probably could have done some cropping to make everything not as short but whatever

FTM!Karma (KarmaGisa AU)


Rating: K+/T

Nagisa Shiota thought it was an incredible stroke of luck that he ended up sitting next to Karma Akabane in first period, and even more so that they were in all the same classes but one.

The new student was nearly quaking as he sat down next to the larger boy in his Science class, at his teacher’s request. The redhead had an intimidating aura to him, but he greeted his classmate with a sincere smile and asked if he was new.

“You’re not from here, are you? I think I’d remember someone who looked like you.” He had said. Before the bluenette had time to blush at the obvious nod to his hairstyle, Karma added, “Blue hair, that’s so wild. It’s bright without being obnoxious. I’m jealous, I look like a used tampon come alive.” Nagisa covered his mouth to muffle a snort.

“It’s natural, actually…” Nagisa admitted, scratching at the back of his neck.

Akabane just smiled. “That just makes it cooler! Like fate chose you to look awesome.” He gushed, resting his chin on both his hands like a dazed schoolgirl and laughing.

Within two periods, the two boys had become thick as theives. They had found that they were both obsessed with the same movies, they listened to the same bands (Akabane had been to concert for one of them; the bluenette shamelessly milked him for details), and they had pretty much the same opinions on everything (Except for pineapple on pizza, which Nagisa liked. Karma had almost yelled in disgust so loud the teacher heard him). The smaller boy couldn’t belive the other didn’t have any other friends in his first four periods, because he was so cool, it couldn’t be like he was a loner. Unless that was just the kind of kid he was; he just kept himself on purpose, the strong, silent type. A nice thought, but probably not likely, as he’d chosen to open up to Nagisa so quickly. He didn’t notice the wary glances Akabane was getting at all.

It wasn’t until fifth period that he found out.

“What class do we have next?” The bluenette asked, fumbling for his schedule as the bell rang.

A look of dread flashed across the redhead’s face. “Gym, I think. Ew.”

The smaller boy laughed at his friend’s expression. “What, you don’t like P.E.?”

“Ugh, no way.”

“No way, you’re, like, ripped! I can see the muscles through your shirt sleeves, haha. You’re probably at the top of the class. Look at me, I’m a shrimp: You can’t complain.” Nagisa chuckled, guestering to his skinny, petite frame, then to Akabane’s althletic build.

Karma gave a weak laugh. “I’ve seen gymnasts with builds just like yours, Shiota. You don’t look very out of shape, I’m sure you’ll do fine. But…” He paused, then gave a small sigh of resignation. “…It’s not the curriculum I don’t like, it’s just…Nothing. You’ll see, I guess.” He shrugged and looked away.

“What? Is our coach shitty? How much are they gonna make us run?” The bluenette asked anxiously as they entered the gym. From the opposite side of the room, a tall girl with long, straight, blonde hair spotted Karma and waved. He waved back and giggled lightly.

“Who’s that, your girlfriend?” Nagisa asked. He wished he hadn’t said it after it was out of his mouth; something about the thought of the redhead in a relationship sat wrong in his stomach.

Karma roared with laughter. “Oh my god, no! She’d die if she heard that. She’s so gay, and so dedicated to her girlfriend.” The smaller boy let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as the redhead regained himself. “No, no, that’s just my friend. Her name’s Nakamura Rio.”

“Gay, huh?” Nagisa laughed weakly and wondered if now was the best time to out himself as pan. He bit his lip, and looked up at his new friend. It could just be the lighting, but he might’ve seen a bit of pink on the other’s cheeks as they neared the locker rooms.

“Yeah; thank god her girlfriend’s not in our gym class. Okuda’s actually pretty modest, usually, but when she and Nakamura get around each other, it gets a little wild.” He shook his head at the thought of it, chuckling.

“Hah! Guess you’ll have to introduce me sometime.” He hadn’t noticed Karma’s falling footsteps as students filed into the locker rooms. “But let’s deal with that later, okay? We gotta go get dressed.” He turned back to noticed Akabane had stopped in the space between the locker rooms. His face was red and he wore an embarrassed frown. The bluenette shot him a blank look.

“…Karma? You coming?” he asked tentatively, tugging at his own backpack straps. A few students had stopped to watch the two. Nakamura walked up behind Karma and gently put her hand o his shoulder.

“Hey, Karma,” She said lightly, smiling at him.

“Hey,” He mumbled, looking to her, then the ground, then to Nagisa. He looked like he might cry.

“Um…See you after class, I guess.” The redhead said softly to his confused friend. The smaller boy’s eyes widened as he watched Akabane follow his blonde friend into the girls’ locker room with his head down.



Nagisa couldn’t stop the rising heat in his cheeks as he changed into his gym clothes. A boy with cropped raven hair approached him catiously as he pulled his shorts over his hips.

“Hey…It’s Nagisa, right?” The bluentte nodded. “I’m Sugino, from your second period. I saw you out there with Akabane…Did you know?”

“No…Is that why people have been, sort of…avoiding him?” The smaller teen couldn’t help but ask.

“Because he’s trans? No-I mean-That might be part of it, for some people, but that’s not really the whole reason. It’s…he came out last year. Do you wanna know the story?” The taller boy asked as he slipped on his shirt.

“I don’t know, do I?” Nagisa bit his lip as he removed his pigtails and pulled his hair into a high pony. “I mean…I guess, if it’ll help me understand why it’s a big deal.” The coach called them out of the locker room, and they began to stretch themselves out on the gym floor.

“Well, last year, when-when he was a she-I’m just gonna refer to second-year Karma as a she, okay? To avoid confusion.” The bluenette nodded.

“Well, she was called Kiyoko, and she was, like, the best at everything. She was the best player on the girls’ basketball team, and she had top grades, and, y'know-she was just one of…those girls, right?” The smaller boy nodded again. “So there’s this kid named Asano Gakushuu in our grade. He’s the principal’s son, have you heard of him?” Nagisa shook his head. “Well, you will. Soon enough.”

“Anyways, he was super smart and athletic and stuff too-Like I said, he’s the principal’s kid-And he liked Akabane. Or he just wanted her as a sort trophy girlfriend, I don’t even know. Anyways, he hit on her for a really long time, and she finally hooked up with him. Some people thought it might have just been to shut him up, but she seemed to like him-But whatever, that part’s not important.”

“So, they were, like, the ultimate power couple for a few months. But they started having these fights all the time, like in the middle of lunch and stuff-I think it was about home stuff usually, that’s what somebody told me. Which would make since, Akabane’s parents travel for business a lot, so she’s-he’s, sorry-home alone a lot, and Asano’s got issues with his mom and dad, or whatever.

“But it got really bad, and one day Asano hit her and the next day-He came out as a he. Just like that, it was so sudden. He showed up to school the next day with his hair cut and a flat chest-I don’t think he had surgery, though-and wearing the boy’s uniform….And Asano just lost it. He was so mad. Somebody claimed Karma tried to tell him that he still liked him, and that he just wanted him to change the way he treated some of the students who got lower grades, but that doesn’t really matter, because they’re definitely done now, and they definitely hate each other’s guts.”

“…Damn.” Nagisa whispered softly. He felt like it was all he could say. It was so much. “Really?”

“Yeah, man. They’re rivals in eveything now, even though the school won’t let Karma register for anything as a boy.” Sugino frowned. “I feel bad for him. It must suck ass.”

“Yeah…” The bluenette’s voice trailed. “But that doesn’t really explain why everyone avoids him.”

“Nagisa, if Asano’s dad is the king of the school, Asano is the spoiled prince. He has everyone in this school under his finger. After Akabane came out, he did everything he could to wipe out Karma’s good reputation. He basically got rid of all of his friends, except for a few. His lunch table has, like, three people there only. It was a fucked up thing to do, but no one here’s in much of a position to defy Asano, unless you have good grades. Like Nakamura: you saw her, right? Highest English scores in the grade. She and Karma met on the basketball team, I think. They’ve been best friends since elementary. They used to always pull the greatest pranks together. When Asano dumped Akabane, every meal he and his little clique of friends ate had wasabi hidden all in it for the next week, no matte rwht they did. Asano coupdn’t prove it was her, and no one knows how she did it, but everyone knows she did. It was awesome.” Sugino said almost dreamily, staring at the ceiling as he fondly remembered the memory of Nakamura’s vengance and Asano’s suffering.

Nagisa laughed. “She sounds like a good friend to have.”

“Everyone says she’s crazy, but besides that, I’m sure she is. She and Okuda Minami are dating, so I guess she can’t be too bad.” The taller boy shrugged. The coach had moved on to talking about their curriculum for the following year, but nobody was really listening.

“Where did the girls’ class even go?” Nagisa asked, looking around the gym and laying down on the polished wooden floor.

“The other gym. They always split up the gym classes into guys’ and girls’. Probably hell for Akabane.”



Nagisa ducked into the boys’ changing room as quickly as he could, before Karma and the girls returned. He had seen the girls’ gym clothes, and he was terrified of seeing Karma in it and staring. He quickly changed back into the school uniform and sat outside the girls’s changing room, waiting for his friend. Finally, he watched the redhead and his blonde friend walk out of the door.

The bluenette popped up as soon as he saw his friend, whose eyes widened. He bit his lip and approached the smaller teen. “Sorry…” He murmured.

“For what?” The smaller boy smiled gently. He was tempted to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but refrained.

“I didn’t tell you…” The taller boy squeaked his shoe on the ground awkwardly.

“Why would you need to?” Nagisa laughed. “You didn’t need to; what difference does it make?” The bashful smile and glassy, hopeful eyes Karma used on him made his chest light, and he beamed almost giddily. “Come on, let’s go to our next class.”


It was a short drive from the airstrip to her home outside Saint Petersburg, but after last week’s “breach”, Katya’s security was not taking any chances.

“The Breach.” That was the euphemism everyone was using. For the most tense, terrifying five minutes of her life, Katya’s crucial work had slowed to a crawl to repeat her story in excruciating detail to packs of hounding acronyms; the FSB, SVR, GRU- even Interpol had been allowed to debrief her, though their interest had waned quickly after they established that the closest she’d come to the Widowmaker was a sniper-bullet that had passed scant centimeters from her head.

“What about the woman in purple?” Katya had asked them, eager for even a scrap of information. There’d been no trace of her in their computer networks, nothing on the cameras. If not for the surviving guards that had caught a glimpse of her, she could have been a figment Katya’s imagination. If only she were that lucky. 

Except all they had to offer was a long-winded explanation about unsubstantiated rumors, high-profile cybercrimes, and pattern recognition that boiled down to the bureaucratic equivalent of a shrug. 

