfgang and Felix. She felt how much Wolfgang loves and cares about his brother.

Wolfgang: He’s my brother, and not by something as accidental as blood…by something much stronger. [By what?] By choice.

Original post [x] @dizzeikipling

This line sort of emphasizes that Wolfgang is, again, the guy who does not believe in things like miracles. Because he believes in choice. To Wolfgang, his family was not his choice. To him, miracle is also not a choice; it’s something that just happens. It’s beyond his control.

And this makes Kalagang’s relationship so interesting because…Wolfgang who believes in choices is connected to Kala – the connection that is not based on choices; while Kala who believes in miracles is hesitating over a choice that may change her life. Each of them believes in something that other doesn’t…and now, they’re being challenged by what other believes in. I’m kinda rambling, but see what I mean?

The more I rewatch Kalagang moments, the more I realize how their relationship is so fabulously complicated – they are complete opposites, but they accept each other. At the same time, they challenge each other…and eventually build up this beautiful and intense relationship based on their differences.

Manendra: You are going to call up my son and you are going to tell him that you cannot marry him. [What?] You know in your heart that’s the right thing to do. I could see it in your eyes. That’s why you stopped the wedding to keep yourself from committing this terrible mistake. […] But now, luck has given us another opportunity to correct it. All we require is the will…

OK, to be honest, when Manendra visited the temple and told Kala that she should call off the wedding with Rajan, I screamed with joy. I was like ‘YES! FINALLY! Now she can see Wolfgang without feeling guilty! They can be together!’

and then this happens…oh dear.

Mad Max: Not Your Fight, Not Your Victory

The following is a guest essay/review/ramble about the Mad Max series by my fiancé Ryan Stevenson, a teacher/writer/filmmaker with a lot of thoughts about the movies that he mostly keeps to himself. He free-wrote his thoughts today after our viewing of Fury Road, and I thought they turned out to be substantial enough to warrant a place on the internet somewhere, so, here they are. 

-Lauren Wilford

You have a right to perform your prescribed duty, but you are not entitled to the fruits of action. Never consider yourself the cause of the results of your activities, and never be attached to not doing your duty.

-The Bhagavad-Gita

Fury Road plays your sympathetic nervous system like a slide guitar. Fury Road makes every fiber of your body scream GO! for exactly two hours on the dot. Fury Road is somehow both wild, indulgent excess, where everything goes obscenely beyond what is necessary, and a razor-sharp, drum-tight, whistle-clean cinematic machine without an ounce of fat on its bones.

Needless to say I loved it. A few students and friends urged me to go see it, and asked what I thought of it, and Iʼm still processing it, so Iʼm writing it all out here. I havenʼt read any reviews yet, and a lot of this is probably stuff other people have already said better than I will. I donʼt know where to start so Iʼll just list some stray observations at first. Itʼs going to ramble a bit because Iʼve got limited time (and have been reading a lot of David Foster Wallace, which is probably rubbing off on me).


As much as I love unexpected eye-of-the-storm scenes—sudden, surreal slacking of tension for a moment of sanctuary and introspection and mystical sights—I love that this movie has precisely zero of those scenes. It has moments of quiet, but these intensify rather than assuage the anguish and urgency. The image of Immortan Joeʼs horrid Car-mada shimmering through the heatwaves on the horizon, while Max and Furiosa stare each other down in a grunting, grudging standoff, provides a textbook example of how to take tense stillness and ratchet it up into nightmarish paralysis. Again, you could feel a hundred people straining against plush seats and silently screaming GO! JUST GO!


Tom Hardy is arguably the first to put the “Mad” in Max. Mel Gibson can do arguably the most effective crazy-eye of any leading man in the history of cinema. But until now, Mad Max has been an ironic nickname—no matter how crazy his eye or his hairstyle, Gibsonʼs Max seems almost frustrated to keep finding himself one of the sanest men in a world gone utterly nuts. The opening lines of Fury Road hit this nail right on the head for us, leaving the rest of the film for Max to go full-Macbeth-mad, half-blinded by the squeak and gibber of sprites showing what was, is, and shalt be.

(I wonder if Iʼm the only one wishing Hardy had been cast as the tortured king instead of Michael Fassbender. Then again, Iʼm guilty of wishing every leading role today would go to Tom Hardy.)

All that being said, thereʼs also a part of me that wishes that aging, wild-eyed, socially- disgraced Mel Gibson had been brought back to play Max again in this film—his prodigious talent and prodigious baggage would have both made this new, tortured Max even more fascinating, and his transformation even more powerful.


Ridley Scott et al. have already authored the handbook on how to adjust the shutter for expressionistic effect, not just illusory deceit, in action scenes. Undercranking/fast motion has, like shutter angle, been used for years to subtly and imperceptibly add speed and spice to combat. But as far as I can tell, itʼs always been surreptitious “movie magic” (boy do I hate that expression), an under-the-table, wink-wink, I-wonʼt-tell-if-you-wonʼt transaction with the viewer, a pact to suspend disbelief and give the filmmakers a break. Old cinema hands appreciate the sleight of hand and feel superior about it, wide-eyed rubes donʼt even know itʼs happening.

Fury Road is the first film Iʼve seen, outside of Chaplinesque comedy, where fast motion is used without apology and without disguise. Because the whole apparatus of cinematic motion is an illusion anyway, right? Time is always being manipulated in an action movie, in order to throw our metabolism into high gear for a few hours, to give us a rush. Usually this is pulled off through quick cutting (which there are some stunning examples of here). Miller has just taken this to the logical conclusion, and rather than trimming out unnecessary shots, heʼs just giving us a fraction of the frames weʼre used to seeing. Because thatʼs what we want, right? We want things to go fast? Here you go. Things go fast now. Itʼs brilliant. Itʼs metacinematic. And it works like gangbusters. Your nervous system doesnʼt care that itʼs unrealistic, even if your thinking brain notices the trick.


So much nonsense is spread around film schools and critical circles about “taking people out of the moment,” “ruining the illusion,” and so on by calling attention to the camera or the cutting or the film style. Fury Road shows just how little that matters. Itʼs an art film, really, because like all modernist art it demands, at all times, that you think about it as a movie, as an illusion, as the handiwork of a team of humans behind the curtain. Your brain knows that the whole time, and it doesnʼt matter one bit to your body. Youʼre still all-in and amped-up.

The nearest recent analogy here is Joe Wrightʼs Anna Karenina, which pulls off the same trick of intellectual meta-artistic alienation and simultaneous total emotional investment.

Maybe this is going to be one of the great productive problems of 21st century art and letters, actually. How do we learn the lessons of modernism and postmodernism, and stop hiding our tools and authorship, while letting go of some of the wry irony and cynicism of the late 20th century and using art sincerely again, for emotional and moral catharsis, even while acknowledging the artifice of the medium?


The score! Itʼs like George Crumb on crack, Philip Glass on methamphetamine, Terry Riley with tachycardia. The minimalist repetitions are less like an entrancing mantra and more like tweaking out, scratching a compulsive itch. Itʼs more intense than any score Iʼve heard lately, but it doesnʼt overpower, interrupt, announce itself like Hans Zimmerʼs score to, say, Interstellar (or anything really). Itʼs just barely keeping up with the frenetic image track. Anything less would be left in the dust by the rip-roaring editing and the titanic framings. It wails and dips, shrieks and shivers, moans and cackles, whispers compulsively and shouts profanely, judders around like a rusty wind-up toy or a daddy longlegs on a bad trip. Iʼm writing this while I listen to it, which is probably why my prose is all over the place.


At the end of the movie, Lauren turned to me and said something to the extent of “that was amazing” (or something, but it was more eloquent than that, clearly my poor memory of this exchange has something to do with the fight-or-flight state we were both in). And I said something like, “yeah, it was certainly pretty good” (or something, but it was no more eloquent than that).

Iʼm trying to figure out why I said that. Obviously my expectations were already really high, and I think itʼs because Fury Road didnʼt completely blow my mind and shatter my sense of cinemaʼs potential. And I think there are two reasons for that.

First, I think itʼs because I had seen the previous three Mad Max movies this week and Fury Road, to me, seems like no more or less than the natural destination for that uneven, weird and wonderful journey, the culmination of Dr. Millerʼs decades of brilliant, twisted, often-abominable, frequently doomed-to-failure experimentation in film form and content.

Fury Road is not an exception or a reinvention or an improvement to the original Mad Max movies, so much as a Mad Max movie where all the parts actually work, and thereʼs enough money to pay for all the gear and manpower it needs. Where the Marlovian over-reaching hubris of George Miller, deliberately denied its demands for decades, instantly gets everything it always wanted and knew it deserved.

Students and colleagues know that I have a self-imposed limitation for myself, sort of like one of Lars von Trierʼs Rules of Chastity. I never want my resources to exceed my skills, or my technology to exceed my talent. I want to make sure I earn, with years of frustrated labor, every bit of upgraded gear I buy. I want to struggle against, and even hate, the limits of the equipment I have, so that Iʼm forced to be creative with it, use it for unwarrantied, off-label applications, and generally make the most of it, suck every ounce of life out of it, and drive it into the ground before I graduate to the next thing. Iʼve found that this makes me a poorer technician, and often poorer crew worker, because Iʼm never up to date, but a better artist because it stretches me.

After watching this series, Iʼm tempted to call this the George Miller Path to Artistic Excellence. Every one of the original Mad Max movies has the deck stacked against it, either by circumstance or money or the constraints of the medium or by knowingly- unreasonable directorial ambition. That is, if the deck wasnʼt stacked against Miller from the get-go, it seems like he restacked it until it was. Every time, I think he looked at his gear, his budget, his crew, and his own talent and expertise, and said to himself, not “what can I do with this,” but “what can I just barely NOT quite manage to do with this,” and then tried to do that. Thatʼs how I work, too.

I think the second reason I wasnʼt totally overwhelmed is because I saw Snowpiercer last year, which already elevated my expectations of what an action movie could do, artistically and imaginatively and narratively and rhythmically and neurochemically and socio-politico-morally. Fury Road pulls off the same stunt a second time, and helps establish that the first experiment wasnʼt a fluke, that the results are valid because theyʼre repeatable. The greater reach and success of Fury Road (I think? Seems like itʼs more well-known, anyway) means that no one can claim they didnʼt get the memo on the new standards for action filmmaking. It sets the bar a whole lot higher for everyone. I dearly hope this provides the competition, check, and corrective the superhero industry so badly needs. I hope it lights a fire under Marvel, in particular—makes it get off its butt and hustle to keep up.

Watching The Avengers: Age of Ultron this week was actually the perfect palate cleanser. Hereʼs the best that mainstream action-adventure movies, as we know them, can offer in 2015. Now hereʼs Fury Road.

