stupid american television

anonymous asked:

Why CSers are always accused of liking Hook only because of his looks?! Like we're a bunch of stereotypical teenage girls. I'm a grown woman, thank you very much. I don't fall for every pretty face that I see. For me Killian's handsomeness is just a bonus, adding to an amazing character and his redemption arc.

Because BUTTHURT SHIPPERS always need a reason to belittle the people who like the thing they don’t.

It’s one of their more stupid arguments in a sea of stupid arguments. Hello, it’s American TV. It’s almost entirely made up of very attractive people. (Plus I ship because of chemistry. If Hook was played by someone better looking than Colin, but didn’t mesh with JMo, I wouldn’t be invested.)

Are they saying Lana is butt ugly and they only like their ship because of the way Regina destroyed Emma’s life (let’s not forget that everything we saw in 6.17 was Regina’s fault) and insults and verbally abused her as an adult?

If that were the case I’d wonder why they spend so much time focused on Lana’s boobs…

Sooooo….I did change my URL to @unclekazzy and I think I like it so far.  I just might keep it.

Kiryu, however, has been kind of silent of late.  What a stubborn muse. I’m hoping to hop back onto this blog later this week as I have a few days off work for the upcoming holiday!

The right to remain silent- Lay (pt.1)

This is some slightly smutty idea I’ve come up with a few days ago.I haven’t written anything within the last few months, so please bare with me if this is shitty. Also, maybe this is a liiittle out of character, but who cares. It was fun to write, maybe it’s fun to read. I dunno? I got a pt. 2 somewhere on my phone, so if anybody wants me to I’ll finish it& post it here. And now I’ll just stop talking and get down to business

Edit: here you can find the other parts of this story!





The night air feels like cool and expensive silk against my bare skin. This unusual hot summer is about to end, and with every night it becomes more obvious. I sigh, wondering what that means for me. Soon the last American and European tourists will leave this place, and with the few tidbits of Korean I’ve learned so far it won’t be useful to keep me around.

The brightly lit pool of the remote luxury bungalow is the only source of light. There is nothing but the soft splashing of the water, the whispering of the wind in the trees and the stars above me. I’ve fallen in love with that place the first time I’ve been invited to come here. That was at the beginning of the summer, when a nice elderly american couple invited me over. But they are long gone, and since then the villa was deserted. So whenever I can’t sleep, whenever I’m homesick or need a place to think I take the ten minute walk up the hill and go for a quick midnight swim.

I know I’ll instantly lose my job if anybody knew about what I am doing here- but this is one of those things that you couldn’t miss for anything in the world.

I enter the pool and the warm water covers my calves, my thighs, my hips. I sigh and drop down until it flows around my shoulders, then I swim through the pool to the other side. In a soft curve the mountainsides fall down, and in front of you and above you there is nothing but stars. I put down my chin on my arms and just stare into the dark night sky for a few minutes, as my thoughts start to wander.

Suddenly I think of home and something seems to grab my sides and press them together, making it hard to breathe. I don’t want to go back, I think. I don’t want to live a normal, ordinary life. I let go off the edge of the pool and slowly sink down until the water covers my mouth and ears. Suddenly everything is quiet and just a soft bluish flow. That’s my life right now, I think. And that’s how I want it to stay. But soon my lungs start to rebel and I remember every second is just stolen, just me running away from the world I’m supposed to live in.

I wait until my lungs start to burn from the lack of air and my heart speeds up it’s pace. And only when my throat tightens and black dots seep into the vivid flowing blue I break through the surface, my trembling fingers holding on to the edge of the pool, because I am not sure if my legs are still going to carry me.

I gasp for air and wonder why I am doing this, and what it even is that I am- a soft cough. I spin around and suddenly it feels like the oxygen has disappeared from the air around me. Shit, I am so screwed.

For a few more seconds we just stare at each other, then he says something. I blink and answer with one of the few korean sentences I know: I am sorry, but I didn’t understand.

He repeats himself, a little bit louder, a little bit angrier. Yeah, well, a quite understandable reaction when you find a twenty years old girl in your hotel pool. At 3am.

The same girl is now making her way through the pool, hastily exiting the water. He grabs the towel and throws it at me, before crossing his arms in front of his chest again. Even through the white button-up I can see how muscular and toned he is.

If I wouldn’t already be in shock because I am going to lose my job, because I maybe am going to get arrested- well, his god-like looks sure as hell would have left me speechless.

Only now I realize I have been staring at him and my cheeks go bright red. Quickly I look down and wrap the towel around my shoulders. I am sorry, I say, another one of the few Korean phrases I have picked up. He answers something, annoyed and tired and rubs the back of his neck.

I just stare at him and he sighs, obviously realizing that talking to me won’t work out. Suddenly I am reminded of these stupid american TV shows and those rights they love to recite: You’ve got the right to remain silent. No, I think. I don’t have the ability to do anything else but to remain silent.

The little drops of water all over my body seem to have turned to ice, because I am freezing. Maybe the cold has seeped through my skull, because my thoughts seem to be frozen as well, and only after another ten seconds or so I come up with the words for I, can and go. Then I point towards where the hotel is and add ‘please?’ I see the anger flare in his eyes. “Aniyo.” Okay, even I understood what this means: No.  

Suddenly he steps closer and grabs my arm. I try to wriggle out of his grip- bad idea.

He grabs both my wrists in one of his massive hands and his second hand shoots up and tightly wraps around my chin to force me to look up at him.