Of course there was nothing. Like chasing a shadow.

“Chairman Volskaya? Is everything alright?” 

Keep reading

Dialogue/Description Balance

Every writer falls into one four categories of capability. Either they excel at writing description (but not dialogue), at dialogue (but not description), at both, or at neither.

What I usually find is a person tends to be in one of the first two categories: either they have great description but their dialogue is lacking in some capacity, or their dialogue is great but the description is weak. I tend to fall in the latter category.

Nevertheless, I’m going to be talking all about dialogue and description, how to fake it if you can’t do one or both, and how to find a balance between them so that the story flows effortlessly (well, that’s the hope).

Before I start in, I just want to clarify that description includes not only of the setting and characters but also of their actions in scenes, how they move and react as they converse.

Also, as a general rule, if you are lacking in one or both of these areas (or any part of writing), don’t worry about it when you’re writing the first draft. Just get it down. Then go back in after its done, knowing your weaknesses, and revise the hell out of it.

Description Writing Tips

  • Study the art of good description: To improve your description writing skills, read description that you like, from any story or piece of writing. Really try to break down what exactly you like about it, what they do, where they put the description, what they don’t describe, etc.
  • Practice: get a photo you like—or better yet, go outside (gasp!)—and try to describe the scenery, every detail you can. Be excessive, over the top. Just practice noticing the little details.

  • Details make characters feel real: This is fairly obvious. But what may not be is what details should be included. Many writers do the typical hair and eye color (which I’m guilty of too). This is not a bad thing, but it is nice to try to move beyond that or at least add to it. In any case, any description you have of a character, try to use it for more than just a description. It should be incorporated into the story. Think about what details would be important. Why is it significant that his eyes are blue? Is it because they look haunting or mystical? Because they affect others or perhaps the main character? This is just a simple example, but hopefully you get the idea.

Dialogue Writing Tips

  • Study conversations: Similar to the description section, it’s helpful to study good dialogue in stories, noticing everything about it, like the things being said, what’s not said, and even how it’s being said. Also listen to people converse in real life…Listen to the way they talk, how they say certain phrases, their tones, facial expressions, body language. It’s all a part of the dialogue.
  • Practice: To start off, just try writing the same sentence/thought/idea, but have different people say it. How does it change if someone is shy? Bold? Angry? Bossy? Now pick one character, and try changing who this person is saying it to. Everyone speaks differently depending on the person and situation. For instance, if a character is at work, are they polite and respectful? Formal? Loud and obnoxious? This will say a lot about them as character, without you having to describe it!

  • Not everything has to be said: Whether they’re best friends or enemies, a lot is passed without saying a thing. Maybe two characters are close and read each other’s minds or finish each other’s sentences. One glance could equal not only a whole conversation, but also say a ton about the nature of the relationship between the two characters. Maybe two characters are in the relationship, and it’s clear that they’re not happy, not because they say they’re unhappy, but just by their actions and words (or lack thereof). For instance, if they’re angry at each other, they’ll probably avoid one another very purposefully and use very short, direct statements. It’s also important to note that some pieces of dialogue are just filler and can be taken out. For instance, if you have a scene with a conversation that takes place on a phone, you don’t want to include the formalities like “Hi.” “Hey.” “How are you?” “I’m fine…” Etc. That will just bog the story down and add clutter to the writing. We all know that people don’t just start right into the meaty part of a conversation. The only instance I can see these formalities being used is if it’s purposeful and says something about the characters’ relationship. For instance, maybe they were close, but now it’s awkward as they both clearly don’t know what to say.

How to Balance Description and Dialogue:

  • Placement of description is important: When it comes to describing scenery, there are separate paragraphs dedicated to it. Usually the details are broadly scoped, with a few smaller, significant details. As the characters move through the scene, smaller and smaller idiosyncrasies should crop up. Sprinkle them in with the dialogue and movement. When it comes to description of a person, it’s rare to find a large paragraph dedicated to just the outer appearance. Maybe a small, flash description (like the first one or two things someone would notice about the person), with more details sprinkled in as the scene/dialogue progresses. It’s important to find a balance so that it doesn’t feel like its separate chunks of description and dialogue. They should mix together a bit in a scene.
  • The point of view can change the balance: If it’s in first person, there will probably be a bit less description than when writing in third. Most people don’t think in such detailed descriptions, so it doesn’t feel quite realistic. Of course, there’s always room for breaking rules. For instance, if the point of view character is an artist of some sort and that’s part of their personality to be flowery and excessive in their thoughts and probably their speech as well.
  • EVERYTHING should push the story forward: it’s difficult to truly know what should be said, what should be described, and what should be perhaps left out altogether. My piece of advice is that whatever you’re writing, it should push the storyline forward. Basically, everything has a purpose in the story. We learn something important to the plot or characters or situation that is relevant. Of course not everything has to relate to the “main plot”, but it should be relevant in some capacity.
  • General things to keep in mind:
    • Conversations will say something about the relationship of the characters speaking. It just will. What that says can and should affect the plot, in some way.
    • The more detailed the description, the more the reader will think that place/person is significant. If you focus on it, you’re drawing attention to it.
    • Read your writing aloud! I can’t stress this enough. If it sounds/feels awkward. It probably is. Focus on that section, and work with it. Take your time to figure it out. If you can’t fix it or even identify those awkward parts, try to get some readers. Preferably not close friends or family as they can be biased or not what to hurt your feelings.
    • Everyone has their own style of writing. It’s not an exact science.
    • Test styles out. Try a new format. Experiment with a new point of view. Take the time to find what works for you.

Hope this helped. And I’m happy to answer any questions or clarify if needed. Happy writing.

spring anime 2017 part 2: girlfriendship is magic

I can’t believe Maidragon was so powerful it brought the entire 90s back.

See also:

• spring anime 2017 part 1: woke up late

• spring anime 2017 part 3: comfy and easy to wear

spring anime 2017 bonus round: things you already knew were good

Clockwork Planet

Yes, forecasts this season predict heavy showers of magical girlfriends.This time the dude afflicted by this sudden precipitation is a clockwork nerd, who gets a clockwork gothloli dropped on him. This may be less of a coincidence than it sounds because for spurious reasons the entire planet has been replaced by clockwork – if you thought this show was mentally capable of having a metaphorical title, I have bad news. So basically this is teen schmuck + robot superweapon having fights in a city that looks like a lazy steampunk cosplayer’s top hat, in between erotic misunderstandings. I’m regretting that I called Macchiavellism’s fights bad because a couple good action cuts are already a lot to ask for, as evidenced here: It looks just terrible, and obviously the content itself is even worse. Nuh-uh.


I love Hiro Kanzaki’s character designs. There, I said it. I just wish they weren’t attached to bullshit like OreImo or Eromanga-sensei, which, being by the same author and all, is more or less the same thing. It’s pretty bad when the implied incest fantasy is the least revolting thing about your celebration of otaku shittery: So a schlubby light novel protagonist who also writes light novels (and who happens to be surrounded by hot bitches that just love people who write light novels because that’s so cool) finds out that the mysterious porn artist he’s collaborating with over the internet is actually his hikkikomori little sister, who reacts to this revelation like any girl would: being tsundere. This means it’s full of mildly self-deprecating nerd humor, the infuriating kind that makes it abundantly clear that if the author meant any of it, he wouldn’t write this crap. Even worse is that the sibling relationship is played for sappy family feels, which I would be more willing to give the benefit of the doubt to if this wasn’t OreImo 2: The Sequel To OreImo. And the main guy can’t keep his eyes from wandering anyway, so it’s not like there’s a mystery here. I’ll say it looks real good, obviously there’s money in the OreImo market and it’s well made as a result, plus the aforementioned character designs. But if I want more Hiro Kanzaki I’d rather watch Go! Go! 575 again.

Hinako Note

There’s actually no Manga Time Kirara adaptation this season, but worry not, Hinako Note is indistinguishable from one of those (that one being GochiUsa). So it’s Kirara at it’s most basic too: 5 girls with mild, generic quirks hang out and cute things take place. You get your shy one, you get your hungry one, you get your tiny maid one, etc. Ostensibly this is theater-themed, but as of episode 1 it’s less about theater than K-ON is about music, and that’s saying something. Now, these shows are always extremely inoffensive by design, and if they do nothing fundamentally wrong they just come across as dull. Since this does nothing fundamentally wrong, it just comes across as dull. Congratulations, Hinako Note, you pulled it off even while being born in the wrong magazine.


The easy hook when writing about Kabukibu is that it’s another DEEN show about a classic Japanese performance artform, but it’s blindingly obvious right away that Kabukibu is no Rakugo Shinjuu – it being about a school club is right in the title after all, and it has the requisite spurious punctuation too, so everything else falls into place from there. The main innovation is that this is about cute guys doing cute kabuki. As always, our main dude has to gather the five members to bring the school club back to life first. So it’s unimaginative and honestly rather bad, but I still like it. For starters there’s the bit where our lead is such a nerd that he spends every conversation clearing up common misconceptions about kabuki, which is hilarious, since it resembles weeaboo Richard Stallman wanting to interject for a second over and over again. Secondly, the comical cast of misfits does seem to have potential, with a rock singer that can’t sing, an obvious woman that is actually a woman, and so on. Overall it reminds me of Cheer Danshi, an obvious C-list production that gets by by being earnest. If I can learn to not be annoyed at the yodelling kabuki inflection, I might actually watch this for a lark.

The King’s Avatar

This may be completely outside the “Japanese cartoon” purview of this post since it’s 100% Chinese and doesn’t even have a Japanese dub like the Haoliners productions, but it’s on MAL so it counts I suppose. Also, it’s rather… good? The King’s Avatar is about a legendary MMO pro gamer who gets kicked off his team and has to give up his account, which afflicts him with a multitude of sads. After a bit of soul-searching he starts playing the game again on a new server, starting from level 1. What makes this not as bad as it sounds is that it’s not an isekai bonanza, but a sports show where the sport happens to be visually interesting, and it’s a slow and contemplative sports show at that. The whole “starting from level 1" thing is a topical twist on the sports comeback story, and it looks fairly nice too, a few bits of unfortunate CG aside (but that’s common, so whatever). Yeah, I like this, and if fansubs turn out to not be a huge hassle to get hold of I’ll give it a try.

Love Kome - We Love Rice

Back in Japan, please enjoy this short comedy about rice crop gijinka, boyband edition. It has atrocious character designs and is painfully unfunny. So nothing new there.