Lauren rightly observed that Fury Road makes The Avengers look like a TV show with a generous effects budget. Except a few sort of obvious hey-all-the-protagonists-are-in-the-same-frame-right-now moments, thereʼs not a lot of powerful iconography generated within the the eighteen-hours-or-whatever running time of Age of Ultron. In Fury Road, thereʼs not a frame wasted on anything that isnʼt a perfectly-composed, never-before-seen image that takes full advantage of the complete toolkit of cinema, both historic and modern, practical and intellectual.

If thereʼs anything that separates movies from TV these days, I think thatʼs probably it. The extent of the deliberate cinematic craftsmanship of each moment thatʼs expected of a film—in addition to writing and storytelling, which a TV show can do as well or better. (And it probably means that a lot of TV shows are really more like cinema—The Knick being my favorite example—and a WHOLE lot of movies, indies especially, are really more like TV episodes. Itʼs probably a flawed definition in the first place, but those are my feelings, in this year of my life at least.)


And not to keep bashing The Avengers, but the theme of last nightʼs conversation was how come we donʼt care what happens to Iron Man really, but are apoplectic with fear for the fate of Furiosa and four or five girls weʼve only known for fifteen minutes. I think this is because getting to know and love a character over time offers, in the end, a weaker jolt than the more purely mechanical effect of clearly establishing real danger and real stakes in the script.

It’s because the Marvel movies are basically just cartoons, and because we know that even supporting characters probably wonʼt meet with difficult or unhygienic deaths, and because we know that the main characters are going to be fine because theyʼre starring in movies we already know the names of, to be released five or ten years from now. This led Lauren and me into a digression about Game of Thrones killing its lead characters without warning, etc., which I think actually helps establish a more ethical, decentralized, community-minded view of the world for the viewer, etc.

Iʼd say the same thing about Fury Road. Max might not die, but he might, and everyone else is absolutely fair game. And above all, fates that are physically and existentially much worse than death are very plausibly advertised to, and visited upon, lots of characters in this movie and in this series. We REALLY donʼt want those things to happen, and our brains are straining pretty hard to will those things not to happen.

And thatʼs not just a thrill ride for us to enjoy, but a pretty damning moral exercise, because itʼs impossible not to step out of this movie and realize that to a greater or lesser degree, the exaggerated torments of the post-apocalyptic world are actually happening, on micro and macro scales, in our own neighborhoods. I donʼt know if we really have global supervillains like Loki or Hydra or Ultron to worry about in our immediate daily lives (some of my libertarian friends will likely disagree with me there). But in our own immediate local communities, we do have dangerous patriarchal fallacies, and sexual abuses on a wide scale, and toxic narratives about war and combat and the glories of “Valhalla” and manning up, and itʼs all surprisingly recognizable even in a fabulous, allegorical format. Itʼs all stuff that, like Max, we slowly realize weʼre standing right in the middle of. The moral spotlight is on us, weʼre not anonymous, weʼre not bystanders who are just passing through. And we actually can, and therefore must, do something about this stuff, about the behavior of the very people we know immediately around us.

The particular moral trumpet-call for each viewer is probably different, but the thing that spoke to me most directly was the character Nuxʼs storyline. As someone who works with a lot of adolescent guys, caught between notions of boyhood and manhood (and to make matters potentially more confusing, growing up in a world teetering slowly and very unevenly from patriarchy towards feminism as the prevailing ideology), Nux struck me as a very accurate portrait. A passionate, impressionable, sincere young guy who takes the more habitual, or sensible, or involuntary conservatism of his elders, and whips it up into partisan extremism, dark anger, and shows of machismo, feeling that itʼs his ticket to the adultsʼ table. To see Nux fired up, broken down, and relearning what heroism can and should look like in a freer, healthier world is inspiring stuff. Itʼs particularly reassuring for an educator to see that guys like this can—and do, and will— grow up and turn out OK.

The tremendous amount of sympathy and dignity Fury Road offers Nux, while still revealing the immaturity and insufficiency of his view of the world, sets it apart from being just a hateful feminist screed against manhood qua manhood (I think fewer of these exist than a lot of people fear, but whatever), and makes me take the movie much more seriously as a work striving for total empathy (which is what I’d say drama is ultimately for).


On the subjects of dark anger and shows of machismo, though: I havenʼt read it yet, but I understand that thereʼs an article out there written by a Menʼs Rights Activist-type (or possibly Christian Complementarian Godly-masculinity type) who is mightily cheesed off about Fury Road. Specifically, that Mad Max himself is routinely playing second fiddle to Imperator Furiosa, and is practically a guest-star in his own movie, and spends most of his time getting put in unpleasant binds, literally and figuratively, rather than kicking a lot of ass.

Iʼm not going to dignify this with a lot of comment about why female characters deserve as much agency in films as men do, because everyone knows I think that and everyone I know thinks that and we should hold that truth to be self-evident by now.

But I do think itʼs a point worth addressing, not only from a feminist-standpoint, but from a Mad-Max-standpoint—which I think any purported fan of Mad Max, feminist or not, should be able to get behind.


Iʼll backtrack a little to build up to this argument. This week I saw all three original Mad Max films for the first time. In spite of what you may hear about Fury Road standing alone, I do strongly recommend seeing the first three first (if youʼre over 18 and/or have a particularly strong stomach for gore and grotesquerie).

The movies are just nuts, theyʼre all over the place, theyʼre a mess, and I feel a very tender affection for them. The first one barely makes narrative sense at all and is better enjoyed as if it were a Godard film or something. The second, The Road Warrior, (aka “the one people have actually seen,” I guess) is self-evidently strong on its own merits without me needing to point them out, but is also deeply weird and unsettling and misshapen in subtle ways. (The preponderance of leather chaps and dearth of pants, for one. Lauren calls this installment Ass Max.) The third, Beyond Thunderdome, didnʼt even start out as a Mad Max story on the page, Max just got grandfathered in (which, I think, is significant).

Theyʼre all three pretty weird. Itʼs hard to know who theyʼre meant for—kids? adults? The third in particular gets infected with Spielberg-Goonies-1980s childish whimsy in its action scenes, but forgets to clean up the gore and existential body-horror that would make such a change remotely appropriate for young audiences.

In the end, theyʼre, objectively, maybe not very good, and certainly wildly inconsistent, both intra- and inter-movie. But they remind me of the many other crazy, probably not objectively-always-great, undeniably-visionary series I love, series that also have no consistency, no polish or professionalism, and too many wild aspirations for artistic greatness.

The Mad Max movies are certainly heirs of Sergio Leoneʼs Dollars Trilogy, evident in their wandering, taciturn protagonist, stunning desert cinematography, etc. (and Beyond Thunderdome cribs from Lawrence of Arabiaʼs visuals a lot, on that note). But also in the way the cast and characters get recycled, transmogrified, redeployed out of context. Bruce Spence is an aircraft pilot in the third Mad Max movie who both seems like he sort of is but then definitely isnʼt the same pilot from the second movie, like Lee Van Cleef playing the pretty menacing ultimately-good-guy Mortimer in For a Few Dollars More but then playing the fascinating but-wholly-bad Angel Eyes in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Gian Maria Volonté does the same thing with two wholly unrelated main characters in the first two Dollars movies.

And in the way that Clint Eastwoodʼs Man with No Name is actually a man with three names (Joe, Manco, Blondie), one for each film, and may or may not be the same continuous personality from movie to movie. In a way, the three movies make more sense if heʼs just a repeated concept of a character who gets into three similar but ultimately non-continuous adventures in three parallel universes or something (which are evidently populated by various Lee Van Cleefs and Gian Maria Volontés).

I like to think that Mad Max is might be a similar stock type, played three times by Mel Gibson but maybe not entirely the same character each time, getting into various scrapes in three separate instantiations of what post-apocalyptic Australia might look like. And as if to cement this interpretation for Fury Road, Miller follows Leone in recasting the primary antagonist from the first movie, Hugh Keays-Byrne, as a totally different primary antagonist in the fourth film.

The Mad Max movies also resemble the Alien series, in that each movie works hard to undermine the world built by the director of the last movie and replace it with something that the current director finds more applicable to the problems of our time. Except that Mad Max is all directed by the same guy who just keeps changing his mind and gets more money to work with each time. (Another similarity with the Alien series.) And like the Alien movies, Miller seems to struggle each time to figure out who his movie is for, what genre it belongs in (if any), what contemporary trends it should imitate (theme songs? saxophones? slapstick? kiddie stuff? Tina Turner?), whether it should be darkly funny (like Alien 4) or or somberly meditative (Alien 3) or horrific (1) or straight-up action-packed (2), and so on and so forth.

As many of my students and colleagues know, I love any movie thatʼs a big awful mess, where the seams and patches are showing, because that prompts me to think about the process of creation, about ambition, about intention and execution, about vision, about art frankly. Mad Max movies offer these meditations in spades, and on top of that are exciting and visually breathtaking and above all, a little like many other things, but ultimately like nothing else. Which is another way for an artwork to earn its place in the canon, for me—if nothing else is quite like it.

Passivity 2

But perhaps the thing I love most about Mad Max is that “a Mad Max movie” means not so much that Mad Max is the protagonist, or that heʼs even on screen very much, but that it takes place in a certain world (or rather, one instantiation of a certain type of world). And Mad Max himself is, increasingly as the series goes on, merely one citizen of that world, a world that he keeps discovering is bigger than he imagined.

And it becomes clear, slowly, that Maxʼs place in that world is both more important and less important than he might think. I think this makes a great statement about cinema— about narrative, about the whole notion of protagonists in the first place—and about what individual human action is and isnʼt worth in the real world.

In the first movie, Mad Max is barely there (much less Mad, a description he only gets a minute from the end credits) for probably the first forty minutes, a fact that most summaries of the film conveniently forget when they recount the fifteen-minute quest for revenge that provides the most memorable (because most nearly intelligible) straightforward plot in the film. In the second film, The Road Warrior, Max is a jaded self-serving survivalist who happens to wander into a conflict between townsfolk and bandits, and gradually becomes enmeshed in it, until itʼs obvious that neither circumstance nor conscience will allow him to stand idly by. Itʼs very much a samurai story or gunslinger story or Han Solo story. Importantly, though, even after he does his (significant but not irreplaceable) part in saving the townsfolk, he cannot be part of their world, and disappears into the sunset like so many of his archetypal forbearers. In the end, we even realize that it was never his story—the opening voiceover belongs to an unexpected character, and we were really telling the story of this character and his people, not Max himself, the whole time.

In the third film, heʼs hailed as a possible savior by two very different communities—one ruthlessly mercantile and industrial, one primitive and tribal—but is reluctant to take on either messianic mantle, neither of which turn out to be a good fit anyway. In the end, his actions manage to help steer both communities towards safety and stability, but sort of by accident, and the real peace comes from the actions of two complex, visionary women (Tina Turner and that tribal girl who provides the end narration) who each pull civilization up by its bootstraps and reinvent history itself.