I can’t move, all I can do is stare into his eyes and force down the urge to whimper- because I wouldn’t be surprised if his strong grip left dark marks on my wrists.

He raises my chin a little further and he glares down on me. Dark. Furious.

Another second and I stop to struggle and lower my gaze. Shit. I really am into some trouble here. My heart flutters nervously in my chest and sends blood and adrenaline through my body at a speed that leaves me trembling. I feel how my throat becomes tight, not because of his grip but because I am about to cry.

Suddenly he sighs and softens his grip. Slowly his hand wanders from my chin down to the towel around my shoulders to tug it a little tighter around me.

He murmurs something, and his voice sounds so different now that I just have to look at him.

“You okay?”, he asks and I nervously nod, my cheeks growing red again. His warm big hands rub soft circles on the inside of my wrists. Through his touch some of his self-control and steadiness seems to seep into me and I force myself to take a few slow, deep breaths. He says something and now that he isn’t angry anymore his voice sounds so different. Warm and soft, like honey and lazy summer kisses and I definitely should stop thinking like this.

He repeats what he just said and this time I understand-maybe because I am not fawning over this perfect voice of his.

“No police.” I am very quick to nod in agreement and my enthusiasm makes him chuckle. He nods towards the house and quickly I walk over, wondering what his plan is. Because I am quite sure I won’t get out of this without some sort of punishment. Inside it is warm and dark, and I can only make out a few silhouettes: The big sofa, the TV, the kitchen counter.

Suddenly the light is turned on. I turn around and blink a few times. He has walked over to the kitchen counter and drops my phone, my dress and my shoes on one of the stools in front of it.

“Tea?”, he asks and I nod, because even though inside it’s quite warm I am still freezing.

I lean against the counter, but after a few seconds I realize that he doesn’t know where the kettle- or anything, for that matter- is. I hesitate for a second, then I walk over and softly push him out of the way. I open one of the cupboards, get on my tiptoes and grab the kettle. With a triumphant smile I turn around and his eyes shoot up to my face again- but there’s no doubt he has been scanning my body. And he doesn’t even look sorry about it. Well, I guess when you look like him you can have every girl you want. And- just saying- he could have me anyday.

I walk over to the sink to fill the kettle with water, internally praying that my face didn’t show my thoughts.

He asks something but all I can do is shrug my shoulders. There is a moment of awkward silence, then I have an idea. I walk over to my phone, open google translator and hand it to him.

He looks up at me disbelievingly and even though we don’t speak the same language I know exactly what he is thinking right now: How the hell did I end up in this situation?

With a little sigh he starts typing and after a few seconds he hands me my phone. Of course google messed up the sentence structure, but I still understand:

Have you been here before?

I nod and he motions to hand back the phone: Invited? or not? I read.

Both, I write back and hand him the phone. He looks up at me and raises and eyebrow and i apologetically shrug my shoulders. The towel feels cold and wet and disgusting, so I neatly fold it and put it on the stool, next to my shoes and the dress. For a second I linger on the thought of putting on the dress, but when I look up at him the warning look on his face quickly makes me retract my hand.

I can feel my cheeks turn bright red again so I quickly walk over to the counter, turning my back on him.

…now don’t get me wrong: I am not that kind of person who often has One-Night-Stands. Especially not with commanding, unearthly good-looking strangers whose language I can’t even speak. But…the thing is: He is a commanding, unearthly good-looking stranger. And I have a thing for those, apparently.

I take a deep breath and start to prepare the tea. Suddenly an enormous hand wraps around my waist and I almost drop the cup I am holding.

I take a shaky breath and almost unwillingly, just guided by my stupid, horny body, I lean back into him. He murmurs something and the vibrations of his voice seem to travel through the fabric of his shirt and resonate through my whole chest.. He pushes the still wet hair over my shoulder and starts to trail kisses down the length of my neck.

I take a shaky breath and my eyes flutter shut, but a second later he is gone already.

A little confused I blink and turn around. he is leaning against the counter next to me, typing on my phone. A second later he hands it to me and walks towards the stairs. I watch him, still trying to calm down, and only after a few seconds I look at my phone: You are cold, I’ll get you some clothes.  

“Hey?” He turns around, smiling at me. “What’s your name?”, I ask in English. he nods and tells me his name. I try to repeat it, but he just laughs and shakes his head.

“Lay”, he says and points at himself. “Lay”, I repeat. I like his name. But oh well, to be honest:

I like everything about him.

He points at me. So I tell him my name. He repeats it, slowly, carefully pronouncing every syllable. When he says it, it suddenly sounds strange and exciting and new. As if he’s never heard it before. That’s probably the case. I want to hear him say my name once more, but he has already vanished upstairs.

And suddenly I realize: This is my chance: I could just put on my dress and the shoes, walk out the door and leave…or I could walk upstairs. I could make him repeat my name, whisper it against my skin, make him moan it as I wrap my mouth around him, make him scream it and let him fuck me.

I wonder whether he really wants to get me something to wear. Or if he is waiting for me, upstairs, slowly unbuttoning his shirt to reveal those toned abs underneath.

While I am still wondering what to do, my body apparently has already made its decision, while my brain is still trying to catch up: I drop my phone on the counter and jog up the stairs. Up here it’s dark, but through a little crack between one of the doors and the wall seeps light. I walk over and put my hand around the doorknob.


Part 2 and 3, because yes, I am shit at writing one shots ( and the sexual tension was too fucking much.)