Girlfriends keep falling in my lap, and that might mean my eyes will soon be turning red. Hey, this is the old “reverse isekai”, where some nerd gets to live with a bunch of characters from his favorite anime that inexplicably became real. Brace for domestic hijinks and fish-out-of-water comedy - and a lot of action, because this is Ei Aoki working with offbrand Fate material. He may be this show’s saving grace, because I’m willing to forgive dumb action anime a lot if it at least manages to have some actual fucking action in it. The idea that these anime characters think they’re in the “realm of the gods” (i.e., their creators, you see) also has some storytelling potential, if it doesn’t get buried under stuff blowing up and comedic trips to the konbini. And it doesn’t have a “walking in on the girl naked” scene, which probably counts as “classy” in this field. I don’t know, it sure is stupid as hell but it might be a good time. We’ll see.

Renai Boukun

Renai Boukun is a comedy’s comedy about a very silly cupid that ships people, and herself. As a real anime comedy, it is of course chock full of people acting wacky followed by reaction faces, which is my kryptonite. I do have to admit that this show at least goes all out with it, it’s fast and furious and never lets up. Some of the jokes are even okay (mostly the more absurd ones like the unsettlingly bizarre cat with a human face), though most are just repetitive, like the yandere girl being constantly jealous. Yeah, this is just totally not my thing, but if I give it any amount of praise that probably means it’s a good one?

Seikaisuru Kado

Never say that bureaucrats don’t get no respect, because this is the second season in a row where we get an anime about pencilpushers being totally awesome. The main difference between this and ACCA is that ACCA was roughly 80% style, and Seikaisuru Kado has no style. It makes up for it with conviction, because this is a show where some desk jockey assigned to wind down an electroplating business spends a night googling, with the result being him developing a new electroplating procedure that saves the company and impresses physics professors – and that is the intro before the science fiction aspect comes into play. Oh yeah, there’s a science fiction aspect. So after a job well done, Super Bureaucrat Man is taking a flight from Haneda airport when a Borg cube unceremoniously drops on the plane. The rest of the episode is spent with scientists trying to figure out what happened, mostly by shooting tank shells at the cube and so on. Guess they just aren’t bureaucratic enough, because by the end our hero emerges from the cube, having apparently come to an agreement with the proprietor. Uh. Yes, this is an extreme amount of nonsense, and I have no idea where this is supposed to be going. With the amount of military hardware on display, it makes me think “GATE, but not for total assholes”, but who knows. It looks very weird too, it’s a CG show that cuts a lot of corners by using 2D animation (I know, right?). Usually CG characters are good when you have a lot of action because it enables a fluid camera, but this has no action and they still could have done their special effects in CG like everyone else. So it ends up as an anime where the important characters look worse than the unimportant ones they couldn’t be bothered to build a CG model for. The whole thing is bizarre enough to be intriguing, but I don’t have high hopes for it, especially since the slots for shows I actually want to watch are now filling up.

Tsuki ga Kirei

Case in point: Tsuki ga Kirei is a romance about a bookish nerd dude who loves to quote Dazai at his most morose, and a neurotic girl. Needless to say, it is very awkward, but also kind of cute. This may seem like a slim synopsis, but that’s pretty much it: Tsuki ga Kirei is the sort of show that has the potential to be great if it pays off, but just becomes boring to infuriating Mari Okada clone #3879435 if it doesn’t. So it’s a risky proposition, and not one you can call based on the first episode. On the execution level it seems to do it right so far, it’s well directed, sticks to its slow, sensitive tone and looks pleasant and detailed – the only distracting thing are regrettable and robotic CG background characters all over the place. Overall, this is a show that demands at least three episodes, which it will get from me. Ask again later.

Twin Angel BREAK

Finally, if you’re looking for some basic-ass mahou shoujo shit, here’s the new Twin Angel spinoff. It’s indeed some basic-ass mahou shoujo shit (two-girl team aka PreCure version). The genki red one and the reserved blue one go around fighting evil by the moonlight or whatever, while being cheered on by their one-gimmick-each friends. I somehow doubt this thing is setting itself up for a subversion of any kind, so yeah. What you see is what you get. The only memorable thing is that the action is more than merely bad here, it’s comically bad. Seriously, it’s somewhere between Astro Fighter Sunred and Ninja Slayer. Too bad the rest of the show is just unambitiously competent, so watching it for production pratfalls seems like it’s not worth it either.


This year I finally bought one of those mini souvenir Oscar statues that they sell all over Los Angeles. They’re fitted with witty, positively biting plaques such as “Best Stoner,” “Hottest Wife,” and “Coolest Cody,” (who the hell knows any cool “Codys,” let alone “Coolest”?). As truly side-splittingly hilarious as they all were, I didn’t think twice. I coughed up my $12 for the “Best Dad” model and gave it as a gift to the best father a girl could wish for: my mom, Dr. Carol Ellen Lee.

I honor my mother on Father’s Day because, when my twin brother and I were four months old, my father left my family. Or in Internet parlance, “unfollowed” us. You might be thinking that that sounds like a despicable thing for a father to do, but remember – I made very bad small talk at that age! I mooched off dad’s money, and my resume was lacking in all marketable skills. My brother refused to split the check when we went out to dinner! Ever! It was quite a hostile environment for a grown man. So he went splitsies (I think that’s the legal term??). He went AWOL. Oh, excuse me, typo: “A-HOLE.” He went a-hole. While he was vaguely in and out of our lives as small children, I haven’t spoken to him in almost fifteen years now. I mostly regret that I don’t know what he thought of Avatar!

I’m not interested in disparaging my father. One, because then there’d be nothing to explore in my future one-woman show “My mother’s Jewish, my father’s Jewish, and I’m Jewish! And HUNGRY! FOR DADDY’S HUGS…AND KNISHES!” (running off-off-Broadway in a meat locker in Detroit). But two, because I truly don’t feel any emotional wounds. It is not enough to say that my mom was the best mom anyone could’ve asked for. She was a superwoman. A champion. An Übermensch (German for “female Uber driver.”)

My mom raised my twin and me entirely by herself. For you nerds out there, that’s like my mom’s life was a video game and she had to play the whole way through on the “extreme difficult” setting, and still got the high score in record time and found all the Easter Eggs and did all the side challenges and learned all the Ocarina’s magical tunes and got all of Majora’s Masks including Romani’s Mask which took forever. It was a priority of hers that we never notice the deficit that my father’s departure could have left. While working full time as an anesthesiologist, she was still able to make every play performance, every school conference, every sports game my brother and I ever played. And I’m a girl who, in sixth grade, shot a basket on the wrong hoop in a game and missed. I honestly don’t know if that’s more or less embarrassing than making it. If I were my mom I would’ve probably heckled me at my games. I am the most coddled, softest, gooest lady-baby now and there’s not one day that goes by that I don’t thank my mom in my head or on the phone through an elaborate tableau of grateful emoji (“smiley face smiley face money sign eggplant”).

My mom gave me a lot of gifts, but one has become more and more important to me as I grow older. When I was a teenager, I remember offhandedly thanking my mom and her generation for “paving the way for girls my age, because now there’s no sexism. You fixed it for us!” My mother calmly sat me down and calmly looked me square in the eye and calmly advised me that I was mega-wrong (legal term). “Sexism is not dead. I’m sorry, Megan. Society is still backwards and it’s sneaky and it’s going to be here for awhile.” Then she probably made me three lasagnas or something, I was a very large girl at the time, I once ate eight McDonald’s hash browns in a sitting. But this essay isn’t about that, my one-woman show is!

That talk and those lasagnas changed my life. Because, whoa, newsflash – not everyone thinks women are the best. I started seeing the world as a complex place. There were men who hated women for nothing. There were women who hated other women for nothing. There was violence targeting women, all because we are soft and babies come out of us sometimes in two different types of holes. The world wasn’t the Eden I had formerly seen it to be. Though, maybe Eden is an apt comparison – Eve didn’t have it so great. She was punished for all eternity for eating carbs. I bet Eve made 70 cents to the dollar of what Adam did.

My mother’s mother gave my mom similar advice when she was young: “Get a job where you can support yourself. Don’t rely on a man to support you.” As simple and blunt as this sounds now, I forget how novel a woman’s fiscal independence is. Because of my successful mother, I grew up with the privilege of assuming that my brother and I would make comparable amounts of money. That is crazy! I wish I could tell Susan B. Anthony that. She would dig it. Plus, how PSYCHED would Susan B. Anthony be if she knew she was on a DOLLAR COIN?! She couldn’t vote and now she’s on money that men use to buy stuff like sandals and guns and radishes. Not even a more feminine 70 cent piece! A DOLLAR! And honestly, she’d probably be psyched about the time machine I’d used to visit her, too. I could really make Susan B. Anthony’s day.

I want to thank my mom today for giving me vigilance. It is a gift to be vigilant. A true gift. Too many people, both men and women, are complacent about social mores. (NOTE: I feel like this is the closest I might ever get to sincerely calling Americans “sheeple.” This is a big day for me!!) The gift of awareness is more important than ever. The Elliot Rodger shooting in Santa Barbara last month is just an inflorescence on the noxious weed of sexism and female-targeted violence that crops up constantly throughout this country. This is the norm. I feel that it is a privilege to have had my eyes opened by my exceptional mother. My mom raised a daughter who never once, for one second, thought I was going to be supported by a man. I never once thought I was less capable. That I couldn’t do a job that is still mostly done by men. That I was worse at math. That I was less physically strong. (NOTE: I am very bad at parking and spatial reasoning. My mother and I have both admitted that to ourselves.)

They say that “living well is the best revenge.” Well, you know what’s also good revenge? Revenge. It is easy to be angry. It is easy to jump from awareness of inequality into crushing anger. I myself oscillate between fatalism at the state of the olio of inequalities in our world (gender-based, sexual orientation-based, socioeconomic, racial, religious, handicapped discrimination, etc. etc. etc.) and a burning desire to do something. But my mom taught me that rejecting the status quo is doing something. Succeeding, however quietly and tastefully, chips away at everything. And, while things might not fully change until women can physically match men, or until men can give birth, this is enough. This is the fight.

My mom is a feminist. A goofy, badass feminist. She lives her creed. Possibly even more important than instilling a confidence inside me, she raised a son, my brother, who is entirely respectful of women and who genuinely loves them. My brother is a real “DUDE” (legal term). He loves sports and cars and things and stuff and is still somehow able to love women (I guess technically we fall under “stuff”). And I entirely chalk that up to my mom.

I am not here to indict or praise other families. I only can be in my skin. I’m not a serial killer who kills ladies and puts on their skin, though that’s probably a good way to keep looking young, note to self, look into murder-skin-suits, they’re “in” this summer. Fathers are absolutely incredible. Great fathers are great. Fathers who parent with mothers. Single fathers. Gaylord double-fathers (legal term). Gingerbread men who you give little gingerbread children and then you eat all of them because fuck that family unit, I’m hungry, mommy didn’t make me enough lasagnas. All fathers who choose to be good fathers are good fathers. But plenty don’t, and that’s where certain heroes shine.