Both The Road Warrior and Beyond Thunderdome are classical epics, really, each concerned with the founding and fate of a nation, led by an extraordinary, visionary hero. But Max is never this hero, nor is it his nation. And he plays an even less active role in Beyond Thunderdome than in The Road Warrior, left more and more to nurse his own psychological wounds, and marvel at the ingenuity and fortitude of mankind, which continues to survive and thrive produce new heroes in spite of his action or inaction.

(Meta-cinematically, behind the scenes, Beyond Thunderdome was a story Miller wanted to tell, about the tribe of feral youngsters reinaugurating the cycle of human history, and Mad Max himself was, as much as anything, a convenient and financially-viable pretext to tell that story. He literally stumbles into the tribeʼs story and stumbles out of it again. He realizes that nothing thatʼs happening is ultimately for, or about, him, as much as it might appear to be at first. And, appropriately, the film itself was never really meant to be about him anyway.)

On-screen, over the course of three films, Max comes to realize simultaneously that no man is an island (in spite of his efforts to withdraw from civilization entirely, the moral demands of the world come find him and force him to give a damn about other people if he wants to survive) while simultaneously coming to the uncomfortable realization that he is not special or indispensable.

This is why, for me, Fury Road is the perfect culmination of Maxʼs arc (again, allowing for the fact that this particular postapocalyptic Australia-or-wherever might not be precisely the same as before, and this Max neither comes before nor after Gibsonʼs but might exist parallel to him. That is, Fury Road must come after Beyond Thunderdome in the myth cycle, but may not have any specific relationship to it on an ordered, linear timeline. Itʼs hard to precisely date, or even order, any installment. (The Dollars trilogy has the same fascinating problems.)

By Fury Road, Max is even more psychologically scarred, even more withdrawn and focused on survival at any cost, and even less the savior everyone expects. He spent much of Beyond Thunderdome trapped, bound, hanging from chains, held at gunpoint, and otherwise powerless and incapacitated, and Fury Road takes his sufferings and indignities to new levels.

Max has always been a character that things happen to, rather than a character who makes things happen. Heʼs perhaps the most consistently passive action hero I can think of. The fact that he plays second fiddle to Charlize Theronʼs Furiosa is not so much some sinister feminist coup as a natural continuation of this tendency.

As in The Road Warrior and Beyond Thunderdome, thereʼs not much Max wants in Fury Road besides his freedom, his relative physical safety, and a vehicle fast enough to help him maintain these. But as in the earlier movies, the road to independence and safety merges unavoidably with the path towards altruism and duty, and Max finds himself traveling on both for a few miles before realizing that community is its own kind of freedom, and duty is its own reward. When the time comes, he neglects to take the exit ramp to solitary safety, and throws in his lot with the community for a little while.

This means, though, that Max is always arriving a little late to the party. His arrival definitely changes things, and when he throws his resources into the pool, it suddenly makes possible certain risky schemes the community was cooking up before his arrival. “Hereʼs a guy who could help us drive the gasoline rig and break Humungusʼ siege.” “Hereʼs a guy who could defeat Blaster in the Thunderdome and undermine the pig- plant strike.” “Hereʼs a guy who could lead us to Tomorrow-Morrow land and back to civilization.” “Hereʼs a guy who could co-pilot the war rig while I deal with the bikers so we can get the wives to the Green Place. Max might be the man for the job.” (In at least half of these situations, Max is actually not quite the right man after all.)

In any case, the communities are far from powerless before Max arrives. He doesnʼt take any time to enlighten their savagery or perform feats they were too weak or naive to accomplish. He just pitches in, usually after much cajoling and bargaining. And when the community succeeds, itʼs not about Max. Itʼs their victory, because it was their suffering, their plan, their bravery, and their struggle and sacrifice that pulled it off.

True, Max did what was asked of him (usually a little less)—initially for reward, but ultimately because he acknowledged some inner sense of fellowship, empathy, conscience, humanity.

But this admission of common humanity is not a supererogatory heroic feat deserving of accolades and parades. Itʼs whatʼs asked of everyone equally. Itʼs the debt everyone owes everyone else from the moment weʼre born. Youʼre not special for doing it. Youʼre just doing your duty.

Thatʼs what the series is about, if you ask me.

By Fury Road, Max knows this drill. He doesnʼt expect to have to go through it again (privately, he really would rather be left alone with his own demons). But heʼs game. And it would be pretty senseless, tactically, for him to barge in and pretend he knows better than the people who designed the operation in the first place. (I guess I should go ahead and say “mansplain” here.)

I guess this is all to say I donʼt know what alternative the mens-rights or complementarian types would propose which wouldnʼt be, from a military standpoint, pretty dumb.

I think these guys are upset that it seems like itʼs almost Furiosaʼs movie, even though itʼs called Mad Max. They feel like they didnʼt get what it said on the package label, and didnʼt get what they paid for. What they paid for, they think, was a movie in which a man named Max is mad, and drives a dangerous car.

The fact is, though, it seems like itʼs almost Furiosaʼs movie because it IS Furiosaʼs movie. The same way Mad Max was Jim Gooseʼs movie as much as anything, and The Road Warrior was the Kidʼs origin story, and Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome is a sort of positive spin on Lord of the Flies written by George Miller that just happens to borrow the name Mad Max, and had to borrow Max himself along with it.

In other words, no Mad Max movie is ultimately about Mad Max. “Mad Max” is just what we call movies about duty and community set in a post-apocalyptic Australian wasteland with skinheads driving souped-up murder cars.


With all this in mind, it occurs to me that Fury Road could be the closest thing we have to a handbook for how men should relate to the feminist movement (or white people to racial equality movements, and so on). Itʼs your fight, but remember that itʼs their fight. Itʼs on you, but itʼs not for you. Their victory will be good for you, too, in the end, but you donʼt do it because itʼs good for you. Do it because itʼs good for them. And do it because itʼs just how things should be.

Along the same lines, Fury Road is the perfect antidote to the bad aftertaste left by white savior fantasies like Avatar.

And really, the whole series is great for this stuff—again, The Road Warrior and Beyond Thunderdome do exactly the same thing. To my mind, the only shortsightedness of the feminist hoopla surrounding Fury Road is that the Mad Max series has pretty much always had a great track record with this sort of thing, and Fury Road both is and isnʼt something special to celebrate.

It maybe just took Fury Road to make us realize that allyship—which I guess Iʼd define, in this case, as consenting to the dawning moral realization that you should, and must, subject your own needs and privileges and rights to fight for something that will not chiefly benefit you, and for which moreover you deserve no special credit for helping to bring about—is what Mad Max has always been about, to greater and greater extents as the series goes on.

(As I write this, I have just gotten into a short discussion with world-class barista and notoriously hard-to-please cinephile Lucas Alvarez, who gives Fury Road a 6 out of 10, partly because he doesnʼt feel the Max of Fury Road fills the shoes left by the Mel Gibson Max of the Road Warrior. I just told him what Iʼm trying to tell you, and he sees my point. But I guess this means the decentralization of Max as protagonist strikes other viewers as strange and unduly passive, even if theyʼre not menʼs-rights or complementarian types. Lucas, a feminist, also doesnʼt see why Fury Road gets so much press for being a feminist work when thereʼs a lot more feminist work out there and Fury Road could certainly be a lot more explicitly feminist than it is. My point is mostly that if a movie thatʼs pretty much just straight action scenes for can still manage to speak to concerns about patriarchal society and give its female characters agency and independence, without breaking a sweat, then that certainly sets the bar a lot higher for movies that have the luxury of long dialogue scenes and whatnot. I think whatʼs most feminist about Fury Road is that itʼs pretty ordinary and commonsensical in its treatment of male and female characters. If that looks hyperfeminist, that says a lot about the regressiveness of the films being released alongside it, and about us as consumers, who have been blithely accepting such films for so long. It sure makes Marvelʼs whole “hey we have Black Widow weʼve got lady concerns in our movies too” gambit look pretty paltry in comparison.)

(I guess Iʼd say that Fury Road is a feminist film insofar as itʼs the sort of story that would be more or less standard mainstream entertainment if we lived in a more equal society. The fact that we think itʼs really weird and wild and original in its treatment of gender just shows how unequal our society still is.)


This is a side point about female action heros and such, another thing Fury Road handles remarkably well. Nowadays at least, it tends to read pretty well when female characters have to fight a bunch of male antagonists (in films like Kill Bill, for example). We understand it as both a narrative necessity (bad guys prevent heroine from getting what she wants or needs, threaten her physical safety, she deals with them accordingly) and as a productive thought-provoking metaphor for the state of gender relations at large (in which bad guys stand in for forces of oppression and heroine stands in for the struggles of all women to be themselves, achieve personal goals, etc.)

But what to do when male characters must fight women? Doesnʼt this get tangled up with issues of violence against women, domestic violence, and so on? Isnʼt it irresponsible to put such a thing on screen?

Itʼs a problem thatʼs often invoked, in good faith, by feminists, and in bad faith by patriarchal male thinkers. (I call it bad faith because itʼs not so much that they care about the question itself, but because they chiefly want to find as many reasons as possible why we shouldnʼt have female action heros, or female soldiers in real-world combat, or women taking martial arts lessons, or whatever, and they think this is one of them.)

The most explicit unpacking of this conundrum Iʼve seen lately was in the climax of 22 Jump Street, although they didnʼt offer many progressive solutions to it, and ended up being paralyzed by the charactersʼ regressive attitudes. And there are other films that have male heroes engaged in combat with female villains, or female characters engaged in combat with male characters for other reasons (I feel like Black Widow in the Marvel films fights some superhero at some point). But every time Iʼve seen it, the film has made some effort to call attention to the fact that the character is a girl, and that that means violence against her is in someway a transgression of proper boundaries (even if itʼs a necessary one from a plot standpoint).

In all cases, the film goes way out of its way to show that the hero is conflicted about having to punch a lady, because sheʼs fragile and it would be unchivalrous, and so on. The film also goes way out of its way to show, and tell, that the woman is a woman, in case somehow you missed that part. Sheʼll have some wisecrack about being a girl, sheʼll break a nail and get upset, sheʼll be wearing some hyperfeminine (usually highly sexualized) outfit, or sheʼll just make a lot of yelps and whimpers at key moments to make the audience worry that the evil damsel is in too much distress. Or the whole business is played for comedy, which is usually worse in the end.

Iʼm trying to think of other examples, but none come to mind: Maxʼs fistfight with Furiosa might be the ONLY time Iʼve ever seen a male protagonist fight a female combatant on screen without hearing the filmmakers tee-heeing about it from behind the camera. Without the female character in some way being framed as a victim and the male one as a transgressor. Without the female character appearing waiflike or fragile or histrionic or hormonal, or alternatively, brutish and horrifying and somehow abominable because sheʼs too much like a man or something. Without the filmmakers implying that the male characterʼs very manhood is on the line if he either wins too unchivalrously, or loses too abjectly.

But this is a lot of patriarchal crap, so Miller just ignores it and barges through it. By staging and shooting this fight straight, impartially, and above all, well, Miller manages to neither apologize for nor sidestep the issue. He reveals it to be fundamentally a non-issue. Max fights Furiosa because he wants the truck, and because she canʼt let him take it. So they beat the tar out of each other. Thereʼs no chivalry, thereʼs no quarter, thereʼs no quipping, thereʼs no hand-wringing, thereʼs no irony, thereʼs no apology, thereʼs no allegory, thereʼs no sexual tension. And it makes us wonder why any of us felt we needed any of that in the first place.

(Once again, though, the groundwork for this was laid pretty well in Beyond Thunderdome, when Max decides he needs to knock out the young female leader of the tribe of children. Thereʼs a brief twinge of uncertainty on Maxʼs face, as though heʼs just realized sheʼs a girl, and is embarrassed to even be in such a situation where heʼd have to punch a girl, but then he sort of shrugs himself out of it, as if to say, well, I was already about to knock this person out, why does it make any difference to me that sheʼs female?)


On the subject of sexual tension, this is another thing I totally love about the Mad Max movies: except for his wife in the first film, Max never has a love interest. The movies never even play up a will-they-or-wonʼt-they tension between Max and a female character.

This is not to say that we as the viewers donʼt automatically think that any time we see a reasonably attractive female character on screen, Max is likely to notice her and weʼre likely to have some flirty banter coming up. But he never does, and it never goes anywhere. And we quickly realize that there were never any cues for a romantic liaison anywhere onscreen other than “thereʼs a pretty lady,” and weʼre so conditioned to expect any and all pretty ladies to get matched up with our male protagonists that we assume this one is headed straight for Maxʼs bedroom one way or another. We make up our romantic suspense out of whole cloth, and the joke is completely on us if weʼre expecting such a thing to happen.

I donʼt think this is just my male gaze talking, since while we were watching the original trilogy, Lauren was just as strongly expecting Max to hook up with one of the female characters whenever they showed one. “Oh hey, this must be the babe,” sheʼd say, predicting the next step in the 80s-action formula.

Afterward she astutely summed up the sexual dynamics of the complete series as “Mad Max: No Time to Bang.” The most explicit visual articulation of this comes in The Road Warrior, when a soldier of the besieging scavenger army and his lady friend are caught au naturel and in flagrante when their makeshift tent gets blown away by a passing vehicle. But thatʼs pretty much the reality for everyone in the Mad Max universe, and rightly so: this is not a story where characters have a lot of leisure to check out and chat up an attractive fellow survivalist while theyʼre barreling down the blacktop and bombarded by exploding spears thrown by mohawked hooligans.

The reason Max and Furiosa arenʼt flirting isnʼt that theyʼre reminding themselves to be polite and respect professional boundaries. Itʼs because theyʼre cognizant of the buzzsaw-wielding berserkers on the roof. Max isnʼt being gentlemanly, heʼs just not stupid enough to wonder whether a woman driving a tanker truck at a hundred miles an hour might be doing so for his attention or arousal. And vice versa for Furiosa. And when you think about it, very rarely should there be time for such a thing in our own workplaces, either, even though so many men decide to take time out of their (and their female coworkersʼ) busy schedules for it. We would all do well to remember that frankly, there is just no time to bang.


I just think it was cool how we devolved from gasoline as the rare, universally-desired McGuffin commodity of The Road Warrior, to methane and pig poop and, by extension, pig bodies as the commodities of Beyond Thunderdome, to human bodies as the commodity of Fury Road. Fluids like milk, blood, and so on, treated with the same dispassionate utilitarianism as we treat gasoline today. Dante would have gotten a huge kick out of the opening scenes where Max undergoes the ultimate contrapasso-style infernal punishment, paying for his old lust for gasoline by becoming the “gas tank” for a demonic fiend. And his redemptive decision to undergo the same indignity to save another human soul at the end. We could theologize all day about this one.

Based on the ideas of passivity and duty and sacrifice-without-reward above, a section could be written called The Universal Donor, considering Maxʼs blood type as an allegory for his character arc, but thatʼs actually the extent of my observation just now.


From The Road Warrior on, but especially after Fury Road, I have to feel that Jodorowskyʼs sprawling microbudget ultra-violent surrealist-religio-humanist epic El Topo was an artistic touchstone for George Miller, and that makes me happy.

Particularly the heroʼs descent from active to passive, selfish to self-sacrificing, and (most sacrificially of all) from protagonist to supporting character.

As I learned from reading the A.V. Club, the other spiritual sibling of Fury Road circulating in todayʼs zeitgeist is, get this, The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. And theyʼre right. Females are strong as HELL. Thereʼs even a mashup on YouTube.


Iron Lady” - [Jeremy Irons / Tom Hiddleston - Multi-chapter]. 

SummaryWidower Jeremy, falls for and marries his son’s friend despite tripling her age. And just a few years later, his health problems and the return of his best friend, Tom, to London, make him doubt his marriage and wonder if his wife would be better off with a younger man like his friend.

Chapter II: “Books”.

Previous chapter(s): 1.”Horses”.

Written by: A.Wölf.


The next morning when she woke up, she stared at Jeremy who was still fast asleep.

She paid close attention to the way his chest rose with every breath, and gently caressed his eyebrows with her fingertips. Then she reached out and grabbed the book he had been reading the previous night from the bed stand and studied the cover. She knew it like the back of her hand, and it sent her back in time to the very beginning.

Jeremy would always keep his studio door ajar just to stare intently at her.

She and his son, Max, were in the living room working on yet another college project. As much as Jeremy tried to focus on the papers in his hands, every time she spoke or moved, he’d instinctively glance up through his glasses and even find himself smiling when he heard her giggling.

She leaned over the coffee table to write something down and when she looked up, she met Jeremy’s eyes. He was sitting behind his desk, surrounded by envelopes and with a cup of coffee in his right hand which had probably gone cold already. She showed a warm smile as she tucked her hair behind her ear and turned her attention back to Max who started reading a paragraph out loud.

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The Amazing Adventures of Max

Originally posted by peterparkerimagine

Tom Holland:

Gifs not mine.

A/N: An original piece, hope you guys enjoy this one as much as you enjoyed “Lady In Red.”

“Dear Spider-Man, you’re my favorite superhero in the whole comic book universe! I’m writing this letter because I’m really sick and even though I know you are busy saving the world it would be supercool if you came to see me, I’m Max Philip Kyle… I’m 8 years old and I have leukemia the doctors told my god mother that I won’t be able to make it to my 9th birthday which is 2 months from today and I know she’s scared and worried about me… she told me that writing a letter to you didn’t sound silly, she always believes in me, she’s been like a mother to me since I was 2 and I love her so much, I don’t want to leave her alone in this world , so Spider-Man do you think you could protect her when I’m gone cause that would make me so happy… I love her so much and she needs someone to save her from the mean world… I know you’re busy, but she told me it wouldn’t hurt to try… well thank you for reading this Spider-Man. Love your biggest fan Max.
P.S if you could bring the rest of the avengers and Loki that would be awesome!” Tom read out to the cast of the avengers, sad faces and tears were seen throughout the whole room “We’ve got to go, at least for one day.” Tom said folding the paper and putting it in his back pocket, when he looked up everyone was gone , grabbing their suits and props handing Tom his Spider-Man suit. 

Tom punched in the address of the hospital where the letter was sent from “We’re looking for a young kid named Max Kyle , what room is he in?” Tom said looking at the nurse through his costume not wanting to waste any time “Third floor, 307. He’s in a private room, women with him really loves him.” The nurse said looking over the people in the Avengers costumes, but they didn’t want time to chat they all rushed for the third floor and once they reached his room they noticed the quiet dead air, when they walked in slowly they saw a little boy flipping through the mute channels in the arms of a woman who was fast asleep once Max had saw them he slowly sprung him from the bed into a sitting position “NO WAY!” He yelled causing the woman to jolt up holding him tightly but she let out a sigh of relief when she knew he wasn’t in any pain “Spider-Man, Iron Man, Captain America, Winter Solider, Falcon, Hawkeye, Vision, Scarlet Witch, Thor, Hulk, Black Widow, & LOKI! This is so awesome!” Max said smiling so hard he couldn’t believe his eyes “Hey buddy I got your note and I read it with all my friends, we all knew we had to meet a super kid like you. So is this your god mother that you love so much?” Tom said in his American accent trying not to break character, when he looked over to you he noticed how truly beautiful you had long(short) (Y/H/C) hair and beautiful big eyes his mouth was slightly open “Yeah, this is my god mother (Y/N), and this is Peter Parker or better known as Spider-Man.” Max said introducing them, (Y/N) smiled at the boy moving his face back from his forehead planting a kiss on it “Well I’m glad you received his letter and brought your friends with you Spider-Man.” She said smiling looking at the entire cast in front of her “I hope you brought a change of clothes.” (Y/N) said smiling looking at the cast nod. “Well, you can change, it’s hot in the hospital all the time.” Max said happily he was so excited but he felt his body start to collapse under him, but you noticed a change in mood you grabbed his softly laying him down on the bed grabbing his pills and water from the bedside table you kissed him getting up from the bed grabbing the control to put it in a seating position so he would have to balance himself up and hurt him, Max not only had leukemia but his bones were always weaker than other kids his age but regardless of that he always tried to do physical things in a safe measure of time thanks to you always supporting him and believing he could do anything. 

You loved him so much “Can you believe it ? They came!” Max said looking over at the new unmasked and regular dressed avengers but the shine in his eye never left “So tell us about you Max, you know all about us , and that’s an unfair advantage.” Tom said still in the American accent “Well… I love marvel , because of my godmother , she is obsessed with marvel and has been she since was a kid. So one day I saw her watching Civil war and I wanted to see it but she told me I had to watch other movies so we watched Captain America, Iron Man, Thor, Age of Ultron and then Civil war. She was right, but you’re my favorite superhero! I was diagnosed with leukemia when I was 6 years old, umm my mom and dad are always too busy for me. 