My mom is a hero. I wish they had a real award show for best parents. The odds are that thousands if not millions of people are walking around with ill-begotten “World’s Best Mom!” or “Dad!” shirts like GODDAM FRAUDS. I would love to have a real world’s best mom competition for those shirts or mugs. Because I’m pretty sure my mom could stand her ground with the best of them. Side note: I am selling this competition show to a highly reputable network as we speak for millions of dollars. Cha-CHING, LOSERS!!

Today is not just “Father’s” Day. Today is a day to honor whomever raised you. Your father, your mother, your grandparents, a fire hose, a gingerbread man, your television. Actually, yeah, definitely your television. Everyone, buy your television some golf clubs. But in addition to TV, the world is filled with beautiful humans who do a lot of good in their unfathomably short time in this smudge of consciousness we call life. They combat violence and hatred and complacency in whatever way they can, and the kindness and selflessness of them all fill me with excruciating joy, and ineffable sadness, and hunger for lasagna.

I love you, mommy. Happy father’s day. 

anonymous asked:

*whispers shouts* write about the first ransom watches holster perform!

Hoo boy this sort of grew a mind of its own. (Amazon Eve was a real person, btw. She was a Tall Woman for a circus. Maybe Holster read abt her and decided to use the name, idk man)

Ransom isn’t sure what to expect when Holster invites him to one of his gigs. Like, yeah, sure, he knows that Holster does drag, and Ransom is cool with it. He also know that Holster loves to sing along to music, but lip syncing? He didn’t even know that it was a real thing, that people paid money to see a dude in a wig mouth the words to a Celine Dion song, or whatever kind of music it is that they like. Beyoncé, maybe? Diana Ross? Who knows.

Ransom has to remind himself that technically, he is one of “them” now. That if he is dating Holster, yes, he’s one of “them”. Sort of. He’d never really felt anything for another guy until Holster. Does that make him one of “them”? He’ll have to ask someone at the club. He hopes he doesn’t offend anyone.

He’s just very nervous.

Ransom was hurt, at first, when he found out that Holster did drag and hadn’t told him until senior year. Well, technically, Ransom had come across a blonde wig underneath the bunk bed, and confronted Holster about it. He kinda gets it now, though. They share everything, but sometimes a dude’s gotta have something that’s only his. Like Ransom’s security blanket, which Holster still doesn’t know about. It has a hedgehog pattern on it and he’s had it since first grade. He keeps it under his mattress and brings it out when he gets an anxiety attack and can’t get Holster to help him.

Ransom feels bad now, for taking that something from Holster, but because his boyfriend is the most thoughtful, friendliest giant ever, he’s letting Ransom be a part of his own, metaphorical “security blanket”.

He walks into the club, feeling extremely out of place. It’s not quite what he expected. Where he had imagined dancing twinks high on ecstasy was a small stage with a crowd of people around it. Girls, boys; boys dressed as girls; girls dressed as boys; androgynous beings with asymmetrical haircuts; and one small group of giggling, drunk women that seemed to be having a bachelorette party.

Onstage, there’s a queen who was lip syncing to a Rihanna song that Ransom forgot the name of. She’s curvy, her wig is pink, and her makeup is clown-like. She keeps doing splits and shit while still managing to keep up with the music. It does look harder than Ransom though it was. She somehow manages to take the dollar bills people are holding out for her without her performance being boring.

The song ends and people clap and cheer for her. She smiles and curtsies, then jumps offstage and heads for the bar in the corner. She’s visibly exhausted, and Ransom considers texting Jack to tell him what a good workout lip syncing seems to be.

Ransom prays to God that Holster is good at this. He doesn’t think he can lie to Holster if he asks if Ransom enjoyed the show.

He shoves his way to the front of the crowd and feels in his pocket to make sure that the crumpled dollar bills are still there. Holster had told him that it was considered rude to show up and not give the performers a tip. He’s going to have to give Pink Hair a few bucks after Holster’s done.

A bearded person in a cocktail gown walks onto the stage, microphone in hand. “Alright, give it up for Donatella Soul, everybody.” The audience cheers, and Ransom claps politely. “Now this next performer is very special to us, she’s funny, she’s sexy, and she’s six fuckin’ feet, four inches tall.”

That’s gotta be Holster.

“Make some noise for Amazon Eve, the World’s Tallest Woman!” The crowd whoops in excitement.

Ransom breathes a sigh of relief. At least it seems like Holster is good at this. Ransom probably won’t have to die of second-hand embarrassment tonight.

Holst- whoops; Eve steps onstage, and if Ransom felt short standing next to Holster before, he feels absolutely minuscule now. How the hell does he- fuck; she stay upright with those heels on? They look like they could take somebody’s eye out, with how skinny and tall they are. She’s opted to show off those crazy-long, toned legs with jean shorts, and it even looks like she shaved. Now Ransom knows why Holster sometimes doesn’t have any hair on his legs, chest, or armpits. He’d always been confused by that, but had never remembers to ask. Usually, when he noticed, he was preoccupied with…other things.

Also, where the hell did she put her dick? Holster isn’t really known for being small. Ransom decides that he’d rather not know. Her makeup looks very minimal, and her blonde wig doesn’t look brushed. It also looks like Eve didn’t bother padding, like Pink Hair did. Sure, yeah, when it comes to Holster’s backside, Ransom knows why he wouldn’t bother with pads, but Eve is flat-chested, too, with a tiny, strapped, Hello Kitty crop top that reveals that six-pack that Ransom loves, but it doesn’t exactly scream “woman”. Actually, Ransom takes that back. If Shitty was here, she’d yell at him because “a woman doesn’t look any particular way, they all have different types of bodies.” and “being a woman has nothing to do with what body you have.”. Ransom sends a telepathic apology to Shitty.

But even though Eve doesn’t look very “dragged out”, somehow it all comes together and looks amazing. Like some androgynous; skateboarder movie star, which makes no sense to Ransom, but that’s the vibe he’s getting.

Eve is looking down at Ransom and smiling. ‘Hi,’ she mouths, winking.

Ransom’s face feels hot. “Hey,” He murmurs, smiling back.

Eve picks up the mic and turns to the audience.

“Oooo!” A short boy with green hair and dimples nudges Ransom. “She likes you! Lucky!” He says enviously.

Ransom laughs. “I hope so.” He turns his attention back to the stage.

Eve is sitting in a chair, her guitar in her lap. The mic is now on a stand, pointed towards her. “I thought we’d start with an Amazon Eve original, yeah?” The audience cheers in agreement.

Holster/Eve is an amazing performer. Time flies by without Ransom - who’s usually always checking his phone compulsively for the time - even noticing. Eve sings a few songs, which are hilarious; “Bisexual Drag Queen” and “Gay Hanukkah” might be Ransom’s favorites. She lip syncs to “Pussy” by Lady, tells jokes, collects money from the audience, and even does a magic trick.

Ransom feels something that feels a lot like pride swelling in his chest. He has the crazy urge to jump up onstage and yell “that’s my boyfriend!”, but instead, he just holds out five dollars.

Eve comes to him last, and instead of taking the money with her hands, she bites down on the dollar bills and gently drags them out of Ransom’s hands, smirking.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Ransom glares, without any true malice behind it.

Eve just laughs, blows a kiss to the crowd, and hops offstage. “C'mon, let’s get drunk,” She says, grabbing Ransom’s hand and leading him over to the bar.

Ransom sees that green-haired guy gaping at them and shrugs, smiling.

Eve or Hoster - what does Ransom call them now that the show is over? God, he doesn’t know anything about gay culture - takes off their wig and tosses it onto a barstool, sitting in the one next to it. Ransom follows their lead and takes a seat next to them. “Am I allowed to call you Holster yet?” He asks, leaning against his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Yeah. What do you want to drink?” Holster motions to the tattooed bartender.

“I don’t know. Alcohol?”

Holster snorts. “Okay, I’ll order for you.” He asks the bartender for two of the house-brewed beers.

Ransom reaches for his wallet, but Holster motions for him to put it away.

“Please, dude, talent drinks for free.”

“You’re the talent, bro, not me.” Ransom says, continuing to pull out his wallet.

“Yeah, but you’re screwing the talent, so the talent can at least get you a free drink.” Holster waves away the wallet again. “Plus, you gave me money, which was completely unnecessary, dude.”

“You told me to bring money for the performers!”

“For the other girls, brah; you don’t have to give me anything. We pretty much share a piggybank anyways.”

“True.” Ransom pauses. “Hey, you were good up there.”

“Really?” Holster smiles and blushes, which is…new. Holster’s never asked Ransom for affirmation before.

“Chyeah, dude. You were great, actually.” Ransom kisses Holster’s cheek.

They finish their drinks and head out for the Haus. As they walk out the club door, Ransom pauses. “Hang on, dude, I forgot something.”


Ransom jogs back over to the bar. “Uh, Donatella?” He asks Pink Hair.

She smiles up at him. “Yeah, sugar?”

He holds out the rest of his money: three dollars. “Here.”

She smiles and takes the cash. “Thanks, sweetie.”

The Pirate and his Thief

FrUk Drabble (pirate AU)

Word Count: 2791

Renowned Captain Kirkland stepped into the slave trade.

At his entrance, the man at the counter lent out his attention. A giddy, shit-eating smile carved itself into his face when he saw who had entered his shop.

“Ah Cap’n Kirkland. I was told you were interested in coming here, but I wasn’t sure if the word was true. I’m glad it was. Welcome.” He spread his arms in welcome. The two men, highly regarded in their own fields, knew of each other but didn’t know each other personally. The merchant stepped out from behind his place at the counter, held out his hand and offered his name. Kirkland could have cared less what it was. Nevertheless he shook the man’s filthy hand.

“Let me see your finest merchandise,” he demanded, nodding his chin at the man.

“Sure ting.” His voice was gruff and sounded as if he’d been eating trash for the past thirty years. His grey, singed beard looked just as unsightly, swaying slightly as he walked over, changed the sign on the outside of the door from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ and then closed it. The wooden latch came down hard and a lock clicked into place. He waddled into the back of his store and Captain Kirkland got a chance to look around the establishment.

Dressed up as a normal store, the place was rather cramped, selling only two displays of a rather meek amount of ammunition, which was what the sign on the outside of the store advertised the store as. A poor excuse of a shop if he were to live on this type of income alone. But anyone who was anyone except for the kings men knew that this place was among one of the better slave trades around.