The day I got sick in school and threw up they called my parents and they told the school that I would be fine, even though the school said I was puking blood. I mean I wasn’t but anything to get their attention which didn’t work, they then called (Y/N) and on the first ring she picked up and left her job to rush me to the hospital. She was in the middle of an important meeting to get job and they told her if she had left she would be fired, she didn’t even think about it she left and rushed to get me. I love to read especially comic books, (Y/N) gets them for me all the time, and I LOVE food.” Max said with sad eyes but a warm smile. (Y/N) wrapped her arm around him pulling him closer to her “Have your parents come to see you?” Robert asked quietly, that was the exact moment Max broke down in tears shaking his head rapidly causing (Y/N) to wrap her arms around “No but it’s okay because he has me, and now you’re all here for him. Right Maxie?” (Y/N) said looking down at Max who wiped his tears and smiled “Well Max, I think you’re one tough kid, and I would be honored if you would become my sidekick I need a strong kid by my side.” Tom said taking out a Spider-Boy suit and with that he say the boys eyes light up like the Fourth of July “YES!” Max said loudly, Tom handed him the suit smiling along with Max “I hate to interrupt but I need to exam Max & visiting hours are over as well…” Dr. Jensen said gripping his clipboard slightly. 

The Avengers cast nodded, (Y/N) looked at Dr. Jensen who was also motioning for you to exit now this made you worry but you’d learned better then to argue with the Doctor considering they we’re allowing you to stay in the hospital you kissed Max’s forehead before you left. You leaned against the door taking deep breaths “He’s a good kid, he’s really lucky he has someone like you.” Tom said in his regular accent scaring you causing you to jump in fear nearly slipping but Tom caught your hands pulling you up “You’re WAY stronger then you look, has anyone ever told you that?” You asked looking at him in shook because of how close your faces were “Yeah but not someone as beautiful and amazing as you (Y/N).” He said his breath hitting your face his every word caressing your cheek “I’m not all that special, I just think he deserves a better life than the one he has right now, thank you for coming he was so happy writing that letter but he knew you wouldn’t come and then you change his mind and pop out.” You said hugging Tom tightly, he wraps his arm around your waist and this hug is more than just a hug, it’s supporting and acceptance. 

“SPIDER-MAN & (Y/N) ARE YOU GUYS DATING?!” Max yelled with such a happy smile on his face as he rolled out of his room , you were shocked and before you could say anything “Yes, it was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday!” Tom said in his American accent hiding you in his chest laughing “Play along.” Tom whispered and you nodded “Yeah I was just going to ask the doctor if you could go home for one day and watch movies and eat my cooking.” You said looking at Dr. Jensen who nodded slowly “Yes , can all the avengers come?” Max said wheeling his way to hold Toms hand, Tom looked down at him “It’s a date ! ” he said smiling all the avengers laughing and nodding behind him.

 Oh boy this was a night Max won’t forget you thought to yourself as you all started to walk out of the hospital and on your way to your house.

YGO-DSoD: on Seto, Pride and Soul.

So the two week airing of DSoD has come to pass. Luckily I got an Obelisk card on one of the days I went, but even after watching Dark Side of Dimensions twice, there was a nagging feeling that I might’ve forgotten something, so I took a memory walk to figure out what it was…

~ The following blog post covers some thoughts on Seto Kaiba in the movie ~

(It’s also sorta, lightly spoilerish. Read at your discretion…)

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I hope Hillary includes these key points in her book “What Happened”:

Hillary Rodman Clinton already made it to the White House twice with her husband, President William Jefferson Clinton. The Clintons don’t have anything left to prove.

The Clintons left us a surplus and a booming economy (23 million new jobs, 7 million fewer living in poverty, minimum wage up 20%). President Bill Clinton balanced the budget 4-times because he was a great negotiator and a true pragmatist. These days, both the far-left and the far-right hate pragmatists.

During the ‘90s, Hillary helped create the Children’s Health Insurance Program (CHIP – 8.9 million children insured) and was instrumental in all of Bill’s policy decisions. Many said Hillary was the one who ran the White House during the prosperous 1990s.

The Clintons will always be political icons and legends. Two-time winners that won the popular vote for a 3rd straight time. Thanks for leaving our country in such great shape! The 1990s were great. Wish we could have continued our progress with Vice President Al Gore.

Unfortunately, in America, we usually switch parties every 8 years no matter what. But just think where we would be on global warming if Vice President Al Gore had won after President Bill Clinton. Sadly, I guess progressives always love screwing us after two-terms of a Democrat – cue Ralph Nader and Bernie Sanders (spoilers).

Obama is lucky he didn’t face a far-left opponent, which would have diminished his support among millennials – a core part of the Democratic coalition missing in 2016. It’s as if we don’t understand the word “pragmatism” after we’ve had a Democrat in the White House for 8 years.

Remember: Hillary had the most progressive platform of all-time. She would have built on President Obama’s progress. Just like Gore would have done in 2000 after Clinton. When will progressives remember history?

“Those who don’t learn history are doomed to repeat it.”
~George Santayana

Y'all could have voted for the most progressive platform of all time – a platform Hillary worked on directly with Bernie Sanders. Yet many of you ultimately voted for Donald Trump. Sexism?

Oh and nothing Hillary did with her e-mail server was illegal. Republicans have been manufacturing fake Clinton scandals for decades, even creating a small cottage industry for “Clinton Hate” ($$$). That is why so many Americans chanted “Lock Her Up” at Trump rallies. They have bought into decades of Clinton smears. It’s a clever tactic. Yet Hillary was triumphant and destroyed the false Benghazi witch-hunt during her brilliant 11-hour testimony. No one puts on a show better than a Clinton. Sorry Trump. '90s Bill was awesome.

In addition – the Clinton Foundation provides HIV/AIDS medicine to 11.5 million people, none of the “pay-to-play” accusations has ever been proven (it’s all speculation), and the Uranium Deal is correlated with donations to the Clinton Foundation but not proven to be the causation of the donations. Correlation doesn’t equal causation. Again – pay-to-play has never been proven (unlike the Trump Foundation which is, in-fact, guilty of pay-to play in the state of Florida).

Meanwhile, the Clinton Foundation has a higher charity rating than the Red Cross.

So let us never forget: the Clinton Foundation provides 11.5 million people with HIV/AIDS medication. That amounts to supporting half of all adults and 75% of all children affected by the virus worldwide.

Also – none of Hillary’s e-mails were correctly marked as classified at the time they were sent and none were directly sent by Hillary herself (that’s why the FBI ultimately dropped the case). The few e-mails that were classified didn’t have the proper markings and were only found in long e-mail chains, never sent by Hillary herself.

Having a private server was a mistake, though not illegal. Remember – it was originally set up for President Clinton. It was never sinisterly set up after Hillary got the job as Secretary of State. It was a pre-existing server that has been proven to be safer than the already hacked government servers. Remember – Hillary’s server was set up for a former President.

Talk about a mountain being made out of a mole hill.

Ultimately, though, Hillary still beat Trump by 3 million votes and beat Bernie by 4 million votes. 7 million more total votes for Hillary Rodham Clinton.

The last two Republican Presidents lost the popular vote – Bush and Trump. Democrats are the majority. Have been since 1992, especially if you consider voter suppression of minorities in red states.

Trump was right, however – the electoral college *IS* a rigged system. Republicans can never win both the electoral college *AND* the popular vote. On the contrary, President Bill Clinton and President Obama won both the popular vote *AND* the electoral college.

Did I mention Bernie lost the popular vote by 4 million votes? The DNC “corruption” charges don’t change the fact that Bernie lost the popular vote by 4 million. 4 million! Maybe his support of the NRA hurt him at the polls?

Also – Bernie half-heartedly campaigned for Hillary and by that point, his most ardent supporters thought Hillary was vile scum. Nothing even Bernie said could change their minds. Some even called Bernie a “sell-out.”

Unfortunately, Bernie ran a horribly negative campaign towards the end and stayed in the primary for far too long. This delayed Hillary being able to morph into general election mode, and required Hillary to do a ton of repair work.

I guess I’ll never understand why Bernie supporters couldn’t just vote for the platform – for a chance to finally have two consecutive Democratic Administrations. Naive?

Oh and can you imagine the field day Fox News would have had with Socialist Sanders, his rape essay’s, and the fact he wanted to raise taxes on everyone to pay for moochers to go to college? Middle America never would have gone for that, either.

Interestingly, the Clintons pay a higher tax-rate than Bernie – 35.% vs. 13%. Who truly is the corrupt one?

Plus – Bernie couldn’t show us how he was going to pay for any of his plans (as Bill used to say – we need some “arithmetic!”). Oh and good luck getting a GOP Congress to pass his Socialist budget. A real revolution is 60 Democratic votes in Congress. But Bernie spends all his time demonizing us and our party. Who let him in…?

Yet despite Bernie-mania demonizing Hillary for playing the game and winning (Nader 2.0), suffering highly personal attacks from Trump (bringing Bill’s accusers to the 2nd debate – though Bill has never faced a conviction/affairs are different than rape), blatant sexism from everyone (even subconscious), fake Benghazi and e-mail “scandals,” the racist Obama backlash (“deplorables” – Hillary was right!), the trend of one party only staying in power for a max of two-terms (8 years), Brexit (making Trump a very strong candidate contrary to popular brief – exploiting racism/propaganda/nationalism), the media claiming a false equivalence between Hillary’s negatives and Trump’s negatives for ratings, and Russia targeting Middle America with “fake news,” Hillary was *STILL* riding high in the polling after her 3 debate dominations.

Then… Comey re-opened the Clinton e-mail case right at the very last minute.

I remember looking at the photo of Hillary receiving the news on her plane. I thought – is this the moment Hillary lost the election?

It was.

So I guess I don’t understand why people don’t just come out and say the 2016 election was stolen from Hillary Diane Rodham Clinton. Are people afraid to? Because I’m not.

Ironically, the official reason Trump gave for firing James Comey was his malpractice in regards to the Clinton e-mail case – the very thing that won Trump the election.

The re-opening of the e-mail case came after the Trump Access Hollywood tape, switching the headlines from negative Trump headlines to negative Clinton headlines. The re-opening of the e-mail case caused many voters that were inclined to vote for Hillary to just stay home on Election Day. It depressed Hillary’s turnout. So did the fact that everyone thought Hillary was going to win. Many assumed Hillary would win and therefore didn’t vote. Were they totally wrong in their assumption? No. Why? Because Hillary won the popular vote by 3 million (and no, it wasn’t because of illegals voting, you right-wing conspiracy theory nuts).

Despite literally *EVERYTHING* thrown at her, Hillary was still polling high at the very end due to her 3 debate dominations. But Comey screwed her at the very last minute – the ultimate “October Surprise.”

Oh and remember: Comey was already in the midst of the Trump-Russia investigation, but chose not to publicly comment on that investigation. Yet he publicly commented on the re-opening of the Clinton e-mail investigation? Double standard? Malpractice? Trump seems to think so based on the fact that he fired Comey over his handling of the Clinton e-mail case.

However, Hillary truly is forever the “People’s President” – 3 million more total votes.

Never forget: Trump deeply resents and hates that he lost the popular vote. It delegitimizes him. He’s a big numbers guy. So always bring up his popular vote loss. It infuriates him.

It also appears Hillary’s themes of “Love Trumps Hate” and “Stronger Together” actually made for a brilliant strategy that received more total votes. By the millions.

I don’t buy the argument that her political framing was off.

In fact – I think her slogans were right-on the money. Perfect in an election facing a propaganda artist and ultimate con-man like Donald J. Trump. A man who relied on hate, fear, division, scapegoating, nationalism, and propaganda to win the electoral college (ie: Middle America).

Furthermore, Hillary was the first person to correctly point out Trump’s reckless temperament, something we are currently suffering from right now in regards to North Korea.

“A man you can bait with a tweet is not a man we can trust with nuclear weapons.”
~Hillary Rodham Clinton

Unfit. Unqualified.

I also loved the fact that Hillary called out his dog-whistling to racists. She was the first high-profile person to do so in no uncertain terms. Trump not only loves the support of white racists, he emboldens them. Maybe that’s why he was sued by the Justice Department in the 1970s for housing discrimination against African American. He’s a racist.

Sadly, everything Hillary predicted and warned us about Trump is coming to fruition. Is it still “too negative” for you if everything Hillary said about Trump comes true within his first 6 months?

Though I still fundamentally believe that “Love Trumps Hate” and that we are, in-fact, “Stronger Together.” I think those slogans are why people felt so awful on Election Day – *HATE* won based on an outdated election system. Oh and the fact that lots of people that should have voted stayed home. Guilt is a very powerful emotion (Bernie-Bro’s, I’m looking at you!)

Get rid of the electoral college. It has cost us 2 elections in 20 years. Gore received 500,000 more votes than Bush. Hillary received 3 million more votes than Trump.

(Oh, and it would have come down to more than just Michigan and Wisconsin – another state would still be needed)

Hillary also doesn’t get the credit she rightfully deserves:

Youngest lawyer ever appointed to an impeachment trial – 27-year-old Yale Law graduate Hillary Rodham. Watergate.

Children’s Defense Fund:

Investigated African American juveniles being placed in South Carolina adult prisons, and posed as a racist housewife to expose segregation throughout schools in the South.

First Lady of Arkansas:

Hillary successfully reformed the entire K-12 Arkansas educational system, expanded healthcare for those in rural Arkansas, worked at the Arkansas Children’s Hospital Legal Services, and co-founded the Arkansas Advocates for Children and Families. First female partner of the Rose Law Firm.

The joke in Arkansas was that they “hired the wrong Clinton.”

First Lady of the United States:

Hillary spearheaded the Adoption and Safe Families Act, the Foster Care Independence Act, Office on Violence Against Women, the Campaign Against Teenage Pregnancy (lowering abortion and teenage pregnancy rates), and the Children’s Health Insurance Program – providing 8.9 million low-income children with healthcare access. In 1994, Hillary proclaimed on the world stage in Beijing, China:

“If there is one message that echoes forth from this conference, let it be that human rights are women’s rights and women’s rights are human rights once and for all.”

Two-time New York Senator:

Hillary secured 20 billion in federal funds to rebuild downtown New York City after 9/11. She also secured healthcare for 9/11 First Responders and expanded access to care for the National Guard, Reservists, and their families.

U.S. Secretary of State:

Passed the first-ever U.N Resolution on gay rights (proclaiming “human rights are gay rights and gay rights are human rights” on the world stage) and made it so trans Americans could legally change their gender on their passport. Hillary also rebuilt relations with every nation after the disastrous Bush Administration, traveling to 112 countries – more than any other Secretary of State. Our worldwide favorability rose 20% during Hillary’s tenure. Her primary focus was on women’s rights, bringing up issues such as forced abortion and maternal mortality rates. Hillary re-opened relations with Burma, enacted a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas, and killed Osama Bin Laden. She also was instrumental in putting together the Paris Climate Agreement, something Trump has since removed us from.

Inspirational Hillary quotes:

“I’m not going to mislead anybody. Politics is really hard. And it is harder for women. There’s a double standard, and you can’t complain about it. You just have to accept it, and be smart enough to navigate it. And you have to have a pretty tough skin. To paraphrase a favorite quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: If a woman wants to be in politics, she has to have the skin of a rhinoceros. So occasionally I’ll be sitting somewhere and I’ll be listening to someone perhaps not saying the kindest things about me. And I’ll look down at my hand and I’ll sort of pinch my skin to make sure it still has the requisite thickness I know Eleanor Roosevelt expects me to have.”
~Hillary Rodham Clinton

“When you stumble, keep faith. And when you’re knocked down, get right back up, and never listen to anyone who says you can’t or shouldn’t go on.”
~Hillary Rodham Clinton

“I really don’t spend a lot of time worrying about what people think about me…I would be totally paralyzed. How could you get up in the morning if you worried about some poll or what somebody said about you? That’s giving up power over your life to somebody else, and I don’t intend to do that.”
~Hillary Rodham Clinton

“Every moment wasted looking back keeps us from moving forward. Life is too short, time is too precious, and the stakes are too high to dwell on what might have been.”
~Hillary Rodham Clinton

Never Forget:
The Clintons are 2-time winners and 3-time popular vote victors. Thanks for the surplus! 3 million more votes!

Love Trumps Hate! Stronger Together!

Currently ordering 50 copies of Hillary’s book, “What Happened.”


One Last Mission - 2


I’ve convinced my friend to let me use her laptop so I can post the things that are completed in my drafts. Thank for almost the positive feedback on this story and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Originally posted by world-class-fuck-up

“How much have they told you?” You asked as you took a seat between Clint and Natasha, opposite to where James sat next to Steve.

“Absolutely nothing. That’s what they’ve told us about this.” Rhodey pace heavily behind Tony has he lashed out at your blank expression.

“Well then. It vaguely ties back to Budapest.”

“You’re going to tell us what happened on mysterious Mission Budapest?” Tony  removed his hand from his face to look at you.

You smirked. “Hell nah. What happened in Budapest stays in Budapest; Budapest was a shit storm.”

James grinned. “You can say that again.”

“Wait, the Winter Soldier was there?!” Clint butted in.

You looked at him ludicrously. “Of course he was; how do you think I was able to get to you both so quickly? We’re intimidating enough individually but if The Winter Soldier and Shadow turn up at your door you’re going to do what they say.” 

Natasha muttered profanities under her breath in Russian, much to your amusement.

“Simplified, there are five main people: Marcus Scarlotti, Yuri Zaikin, Viktor Orlov, Vasily Karpov, and Kaminsky. Strike Team Delta got sent in above their pay grade to a Level 11 mission.” You paused to make sure verybody understood so far. 

Peter spoke up. “What’s Strike Team Delta?” 

Clint answered the kid. “That would be Nat and I. It’s what we were collectively called at SHIELD.”

“Among other things.” You mutter humorously before clearing your throat. “Anyway, the five previously mentioned were all high up within HYDRA ranks. They were almost never in the same city together, ever, due to the risks it carried for them. Either way, they were all there for a meeting and Strike Team Delta were sent to neutralise the threat.” 

“It didn’t work out.” Natasha said, bluntly.

“However, time jumping to modern times, four of them have been caught communicating about a package and a new age. And the fifth is orchestrating it.” 

James sharply looked up at you. “I was informed he was dead; Zemo killed him.” 

Tutting, you looked back at the soldier. “You of all people should know that he’s dead only to those he wants to be dead to.”

“I’m sorry, who are you talking about?” Scott Lang’s eyes flickered between you two like he was watching a ping pong match.

In unison you answered. “Karpov.”   

“I was told he was killed years ago.” Natasha let a rare expression of shock cross her features. 

“You said it yourself only hours ago. We’re Level 12 and you’re Level 6. There’s going to be a difference in the accuracy and reliability of intel.” You faced her from where you sat next to her. “He wanted to be dead to you so that was what you were informed.”

“Hold on.” Steve stood up and crossed his arms, muscles bulging as he moved behind the sofa. “What do you mean Buck of all people should know?” 

You laughed at that, leaning back against the sofa before rocking forward and standing up, going to your bags and pulling out a file. “That’s not my story to tell, although if I were you, Cap, I’d re-evaluate what’s really going on. You act like you’re king of the mountain now but you’re only playing on borrowed time. Your pal ‘Buck’ isn’t really ‘Buck’ at all. ‘Buck’ was the guy in the forties, serial womaniser, Sergeant Barnes of the 107th. The guy here with us now and who he was then aren’t the same. You can’t just dream away the last seventy odd years. You’re technically still a fugitive alongside half your team; you’re still dealing with the same things you were dealing with when you came out the ice. Stark is only letting you stay here to help with a, this mission and b, to help with his guilt after Ultron. The Avengers are held together with duct tape and safety pins, Captain, and they’re falling fast. And let me give you a freebie bit of help: everything that falls breaks.” The room was in stunned silence and whilst he tried not to show it, your words had struck a cord within him. “And James? I pulled a few strings and got this assembled for you. Be careful pulling that thread.” You dropped the file in his lap.

James recognised what it was and gave you a look filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Y/N.” He stood up and motioned down a corridor, opposite to the side you entered on. “Let me show you where you’re staying.”

The pair of you walked off down the corridor, ignoring the looks that drilled into your backs. 

James had shown you to your room and had then proceeded to stay with you as you got settled in whilst informing you about the layout out in a way that you would find useful, not like a tour guide would. You had unpacked everything that you wanted to and now sat opposite James on the bed. It was almost ironic really, the two best assassins there had ever been, sat on a bed like it was a slumber party. 

“What are we doing?” You looked at the man in front of you. “We’re the highest ranking assassins yet here we are playing ball with people who can’t really keep up with us. We could do this by ourselves and have it done within days, at max a week.”

“The world’s changed now, it doesn’t work in the same way. If you wanted you could continue our life, live in the deep shadow conditions like we always did but I can’t.” James looked at his hands, the flesh one ad the metal one contrasting in the light. “My name and face is constantly being thrown around in the media; the name ‘Winter Soldier’ wouldn’t install fear now it would be like a joke.”

“That can be changed.” 

He shook his head. “It would never hold the same weight.” 

“I suppose that’s true. Do you mind helping me clean the guns? I didn’t have time before I left and they weren’t about to let me do it on the plane either.” You asked as you hauled your weapons bag onto the bed.

“You trust me that much?” He smirked, and for a second you were reminded of the time you met.

“I do as much as you can at our level.” You parroted his earlier words.

He laughed and pulled out the first one.


Tony was looking at his StarkPad and found absolutely nothing to do with a Shadow or a Y/N L/N anywhere. “Guys…I think now would be a good time to call in an exorcist.” 

Steve’s face almost comically paled. “An exorcist?!”

“Yeah because there is absolutely nothing on your buddy’s girlfriend anywhere. Not SHIELD’s old files, not the internet, not the Pentagon, not anywhere.”

Natasha almost groaned at the stupidity of the man. “That’s because all her files are kept on paper. Anything that has to be done on a computer in done and then erased completely as soon as possible. That way she stays exactly like her name: Shadow.” 