Chains rattled as three young boys were herded out of the back room.

Boys. And only boys.

Bound in a line by their wrists and ankles, they were sat on the floor against the wall. A gag was peeled out of each of their mouths. “”Ere we are. Finest ‘o da bunch.” Then he stood back with his arms crossed, looking proud of his stock.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, taking each of them in one at a time. The first was blond, with a tiny frame and terrified eyes. It wouldn’t take much for Arthur to make him do whatever he wanted. Judging by the way he kept his eyes locked to the floorboards Arthur doubted it would take even the beginnings of a beating to get a point across to the lad. He’d do anything Arthur wanted in a heartbeat.

The next had short, cropped brown hair with equally brown eyes. He had a little more meat on him. It was easy to tell that he was a boy left on the streets, parents probably slaughtered long ago. He probably had fast hands from experience, though was most likely easily distracted and less than likely to co-operate without a few littered bruises and spare lashes.

The last was also blond, with tanner skin that either of the boys. Scars along his face, he’d probably been traded through slave post to slave post. There was a resistance about him that Arthur didn’t much like. Not like the other boy though. This one, strangely, looked as if he had a sense of pride. His straight back and blue eyes suggested a child taken straight from the lower ranks of nobility: a knight’s son, but nobility nonetheless.

It was clear none of these boys had been here for very long as none of them looked too particularly battered, dirty or too poorly fed. And of the three the final seemed to be the obvious choice in terms of a slave. Arthur deemed that all he needed was a bit of conditioning.

Disinterest in his voice like a full pint of beer, he said, “You told me this was your finest. You lied.”

“No lie ‘ere sir. This is my best. And might I say there some ‘o the best out there. Paid a good chuck for each of ‘em.”

A good slave was not one with youth still shining in his eyes and clearly this man did not understand this.

“I’m not looking for a boy,” he said simply.

“Sorry. But I don’t keep girls, nor do I sell ‘em to grubby hands let alone a sea scoundrel like yerself.”

Keeping his slaves clean and refusing girls and women? This man was noble to say the least. Strange, as the profession he had taken up warranted anything but.

His good will and decency was denying him money. With a couple of girls this man could be making tenfold what he already does.  

“It’s not a boy that I’m looking for,” he repeated.

“Sir, if you want a woman for your troubles. You’re going to have to look elsewhere. I don’t got none ‘ere,” the man insisted.

Arthur was beginning to lose his patience with this man’s incompetence. “I’m looking for a man,” he spat. “Show me everything in your back room.”

“Very well then.” The boys were left out in the shop while Arthur was taken into a room behind a firmly closed door. There were eight men, alongside two other boys, all chained to the wall.

Piercing green eyes scanned over them all and eliminated half of them; the weak and useless. He stood in front of four men all looking right back at him.

The first had black hair and empty eyes. A gangly man that could do no more than cleaning. The second had long blond hair and a playful smirk. The third was the strongest of the group with a glare that could shatter glass. Finally, the one on the end with the black hair and nimble fingers looked the smartest of them all.

The Captain bent down so he was only a few inches from the third slave’s face and prodded the man’s calf. The muscle was like a cow’s tough meat. Firm. Reliable.

“I think this one tickles my fancy the most. How much d’you supposes he weighs?”

Next to him, the blond’s eyebrow twitched and his lopsided smirk melted into a firm glare.

“‘Bout one-fifty Cap’n. Got meat on ‘is bones, useful for heavy liftin’.” By comparison to the others, yes, this man was the most physically fit, but that body weight paled in comparison to that of a free man, one who wasn’t fed the better part of scraps in the back room of a tiny shop.

Still, Arthur hummed in agreement, lifting the man’s chin. “Not too bad on the eyes either. Don’t want a bunch of ugly blokes on my ship to scare away the women.”

The slave looked at him in disgust and pulled his lip up in a snarl. Had his hands been free he would have strangled Arthur to death. But he wasn’t free, and that was the point.  

“Are you done playing games now, Captain?” The second one suddenly said beside him, his eyes narrowed.

“Silence, you,” the shopkeeper snapped. Then to Captain Kirkland he said, “Very good sir. Eighty gold coins and he’s yours.”

Captain Kirkland sighed and stood. “Much too steep for me I‘m afraid.” But everyone in the room knew he had more than enough gold to buy everyone in the shop including its keeper.

He gestured to the final one. “How about this lad with the smooth looking skin?”

“Fifty-six gold coins,” answered the elderly man.

Arthur tipped his gaze at the last slave. “Where did this chap come from?”

“A contact of mine says he came in from the east. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Can you tell me how he’s behaved in your care?”

“That’s enough, Captain,” barked the blond again, eyes sharp under his curtaining hair.  

The man let down a lash across the slave’s thighs. He cried out. “No more outta you!” He shouted. Then to the Captain he asked, “Why ever would’ya wanna know that?”

Kirkland chuckled, a hearty sound that came from deep within his stomach. “To see of what nature he is. His demeanour right now is reserved, however it could be a ruse and I might end up buying a seedy git instead of a hardy slave.”

“He’s been nothin’ but quiet in my care, Cap’n Kirkland,” the shopkeeper reassured him. “Hasn’t spoken a word since I chained him here.”

“Is that perhaps because he is a mute?”

The merchant hefted the whip again and let down with a thunderous lash at the fourth man’s stomach. He cried out, clearly not mute.

“Right then.” He stood. “I’ll have him.”

The keeper bent down, reaching for his key ring to unlock the last slave from the others, but Arthur raised his hand. “No. Not that one. This one.” He pointed at the blond.

“Wha?” The keeper shouted, aghast. The others slaves eyed him pointedly as well. The fourth one seemed to be relieved.

“But Cap’n this one’s been nothin’ but whiny since ‘e got ‘ere. Besides, can’t ya hear ‘is accent. The bloke’s a frog through and through. Why would ya’ ever want a salve like ‘im?”

“Why indeed?” He said, looking directly at the slave and shaking his head. He seemed to be asking himself the question.

After a moment of staring up at the renowned sea dog, the merchant placed a hand on his knee and hefted himself up. “Very well then,” he said, and moved towards the blond, unlocking him from the chain of four.

The man stood, taller than Kirkland, hair long, fair and resting on his shoulders. The three moved to the font of the shop, the slave’s movement restricted to small steps due to the minimal leeway that the iron chains on his ankles provided.

The old merchant had hustled the three boys into the back room again. They stared at Arthur and his new slave as they were ushered into the back. They looked rather relived as well.

When the shopkeeper returned he told Arthur that the man was worth sixty gold coins. The slave scoffed, insulted at how little he cost compared to the first man, and the Captain handed over the money. It was traded for the key to the man’s restraints: his freedom.

“Was nice doing business with you Cap’n.” He held out a broad, grimy hand.

Arthur gave him his own. “Same to you. I’ll be sure to give word about you and your humble post, chap.” He wouldn’t, but the man lapped up the lie earnestly.

“Really? Thanks a bunch Cap’n. Be seein’ ya.”

And with that, Captain Arthur Kirkland left, his new slave in tow.

The slave trader flipped the sign on his door back to open and went on with the rest of his day.

Arthur dragged his new piece of property into the heart of the trading capital. They made their way into an alley way and suddenly he slapped the man upside the back of his head, the force of it making the blond haired man lose his balance slightly. “Ow!”  

“Bugger-headed twat!” He shouted. “I’m tried of having to buy your freedom all the time. What is a master thief if he constantly gets caught?”

The man laughed. “Only the best,” he said as Arthur unlocked the chains, letting the one on his ankles fall lose. He stepped out of them like ill fitting clothes.

Arthur scoffed. “That cost me sixty gold shillings, Francis!”

“Not enough. My silky smooth skin alone is worth at least one hundred,” he said, indignant.

“You owe me all of it – with interest,” the pirate warned.

“Oh no, I hardly owe you any interest.”

“Oh? And why’s that then?” Arthur bit.

“Because you left me there for three days!” He shouted, outraged.

“Yes and I did that purposefully. That’s what you get for wasting my time, frog.”

“What if somebody bought me before you got the chance?”

“Pipe down. I had one of the deck-hands check on the shop each morn.”

“And if I’d been bought after he checked?”

“Then I’d be rid of a nuisance like you, simple as that.”

He chuckled mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. You’d be useless without me.”

In seconds Francis was pinned against the wall, looking up at the tip of the pirate’s sword. “Come again?” He asked.

Suddenly, the Captain felt the cold touch of a knife at his throat. Francis had a tiny blade of his own, used for discrete handshake-jabs and path-crossing stabs to the stomach where somehow – somehow – a wallet would fall to the floor in the process and never be seen again.

Blades at each other’s throats, neither flinched nor flicked their wrist to draw the other man’s blood. Instead, they simply stared at each other: baited and baiting. Not even they knew which one was which.

His patience utterly depleted, Arthur growled, and lowered his weapon. Francis followed suit. “Look, did you get it or not?”

“But of course. Who do you think I am?” And he led Arthur to the place he had hidden the loot.

This is the beginning of a tale of the pirate and his thief. In each other’s back pockets. At each other’s disposal, in each other’s faces, at each other’s throats. Always grappling, trying to get the upper hand on the other.

But behind closed doors they counted on only each other.

Francis offers a hand and Arthur knows that no one else in this world will accept scum like him. He’s glad that Francis - though scum himself - is the only one. He is held close and he holds closer. Smudged souls. All they have is each other.

They disrobe and find a comfortable position curled around each other in the sheets. They like it this way, locked in Arthur’s private quarters on his ship, warm breath and traveling hands the only thing they know.

They could each have whomever they wanted. Francis had seductive eyes and a snake’s tongue. There was a certain romantic smoothness about him. All it would take was a look and a few words; possibly even a wink and he could have anyone. And as for Arthur, his renowned name and the symbol of riches and power behind it could call anyone to his side. Though his prickly personality wouldn’t be able to keep many people close for long, the promise of money could bribe the weak hearted. He would have no trouble renting any lover he wanted. And if not rent, he’d take by force, he was Captain for a reason. His sword spoke for itself.

Despite this, there had never been any interest in someone else.  

It started with wild passion behind a seamless partnership. Matching shit eating grins as Arthur pulled the thief into the private room on his ship, in secret.    Once the door was closed he was slammed against it, both mouths fighting for domination. That was how both of them thought it would stay and neither of them minded it that way. But when one night Arthur called out for Francis craving something other than his body, Francis had come offering comfort.

The Captain, as he had learned, was two faced. On one side a steadfast brick wall, lined with the brutality of barbed wire, but as good as glass when the doors closed and the lights went out. That night was careful strokes and solemn words by candlelight. Arthur fell asleep in his arms for the first time, instead of on the other side of the bed.