“You did not seriously think they would leave evidence of their best asset did you, Stark?” Sam looked at the billionaire, not the least bit surprised at the revelation.

“Well I didn’t expect her to literally not exist, birdbrain.” 

Steve, as per usual, was the one to diffuse the coming debate. “Nat and Clint would not have bought her in if they didn’t trust her. Bucky said he knew her and that he trusted her. Besides, I’m not sure about you but I haven’t seen Buck that relaxed around anyone in a long time. Maybe even since before the war.”

Silence met his admission as everyone thought over what he had said. It was true that they had never seen the assassin as relaxed as he looked around you. Seemingly with no regard for for quiet moments, you burst into the room from the corridor running with James beside you. 

“We need a referee! We want to spar but we want a referee.” 

Natasha jumped up. “I’ll help.” She quickly tidied her things before taking off down the corridor where James was showing you to the gym. 

Clint stood up and rubbed his hands together. “50 bucks on Y/N winning in under 20.” 

“I’ll put 50 on Frosty; no way can this girl beat The Winter Soldier.” Tony chucked the notes on the table as did Clint. Before long there was a strong pot going on who would win before they rushed to find the trio that had already left.


I hope this is everyone??? I got really confused whilst doing this so please let me know and I’ll make sure to correct it xx


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Logan - Review

In the near future, a weary Logan cares for an ailing Professor X in a hide out on the Mexican border. But Logan’s attempts to hide from the world and his legacy are up-ended when a young mutant arrives, being pursued by dark forces.” - IMDb

__________________________________SPOLIER ALERT_________________________________________

My love for Marvel and superhero movies is big, and this one was one I was very excited for. Once again Marvel succeeding in making an amazing movie with an interesting plot and phenomenal acting. Even though the movie was 2h and 17min, it didn’t fell like it was that long. There was always something happening, and it made sense. It wasn’t too slow or too quick. This Wolverine movie had a completely different tone than the others did. It was way darker, and you got to see a more vulnerable side of Logan.  It was also the most violence X-men movie up until now, and I must say that it made it way more interesting. In some way, I believe that it is just what I had waited for, and it was done in a “humble” way. (If that makes sense)

Originally posted by geekcomics

Hugh Jackman does it once again. Brings us a fantastic portrait of the Wolverine, and in a completely different way than we have seen before. Already from the first eyesight, you can see that something had changed from the last time we saw something to Logan. He is weak and looks very sick. He hasn’t got much strength, and can barely fight off some car thieves. Just the fact that he has to pull out one of his claws to make it come out all the way, makes it more subspecies. All the way through the movie, we discover more and more scars all over his body, and we learn that he can’t heal that much anymore. He’s also quite mad all the time and doesn’t treat Caliban very good, even though is turns out that cares about him. Now and then we see something to the good old Wolverine, and see some fantastic fighting sequence.  What made me really happy, was that he still has his lifelong friend, Charles.

Originally posted by marvelgifs

Charles isn’t doing well either and is also very sick. And as Dr. Rice says, it’s quite ironic that the most powerful brain in the world has a brain disease. Charles has a quite funny character in this one and makes it a bit brighter and gives it a different tone. The way he cares about Laura gives “throwbacks” to the earlier X-men movies when he took care of young mutants. I was really happy to see that Logan still cares very much for him, and he does everything in his power to make Charles wishes come true. Every time they get attacked, he makes it his first priority to make sure that Charles is safe. When Charles gets stabbed by X24, the first thing he says to him is that it wasn’t him,  and I think that it shows that he really cares and love him. And when he dies, Logan try his best to keep it together and be strong, but he realizes that Charles really is gone and he’s alone and all of his old friends are dead. He is now alone with his newly discovered daughter, Laura.

Originally posted by mezaboy

Laura is quite the character and brings new life to the franchise. I was actually quite annoyed at the fact that she wasn’t talking, and it made me very happy (and maybe a bit emotional) when she finally started speaking. Dafne Keen is such a beautiful little girl whit a very lovely voice. I think it was so well done the welcoming of this character, and I made perfect sense that Logan wasn’t very fond of her. She also had her funny moments, where her inner child could shine through. The way she played Laura was so believable for such a young girl, and I really hope that we get to see more of this girl.

Originally posted by neqns

Pierce and Caliban are also two very interesting characters.

Pierce is a basted, and he knows it. I think Boyd Holbrook has done a very good job with this role, and in some way, I would hope to see more of this character, ‘cause I believe there is more to him than this. I loved the way they made his missing hand, and the fact he was fixing it himself in a quiet “rough” way.

Originally posted by dracarysandbrimstone

Caliban reminds me a lot of The Avengers’, Vision. Maybe it’s because their voices sound alike, or because they both are “the watcher” of other characters. His mutation I thought was quite cool, and I would have loved to get to know him better. He reminded me of someone straight out of Mad Max. Another charter we sadly had to say goodbye to…  

The ending was so beautiful and I must admit that I teared quite a bit. From the moment Logan knew that the children were in trouble, he was off to safe them and even took the medicine to gain some strength to fight Pierce and his gang. You could see in Laura’s eyes that she was happy to see Logan, and in that moment I think they realized that they were a family and needs to keep each other safe. When Logan is dying, they both realize it’s too late, and they try to have a beautiful last moment together, and I really think the movie captured that very beautifully.

Originally posted by neqns

All in all a very intense goodbye to one of X-men most loved characters, Logan, and a hello to a young and inexperienced mutant, Laura.  

Farewell Wolverine, and Professor X…..

Originally posted by just-purely-insane

people who don’t like the rushed feel and jagged story line of Sana’s story are justified in their complaints tbh. 

like, i get that this is the last season and julie has to wrap up the loose threads and round up certain characters’ archs and whatnot. but. it’s so bitter that it had to be done at SANA’s season, you know? because it’s eating away at the time that could be spent at her, and making the fandom wrapped up in everything that seems to be.not.about.her.

and i always have this niggling thought in the back of my head that this season wasn’t specifically written for me, a muslim arab girl living in norway. like, wohoo, it’s great representation and all, but it’s also like……. like the fact that the news decided to report about how julie andem had done research within muslim communities by first and foremost interviewing an ethnically norwegian woman who had converted to Islam. it might not be true, but it’s just the fact that the news decided to focus on that part, as if interviewing a muslim immigrant or with immigrant background (read: not white) would somehow be less legitimate. 

it’s like the fact that when we got a whole new squad introduced to us, five beautiful boys of color, somehow the only posts that got around was theories about their connection to even.

it’s like the fact that some of you think that it’s clever that the season is focusing on everyone else beside sana bc she’s so attentive!! and perceptive!! and always put others before herself!!

like, narratively, it can be defended that this is actually quite clever. a lot of white/non-muslim people seem to be angry and sad and feel empathic towards sana, so when she finally has enough, people will actually side with her rather than villanize her, as you’re all so prone and fast to do with characters of color.

but that’s just what i mean. this constant push to sideline sana in her own story to listen to whites and reassure them, to be a shoulder for everyone to cry on, while she’s breaking apart inside, feels like it’s specifically directed towards the white viewers to reassure them of sana’s humanity. and it’s a nice touch too, to show sana’s vulnerable side. but i don’t need that reminder, i know that us muslim girls are not the meek stereotype people project on us, or only the tough exterior sana shows. but it goes to show that the main drive this season is to drive the fact that muslims are people too? which is not a bad thing!! i don’t know how else it could’ve worked bc white people just can’t wrap their head around the humanity around poc i guess.

ahaha, it’s so ironic that the tagline that’s been pushed around has been; how will sana balance norwegian and muslim culture? when i’m a norwegian muslim, those things are not separate, stuhfgup

and the fact that every friend around her is white is so………………………………………. unrealistic. holy fuck, 1 of 5 people in oslo is not white. the biggest groups of immigrants are from Poland, followed by Somalia, Sweden, Iraq and Pakistan. why the fuck do we not see sana hanging out with any muslim girls? you know, some nice girls that could maybe show some empathy for her struggles? she does go to masjid, and it’s not like oslo lacks muslims lmao. i wanna see her interact with jamilah and the hijab police again. why are they called ‘the hijab police’? (why are they the only black girls we’ve seen in this series, and also immediately villainized when introduced? Somali girls probably make up the largest percentage of hijabis in norway, time to give them some positive rep too, chop chop!)

i want to see sana play basket. want to see her play once in physical ed. and destroy the other team. want to see her talk and hang out with other girls of color at grønland, eating burger at max while talking about the new Beauty and The Beast live action. want to see her sit against the wall in the masjid talking to other girls as they wait for the adhan, complaining about school and grades and food and classmates and stress and clothes, because holy fuck, do they not sell clothes that are not see-through or half-revealing for women anymore?

want to see the fandom to see and appreciate her as her own character, not only as “savage queen” (what a fucking caricature, also see: subtext racist) or the one who helps every other white character.

i want to see her narrative be completely and wholly her own.

Osomatsu-San Extra Stories Translation ‘Karamatsu of Dreams” Part Two

Ichimatsu, who had been in a bad mood the whole time, lazily muttered, “But anyway… there’s no way you’re going to sell. Tickets…”

“If you use common sense, you’ll see that’s it’s exactly as Ichimatsu-niisan says. Really, you’re the one with common sense here, Ichimatsu-niisan, or should I say… the normal one?”

“….hah? What are you saying, Totty?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“… Are you looking for a fight… are you?”

“I’m not looking for a fight, Ichimatsu-niisan. More importantly, there’s nothing that can really be done about the tickets not selling, is there?”

Shockwaves ran through Karamatsu. My first concert. Surely the Karamatsu Girls would rush to buy them. They’d end up becoming premium items, and be sold for high prices at auction sites.

He could think of a number of reasons why they’d sell, but it didn’t have any idea at all why they wouldn’t.

Keep reading

Sai’s One Piece: Film Gold Commentary
  • i love how we’re first intro’d to the villain with a fucking song and dance number
  • also i’m really glad that we didn’t rehash the ‘Straw Hats find the villain and save him and then he screws them over’ thing, b/c it was starting to get a bit stale
  • nah Tesoro just royally fucks them over like immediately. also he may have probably killed a man. i say probably b/c this is One Piece.
  • Baccarat happily suggests burning the Straw Hat’s party outfits fucking kills me b/c yeah they were pretty awful lmao
  • i loved the long pirates joke where the captain is saying his name but he starts listing like a shit ton of names and Luffy punches him in the middle of it and he goes flying and screams “I WASN’T DONE YET!!!”
  • loved the little intro sequences for each of the Straw Hats too, haha
  • lmao “Jokes on you, we’re broke!”
  • the little kids trying to pay off debt hurt me. also they were so cute
  • there was fanservice but honestly it was pretty well drawn and i’m so tired of badly drawn watermelons on sticks in the anime that this was honestly kinda welcome
  • also Tesoro got a pretty damn fanservicey moment. for plot reasons, but hey, at least it’s kinda equally spread
  • the fucking wacky races oh my god

Keep reading

Latino Wedding (Antonio Dawson x Female Reader)

Originally posted by sniperhalstead

(GIF not mine, credits to owner)

Pairing: Antonio Dawson x Female Reader

Summary: Reader goes undercover, she gets into big trouble and the team rescues her 

Warnings: Hostage situation, violence, mention of blood and death

Author’s note: I had like fifty different endings for this but they were so long that I didn’t want to make this imagine too long. If you would like another part you can request it! I basically have like fifty new ways to continue this imagine, so don’t be shy and leave your feedback and request another part if you want. And this imagine is very quick pace, I really didn’t want to make it too long. 


Mornings were horrible, especially after not being in your comfortable bed for so long. All what Y/N wanted to do was skip the morning and sleep in. The sun was only starting to peak through the clear windows of her apartment when she pulled the fridge open, looking for something to eat. The black pan heated over the iron stove as the omelet on the pan heated up slowly. The smell of eggs had wondered around the house and up to the bedroom far in the back where Antonio was sleeping peacefully. His nose caught on to the scent quickly and his stomach started to grumble.

His feet landed on the wooden floors while he stretched his whole body out of bed. The smell only grew stronger with every step he took towards the kitchen and his stomach kept growling even louder. Normally, it would be him cooking breakfast for her; but that morning the tables turned. With the salsa music coming from her phone, she made her way through the kitchen dancing to the rhythm of the song. Her hair fell down her back and it swayed from side to side with her whole body as she danced around with a mixing bowl in hand. He loved watching her dance, but something about that morning made his heart flutter even more.

“You’re up early.” Antonio’s raspy voice broke her away from her dancing as he walked towards her now still body.

“Me asustaste Antonio!” (You scared me Antonio!); Y/N protested, flipping the first omelet off the pan and pouring the second one in. Antonio spun Y/N around and pulled her closer to his naked chest. His lips hovered over hers as their noses brushed against each other. Y/N waist moved in sync with Antonio’s as another salsa song echoed in the small kitchen.

“Marry me.” Antonio mumbled, his hand grabbing hers into his gentle grip. Y/E/C iris expanded when her eye landed on his glistening ones. She heard him perfectly, but the drumming sound of her heart beating against her chest and her heavy breathing made it even harder for her to form some words together. “We don’t need to get married right away, I don’t even have a ring right now but I want you to marry me. I want you to come back home to me and be my fiancé, the love of my life.”

“I want to marry you, but I thought you said you didn’t want to get married again.” Y/N babbled, turning around and turning off the stove behind her. “Is it about what my father said? He’s a traditional man, but you don’t have to do this Antonio.”

“I want you, that’s all I want. I don’t care if it’s a huge wedding or even in the courthouse, I just want you.” A smiled creeped up on her face as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes.” Y/N giggled as Antonio had picked her up and placed her on the kitchen counter. His lips landed on hers as his hands gripped on each of her sides. The kiss was electric; it was breathtaking as the happiness only grew even more in them.  

“You know he wants a huge Latino wedding.” Y/N said, catching her breath while Antonio stood between her legs.

“Ay Dios mío.” (Oh my God); Antonio rolled his eyes playfully at her, only for her to slap him on his shoulder. “I don’t want you to go.” He whined, resting his head between her breasts.

“I’ll be back in four weeks max.” Y/N chuckled, running her fingers through his messy dark hair.

Four weeks.

And he still hadn’t heard anything from her. He knew she shouldn’t had taken that undercover job from Narcotics, it was something she never seen or experienced before. Narcotics was a dark and powerful unit, either someone ends up dead or the power of control and money gets to them.

One white shirt man came in with two narcotic sergeants right behind him and made their way towards Voight’s office. Automatically, everyone in the team sat on their desk in complete silence as they all looked at each other worriedly.

They knew what to expect.

The job went wrong. It was all Antonio could think, they had done something to his fiancé.

“As we all know; Detective Y/L/N has been undercover for the narcotics unit for the past four weeks.” Voight began, his hands sliding into his pockets as the rest of the team stood up around Voight and their guests.

“We kept communicating with her at least every three days, but since last week we had lost that connection. Our secret source is no longer reaching out and Y/L/N as well.” Sergeant Thomson said, handing out the copies of the files they had on the investigation. “We were tracking down a huge drug-lord for the past year and not until Y/N started working with us we finally have a name for him. His name is Jorge Ramirez and he moved to Chicago about two years ago.”

The team kept discussing the case while Antonio’s thoughts were somewhere else. All he could think about what the last morning they had together, dancing in the small kitchen in his apartment while the salsa music played in the background. “Dawson” Voight called for him, pulling him back to reality.

“What?” Antonio looked up from his desk, all eyes darting towards him.

“Focus.” Voight warned him before leaving the office with Olinsky and Rusek following behind.

With probably a few hours left for the rescue of the two cops undercover, they had one of the gang members in custody after a CI had told Halstead about an old buyer who had moved to the dealing business with Jorge’s gang. Antonio watched from the other side of the interview room with Erin by his side as Voight and Halstead were trying to make the man crack.

It was no surprise Voight would use his power to intimidate the suspect, one of his own was missing and he would do anything to get them back. Voight pushed the man’s back to the concrete wall with his hand wrapped around his neck tightly. Jay only stood back from Voight with his arms crossed against his chest while he watched the man being tortured in front of him.

“Alright! I know where they are!” The man choked out, coughing out for air as Voight had roughly let go of him. “It’s a warehouse, before the exit for the freeway.” Antonio was the first one to run out of the room before anyone else could even leave to search for the warehouse’s location.

The sun was about to set as the team prepared themselves to barge in the warehouse at any moment. The team and a few of the narcotics team had huddled around any possible entrance/exit of the warehouse and waited for Voight’s orders.

Y/N could feel head throbbing and her whole body ache as she laid on her sides on the floor. She could see Jorge smirking as he knelt before her weak self. “You’re way more fun to torture than your partner, he was too boring for my taste.” Jorge chuckled, caressing Y/N’s bruised cheek with his thumb.

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it.” Y/N coughed, her throat aching from the dog collar he had her tied to. She had been tied and tortured for days like a mutt, but she wanted it all to end already.

“But where’s the fun in that sweetheart?” Jorge laughed, grabbing the small pocket knife and dragged it down on the skin of her inner thigh. The sharp pain causing her to scream her lungs out as Jorge pressed his palm hard on the huge cut on her thigh. The stingy tears forming in her eyes fell down her beaten up cheeks as she heard shouting coming from the first level.

“Shit, get up whore.” Jorge demanded, pulling off the chains from the wall and holding them securely in his palms as he held her up against his chest with a gun pressed up her neck.

When the team made their way towards the second level, they met with the fallen narcotics cop and Y/N being held like a prisoner. The blood kept dripping down from the bruise of her thigh down to her legs even more while Jorge forced her to stand while the team surrounded them. “She’s a fighter, but not strong enough. It was erotic the way she would scream and beg for me for mercy.”

Jorge began, pulling the chains on her neck tighter as the purple bruising around her neck worsen.

“Jorge, you’re done. Just let her go.” Halstead was the first one to speak up as the others kept their guns on Jorge.

Antonio’s rage grew immensely as he eyed his girl completely. He had tortured her so much, her own body couldn’t even keep herself up on its own. Her eyes were completely off, they were lost and disoriented with her surroundings. With the amount of abuse and countless blood loss she didn’t have any strength to keep fighting back.

It was up to her team now.

Y/N eyes rolled back as her limb body fell against Jorge, her body weight falling on him completely causing him to lose balance. Antonio ran to catch Y/N as she fell out of Jorge’s grip while Jay had pushed him down face down to the floor, cuffing his hands behind his back. “Now you’re going to be the one praying for mercy.” Voight began, gripping on the back collar of his shirt and dragging him out with Olinsky behind him.

“Did it work?” Y/N coughed in Antonio’s arms as she fluttered her eyes open. Antonio sighed out of relief as she smiled weakly up at him. “Maybe I had a little fight in me left.”

“We need to get her to the hospital, that thigh doesn’t look good.” Rusek pointed out, calling an ambulance through his radio line.

“I don’t look good at all.” She snorted, still having some humor left in her.

A few weeks later, Y/N admired the small diamond on her ring finger as she sat by herself at Molly’s waiting for the rest of the team. It was her first day back and they all wanted to have some time together at the bar after another hectic case.

“Corazón, drinking without us already?” Antonio chuckled, pecking her lips quickly as he rested one of his hands in the small of her back.

“A girl needs her beer.” Y/N giggled, cuddling up to her man.

“And tonight is on us, congratulations on the engagement.” Jay began, ordering the first round of drinks.

“I would usually go against that but If you’re giving me free drinks then I’m not complaining.” Antonio added, taking a sip of his own beer.

“I love you.” Y/N rested her head on the crook of his neck as his hands ran up and down her back.

“I love you too.”

It wasn’t a normal engagement party, no expensive outfits nor fancy food. All she wanted was to be back with her team, enjoying their company with some cold beers. It was perfect and she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

anonymous asked:

Reader and Erwin where she's a cadet in the 104 but she's a couple years older than Erwin and all of them. The had a relationship during the time they met and they get married she pregnant and he gives her and the child a bunch of diaries or journals that tell his life and but during the battle with the beast he dies so the child grows up without a father but wants to be exactly like him

The story ur writing a role to take with the reader x Erwin I made a typo she’s not older than Erwin but she’s older than the cadets she’s 20

“A Role to Take” PART 1

Pairing: Erwin X Reader

Genre: Angst

Warning: Violence; mentions of death; long read

Words: 2270

[Part 2 ]  [Part III] [Part IV]

[A/N: So, this was a tough one to write. I didn’t want it to feel rushed so I decided to cut it into two to three parts. Will update the next parts probably this weekend :D - mod max]

[EDIT: Made Reader younger :D]

Originally posted by aurieackerman

           Another wedding, hmm? I sighed as I walked home. Everyone my age is getting married – people I used to play with when we were little. It’s not like we’re beyond marrying age – we’re just in our twenties. In fact, I just turned twenty. Still young, but not quite. The tragedy of two years ago made everyone realize how we could just die anytime. Most decided it was now or never, and eloped with their sweethearts.

           What about me? It isn’t like love never presented itself. It’s just that I have a different priority. That is looking after my ill mother. People ask me if I’m happy like this, and I always answered yes. I do get lonely, sometimes. But I love how rewarding it is to feel useful, and to be able to help my mother.  

           Still, being my mother’s caretaker came to an end. And even though I’ve been expecting this to happen eventually, I was devastated. I have no one. And honestly, my life lost its direction. I don’t know what to do.

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