However, Arthur’s beckoning wasn’t a one-time thing. Being renowned didn’t mean he was renowned for being good. He was a pirate. Scum. He was on a rift; respected but feared. Francis understood that this was something more deep-rooted than wanting pleasure or release.

When Arthur had held unbreakable Francis they knew they were in too deep. Francis was a pillar; social, and though he tended to other people, no one tended to him. No one thought to. The beautiful man was perfect in daylight. But he cried alone if ever at all, seethed with anger behind locked doors and only allowed himself to be exhausted in private.

Though, it was that one night where he padded out of his own room on Arthur’s ship and went undoubtedly, without hesitation, to Arthur. His shoulders quaked with sobs he let fall onto Arthur’s shoulder. This was new territory for both of them. The Captain drew up such soft words he didn’t even know he could utter, whispered them tenderly into the other man’s ear. While the thief, malleable in Arthur’s hands, simply let the world fall away from him.  

All they truly had was each other in what twisted love that they could muster.

cat leaps

chapter 1: basic steps


as if there aren’t enough of these already, i wanted to try my hand at the break dance au because i’ve got cool ideas and a plot and everything. i hope you enjoy! for @starrycove because you’re dealing with all this hype like a champ and you also gave us this gem of an au.

songs: x gon’ give it to ya by dmx & bet you can’t do it like me by dlow

(NOTE: if you look back to the very first break dance au @starrycove made there was a request in particular for marichat so hold onto your knickers and jump right in if this is your jam. but i will try to fit in as much of the love square that i can.)

summary: dancing, sexual tension, and terrible jokes.

or, marinette is a contemporary dancer with an affinity for break dancing and adrien is the new cool cat in town who turns out to be pretty good too.

read on ao3

i can’t take myself when i step up on the scene, and all these haters joking cos’ they know my swag be mean - bet you can’t do it like me; dlow

For all of her supposed stamina from dancing six hours a day, sprinting all the way from the academy to the skate park leaves Marinette panting hard and probably very red in the face. She leaps over bushes and dog leashes as she speeds along footpaths and through parks in an effort to make it in time. Well. In better time than she would make if she weren’t running an Olympic 2000m.

Her bag bounces maniacally on her back, as if egging her on. The skate park bursts into view as she turns the final corner and she pushes herself for the last few metres, hoping against hope she isn’t too late. She slips and stumbles three times over bags before she finally skids to a stop in front of Nino.

“I’m here!” she wheezes, bending to rest her hands on her knees in an effort to gulp air back into her burning chest. “I’m here.”

He doesn’t look up from his laptop. “You sound like you’re dying. What was it this time?”

Her withering look doesn’t have quite the same effect as she tries to resuscitate her lungs but he winces satisfactorily. She slides her bag down her arms and reaches for her water bottle.

“Chloé,” she hisses, through heavy pants. She gulps down some water. “And her new playboy buddy.”

“I didn’t think she had any friends.”

Marinette snorts into her bottle. “Mm. He’s new. Almost as nasty as her, too. He stuck gum to my dance shoes. And when I called him out on it, all he could do was stutter and try to deny it.” She breaks for another gulp of water. “I was watching him stick it to my shoe. If he thinks he can get away with it because he’s new he’s got another thing coming. He’s one of those ‘I have a rich daddy so I can do anything I want’ types.”

“I think I heard about someone new arriving at the academy.” Nino frowns. “What’s his name?”

“Pretentious Douchebag.”

Nino laughs. “You didn’t say that to his face did you? His rich daddy would have a scholarship student like you thrown out by the end of the day.”

“No,” Marinette scowls. “I wish I had. It’s just my luck that I have both him and Chloé in my class this year. Can’t I just go with you to your music class instead?”

“Sorry, bro. Musical prodigies only.”

Marinette sighs. “This sucks. I was already running late too because Mme Mendeliev is having a bad week and taking it out on us in class—I’ve done enough technique to last me a lifetime—but then I had to try and find shoes from the lost and found so I could get here.” She wiggles her toes in the bright red high-tops. “Turns out they fit perfectly.”

Nino smiles at her sympathetically. “Well the upside to all of this is that now you have new shoes.”

“I have to give them back,” she says, shaking her head. “Someone could be looking for them.”

He rolls his eyes at her and turns his attention back to his laptop.

“So did I miss it?” she asks, dropping down in front of the low wall he’s sitting on. She leans her back on the cool concrete and waits for her heart to slow down.

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’. “Alix won’t be here for another ten minutes according to Alya. Something about her dad and the museum blah blah. I stopped listening. I still can’t believe she challenged Kim to a battle. There’s no way she’ll win.”

“Whatever you say.”

The afternoon sun beats down hot and hard on Marinette’s skin, uncomfortable after her sprint. She watches the buzzing activity in the park. Teenagers skate up and down the giant ramps on the far side, while right in front of them, a game of soccer is well under way on the gravel basketball court. Music blares from a speaker somewhere and a few guys practice their floorwork to the heavy beat. She scooches on her bum until she’s almost under Nino’s legs, trying to find some shade.

“Dude,” he sighs, but there’s no irritation in his voice. “We talked about this.”

“I’m too hot.”

Alya’s voice comes from behind them. “Hot damn.”

Marinette hears her high-five Nino.

“Alya,” she says, bending her head back against the wall to look at her. “Hey.”

“Hey girl.” Alya sits down on the wall just above Marinette’s head, draping her legs on either side. Marinette whines at the additional heat and pushes her legs away. “You should really put some clothes on. It’s distracting.”

Marinette frowns, tugging at her leotard and tights. “I just came from class. It was too hot for shorts today. I’m wearing a crop top. That counts.”

Alya raises an eyebrow at her. Marinette sighs and pushes herself wearily off the ground to grab her pair of shorts from her bag.

“You know, Alya” Nino says, finally looking up from his laptop. “When you say things like that, it doesn’t sound very straight.”

Alya flips her hair with a smirk. “It’s not supposed to.”

“Don’t worry, Nino,” Marinette says, grinning at her friends and slipping on the shorts. “Alya still likes you back.”

Nino’s eyes bulge and Alya throws her cap at Marinette. Marinette laughs at them, batting the cap out of the air. She would be embarrassed, but the two of them have been not-so-subtly making eyes at each other for months and Marinette is getting impatient. She’s all for love blossoming in its own time, but there’s only so much of Nino’s ogling and Alya’s incessant—and really rather dirty now—flirting she can take before she locks the two of them in a room together until they admit it to each other. And maybe makeout a little. She can’t count the times she’s almost vomited due to heightened sexual tension. So she has resorted to gentle nudges.

Before Nino starts sputtering excuses about how he does not, in fact, like Alya; that they’re just good friends, and romance is the last thing he thinks of when he’s around her, whooping and yells rising from the edges of the park call for their attention. They look up to see Alix strutting up to the centre of the basketball court. She slips the ball from one of the players and kicks it on target straight into the back of the net to the cheers of the surrounding spectators.

“What a show off,” Nino says.

Alya shoves him. “You’re just mad because she’s good. Kim is going down.”

They watch as Kim and his crew of dancers cross the court to Alix. She crosses her arms casually, a dangerous challenge in her smile. Kim steps into the centre of the loose ring that has formed around them, standing almost flush against her.

“This is going to be good,” Marinette breathes, picking the cap up and stepping back to the wall to sit down.

Alya crosses her arms. “They are so going to bang later.”

Marinette slaps her shoulder with the cap.

“Hey Nino!” Kim waves at them from the court. “Turn it up!”

Nino grins and slips on his headphones. “Oh this one was made for these two. Hold up.”

A heavy brass beat pumps loud and alive through the air accompanied by an angry voice. Cheers erupt from the entire park at the familiar song, and Alya rolls her eyes. Marinette rolls up against Alya with the beat, criss-crossing her legs and laughing. She gives Nino a fist bump.

Everyone turns to the battle. Even the skaters have stopped to watch. Kim and Alix swing their arms back and forth in front them. He steps back and gestures for her to go first.

She starts strong, already jumping into more difficult moves, her toprock flowing nicely. Her entire routine is clean, finishing with a solid freeze. Cheers and gibes bounce back and forth in the air as she steps back to let Kim do his bit.

“He’s all power moves,” Marinette says as they watch him dance, “Alix has style, she has her own flavour. There’s no way he can win just by flipping around the place.”

Alya nods. “He’s all over the place, he doesn’t care about the rhythm as much as he does the moves. You’re going down, Nino. Get ready to pay up.”

Marinette looks at Alya. “You guys are betting?”

She shrugs and Marinette smiles.

“Guys,” Nino says, slinging his headphones back around his neck. “Who’s that?”

The two girls look over to the outer edge of the ring and see a dark figure lurking, hooded and unidentifiable. He has his hands stuffed into his pockets and he’s hunching, but Marinette can tell he’s tall. There’s a slim build under the baggy black clothes his wearing. For all his effort to hide in the shadows and remain unnoticed, the neon green high-tops he’s wearing are eyecatching. He’s nodding to the beat, feet moving almost unconsciously. A dancer.

“I’ve never seen him before,” Marinette says. “Alya?”

Alya, who has lived her entire life in this skate park, who knows it and everyone in it more than Marinette knows her own street, shakes her head. “No. But I want to find out.”

She drags Marinette by the upper arm towards the circle. Marinette stumbles and her feet skid on the gravel as she tries to keep up with Alya’s quick pace. The cap falls out of her hands even as she tries to save it.

“Alya wait—Alya—”

They arrive just as Kim finishes, the circle erupting in another round of cheers and taunts. Alya lets go of Marinette’s arm and pushes her way into the middle of the ring, cheering a little but flapping her hands to get them to settle down. Marinette lingers behind at the edge of the ring to watch from between bodies, rubbing her arm where Alya left a red mark.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Alya calls, the twist of a grin on her lips. “I know we all want to know who won the battle.” She pauses for a few cheers. “But who wants to inflate Kim’s ego, let’s be real. Besides, everyone knows that every new dancer has to prove themselves worthy for this park.”

She said ‘this’ but everyone heard ‘my’.

“And it seems you’re a dancer,” she continues, turning to the stranger.

The crowd turns to look at him. Kim knows better than complain about not being able to claim his win, joining in the murmured jeers running around the ring. Marinette leans forward to see the stranger walk into the circle. He turns his head from side to side, watching the crowd, gauging their reactions. He stops in front of Alya and nods.

She reaches up to flick something on his hood and Marinette sees they’re little black ears. “Un petit chat noir. What are you good for?”

Marinette can’t see most of his face but there’s a bright white flash when he matches her grin. It’s something wild, something feral, that grin.

Alya jerks her head in Nino’s direction. “Hey DJ. Let’s see what this chat noir can do.”

“On it,” Nino calls back.

The music thrums out from the speakers and the dancer slides back and forth a little on his feet, loosening up his limbs before they start. When he does, it’s different to anything Marinette’s ever seen before.

He plays with the notes in his fingers, tossing them back and forth from hand to foot, foot to hand. The music travels on and around him as he moves, as much a part of him as his body is. He moves with an uninhibited freedom, flowing from one move to another, from standing to floorwork as naturally as he breathes. His spins are almost flawless, cleaner than Alix’s.

Marinette sees that same danger in his grin in his dancing. There’s a graceful sort of destructive power in him as he lands his jumps and his legs slice through the air in blades of green. That feral grin seems to grow the faster and longer he dances. She feels a thrill in her chest as she watches him, her hips moving in time to his dance.

She pushes in between people until she’s almost at the inner rim of the ring. The chorus of the song rises and the crowd chants ‘Hey!’ along with the singer. There is strange new electricity in the crowd as they watch the dancer perform with unbelievable agility and precision. It pulses in her veins and she feels herself smiling.

Alya catches her eye and raises an eyebrow. He’s good.

Marinette laughs and gives her a thumbs up.

The dancer finishes the dance to the cheers of his audience and Marinette sees his alarmingly green eyes in the depths of his hood rove over them as he spins around to his applause. His smile changes to something giddy, almost child-like. His hands tighten into fists and flex, still full of energy.

“Well, Chat Noir,” Alya says, cocking her head. “You can really move.”

“Thanks,” he says, panting heavily. “I try.”

“Try harder and maybe you’ll make it into the crew.”

Surprised murmurs race around the circle. Alya doesn’t accept just anyone into the crew. She doesn’t dance anymore, but she’s the honorary captain and what she says means something here.

“Are you serious?” That giddy smile widens.

Alya regards him before nodding, waving her hand offhandedly like it’s nothing. “Auditions this weekend. Bring your all or you’re out.”

“Oh I will.”

“You’d better. I don’t like being wrong.”

Marinette snorts at her and his eyes flicker over to her for just a moment before they’re back on Alya. She walks into the circle rolling her eyes and starts to drag Alya out before they test each other any more.

“Well done,” she says to the dancer. “Earning her respect is no small feat. She’s very impressed.”

He steps forward to fully face Marinette. “What about you?”

He smirks with a touch of arrogance, of daring. Marinette raises her chin, pretending to appraise him properly. His smugness sparks faint irritation in her. She’s not going to inflate his head any more.

“Not yet, Chat Noir.”

His grin matches the mischievous glint in his eye. “‘Yet’ is just a promise for tomorrow, princess.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow at him, remembering the cursive lettering on her crop top that spells out ‘princess’. It’s not an invitation for nicknames.

She opens her mouth to point that out when Alya laughs and salutes to Chat Noir, pulling Marinette out of the ring with her. She knocks her hip against Marinette’s and throws her arm over her shoulder.

“He’s going to be annoying,” Marinette says, glancing at the dancer who’s watching them retreat back to Nino. His grin widens when he catches her eye.

“I think he’ll be great,” Alya states. “We can use a dancer like that for the next jam.”

“I agree,” Nino says. “He’ll definitely help us up our game.”

Alya looks pointedly at Marinette as she takes a seat on the wall. “Unlike some incredible dancers who don’t want to help us.”

“Alya,” Marinette huffs. “Scholarship student. Career suicide. If I enter competitions the academy doesn’t register me in I get expelled. Ringing any bells? They’d never let me apply to compete in a b-boying competition.”

Alya shrugs. “Fine whatever. Wasted potential is all I’m saying. You’d wipe the floor with all those b-boys.”

“Even your new Chat Noir?” Marinette rolls her eyes, picking up Alya’s abandoned cap and putting it on.

“Please, Marinette.” Alya leans back on her hands, letting her head fall back in an effort to soak up the sun. She closes her eyes and Marinette tries to ignore how Nino looks quickly at her chest; Alya is doing it on purpose. “You’re the best of them all. Even better than—” she yells the next part “—Alix who totally won!”

Marinette turns around to watch Kim’s face fall and she laughs. Complaints of injustice and shouts of contradiction rise up from the basketball court. Scuffles break out between Alix’s crew and Kim’s before someone intervenes.

“You weren’t even the judge!” Nino complains, slapping a crisp ten euro note into Alya’s expectant hand.

“Of course I was,” Alya says, stretching her legs lazily out in front of her.

Marinette settles cross-legged on the ground opposite them, flicking a small pebble at Alya. “That’s not very fair of you, Alya.”

“Yes it was. You’re both nerds. Shut up.”

Nino and Marinette exchange a fond smile. “Whatever you say, boss,” she says.

Alya smirks. “Damn right.”

Marinette looks back at the court again to see Chat Noir waving cheekily at her from the far side of it before he ducks out of sight. She narrows her eyes at the space he leaves, wondering if he’ll turn up to the auditions on the weekend. If he dances anything like he did today, there’s no way the crew can refuse him.

He’s a game-changer, that one.

Superman v. Clark Kent (Derek Luh) pt. 2

Part 1

When I get up he’s next to me, still naked just like me. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be a cuddling type, so he was on the other half of the bed. It made it easy for me to get up and get dressed. My panties were ripped so I just threw them away. For a moment, I consider getting back in bed. Maybe he’d still want me when he got up. But I doubt it. I’m sure I was just a generic version of my sister for him.

I struggled back into my dress, and just carried the heels. I looked into the mirror. My hair was frizzy and the makeup I had was half rubbed off. I quickly pulled my hair into a ponytail and walked out. When I opened the door, he snored a little and rolled over. I rushed out so I wouldn’t have to face him.

After getting out of his room, it took me a minute to find my way to the door. I finally made it to the kitchen, which had a side door. But Swazz and Nate were in there.

“I heard you and my boy in his room last night,” Nate says.

I just stare.

“You’re Luce’s sister right?” Swazz says.

“Uh, yeah,” I say quietly.

“So, we gon’ be seein more of you around here right?”

I make my way over to the door. “Uh, maybe?” I say, stepping out and closing the door behind me. I think one of them called out to wait but it’s too late.

I call for an Uber and start walking to the street. It’s nearly 1:00. I have a class in two hours and with traffic, I don’t know if I’ll have time to go change and shower and get to class. I decide to just go home.

My apartment’s not by any means huge or extravagant, but it’s completely mine. It’s the first place I’ve lived without my sister. Sure, I was a little torn up when she said she was going to move in with a new roommate, but it worked out great in the end.

I have plenty of space for my books, and a ton of windows. I went over and watered my cute little poppy flowers. I hopped in the shower and when I got out I saw it.

Hickies, everywhere. On the tops of my boobs, my shoulder, and a bite mark on my ass. When the hell did that happen?

After my shower I got dressed. I wouldn’t say I dressed in a boring way, I just favor the color grey. It looks good on me. I threw on a grey crop top and some high waisted shorts, with my most comfortable pair of Nikes and a baseball cap.

I grabbed my laptop and notebook and stick them in my messenger bag. The walk to my favorite cafe is short and I end up sitting in my normal seat with my iced green tea.

I add in the stuff Derek told me last night to my paper, all I have left to do now is write the conclusion. I’m working on it when Lucy pops up at the seat across from me.

“Hey!” she said.

“Hi,” I say, not looking up from my laptop.

“I went to your apartment but you weren’t there and this place is practically your second home so here I am!” she says.

“You seem overly excited.”

“Yeah, I slept well last night…. What about you?” I can tell she’s hinting at me being with Derek.

I just glance up at her for a second, “I guess I slept pretty well.”

“With someone else maybe?“she says.


“I know you hooked up with Derek Luh,” she says.

I stay silent.

“Honestly I’m kind of jealous. I’ve been trying to just talk to that boy for weeks.”

“He talked to me actually,” I say.

“Oh,” she seemed surprised. “Well, I’m sorry it couldn’t be more than a hook up.”

“Eh, that’s all it needed to be,” I say. I’ve been in a slump for a while and I feel a lot better now. But I don’t even know if sex will ever be that good again, though.

She sits and we enjoy our drinks together while she probably posts stuff on social media and I finish up my paper. By the time I’m finished rush hour’s just about to start so I head out. I have another class that I actually want to try to make it to tonight at 6:45. Then I’ll go home turn on some Boy Meets World reruns and fall asleep on my couch.

I never saw it before, but compared to the stuff Derek told me he does on a regular basis, my life is so boring. Write, eat, sleep, repeat. And sometimes I work with youtubers on videos and stuff but that’s once a month at the most. I need to get a life. An interesting one.

As I’m heading class I hear my name yelled from across the street. I don’t bother to check, I’m probably just hearing stuff. I hear it again and this time I look over to see Derek, a guy he called Tez and Swazz. They all waved and all I could do was give a single awkward wave back and turn the corner to head into the building.

Derek’s POV:

What the hell? I spend an entire night telling a girl about my life and then she sleeps with me and ditches? I watch as she disappears into a large building swarming with college students. I almost head towards the building to follow her but Tez grabs my arm.

“Aye, you always sayin how you like a girl who knows when she’s welcome and when she ain’t. Don’t go mess with her when you know you gone be done with her by tomorrow.”

That was the thing though. I really liked her. Once we got up, I was gonna take her to breakfast, go around town with her. But instead, I woke up to an empty bed. Something told me I shouldn’t have slept with her last night, but I let my dick be in charge. And now she’s gone.

I spent the rest of the trip walking from store to store with the guys. I wasn’t really in the mood when we left, but now I really wasn’t.

When we got back home there was already at least 20 people there, music blasting, and alcohol open. I knocked back a few shots of something. I just kept going with the alcohol. I knew it wouldn’t get her off my mind, but at least I could have fun. Everything from that point in was just kind of a a few conscious moments with a lot of blacked out ones in between.

Some time later, Y/N shows up. She dressed almost exactly like the night before, but something was off. I couldn’t tell what, but whatever, we had to talk. She walked up to me smiling.

“Hey Derek,” she said seductively.

“We gotta walk…… I mean talk!”

I took her hand and pulled her to a corner.

“Why’d you leave me like that last night mami? I missed you.”

“No, Derek..” she started, but I interrupted her.

“Shh,” I put a finger over her lips, “it’s okay now. You came back,” I pulled her against me and she didn’t fight as I dragged her towards the crowd. I pulled her back against my front and we danced and grinder to the beat. I leaned down a little to whisper in her ear, “We should go back to my room. You know you left your necklace there last night.”

Suddenly she gasps and pulls away. I look up and suddenly there’s two. “Oh my gosh, two Y/Ns. What a fucking dream come true.” Except one of them looks angry, and the other one guilty. Oh no.

“No, that’s Lucy. I’m just here for my necklace Derek. Then you and my sister can get back to what you were doing.”

“You sure you don’t want anything else?” I raise my eyebrow.

“No, just give me my necklace,” she yells.

“Okay, geez, come on,” I lead her to my room and grab it off the table, nearly dropping it. “Here,” I hold it out. She come towards me to grab it and as soon as she does I grab her by the waist. “Cuddle with me,” I say.

She easily gets out and says, “No, that’s what my sister is here for remember?”

“Who, Lucy? She didn’t even come tonight,” I say.

“No, she was the one you were dancing with.”

Suddenly, it dawned on me. That’s what was so off. It wasn’t Y/N, it was Lucy. By the time I figured it out, Y/N disappeared. I got up and rushed to the door. “Y/N wait! I called out, but ran into the door frame. It was too late.

Y/N’s POV:

I ran to the main road, trying my best not to cry as I hopped in a taxi. As soon as I got home, I curled up in a ball and sat there holding in tears. I have no right to be sad or angry. It was just a hookup. I was the one who left him this morning. I knew he would move on. I didn’t know it would be with my sister but whatever. I turned on my Boy Meets World, just like I had planned to.

I shouldn’t be surprised. A guy like him and a girl like my sister were bound to end up together at some point. I was just a placeholder for my sister. I was the generic, less flavorful version of your favorite cereal that you ate when you were too broke to buy name brand.

It’s not like anything would’ve happened anyway. I didn’t plan on seeing him again after I got my necklace. And I couldn’t even hold up a conversation until I got alcohol running through me.

I would never be the free spirit that my sister was and it was time to accept that.

Part 3



Thanks for reading, hope you liked it! There’s obviously going to be a part 3 to this series and I think that’ll be it for this one. I’ll once again post part 3 once this one hits 75 notes. I’m officially opening requests. The list of prompts and of songs will be posted sometime this week. I don’t know when yet, since I have all my exams this week (I know, early) but, yah.


Fic: Farmer Greg’s Boy

Fic: Farmer Greg’s Boy
Pairing: Bitty/OMC, Bitty/Jack Zimmermann (hinted)
Notes: This idea came about because I was/am nervous about Jack being Bitty’s first boyfriend

“Are you going to the fireworks?” Thomas blurted out. Bitty took his attention off of the peaches and looked at Thomas. There was no one else around them in the market. It was pretty late in the day, most people were either finishing up their purchases or packing up their tables for the day. Bitty eyed the empty aisle and then looked back at Thomas to see that he was also keeping an eye on their surroundings. He seemed nervous, eager, and…worried. Oh.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I like Cas and TFW, but I admit that it's stuff like the Sam erasure happening this morning that makes me dislike hardcore Destiel shippers. Everything has to be about the ship, and of course Cas is the hero in this scenario, ignoring everything that Sam did leading up to it while Cas napped.

Hey there! :)

I try to avoid following any blogs who hate on a character, so I haven’t seen any overt Sam erasure (i.e. someone twisting the narrative to avoid giving him credit or slagging him off for anything). I think a lot of overlooking Sam at the moment in my general dashboard area is literally just the sheer excitement of seeing Dean and Cas in the same hemisphere/solar system/universe again after 4 episodes and a long summer apart. We’re all delighted to have them interacting again, and so the discussion will naturally jump to those moments.

Of course because that moment of reuniting took place via a crushing hug (look at me trivialising it) followed by the episode giving little brotherly catharsis via hugs or conversations over the top of the Impala or whatever, but did give us a proper Dean/Cas conversation, that coupled with complaints I’ve seen about the pacing and weighting of many of the scenes, the rear end of the episode sort of devolved into Destiel, and Sam didn’t get his look in. Among those complaints (it was dirtyovercoats talking about pacing I think) was the mention that the most intense and rewarding of discussion scene with Sam and Dean was the promo: they blew their load before the episode even aired, and therefore everyone had talked that scene to death by the time the episode aired, leaving the stand-out moment to be the Dean/Cas stuff that PR won’t touch with a bargepole. They literally showed clips of the hug-restraint with Cas’s head cropped out in one video for example. :P I’m going to take it on faith that the same people I’ve seen blowing up about the promo and then the Destiel stuff from this episode would have been blowing up about each with the same enthusiasm had they not known about either until air time.

I’m figuring some is writing issues, some is also the fact that it takes time to heal.

Sam left the bunker at the end of the episode because he was exhausted and wanted a break: his comment about getting drunk suggests he is done with the whole situation and wants to forget it and put it out of his mind for a while. Literally, his intent is to obliterate consciousness and the need to make any more serious decisions or take any more weighted actions. Obviously he’s not going to leave for long - just a grocery run, but the implication was he needs that time to recover from the emotional mauling he went through over the last 6 weeks. It seems like Sam himself is veto-ing having his brotherly moment. Yet.

If he’s not ready for it Dean is a million miles: he was looking at the photos of him and Sam, and when he heard a knock on the door, hid them. Given the 50/50 probability that could have been Sam barging in and trying to broment. He is usually way more open to Cas in emotional discussions (as evidenced by bringing up how he tried to kill Sam in that same conversation), while I’m taking the hiding of the photos as symbolic on Dean’s side that he is also not ready to have that conversation at least with Sam. The thrust of the scene with Dean and Cas, at least via dialogue, was also about Sam and reassurances from Cas that it would be okay there.

In short, the most positive reading of the end of the episode is Cas drifting between the brothers, still our viewpoint character, and through these two scenes we see the bridge to them recovering, but because they are going to be in every episode together from now on, we don’t need to cram it all in in one moment: Dean gets an intense scene with Cas to round off Cas’s story arc for the first 3 episodes since he’s unfortunately buggering off to help Hannah or something for a few episodes. Dean and Sam are going to get a full round of on-with-the-story monster of the week episodes to recover and work out the new situation between them, as per the show from the moment it hit the ground running, and so there’s no point feeling cheated by the lack of it in an over-crowded episode that ends on a vague, poignant note about the difficulties of recovery, because that wasn’t the point of the episode and they didn’t need to force it. And considering some of the anvillicious dialogue in that particular episode I’m kind of glad the healing between the brothers is being deferred a little while to other writers.

Long story short, hopefully anyone who watched the whole episode for the sake of watching the show has not erased Sam from their appreciation of it, and I don’t think many of the Destiel blogs I follow would discredit Sam entirely - I hope you’re not too frustrated with the shippers today and find other good stuff to read!

anonymous asked:

Please do a boys gf's appearance blurb xx


this is just my opinion and what i think would look cute with the boys and what i think they might like but don’t take this too seriously (: 

so i can see ashton with a dirty blonde or a blonde or even a red head and probably on the short-ish to average side with brown or green eyes and i don’t think that skin color would really matter but i see him with a girl of any race but i think she’d either be pale with freckles or more on the tan-ish side and she’d have a nice smile and big eyes and i think she’d be on the thin side (sorry?) and wouldn’t have big boobs or even a big ass but just nice boobs and a nice ass, you know what i mean? and she probably wouldn’t have that many tattoos, just some little ones that weren’t that noticeable and she probably wouldn’t have an facial piercings or maybe just her nose pierced but would some going up her ears and she wouldn’t wear all that much make up and just look really cutesy if that makes sense but i think she’d sort of dress like a hippie with flowy skirts and crop tops or high waisted shorts and she’d wear flower crowns and put up the peace sign in pictures and stuff haha

i can see calum with a girl of any race really but i actually don’t think he’d be into super pale girls (sorry?) so like tan-ish to dark skinned and he’s said he likes brunettes so brunette and and probably any color eyes but i think brown or green would look really cute with him and i think a really short girl would look cute with him but probably like short to average height and i think she’d have a really cute smile too and maybe even dimples and really long hair that’d be really pretty and wavy and she’d probably be like average weight but sort of toned and have like average boobs but a killer booty and i don’t think she’d have that many tats but maybe a couple of really cool ones and i don’t think she’d have any facial piercings and just have a couple piercings on her ears and maybe her navel and she’d probably go back and forth between wearing very little make up to wearing lot and she’d dress sporty in leggings and jackets but also wear like shorts and t-shirts but when she got dressed for parties she’d wear really tight fitting stuff because she’d want to show off her killer body 

i could see luke with any skin color and hair colors honestly…i have a feeling he likes blondes though (just my luck) but besides that think she’d be pretty average height but he’d be like with any height really but probably not too short because the height difference would be ridiculous. i think she’d probably have light colored eyes but i don’t think he’d really care as long as they were pretty because i think he’d just like to look a girl in the eyes so he’d like pretty eyes to look into, you feel? and i don’t think he’d care much about weight so i’ll just say average and have sort of average/big-ish boobs and an average ass and she’d probably have some tattoos but not that many either but luke would like if she wanted to get more (because i think he likes tats) and i think she’s have her nose and navel pierced and a lot of ear piercings and i think he’d like a girl that looked natural but i think that she’d wear a fair amount of make up, you know? and i think she’d wear a lot of skirts and whatever was in style and lots of dresses but she’d also wear a lot of leather and like platform converses and she’d wear a lot of pastels but also a lot of black…so like really girly but with a touch of punk if that makes sense 

so i see michael with a pale girl (sorry?) but i don’t think he’d really care and i don’t think he cares about hair or eye color either and he’d honestly look really cute with any hair color/eye color combo and i think that he’s just so girl crazy that he doesn’t even really care lmao but i think he’d look cute a girl that dyes her hair (like either dyes it dark/a color or a blonde that dip dyes it or does like pastels in her hair) with light colored eyes and i think that’s he likes girls with a unique sort of look, so not like conventionally pretty, if that makes sense. and i think she would have a fair amount of tattoos and i think he likes piercings so she’d probably have her nose pierced and her tongue or eyebrow pierced and have a lot on her ears and probably her navel done too. i think that’s it’s pretty clear that she’d need to have big boobs because he loves boobs but she’d have a nice ass too with like an hour glass shape and be sort of curvy. i think she’d wear like a normal amount of make up but sometimes would be too lazy to put much on and she’d wear leggings a lot and have sort of a lazy wardrobe but it’d be sort of punk but sort of girly…i actually really don’t know what she’d wear probably just a little bit of everything haha

wow this was long i didn’t even mean to rambling i just picture either boy with a really specific girl whoops

send me blurbs!